He didn’t answer that, which didn’t surprise her since she hadn’t really expected him to. He looked away from her for a moment, seeming to be debating with himself what to say next. When he looked at her again, he gestured toward her attire. “I take it you haven’t packed anything yet.”
“No.”
“You know you can’t stay here, Alex.”
She did. She didn’t want to stay, either. She’d found sleep only because she was exhausted, but since waking every creak and groan of the old house had put her on edge. She’d answered the door when Zach arrived before he’d had to knock. She’d heard him when he pulled up. Unfortunately, she had nowhere else to go. She’d given up her apartment in the city when her marriage dissolved. She couldn’t bring risk to anyone else she knew by staying with them. In truth, she’d planned on staying at a hotel for a few days, but she feared she’d be as alone there as she was at home, which was part of the reason she’d put off doing anything about finding a place to stay.
More than she feared anything this killer might do, she didn’t want to feel so isolated any longer. At least in her home, things were familiar. Even if the memories haunted her, they were hers.
Obviously he took her silence as protest. “This man is dangerous, Alex. If he’s set his sights on you, there’s no telling to what lengths he’ll go to in order to get to you.”
She heard the concern in his voice and wondered if it was the cop in him that engendered it or the man who had once meant a great deal to her. “I know,” she said, even though she believed his message was sent not to threaten her but to prove how clever he was. What else would he do to prove his cleverness? “But don’t waste your time trying to scare me. I’m already scared.”
“Then maybe I can persuade you to get ready to leave. It’s getting late.”
True, it was. She needed to stop stalling. “Do you suppose I can just show up at the Sheraton or should I call for a reservation?”
He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe she’d made that comment. “Alex, you’re staying with me.”
Her eyebrows lifted. As laissez-faire as Zach was known to be, he also possessed an authoritarian streak that had often annoyed her. “I am? How convenient for you.”
He grinned in a way that said he hadn’t missed her implication. “Don’t worry. I don’t have any ulterior motives in mind. Besides, we’ll have a sixteen-year-old chaperone. My niece is staying with me.”
Even if that were true, it didn’t change the inappropriateness of her staying with him. “Won’t your superiors have something to say about that?”
“Why should they care? You’re not a suspect. Although Thorpe contacted you, it’s not a crime to send flowers, so you’re not a victim. The car outside is a courtesy and, if you’re right, a vain attempt at hoping to spot Thorpe. I don’t see a problem.”
She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, wishing she had some other argument to present.
“Don’t try to outstubborn me on this, Alex. I promise you, you’ll lose. Besides, you’ll be doing me a favor.”
“How’s that?”
“It’s my turn to host the family dinner tomorrow night. My sister’s husband was killed a year ago. Ever since then things have been strained and I don’t know what to do about that. On top of that, my brother and his wife seem to be having problems.”
“Her name is Barbara, right? I thought they practically came out of the womb married.”
“They did.”
“What do you need me for? As a cook or to organize a family shrink-a-thon?”
“Neither, but I would appreciate a little advice.”
She scanned his face. His expression was somber, concerned. She thought she understood him now. In every family, but especially in those that were abusive or formed by trauma, familial roles tended to be strictly prescribed. From what he’d told her, his older brother and sister had become mama and papa. His younger brother the baby to be protected. He, on the other hand, was viewed as more of the black sheep, the outsider—or in his own terms, the family fuck-up who couldn’t get with the program.
She’d known thirteen years ago that being cast in that position had hurt and alienated him. But now that wound must go deeper, especially considering that the outside world didn’t view him the same way. He had the respect of his colleagues and peers but none from the people who mattered most to him.
He wanted now what he’d always wanted—to be the hero for a change, not the villain. He wanted to be the one with the answers, and if she could do that for him, she would.
“All right, Stone,” she said. “You win. This time. I won’t be long.” She rose and headed up to her room to pack.
After Alex left, Zach went to back to the table, cleared his place, and rinsed his dish in the sink. That done, he leaned his back against the counter, crossing his arms.
Alex had surprised him tonight, both in her easy acquiescence to leaving her home and her change in attitude toward him. He’d seen a glimpse of it this afternoon, but not full-blown like tonight. If anyone asked him, he’d prefer it if she were still mad at him. At least then if she changed her mind about him, he’d deserve it. This way, he hadn’t earned the redemption he’d sought; she’d simply let him off the hook.
But could she really do that? Set aside her emotions simply because she chose to? Maybe, if all that stood between them was the way things ended. But he remembered that day, a beautiful spring afternoon. They’d been out patrolling the area around Fordham Road and the Grand Concourse. It had rained the previous two weekends, but this day the population was out in droves: young mothers out in the stores, pushing strollers and trailing a line of older kids. Gray-haired abuelitas sitting on the stoop or in folding chairs drinking coquito talking about their grandkids. Young punks in wife beaters and jeans prowling for chicks; clutches of young girls gathered together, giggling, pretending not to notice the boys. And all the noise: the bell of the coco helado or icey man, raised voices and shouting, Latin music vying with hip-hop, blaring from storefronts and car windows.
