From the Top

by Roxanne Smith

  The man who’d been swinging the sledgehammer fervently denied he’d touched the damn thing, and declared loudly to the room at large that he wouldn’t be held responsible for a chip in something over two hundred years old.

  Seraphina frowned at that. Gradually, the men began to clear out as she elbowed more and more of them aside for a clear picture. Enough of the wall had been torn away now for her to get several good shots of what appeared to be the base of an antique brass candle holder.

  Behind her, Marc called for his men to file out. As the room cleared and quieted around her, Seraphina began pulling pieces of splintered wall away from the supporting beams. Marc joined her. Without a word, he gingerly grabbed the base of the candelabra and began to gently work it out and away from the wall. After a few moments, he pulled the base free, and the rest followed. He held the candleholder upright for their mutual inspection.

  Seraphina took several photos. “That’s different,” she murmured. The candelabra was cunningly wrought brass shaped into a pair of cherubs joined at the hip and their feet gathered to create the base. Their arms rose up separately, creating two hollows for candles.

  She noticed how the surface shined, odd given the apparent age, then wanted to smack herself. Of course the candelabra was shiny. Not dim from being stuck inside a wall since the seventies, because it had only been there since the drugs were removed. If the item were part of the official investigation of Brendan Berkley, a discerning detective would note the irregularity. Unfortunately, Seraphina was all they had. She wondered, not for the first time, how in the hell such important things had come to depend on her inept handling.

  Marc shrugged. “I don’t know much about candlesticks. I’m more than happy to let this be your problem.”

  She realized with a pang just how big of a problem it was. She also recalled Brendan’s eavesdropping. Seraphina heaved a sigh and pulled her cell phone free of her jacket pocket as Marc left the room. She dialed Oliver.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself. So, we knew our guy was on a tight schedule.” She peered after Marc’s retreating form through the open doorway as he walked the length of the library. Confident she wouldn’t be overheard, she didn’t dissemble. “Brendan had to get the drugs out before today. He did more than take them. He made a trade.” She described the ornate candleholder in detail for the confused detective.

  “That’s not passing strange.”

  “Some kind of ploy, maybe?” She bit her lip. She had other suspicions.

  Oliver’s voice sounded tired. “Or a damn head game. His way of letting you know he’s playing, too, and already a step ahead of you.”

  The slow smile curving her lips surprised her. “So he may think.”

  “Exactly. We can swing this two ways. You can feign shock at the discovery…”

  “Or irritation?” she suggested. “Brendan should expect this to confuse and exasperate me. I was hoping the crew would find his drugs, after all. Tell me, were you able to catch the guy who did the swap? I can’t fathom Brendan would risk his own neck.”

  “You fathom correctly. I received a message that the lackey Brendan dispatched was picked up a few hours later. He no longer had the drugs on him, so they suspect a dead-drop nearby. So far, the guy won’t turn on Brendan. He claims he wanted to poke around Tanbee House for materials to swipe.” He loosed a frustrated groan. “As per usual, we’re left with a token piece of circumstantial evidence.”

  Seraphina hefted the candelabra. “Maybe not.” The loose ends of an idea tickled her brain, but was too vague. She’d need time to think. “The candleholder isn’t so rare as to be one of a kind, but it’s unique enough we might trace its sale. What should I do with this thing? It’s evidence, right?”

  “Yeah, but not yet. Not until the team moves on Brendan. I’m going to reach out and see if we have enough for a search warrant yet. Your drug sample and photographs might be enough to sway a judge. They don’t mind circumstantial evidence when it comes to search warrants. But they’re real sticklers at trial.” He paused, and when he spoke again, the words were weighted with something like despair. “Securing the warrant is a double-edged boon. If nothing comes from the search, we’ll have given away our game to Brendan. Ultimately, it’s the captain’s call. In the meantime, hang onto our evidence until we can rightfully call it evidence. Snap a few photos for me, too. Don’t seem too interested in the candle thingy, or give Brendan the impression we think we might be able to use it against him. He wouldn’t have used anything that could come back to bite him, so I have some pretty serious doubts the candlestick will be any use to us. But I’d be a shit detective if I didn’t exhaust every avenue.”

