Sighing, his brother rose, rounded his desk and negotiated the sectional. Standing between the sofa and Drake, Adam pulled a picture away from the wall, exposing the safe behind it.
Drake stood in the center of the room, clenching his hands into fists and tasting his excitement.
“Ever think of making things right?” Adam keyed in numbers on an electronic pad.
“Such as?”
“I meant what I said. If I would give a second chance to someone like Rander, the least I could do is make the same offer to my brother. You could come to work for Maxwell Construction, earn your way up, maybe even find your way back into the family.”
Drake studied his surroundings. “Would I get this office?”
Adam’s hand remained on the latch and he shook his head slowly. “Not even close. Weekly drug tests, entry level position, but I pay a decent wage. Prove yourself. You’ll make a nice living.”
And Drake thought he’d met con-men in prison. It had to be killing Adam to give up Drake’s share of the money. “As much as letting my skin turn to leather and crawling around in dirt appeals to me, I’ll pass. Why should I do that when I’m a rich man?”
Adam’s face turned purple. “Have you no shame at all? When you shot and killed that clerk, you might as well have murdered our mother. That lawyer pled you down, all right. At the expense of our father’s reputation. Sexual abuse, Drake? A dead man can’t defend himself. People who Mother had known forever would cross the street rather than talk to her.”
Rage and bile rose in unison. His lawyer had done what he had to do, and still Drake had been put away for fifteen years. What was wrong with his asshole brother? All Drake wanted was his inheritance and to forget these people ever existed. He was a fraction from ripping Adam to shreds. “I’ve had guilt shoved up my ass my entire life. It didn’t work then, and it’s sure not working now, so save it.” Drake moved toward the sofa. “My money, Adam, you’re out of time.”
“And I told you, you don’t have any coming.” Shaking his head, he pushed down on the lever, opened the safe and withdrew a manila package.
He tossed it to Drake, who caught it one handed. “What’s this?”
“My emergency fund. You won’t work for it, so it’s fifty thousand dollars to get out of our lives. Permanently. And there’s no point in contacting Krissy. We’re both in agreement. We hoped you’d changed, but clearly you haven’t. We don’t owe you a dime, and I’m telling you, once and for all, there’s nothing for you here.”
Drake snapped. His vision blurred. Blindly, he sideswiped a crystal lamp on an end table. As it shattered on the floor, he roared, “I’ll kill every last one of you!”
Rounding the sofa to get to his brother, Drake suddenly skidded to a stop. In a million years, he’d never seen this coming. Where had the pacifist Adam Maxwell come up with a gun?
Heart ramming inside his chest, Drake drew his hands up.
“Do you think I haven’t dreaded this scene every day for the past fifteen years?” Adam said, the small-caliber weapon trembling in his hand. “Or that I would leave my family defenseless? Look over the door.”
With sweat clinging to his brow, Drake glanced back, still almost missing the tiny surveillance camera built in to the ceiling. It had never occurred to him to check. Locating them in the joint had been second nature, but in a construction company?
“We’re also being recorded,” Adam said. He trained the gun on Drake, watched him warily and moved back toward the desk. “And with the threat you just made and the damage done to my office, I could have you arrested. Then my emergency fund stays in my vault.”
“You built this company using my money,” Drake said, from between his teeth, all while taking small steps in Adam’s direction. “And you and I both know you don’t have the balls to pull that trigger.”
Adam cocked the hammer, then moved his free hand down the side of his desk. “You’re partially right. I wouldn’t ever want another human being’s death on my conscience. But I will defend myself and my family. I’ve pushed the panic alarm, Drake. You have two choices. Stay here, come any closer and I will kill you. Or leave now with the only money I have to give you, because the police are on their way.”
“This isn’t over,” Drake said. But rather than face the cops, he headed to the door.
“Oh, yes, it is,” Adam called after him. “For once in your life, accept that you alone are responsible for your actions!”
