by Terry Odell
By the time they reached her neighborhood, Dalton’s grip on the steering wheel relaxed. Other than her directions, the only sounds were tires on asphalt. He wheeled into the parking area behind her apartment building and cut the engine.
“I’ll walk you up,” he said.
“You don’t have to.”
He tossed the keys in his hand. “About tonight—”
“You don’t owe me an explanation.” She pulled on the door handle.
“No, I meant—if you want to go over those files, it’s not too late.” He sat, tossing the keys, staring straight ahead.
Damn, he was unreadable. Did he really want to work? Something had shaken him. Maybe he didn’t want to be alone. That was understandable. Not only babies needed human contact.
Stop. You’ve been cuddling a baby. Your maternal juices are flowing. That’s all this is.
Like hell. These juices were anything but maternal.
Something drummed in her ears. Her pounding heart? No, it was coming from the window. She peered across the seat into the indignant face of Mr. Liebowitz from 1C.
He cupped his hands against the glass like a megaphone. “This is a reserved place. You can’t park here.”
Miri climbed out of the car. “It’s okay, Mr. Liebowitz. He’s with me. He’s dropping me off.”
The old man stood his ground. “You want to visit, you find a spot on the street. This lot is reserved for tenants.”
“Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Miri said to Dalton. She took her neighbor by the arm. “It’s all right, Mr. Liebowitz. Besides, you know I don’t have a car. Technically, the Morgans are in violation for using my spot for their second car.”
She steered Mr. Liebowitz to the back entrance and nudged him inside. Dalton hadn’t started the car. Miri waved from the doorway and turned toward the stairs.
Normally, a session with Elsie’s charges left Miri renewed and uplifted. Tonight, dragging herself up the two flights of stairs to her apartment threatened to consume the last remnants of her energy. Whatever Dalton’s problem, it sucked the life from her bones.
Debating the relative benefits of hot chocolate against double chocolate chip ice cream, she unlocked her front door. As soon as she pushed it open, her pulse jumped. Without comprehending how she knew, she sensed someone was inside. She froze. Backing into the hall, she tucked her keys between her fingers and fumbled for her cell phone.
The lamp beside her sofa clicked on. “Miri? Is that you?”
Miri rushed into the room, closing the door behind her. “Nancy, what the hell are you doing here? You almost gave me a heart attack.” She sat next to her sister, breathing Nancy’s signature scent. That’s what she’d noticed.
In the lamplight, Miri noticed Nancy’s red-rimmed eyes. She gripped her sister’s hands. They were icicles. “Honey, what’s wrong? You’re not still worried about that background search, are you? I told you, everything’s fine.”
Nancy sniffled and pried her hands free. “I know.” She wiped her hand across her face. “Hunt’s on his way out of town. I just spent a week trapped on a cruise ship with his family, plus it’s getting close to that time of the month. Doesn’t take much to set off the waterworks. I was feeling sorry for myself.”
“Okay, let’s slow down. What happened with Hunt’s job? Didn’t he get it?”
“Sort of.”
“Nance, work with me here. Start at the beginning.” She squeezed Nancy’s shoulder.
Nancy shrugged away. “Oh, this is too silly. I shouldn’t have come.”
“Don’t move. I’ve got the perfect fix.” Miri hurried to the kitchen and grabbed a pint of ice cream and two spoons.
“Here we go,” she said and sat on the sofa. “Like old times, right?”
Nancy smiled.
Thank goodness.
“Right. But then I wasn’t such a basket case.” Nancy grabbed the carton and a spoon. “Glad some things never change,” she said, scooping out a huge mouthful.
“At least we’re eating a better grade of ice cream.” Miri snatched the carton and dug in. She crunched on the chocolate chips. “So, tell me everything.”
“Andrew Patterson‘s latest project. He was setting up a whole new division, and Hunt was being considered to run it. I thought it was a great idea because—you know, he’d be helping people.”
Miri nodded. “Migrant worker communities. Improving their living conditions.”
“Right—So, that meant Hunt would be top dog over all the sites in California.”
