by Rebecca Deel
“What about the baby’s father?”
“That would be me,” Micah said. “My fingerprints are in the system and are on the outside of the box, but not the inside of it or on the doll. I drove Sophie to work and, with the way I’m limping, Kelsey would have noticed if I delivered the package. Yes, I could have asked someone to deliver it, but I had no reason to do so. If I did have a reason, I wouldn’t have called you. Next question.”
The detective’s eyes narrowed. “Calling in local law enforcement doesn’t make you innocent, Winter. You know how many idiots report a crime they committed. Ms. Valero, do you know who wants to scare you?”
She glanced at Micah. How much did she tell Abbott? She couldn’t admit being a cat burglar without getting herself thrown in jail. She didn’t want to have Junior behind bars. Micah’s face remained impassive, but his eyes held a warning for caution. Fabulous. No help from the Secret Service agent.
Sophie turned her attention to Abbott. “When I arrived home from work last night, a stranger was hiding in my bedroom. The lights were off. I didn’t know he was there until he grabbed me from behind and threw me on the bed.”
Abbott stiffened. “Did you call the police?” He grabbed his notepad and pen.
“He didn’t hurt me.”
Micah grunted.
Okay, he did have a point. Makeup hid the bruises that developed on her cheeks overnight. “He slapped me a couple times,” she amended with a pointed glare at the man holding up the wall, the same man who didn’t give clues what to tell the detective. Offering nonverbal disapproval signals now annoyed her.
“Why didn’t you report this to the police?”
“The last time I called Metro to report a prowler outside my house, no one bothered to show up. Let’s say that I don’t have the greatest confidence in the police.”
“An officer probably did a drive-by and didn’t see anyone suspicious. We respond to all calls.”
“Maybe if my last name wasn’t Valero, your man might have rung the doorbell and let me know he looked around.”
Abbott yanked the cap off his pen. “Describe the man in your house.”
Sophie’s lips twitched. Based on his clipped words, what he wanted to say wasn’t fit for mixed company. “He wore all black and was taller than Micah. The back of my head hit the center of his massive chest and he weighed a ton.”
“He weighed a lot? You forced him on a scale?”
“Pitched the scale months ago. Too depressing. I know he weighed a ton because he sat on me.”
Micah straightened, amusement fading from his expression. “You didn’t tell me that. I would have taken you to the hospital.”
Sophie made a rude noise. “I didn’t have problems on the drive to your place or overnight.”
“Didn’t know you were a doctor, sweetheart. How do you know the baby’s okay?” Micah’s body language belied the mild tone of his voice. He jammed one fist into the pocket of his jeans. The other hand gripped the handle of his cane so tight that his knuckles shone white.
“What did he want? Money, credit cards?” Abbott asked.
“I don’t know.” Sophie dragged her attention to the detective, fought the inclination to drop her gaze from his. All tells, as her Uncle Ray said, a habit betraying her nervousness. Her skin crawled with the need to look away from the cop’s watchful eyes. Maybe she had been away from the family business for too long. Didn’t think she’d ever admit that and thought those days were a speck in her rearview mirror.
“He broke into your house, roughed you up and sat on you before leaving without taking anything?”
“He took nothing. I checked. He said my sister had taken something from his employer and the boss wanted it.”
“It?”
“No description, no indication what he wanted. He gave me 72 hours.”
“And you have no idea what your sister took?”
“Asked and answered,” Micah said.
Abbott frowned at him before returning his attention to Sophie. “Who’s your sister?”
“Sierra Valero Winter. She was married to Micah’s brother, David.”
“Was? Divorced?”
“Dead,” Micah said. “Car accident in Gatlinburg six months ago.”
“Sorry for your loss. File a report on the break-in. Two incidents in 24 hours? Probably related. Perp say what the consequences would be if you didn’t come up with his boss’s property?”
“I didn’t ask. I can’t add anything to what you already know regarding the delivery here. Kelsey might have more information. I want to go home.”