Scrambling down the hallway and out into the bright sunshine, Drake stashed the measly payoff into his gym bag. He didn’t stop running until he’d dropped into a seat on a city bus. One way or another, he would get what was coming to him. And every morning when Adam Maxwell looked in the mirror, he’d be wise to picture a dead man.
Not only Adam, but Kristina―she was in on this, too. No matter what, those two suck-ups would pay. Drake had hated his parents ramming their perfection down his throat. They’d called him lazy and unfocused, when the plain truth was, he just didn’t give a damn. At first he’d been indifferent. Later, he’d grown defiant. And if anything went wrong, he got the blame. Some things never changed.
You alone are responsible.
Now that was a crock of shit. Drake had fifteen years to think about what had happened. Melanie had shoved over a display case containing floor-to-ceiling cases of beer. The impact had knocked him out cold. He’d never stood a chance. He’d awoken to cops entering the convenience store. Her testimony had sent him to prison.
With the bus doors hissing closed and the wheels droning beneath him, he pondered a question. What meant more to him―fifteen stolen years or his stolen inheritance?
Damned, fucking both, he decided.
Drake stared at the bag in his hands. So Jason Rander had come asking Adam for a job and been turned away. And they’d called Adam gifted?
How stupid of Adam to mention it. How incredibly careless and stupid.
Drake had business to conduct, and although he couldn’t leave California just yet, he hightailed it away from Riverside and took the Metrolink train northwest to L.A. Without his long-anticipated trust fund, he was forced into areas where even an ex-con felt unsafe. The streets near the Coliseum where he’d chosen to lie low were nothing more than a larger version of prison.
In the pen, a pinched cigarette could set off a gang riot. On the streets, carrying around fifty grand could set off a war.
California might have been smoke-free, inside and out, but it wasn’t hooker-free or gun-free and every ethnicity on the planet seemed to hang out here. When he wasn’t skulking in a back alley and lying low from the cops, he was buying a pre-paid cell phone, fake IDs, new threads and a used Jeep Wrangler. Which brought him to a more-immediate problem, the piss-pour amount Adam had given Drake was running through his hands like a sieve.
Some of the boys he ran with in the old days finally agreed to see him, and when they did, their tips about Jason Rander led Drake to a warehouse in Santa Monica.
For once, he saw eye to eye with his greedy sibling. Adam had been smart not to hire the loser. Rander’s collapsed veins and rotted teeth gave him away. Unfortunately, Adam hadn’t used an equal amount of brains when it came to dealing with Drake. And because of that costly mistake, he made Rander an offer no junkie could refuse.
The moment he learned of Adam’s death, Drake would contact his sister. And here came the juicy part. If she didn’t pay up, he’d let her know who he planned to go after next. Picturing his little sister’s panic-stricken face, he almost smiled. If Krissy wanted to protect her family, she’d start doleing out the cash.
There was only one flaw to the whole scenario. To get what Drake promised, Rander would be anxious to carry out the deal. And when that happened, Drake needed to be miles and miles across the state line.
He pulled out a map and planned his route. What
a businessman he’d turned out to be. He infinitely preferred to go it solo, although he’d found it never hurt to access his networks. Look how easily he’d dug up Rander. With Adam all but a thing of the past, Drake moved onto his next order of business. Melanie Daniels.
He just had to find her.
Chapter Nine
Days after his debacle with Melanie, Joe still hadn’t made a move to apologize, nor could he seem to get the woman out of his head. He’d done everything but, shoveling her drive after the first major snowstorm, recanting on his decision to separate the boys, carpooling whenever he could, and generally touting a good neighbor policy from afar.
But to walk up to the ex-con and say, “I’m sorry, I invaded your privacy,” or “I might have been a tad out of line,” didn’t seem to be part of his vernacular, any more than saying “thank you,” appeared to be part of Melanie’s.
