by Debra Webb
They were nothing alike.
She wasn’t going to think about that anymore. She went into her room and put the shoes away in her closet, set her half-empty beer and sandwich aside, and was just about to wiggle out of her dress when she noticed the earring glittering on the carpet.
It was one of those freak things. The tiny platinum-and-pearl stud was so small it was a miracle she saw it at all. Somehow her gaze just happened to land in the right spot and recognition fired in the only two brain cells she had left that were paying attention.
She bent down and picked it up. Since she hadn’t worn these particular earrings in months, she frowned. Placing the earring on top of her jewelry box, she opened the first dresser drawer—the one where she kept her panties. Things appeared in order. She was pretty sure Marg had gone through her things and borrowed something recently. She’d meant to mention that to her and she’d forgotten.
Determined to be sure nothing else had been borrowed, Alex went through drawer after drawer. The more she opened and slammed closed, the angrier she became. It wasn’t so much a particular garment or item out of place it was the keen awareness that her things had been moved… touched. Again.
She marched to her closet next. Oh, Marg had been careful. Every dress, blouse, pair of slacks, and shoes were exactly where they were supposed to be, but Alex could sense the minute changes.
She checked her jewelry box. Not that she had anything expensive, but just to see if Marg had actually borrowed a pair of earrings or if she’d only been looking to see if Alex had bought anything new lately.
Her frown deepened. Now this was where her mother had fallen down on covering her tracks. The earrings were paired together but not in the same place they’d been. Not that Alex was a neat freak or anything but she kept the ones she wore most often on top, the rest in the bottom compartment.
She slammed the box shut and gave herself a couple of minutes to cool off. She calmly finished her sandwich and beer, and then she marched out the front door and straight up to Marg’s apartment. A couple of bangs later and her mother came to the door, wearing a jade sheath that fit like a second skin and a pair of Alex’s shoes she’d completely forgotten about since they’d been borrowed for so long.
“I wondered where those had gotten to,” she said, giving the green snakeskin shoes a confirming glance.
“Alex! I borrowed them from you for the Christmas party. Don’t you remember?”
Marg Jackson looked fantastic in the outfit. Her figure was remarkable for a woman her age, with or without a gym membership. Even her face lacked the usual wrinkles associated with AARP eligibility and years in the Florida sun. Alex had to hand it to her mother, the woman swore by SPF 45 or above sunblock. No matter how great the genes, sun damage could ruin the prettiest face.
‘That was Christmas before last,” Alex reminded her. “And you haven’t returned them yet.”
“I promise I’ll have them back to you tomorrow. Right now I have to go. I’m meeting friends for dinner.”
Suspicion overrode the bone Alex had to pick with her mother. “What friends?” She hadn’t heard Marg talking about any new friends. All her old friends were party girls who lived to drink and get rowdy.
“New friends,” she returned. “You don’t know them.”
“I don’t have dinner plans,” Alex suggested. “Maybe I could meet your friends.”
Marg looked nervous. Damn it. Alex wanted to shake her. When would she learn? She couldn’t keep screwing up. There had to come a time when she realized that she was wasting her life on booze and bad relationships. As far as Alex was concerned that time was now.
“Okay,” Marg admitted, “I’m busted. These aren’t new friends. It’s a support group. Alcoholics Anonymous.”
“AA?” Alex was shocked. Her mother had outright refused to join Alcoholics Anonymous. She’d insisted the group was for those too weak to quit drinking on their own. What had changed her mind? Or maybe this was a trick. “Which group?”
Marg exhaled an impatient breath and dug a card from her purse. When Alex realized the purse was hers, too, she shook her head. Of course her mother would borrow the bag, it matched the shoes.
“I thought I’d give it a try.”
Surprised—no, startled, Alex struggled with how to respond for a moment. “This is good.”
Marg lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “We’ll see.”
That she was even going ranked right up there in the scope of miraculous. “I’m glad you’re giving it a try.”
Marg gave a little smirk. “Maybe you should join one, too.” She stepped out onto the stoop. “There are support groups for those who have commitment phobias.”
Incensed, Alex huffed. “I don’t have a commitment phobia.”
“Really?” Marg gave her a haughty look. “I suppose you consider still being single at your age normal.”
“Yes.” Yes, she did. Just because she was forty didn’t mean she had to be married. There were no rules in this day and age about how old was too old to still be single.
Marg made a dismissive sound as she locked her door behind her. “Denial is a powerful adversary.”
Her mother stepped around her and started down the stairs. Stunned, Alex stared after her for two beats before understanding bobbed to the surface. Marg had done that to change the subject.
“Hey!” Alex marched down the steps after her. “We’re not finished yet.”
At the bottom of the steps, Marg turned to face her daughter. “Make it fast I don’t want to be late.”
“Look.” Alex forced herself to remain calm. This was her mother. No need to get nasty, even if she had played the commitment card. “You know I don’t mind when you borrow my things.”
“I always get whatever I borrow cleaned,” Marg cut in. “And I never lose or damage anything.”
Alex thought about the earring but decided to let that go. She’d dropped her share in the past. “True. But I don’t like you coming into my house and going through my stuff without telling me.”
