by Terri Reed
Kenzie stood. “He’s so cute.”
Melody nodded her agreement. Sherlock, and Parker, were cute. Too cute for comfort. A fact she’d been trying hard to ignore the past few days but was failing miserably. Every time she looked at him her insides turned to mush. Not the best reaction to be having to her coworker.
The couple said goodbye and left.
Alone again with Parker and Sherlock, Melody debated inviting them inside. She couldn’t remember what state she’d left the apartment in.
“We should go to the hardware store and get that extra dead bolt,” Parker said, drawing her from her thoughts.
“I can do that tomorrow.” She didn’t need him to take care of her. She was capable of installing a dead bolt on her own.
“I’d rather you didn’t wait,” he stated, stepping closer. His gaze touched her face like a caress. “Your safety is important.”
His words reverberated through her. He sounded like he really meant what he’d said.
Of course he did. He’d care about anyone whose life was in danger. He was a kind and compassionate man. An officer with fierce protective instincts. And she was being ridiculous to think otherwise.
If she were in Parker’s shoes she’d be telling herself not to wait, but to get the second dead bolt tonight, too.
“Just don’t get used to bossing me around, okay?” Though if she were honest with herself, it felt kind of good to have someone else call the shots.
He held up his hand in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Feeling contrite for snapping at him, she said, “Sorry. I’m used to being the one in charge.”
“I’ll bet your parents had their hands full with you as a kid.”
She stiffened. He didn’t know what she’d endured growing up. And now was not the time to enlighten him. “Let’s go get that dead bolt.”
SIX
Parker followed Melody back to her apartment from the hardware store. As they entered her hallway, the most amazing smell hit him, making his stomach growl with hunger. Garlic and spices. Someone was cooking and it made him aware that he hadn’t eaten dinner yet. Neither had Melody. He was about to ask her to dinner when the door to 4C opened and a big burly man stepped into their path, wearing a bright orange apron, smudged with red sauce, over his jeans and T-shirt.
“Ho there, Detective Zachary. How are you this evening?”
Melody stopped to smile at her neighbor. “I’m good, Mr. Hendrix. And you?”
“Good, good.” Curiosity gleamed in his hazel eyes as he took in Parker and Sherlock. “Who’s this?”
“This is a coworker, Parker Adams. Parker, my neighbor, Stan Hendrix.”
Parker offered the man his hand. Stan’s grip was firm but not crushing. He looked to be in his mid-sixties, average height and build, with a bushy white mustache and little hair on the top of his head. His girth spoke volumes of his cooking.
“Mr. Hendrix, someone tried to break into my apartment earlier this evening,” Melody said.
Concern rippled across the older man’s face. “That’s not good.”
“I wanted you to know so you’d be careful.”
Parker appreciated her thoughtfulness toward her neighbor.
Sherlock sniffed at Mr. Hendrix’s shoes, then his little pink tongue darted out to taste the top of his left loafer.
“Leave it,” Parker admonished the beagle and tugged the dog back.
Mr. Hendrix chuckled. “Guess he likes my pasta sauce. I spilled a bit on the floor. Must have tagged my shoe.”
“Mr. Hendrix is a chef by trade,” Melody explained.
“Retired,” Mr. Hendrix clarified. “Though I have been thinking about opening a new place. I heard that Arianna’s Diner has been put on the market.”
“I’m sure you’d have a successful restaurant if you decided to dive into the business,” Melody said. “I’d frequent the place for sure.”
She started for her apartment when Mr. Hendrix asked, “Have you two eaten yet?”
“No, sir,” Parker answered. “Whatever you’re making smells delicious.”
Stan grinned. “Well, then you’re in luck. I made an extra batch of manicotti. Hold on a sec,” he said, and disappeared inside his apartment.
“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Melody said with mirth dancing in her eyes.
“I didn’t mean...” Embarrassed, Parker let the words dangle.
She waved off his dismay. “He loves to show off his cooking.”
When Stan returned, he carried a pan of delicious-looking manicotti. Tubular pasta shells stuffed with rich ricotta cheese. The sauce made of spices, tomatoes, basil and garlic. Parker’s mouth watered.
“You don’t have to do this,” Melody protested when he offered her the pan. Though her protest didn’t have much vehemence to it. Made Parker think they’ve been through this routine before.
“I know I don’t,” he huffed. “But I made way too much.”
She kissed his cheek with affection. “Thank you.”
He transferred the pot holders and pan to her hands and winked. “Enjoy.”
It was obvious Stan thought something was going on between them. Before Parker could disabuse him of the idea, Mr. Hendrix disappeared back inside his apartment.
Parker noted the slight pink hue to Melody’s cheeks and couldn’t help being amused and a bit intrigued. He had to admit if he were in the market for a relationship, she’d be an excellent candidate. Smart, pretty, thoughtful and enjoyable company. But he wasn’t. His focus was on the job. There was no time or energy to pursue a love life or to risk failing one. Though he could be a friend to Melody.
Friends didn’t put unobtainable expectations on each other, which seemed to be part and parcel of romantic relationships.