“I will need to talk to you again, Ms. Valero.”
“Fine.” Sophie opened the right side desk drawer and grabbed a business card which she handed to Abbott. “Call me. I’ll answer what I can.”
Micah reached out a hand to help Sophie to her feet. In the hallway, Kelsey waited with another full bottle of chamomile tea, crackers, and Sophie’s coat. “Thanks, Kels.” She thrust her arms through the sleeves with Micah’s help. “Will you and Adam be okay the rest of the day?”
Kelsey trailed them to the counter. “We can handle it, can’t we, Adam?“
“No problem. Belmont canceled classes today because of the weather and tomorrow is Saturday. Why don’t you stay home until Monday? I’m sure Roberta would help if we need an extra person.”
Sophie smiled. Roberta Ames, a retired schoolteacher, had worked part-time the past two years. While some retirees kicked up their heels and spent the winter in Florida, Roberta hated sand in her shoes and worked while the grandkids were in school. During the summers, the energetic grandmother of four boys traveled with her family. “Call her. Three people in the store is better until the police talk to the package guy.”
“You think he’ll come back?” Adam asked.
“Call Roberta,” Micah said. “It’s common sense to have more people in the store. And, no, I don’t think he’ll return. He made his point. You and Kelsey keep your cell phones on you at all times. If he comes in again, call the cops immediately. Don’t confront him or antagonize him. Don’t volunteer information.”
Blood drained from Kelsey’s face. “What about Sophie? He might hurt her or the baby.”
“Nobody is going to hurt Sophie or Junior.” Micah squeezed her shoulder. “You can trust me with their safety, Kelsey. Anyone trying to hurt them will have to go through me first.” His mouth curled. “And I’m hard to kill.”
The hard glint in his eyes sent a shiver down Sophie’s spine. Good thing she was on the right side of the law. She had a feeling Micah Winter would make one formidable enemy.
CHAPTER FIVE
Micah stopped at Panera near Vanderbilt University for a meal of soup and more tea for Sophie and a sandwich for himself. He joined the flow of traffic down 21st Avenue and turned east on Interstate 440.
“Where are we going?”
He merged into traffic before responding. “I assume you emptied David and Sierra’s safety deposit box. What about all their possessions?”
“I boxed things belonging to David I thought your mother might want and sent them over months ago.”
Micah wondered at the nervousness in her voice. “What kind of things?”
“Christmas tree ornaments that he made when he was a kid, family photos, a wrapped birthday gift for your dad, a book of poetry he picked up for your mother a few days before he died.”
He didn’t say anything for a few moments, unable to force words past the lump in his throat. Micah knew it took Sophie time and money to ship those things. A compassionate gesture which he suspected brought comfort to his parents. They hadn’t mentioned Sophie’s thoughtfulness, though that was about the time he made the ill-fated decision to stop for coffee at the convenience store.
He swallowed hard and still his voice came out rough. “I know my parents appreciated your thoughtfulness. Thanks for that.”
From the corner of his eye, he noticed her jerk as though pinched. “Your mom dropped
me a note.” She shrugged. “I guess it was too hard on her and your dad. When I called them about David’s belongings, they told me to do whatever I thought best because they were dealing with another family crisis.”
“That would be me getting shot. Hate that I scared Mom.” His lips twitched. “Didn’t do much for me, either.”
Sophie snorted. “I bet. Expensive cup of coffee.”
“And a lousy one at that. What about the rest of David’s belongings?”
“Donated the clothes to Goodwill. I have his books. Figured you or your parents might want to go through them.”
“David was a reader. Had been ever since he learned to read at age four. Got the habit from my dad. We have crammed bookshelves in every room at the house.”
“What kind of books?”
“Everything that caught Dad’s interest. Gardening, guns, history, action/adventure fiction.” He laughed softly. “No poetry though. That’s Mom’s area.”
“I’m with your dad on that. Never developed a taste for poetry either.”
“What about the rest of their things? Papers, bills, items stuffed in a drawer and forgotten.”