Marg held up the green clutch. “I went straight to your closet and got this bag. I didn’t touch anything else.”
And just moments ago she’d been taking Alex down the road about denial. “Mother—”
Marg cleared her throat in warning.
“Marg, you jumbled up my jewelry box. You went through my drawers. Just admit it and we’ll get past it.”
Okay, Alex realized she was being hypocritical considering she’d borrowed—she used the term in its loosest form—her mother’s magazines without asking. But that was different. She went behind her back to protect her secret. Marg just did it because she was Marg.
“I did not touch your jewelry box.” She folded her arms over her ample chest. “I did not open a single one of your drawers.”
Alex started to argue with her, but the fury in her mother’s eyes stopped her. Marg was telling the truth.
Virtually the only thing she’d ever lied to Alex about anyway was her drinking.
“So you haven’t gone through my things.”
Marg shook her head adamantly from side to side.
Something far too close to fear seared through Alex. “I apologize for accusing you. I just thought...”
Concern marred her mother’s smooth complexion. “You think someone has gone through your things?”
Alex shrugged and laughed it off. There was no need to upset Marg. She was taking a big step going to this support group. The last thing Alex wanted to do was give her an excuse not to go.
“I’m probably overreacting.”
Marg patted her arm. “We’ve all noticed how upset you’ve been about the death of your detective friend. You should take this weekend for yourself. You work too hard. Rescue Shannon from domestic slavery and go to a spa.”
“Maybe I will.”
When Marg would have headed toward her car, Alex grabbed her and hugged her. “I want you to know I’m really proud of you for taking this
step.”
Her mother drew back, looking a little startled and a lot suspicious. “Are you sure you’re okay, Alex?”
Alex laughed again, the sound strained. “I’m fine. Go. I’ll call Shannon and see what she’s up to.”
“Good.”
Alex watched her mother drive away in her ancient but sporty red BMW convertible. On the other side of the street, parked in plain sight was Murphy’s snazzy black Mercedes. The windows were down and the handsome agent or whatever he was sat watching her. He nodded once.
Alex gave him her back. She was changing clothes, and then she was out of here.
Chapter 14
Apparently Wyatt had not made the best impression on Miss Jackson. He had followed her as she drove to her home. He was surprised she hadn’t gone to the office. It had been after five, but based on his observations he’d concluded that Alex was driven and work oriented. He found those qualities surprising. When he’d first reviewed her background file, he’d expected her to be more of a party girl. Never married. No children. No steady relationships.
She wasn’t that person at all. Alex Jackson’s primary goal appeared to be taking care of people—her mother in particular.
She hadn’t been home more than a couple of minutes when she’d stormed up to her mother’s apartment. He’d had to adjust the volume on his communications link as the two ladies argued. It wasn’t exactly an argument, more a difference of opinions. A smile tugged at his lips. Alex Jackson was one determined, strong willed woman. She appeared to value her relationships with her friends and her mother above all else.
Her background file had provided the fact that her father was deceased and the manner of his death. He had to respect a woman who could take charge of her life at fifteen and make it as far as Alex had, with her alcoholic mother in tow.
Why was it that her ability to bond so well with her friends didn’t extend to any romantic interests?
“What’re you afraid of, Alex?” Not much, he would wager. But something.
She exited her house again and climbed into her SUV without sparing him a glance. She was headed to her friend and coworker’s home. He eased out into the street and followed. She didn’t like that he followed her. He imagined she didn’t like anything that made her feel out of control.
An alert on his phone drew his attention. He played the voicemail from the analyst tasked with monitoring the activities of the local police. Evidently Alex had called a PD contact and mentioned Wyatt. A Detective Patton had initiated a search on Wyatt’s name. He wouldn’t find anything. When a man’s identity was buried as deep as Wyatt’s, a great deal more than a mere database search was necessary.
Alex knew someone had been in her house. Unless Wyatt interceded, she would likely find the bugs he’d planted. The one in her SUV wasn’t operating correctly so he had missed any conversations she had in the vehicle. He’d have to take care of that tonight.
She reached her destination and parked in the drive. Wyatt eased to the curb across the street. He liked watching her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d found a woman so intriguing.
She was off limits, of course. In this game, she was a player, albeit a reluctant one. Not once in his career had he allowed himself to get personally involved on the job. He wouldn’t start now.
His orders were simple. Regain control of the device and determine the identities of all the players.
If Alex Jackson were smart, she would play this his way.
He really didn’t want her to become part of the collateral damage.
Chapter 15
Shannon Bainbridge and her husband, Bobby, lived in a Mediterranean style house in North Miami Beach. The neighborhood was quiet with good schools and escalating property values. Shannon’s kids, a boy and a girl, were off in college, one a freshman at Florida State and the other a sophomore at Georgia Tech, both on academic scholarships. Husband Bobby worked in construction and had achieved the status of project manager. Shannon had been a domestic engineer until Alex opened Never Happened.
Since the kids had already been in grade school, Alex concluded that she had saved her friend from a life of boring sameness—cleaning, cooking, and shopping.