“Does he often offer you food?” Parker asked, taking the key from her hand and unlocking her apartment door.
“Usually he invites me in to eat with him,” she replied as she moved past him and entered her apartment. She went straight to the kitchen bar and set the pan of manicotti down.
Parker closed the door and looked around. The apartment was small, but comfortable. And surprisingly feminine. With her tailored suits, sleek hair and minimal makeup, he’d expected a more austere or modern place in maybe a black and white monochromatic scheme or in a neutral palette. Not so.
The walls were painted a light dusty blue, the carpet a thick-cut pile in a soft eggshell. A cozy sitting area was the centerpiece of the living room. Two floral-printed love seats sat across from each other. A glass table between the couches looked weighted down with numerous women’s magazines. The built-in cabinetry in a light wood grain was filled with books, trinkets and DVD cases. However, he didn’t see a television. Must be in her bedroom. He had to admit he was curious to see what her inner sanctuary was like. Would her private space be flowery and girly, too?
Steering his thoughts from that dangerous land mine, he noted that plants topped every available surface. Large feathery ferns stuffed between rows of books. Fresh roses on a round table by the window. A potted, big leafy plant stood on a stand in the corner. “Nice digs.”
“Thank you. It’s a work in progress.”
She offered him an almost shy smile, which he found charming. He had a feeling she didn’t let many people see this side of her. He felt honored and fascinated. There was more to this woman than met the eye. He wanted to know what made her tick. Yet, he was sure delving deeper wouldn’t be wise because he might find himself caring for her in ways he shouldn’t.
She shrugged off her purse and hung it on a peg near the refrigerator. He stationed Sherlock by the door. “Down.”
The beagle lay obediently.
Parker joined Melody in the kitchen. Oak cabinets and cream-colored tile appeared straight out of the eighties. But touches of whimsy softened the effect. Apparently, Melody had a thing for Disney. There were knickknacks and pictures of various different animated characters scattered throughout the living areas
. Including a stuffed version of the Cheshire Cat that sat on top of the refrigerator. Definitely a multifaceted woman. And the more he discovered about her, the more fascinating she became. He’d better be careful or he’d find himself sliding from fascination to affection pretty quickly.
She handed him a bowl of water. “For Sherlock. I don’t have any dog food.”
The thoughtful gesture touched him deeply. “Thank you. Do you have any carrots?”
With a nod, she fished a bag of baby carrots out of the refrigerator. Parker took a few and set them on the entryway floor alongside the bowl of water. Sherlock went to town on the orange sticks and lapped at the water.
While Melody set out plates and utensils on the bar, Parker’s gaze was drawn to the fridge door. Several magnets dotted the surface, holding up various different things. A thank-you note card, a receipt and an invitation he recognized. He had the same invitation sitting on the counter of his own kitchen.
The Founder’s Ball was the social event of the year for Sagebrush. Everyone who was anyone in town attended. The whole department was expected to go, except for the lowest ranking least-senior officers. The Founder’s Ball was an annual fund-raiser, the money going to a different cause each year. This year the money was going toward a new pediatric wing of the hospital. Was Melody going? If so, with whom? The thought that she’d have a date darkened his mood. Did he dare ask? In the interest of her safety, yeah, he should ask.
“Are you attending the ball on Friday?”
“I didn’t know not going was an option,” she commented as she deftly chopped up lettuce for a salad and scooped the pieces into a bowl.
He chuckled. “It’s not.” The question burning a hole through his mind popped out. “Are you going with anyone?”
She glanced up at him and then looked quickly away. “No. I’m planning on making an appearance and then scooting out.”
“You’ll have to stay for the entertainment,” he said, without acknowledging how her answer lightened his mood. “I sing in a quartet and we’re performing.” As if she’d find that an enticement. Cool it, Adams.
“You sing?”
His chest puffed up a bit. “I do.”
“Interesting.” She tossed a handful of baby carrots and cherry tomatoes with the salad. She carried the bowl to the table.
Using the pot holders, he transferred the pan of manicotti to the table, as well.
“Interesting enough to tempt you to stay for the whole shindig?”
“Maybe,” she said noncommittally.
“We could go together,” he offered, surprised by how much the idea appealed to him. And not just because if she came with him to the event, he’d be able to ensure her safety.
She stilled. “I don’t know about that. I don’t really think it’s a good idea for us to...I mean outside of work...”
The rejection in her words dug into him like the sharp tip of a skewer. Bothered by his reaction as much as by her words, he strove to reassure her. “We’d be going as friends. Nothing more,” he said as much to convince her as to convince himself.
The anxious expression on her face eased a bit. “Oh, I see. I’ll have to think on it.” She filled two glasses with water and set them at the table. “If you’d like to wash up there’s a bathroom down the hall on your left.”
Feeling that he’d pushed the subject of the ball as far as she was willing to go for now, he followed her directions. The bathroom was an explosion of sunny yellow—walls, area rugs, towels and curtains. But what caught his attention were the sticky notes covering the edges of the mirror, each with a different scripture written in neat handwriting.
