I understood Ginger's harassment, but why was someone after me? I could take care of myself, but knowing someone entered my home while I slept gave me the heebie-jeebies. The pain medication I'd taken probably kept me from waking, but still. Made me think twice about living alone. I’d be stopping on my way home to buy new deadbolts.
After my divorce, friendly though it was, I was gun shy. I didn't want kids, but a relationship would be good. Yeah, I was ready for that. Maybe. With a good guy. Unless my relationship wish came from a reaction to the break-in. Crap.
Dirk Johnson's' good looks came to mind followed by flashes of his sexy bod. Wait. What? No, no, no. He reminded me too much of my ex, Chris. Bossy as shit.
My perverse brain, high on sugar, wouldn't back off. Oh, no. Instead, I visualized a rating sheet, with Dirk heading Column A and Chris topping Column B. The tick marks started to pile up and the boys ran even on the looks, hot body and hard worker lines. I thought about the less obvious things like sense of humor, generosity, consideration and sharing. Dirk remained a dark horse, but my mental pencil wanted to give him points for those. Wishful thinking, probably. Chris's self-absorption skewed my take on men. Any interest my ex showed masked a need to control my entire life. The only friend Chris hadn't chased away was Ginger.
Dirk looked better and better. But I'd been down that road. It was a dead end. A cul-de-sac of errors.
I made up my mind. A relationship could wait.
Meanwhile, another part of my brain decided I should report the break-in. There was no reason Dirk or Matt had to know—the intruder had nothing to do with Morgan's death. Or Ginger's blackmail. I needed a sense of security. I’d call as soon as the meeting ended. The cops would have a hard time finding the creep who invaded my privacy, but I couldn't let the situation go. Especially given my worries about being a suspect in Morgan's death. I felt stalked, and if reporting a break-in gave me peace, so be it.
I turned my attention back to the meeting. And work. With thoughts of Dirk interrupting more than I liked.
Chapter Six
The trailer door squeaked open. I didn't bother to look up. “Jim, I told you. The plans will be ready at 2:15 and not a minute earlier.”
“It's not Jim and you’re pretty exact. How can you guarantee that specific time?”
The man had been flitting around my thoughts all morning but I didn't expect Dirk to show up at my job. I plastered on a phony smile. “Detective Johnson. What brings you to my high-rise office?”
He slammed his palms down on my desk. My computer screen shook, but I almost didn't notice. Our gazes tangled and his pupils grew larger, taking over most of his irises.
“Hey, be careful. That's an expensive piece of equipment you just shook up, Dirk.”
“What is wrong with you?” His face darkened. He inhaled, seeming to capture all the office's air. “I told you to lock your damn house. Why can't you understand there's a killer in town and you're in his or her sights?”
I stood, needing any advantage I could garner against the looming, angry cop. My hands took up a “don't mess with me” position on each hip. I leaned forward, my nose close to his. “There's nothing wrong with me. I heard you perfectly and I locked my door. What's your problem?”
He mimicked my tone. “My problem?” He crossed his arms, probably to keep from strangling me. “My problem is that you had a break-in and didn't call me or Matt. Are you covering for someone or something?”
“Oh.” I hadn't expected Dirk to hear about the break-in. Silly me. The police force is fairly large but Granville Falls is still a small town. Don't know how I forgot that.
“You're on burglary now? Let’s see...the Departments of Homicide, Traffic, Burglary—you're a one man police force.”
His expression made me rethink my snarky answer. “The break-in didn't seem like such a big deal.” My voice slipped and the bravado I'd thought I could project proved a no show. “I've already bought new deadbolt locks.”
“No big deal?” His voice echoed off the trailer walls. “The guys called me in after you left. I could still smell the burnt coffee. The creep levered a window. They found traces of footprints but couldn't get a solid impression.” He shook his head. “When are you going to wise up?”
“I told you. I'll take care of the locks when I get home.”
“And the windows?”
