Next Comes Love

by Helen Brenna

  When Glynnis came to get her order, Erica said, “Lynn’s sick. I’ll take care of the two tables I’ve already waited on, but can you get the rest?”

  “Sure.”

  Erica would’ve much preferred making her favorite Italian dishes, but at least she was back at a stove and grill. An hour or so later, the lunch crowd had been served and Erica spun around to find Lynn watching her through tired eyes. “Well, you weren’t lying,” the older woman whispered. “You can cook.”

  Erica shrugged.

  “I’m going home to take a nap and I’ll try to be back before happy hour.” Lynn trudged into her office and Erica followed her.

  Now was the perfect time to ask to use the computer. “If you want, I could try to get your computer up and running while you’re gone. Show you how to e-mail your sons when you get back.”

  “Go for it.” Lynn grabbed the coat she’d hung on a hook by the door.

  “Do you have Internet access?”

  “The island’s got something called WiFi, whatever that is, and the setup I bought was supposed to work here. What do I know?”

  Erica booted up the computer. Immediately, it connected to the Internet and busied itself updating the security systems. “It’s working. Do you mind if I see what I can do?”

  “It’s all yours. See you later.”

  After Lynn left, Erica ran various updates and scans. The programs found several smaller security issues that had somehow infiltrated Lynn’s system and were bogging down the flow. While the computer was chugging away, cleaning things up, she logged onto the Internet and searched the Chicago news for any mention of Marie or Jason. Still nothing out there. Billy was up to something. No missing persons report meant no cops looking for Marie.

  Someone came into the kitchen and called, “Lynn?” Garrett Taylor. She’d have known that deep voice anywhere.

  Suddenly, the day that had been going so well soured within the blink of an eye. She quickly clicked off the page of Chicago news she’d been scanning and called back, “She went home sick.”

  Dressed in tan carpenter pants and a worn plaid shirt outlining his broad chest and beefy arms, Garrett came to the office doorway carrying a large metal tool chest. He narrowed those pale gray eyes of his. “She said you could work on her computer? Alone?”

  The statement was filled with concern, if not outright hostility, and Erica was sorely tempted to not give the man the satisfaction of an answer. “Her computer needed some debugging and I told her I’d see what I could do to help. That okay with you, Chief?”

  “Awfully trusting, aren’t they, these islanders?” he said, holding her gaze. “Maybe that’s why I like them so much.”

  Don’t mess with my people, or else. She found her feelings oddly hurt by the suspicion and not so subtle threat behind his words and couldn’t seem to form an appropriately smart-mouthed comment.

  He pointed up the steps. “Arlo asked me to put a chain on your apartment door.”

  “Go ahead,” Erica said. “But first I’ve got something to say to you.” She stood and walked toward him.

  Confrontation had never been easy for her. Men were the hardest, but even facing down a woman could make her palms sweat and her face turn hot. A part of her always seemed to be waiting for that hand to strike. To this day, the sound of a man pulling off his leather belt still sent a twinge of fear skittering down her spine.

  “I’m listening,” he said.

  She was so close she was forced to tilt her head back to look into his eyes. She waited for the telltale fear to strike her gut, but it never came. He towered over her, and yet she was not frightened of him. It didn’t make any sense.

  “Yesterday when you sat with Zach at lunch,” she started.

  “What about it?” His stance was relaxed, his features calm, as if he were telling her to do her worst. He could take it.

  “I don’t care if you’re the chief of police or the head of the FBI, I don’t want you interrogating my…son. Ever again.”

  “Your son.”

  “Yeah.”

  He didn’t say another word, merely studied her, making her feel for a moment like a bug under a microscope. Then his gaze traveled and his pale eyes darkened with something damned close to awareness and she became intensely focused on the broadness of his shoulders, the squareness of his jaw, the look of surprising softness to his lips.