“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in times of trouble,” he read softly aloud. “Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart. For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for good, not evil.”
It pleased him that she had a kindred spirit of faith. He washed his hands and returned to the kitchen to find the table set and the dinner waiting. He took the seat across from her.
“Shall we say grace?” he asked, wondering where she stood in her faith given the scripts stuck to her bathroom mirror.
She inclined her head. “That would be nice.”
Pleased she said yes, he bowed his head. “Father, thank You for this food we are about to receive, bless it to our bodies and our bodies to your service. Amen.”
“Amen.” She offered him a basket full of rolls.
He took one and buttered it. “That was very generous of your neighbor to share his food.”
“He likes to cook. I think he’s lonely. His wife died about three years ago. Right before he moved into that apartment.”
Impressed with her generous heart, he said, “It’s kind of you to spend time with him.”
“I like to help where I can.”
“Like at the center.”
“Yes. Like at the center. If I could afford it, I’d quit the department and work full-time at the center. Keep it open during the day. Right now we’re only open during the evenings and weekends.” She sighed. “Mostly because we can’t afford a full-time staff, but also because one of the board-of-directors conditions when we opened was that an officer be present at all times.”
“Have you approached the board about paying you full-time to be there, rather than splitting your time with the department?”
“Not formally. Though I think the center’s budget could handle it.”
“It’s a very honorable thing you’ve done by opening the center.”
“Thanks.” She dropped her gaze to her plate.
They ate in silence for a moment. Parker’s thoughts turned once again to the danger surrounding Melody. Who would be targeting her and why?
“Tell me more about your nephew,” he asked. “What was he like before that night?”
Sadness entered her eyes. “I didn’t see a lot of him and Sierra. She and Daniel moved to Sagebrush a few years after he was born. And I went off to college.”
“So she never married Daniel’s father?”
“No. Sierra thought marriage antiquated and not worth the trouble.” She let out a dry laugh. “I should have listened.”
He frowned, not liking the bitterness in her tone. “Why’s that?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. That was... I didn’t mean to bring that up.”
“You were married once?” Which explained why her last name didn’t match her sister’s.
“For a brief time.” She averted her gaze and took a sip of water.
He had the sense she’d been hurt badly. Divorce did that to people. His heart ached for her. Surprisingly he wanted to push, to delve into what happened. But he didn’t. He had his share of old wounds and wouldn’t appreciate anyone digging into them.
She met his gaze, her expression shuttered. “I never understood—why Sagebrush? Of all the places she could have moved to. But I think...” She bit her lip and set down her fork. “I think Daniel’s father must live here.”
“Really? Why do you think that?”
“Sierra lived way beyond her means. She waitressed sometimes at the Sagebrush Diner but not enough to afford her lifestyle.”
Turning the information over in his head, he asked, “So...what? You think Daniel’s father was providing for them?”
“Or paying her off.”
“Blackmail? Maybe the guy is married and liked having a separate family on the side?”
“Except Daniel didn’t know until close to his death who his father was, so they weren’t playing house on the side.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because Daniel called me a few months before that night and asked me all kinds of questions about his birth, questions about his mother, who she was seeing when she became pregnant. He asked point-blank if I knew who his father was. I told him the truth—I didn’t.”
“But you think he found out.”
“Yes. I received a text from him the
day he was killed. He said he’d figured it out and the guy was going to pay.”
Parker sat back and stared at her. “Did you tell Slade this?”
“I reported it. Doesn’t make a lick of difference, though. Daniel and Sierra took the secret of Daniel’s father to the grave with them.”
“How did Daniel get mixed up with drugs?”
Her mouth scrunched up. “I wish I knew. The first time he was arrested for possession, I should have pushed Sierra to get him some help. But she shrugged it off, saying he was experimenting.”
“Just like my brother,” he stated as a knife twisted in his chest.
She reached across the table and covered his hand with her own. “His death must have devastated your family.”
He turned his hand over and laced his fingers with hers. It felt so good to have someone to hold on to as he rode the tide of anguished emotions that thoughts of his young brother brought. She understood his grief, his anger. “In so many ways. I wasn’t sure my parent’s marriage would survive. They both blamed themselves and each other.”
“Like you blame yourself,” she stated softly.
He fell into her compassionate blue gaze. “Yes.”
“Are your parents still together?”
“They are. It was a difficult road to travel but through faith and love they are stronger now. When Dad retired from the company he worked for, he and Mom started traveling, mostly mission trips to third-world countries. I think it helps them to help others.”
“I understand.”
He knew that she did. The youth center was her way of helping others, just as being a narcotics detective was his way of making a difference. Maybe atonement wouldn’t be found in this life, but he prayed God would be pleased with his efforts. And hers.
Drawn to her, he leaned forward, needing to be closer, wanting to be closer. The table butted against his middle, slamming him to reality. This bond he felt, though real, wasn’t something he could nourish to full bloom.
Work and romance didn’t mix.
The names of couples whose relationship did work tore through his mind, blowing holes through that excuse. Several of the other K-9 officers were either married or engaged.