He made Chris seem copasetic.
“I'll secure those too. What's with you?”
“The coffee pot was set up to scare you. And I don't want you or any other woman getting hurt on my watch.”
His eyes held a spark of hurt and something more, an expression I didn't understand. It hinted at pride and fear. Whatever drove him had some age to it.
“So you came over here to bitch at me?” I watched him visibly re-grasp his control.
“No, I didn't.”
My blood sugar had dropped, I had a deadline, and I felt feisty. “So, what is it then? I've got a project to finish.”
“I have questions about someone connected with the case.”
My stomach dropped. I'd like tearing Flash apart with him, but I didn't think that was his primary agenda. Not if my trusty gut instinct proved right.
“Sorry, don't have time right now. How about next week?”
“How about tonight?”
“You know, I have a bunch of D.I.Y. work tonight. There's a hard-ass on my case about securing my house.”
“I know my way around a drill. I'll bring some tools. We can talk while I help you install the locks.”
“That's really not a good idea.”
His hazel eyes darkened again. He leaned closer to me. “Got something better in mind?”
Dirk's gaze dropped to my lips and my hormones shrieked out x-rated suggestions having to do with drilling holes and screwdrivers. I licked my lips afraid whatever came out of my mouth next would be a double entendre.
The door slammed open. “Katie, where the hell are those plans? I needed the damn things yesterday.”
Tension swirled thick but Jim didn't seem to notice. He raked a glare over Dirk. “Who are you? You better not be screwing around with Katie. I need her head together.”
“No, sir, I'm not.” The cop's voice dropped for my ears only. “Unless she wants me to.”
Dirk eased past Jim and stopped at the door. “See you later, Ms. Sheridan.”
Jim jerked a thumb in the direction of the door. “Who's he?”
“Cop. Wants to ask me more questions about the...pretzel guy.”
“He gives you any grief, tell me. I'll get the mayor to bust his ass.”
That's the thing about Jim. He'd call City Hall in a heartbeat. He put his meaty paw on my shoulder. “Katie, you had a rough weekend. You know if I didn't need you on this project I'd let you have more time off?”
“No problem, boss. I can handle everything.”
“If you can't, you'll tell me, right?” Jim's a sweetie, but he doesn't understand women.
“You bet.” I turned to my desk and picked up part of the plans. “I have most of this done. Why don't you take what I have and tell me the changes you need?”
Jim patted my shoulder again, grabbed the papers and seated himself at his desk. My thoughts jumped. Dirk seemed interested in me, but he probably wanted to talk about Ginger tonight, if he really showed. I had my doubts about him coming over.
If I didn't have locks to install at home, I'd find someplace else to be, just in case Dirk followed up on his threat to show with tools, experience and questions.
****
I stepped inside my kitchen and wished I hadn't.
Dirk had been right. The smell of burnt coffee lingered like a hangover's bad taste. But that wasn’t what made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.
Looking around, nothing seemed out of place, but my house looked too neat. Someone had been searching, and not well.
My feet wouldn't move, which could have been a bad or a good thing. Tuning in, I opened up to my s
urroundings. The house seemed quiet, no creaking boards or odd drafts. A good sign in my old bungalow. The place seemed empty, but I wanted to make sure.
I'm no hero, so I grabbed my phone, setting it to quick dial 9-1-1 with one touch. I picked up an iron skillet in the other hand and tiptoed through the house. Throwing open closet doors with both hands full was hellish, but I managed. Fifteen minutes later, I took my first real breath since coming home. No one hid under my bed but the energy imprint of my intruder left a nasty feel.
Foregoing my usual post-work glass of merlot, I started dinner even though I wasn't hungry. Preparing food gave my shaky hands something to do and leftovers meant no chopping or dicing.
Dinner heated on the stove, giving me time to replace the kitchen door lock. My hands still weren't steady so the job took longer than expected. A loud creak on the back stairs made me drop the screwdriver.