“Which is a good thing, right?”
“I don’t know. Ever since Hunt found out he was up for the position, he’s been majorly uptight. He called before, said instead of being top dog and overseeing things from here, he was going to be in charge of one site and have to answer to some higher dog.” Nancy skimmed her spoon around the top of the carton, scraping up the softened ice cream. “Which means he’ll have to live near the place. He’s on his way already—to a one-horse town near the Mexican border.”
Miri tried to picture the impeccable Hunter Sanderson mingling with vegetable pickers. No way. But was that Nancy’s real worry?
“Are you two having—trouble? Are you afraid he might—you know?—with someone else while he’s gone?”
“Hunt? Have an affair? Of course not.”
Miri’s pulse slowed. “So it’s the mingling with the menials you think’s got him uptight?”
“I don’t know. I sure hope not. It’s going to be different for him, though.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s nervous. The change from his normal environment. Or maybe he’s trying to be sure he does a bang-up job to impress the socks off Andrew Patterson so he’ll give him the top dog spot.”
“Maybe.” Nancy didn’t sound convinced. Was it something else?
“Then there’s his family,” Nancy continued. “They’re aghast their dear son might get his Italian loafers dirty.”
“Screw them,” Miri said, grabbing for more ice cream.
“Easier said than done.”
Miri touched Nancy’s cheek. “Tell me the real reason you’re here.”
Nancy’s brown eyes softened. “I keep forgetting you do this kind of stuff—you know, make people tell you their secrets.”
“I don’t make anyone tell me anything. I listen. Encourage them to make informed decisions.” She smiled. “And I can usually tell when they’re not forking over the whole truth. It’s me, Nance. Talk.”
“I love Hunt. I’d love him no matter what. I’m not saying rich isn’t better than dirt poor, having been both places, but I don’t need the big house and fancy clothes to be happy. Hunt told his mother where she can stick her attitude, and I’m proud of him. I know he’ll adjust to the conditions of the job after a while. It’s just that—oh, this sounds so selfish and lame.”
“You didn’t come over here to not tell me. What’s selfish and lame?”
“I’ll be stuck—alone—with his mother.” Her voice rose half an octave. “She’ll expect me to be at her frigging beck and call, like tonight, which is why I came here. It’s hard enough to be around her when Hunt’s with me. I tell you, the cruise was a living hell. She’s five-two, but that woman could look down her nose at the entire NBA lineup. She’ll drag me to the country club, to brunches and teas, gallery openings, god-knows what and whine about Hunter working at a job beneath his station. And she’ll try to guilt me into getting him to quit, all the while letting everyone know I’m beneath his station.”
“Do you want him to quit?”
“No!” Nancy’s response was immediate. “He has a chance to do some good. Real good, tangible good for people whose lives need help. Not simply making the rich get richer.”
“So, why not say no when his mother invites you to her soirees?”
“Nobody says no to Mrs. Channing Sanderson. She’s already put together a black tie going away party. Saturday night. Please be there. Please? I brought a dress you can borrow.�
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Miri hugged her sister. “Say it’s the red one and I’m there.”
Nancy grinned. “It’s the red one.”
“Nance, you know I’ll always be there for you, dress or not. You’ve got to relax.”
Nancy sighed. “I told you it was stupid and lame. I needed someone to talk to. Someone who’d understand.” She reached for the ice cream.
“Watch it,” Miri said. “Your bracelet.” She leaned over and fastened the clasp on the gold link chain that was a fixture on Nancy’s wrist. “Got it.”
“I keep meaning to have it fixed. I almost lost it at the gym last week.” She checked the fastener, then shoved her spoon into the carton. “Where were we?”
“Talking about you and Hunt. Why don’t you travel with him? You can probably find plenty to do while he’s working.” Miri winked. “And it might piss off his mother.”
Nancy stopped, spoon midway to her mouth. “Yeah. Why don’t I? Dammit, little sister, you grew up with a double-dose of common sense, and I apparently lost all of mine when I tried to fit into the Sanderson mold.”
