A Fairfield Romance Box Set 1

by Lydia Reeves

  Chapter 10

  LEVI

  My eyes sought her out the second I stepped through the door. Jansen had responded to the call as well, and he went to work collecting evidence—dusting the registers for fingerprints, checking the ragged edge of the busted window for traces of blood or clothing—while I made a beeline for the two figures huddled in the office.

  A large, dark-haired man had Marian tucked under his arm and was talking to her in a low voice, and I had to keep my spine from stiffening as I saw them together.

  “Levi,” she gasped as she saw me, wriggling free and gesturing. “This is Sam. My boss. Sam, this is L—Officer Mathes.” I shook Sam’s hand as my eyes raked Marian from head to toe, but I didn’t see any signs of harm.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  To my great aggravation, the story took no longer to tell than it had at any of the three previous stores. The window was busted when Marian arrived—my gut twisted at the thought that the perpetrator might still have been in the store—she called us and rushed up to find Sam, who apparently lived upstairs, but hadn’t heard anything. No, there was no alarm system. No, nothing appeared to be missing other than money, no damages beyond the shattered window and the registers at both the front and the cafe. All told he lost just shy of six hundred dollars across three registers.

  I sighed when the questions ran down, scrubbing my hand through my hair. I was glad no one had been here when the crime had happened, but that meant yet again that no one had seen anything. And with no alarm system, Sam sure as hell didn’t have cameras either.

  I bit back an angry comment about the oversight, but the damage had already been done, and I had a feeling after today it wasn’t a mistake he would make twice.

  After making sure everything was under control, I reluctantly left Marian to help Sam clean up the broken glass and headed back to the station. Jansen met me there and after a gesture from the chief we piled into his office to fill him in.

  “That makes what—four now?” he asked, his thick eyebrows pulled together over a frown. “And we still have practically nothing to go on?”

  I could feel my own dark expression mirroring the chief’s face. “Well, we have video footage from the bank, both inside and out, but it’s not good enough to even tell gender, much less identity. We’re running prints from each location, but nothing useful there yet. The first two break-ins were during the day and the second two at night, but it’s almost certainly the same perpetrator—minimal damage each time, only thing taken was whatever money was in the registers.”

  “Which is always practically nothing,” Jansen put in. “A few hundred. Seems like a lot of trouble to go to for practically no reward.” That had been my thought as well, but I also knew from experience that some people were willing to risk a lot more for a lot less. It all depended on the circumstances.

  “Could be money for drugs,” the chief offered, mirroring my own thoughts. “Or debt. Who knows what kind of trouble they’re in.”

  We all fell silent for a minute, then the chief sat forward and pounded his fist on his desk. “Come on, there has to be more. What are we missing? What else do these places have in common?”

  “All walking distance from each other. Within a radius of a few blocks.” I put in.

  “Right, so maybe the perp doesn’t have a car. Maybe homeless? What else?”

  I sat back, feeling helpless and frustrated. I’d been over and over this in my head, and was getting nowhere.

  “What is it?”

  I glanced up in confusion, but the chief was looking at Jansen instead of me. I followed his gaze and saw Jansen was looking thoughtful.

  “Well, what about that girl?”

  “What girl?” the chief demanded, but I felt my stomach clench.

  “Well, you remember that girl whose apartment was broken into earlier this week? The one who lives by Levi?”

  Had that really only been earlier this week?

  The chief nodded, and Jansen went on. “Well, she works at the bookstore. And didn’t you say she was there when you responded to the call at the craft store too?” He looked to me and I gave a tight nod.

  “What, you think her break-in was tied to these?” the chief asked.

  “Well, no…” Jansen said slowly, “I don’t think that was the same guy, but doesn’t it seem like she’s involved in all this?”

  “What, you think she’s being targeted?” I asked, working to keep my voice even.

  “No…I was actually wondering if she was…involved.” He emphasized the word.

  My chest was growing tight. “Involved. Like, she’s the perp?”

  Jansen shrugged and looked to the chief. “Maybe, right? We know she lives within walking distance to all those places, and she works at the bookstore. Hell, she was the first person on the scene. Who knows if her testimony is truthful? And she was at the craft store right after that break-in, too. It’s just a lot of coincidence, is all I’m saying.”

  “By that logic, the perp could be me,” I put in angrily. “I live there too, and I can walk to all those places.”

  Jansen shot me an odd look. “Oo-kay. I’m just saying, it’s an angle we should consider.”

  The chief opened his mouth to respond, but I barreled over him. “Besides, she doesn’t have any ties to the bank, or the dry cleaner.”

  “Well, we don’t know that, do we?” the chief asked, looking between us. “Has anyone checked to see if she’s a customer at either place?”

  Jansen shook his head. “No, I only just thought of all this.”

  “This is ridiculous,” I muttered under my breath. I knew I was overreacting, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. I wasn’t even sure why I was so outraged—their points made sense, and it was a reasonable line of thought, it was just so wrong. They didn’t know her. Marian was as harmless as a freaking kitten. She was already struggling enough to deal with all of this, the last thing she needed was to think she might be a suspect.