“You should check your pot. Dinner's starting to burn.”
Shoot. Dirk smiled down at me. I had to fight my hormones again. My overheated reactions were tiresome. I rescued my leftovers and turned to see Dirk inspecting the doorjamb.
His thumb rubbed a scratch and he drilled me with his gaze. “These gouge marks weren't here earlier. Did someone break in again?”
“No. My hand slipped.”
“Sweetheart, don't even try lying to me. Prevarication doesn't work for career criminals and won't work for you. Your hands shake like a bad case of palsy and you jump when I get too close.”
I bit my lower lip. Dirk's eyes darkened. “It's silly.”
“The only thing silly is you not telling me what happened.”
“I'm nervous because it feels like someone searched my house while I was at work.”
His gaze sharpened. “I suppose you picked up a frying pan and went looking for trouble.”
How did he know? “My speed dial was set to 9-1-1.”
“That's a great help when you're bleeding out from a gunshot wound.”
“The house felt empty.”
“Famous last words. Anything missing?”
I shook my head. “It's just that everything looked too neat. Neater than when I left this morning.”
The guy deserved credit. He didn't roll his eyes and I could tell he considered my words. “You're sure?”
This time my head moved in the positive.
He nodded. “Okay. Let's get the locks installed.”
That was all he said yet I fell halfway in love. Dirk picked up the other lock and headed for the front door. My hands were better but still shaky. He finished installing his lock the same time I completed mine.
“Want some dinner?” I asked.
He glanced to the stove. Following his glance, I saw the pot smoking.
“Damn. I hate when that happens.”
Dirk had enough sense not to say a word, a tick mark on my score sheet for him. Instead, he pulled out his phone. “Pizza okay?”
I nodded.
“Sausage or pepperoni?”
“Both.”
He grinned. Dirk placed the order and hung up with a graceful economy of motion. “Pizza will take about forty minutes. Let's start on the windows.”
Dirk didn't say why he'd really come to my bungalow and I kept my mouth shut. We worked together like a seasoned team—a scary thought. We finished the last of the ground floor windows before the pizza guy rang the bell.
“Beer?”
He hesitated and then he nodded. “Sure.”
I hooked two longnecks from the fridge. The paper plates and napkins were already on the table. We dug in.
Two inhaled pieces later, I reached for a third and he broached his first question.
“So you're divorced?” His gaze stayed on the pizza, so I couldn't get a take on why he asked.
My appetite dissipated. “The split was friendly, if that's what you're wondering. We exchanged birthday and Christmas cards for a while. That died out, but you know, the cards were a gesture.”
“What kind of gesture?”
I pondered for several heartbeats. “Probably a sign of ‘no hard feelings.’ Like we declared a permanent truce instead of all out war.”
“Where is he now?”
“Another mindset in a different state. Texas maybe. We grew apart.”
“So he wouldn't have come by here today while you were out?”
“Right. Couldn't be him.” I picked up my pizza but didn't take a bite. “What about you? Married?”
“Divorced. All out warfare. She got custody of the kids and most of what we bought together.”
I figured he got the bills, but he didn't go there, so I didn't either.
“I miss the kids, but they're better off without me.”
I replaced the pizza and pushed my plate away. “That's a load of self-serving crap.”
“No, really. Their stepfather is loaded. They spend time together as a family. It's cool.”
His expression looked anything but cool. Listening to my intuition for a change, I didn't pursue the topic, which was fine because he looked ready to drop a bomb. Guess I pissed him off.
“Mind if I have another beer?”
I pointed to the fridge. “Help yourself.” There's no law against watching a fine ass bending over to find one of the bottles I'd left on the bottom shelf, so I indulged. He straightened and I jerked my gaze back to the plate in front of me.
“Opener?”
“Drawer on the left next to the stove.” Too late, I remembered where I'd stashed the latest written threat. “Wait, I'll get the opener. That drawer is a mess.”