“Boxed, waiting for me to go through them and stored in my garage. Took up so much room there’s barely room for my car. Why?”
“As good a place as any to start looking for clues to what Sierra took. You mentioned earlier your sister painted portraits on commission. Did she make a list?”
“She used to keep a painting journal. Noted the portraits, problems she encountered, type of medium, commission. I assume she kept the habit, but I haven’t seen her journals since the wedding. She was secretive about her techniques and commissions.”
“Why? I understand about the money, but what’s the big deal about another artist learning her technique?”
“If her work can be duplicated by any artist, why hire her to paint a portrait? She charged a premium price for her talent. I didn’t understand her need to steal until I figured out it wasn’t the money. She never sold anything she took.”
“The adrenaline addiction.” Micah’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Did you experience the same rush?”
“Do you?”
He grinned. “I’d rather not implicate myself, Valero.”
“Just did, Winter. Turn right at the next exit and take the first left. How’s your leg?”
“Those pills smell like month-old dirty gym socks, but they work,” he admitted. “I should have bought a bottle at your store. The box distracted me.”
“I shoved the bottle in my purse before the police arrived. I have something else I want you to try which reduces pain and inflammation.”
Micah eyed her over his sunglasses. “It better not smell worse than the Valerian.”
A mischievous smile, then, “No smell.”
“Uh huh. You aren’t reassuring me, Sophie. What’s wrong with it? Does this one taste bad or look like a cooking school reject?”
“So suspicious.”
“I’m a cop, sweetheart. Suspicious is part of the job description.” Micah turned left onto New Haven Drive. Most houses in Sophie’s subdivision were modern, two-story brick homes with a few small ranch-style houses nestled among the larger dwellings. One of the smaller homes belonged to Sophie. He liked the area. They had driven past an elementary school a few blocks back. Many of the neighbors had children or grandchildren, most of them in the yards building snowmen, pummeling each other with snowballs, or sledding down snow-covered slopes. A good place for Sophie and his son, though the idea of the boy growing up here without him left Micah dissatisfied for reasons he didn’t care to explore at the moment.
He parked in the drive after noting the lack of tire tracks from any vehicle. Didn’t seem anyone else had stopped in for another unannounced visit after Sophie left. Micah turned off the engine. “Stay here.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Check around back. I want to see if package man came in the back way and took a longer look around. Any objection to me checking inside?”
Sophie handed Micah her key. He opened the driver’s side door and unlatched his seatbelt. “What’s your alarm code?”
“Don’t have one yet. Front and back doors open with the same key.”
That would be the next call he made barring an unwelcome visitor to Sophie’s home. Micah had a friend who owned a security company and owed him a favor. He figured Brent would rush an alarm installation. Not commenting on his gut reaction to her statement, he eased to the driveway and tromped to the backyard. The sloped enclosure remained pristine. Either the thug left the house while the snow was still falling or he hadn’t bothered to return after delivering his message. His fist curled, ached to return with interest the facial injuries the man had inflicted on Sophie.
He retraced his steps and opened the front door. Micah pulled his Sig from a holster hidden under his sweater at his lower back, entered the house and stepped into the living room. A quick glance through Sophie’s home assured him no one waited to ambush them.
Satisfied, he returned to the SUV and held Sophie’s arm to steady her as she walked to the front door. The last thing he wanted was for her to fall on the ice. “What’s this pill you’re giving me?”
“Bromelain. It’s made from pineapple extract.”
He locked the door behind them, eyebrow cocked. “I’d rather eat the fruit than swallow a pill.” The suspicious nature he’d mentioned to Sophie earlier resurfaced. What did she hold back?
“You could if I had any. Fresh pineapple would be best, but I don’t even have pineapple juice right now. I keep Bromelain on hand for muscle aches. Beats an over-the-counter commercial medicine any day.”
“How do I get into your garage?”
“Through the kitchen. I’ll bring the Bromelain and a drink.” She shed her coat and scarf and tossed them along the back of the couch on her trek through the living room.
