“Yeah.” He looked around the room. “What fell?”
“The closet door. It needs to be fixed.”
“Did you say something about a lock?” He walked to the window and yanked the drapes back.
“Can we talk about this later?”
He turned to her. “Were your windows unlocked?” For the love of all that’s holy—
“One window was unlocked. I’d point, but I’m a little busy.”
“Where?”
“Hallway. Go check it out.” The room seemed to cool a few degrees without him in it. Pure coincidence. At least that’s what she was going with.
She threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, ran a brush through her hair, and whipped open the bedroom door. A large back met her face. “What the—”
“Which window was open?” He crossed to the row of windows. “That one.” She pointed to the one at the end. “Why does it matter?”
He holstered his gun and tried to lift the sash. The window didn’t move. He opened the guest room door.
“I locked it when I came upstairs. Why are you—”
“Shh…” He placed a finger over his lips and pulled his gun again. Disappeared into the dark room. She walked to the door and watched him check the empty closet. He lifted the frilly red bed skirt up and checked under the bed, apparently looking for the boogie man.
Joe passed Brook as he headed out into the hallway again. “Bathroom?” He pointed to the door across the hall. She nodded. He opened the door and checked the small room, jerking back the vinyl shower curtain. What was he looking for?
Crash!
A sound flew up the stairs. Fear rushed her already speeding heart.
Joe pushed her into the guest bathroom. “Don’t move. Don’t open the door for anyone but me.” He slammed the door shut. The muffled sound of feet hitting the wood stairs echoed through the closed door.
Who was in her house? Why? She looked around the room. She had to have a weapon. She found a plunger and twisted the wooden dowel from the rubber head, hiked the pole over her shoulder. She was ready. No one would mess with her.
She stood and waited, but no sound came. Her ear strained against the door, but silence was all that could be heard.
Dammit. Where was he? She clicked the lock open and slid through the doorway, her back against the wall. An empty hall was all she found. Her head swiveled back and forth as she made her way to the stairs.
Also empty. No sound came from the main floor. She tipped a toe onto the first step. A small creak—. Shit. Breath held. Feet stopped.
No noise.
She lowered her other foot to the next tread and the next and the next, careful to avoid the creaky boards. She turned the corner and crept down the last few stairs. Spinning, she found the house empty, the front door wide open. She ran to the door and looked onto the porch.
A large gun pointed at her face. A. Large. Fucking. Gun. Was. Pointed. At.
Her. Face. Her hands flew in the air, the plunger pole thwapping her in the head. “Ow.” Her vision slithered. Stupid pole. Her eyes widened as she stepped back.
This was it. She tried to see the face of the last person she’d ever lay eyes on, but darkness engulfed him.
“Dammit, Brook. I told you to stay put.” Joe lowered his weapon and put a cell phone to his ear. “This is Chicago Detective Joe Perretti. Badge 104217. I need to report a breakin.”
* * *
Joe watched Brook as she sat on the flower-covered couch. When he pictured the type of home Brook would have… Well, this wasn’t it. He pictured cold steel and jagged edges. Maybe one of those contemporary, open-ended, shrink couches that was hard and uncomfortable. Although he knew a few people who owned those things. Maybe he was the only one who found those couches uncomfortable, or maybe it was the things that were expected when a person sat on one of those couches.
Spilling his guts was not his favorite thing to do.
Her home was surprising. Warm. Flowery. Light woods and soft colors welcoming people in. Calming and cheerful. Too bad the owner wasn’t as inviting.
“We need to talk before the rest of the cops get here.” “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Yes.” The attitude. He couldn’t believe the attitude after he saved her butt. It was a nice butt, so he was glad he saved it.
But would it hurt to give a thank you?
“Fine.” She huffed as she brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.
“Dennis Stark was released today.”
She rested her chin on her knees and stared at him. Wide eyes. Eyebrows scrunched. Pursed lips. Crap. He needed to be a little more understanding. Not everyone was accustomed to having the lunatic who had threatened them out of jail, or a Glock pointed in their face. The latter wasn’t one of his favorite things, either.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find him. I won’t let him get to you.”
“Find who?”
“Dennis Stark.”
“Why do you need to find him?”
“Did you hear anything I said?” Concern lodged in his throat. She was more frightened than he originally thought. She couldn’t concentrate. “Dennis Stark was released.”
“So?”
“The last time you two spoke, he threatened your life. He broke into your house.”
“Are you sure it was him? Did you see him?” “No. But someone was here threatening you.”
“The only person pointing a gun at me tonight was you.”
“I told you to stay in the bathroom.” Anger coiled and slid down his spine. “If you had listened, a gun wouldn’t have been pointed in your face.”
“Fine.” She huffed again and buried her face between her knees.
“Do you think this break-in is a coincidence? Stark is released, and that night you have a break-in.”
She flew to her bare feet. “Wow. Your imagination is vivid, Detective. You didn’t see anyone’s face, but a small sound, and all of the sudden there’s a break- in, and it’s Dennis Stark.”
“He threatened you.”
“Do you know how many threats I get? He was angry. He had every right to be, but he’s had time to cool off. He probably doesn’t even remember my name.”
