by D. L. Wood
Chloe smiled appreciatively. “No problem,” she said, and headed out to join Ruby.
ELEVEN
Twenty minutes later, standing in the front room of her cottage, Chloe felt like bursting into tears. It was an unqualified disaster. With the exception of a desk in the corner, all of the furniture had been flipped, shoved or broken. Directly in front of her, the remnants of the coffee table lay on its side, shards of glass from its center littering the jute rug, now folded over itself and covered in soil from an overturned planter. The couch was turned sideways, its creamy cushions marred with ugly streaks of dirt. A toppled shelf unit leaned precariously against the back of a side chair, the knick-knacks that had adorned it all tossed or smashed.
But the worst was the blood. Dried rusty drops of it were spattered haphazardly on the furniture and floor. A softball sized brown circle covered the spot where Chloe had fallen after being tossed aside like a rag doll. An even larger circle, smears stretching out from its center, marked the place where the intruder had fallen.
“Oh, dear,” Ruby murmured, swiveling her gaze from the debris to her ward’s ashen face. “Are you all right?”
Chloe nodded. “I just wasn’t expecting it to be this bad.”
She reached down for a broken piece of pottery and Ruby grabbed her hand. “It’ll keep until tomorrow. You need your rest.”
Chloe shook her head. “I’ll never sleep knowing this is out here waiting for me. Besides, what if there’s something, some detail I’m forgetting. Maybe sifting through this mess will drag it out of me.”
Ruby stared at her, hands on her hips. “Thirty minutes, Chloe. That’s all. I mean it, too.”
“Thirty minutes,” Chloe agreed.
They started by filling a trash bag with the unsalvageable remains. Then, with Chloe still busy scooping dirt off the tile, Ruby carried the empty coffee table frame to the street. When she returned, Chloe was preparing to vacuum the rug.
“Don’t even think about it,” Ruby ordered. “I’ll do it. Same goes for moving the furniture back. Just leave it where it is.”
“Ruby—”
“Why don’t you start looking around, see if anything is missing like Detective Sampson told you to?”
Chloe sat down as Ruby set to work. She rubbed her forehead, recognizing the mild throbbing that was always a precursor to a major migraine. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, the activity was a little much for her.
Following Ruby’s suggestion, she started going through the cottage, looking for anything that was missing or wrong. But nothing caught her eye, and everything that mattered was exactly as it ought to be. Her laptop was in the kitchen drawer where she usually hid it. Her passport and other important documents were still in her nightstand drawer, concealed under a few books. Even the bag of camera equipment she had dropped beside her bed the day before seemed undisturbed. She fingered the pieces of jewelry she kept on a small, silver-colored tray on the dresser. It’s all here, she mused, surprised that nothing in the house had been taken. Either I walked in on him right after he got here, or he wasn’t interested in robbing me in the first place.
“Time’s up,” Ruby chided, her round face appearing in the bedroom doorway.
“I’m done anyway,” Chloe said, tucking a renegade strand of curled hair behind her ear and exhaling deeply. “I think you were right about me getting worn out. I should probably lie down for a while.”
“Good. Now go,” Ruby directed, pointing at the bed. “I’ll wake you in a couple of hours when dinner is ready—”
“But you don’t—”
“And I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Chloe didn’t argue any further. As exhausted as she was, she expected she would be asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. But minutes later, snuggled under her duvet, she found herself completely preoccupied by that stubbornly elusive detail about the attack. When replaying the incident over and over failed her, she tried to think about something else. The first thing that came to mind was Jack.
Poor guy, she thought. He got a lot more than he bargained for. And then to stay all night at the hospital . . . Chloe glanced at the clock. It was still early. She picked up her cell and dialed the number Jack had left with Ruby.
“Hello?” a strong voice answered.
“Jack?”
“Yeah.” He paused for a moment. “Chloe?”
“Now what would you have done if it had been one of your other girlfriends?”
“How are you?” he asked urgently, ignoring her teasing.
“Fine, thanks to you. I never got a chance to say thank you last night.”
“For what?” He asked, his tone lightening. “I just distracted him. You’re the one that took him out.”
“Seriously, Jack. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up.”
“Well, you’re welcome. What did the doctor say? I’m sorry I had to go. Some stuff came up and I wanted to get—”
“Don’t apologize. Ruby told me you stayed all night.” Something unexpectedly caught in her throat. “Thanks.”
His tone softened to match hers. “Like I said. You’re welcome. So, really, what did he say?”
“I just need some rest. But only two hours at a time. I ended up with a concussion,” Chloe said, rubbing her forehead.
“Been there, done that.”
Chloe’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? Ruby said you weren’t hurt.”
“I wasn’t. But I’ve had a concussion before. That getting up every two hours is miserable.”
“Yeah, I’m not looking forward to it.” She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to ward off the threatening headache, and changed subjects. “So, I was surprised to see my car in the driveway. Ruby said that was your doing.”
“I had a friend help me. It was nothing. Couldn’t have you stranded, could I?”
“Well, I’ll pay you back for the tire.”