  Something was going on between them, something heady and sensual, something that had her tuning in to his every movement. Suddenly there seemed to be little question in her mind that they were going to happen. The only question seemed to be how far they’d go once they started.

  She tilted her chin higher and glared at him. “From now on, if you’ve got a question you ask me. Not Zach. Got it?”

  “Fair enough.”

  Fair enough? That was it? Not quite.

  He took a step toward her, almost touching her. “I don’t know what it is yet, but you’re hiding something.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice sounded just a little breathless even to her own ears.

  As if they were magnets drawn together, he leaned closer. “I’ll find out what it is.”

  The subtle challenge in his eyes held her in limbo for a moment. Move first.

  No, you.

  You want it.

  So do you.

  No! She stepped back and made a pretense of looking at the kitchen clock. “Is it that time already?” She headed for the kitchen door. “I have to pick up Zach from school.”

  He glanced away and pointed up the steps as if nothing out of the ordinary had passed between them. “The chain on your door will only take me a few minutes.”

  “Great. Then you’ll be gone when I get back.”

  “So we’re clear, Erica,” he whispered, “I don’t trust you.”

  “So we’re clear, Chief Taylor—” she pushed backward through the kitchen door “—I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  THE MOMENT SHE WAS out of sight, Garrett turned away from the swinging kitchen doors, closed his eyes and regained control of himself. Sonofabitch. He’d almost kissed her, a woman who was almost a complete stranger.

  He ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath. Whether it was the way she smelled or cooked or the way her eyes seemed to be inviting him to do his worst, that woman was driving him crazy, making him forget he was first and foremost a cop.

  One minute she was in his face, all pouty lips and attitude, telling him how things were going to be as if she was the one with the gun and badge and the next minute, her eyes softened with the knowledge that she was only a woman and he was only a man. She knew, same as him, that their bodies would join perfectly. Size didn’t matter. One big, one petite, they’d fit like dovetail joints, slide together as if they’d always belonged. The thought of it made him groan aloud.

  It’d been too damned long since he’d been with a woman. Simple as that. But Erica was not the right kind of woman. What he needed was soft and giving, sunshine and blue skies, a woman whose light shined so brightly her smiles would obliterate every shadow inside him. He needed a woman who instead of reminding him of who he was could help him forget everything he wasn’t. Was there anyone on the island even close?

  A blond-haired, blue-eyed schoolteacher came to mind. Hannah Johnson. What do you know? There wasn’t a mean bone in that woman’s body. She was positive and lighthearted, happy and uncomplicated. With that angel by his side, he could get all this Erica nonsense out of his system and move forward. He flipped open his cell phone, dialed the school’s number and was surprised when the receptionist put him through to Hannah’s room.

  “This is Miss Johnson.”

  Her sweet voice alone sent waves of peace through him. “Hey, there, it’s Garrett.”

  “Garrett?” She paused. “Oh, Garrett! Hi!”

  “Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Um. Um.” There was a slight pause. “Sure. That sounds nice.”
<
br />   “How does Duffy’s sound?”

  “Great,” she said. “I usually get together with Sarah and Missy for happy hour on Fridays, so I’ll meet you there.”

  “Sounds good.” Garrett already felt better.

  “THAT’S ALL THERE IS to it.” Erica stepped back from Lynn’s now smoothly running computer. The Friday lunch crowd had diminished to a slow trickle and Lynn was feeling better. “Now you try it.”

  Lynn rolled her chair up to the keyboard and after only a few missteps successfully sent an e-mail message off to her oldest son. “So that message goes all the way to Chicago and there aren’t any long-distance charges?”

  “That’s right. It’s fast and cheap.”

  “When will Adam get the message in D.C.?”

  “It only takes a few minutes. If he’s on his computer.”

  “I don’t believe it.” A moment later, the computer dinged. “What was that?”

  “You’ve got mail,” Erica explained. “Probably from Son One already.”

  “That quick?”

  “Yep.”