“Sweetheart, only you forget people’s names.” “What?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. A headache was building between his eyes, and it had Brook written all over it.
A knock came from the open front door. “Detective Perretti?”
“Yes.”
“Officer Fitzgerald from Oak Park Police Department.” “Ms. Southby had a break-in—” “Alleged break-in,” Brook said.
Joe tried to stop his eyes from rolling. Really? “Can I finish, please?” Brook raised her shoulders. “I’m just making sure you tell it right.”
“So, was there a break-in?” Officer Fitzgerald asked. The poor guy was confused and stuck in the middle of Brook’s unbearable hostility. Join the club, buddy.
“Yes.” Joe glared at Brook, daring her to interrupt him. “I was upstairs checking the floor when a large crash came from the main floor. I saw somebody rapidly approaching from the top of the stairs. Five foot, four inches. Black coat. Balding.”
“Hah! See, Dennis isn’t bald.” Brook’s shoulders locked back in self-righteous indignation. If she wasn’t so damn annoying, it would have been cute.
Joe turned on his cell phone and brought up the Illinois Department of Corrections website. “He had a slight limp. Oh wait, did he not have a limp eight years ago, either?” He found Stark’s latest mug shot and handed her the phone.
Her mouth dropped at the sight of her previous client. Joe had to admit time hadn’t been kind to Stark. That unforgiving bitch had ripped all the hair from the front of his head, leaving a graying horseshoe on the back.
Joe took his phone back. “The suspect ran left toward North Avenue, and then turned right.”
“Anything else, Detective?”
“No, that’s it. I’m assuming his car is around here somewhere. His last known associates are out of Joliet. So he had to have wheels.” Joe waited until the officer walked out the door to ask, Brook, “Do you have somewhere to go tonight?”
“Go? Why?”
“You shouldn’t stay here. He may come back.”
“I’m not convinced he was here. I could go to Allison’s, but they’re going out of town in a couple days.”
“I doubt they’ll leave when they find out what happened.” He scrolled through his contacts. The amount of time he spent on the phone with Byrnes, he should have the guy on speed dial already.
“Why would they find out?”
“He’s my coworker. My friend.” His finger hovered on the send button. He could feel an argument coming on. But then again, when he was in a room with Brook, an argument was always imminent.
“And he’s my future brother-in-law. I’ll tell them when they get back.” “Brother-in-law?” When did that happen?
“Crap. No one knows. He’s asking her this week. I refuse to stop their love-fest because of this…this…whatever it is.”
“Fine.” He was many things, but not a rock-blocker. If Adam wanted to give his woman a ring, good for him. Better him than me.
“Fine.”
He ran a hand over his face. The headache was growing in intensity. “So where are you staying?”
“Here. I have locks. I’m not being chased out of my home.”
“Good choice.” He sighed. Two could play at this ridiculous game. “When he kills you, you’ll be at home. There’s honor in that.”
Her frigid glare met his eyes. “I’ll be just fine. Why don’t you go find someone else to play your damsel in distress?”
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. His eyes pulsed They actually twinged. What he wouldn’t have given for a beer or some aspirin. Or maybe a muzzle. Okay. That was a bit over the top. Or not. “Brook, I’m not playing. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
“Why do you care?”
Why did he care? Probably because she was Byrne’s future sister-in-law, maybe. Or was it because he saw the venom in Stark’s eyes that day in court? Probably. But was it because he felt an urge to protect what was his? Absolutely not. She wasn’t his to protect. Where did that thought come from? “I care because it’s my job to care.”
“Well, I release you from any obligation.” She sat back down on the couch. She released him. Hah. Like it was that easy. It was never that easy for him to just walk away. If something happened to her—damn. He’d never forgive himself.
He would never be released.
Chapter Six
Brook yawned as she raised a steaming cup of coffee to her awaiting lips. Between the police inquisition and the niggling fear, she’d had a rough night. Four hours of sleep, not ideal. She was a six-hour-minimum girl. At least, when she could get those six hours. The first three hours of sleep made sure she was able to function the next day. The last three ensured she wasn’t a cranky bitch. Today was going to be a long day for her. And since she missed those last four hours, there was a good chance it would be a long day for anyone who crossed her path.
She blamed Joe. There was no reason for her to have been scared. But Joe had planted that seed in her head, and her imagination germinated the heck out of it.
Dennis Maxwell Stark. She hadn’t thought about that name in years. He had been pretty pissed the last time she’d seen him, and she couldn’t really blame him. It had been such a mess and she’d been new. She’d even tried to work the case a year later, but he refused to see her and his sister refused to pass on any information. Probably for the best, because Larry refused to let her devote any attention to his defense. Apparently, pro bono cases only were important when the firm stood to get recognition. Some guy being bullied by the system wasn’t worthy of good counsel.
She should have fought Larry harder, but Dennis’ parents didn’t leave him a trust fund that could feed a starving country. Not like her latest case, Don Ryder. Now there was a guy who needed a swift kick in the ass. She’d looked over the pages again and again while she waited for the cops to fill out their reports last night. What a nightmare. Don was a spoiled brat who made bad decision after bad decision.