“I’ll just add it to your tab. You can owe me.” Chloe could almost see his impish grin. “So is somebody with you?”
“Ruby. She’s staying the night.”
“Good. You don’t need to be by yourself. If you need somebody tomorrow night, I’ll be glad to hang out. Probably don’t cook as well as she does, though.”
Chloe sighed, feeling guilty. “You really don’t have to go out of your way like that for me, Jack. I hardly know you.”
“This again? Okay—my name is Jack Collings, I’m a concierge at the Southern Star, my friend is an idiot—”
“And you are terrible at picking up women.” Chloe finished playfully.
“Well, if you’re talking about the football to the head thing, after last night I’d have to say things are even on that score. You took a bump on the head from my football, and I’ve got ten stitches thanks to your coffee table.”
“Ten stitches? Oh, Jack. I’m so, so sorry,” she apologized, her voice full of regret. “Ruby didn’t tell me. She said you were fine.”
“Hey, stop,” he said reassuringly. “It’s no big deal. And I shed more of his blood then he shed of mine. I just got banged up a little. Nothing a few days of rest and relaxation won’t cure. Besides, a trip to the ER is the perfect excuse for some time off work.”
“The ER, Jack? That’s more than ‘a little banged up.’”
“Stop worrying, will you? Come see me at the club tomorrow and I’ll prove to you that I’m fine.”
“But I thought you weren’t working.”
“I’m not, Sherlock. I told Mike he could use some scuba gear I’ve got stored there. Just come meet me for lunch, and I promise you a relaxing afternoon with no worries.”
It wasn’t a bad idea, really. The last thing I need is to spend tomorrow alone with my imagination, she told herself. Besides, it was only lunch. And he did save her life. If he was crazy enough to want to see her again . . .
“Okay, then, lunch. Say, noon?”
“Noon, it is,” he echoed triumphantly. “Meet me at the beac
hside bar.”
“Okay.”
“And Chloe,” he said, his voice turning tender. “Feel better.”
Two minutes later Chloe was snoring.
TWELVE
Chloe slept so deeply that she was only vaguely aware of Ruby waking her every two hours to make sure she wasn’t comatose. In the morning, she rolled out of bed to the beckoning smell of sizzling eggs and bacon.
“Good morning,” Ruby sang as Chloe padded into the kitchen. She had on a bright floral housedress that made her short, rounded body look even more so. Fluffy blue slippers covered her feet and her graying hair was piled on top of her head in a loose bun.
“I heard you coming and fixed a plate,” Ruby said, nodding to a solitary dish on the table.
“You’re not staying?”
“I’ve got some things to take care of at the house.” An afterthought of concern flashed across Ruby’s face. “You will be all right for a few hours won’t you?”
“Of course I will. You go ahead. Actually, I feel a lot better this morning.”
“I’ll come by a little later to check on you.”
“You don’t have to do that. Why don’t you just call—”
“I’m coming by, Chloe,” she said adamantly. “So stop arguing.”
Chloe held up her hands in surrender. “Are you always this pushy?”
Ruby slung her bag over her shoulder. “Three daughters, remember?” she asked, grinning. “Pushy comes with the territory.” Ruby hugged her, then left Chloe to her breakfast. It was the first real meal she’d had since the attack, and she downed it in minutes. Not yet ready to begin the day, she made a cup of Chamomile tea and settled into the front porch swing where her thoughts drifted to Tate.
She had dreamed incessantly about him the night before, although, thankfully, there had been no nightmares this time. Just memories. One in particular had repeatedly visited her, of a time at UGA when Tate had come to her rescue. Or at least tried to. They’d been playing pool at this dingy student bar, when a redneck twice Tate’s size started hitting on her. She’d blown him off and wanted to leave, but Tate’s testosterone got the better of him and he took the guy on. He’d been beaten senseless and ended up making his own trip to the emergency room that night.
It hadn’t mattered that he was obviously outmatched. Tate had it in his head that it was his responsibility to deal with the guy, and there was no dissuading him. Once he got his teeth into something, there was no shaking him loose. The same bullheaded attitude had nearly ended his career. Did end it, until this last job rescued him.
She smiled warmly at the thought and sipped her tea. They’d had so much fun in Miami on the weekend the company had insisted she come down to join them. On their final night, when the execs had wooed Tate on a private dinner cruise down the canals of Fort Lauderdale, she’d had her last truly good moment with him. Leaning against the deck rail, he had hugged her excitedly, his eyes brimming with possibility.
“This is it, Chlo. I know it. All of the disappointments. All the dead ends. They were all moving me—us—to this.” His wavy hair had hardly moved in the wind, and his amber eyes focused intently on hers. “Six figures, Chlo. Three plus—and that’s just to start. And significant profit sharing, not just some mere token percentage of a percentage because I happened to be employed by the company when I developed the software.”
She had put aside her selfish sadness over the distance the job would put between them and enthusiastically encouraged him. This was the opportunity he’d been seeking his whole life, and she wouldn’t dare dampen it in the slightest. All she had ever wanted was for him to be happy and content. All he’d ever wanted was for the two of them to be set, taken care of, so they’d never have to rely on anyone or anything again. This job promised to do both.
