by Jessica Ames
I grab a rag and wipe my hands before I head into the reception area.
The officer doesn’t smile or give any outward sign of his purpose here, but he asks if we can talk somewhere private, so I lead him into the small office off the reception. It’s where I usually retreat to do paperwork.
His eyes are everywhere as he takes in my space, but he doesn’t sit when I offer him a seat, so I don’t sit either.
“What can I do for you, officer?”
“Where were you last night?”
The question has all my senses firing on alert.
“What’s this about?”
“Just answer the question.”
“I was out having a drink with a buddy of mine.”
He jots this down in his notepad. “Name?”
I give him the name. “What time were you there until approximately?”
“I don’t know, maybe twelve-thirty, one a.m.”
“Can anyone verify this?”
“Only the thirty or so people in the bar.” My sarcasm might not be the best course of action here, but I don’t much feel like explaining myself when he’s not giving me shit back.
“They can vouch you didn’t leave the bar?”
“Yes, so can the bartender and about three or four waitresses working last night. What’s this about?”
The officer lets out a breath. “Do you know an April Collins?”
Ice fills my chest and my heart stutters. “Yeah, I know April. She works at the care center my friend is a resident at.”
“Would you say you have a good relationship with her?”
I wish. I want more, but I think I set fire to those bridges.
“We’re… friends, I guess. I see her every time I visit.”
“Were you anywhere near her house last night?”
More ice fills my veins.
“Since I don’t know where the hell she lives… no. Is she okay?”
The officer doesn’t answer. “You and her had words a couple of weeks ago. What was that about?”
I stare at him. Is he for real right now? “A family member was getting aggressive with her. I stepped in to stop it going further. April didn’t like that I interfered, but I wasn’t standing by while someone tried to hurt her.”
“You were forceful? Intense?”
“No, I was firm and put a stop to it. That’s it. April came and apologized the day after for overreacting. We’ve been fine since. Is April okay?” I repeat my question.
He doesn’t answer. He just gives me a tight smile then says, “That’s all the questions I have, Mr Bannerman. Thanks for your time.”
I watch him leave my office then I quickly strip out of my work coveralls and tug my jeans and tee back on.
When I emerge from the office, Nova gives me a questioning look.
“What was that about?”
“I need to go out for a little while.”
“Okay… but Chris—”
“I’ll be about an hour,” I cut her off.
“What’s going on?”
“I have no idea, but I’m going to find out.”
I head outside to my bike and climb on. I secure my helmet in place and then I hit the throttle. The entire ride to the care center, my brain is racing a hundred miles per hour. Has something happened to her? Why did the officer want to know if I was near her house last night? Fear claws at me, and by the time I hit the parking lot, I’m rushing to get inside so I can get answers. I don’t bother securing my helmet to the lock on the back of the bike. Instead, I just balance it on the back and rush inside.
I’ve never felt panic like this and it scares me a little that I’m so concerned for a woman I’ve never been more than an acquaintance to.
That’s not all she is to you, though, is it?
The voice in my mind taunts me, and it’s right. She’s so much more to me than that, and if anything has happened to her, I’m going to lose my mind.
When I push through the doors into the building, my eyes automatically go up the corridor toward the reception desk. And the pain in my chest loosens as I see April standing with a couple of the nurses—a bulky guy called Nolan and a small blonde, Maxine.
“You’re okay,” I breathe out as I hit the desk.
April looks up at me, her expression bemused.
“Um… yeah.”
I scrub a hand over my bearded jaw. “Fuck. I had a visit from the police. I thought—”
I stop talking, because I have no idea what I thought.
Color rises in her cheeks. “Oh my God, they did not visit you.”
“Yeah, April, they did. The officer wouldn’t tell me what happened to you, but from what he was saying, I wasn’t exactly feeling warm and fuzzy.”
“And you shouldn’t be,” Nolan says.
April hisses at him, “I’m fine!”
“Fine, my ass. You’ve been like a scared rabbit all day.”
That color staining her cheeks moves from a pretty pink to a dark red, and I don’t like that she’s upset by whatever is going on.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Honestly, it’s nothing. Everyone is making a huge deal about something that doesn’t need worrying about.”
“She’s talking crap,” Maxine interjects. “Someone broke into her house while she was asleep. Creepy, right?”
April’s arms wrap around her waist, and she looks uncomfortable. “Sure, Max, just tell the whole world my business,” she mutters.
“Someone broke into your house?” I demand, and my veins fill with ice at this. She was unprotected, in danger, while I was out drinking with my buddies. Jesus.
I watch her shoulders shift.
“April?” I press.
“I guess.”
“You guess?”
She rounds the desk. “Let’s go somewhere a little more private to talk.”
April leads me into an office off the main corridor. I glance around the small space, which is far more organized than my own office. In fact, it’s so neat, I’m not sure she uses it.