  Sure enough, her oldest had already sent his mom a response. Lynn giggled as she read his message. He was ecstatic that his mother had finally gotten online. Her other son also responded relatively quickly. “This is amazing.” She smiled at Erica, and then, much to Erica’s consternation, Lynn leaned over and hugged her.

  “It’s not a big deal,” Erica said, sloughing it off.

  “It is to me.” Lynn patted Erica’s cheek. “We better be careful, or you won’t become indispensable, you’ll turn into just-like-family.”

  A normal person might have found that statement heartwarming, but the mere thought of what Lynn was thinking set off Erica’s warning bells. “Okay, then.” She backed up and glanced at her watch. “I have to go pick up Zach.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “AN AMBER ALERT?” THE chief stared at Billy. “That means you believe your son to be in imminent danger. You sure you want to take this that far?”

  This was going to be a balancing act. Billy could get away with turning the tables on Marie, but there were cops here who knew her. He’d have to push just hard enough to get all the troops roused and looking for Jason, but if he pushed too hard they might start talking, worse, linking him to the disappearance of his wife and son.

  “No.” Billy sighed. “You’re right. Marie wouldn’t hurt Jason.”

  “So what do you want us to do?”

  “She told me she wanted a divorce, Chief, and was going to fight for full custody.” Billy hesitated. This would set the stage. “She more or less kidnapped my son.”

  “Then we need to issue a warrant for her arrest.”

  “So be it.” Billy nodded. Just find ’em, Chief. I want my family back.” He left the chief’s office and went to his desk. Within moments, his fellow detectives, having heard the news, gathered, sitting nearby or propping themselves on his desk. “How you doing?” one of them asked.

  “As well as can be expected.”

  “Do you have a clue where she might’ve gone?”

  “No. But I’ll tell you what I do know.” Billy glanced around the circle. “The morning she disappeared, we got into a fight. I’ll be the first one to admit our marriage wasn’t perfect, but, dammit, I told her I’d do anything to make her happy, go to counseling, change jobs.” He jabbed his fingers through his hair. “She told me she was going to file for a divorce anyway.”

  “Damn.”

  “Sucks.”

  “Why would she disappear? And take Jason?”

  Billy hated what he had to say next, but these were the guys to spur on, the men who were going to find his son. “I don’t like airing dirty laundry, but Marie had been…drinking a lot. I caught her smacking Jason around.” He looked away. “So I told her I was going to fight for full custody.”

  “Marie?”

  “That doesn’t sound like her.”

  “I know. Hard to believe. But after her mother died…she went through a bad spell.”

  “So she took the kid and left?”

  “No. The school said her sister, Erica, picked up Jason.” Billy stood and paced. “She was always filling Marie full of all kinds of crazy ideas. I think they’ve been planning this for a long time. I think…” He paused, put his face in his hands for a moment or two, pretending to gather himself. “I’m worried they might hurt Jason. Just to get at me.”

  The face of every single detective around him filled with barely suppressed rage. “What do you want us to do?” one of them asked.

  “Get the word out,” Billy said softly. “I need to find my son before they hurt him.”

  WITH THE SUNSHINE HITTING her face and a cool breeze at her back, Erica hiked up the hill to the elementary school to pick up Jason. On her way, in an attempt to put Lynn’s hug out of her mind, she mentally revised Duffy’s old-fashioned menu. There were too many options, but not enough diversity. If it were her pub, she’d pick the top eight to ten favorite entrees off the current menu and drop everything else. Then she’d add several Mexican, Italian and updated American selections.

  But, then, it wasn’t her pub.

  She reached the school and waited by the office for Jason. When he rounded the corner, her heart lifted, that is until his sadness registered. “It couldn’t have been that bad, could it?”

  “It was okay.”