But as the months cranked by, it became obvious to Chloe that, though the position provided plenty of money, it offered little contentment. When she did manage to get him on the phone he was tired and grumpy, admittedly work-obsessed and dismissive of any notion of breaking away for even a day or two to see her. He’d never not had time for her before. She tried to talk to him about it, to tell him that he needed to get his priorities straight, but he didn’t want to listen. The last time she’d brought it up, during their last conversation a few months before he died, he’d exploded. The echoes of their angry voices still sounded in her head.
“You’re ignoring me, Tate. I can hardly get you on the phone anymore. I’m not some friend you can just blow off! I’m family. Your only family—”
“Ignore you?” he bellowed back. “I’m working, Chloe! Killing myself down here. And not just for me. For you too. Don’t you get that? So you never have to—”
“What, work again? Tate, will you just listen to yourself? I’m fine. I’m making good money. I can take care of myself. I’m not eight anymore. I don’t need you to set me up in some mansion on a hill somewhere. I just need you to be around.”
“It’s never good enough. I’m never good enough. You’re never satisfied with what I do—”
“What are you talking about?” she had shrieked. “You’re the one who’s never satisfied. I’m perfectly happy in my life. I don’t need all the money and the fancy clothes and dinners and cars! That’s your dream, not mine.”
“I don’t know how you got so naive, but I haven’t forgotten that the one thing you can count on in life is that life will turn on you in a second. This is our insurance against pain, Chloe. Our insurance that no one and nothing can ever really touch us. I still see that, even if you don’t, and I’m going take care of you whether you like it or not.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Come on, Chlo. I don’t want to fight.” The edgy anger in his voice was gone, replaced by imploring tenderness. “Don’t you get it? I have to do this. I’m your big brother.”
His soft tone kneaded her heart as seconds of silence passed. “Bigger by only three minutes,” she finally offered up as a white flag.
She could almost see his toothy grin. “Three very long, very important minutes.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Truce?”
“Truce.”
That was the last thing she remembered ever saying to him. Had she known it would be their parting words, she would have said so much more. He really was the only thing she had ever been able to count on in this life. Her best friend. Her safety net. She wished she could have told him that. Chloe slid a finger beneath a gathering tear and flicked it away. At least we ended the conversation well, she consoled herself, raising her gaze to the swelling ocean. At least I can be grateful for that.
It was then that she noticed a taupe four-door parked on the opposite side of the street a couple of houses down from hers. The driver, alone in the car, sat stoically behind the wheel, his eyes hidden behind aviator glasses. And he seemed to be watching her.
Chloe’s radar tingled nervously. Was he there when I first came out? She didn’t remember him being there, but she didn’t remember seeing him drive up the street either. Two days ago she wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but now . . . She stared at him, feeling stupid, but unable to quell her concern. As her imagination churned with thoughts of her attacker coming to finish what he had started, the driver leaned over the passenger seat. After fumbling around, he sat back up holding a camera, turned away from her and starting clicking off shots of the ocean.
“Paranoid,” Chloe muttered, exasperated by her runaway imagination. “Totally paranoid.”
* * * * *
“What’s she doing?”
The voice in his earpiece boomed and he cringed.
“Going inside,” Vargas reported, reaching up to lower the volume. The cottage door closed behind her, but he continued holding up the camera for appearance’s sake.
“Did she see you?”
“Yeah, but I took care of it.”
“I told you not to park so close.”
“I can’t get a good visual any further away.”
&n
bsp; “I think you’d better leave.”
“And what about her?”
“We’ll send somebody else over. We can’t risk her spotting you again.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, dropping the camera into the seat beside him and cranking the car. “I’m headed out now.” After turning around at the end of the street, he cruised past McConnaughey’s cottage, down the hillside, and onto the beach highway towards Binghamton proper.
* * * * *
Chloe piddled with work for most of the morning, playing with the computer layout of the photos she might use for her book before getting ready for lunch with Jack. She chose a white cotton sundress and strappy leather sandals and pulled her hair back in a loose ponytail, trying her best to cover the bald spot where the stitches were. As she grabbed her keys to go, she had a thought and stopped to call Ruby. After thanking her again for breakfast, she filled her in on her plans.
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Ruby chided. “I mean, should you drive? Can I take you?”
“No, no. It’s not far. Just lunch with Jack at the resort where he works.”
“Well, I suppose that’s all right. I’ve got a feeling he’ll look after you. But you make him bring you right home if you start feeling poorly.”
“I will.”
“By the way,” Ruby continued, “I just made some banana bread. Thought you might like some. It’s warm, just out of the oven.”
Chloe looked at her watch. “You know that normally I’d run right over to take you up on that, but if I wait any longer I’ll be late.”
“Well, you should come by later, then. Or I could bring it by when you get home.”
“That would be great.”
“And I almost forgot, I have some of your mail here. I don’t know why that blessed mailman can’t get the houses straight. I’ve had it about a week now, dear. I’m sorry I held it so long. Senioritis, I guess,” she said, chuckling.