by Terri Reed
The woman picked up her phone and spoke to someone on the other line. “Doctor Bale has guests. Would you be able to take them back?”
She hung up and gave them a polite, practiced smile. “One of the nurses will be up shortly to take you to see the doctor. If you’ll wait over there, please.” She pointed toward a grouping of chairs near a low table filled with promotional material.
Parker picked up a brochure. “Nice place. Housekeeping and meals are included.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Wouldn’t mind spending my golden years in a swanky place like this.”
She could see Parker adapting easily to a community setting like this. As social as he was, he wouldn’t grow old alone. Someday he’d marry, have a family. Be surrounded by people who loved him. People that he loved. A stab of jealousy made her look away from him.
Their lives were so different. Their futures were worlds apart. Her throat clogged.
A moment later a male nurse wearing white scrubs approached. “Officers, I’m Terrance, Doc’s nurse. This way, please.”
Thankfully, she didn’t have to respond.
They followed him toward a set of closed double doors. He waved a key card in front of a box on the wall and the doors opened soundlessly. This part of the facility looked more like a hospital with linoleum floors, beeping monitors and antiseptic smells.
“I thought this was an independent living retirement center,” Melody said, confused by this additional wing.
“We’re a full-service facility,” Terrance answered. “Independent living, assisted care, memory care and hospice care. We allow our residents to transition gracefully through the latter stages of life.”
Obviously, John Bale had transitioned to a different stage. She prayed he’d be coherent enough to tell them what they wanted to know.
Terrance led them to a common room. Residents sat at several lounge chairs scattered about. Some had IV drips attached to their arms. Others looked frail and weak. A few slept. A large-screen television broadcasted the afternoon news in the corner. Large picture windows provided stunning views of the Corpus Christi Bay and beyond that, the Gulf of Mexico. Her heart ached for the men and women here, cut off from the outside world by glass and pain.
Terrance stopped beside the wheelchair of a man with thin patches of silver hair. A brightly colored blanket was tucked around his legs. His gaunt cheekbones stood out in sharp angles. His eyes were closed, his body still. Sherlock ventured close to sniff his feet. Finding nothing of interest, the dog lay down, putting his head on his paw.
Melody glanced at Parker. He looked as stunned as she did. To Terrance, she said, “Is Dr. Bale ill?”
“Stage four colon cancer,” Terrance replied.
Despite her anger at the man for filing a false autopsy report on her sister’s death, sympathy tugged at Melody. She didn’t have much experience with cancer, but she knew enough to know stage four wasn’t good.
Terrance touched the older man’s shoulder. “John, you have visitors.”
Bale awakened and for a moment looked confused, then his dark-eyed gaze cleared as he took in Parker and Melody. “Sagebrush.” He let out a raspy laugh. “I knew this day would come.”
“Then you know why we’re here,” Parker stated drily.
Bale nodded. “Can we go outside? I’d rather not have my dirty laundry aired out for everyone to hear.”
Terrance reached for the handles of the wheelchair, but Melody beat him to it. She wanted the privacy as much as Bale. Nervous anticipation of what she’d learn about her sister and nephew hummed in her veins. Her fingers gripped the handles tightly. “I’ll do this.”
The nurse stepped back and gestured to his right. “Through that door is a path that will take you to the gardens. Don’t keep him out long. A little sun is fine, but we don’t want to add heat stroke to his condition.”
“We won’t be long,” Melody promised.
Parker held the door open while she wheeled Bale out into the sunshine. The sun’s rays immediately chased away any traces of a chill from Melody. They moved along the path in silence through a green lawn, flowerbeds and benches until they’d moved far enough from the facility that there was no chance anyone would overhear them.
“I assume you’re here about Sierra Jones?” Bale said, his voice flat.
Melody sucked in a bracing breath.
“Yes. We found your original report,” Parker replied. “Her death was not suicide, but a murder. A murder you helped cover up.”
Melody pressed the wheelchair’s brakes with the toe of her boot and came to stand in front of Bale. She rocked on her heels, itching to get down to it.