It was barely past one o’clock and the streets were already littered with store advertisements taken and discarded, spent wrappings from meals sold by restaurants or street vendors, and whatever other waste could be discarded by passersby. A typical Saturday afternoon.
So it seemed incongruous that an hour later Sammy would be lying in the hallway in some run-down tenement, his lifeblood seeping out of his body from a gunshot wound to his belly. They’d been chasing a pair of teenage purse snatchers who’d pushed down one of the grandmothers and stolen her bag.
Sammy had taken off after the pair, and Zach had no choice but to follow. They headed into the building on Webster Avenue and up the stairs that smelled of urine and other bodily secretions. When one of them veered off onto the third floor Sammy followed him, motioning for Zach to keep pursuing the other.
Even then, Zach had known it was a mistake. Everybody knew Sammy’s days of charging in were over except Sammy. He’d probably give himself a heart attack if nothing else. Or he’d be too winded by the time he cornered the kid to actually cuff him. But Zach had continued up the stairs, knowing Sammy would never let him hear the end of it if he didn’t follow orders.
He’d kept running up and up, until he heard the gunshot. One single report that sounded loud enough to shake the building. That wasn’t Sammy’s gun. Zach abandoned his chase and sped down the stairs. He found Sammy on his back, in the hallway, bleeding badly.
Oddly enough, Sammy was smiling. “I know that punk was carrying.”
Sammy was delirious. That was the only explanation for it. Zach used his radio to call in while he tried to stop the flow of blood. His eyes burned and his chest constricted in a tight knot, making breathing difficult. This man had been the closest thing to a father he’d had in the past two years and he didn’t know if he could stand to lose another. “Hold on, Sammy,” he said, but he’d never seen so much blood. The bullet must have nicked an artery. He�
�d probably bleed out before anyone arrived to help.
Sammy shook his head. In a weak voice he said, “You tell Alex I love her.” Sammy’s bloodstained hand gripped his arm. “You take care of my little girl. She’s your—”
Sammy never got to finish. His hand slumped to his side and his eyes rolled shut. Sammy hadn’t finished, but Zach filled in the words for him. She’s your responsibility now. Though Sammy had charged him with that task, he hadn’t been man enough to handle it. He’d failed them both. He didn’t see how Alex could forgive him for either.
But they’d forged some sort of truce tonight. For now, that would have to be enough.
Seventeen
Alex looked up at the two-story brick house Zach pulled to a stop in front of. It was a solid house, sturdy, the type of house young couples trying for kids bought hoping the house had the stamina to withstand the onslaught. That surprised her, as she’d thought the home he’d been referring to was really some bachelor pad in a more hip part of town.
Zach cut the engine and got out, going to the trunk to retrieve her bags. She opened her door and got out. The living room light was on, which suggested Zach’s niece was still awake. She hadn’t given much thought to the girl on the way over. She and Zach had engaged in a stilted and awkward attempt at making small talk, something neither of them proved good at. But now she wondered what kind of welcome she’d receive from the girl.
When Zach opened the door for her to enter first, Alex’s attention was immediately drawn to the stairs to the right. A young girl came bounding down. She was dressed in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, probably what she planned to wear to bed. Alex’s first thought was that the girl was beautiful in a way that highlighted the blood-tie between her and Zach. They had the same eyes, the same coloring. Only secondarily did Alex notice that the girl was speaking.
“Uncle Zach, I’ve been waiting up to apologize for this aftern—” The girl stopped both her speech and her advance. “Oh?” Her gaze traveled from Alex to Zach and back. “Who are you?”
There was no animosity in the girl’s face, only curiosity, which suited Alex fine. “I’m Alex Waters.”
“Way to be rude,” Zach added. “Alex is going to be staying with us a few days.”
The girl’s eyebrows lifted. “I see.”
“No, you don’t,” Zach countered. “Now scoot. You can apologize to me later.”
“We’ll see.” The girl turned and huffed up the stairs.
“In case you’re wondering,” Zach said, setting down her bags. “I caught her on the couch with a boy this afternoon.”
“I take it that’s against house rules.”
“That and she’s worried I’ll tell her dad.”
“Would you?”
“Are you kidding? He’d probably assume it was my influence rubbing off on her. Besides, I’m not exactly credible playing the sex police.”
She supposed not, considering her presence there. Obviously the girl assumed she was there for some reason other than her personal protection. “Well, I’m ready to turn in if you point me in the right direction. Then you can deal with your niece.”
“Thanks.”
There were three bedrooms on the second floor: the master bedroom, the one Stevie occupied, and a smaller one barely big enough to accommodate a bed and dresser.
Zach set her bags inside the room. “I put clean sheets on the bed this afternoon. The bathroom is down the hall. If you need anything, just holler.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll be needing anything.”
“Good night, then.” He paused, his eyes skimming her face. “It’s going to be all right, Alex.” He trailed a finger down her cheek.
She blinked, surprised. It was the first time he’d touched her in any way and she wasn’t prepared for it.
The smile eased away from his face. “Well, anyway, good night.” He turned and left, closing the door behind him.