  No, it wasn’t, but she could tell that just like after his first day of school he didn’t want to trouble her. Well, that wasn’t going to cut it today. “You can tell me all about it on the way to the grocery store.” She held the door open for him and they took off outside. When he still didn’t offer anything, she asked, “Was that boy you met, Brian, in your class?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “We played together at recess.”

  “So he’s nice?”

  Jason nodded.

  “Good. What’s your teacher like?”

  “She’s okay.”

  She asked one question after another. Getting him to talk was like pulling teeth. Open-ended questions, she’d heard somewhere, were supposed to encourage conversation. Well, whoever had come up with that marvelous advice had never met this six-year-old. The kid barely opened his mouth. Is this what he’d been like with Marie, or was it just her?

  By the time they reached Newman’s grocery store, Erica was out of questions. “Okay, here we are.”

  She grabbed a cart and for the next fifteen minutes they zipped through the aisles, snapping up staples. The produce was fresh, but the herbs selections limited. She stood in front of the olives for several minutes wishing for a more eclectic assortment. The cheeses offered in the dairy case didn’t amount to much past the standard cheddars and Colby. But what could she expect from a small store in the Midwest boonies?

  Suddenly, it dawned on her that she had no clue what Jason liked to eat, other than the standard burger and fries he’d been ordering from every restaurant they’d eaten at these past several days.

  She stopped the cart. “What kind of food do you like, Ja—Zach?”

  He shrugged.

  “Pizza? Spaghetti? Lasagna? We’re Italian, you know? You and I.”

  “Whatever. I don’t care.”

  It wasn’t right for a kid to be so damned agreeable. Before checking out, they stopped in the toy aisle and Erica let Jason select several things. He picked out little army figures and some oozy, goozy playdough. Erica grabbed markers, paper and coloring books to keep him busy while she worked. As they made their way to the checkout, Erica turned the corner with her cart and almost ran into a gray-haired man wearing wire-rimmed glasses.

  His maroon-colored apron identified him as a store employee. “Afternoon, miss,” he said.

  She nodded.

  “You finding everything you need?”

  “Actually, no. Hasn’t anyone in this store ever heard of Asiago or feta?” At his taken-aback look, she added, “Those are types of cheeses.”
<
br />   “I know. We don’t have much call for specialty items.” He chuckled and held out his hand. “Dan Newman.”

  As in Newman’s Groceries. Must be the owner. “Erica Jackson.” Reluctantly, she shook his hand. “Can I special order a few things?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Other than cheeses, a particular brand of olives, fresh artichokes. Stuff like that.”

  “Why don’t you give me a list? I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Really?”

  “New on the island, huh?”

  She nodded. “I’m bartending at Duffy’s.”

  “Well, then, I’ll see you tonight, and there happens to be a brand of imported beer I’ve been asking Lynn to stock for a while now.”

  She shook her head and laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You do that.”

  Once she and Jason got back to the apartment, Erica asked, “Do you want to watch TV while I make you dinner?”

  Jason shook his head. “I can help.”

  Meaning he didn’t want to leave her side. She set him up at the kitchen counter, gave him a dull knife and set him to chopping basil. A while later, her penne arrabiata with garlic, basil and red chilies was ready. “You hungry?” she asked, scooping up a bowl of pasta.

  “Not yet.”

  After eating quickly, she said, “Well, I gotta get back to work. You want to come with me, or we could call Brian’s mom and see if you two could play?” It was time for the Friday happy hour crowd downstairs. Tonight she was bartending.

  “I want to go with you.”

  Why did that not surprise her? “Okay. Off to the salt mines.” She scooped some penne pasta into a couple of bowls and headed downstairs. She found Lynn in the kitchen and handed her the dish filled with still steaming pasta. “Try this.”

  “What is it?” Lynn took a bite and chewed.

  “Easy and inexpensive. A change of pace. You make vats of the sauce ahead of time. Pasta cooks up in minutes. Sprinkle it with some grated cheese, serve it with a salad and crusty bread and you can charge more than anything else you have on the menu.”