His jacket started with simple theft, drunk driving, and possession of a controlled substance. Then he moved onto harassment, and he was lucky it was just harassment. If the girl’s friend hadn’t walked in the door—Brook didn’t want to think about it. She couldn’t think about it. Because if she did, she wouldn’t be able to defend this lowlife.
And no matter what, everyone deserved good counsel. It was her firm belief that everyone deserved a chance to be heard. A good lawyer made sure her client’s story was heard and understood. It didn’t always mean they won, of course. That wasn’t what Larry Bosk believed, but Brook held onto her beliefs even if Larry didn’t.
She put the lid on her travel mug and walked into the living room, grabbing her laptop and shoving it into her bag. A glance out the front window revealed a familiar figure, his head resting against the front seat of a dark blue SUV.
It couldn’t be. Did he spend the whole night out there?
He was adorable. Dark hair mussed. Soft, full pink lips silent—not bossing her around. The shadow of a beard covered his angled jaw. He was a perfect specimen of male sex appeal. When he was silent. Once his mouth started moving, all hotness disappeared and evil-bossy Schmoe Perretti replaced the dream-man.
She walked to the driver’s side and knocked on the driver’s side window. Joe jumped, hitting his head on the glass. Muffled swear words somehow made it through the closed door. The window slowly lowered as one hand hit a switch and the other rubbed his temple.
“Did you sleep here all night?”
“Good morning to you, too.” He ran a hand through that thick, disheveled hair. Brook wanted to reach out and feel the silky strands, just once. They looked so nice and soft. And from what she remembered, they were just as enjoyable as she imagined.
Of course, she was too drunk to enjoy them the other night.
What a waste.
“Good morning. Did you sleep out here?”
“Sort of.” He twisted his neck and stretched his arms. “Why?”
“I couldn’t leave you here alone.”
She didn’t know whether she should hug him for being so sweet or slap him for assuming that she couldn’t handle herself. He yawned and stretched his long limbs again. Well, he stretched as far as he could in the confining car. It might have been a little sweet. But there was no way she’d hug him. Hugging could only lead to bad things. She was a strong woman, but his sex-quisite body was ridiculously hot.
She was only human, after all.
“Do you need a washroom?” She watched his eyes blaze, then narrow. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what that even meant.
“I need to get home to Bruno.” “Bruno?”
“My dog. He stays with the neighbors when I work overtime.”
Overtime. She was overtime. Poor guy had to leave the dog home with the neighbors. “Come inside. I’ll get you some coffee. It’s the least I can do.”
She walked around the car and he followed. A man after her own heart, if coffee sealed the deal.
* * *
Brook took the mail from her administrative assistant, Mary, and wandered into her office a few minutes late. Only a few minutes. Not bad, considering the man she had in her kitchen a half hour ago.
It wasn’t that she wanted to spend time with him, get to know him, or any of those touchy-feely things women wanted with a man like that. But, as far as eye candy—he was an Almond Joy. He drove her coconuts, but he was so damn delicious.
Jeez, when did she become so damn corny?
She walked across the white plush carpet of her office. Clusters of paperwork, files, and folders lined her dark mahogany desk in order of priority. With the exception of the Ryder case. That little gem was burning a hole thr
ough her briefcase. She hated that case. She hated that the little punk was going to walk away, and he would.
If she did her job right, Don would be at home smoking pot before his last buzz wore off. Sometimes her job sucked.
Mary cleared her throat and turned toward her desk, her crinkled eyes and frown begging for forgiveness as Larry walked in the door. Dammit. It was too damn early for this. She needed at least two cups of coffee before she could be expected to deal with her boss. Three, when she was tired.
“Status?” Larry’s voice interrupted her pity party. He unbuttoned his jacket and looked out the window next to her desk. He probably wasn’t taking in the great view, not that she didn’t have a great view, but the one from his office was phenomenal. He had a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the city from his office on high. Her view probably afforded him the chance to stare and think. It was always dangerous when Larry would “think”. It usually meant lowly associates had to do more work or something they’d find uncomfortable. Somehow, he seemed to love imposing on his employees.
“I went over the information. It’s the girl’s word against his.” “So we discredit the girl.” He put his hands behind his back.
“I don’t think that’s necessary.” The thought made Brook sick to her stomach. The facts might not support anything more than harassment, but Don Ryder’s past supported a heck of a lot more. That poor girl didn’t deserve to be dragged through the mud. “Not if we stick to the circumstantial nature of the evidence, mention the changes he’s made in his life. The volunteering he’s done.” Mandatory. “The counseling he’s undergone.” Also mandatory. “The donations his family’s made to various charities.” Tax deductible. “We have a strong case for change on his part. The counselor is willing to testify if needed.”
“Good start. Let’s delve into that tomorrow at dinner.”
“Sure.” She tried to curve the corners of her lips into a smile, but they just wouldn’t cooperate. Damn lack of sleep made everything more difficult, even pretending to be nice, especially when she thought laying out Ryder’s defense would eliminate the need for the dinner.
Stark Raving Mad (Chicago's Finest Book 2) Page 5