  “Besides,” Jansen went on, “the woman’s clearly got problems. You should have seen her apartment,” he told the chief. “She’s a hoarder or some shit; she’s got trash piled to the ceiling. Maybe she needs money to buy more shit.”

  Blood pulsed in my veins, turning my vision red, and I opened my mouth without any regard for what was going to come out. But before I had a chance to do more than draw breath, the chief cut in, turning to face me.

  “You live next door, right?” He waited until I wrestled myself under control and nodded tightly. “Talk to her. It’s one of the only leads we have. Find out what you can.”

  I choked down the responses that rose in my throat like bile. It wouldn’t help. Instead I rose and gave a curt nod, then left the office, ignoring Jansen’s questioning glance and heroically managing not to punch him in the face as I went.

  The anger roiled in me, hot and metallic, and I wasn’t even sure who or what was the real source of my anger. I was mad that these break-ins kept happening, more and more damage to innocent people’s property and livelihoods, and I was no closer to the answer now than I had been at the beginning. I was mad that Jansen was pointing the finger at Marian, who was just another victim in this list of crimes. I was mad at myself, for reacting the way I was in the first place. Why did I care so much? I told myself I just wanted to solve the case, just have this all over with. And while I honestly believed that Marian wasn’t involved, why had I acted that way in front of the chief? Why was I turning into an idiot where she was involved?

  Because Jansen was right. She was a hoarder, and an addict, and clearly had problems. And I shouldn’t care about her beyond the care I felt for any member of the public I was protecting.

  And yet I was forced to admit the truth that was becoming more and more apparent with every passing moment. Regardless of whether or not I wanted to—I did care.

  * * *

  That night I didn’t make any pretense of going to bed. I hadn’t seen her since the break-in at the bookstore tha
t morning, and I wasn’t going to lie there and pretend I didn’t care if she was alright. I crossed the hallway and pounded on her door, and the swiftness in which she answered it showed me she couldn’t have been doing anything but waiting for me.

  When she came out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind her, I let my eyes drink her in. She looked tired, her eyes drawn, worried creases framing her mouth. But the warm brown of her eyes immediately put me at ease, tension releasing that I didn’t even realize I was carrying.

  The lone light bulb at the end of the hallway had gone out, leaving only a dim light filtering in from the stairwell at one end of the corridor and through the window at the other. The shadows played across her face as I moved to make room for her, both of us collapsing against the wall into our familiar poses.

  She was wearing pajamas—a tank top and thin pants covered in cartoon cupcakes—I suppressed a smile and an eye roll—and had her hair piled on her head, but she’d clearly not yet been to bed. Soft tendrils of hair fell from the elastic to frame her face and catch on her lip, and I folded my hands in my lap to keep from reaching over and freeing the strands.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, watching her face for any shifting flashes of emotion, but if anything, her expression relaxed as her lips curved into a sad smile.

  “I’m okay. We got all the glass cleaned up and Sam had someone in to replace the window. He’s going to keep the store closed tomorrow and reopen on Monday.”

  “That’s great,” I said, “but what about you? Are you okay?”

  Chapter 11

  MARIAN

  I’d known what he meant, but I didn’t want to admit to how much the whole situation was bothering me. I couldn’t stop replaying the horrified look on Sam’s face when he’d vaulted past me down the stairs to see the damage to his store. I knew it wasn’t my fault. I knew it was a complete coincidence that it had happened on my first day opening the store. But none of that eased the pain I felt when I saw his stricken face as he took in the broken glass.

  Levi leaned close and nudged his shoulder against mine, the warm pressure bringing me back to the present. “Talk to me,” he said.

  “I…I’m worried. About Sam. And Sherry.” My voice dropped. “And you.”

  He looked at me strangely. “Me? Why are you worried about me?”

  I shrugged, looking down to keep from meeting his gaze. “Well, it’s your case, right? Four unsolved break-ins now? I imagine that’s pretty stressful.”

  He just looked at me, and I could feel the intensity of his eyes boring into my head until I finally looked up at him. “Don’t worry about me,” he told me. “For one thing, stress is part of my job, and I’ve had way worse. For another thing, I’m going to solve this. It’s just a matter of time.”

  The conviction in his voice was reassuring, and I gave a faint nod.

  “You don’t think…” I trailed off, and he prompted me with another little nudge.

  “What?”

  “You don’t think this…has anything to do with me, do you?”

  He looked at me closely. “What do you mean?”

  I shrugged, feeling a little foolish. “I don’t know. Just…well. I mean, today it was the place that I work. Yesterday it was the craft store I go to all the time. Before that was the bank I use. And the dry cleaners is practically next door to the craft store. It’s almost like someone is targeting me.”

  He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Do you use Royal’s Dry Cleaners?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’ve never been there. But I pass it all the time. I know it probably has nothing to do with me, it’s just…I don’t know. Scary.”

  “Could it be someone targeting you? Do you know anyone—relatives, friends, acquaintances—who might have a motive?”

  I thought for a moment, looking down at my lap, then shook my head. “I don’t really have any relatives. Just an aunt, but she lives over in Glassbury. As for friends or acquaintances…” I shook my head again. “It doesn’t really make sense, I guess. If someone was targeting me, why would they rob all these random places I shop at?”