  She had no idea how Oliver could stand his chosen profession. She couldn’t imagine spending day in and day out trying to worm her mind through the crooked thoughts of crooked men. “You got it. I’ll swing by the drugstore and print what I’ve got on my storage card and bring photos by tonight. Kay gave me the whole speech on insecure e-mails.”

  “That’s my girl. But not tonight. This close on the heels of the discovery, we shouldn’t risk you being caught here. For all I know, Brendan’s hip to the fact that I didn’t actually leave town. Chill for a few days, give Brendan time to relax, and me time to find out our next move. In fact, you should communicate through Kay after this. If I can, I’ll send a runner for the photographs.”

  “I probably should’ve called her to begin with.” The scrape of heavy boots falling heavy on wooden planks sounded behind her. “Gotta go.”

  She didn’t wait for a reply, but punched the button to end the call. Soon, crewmen were trickling back into the bedroom, sledgehammer guy taking possession of his tool once again. She backed out of the room, clasping the dirty candelabra to her breast like a child.

  Still, a half-formed thought niggled at her. She put it away, and focused instead on how best to confront Grant. So far, her apprenticeship was off to a rocky start. But she couldn’t in good conscience continue working with Grant if her suspicions were true. She was more inclined to believe he was in cahoots with Brendan with each passing tick of the clock. The possibility would be disastrous for her, professionally or personally. It would be just her luck to find herself falling in love with a criminal.

  * * * *

  “How do we keep ending up back here?” Grant rubbed his cheeks, not hiding his despair. It was late. Barefoot and wearing only black sweatpants, he felt somehow vulnerable and at a disadvantage. Meanwhile, Seraphina stood at his door in a fine temper. Her steel-gray pea coat and towering heels were like battle armor. He’d waved her inside with a dispassionate shake of his head.

  No one told him how trying this would be. Nor advised him on how to avoid Seraphina’s confrontations. She did more than suspect him now; she very nearly accused him outright of involving himself in Brendan Berkley’s more nefarious activities.

  “For what other reason would you set a watchdog on me?” With the ease of someone in comfortable territory, Seraphina stalked into the living room and tugged off her coat, laying it across the back of the couch. He wondered idly if she realized how freely she moved in his space. “I don’t believe it’s anything to do with my job. This spying is personal, somehow.”

  “Look, be pissed off if you want, but consider my position. You mentioned trust. Well, you could’ve trusted me with the truth when I asked for it, Seraphina. I trust you to do your job. But sneaking around a construction site and getting in the way of my crew…that’s not behavior a man like me lets go uninvestigated. Today, Roper told me you thought you might find something inside Tanbee House. Him, you trust. Me, you lied to.”

  He knew the answer. It struck him as fatalistic to ask. But ask he must, lest she decide he already knew the answer. He had to play his part for Seraphina as well as he’d done for Brendan.

  Her response was to glower. “I didn’t lie. I asked you to trust me, and I
insinuated to Roper that you had an idea of what I was about and were letting me do my thing. Apparently, I didn’t convince him, nor was I right about you.”

  “If you see it that way, then yeah, I guess you were wrong. But if you were in my shoes, you’d have done the same thing. And I didn’t ask Marc to spy on you. I only asked him to alert me when you were on site, and to mention anything that seemed weird or off. Like the camera you started hauling around.”

  He should stop there. Part of him wanted to press her until she caved and offered him the opportunity to earn her trust. Some other rebellious part wanted to push until he saw for himself how deeply her distrust went. And yet another far smaller part of him knew he was risking the investigation to push her so blatantly into opening up. Taking one for the team. The reminder didn’t settle the sourness in his gut or assuage his guilt or self-pity.

  “I have my reasons,” she said through gritted teeth. “The candelabra is an antique. It’s worth something, perhaps. I should look into it.” She started to say something more, then paused as if rethinking the decision. “Actually, the candle thing is probably junk. I’d like to hang onto it, though.”

  But of course. She’d like to keep Oliver’s evidence safe. Oliver had probably asked her to. And Grant could admit nothing. He waved her off as if none of this mattered at all. “Whatever you like. You’re the woman in charge.”