Alex rang the bell and took the time to appreciate Shannon’s gorgeous landscaping. It was part of her friend’s Type A personality. Everything had to be perfect.
Every vine, every flowering shrub, and potted plant served a curb-appeal purpose. The same space conscious attitude defined the interior. From the architectural features of the ceilings and the paint on the walls to the gleaming tile on the floor, not a single opportunity to impress had been missed.
Bobby had the know-how, but Shannon had the vision.
The red paneled door swung open wide. “Alex! What’re you doing here?’
“You’re not on your way out, are you?” Alex knew the answer before she asked. Shannon and Bobby went out one night per week and Wednesday night wasn’t it. They had a schedule for everything, even sex. The scary thing was they never deviated. Is that what happened after twenty years of marriage?
“Absolutely not. Come in.” She ushered Alex inside and closed the door. “Bobby!”
Her sweetheart of a husband sauntered into the entry hall. “Alex! You’re looking mighty fine as always.”
When she’d changed out of the funeral dress, she’d grabbed her favorite red mini skirt, the matching tank top and heels. At the last minute she’d grabbed a silver chain belt and draped it low on her hips. If Murphy intended to keep an eye on her the least she could do was keep it interesting.
Thank God Shannon didn’t mind her husband’s gawking. That was another thing that appeared to evolve the longer a couple was together—the length of time a man’s gaze was allowed to stray.
Shannon elbowed him to get his attention. “Put another steak on the grill.”
Bobby glanced at his wife. “Okay. Sure.”
Shannon grabbed Alex by the hand. “Come on, we’ll have a glass of something bubbly.”
Her friend’s kitchen was large and homey. Loads of travertine and granite, lots of spacious cream-colored cabinets. A working kitchen. Shannon was a self-taught chef. Her husband’s round form attested to that fact.
Alex climbed onto a stool at the kitchen island. Shannon settled two stemmed glasses on the granite surface and claimed the stool across from her.
“Thanks.” Alex sipped the beer Shannon had poured for her. Her friend was well aware that Alex’s preferred beverage didn’t come in a bottle with a Napa Valley label.
“What’s going on, Alex?” Shannon curled her fingers around the stem of her glass of wine but didn’t partake. She liked to get straight to the heart of any matter, whether business or pleasure, before distracting herself with food or drink.
“Can’t a girl visit her best friend just for the fun of it?” To wash down the lie a little better, she took a long drink.
“I see.” Shannon joined her, turning up her own glass to bolster for battle.
Shannon was one of the strongest people Alex knew and she had a curiosity streak—not to mention a stubborn one—a mile wide. Alex had worried all the way over here as to how much she should tell Shannon. She didn’t want to endanger her friend, but she needed someone to confide in. Someone who could look at this with a little more perspective. Someone who knew Alex and could measure whether she was reading too much between the lines.
She’d decided to spill the beans. If she was crazy she needed someone to tell her. Unlike Patton, she could talk to Shannon without worrying that she would launch an investigation of her own. Patton would stir the pot and trouble would end up landing on him. That was the risk Alex wasn’t prepared to take.
“Remember the suicide I cleaned up the other day? Charlie Crane?”
Shannon nodded before taking another drink from her glass.
“I found this thing.”
Alex didn’t beat around the bush. She gave Shannon the whole story, from Hitch’s call to her concern th
at someone had riffled through her things and the fact that Murphy was following her. Shannon listened, not once interrupting her.
“Order up!” Bobby called as he strode into the kitchen carrying his tray of freshly grilled steaks. The smell was heavenly. Alex’s stomach rumbled.
“Let’s eat while I mull this over,” Shannon suggested.
She wouldn’t get any argument from Alex.
They ate slowly, enjoying the good food. Shannon made the best salads with all the right greens and little flourishes that not only looked nice but also were healthy. It was part of that whole Type A thing.
Dinner conversation consisted of the renovations Shannon had decided she needed to do to the house now that they were empty nesters. Bobby grumbled good-naturedly after her every proposed idea for changes. Shannon basically ignored him, knowing she’d get her way in the end. Alex liked watching their easy banter. More often than not they completed each other’s sentences.
Alex wondered if she would wake up one of these days and regret that she didn’t have anyone to be with that way. Hitch’s image immediately loomed large in her head. She ordered herself to stop it. She’d made her choice. It was too late to change it or to regret it now.
“Did you take care of that flat tire?”
The first question out of Shannon’s mouth as they finished dinner surprised Alex. With all that she’d told her, she’d expected something a little more urgent than whether or not she’d fixed the flat. It was still in the back of her SUV.
“I haven’t had time.” Geez, she’d only discovered it a few hours ago. Too much had happened since to think about stopping by a service station.
“Bobby, would you mind taking care of Alex’s flat?” Shannon smiled for her husband, probably promising him a special treat later.
“Sure thing.” Bobby scooted back from the table. “You pick up a nail somewhere?” he asked Alex.
“Guess so.” Maybe she’d run over something in Morningside near the site of the explosion.
“You ladies chill. I’ll take care of the dishes later,” Bobby promised his wife.