Parker stepped back and a little off to the left, once again letting her take charge. When this was over she was going to owe him big-time, not only in gratitude but also in respect. Not many officers would willingly take a backseat on a case. Sherlock stretched his leash to sit at her feet.
“Sierra was my sister,” she said to Bale, her voice shaking with equal parts fury and grief.
Bale shaded his eyes with his wavering hand and looked up at her. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Fisting her hands, Melody tried to stay calm. “I want to know why you did it and who you’re covering for.”
He considered her a moment. “I’m not proud of what I did. You have to understand, it was a difficult time for me. My wife had passed on the year before. I had just been diagnosed with cancer. I had used up all our resources on my wife.” He sighed heavily. “There was nothing left for me. Even my pension wouldn’t have provided enough. I wanted to spend my last few years on earth in comfort. Is that so bad?”
“Was it Jim Wheaton who paid you?” she pressed, her voice sharp. She needed to understand.
Sherlock growled. She glanced at the canine. He’d moved and was facing the parking lot.
“What is it, boy?” Parker asked quietly, bending down to pet the dog. Melody shifted her attention back to Bale.
“The sum was enough to keep me here until I pass and then some.” Bale dropped his hand and looked out at the ocean in the distance.
“Why did Jim kill my sister and pay you to make it look like a suicide?”
“I—”
Sherlock erupted in frantic barks.
The sickening thud of metal penetrating flesh jarred through Melody. Bale jerked forward and tumbled out of the chair. Warm blood splattered her. Horrified, she gaped at the hole in the back of John Bale’s head. The shot fatal. “Sniper!”
Before the word even left her mouth, Parker tackled her to the ground, his body falling hard against her, knocking the breath from her lungs. Another bullet hit close. Chunks of dirt spit at her in the face. Too close.
“Come on, we’ve got to get to cover,” Parker yelled in her ear.
She wiggled out from under him. “There isn’t any!”
The nearest tree was at least 50 feet away. They’d never make it.
Parker tugged Sherlock close then yanked on the wheelchair, maneuvering the chair to provide a meager barrier between them and the gunman.
She crouched low, her gaze searching for the threat, while her hand pulled her gun from its holster. “Do you see him?”
Holding Sherlock’s leash to keep him from going after the shooter, Parker reached for his cell phone. “Shots came from the parking lot. I don’t have an exact position.”
Heart hammering in her chest, she lay prone, aiming toward the parking lot between the wheels of the chair while Parker called for backup.
All she saw were cars. No, wait. There was a dark shadow on the opposite side of a Mercedes that elongated the rear tire into an abnormal shape. That had to be the shooter. She took a shot. The loud retort of her gun firing echoed across the garden and rang in her ears. Her bullet embedded itself on the side of the rear well of the Mercedes. The shadow jerked, then disappeared. The sound of a car engine turning over reached her and then tires peeled against the asphalt as the shooter got away.
Frustration ran a mara
thon in Melody’s veins. She dropped her head to her arm. Only one person had reason to want John Bale dead so he couldn’t testify against him. Jim Wheaton.
A cold wet nose nudged her. She lifted her face to find herself staring into Sherlock’s big brown eyes. His tongue darted out and licked her face. Tears burned her eyes. Tentatively she petted the dog, appreciating his attempt at comfort. Over Sherlock’s head, she met Parker’s concerned and surprised gaze.
The welcome sound of sirens filled the air. Within minutes, Corpus Christi uniformed officers descended.
Parker helped her to her feet. “You okay?”
“No.” It took every ounce of control not to sag against him. She retreated behind a numbness that kept her protected from the pain trying to claw its way to the surface. “I want to go home.”
Wrapping an arm around her, she let him lead her away from the terrible scene. She forced herself to put one foot in front of the other. She had to keep moving forward. Show no weakness.