After throwing his coat beside hers, Micah followed Sophie through the house. He appreciated the bright, bold colors she used, though he wouldn’t have chosen them himself. He preferred rustic, natural colors, like sand, gold, brown, and an autumnal red. Her color scheme reflected a personality he was beginning to appreciate.
“Advice on where to start?”
“David’s book boxes are on the left hand side. All their papers and Sierra’s personal things are in the boxes on the right.”
Didn’t sound too bad. Hopefully it wouldn’t take long to find something to identify what the thug wanted. Micah left Sophie rummaging in a kitchen cabinet. He unlocked the door to the garage and fumbled for the light switch. Finally locating it, he flipped the switch. And dragged in a deep, ragged breath. “Sophie!”
“Problem, Micah?”
Laughter rolled out in a merry wave behind him. Micah stared around the enclosed space, wondering how Sophie managed to park her SUV inside, let alone exit the vehicle at all. Floor to ceiling, boxes covered both walls and along the back. “Tell me you didn’t move these yourself.”
“I didn’t move those boxes myself.”
“Sophie.” His voice rose.
“Relax. I packed the boxes, but Adam, Kelsey, and about a dozen of their friends did all the heavy work.”
“This will take days to sort through.” He scowled at the garage interior. “How did David and Sierra accumulate so much? Their house couldn’t have been more than fifteen hundred square feet.”
“Not everyone likes minimalism.”
A pity. Made life and cleaning a lot simpler, not that he wasted much time on the latter. Micah usually wasn’t home long enough between assignments to bother with it himself. Merry Maids knocked the dust off his furniture and swiped the counters and bathrooms clean once every couple weeks. Good enough for him.
He sighed, surveying the monstrous pile of boxes and the ladder Adam and his friends must have used. How could he retrieve boxes without causing a cardboard-and-paper avalanche? He needed a solution that avoided help from Sophie. Though
not around expectant mothers much, he knew enough to realize she shouldn’t lift anything close to the weight of those boxes. With Junior already that large, lifting a box had to be awkward. Only foolish men mentioned the growing girth of a pregnant woman and he was no fool.
Micah estimated the width of available open space in the garage. His SUV was about the same size as Sophie’s. If he pulled his vehicle into the garage, he could set a few boxes on the roof and slide them down the windshield to the hood. Kept him from having to climb up and down the ladder too often and prevented Sophie from lifting.
He glanced at his leg. Maybe he wouldn’t slide boxes to the floor. The prospect of hefting those papers to his shoulder from the floor left him in a cold sweat. All ego probably, but he didn’t relish the embarrassment of Sophie watching him struggle or, worse, helping.
“Okay if I open the garage door?” he asked.
Sophie appeared in the doorway with a bottle of water and three pills in her palm. “Sure. Why?”
He explained his plan and waited for her response. She better not laugh. The car plan was the best he could come up with short of calling in the college kids again. Micah preferred the thug not know they were searching the garage in case he was nearby, watching the house and hoping for a lucky break. It had occurred to him around three o’clock this morning that if the man was pushing Sophie this hard to find Sierra’s loot, he stood to lose a lot if he failed. And that made him all the more dangerous to Micah’s son and his mother.
“Might work.” She handed him the bottle and pills. “Take these. I’ll get the garage door.”
Micah stared at the pills she dumped in his hand. Was she serious about him swallowing them? “A horse couldn’t choke these down with a gallon of water.” He rubbed one of the pills and frowned. He despised chalky medicine and this one rivaled the worst tablet he’d had the misfortune to swallow. Aspirin. Why couldn’t Sophie bring him coated ones or one in a capsule?
The brunette folded her arms with a smirk. “How old are you? Three? I can pound them up for you and slip them in some applesauce. Don’t think I’ll let you live this down, though. Junior will hear all about it every time he whines about taking a pill. Then he’ll know the truth—that his tough Secret Service dad who scoffs at bullets is a wuss.”