“I’m so sorry you’ve got caught up in this. When the police were asking about anyone in my life that I’ve had a disagreement with lately, Bekah—my roommate—mentioned our words over Mr Garner. Honestly, I tried to tell them it was nothing, but they weren’t listening to me.”
“April, I don’t give a shit that the police spoke to me. Are you all right?”
Her shoulders rise and fall. “I don’t know. Truthfully, I am a little freaked out.”
I move to her, and I can’t help touching her. I need to in order to stop my colliding thoughts. I take her hand in mine and rub my thumb over the back of her hand. I feel her freeze momentarily then relax into my touch.
“What happened?” I ask, my voice soft.
She explains about the keys disappearing and reappearing and reminds me about the flowers that were delivered with no name on it. Already, my mind is going places I don’t want it to go, but there is an obvious situation here—someone is interested in her, and not in a healthy way. Of course, I could be jumping the gun. The two incidents may be unrelated, but instinct tells me they’re not.
My ire grows as I realize she’s anxious, despite putting a brave face on things.
“I’m probably worrying about nothing,” she says finally. “I mean, flowers and keys reappearing doesn’t mean anything suspicious, right?”
“Right,” I agree, even though I don’t. “Can you think of anyone in your life who might be targeting you?”
“You sound like the police now.”
“Are you safe at home?”
“We had the locks changed, and I live with a police officer. Bekah’s on the force.”
This makes some of the weight lift off my chest.
“I guess for now.” She continues, “All I can do is be vigilant until we have proof either way of what’s going on.”
I don’t like this answer, but she’s right. Until we know for sure something untoward
is going on, we can’t do much.
13
April
Since the incident, I’ve been driving to work, rather than walking. Bekah wasn’t keen on me being out in the open longer than necessary, and I have to agree with her. I’m not keen on the idea either. I feel safer in my car.
The police haven’t found any threads to pull yet from their investigation—at least none they’re sharing with me—meaning I’m no closer to knowing if a crime was committed or not. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if I was hasty in my concern.
But then how in the hell did your keys get on the table?
I know I didn’t put them there, of that I am certain, which means either Bekah did, and she would not do that without telling me, or someone else did. It’s the someone else that has me totally freaking out. It skeeves me out knowing someone was in the house while I was napping on the couch.
The whole situation is bizarre.
Why didn’t they touch me, or do anything?
This person let themselves in, left the keys and then… went on their merry way? I don’t get it. It makes no sense. Why would they do that? To scare me? To show they’re in control? I have no idea, but it makes my skin crawl.
They ruled Milo out. My ex-husband had an alibi for the time the incident took place. So did Chris—not that I expected it to be him. He barely acknowledged my existence up until a few weeks ago. I can’t see that being a cover for someone who is trying to inject themselves into my life like this.
Bekah is convinced it’s someone I know, someone trying to mess with me—someone who knows I’m prone to losing my keys frequently. Milo was cleared, and Nolan and Maxine wouldn’t do it. They both had alibis anyway. Even if they hadn’t been, I refuse to believe either of them hate me that much they’d try to screw with my head. Besides, Maxine is happily settled down with her fiancée. I’m not sure what Nolan’s relationship status is, but he’s not that vindictive.
The question remains who would do it?
To that, I have no answer. I wondered briefly if it might be Mr. Garner, but it was Chris who got in his face, not me. Surely, any residual anger would be directed at him. Garner was questioned by the police and ruled out anyway, so I don’t think it was him.
But it still leaves the lingering mystery of who is doing this.
I try to put it out of my head and when nothing happens over the next week, it becomes easier to let go of my fear and concern. Maybe whatever it was is done with. Maybe the flowers were just coincidental timing. Maybe I’m just losing my ever-loving mind.
I get halfway to work when my car suddenly splutters and dies. I sit stunned for a moment, before I remember to flick my hazard lights on. I get out of the car, careful to avoid the slow-moving morning commuters, and lift the hood. I glance inside at the engine, but I don’t see anything blatantly obvious. Nothing looks like it’s loose or dangling. Nothing is smoking or doing anything it shouldn’t be. This is about as far as my knowledge of cars goes.
Fresh out of ideas, I climb back in the car and let out a string of curses. I’m going to have to call for a tow, which means I’m going to be late.
Closing my eyes, I take a steadying breath as I grip the steering wheel. The urge to scream is overwhelming, but I keep my cool—barely.
Can anything go right?
I call Triple A and then I call the care center and tell Nolan what’s happening. Then I sit and wait.
I hear the rumble of a motorcycle before I see it in the rear-view mirror. It pulls up behind my car, and my heart starts to race. I don’t think someone would be stupid enough to do something to me with cars crawling past, but people are unpredictable.
My tension lessens when the helmet is pulled off, and I realize it’s Chris Bannerman.
My tension then grows again when I realize it’s Chris fudging Bannerman.
Oh, God. I grip the steering wheel, watching as he walks to the edge of the car, then I follow him in the side mirror as he moves toward the driver’s side. This perspective means his crotch gets bigger and bigger in my mirror and I flush when I realize I’m staring at it.