How their kids could be attached at the hip, while the parents did their best to avoid one another was beyond him, but if Melanie wanted it that way, so be it.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to protect her. He’d researched Maxwell’s movements since his release, and had traced the convict’s return to California as DOC officials had predicted.
Joe arrived home that evening, the same way he’d left in the morning―in the dark. He pulled into the garage, noting his neighbor did not, and an uneasy feeling washed over him. Parking outside, whether a woman had been threatened or not, was a damn risky venture, leaving not only her, but her personal property exposed as well.
Upon closer inspection, his discomfort shifted to annoyance. She’d left the trunk open, her front door ajar, and Joe felt his blood pressure soar. Her car was chockfull of groceries, explaining the still-open trunk. He grabbed the remaining bags, slammed the lid shut and walked into her house. He didn’t bother to knock. He had a point to make, and announcing his presence wasn’t part of the plan.
The ready lecture never happened. On the contrary, what occurred when he strode into her kitchen was a complete loss of words. Bent over in her pantry stocking canned goods, Melanie displayed one of the finest asses he’d seen in a very long time. Leaning against the door jamb, he allowed himself a fleeting fantasy. That was, until she dropped a can and it rolled in his direction.
Determined not to startle her when she came to retrieve it, Joe cleared his throat.
She shot upright, banging her head in the process. She clutched her chest and whirled on him. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
At the unexpected impact, he suffered a pang of guilt. He placed the bags on the counter. “Being a good neighbor. Lucky for you.”
She eyed the groceries and winced as she rubbed her head. “How is giving me a heart attack or a concussion lucky?”
Maintaining his position by the counter, he said, “Why would you of all people, leave your front door open?”
She glared at him. “Because as much as this may surprise you, Lieutenant, I can’t walk through walls. I’m unloading my groceries, you―”
This time he did walk toward her. “Ah-ah-ah. I already get that I’m a son of a bitch from our last time together. You didn’t leave your door unlocked, Melanie, you left it wide open. I could have been anybody.”
She swallowed, calling attention to the creamy column of her throat. Of all the cons he’d arrested over the course of his career, why had the one who was by far the most attractive moved in next door?
“You’re absolutely right,” she replied. “I forget with all the luxuries afforded me, I should’ve had the butler do it.”
“Cute. Luke could’ve helped. He’ll be home any minute.”
“And starving.” She shrugged. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey. Dinner? You’ll have to wait. We have plenty of food, but it’s in the car.”
“You coddle these boys way too much, Melanie. They can fend for themselves on occasion.”
“Think what you want. But if my father had coddled me, I might never have hit the streets. And I have to coddle Matt.” She shot Joe another look of disdain. “You’re never around to do it.”
“You really are a condescending―”
“Ah, ah, ah.” She held up a hand.
Touché. Joe stepped back, ashamed that she’d gotten to him. Not many could, but when it came to his kids, his guilt was relentless. “You could park in the garage.”
“Sure, if I want to get high centered on boxes. It’s stacked with things from our move.”
“So get a storage unit.”
“I plan to,” she shot back. “But for now, I don’t know what needs to stay or what needs to go. But I know one thing that does.” She waggled her fingers. “Good-bye, Lieutenant.”
“Joe.”
“What?”
“Call me Joe. We live next door to each other.”
“You could move,” she muttered.
He laughed, he couldn’t help it. Melanie Norris had a comeback for everything, and he had to give her an A+ for not backing down from him. “Do you ever plan to be nice?”
She coughed. “I beg your pardon.”
“You know, be civil? You wave to me, I wave to you, say thank you when I shovel your walk. It’s called civility. And you’re welcome, by the way.”
She cocked her head. “I guess that depends on you. Do you ever plan to apologize?”
Propping a hip against the counter, Joe folded his arms. What was with him? Why couldn’t he say he was sorry for visiting the warden and be done with it? Joe supposed largely because he wasn’t. In his line of work, men and women didn’t wait around for surprises.