Alex let out a heavy sigh. Obviously he’d taken her surprise for revulsion, which was far from the case. Feeling tired and disheartened she stripped out of her clothes and got into bed. The mattress was soft and the room was cool. She drifted to sleep within seconds.
After he left Alex, Zach went to Stevie’s room and knocked on the door. She answered almost immediately, crossed her arms, and shot him an impatient look. “What?”
He chose to ignore her belligerence. “I’d like to talk.”
She stepped aside to let him enter. He sat on one corner of her bed, which was still made up. “Say what you have to say, Stevie.”
She seemed to consider that a moment. “Seriously?”
“Sure.”
She shook her head, as if in disbelief. “Well, you got on my case about having a guy here. Then you move your girlfriend in. Not too much of a double standard.”
He’d expected as much. “First off, you didn’t just have a guy over, he was all over you. If anything, you should be thanking me for letting him get out of here with all his body parts intact. But I don’t blame him; I blame you. You agreed to the rules before you came here.”
“I know.”
“Then is there something you want to say to me?”
“I’m sorry for this afternoon. I said that already.”
“That’s not it.”
“I won’t do it again.”
He wondered if her crossed-arm, head-down stance was for effect or if she actually did regret what she’d done. Either way, he felt too much like a stern father, too much like his brother, for his own comfort. He patted the bed beside him as an invitation for her to sit. She did and leaned her cheek against his shoulder.
“And just so you know, Alex isn’t my girlfriend. She’s a friend who needs a place to stay. If you weren’t so busy moping in here”—he tugged on the set of earphones around her neck that still emitted a tinny whine of music—“you might have noticed she’s in the room next to yours, not in mine.”
“Oh.”
“So are we cool now?”
She gave a shudder. “Don’t say cool, okay? Adults just shouldn’t try to sound like kids.”
He resisted the urge to tell her cool was cool long before she was born. “Have we an accord, then?”
She made a groaning noise. “Yeah, we’re cool.”
He patted her leg. “I’m going to bed. Don’t stay up too late.”
“I won’t.”
Yeah, and he was Joan of Arc, too. “See you in the morning.”
He went to his bedroom, stripped off his clothes, and got into bed. It had been a long, mostly unproductive day. Sleep didn’t come easily and his mind refused to settle down, turning the investigation over and over until nothing made sense.
Then there was Alex only two doors away. Was she asleep already or was she as tormented as he?
Alex woke to the scent of waffles and bacon cooking. In her sleepy state she contemplated what distinguished the scent of waffles from ordinary pancakes and couldn’t put her finger on it. She only knew she knew the difference.
Her second thought was a bit of wonderment that waffles were being cooked at all. In order to cook waffles one had to be domesticated enough to own a waffle iron. She hadn’t expected Zach would be.
She stretched and threw off her covers. Regardless of what was cooking or who was cooking it, she realized she was hungry. She put on her robe, grabbed a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and underwear and headed to the bathroom. A brief shower later, she was dressed and heading down the stairs toward the kitchen. She doubted Zach was the one plying his culinary skills, since his door was still closed and his niece’s was open.
“I hope you’re hungry,” the girl said as Alex walked into the kitchen.
Alex had to stop thinking of her as “the girl.” “What’s your name?”
“Stevie. It’s really Stephanie, but everybody calls me Stevie.”
“My real name is Alexandra, but everybody calls me Alex.”
Stevie smiled, gesturing toward the table in a way that indicated
she should have a seat. “Hi, Alex. You want some waffles? I only burned them a little.”
“Sure.” Alex sat at the table where milk, sugar, butter, and syrup were already laid out on a little tray. Alex wondered at that, since it was obviously a breakfast table. Did she plan on serving Zach, also?
“I made some coffee, too.” She placed a mug of it in front of Alex before removing the items from the tray and putting them on the table.
So it was she, not Zach, whom Stevie had planned to butter up with a breakfast tray. Interesting. What exactly did this girl want from her? Alex added milk and sugar to her cup, deciding to let the girl play her own hand. “Can I help with anything?”
“No, I got it covered.” Stevie came over to deposit a plate with three whopping waffles and several rashers of bacon in front of Alex.
Maybe the girl was trying to fatten her up, as well, Alex thought, amused.
Stevie slid into the seat across from her, one leg curled beneath her and one elbow on the table. She propped her chin on her fist. “So how do you know my uncle?”
That didn’t take long. Alex took her time pouring syrup on her waffles. “Aren’t you going to have some?”
“I don’t eat carbs and fat.”
Alex almost laughed, since Stevie didn’t mind practically shoving the same down her throat. Alex cut a piece of waffle off with her fork and brought it to her mouth and chewed. “They’re really good. You should try some.”
Stevie made an impatient noise. Silently Alex chided herself. As a psychologist she should be above playing head games with a sixteen-year-old. “My father was your uncle’s first partner. I was a little bit younger than you are when I met him.”
“Oh.” The girl eased into a regular sitting position. “Your dad was a cop? That bites, doesn’t it?”
Body of Lies Page 17