* * *
Parker drove Melody to the hotel so she could shower and change her clothes. Though Melody’s mind was foggy with shock and grief, she appreciated his thoughtfulness. However, no amount of hot water could wash away the horror of witnessing Bale’s murder. Or the certainty that Jim was the one who’d killed the man and then tried to kill her. Had he killed her sister, too? She wouldn’t know for sure until they found Jim and he answered the question.
Once dressed, she sat on the small sofa in the corner of the room. She needed time to gain some control of her emotions so she could function. Despite her efforts, grief filled her to bursting. Tears welled. Her chest ached. A sob built from deep within.
She’d loved Sierra. And Daniel.
Five years ago she hadn’t cried. She’d buried her grief beneath the anger and let the rage fuel her forward, determined to find justice for her nephew. And redemption for herself for not being there for Sierra. But now...the hollow places inside of Melody opened wide, threatening to swallow her up until she was nothing more than an empty shell. She buried her face into her hands, hating this show of weakness, yet unable to do anything to stem the tide of anguish overtaking her.
The sound of a knock on the bedroom door barely penetrated through her despair. The door opened. She stiffened. Desperately, she tried to stifle her crying. She wiped at the tears cascading down her cheeks. Fought to catch her breath. She kept her gaze fastened on the floor. She didn’t need to look up to know it was Parker. She felt his presence like a burst of sunlight on a cold winter’s day. His energy enveloped the room, making her want to partake of his heat and strength even as she despised herself for the longing. The sofa cushion dipped as he sat next to her. Without a word, his arms came around her.
A noise of distress escaped. She wasn’t sure if in protest or submission. Another sob swelled. She wrestled to keep it trapped within but when he tugged her closer so that her back rested against his broad chest, she lost the battle. The sob exploded out on a gushing wave.
Slowly, he turned her to face him. Her arms slid around him, holding him tight like an anchor in a storm-tossed sea. She buried her face within the warm crook of his neck, giving herself a moment to accept the comfort he was offering.
His hand soothed over her back. His gently murmured words of comfort calmed her tears. His scent, spicy and masculine, filled her head. Awareness shimmied past the misery. She lifted her head, needing something more from him, needing to feel alive and whole. Needing to know she wasn’t alone.
Her mouth found his. She felt his surprise in the tenseness of his lips, then they softened, and he kissed her back. Delving into the kiss, she lost herself in the sensations rocketing through her system, leaving a fiery trail of longing to burn her mind, her heart, her soul.
She tore her mouth from his. He dropped his forehead to hers. His chest heaved on an intake of breath, but he stayed silent for a moment.
Questions spun in her head like a whirlwind. What was she doing kissing Parker like there was no tomorrow? Kissing him as if her very life depended on it? Kissing him as if she had any right?
Where would this lead?
Nowhere.
They were colleagues. Friends, even. And no matter how much she wanted to risk trusting him with her heart, she couldn’t. She wasn’t that strong. She’d been down that road and found nothing but a dead end.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said.
That was so like him to take responsibility that wasn’t his to take. She laid a hand on his chest and eased back to look into his handsome face. “I kissed you. If anyone should apologize, it’s me.”
He grinned, knocking the air back into her lungs. “Okay. I take it back. I’m not sorry.”
The look in his eyes sent her pulse jumping. Her lips tingled with want for more of his kisses. Obviously, the attraction wasn’t one-sided but it would be foolhardy to let herself become carried away. She’d prided herself on not making imprudent choices. She thought things through, weighed the consequences, viewed her options. Kept her emotions in check.
But with him...with Parker she didn’t want to be prudent. She didn’t want to make the wise choice to walk away while she had the opportunity. She didn’t want to withdraw her arms from around him.
No, what she wanted to do was release the impulsive side that had to be in her DNA if her sister’s life was any indication.
And look where Sierra had ended up because of her impulsiveness.
The thought rocked Melody to the core, shaking up all the reasons why she’d held herself firmly apart from others. Even her ex-husband. Truth be told, she assumed some of the blame for her ex-husband’s abandonment. She could have followed him, fought for the marriage. But that would have required losing too much emotional control. Control she couldn’t give up now.