He looked up from the open drawer with a grin. “No problem. I’m an investigator.
“What’s this?” His quiet tone surprised me until my brain processed his timbre. Pissed and getting more pissed.
Always the optimist, I stalled. “What's what? Can't find the bottle opener?”
Dirk pointed. “When were you going to tell me about the note?”
“What note?” My angry tone sounded real, probably because I was pissed. At myself.
He looked at me, just looked, and I steeled my backbone.
“You're not being honest and this is a murder investigation. Does that note refer to Ginger?”
The mutinous look I practiced through my teen years didn't work. He waited for my answer. When I didn't reply, he changed direction.
“What was Ginger's relation to the deceased?”
My hand jumped before I could stop it. Damn him. I fell officially out of love and erased all his tick marks from the good column.
“She attended classes at the center. I don't think it was more than that.”
He sighed and I almost sighed with him. I really was a pathetic liar. “Promise me you'll be discreet.”
“Does the note refer to Ginger?”
“Tell me you won't talk to her in front of her husband. Not that he's ever home, but still.”
“Answer me. Does the note mean that Ginger's being blackmailed?” He paused. “I can speak with her when her husband isn't there.”
I noticed he didn't promise discretion, but I knew I'd gotten all the concessions he'd give. I inhaled like I hadn't breathed in the last three minutes. Maybe I hadn't.
“Ginger received a blackmail note demanding twenty thousand dollars.”
Dirk sat down and led me through a set of questions that might have been painless if they were about someone other than my best friend.
“You understand I can't let this go, right?”
I nodded, too miserable to get snarky. “She couldn't have killed Morgan. Ginger made a mistake, but she's not violent. Whoever did this is underhanded.” I’d been wondering if Rob had killed Morgan out of jealousy and hoped Dirk didn’t suspect Rob too.
“Preliminary autopsy results indicate poison. Poison is often a woman's weapon.”
“Ginger isn’t a murderer.” I thrust my chin out and kept my posture unbent. “She wouldn't even know where to get poison.”
His gaze chilled me.
“Do you?”
“What kind?”
He unfolded himself from the chair and stood looking down at me. I felt like a Lilliputian. Dirk ran the back of his fingers across my cheek. I shivered. Holding my chin in his grasp, he gently pulled my head up. Our lips were too close for words and I hoped he'd kiss me.
“Don't be foolish. Call me if you or Ginger get another note.”
His fingers brushed heat against my lips and he left.
****
Ginger howled. No other word described the noise coming from my receiver. “You told him!”
“I didn't say a word. He found the note in my drawer.”
Somehow I doubted the difference meant anything to my friend.
“You let him find it.”
This conversation was hurting both of us when talking was supposed to help. “I didn't, but that's not the point. He's coming to talk with you, and you need to be prepared.” My cheek still tingled where his fingers had brushed my skin. “He's sneaky. He'll ask you hard questions and make them seem like everyday stuff. Get yourself together, Ginger.”
A hiccup sounded. Crap. “Can you come over?”
My body sent out a dry-throat alert. “Not possible. I'm afraid he's looking for a reason to haul me into the station. Interfering with an investigation would give him cause.”
“Huh. I bet Cop Sexy wants to do a full body search. He wouldn't have to take you to the station for that.”
Not a discussion I wanted to have, but at least my friend focused on something other than the note. “Oh, give me a break. He's not into me. Not at all.”
“He should be. You're gorgeous, smart, loyal.” Her last word broke.
“Yeah, just like a Border collie. Our coloring is the same, seeing as I'm white with black hair. My eyes are brown, though, not that spooky blue some of those dogs have.”
“Oh, stop.”
Good. Ginger had fallen for the distraction and warmed to “let's match Katie up” mode. Not my favorite topic, but if discussing possible mates relaxed her, the ploy worked.
“You have big bones but you're not fat. And you keep yourself toned. If you didn't, you'd never have gotten through class on Saturday.”
Death Stretch Page 5