(2002) Chasing Darkness

by Danielle Girard

  The thought terrified her. Sushi and jazz, Nick had said, as though they were two totally normal things for adults to do. Two things, aside from fun, that Sam knew nothing about.

  Somehow she had thought maybe they would end up in a sports bar or something. Now the evening was beginning to sound like a date. Her stomach made foreign flutters and she found herself tempted to turn around and retreat to safety. Already the day had been exhausting—Corona’s scolding, the picture in the file.

  The picture and the note were in her purse. She would ask Nick about the photo. At least she would accomplish something if the rest of the evening was miserable. And it would give them something to talk about. Something she knew enough to talk about. Evidence, crime scenes, prints—those were the things she knew.

  She looked at the front of the restaurant, and a part of her longed to go home and slip under the covers. She craved the feel of her flannel sheets and wished she’d brought an extra sweater. She was perpetually cold, the last remnant of her Southern upbringing. Everything else she’d managed to rid herself of, but the constant chill reminded her of how far she’d come, both physically and mentally.

  Fastening the top button of her suit coat, she straightened the sweater she had draped over the coat and moved briskly toward the restaurant entrance. Yoshi’s was a wide-open room with a small area filled with people seated in traditional Japanese style, on pillows on the floor. She wanted to look at her sock choice but held herself back, hoping they were sitting at a table.

  “How may I help you?” a thin Asian woman asked as Sam entered Yoshi’s.

  “I’m meeting someone here.” Sam scanned the room for Nick.

  “The name, please.”

  “Nick Thomas.”

  The woman eyed her carefully and nodded, turning her back. But before she looked away, Sam felt ice in her look. “Follow me.”

  Nick sat at a table for two, tucked in a corner. He stood as Sam approached. “Thank you, Ava,” he said to the Asian woman and pulled Sam’s chair out for her.

  “You come here often?” she asked, shaking off the added chill from Ava’s stare.

  “I used to—back when it was on Claremont. This is only my fourth or fifth time down here.”

  Sam moved awkwardly into her seat. Suddenly, she wished the boys had been able to come. She felt strange being out with Nick without it being case-related. “Any word on Lugino’s toxicology?”

  Nick raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “You want me to celebrate my birthday by talking about Lugino?”

  Flushing, she shook her head. “I just—”

  Nick leaned toward her and touched her hand. “Came back today. No signs of heroin. Traces of marijuana, as we expected. We’ve got him on possession. We found some pot and paraphernalia in his car. We’re holding him on that. It’s all we can do for now.” He paused. “Now, no more shoptalk, Agent Chase.”

  She smiled and saluted his serious tone.

  He held her gaze. “You look gorgeous.”

  She shook her head and found herself laughing, the stress of the day draining through her toes as she started to relax. Oh, God. Laughing. It felt so good.

  “That wasn’t meant to be funny.”

  Her laugh grew heartier. Except for Nick, Sam had no friends who weren’t directly related to the Department of Justice or her boys. And even he was only slightly outside that circle. Her work and her boys, they were her life. And tonight she needed a break from that life.

  “I’m glad we’re doing this. I could use a fun night out, and so could you.”

  “That’s for sure.” She laid her napkin across her lap. “Hellish day at the office.”

  Nick smiled. “Corona on your ass about the case?”

  She nodded. “You too?”

  “Bad. I was serious, no work talk tonight. Deal?”

  “Add Derek and Rob, and I’m in.”

  Nick reached his hand across the table and Sam shook it. Her craving for that drink was beginning to wear off.

  The waitress arrived with a teapot and two ceramic cups.

  “I ordered us green tea.”

  Sam exhaled, remembering her last date. It was too pathetic to think about how long she’d gone without male companionship. The date had been shortly after her divorce, before the boys had come to live with her. Her neighbor had pushed Sam to meet a young friend of hers, and finally Sam had conceded. The man had ordered a bottle of wine without her knowledge and then stared at her disbelievingly when she told him she didn’t drink. Nick already knew she didn’t drink—and she’d never seen him drink either.