“To get you into that mold, they’d have to break you. And nobody breaks my big Sis. Besides, with you by Hunt’s side, I’m sure he won’t be uptight.”
Nancy grinned. “Not for long, anyway.”
“Things good in that department?”
“Oh, yeah.” Her face reddened.
“What? There’s more. Tell me.” Miri leaned forward.
“Nothing...not exactly, anyway. I . . . we thought . . .” She lowered her eyes. “We decided I should go off the pill.” When she raised them, they sparkled.
“Nance, that’s fabulous. When?”
“Six months ago,” she said.
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I’m trying not to think about it. We’re letting Mother Nature decide what happens next, but she doesn’t seem in a big hurry. That’s probably another factor in my mood swing. Major PMS symptoms, and I was hoping this month might be it.” She got up and took the ice cream away.
“Hey, who said I was done? We need to celebrate!”
“I did.” Nancy put the carton in the freezer. “You’ll make yourself sick.”
“Since when are you the boss of me?”
“Always have been.”
Nancy came back and sat next to her. Despite the cold ice cream, warmth filled Miri’s belly. Nice to have you back, big sister.
“Speaking of that department,” Nancy said. “When are you going to settle down with someone?”
“Not sure I ever will.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you will. But be sure you do it for love.” She put her hands on Miri’s shoulders. “You’re a big girl, and I hereby rescind all the threats I laid on you when we were kids. You have my permission to have a fling or two while you’re waiting for your settle-down-with-guy.”
“Thanks, Sis. You want to bunk on the couch?”
“No thanks. I’m going to go home and start making plans. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Nancy lingered at the door. “Seriously, Miri. Take some time for yourself. Feel free to bring a date Saturday night.”
Dalton’s image flashed in front of Miri. His lazy grin, his Texas drawl, and the anguish she’d seen and heard from him tonight. She closed the door behind Nancy, then crossed to the window and eased back the curtain. In defiance of Mr. Liebowitz’s warning, Dalton’s black Navigator remained in the lot.
* * * * *
Seventeen. No, eighteen times. Dalton watched the light from the first floor window grow bright, then dim, as Miri’s nosy neighbor pulled the curtain aside, checking to see if he was still here. Well, he was.
Get a life, old man.
Aside from a couple of tenants dropping bags of trash into the Dumpster, there hadn’t been any action. Upstairs, the light in Miri’s apartment glowed through her draperies. He caught a glimpse of motion and watched the drape slide away, then drop into place. A much more subtle peek than her neighbor’s approach, but a peek nonetheless. Popping his third butterscotch, he zeroed in on the window.
After a second or two, that light went out and another went on. Her bedroom, he guessed. He asked himself—again—what he was doing here. He didn’t have an answer this time, either.
If she’d changed her mind about working, she’d have called. He should go home.
Home. Home was empty. Empty was not good. Not tonight.
If he had her files, he could work. He damn sure wasn’t going to sleep. He’d call, warn her he was coming up for them.
His cell rang as he pulled it from his belt.
“Hey, Dalt.”
Ryan Harper. His ex-partner’s voice jump-started Dalton’s adrenaline.
Dalton rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. “Hey, pard. Thought you were enjoying some R&R. What pulls you away from that woman of yours?”
“Frankie? She’s . . . uh, taking a spa break. Figured I’d check in while she’s getting her toenails painted.”
“Bullshit. You don’t check in from Hawaii when you’re on R&R with a gorgeous woman. Who called you? Who do I kill?” Dalton waited out a long silence. A shadow floated across Miri’s window as she moved through the room.
Dalton growled into the phone. “Come on, Harper. Was it Fozzie?” Blackie would never say anything. But sometimes Fozzie couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
“Cool it. I got a standby alert, might have to cut my R&R short. I called Fozz, okay? To see if he had any more scuttlebutt about why they’d call me since the boss had been damn insistent I take this time off after the Montana op. Fozz said they were short a man, that you’re working a domestic investigation.”