Dispatch chose that moment to intrude. Reading a page ordering him to headquarters, he sighed. “Looks like you get your wish. I’m outta here.”
“Will you be gone long?”
“I could be gone thirty minutes or several hours. Do you care?”
“About you? Not in the least.”
“That’s what I figured.”
“But I do worry about Matt.”
“Matt knows what’s expected of him. He’ll set the alarm and be fine at home.”
Melanie moved to the counter and began unloading the rest of her groceries. “Would you think it condescending or coddling of me if I asked if he could stay here?”
Hearing nothing but concern in her voice, Joe resisted a comeback. Damn it. He should be thanking her, not sparring with her. He lifted his head sheepishly. “Frankly? I’d appreciate the help.”
The look of understanding she returned hit him all the way to his gut. He’d started to move through the doorway when he thought to pause. “About that apology?”
Melanie stopped rummaging.
“I can’t apologize for the background check. You wouldn’t talk to me. I had to know.”
She stiffened and Joe rushed on. “But I am sorry I hurt you in the process.”
Half an apology. As Joe traversed their yards, Mel clung to the porch column and wondered what had just transpired in her kitchen. In a way, she should be congratulating herself. She suspected many never got that much from the unflappable Lieutenant Crandall.
To her dismay, she’d learned at recent high school events that her neighbor was respected by men, sought-after by women, and, that most, if they’d found him in their kitchen carrying in groceries, would’ve expressed their gratitude far differently than by telling him to get out.
Mel shuddered against the cold, annoyed that she too felt drawn to the six-foot-two-inch shell that made up the cop. The only thing saving her from herself was the knowledge that beneath the appealing exterior beat the heart of the man who’d slipped cold cuffs on her and walked her through booking while she’d pleaded and begged.
Luke didn’t know. And until she was ready to tell him about her past―on her terms, she’d damned well keep her distance from Lieutenant Cra
ndall. Already she’d gambled, encouraging her son’s friendship with Matt. Even so, Matt had never let on that he knew anything about her background, something she ought to thank his father for. Nevertheless, becoming chummy with the man who sent her to prison wasn’t high on her to-do list.
Joe’s Crown Victoria pulled out of his drive the same time Josh Rearson’s souped up Charger careened down Serendipity to drop off the boys. The Charger jumped the curb and jerked to a halt on the sidewalk.
Mel vaulted down the steps, but Joe’s rapid exit from the Crown Victoria beat her to it. Leaving his car running, he crossed to the driver-side window where he had a one on one with the desperately nodding kid behind the wheel. Joe’s angry stance guaranteed Josh wouldn’t be driving their sons anywhere again, anytime soon.
Obviously humiliated, Luke and Matt sauntered past Mel as she held open the door for them. No doubt, a police lieutenant’s words carried ten times the weight hers did with the high school senior.
As Josh drove away, this time at a snail-like pace, and Joe hit his lights speeding off in the opposite direction, Mel smiled. Maybe there were some advantages to a cop living next door after all.
By one-forty in the morning, however, she wasn’t smiling. Joe still hadn’t arrived home. She knew this because she’d called. And when he didn’t answer, she paced beside the bay window in her bedroom, pausing every so often to look out at the darkened house beside hers.
Maybe it was the sirens that had screamed throughout the night, or the fact that his son slept under her roof, but she was wide awake and willing Joe to show.
Unbelievable. She detested Joe Crandall. She tried to shake her concern by revisiting their earlier conversation. Condescending? After everything she’d been involved in by seventeen, she had no right to judge anybody. As for coddling, she and Carl had raised a boy using love and discipline. Along with the ruler she owed the cop, maybe she’d buy him a dictionary. That was, if he ever came home.
Where was he?
Restless, she checked the view from her window again, then slipped into her robe. On tiptoe, she moved down the hall. Luke and Matt had carried up an old futon from the garage and stuffed it in Luke’s tiny bedroom.
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