  She picked up an upright menu with pictures of the sushi and read the names out loud. “Maguro, hamachi, ebi, kappa makki.” She drew out each syllable and scrunched her nose.

  “You’ve never had sushi.”

  She looked at him.

  He laughed. “You should’ve seen your face. You looked like a rookie with his first corpse.”

  Sam blushed. “It just looks so—”

  Nick smiled. “Raw?”

  “Something like that.”

  He pried the menu out of her hands. “I’ll order for us. Do you trust me?”

  The silent alarms should have sounded. This was the point when they always did. But instead she just nodded. The wild thing was, she did trust him—as much as she trusted anyone.

  Chick Corea finished his set just before ten and Nick led Sam toward the door. The sounds still surrounded her in a soothing wave of bass and drums and saxophone. She longed to go back and listen to the second set, to keep this feeling. Anything to avoid returning to the real world. She knew that wasn’t like her. She shouldn’t have been thinking that way, but at that moment, prolonging the escape seemed ideal.

  As they stepped onto the sidewalk, an Amtrak passenger train rumbled down Embarcadero West right in front of the restaurant, and Sam savored the sound as she had Chick Corea’s music and the cinnamon jazz of Nick’s own voice. She was intoxicated with the relief of setting aside everything for just a few hours. She took Nick’s hand and squeezed. He held on.

  When the train had passed, Nick turned to her. “What did you think of the sushi?”

  “It takes some getting used to, but I think I like it.”

  Dropping her hand, he looped his arm in hers, pulling her close. “And the jazz?”

  “Same answer, detective. I take it you’ve listened to jazz your whole life?”

  Nick stared up at the sky as he spoke. “Never got into anything else. No disco, no rock and roll. I was the only kid in college listening to Miles instead of Mick.”

  He laughed and looked back at her, studying her face before speaking again.

  “I was the youngest of six kids. When I was twelve, my dad died. My mom’s younger brother, my Uncle Ray, used to come pick me up and take me to watch his band practice. There were six of them. All of them had nicknames. Ray was called Sunnie—like Sunnie Ray—because he had the widest smile. And his teeth were so white against his dark skin. Artie played the trombone. He wouldn’t let anyone call him anything but Artie. But behind his back we called him Bear-bone. Mixer played the sax.”

  She laughed as they walked slowly down the street. Neither rushed. “Mixer?”

  “I never did find out where that nickname came from. He worked construction, so maybe it had to do with mixing cement. The other guys were Tree and Zebra. Tree was as big as his namesake, and Zebra had two white stripes through his hair on either side of his head. Then there was Runt. He was only about five-seven and he played bass. They used to call me Runt Junior.”

  Sam laughed, looking up at Nick. “You?”

  “I didn’t grow until college. I was always the shortest kid in school.” He stopped and shook his head as though living a memory. “You should’ve seen Runt play the bass. Man, he was good.” Nick paused. “He was killed in a knife fight when I was seventeen. The guys gave me his bass. I still play, but I’m not any good.”

  She touched his arm. “They played jazz?”
>
  He nodded. “All the classic stuff—Miles, Thelonius Monk, Charlie Parker, Mingus.”

  “Who?”

  Nick looked shocked. “You’ve never heard of Miles Davis?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe the name.”

  “You haven’t lived until you’ve heard Miles Davis. He and Chick Corea used to play together. And Thelonius Monk? You don’t know Thelonius Sphere Monk?”

  She shook her head.

  “Wow.” He smiled. “You’ve come to the right place, then. I’ll get you up to speed in no time. Sometime you can come check out my vinyl collection. I’ll play you some of my favorites.”

  His energy radiated through Sam and she felt herself giggle. How long had it been since she’d giggled? Had she ever? Sam could feel the cool bay wind, and she pulled her coat around her neck. Nick stopped her and, turning her to face him, began to button her coat for her. She shivered.