  Seraphina’s blue eyes pierced him like small knives as she studied him. He regarded her openly. Although he was hiding something, he didn’t feel guilty or furtive. The difference lay in that he was looking for any excuse to put it all out in the open. She was the one intent on keeping secrets. If she spilled and confessed everything, he’d match her and put her concerns to rest, laying the blame for his silence firmly at Oliver’s feet. But after both Oliver and Ophelia warned him, he couldn’t be the one to break the silence between himself and Seraphina. He’d respond to her outreached hand, because he’d owe her compensation for the trust she’d have to put in him, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—break character for the sake of his own vanity.

  And that’s all it was, he realized. Seraphina thought he was a bad guy, and it rubbed him raw, even if her misconception was a wrong he would eventually have the opportunity to right.

  He smiled halfheartedly at her continued scrutiny. She seemed lost in her own thoughts. If her expression was any indication, they weren’t good ones. “Have you eaten? I made red beans and rice. I used turkey sausage instead of kielbasa, but it’s decent.”

  Like pulling the stopper from a tub, the tension leaked from Seraphina. Her gaze fell away, and she sighed almost piteously to herself. “Food sounds nice.”

  Later, they sat together on the sofa. Seraphina had kicked off her heels, and their feet tangled together. They watched old reruns of Buffy and stayed up late, hardly speaking. Despite the contention between them, a pull still existed. Grant just hoped it would still be there when all was said and done, and the secrets between them were laid bare.

  Chapter 15

  Seraphina faced the dark of the pre-dawn hours to reach her apartment. She’d learned the hard way Grant did not accept their after-hours activities to excuse tardiness.

  Under the steamy water raining from the showerhead, something inside her rattled around uneasily. Last night, she’d gone to accuse Grant of spying on her, a thing he readily admitted to. He’d explained himself, and had only seemed wearied by her offense. And yet, she’d ended the night with him. In his bed and in his arms. The scent of his freshly laundered sheets still clung to her skin. She was split in two, and neither half of herself could condone what the other did.

  She couldn’t fathom a man as insightful as Grant Gallagher could be ignorant as to what was going on under his very nose. Indeed, having set Marc to spying on her spoke of a man who paid attention and saw between the lines. Yet, he seemed to have an inexplicable blind spot when it came to Brendan.

  She couldn’t reconcile the two sides of Grant, and in turn, she was becoming split in two. When she was acting on Oliver’s behalf, Grant was the enemy. But at the end of the work day, she sought him out as she had no other in her life. She yearned for him, for his company, his companionable silence, his feather soft touch, and his warm gazes. How could she deny him her trust while freely handing him everything else of value she possessed?

  She couldn’t wrap her mind around her inner divide. Eventually, the investigation would end. If Grant ended up on the bad end of events, she didn’t know how she’d ever recover. Maybe she’d keep loving him anyway, just as she kept going to him despite her misgivings. She’d be one of those women who stayed faithful to an incarcerated lover. She’d write him long, endearing letters, and they’d enjoy conjugal visits once a month.

  She snickered to herself, impressed she could amuse herself despite her issues. Even so, the imagery was enough to make her think long and hard about her feelings for Grant as hot water sluiced over her, and steam rose to fog the mirrors. She drew uncomfortable parallels between her need for approval from both Grant and her dad. Did she really care about Grant, or was she trying to earn the respect from yet another man who doled it out sparingly?

  Her father’s abandonment plagued her still. Sometimes, she caught herself checking her phone without knowing why. Or glancing at the calendar to count the days since her last talk with her father, an old habit to keep herself from ignoring him for too long. She squeezed her eyes shut and knotted her fists. Her dad may have left town, but some remnant of him would always be with her, shaking its head in annoyed disappointment.

  It wasn’t fair or rational to ascribe the attitude to Grant. But no matter how tightly she held to the knowledge, no matter how Grant differed from her father, what remained was how they affected Seraphina. And in that regard, she was the same needy, desperate girl she’d always been, seeking approval even if it came with damaging side effects. She didn’t trust Grant, yet she was falling for him. So typical of her. She toweled off and made a complicated decision. She couldn’t compromise herself anymore.