  “Exactly.”

  I glanced over, and caught the slight curve of his lips and sympathetic glint in his eye.

  “It doesn’t make sense.” He repeated my words. “I know it’s scary, but I really think it’s just a coincidence.” He paused, watching me, and I saw his face soften. He lifted a hand to my face, pulling a strand of hair free from my cheek and tucking it back over my ear, before lowering his hand back to his lap. My breath caught at his touch.

  “I’m sorry you’re scared,” he said softly. “But it won’t last forever. We’ll catch him. I promise.”

  I eyed him, still feeling the brush of his fingers against my cheek.

  “You’re really nothing like I thought you were.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  He raised an eyebrow. “What did you think I was like?”

  I shrugged, looking away, before letting the truth out in a mumble. “Scary. Intimidating.” I snuck a peak over at him. “Mean.”

  He grunted noncommittally, and I couldn’t read his expression.

  I felt my cheeks flush. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  He shook his head, and while his face was still expressionless, I thought I could detect a tightness in his voice that sounded a little like hurt. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry. I never meant to be…mean. Or scary. It wasn’t personal.”

  I peeked at him out of the corner of my eye, looking at the way the faint light from the far end of the hall illuminated his profile, casting his face in sharp angles and making the scar on his jaw stand out in silvery relief. He looked scary. Solid muscles, big hands, deep set eyes, scruff on his jaw. And what I knew about him didn’t lessen his intimidation. He’d chased people down, arrested them, shot people, been shot at. Hell, he threw people around as a hobby, practicing at that martial arts gym. There was nothing about him that wasn’t scary.

  Except that wasn’t true, was it? He wasn’t scary when he sat with me in the hallway, giving up sleep so I could feel safe. He wasn’t scary when he’d hooked his fingers through mine and listened to me talk about my fears. He wasn’t scary when he brushed my hair off my cheek and leaned so close I could see the flecks of color in his eyes.

  Or maybe he was a whole different kind of scary then.

  “What?” he asked in a low voice, and I realized I’d been staring at him.

  I blinked, but didn’t look away. “What happened?” I asked hesitantly. “That first night when we met, when I came over to introduce myself.” He just looked at me, and I went on. “Because you are scary, and intimidating. But I was wrong. You’re not mean. So, what happened?”

  He looked away, and silence fell between us. I’d just decided he wasn’t going to answer, and I should let it drop when he spoke again, his voice a near whisper in the darkness.

  “I grew up here in town,” he said. “Out past Cherry Park, me, my younger brother Mason, my mom, and my dad.”

  I knew where he meant. It was a poor part of town, small houses packed tightly together on tiny plots, cars in driveways propped on cinder blocks and broken chain-link fences.

  “My dad…he was an addict. Gambling, primarily, which led to alcohol. I didn’t realize anything was wrong for the longest time. When I was a kid he would just stay out late at night, and when he came home, sometimes he and my mom would argue. I shared a room with my brother, and while he always seemed to be able to sleep through anything, sometimes the shouting would wake me up. I thought it was normal. Families argue, right?”

  I kept quiet, afraid if I said anything, he would stop. He leaned his head back against the wall.

  “I think the day I realized it wasn’t normal was the day I woke up for school and saw my mom had a bruise on her jaw. They’d been arguing the night before, and it didn’t take a lot of guesswork to figure out where it had come from.”

  I drew in a breath, and he tilted a gla
nce my way. “It didn’t happen a lot. He wasn’t inherently violent. Well, not back then, anyway. He got worse the more he drank, and the more he lost at gambling the more he drank, so…it was just a kind of slow escalation, over time. At first, he just went out after holidays, or tax season, or whenever he had some extra cash to throw away. Then he started going out more after his paychecks came in. And then it was all the time. He got into debt, so he’d go more, and then he’d drink more, and get further into debt, and drink more, and hit my mom.”

  He trailed off, staring out across the hallway, but his eyes were unfocused, and my heart hurt at whatever he saw there in the past. I slid my hand over to where his lay on the carpet between us, and linked my fingers through his. His hand was big and warm, and his fingers tightened convulsively on mine, pulling his attention back to the present, but he didn’t let go, just shook his head and looked down, his forehead creased.

  “It doesn’t matter. He left when I was in high school. Just went out to the casino one night and never came back. Well, actually, he did come back once during my senior year, begging my mom for money, but he didn’t stay. He was drunk then, didn’t even care that we’d thought he was dead for the past three years.”

  He shifted, pulling his hands into his lap, my hand following along as he didn’t relinquish his grip. Of necessity, I scooted a bit closer and angled my body to face him, watching the play of expressions across his face as he continued.

  “After he left, things were better, but they were also worse. He left us saddled with some pretty heavy debt that my mom didn’t even know about. She was already working full-time as an administrative assistant, and things were tight even before. It was hard. I got a job as soon as I could, and I worked full-time all through high school. I barely graduated, then joined the police academy the second I got out. Every penny for years went toward my dad’s debts, but we made it through. It was close, but we even kept the house.”