  “You’re out here freezing and you’ve got your sweater tied around your neck,” he scolded.

  “It’s too cold to take my coat off to put it on underneath.”

  Nick shook his head and touched her cheek, pulling her close.

  Cars passed on the street as people filed out of the nightclub, moving in a blur of color and words. Sam didn’t hear anything they said, didn’t see anyone clearly.

  Instead, her every neuron was focused on Nick. The way the blue lights from the window reflected off his skin, the light stubble of his beard, the golden hazel of his eyes that looked green in the cast of the lights. His chest pressed against hers and she felt his lips touch her ear. Then her cheek. She felt him coming close, nearing her mouth. She felt a wave of excitement and then apprehension. He barely touched her, his lips only brushing against hers. And then it was over and she suddenly longed for more.

  “Do you want to come by my apartment—hear a couple of those albums I was talking about?” he whispered.

  Without speaking, she nodded. She did want to go. She just didn’t trust herself to say it out loud.

  “Really?”

  She nodded again, forcing her feet to move alongside his. But she didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to leave. Unwilling to return to reality even to drive, she longed to remain in his arms, right there on that street. “Where are you parked?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I got a ride over.”

  “Why?”

  He grinned. “I lost my car keys.”

  Sam laughed. “Again?”

  He nodded as they headed together to her car.

  “Here, then, but don’t lose them,” she said, handing him her keys.

  He looked puzzled. “You want me to drive?”

  With a quick breath, she nodded.

  Nick closed his hands on the keys and narrowed his gaze. “You’re sure?”

  Settling her mouth around the words that she wanted to come out, she said, “Just a couple of albums, then I’ll go home.”

  He nodded slowly. “Okay. I’d love to play a couple for you.”

  On the drive, Sam leaned back and let the music replay in her mind. Since she’d stopped drinking, nothing but reading had allowed her to escape. Night was the time when she missed alcohol most. Being able to relax enough to not worry, to get a full night’s sleep without waking up hour after hour and fretting about the past and the future and the hundred other things that ran through her brain.

  The photo came to mind again, and she knew she should tell Nick. But she didn’t want to think about it, let alone talk about it. Not now. Not when things were so perfect. He would worry, and she didn’t want that either. Tonight she just wanted to enjoy him.

  Even with Brent before the divorce, she’d kept her concerns to herself. It wasn’t part of their arrangement. She kept up the appearance of perfection—inside and out. And he took care of all their physical needs—house, food, cars. There weren’t supposed to be emotional needs. She was a cop, for God’s sake. Cops didn’t have emotions. The way Sam saw it, Brent’s marrying a cop had been his way of stretching to the limit. He was sophisticated, high class, and she was in law enforcement. Look how unusual he was, how open-minded. She just wasn’t the typical doctor’s wife. And yet she still cleaned up well.

  Marrying a beautiful cop made him seem deeper. And then there were all the great jokes with his buddies about what it was like to tame a rough one. She’d overheard that more than once. But Brent had very little sex drive—which had been fine with her. They never discussed anything emotional, never reached beyond the surface.

  His definition of being a doctor was treating physical ailments. He didn’t know or care what was going on in her brain. Not until he realized that she was damaged goods.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  Sam started. “Nothing.”

  “I thought you said you trusted me.”

  Sam turned to meet his gaze and nodded. “I do.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “I was thinking about something in the past,” she said, somehow unable to stop herself from speaking. The two sides of her were at war—the one urging her to keep it all inside, the other demanding that she be truthful and not screw up her one friendship.

  “Is there something about the past you want to tell me?”

  She shook her head.

  Nick didn’t push. They pulled off at the Concord Avenue exit, into the thick of strip malls, gas stations, and video stores. Slowly the area became residential. He continued four blocks before turning left down Bonifacio Street toward Baldwin Park and then taking a right into his apartment complex.

  Sam grabbed her purse and got out of the car. Nick took her hand and led her to his door. “It might be messy.”