Slowly she extracted herself from Parker’s embrace. “This can’t happen.”
“What can’t?”
Was he deliberately being obtuse? “Us. I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was a moment of insanity. I let my grief get the better of me.”
He trailed a knuckle down her cheek. “Holding all that anguish in isn’t healthy.”
“Neither is kissing you,” she retorted glumly. It didn’t matter how much she enjoyed the kiss. It had been a mistake. A lapse in judgment and good sense.
“It was a kiss, Melody. You won’t die from a kiss,” he remarked wryly.
Maybe not physically. But emotionally? Oh, yeah. That was a slippery slope if ever there was one. And she had no intention of sliding into the abyss. She stood and glanced at the open bedroom door, using the excuse of the other woman in the living room of the hotel suite as a means to change the subject. “I’m sure Officer Truman must be wondering what’s going on in here.”
“I sent Patty to pick up takeout. I hope you like chow mein and chicken fried rice.”
His kindness once again softened her, making her regret that this thing between them couldn’t ever go anywhere. She couldn’t let it. “You are a very thoughtful man.”
He made a noise in his throat. “If I were that thoughtful I wouldn’t have taken advantage of your misery and kissed you, especially if I’d known you’d regret it.”
“I kissed you,” she reminded him. “I don’t regret the kiss.” The admission heated her cheeks. “It’s just...I’m not ready to be in a relationship. I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”
His eyebrows plucked together. “Melody—”
The outer door to the suite opened. Officer Truman returning with their dinner. Melody wasn’t sure she’d be able to eat, but she used the opportunity to escape.
What she’d said to Parker was true. She didn’t know if she’d ever be ready or willing to give enough of herself, relinquish enough control, to be in a relationship again. Not even with someone as wonderful and charming as Parker Adams.
The thought left her feeling depressed.
But she had no choice. Not if she wanted to keep from being hurt again.
Fr
om this moment forward, she had to maintain a boundary to protect herself. But how, she didn’t know. Especially when her heart wanted to be as close to him as possible.
FOURTEEN
With his fork, Parker pushed his noodles around on his plate. His appetite was nonexistent. He forced himself to eat to keep up his strength, because the last thing he needed was to be groggy from lack of food. Not with so much at stake. But he was having a hard enough time getting his brain to function with memories of Melody’s kiss burning a hole through his head.
Saying he’d been surprised when she pressed her soft lips to his would be an understatement. She’d tasted like salty tears and sweetness. For a fraction of a second he’d thought to resist, but then his whole body responded. Kissing her back had sent his senses careening out of control like a racecar taking a turn without a skid block to keep the bottom from hitting the track.
A major violation if ever there was one.
He’d vowed to keep her safe. He hadn’t realized he’d be the one needing protection from her. But when he’d heard her crying, he’d been unable to keep himself from going to her. He’d felt so powerless in the face of her anguish...and couldn’t help but reach for her. Holding her had been the only thing he could think to do.
Kissing her had been pure pleasure. And pain, because the rational part of his brain told him he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t get involved. He shouldn’t get attached. He’d only end up disappointing her in the end, just like he had his family. His brother’s death was an emblem he wore as a reminder of his failure. He hadn’t been there for him when he should have. The only way to make sure he never let anyone else down was to not get involved. Not get too close.
I don’t regret the kiss. The statement pleased him more than he thought possible, more than was wise. He was hard-pressed to say given the same chance he’d do anything differently.
I’m not ready to be in a relationship. I don’t know if I’ll ever be.
This, he understood. Because he was right there with her. Her reasons were clear to him. She’d been hurt badly by her father, then her husband. Now Jim. Men who should have stuck by her through all of life’s ups and downs. But they hadn’t. They’d left her. Betrayed her. Making her feel somehow there was something wrong with her. He’d told her there wasn’t. And he wished he could find a way to prove it to her once and for all. But he couldn’t. Doing so would only set her—and himself up for more heartache.