  An hour later, she found herself standing in front of him in his office.

  Today, he had a small smile for her. It was full of fondness and warmth, and a corner of her heart railed at her for what she was about to do. “Good morning,” he said amiably, with a short glance at his watch. “I wasn’t expecting you. I have a meeting, but I can spare a minute.”

  Seraphina inhaled deeply and steeled herself. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

  The open happiness on his face was swept away by a look of confusion that slowly melded into hurt. He didn’t even bother fabricating a façade for her sake. He didn’t feign carelessness or indifference as she’d expected, but stood and made a swift demand. “Why?”

  Why, indeed. She’d wrestled with the answer all morning. Even now, she couldn’t be sure if she wasn’t merely making excuses out of fear. She had so few close ties. As much as she’d wanted a tight bond with her father, maybe she’d been the one to hold back, after all. It’d take a professional therapist, probably, to sort out her issues, but the clearest thing her mind fastened onto was the vulnerability of her increasing intimacy with Grant.

  “Because,” she began softly. She paused, licked her lips, and gathered the threads of what she needed to say. “Because I think some part of me is only drawn to you by a need to be validated. I need your approval to feel valued. That need is at odds with my better judgment. Everything in me cries out warnings against this.” She vaguely waved her hands between them, exasperated with herself. She could barely think straight, let alone put her mystifying emotions into clean, precise words. “My head says what’s between us is bad news, my heart wants to charge blindly ahead. I can’t help but question why I’m so torn, why a part of me holds back. And none of the answers make me feel better. If anything, they convince me to reassert my reasoning, and do the wise thing.”

  Her answer didn’t appear t
o do much for him. He cocked his head to the side, his brows gathered in puzzlement. Then he stood and walked slowly around his desk, pondering as he moved with his usual powerful grace. “You can do better than that. I mean, if you don’t like me, that’s understandable. I’m not to everyone’s taste. If I’m an asshole, well, that’s not a bad reason. But needing my approval? That’s just silly. No, this comes back to the whole trust thing.” He shook his head; his lips were a thin line and his gaze piercing. “I don’t know how to convince you I can be trusted. No, that’s not true. I could convince you. But there would be costs. And as much as I believe you’re worth it, it’s simply not my call to make.”

  She suspected he knew more than he let on about her activities then. “Okay, fine. It’s confusing and contradictory to everything else I feel about you. And it casts a parlor on all of my other emotions. I don’t trust the thing inside me that draws me to you. And I’ll remind you, you’ve had a man keeping tabs on me, and that’s no sign of trust. So all the other stuff can’t mean a whole lot. Not if it’s missing a crucial piece of the foundation relationships are built on. Even if you can look past that lacking critical ingredient, I can’t.”

  “And I suppose it’s too much to ask for you to have faith?” He didn’t wait for her reply, perhaps guessing how she’d respond. “Distrust was never my motive behind keeping up with your activity at Tanbee House. Curiosity. Concern. But never distrust.”

  “Even so, I can’t shake the belief that I’m drawn to you for all the wrong reasons.”

  “Seraphina, there’s nothing wrong with wanting validation. It’s not a sign of weakness. Rather, it’s a very common desire of those who question their abilities or their choices. You think I never doubted myself? Never sought Kathleen’s approval for the decisions I was making about my life? Or confirmation from my peers? Even some I didn’t admire. Because I placed value in their respect. It’s nothing but a compliment to me that you care for my opinion. It means I’m important to you. And it’s not so strange you had the same desire for your father to likewise approve of your life. Those aren’t parallels anyone should be surprised to find themselves drawing.” He came closer and took one of her hands into his. His brilliant blue eyes followed the line of his thumb as he traced it along her skin. “I’m an expert in compartmentalizing. I have to be to run this company with a cool head. When I say I value you as a professional, it is exactly what I mean. I respect you as a designer and as a woman.” His gaze came up and met hers with an intensity that stilled her. His voice grew deeper. “If you care so much for my esteem, then don’t leave me. I would disapprove most ardently. Because I must admit to a particular bias in your case. For the record, you meet every standard I have, and then some. I value you. I respect you. I care about you. I…”