  She nodded, unable to speak above the pounding of her heart. He opened the door and flipped on a light.

  She wandered in a slow circle, surveying her surroundings with the same caution she used on a crime scene. The room was practically empty. A folded futon and a TV sat in one corner. Next to the TV was a stereo with a turntable and cartons of albums. “There must be three hundred here.”

  “Five hundred and thirty-six. Most of them were Ray’s.”

  Sunnie Ray, she thought, smiling. “You can’t get this stuff on CDs?”

  “Sure you can. But do you know how much it would cost to replace this collection?”

  A chair and an old bass sat across the room. She walked toward them and ran her hand over the polished wood. “Runt’s?”

  He nodded.

  “Not much furniture,” Sam commented.

  “Sheila took most of it. I never got around to getting any more.”

  She caught his eye, but saw no feeling there. Perhaps he felt like she did about her divorce. She didn’t miss Brent at all. The last name Chase was the only thing she’d kept from the relationship. And that was only because she’d sworn that she’d never be an Everett again.

  She dropped her purse on the floor and turned to the one other door in the place. It was half open, and she stepped forward, glancing inside. The bedroom. She caught sight of a double bed with a plaid comforter, a chest of drawers, and a small bedside table. She backed up quickly, but Nick was standing right behind her. They collided and Nick caught her arm, righting her and quickly letting go. They laughed awkwardly. “Sorry.”

  “That’s the bedroom.”

  She nodded and turned her back to it, taking a few steps away. She rubbed her hands together and looked at the blank white walls. Everything about the place felt lonely.

  Nick crossed the room and knelt at the stereo, selecting an album and setting it on the turntable.

  Sam walked slowly around the small room, glancing into the kitchen, where one dish sat in the sink. Nick was wrong. It wasn’t messy.

  When the sound of a low horn started, Sam froze, unsure whether to stand still or run away and hide. Her palms felt moist and her legs and chest shook. She was cold but hot, dizzy but clearheaded.

  Nick stepped out of his shoes and reached his hand out to her. />
  She stared at it and then shook her head. “I can’t dance,” she said, breathless.

  “You’ll be perfect.”

  She felt the wings of a million butterflies in her belly. Exhaling, she let herself put her hand in his, let him pull her close, let her body mold against his.

  “I really should be going home soon—”

  “We have all the time in the world. Whatever it is, Sam—whatever happened in your past, I’m willing to wait. But you have to trust me.” He tapped her head lightly with two fingers. “You have to tell me what’s going on in there.”

  She tucked her head into his chest and squeezed her eyes closed. If it were only that easy. She had spent eighteen years fighting to be independent, only to fall into the trap of what she thought was a caring man. It had almost killed her—the drinking, the desire to die. She had been that close. Only the job had pulled her through.

  Then she’d gotten the boys and gone to the Department of Justice and things had become stable, even comfortable. She loved those boys. They had needed her and she took care of them. It had been simple when they were young. But now, with Rob misbehaving, it was becoming tougher.

  Nick’s arms tightened around her and she yielded to the comfort of his strength. She wanted to believe she could trust him.

  But what if she was wrong? What if he was another Brent? She couldn’t take that again. She wouldn’t.

  Chapter Twelve

  Gerry crouched in the dark along the side of the house, waiting for the little girl to come to bed. He had a perfect view of her room. He’d first seen her with little Molly down the street, the one whose mother was dead. It made him smile. Any mother who would hurt her little girl deserved what she got. He thought about his own sister and how beautiful she was. He’d never let anyone hurt her. He would never hurt kids. He loved them—he would love them forever. He grew at the thought of getting a chance to love the little girl inside the house.

  But the best part was that he’d found Sam Chase. She had come here that same day. He’d been following her for two whole days now. He’d been to her building. And he’d seen her house.

  He felt like he was even getting lucky, and he knew if he found the right time, Sam would help him get back to prison. He just had to do things exactly right.