“What of it?” Dalton reflexively rubbed his arm where he’d been creased by a bullet on that op.
“Nothing, man. Just touching base. And in case I forgot, Debbie said you owe her a steak dinner. As long as you’re in town, you might want to pay up. Take your mind off being stateside.”
Dalton thought of Debbie, Blackthorne’s miracle-working lab tech. Cute, blonde, ready to rock and roll, and right now, about as appealing as three-day-old fish. His gaze wandered upstairs again.
“Quit playing shrink, Harper. You’re no good at subtlety. Blackie’s got it into his head I’m off my game. As soon as I wrap up this little job he threw at me, I’ll be in the field.”
“The boss usually knows what he’s doing,” Ryan said quietly.
Dalton clenched his fist around the phone. “So fuck me. I got lazy on a dog and pony show assignment. No big deal.”
“You know as well as I do, dogs bite and ponies kick.”
Bedsprings creaked through the phone. Whispers told him Frankie, Ryan’s girlfriend, was back from her pedicure. Upstairs, the light went off in Miri’s window. He tried not to think of her getting ready for bed. “Next time you take time off, pard, I’d suggest you pick someplace people won’t expect you to come back with a tan. Otherwise, they’re going to wonder what you’ve been up to.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from Ryan followed by escalating murmurs from Frankie.
“I, on the other hand, know exactly what you’re up to.” Dalton lowered his voice, not even trying to be subtle. “She’s okay with what you do? Disappearing, half the time without a word?”
Ryan’s tone sobered. “Yeah. We had that conversation. Hang on a second.” Some muffled sounds, then he was back. “I can talk if you want.”
Dalton gripped the steering wheel. “Don’t worry about me. You make every minute count, Harper. Every damn minute. Take care of her. Don’t make me come hurt you.”
He snapped his phone closed and gave the ignition key a violent twist.
Chapter 9
At a whiff of sandalwood wafting into her office, Miri looked up from her computer. She tried to keep shock off her face. Except for his healthy physique, Dalton fit right in with people who needed Galloway House. The weight on his shoulders subtracted half a foot from his he
ight. He was unshaven, with bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes. Blue-black bags under them, big enough to handle a ten-day cruise, said he hadn’t slept much, if at all. His hair stood up in all directions, as if he’d been yanking on it. She almost asked him if he was trying to prove he could blend in as a resident.
“Morning,” she said. What the hell is wrong? “I’ve got a few more things to do before we can go. Coffee?”
He grunted something that might have been a yes.
“Breakfast’s over, but I’m sure we can find something if you’re hungry.”
His “no thanks” was clearer, but sounded like it was coming from a gravel pit. When he’d called earlier to set up their meeting, she thought it was a bad phone connection.
“Sit. I’ll get it. I’m ready for a refill myself.” She picked up her half-empty mug.
In the kitchen, a full shift of volunteers prepared for tonight’s food line dinner. Since the topic of conversation revolved around whether the Giants would beat the Diamondbacks, Miri guessed they were oblivious to yesterday’s visit from the police. Samantha stood away from the volunteers, scooping cookie dough onto baking sheets, humming as she worked. Peanut butter, according to the aroma wafting from the ones cooling on racks.
Miri mumbled a general greeting and filled a thick white mug with coffee from the urn.
“That’s stale,” Samantha said over her shoulder. “I can make a fresh pot.”
“Maybe later. You’re spoiling the residents with those cookies, you know.”
Sammi grinned. “I enjoy it. Wish I could bake enough for the food line, too.”
“Dream on. The budget won’t stretch that far in this lifetime, I’m afraid.”
Although Miri remembered Dalton drinking his coffee black, she stirred in generous portions of milk and sugar. The man looked as if he had one leg plus a foot in the grave. A little energy boost should help.
She refilled her own mug and forced her curiosity into a little box in her brain, the way she did for all newcomers to Galloway House. When they were ready, they’d talk. Asking questions slowed the process. On a whim, she grabbed a napkin and snatched a couple of still-warm cookies before heading to her office.