A tap on the window has me letting out a small squeal. I twist to let the window down.
Chris looks a little surprised to see it’s me sitting behind the wheel.
“April… uh, are you all right?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I was on my way to work. This is the route I take.”
“Oh… and no, I’m not all right. My car crapped out on me. I’m just waiting for Triple A.”
He glances up the road. “In this traffic, you’re going to be waiting a while. Pop the hood and I’ll take a look.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Is this like a macho man thing where you pretend to know about cars to impress the girl?”
His brows arch. “No, this is like a mechanic thing where I actually do know about engines. I work in a custom bike shop, remember?”
I blush. I do remember that, but I also remember the one and only time I’ve been there, he was working on a bike.
“Are bikes the same as cars?” I ask.
He looks good today. He’s wearing a tight-fitted slate-gray shirt beneath a leather jacket that hugs his muscles. My mouth waters as I take in the way his jeans hang off his narrow hips becoming more loosely fitted as they pass his thighs. It looks like they were crafted to his shape exactly.
“No, but I know my way around both.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. Pop the hood. I’ll take a look.”
I feel pleasure roll through me at the endearment. It’s ridiculous—he’s just being polite—but it sends a pulse between my legs.
I do as he asks, ignoring the slight tremble in my hand as I pull the lever. The hood clicks, and he moves to the front of the car.
I hope he has better luck than me.
Climbing out of the car, I carefully avoid the traffic and round the front of the car, standing next to him.
“I didn’t know you were good with cars, too. Sorry for assuming.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t sweat it.”
His fingers move deftly over the engine as he searches for the problem. I have no idea what he’s doing, but he certainly looks at home under here.
“Have you had any more problems since the other night?” he asks.
His question takes me by surprise. I didn’t think he’d care. Then again, he did seem upset when he learned about the situation in the first place.
“No, nothing. It’s been all quiet. I’m not sure if that’s a positive or not, but the police haven’t been able to find anything either, which doesn’t bode well. I’m starting to wonder if I imagined the whole thing.” I bite on my lip as I let my fears come to light.
“I don’t think you imagined your keys disappearing and reappearing, April. You don’t strike me as someone who brings drama either.”
I really don’t. I’m about as pragmatic as they come.
“I don’t have any explanation for what happened.”
“I think what you suspect happened did happen. Someone took the keys and put them back. The question is why, and what would they would gain from it?”
My teeth scrape over my lip again. “Honestly, Chris, I have no idea. I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to think of anyone who would want to hurt me or unsettle me, and the only person I can think of is Milo. We didn’t exactly end our marriage on the best of terms. He didn’t want the divorce at all. In fact, he fought hard against it, but he’s got an alibi for the time it must have happened at. Unless he’s got a twin I don’t know about, he didn’t do it. Besides, as upset as he was, I’m not sure he’d stoop to this level.”
“You’d be surprised what people will do,” he tells me. “Go and try starting the car for me.”
I move carefully back to the driver’s side and climb in. I twist the key and the engine splutters then dies.
“Do it again,” he orders.
I do and this time
it splutters and dies.
He comes to the window and leans a forearm on the roof of the car, so he can dip down to talk to me.
“You’re going to need a tow. I can’t fix this at the side of the road.”
“Triple A should be here soon.”
“I’ll wait with you.”
“Chris, you don’t have to wait with me.”
“Well, I’m not leaving you at the side of the road alone.”
This is sweet and fills me with warmth. “Well, do you want to sit in the car?”
“It’s safer at the side of the road, sweetheart.”
Again with the sweetheart. My stomach is fluttering incessantly now, and when I get out of the car, I don’t miss how he stands so he’s between me and the traffic. He leads me over the barrier at the side of the road and onto the land on the other side of it. He signals for me to sit, which I do. He joins me a second later.
“You really don’t have to wait with me,” I tell him. “It could be a while.”
“Then I’ll wait a while.”
“I’m sure you have to get to work.”
He leans into me and says in a stage-whisper, “Perks of being the boss—I don’t get into trouble for being late.”
I giggle. Honest to God giggle. I don’t know what the fudge has gotten into me, but he turns me into a teenage girl.
“That’s good to know.”
He tells me more about the bike shop and how his brother started it. He also tells me since his brother moved to Iowa, he’s had to take control of things, so his brother could open Halo Customs Iowa.
From the way he talks about his brother, it’s clear they’re close and it’s clear he misses him.
The tow comes far too fast. I want to sit and talk to Chris all day. I don’t want this to end. He pushes to his feet a moment before I grudgingly get to mine, and when he turns to look at me, I see regret in his eyes too.
“Thank you for staying with me,” I say softly.
I expect him to say “sure” or “no problem.” I don’t expect the, “You can make it up to me by having dinner with me tonight,” that comes out of his mouth.
I blink at him. He’s… asking me out?