by Julie Miller
She wished she could blame her bare feet on the cool grass or the night air for the chill that left her shaking. Maybe Rebecca Page would believe that excuse, but not Eli. Those eyes knew.
“Commissioner,” he reminded her of his warning.
“We know that car doesn’t belong to Powell, and because of the speed and the sun, I couldn’t see the driver.” That much she could share. But little more. Shauna released the reporter and gestured toward the street. She couldn’t even tell the young woman how much danger she could be in just for standing beside her. “As to the robbery, I can’t comment on that because it’s still under investigation.”
“I figured I’d get a stock answer.”
“It’s the only answer I can give you.” Shauna tried to negotiate a deal for everyone’s safety. “If you leave now, I promise to fill you in on all the details as soon as I’m legally and responsibly able to do so.”
“That means ‘goodnight,’” Seth chided.
Eli pushed him toward the front porch and Shauna linked her arm through her son’s to keep him beside her. “I’ll walk you to your car. Seth, take your mom and sister inside. We’ve already got too many eyes watching us. Ms. Page?”
She stalled at Eli’s hand on her back. “I get first crack at the story?”
“You’ll be the first reporter I call.”
Shauna clung to Seth’s arm and escorted him to the porch. She needed the warmth and reassurance that she and her children were all right as much as she wanted to get his rude butt inside and find out why he’d chosen to ignore everything she’d taught him about treating women—even pesky annoyances like Rebecca Page—with respect.
He held the door open for Sadie, Sarah and herself as Rebecca sped away in her little red sports car. “What a waste of lookin’ good,” he muttered.
“The leggy brunette?” Sarah asked.
Seth glared at his sister before trudging inside behind her. “The car.”
Once the door was closed behind them, Seth wrapped Shauna up in a bear hug and apologized. “You know that jerk outside wasn’t really me, right?”
Relieved to know his behavior was an act, not a disturbing new personality trait, she hugged him back. Shauna hated it, but understood. “A little bad press is good for your new image?”
“Yeah.”
“Go hug your sister, too. And there’s apple pie left over in the fridge.”
With normal family harmony restoring itself in the kitchen, Shauna stepped outside to meet Eli. As he climbed up onto the porch, he asked, “Any chance of getting another cup of that delicious coffee?”
“Any chance Rebecca Page will keep her word and this incident won’t show up in her column tomorrow?” Shauna hugged her arms around her middle to sustain some warmth and keep from reaching out to Eli. “Thank you.”
“For what?” He joined her at the railing and they stood side by side, looking for signs of that unseen enemy in the night.
“For watching over me. For keeping my son from being arrested for assault.”
“Your son doesn’t like me.”
“He’s as protective as you are. He knows his family’s in danger. He just doesn’t know where the threat’s coming from.”
“Am I a threat?” Eli’s tone was as dark as the night.
“Not the kind he’s worried about.”
“You’ve got goose bumps.” So Eli had seen her shiver of awareness. “I suppose offering you my jacket is out of the question.”
Shauna nodded. Enticing as it was to be wrapped up in his warmth and scent, she couldn’t risk the temptation. “If it’s any consolation, my daughter likes you.”
“So does the dog.” Eli’s humor relaxed her and made her wonder if they could be just friends and colleagues once this nightmare was over. She had a feeling that if they didn’t find answers soon, though, they’d bond past the point of friendship being a real option.
Too late. Despite every reasonable objection not to, she’d already moved beyond that point. She quietly slipped her hand along the railing and laced her fingers together with Eli’s. It was a small gesture physically, but symbolically, it meant much, much more. She already cared deeply for this man.
She’d been lying to herself to blame stress or secrecy or danger alone for her attraction to Eli. The warmth of this simple touch soothed her, inside and out. His shielding presence beside her made her feel things she hadn’t felt for a long, long time. And not even during her years with Austin had she felt a connection so intense, so right.
So wrong.
Reluctantly, Shauna pulled away and headed for the door. “I’ll get that coffee now.”
“Shauna.” Her name alone revealed that he felt some sort of connection, too. Whether it was deep or lasting, she didn’t know. But it just couldn’t happen.
“Are you going back to see Donnell Gibbs tomorrow?” Work was the only topic she could allow.
“Yeah. Then I’m meeting some of the task force members.”
“I’d like to come with you. Maybe the two of us working together can speed up this investigation.”
“That anxious to get rid of me?”
“No, Eli. That’s the problem. I’m not.”
DONNELL GIBBS was counting dots again.
But between four hundred and four hundred one, his gaze darted over to Shauna, sitting at the end of the table opposite Dwight Powers. He looked again after four hundred twelve. What the hell?
Drumming his fingers on the empty envelope in front of him, Eli watched Gibbs spy on Shauna two more times while the legal eagles at the table debated the ground rules for this interrogation. Why couldn’t they just get on with it?
Eli’s arm ached, his mood stunk and his patience was running out. He’d been horny for Shauna throughout the whole chilly night. After Rebecca Page had gone, and Seth had followed Sarah home, the lights had gone off inside the house. While Shauna tucked herself into bed and slept in that peachy, silky second skin she called pajamas, Eli had dozed on and off behind the wheel of his Blazer. His legs were cramped, his coffee was cold and he was falling for a woman he couldn’t have.
Ha! That was the ultimate irony. All those years of seeking out unattainable women just so he wouldn’t form serious attachments, and now he was jonesing for his boss.
Last night she’d hinted that she was feeling at least some degree of the craziness that consumed him. She’d reached for his hand. They’d shared a moment. And then wham! He was left out in the cold. The woman wouldn’t break the code of decorum to save her life!
He had to admire that kind of integrity. He had to respect it. But, dammit, he didn’t have to like it.
This relationship that “wasn’t happening” was going to end badly. It was gonna hurt like hell to walk away and return to business as usual. But what else could he expect? Wishes alone couldn’t give him what he wanted. Otherwise, his parents would still be alive. His sisters would be healthy, happy campers. He’d have a partner he could trust. And he’d have Shauna.
Dwight and Audrey were debating cooperation versus self-incrimination when Donnell snuck another peek at Shauna. Enough. Eli pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “Could we just get him to look at the pictures, please?”
Audrey Kline’s chin jerked up. Eli didn’t need the reprimanding glance from Shauna to regret startling the younger woman. “Sorry,” Eli apologized. “This isn’t our only stop today. If we could have him to take a look at the photographs to see if he recognizes anyone, I’d appreciate it.”
Audrey nodded and walked over to Gibbs. At the gentle touch on his arm, the black man stopped counting. “I need you to sit down, Donnell, and look at these pictures for us.”
“I like pictures. But not of pretty little girls.” Gibbs shook his head as Audrey led him to the table. “Those are bad. I can’t have any.”
Eli offered him his chair. “There are no little girls, Donnell. I just want you to tell me if you know any of these men.”
Knowing Gibbs’s pench
ant for patterns and memory, Eli spread the twenty photographs out like a concentration game. Then he stood back and let him adjust each picture into straight rows and right angles. Biting down on his impatience, Eli waited for Gibbs to pore over each photograph.
“Hey, LaTrese.”
For a moment, Eli thought he hadn’t heard right. But Shauna recognized the name, too. “Which man is LaTrese?” she asked.
Gibbs pointed to the mug shot of LaTrese Pittmon.
Eli pointed, too. “You know this guy?”
“We used to live together.”
“Excuse me?”
Gibbs chuckled with embarrassment. “Not like that. He was my roommate. Before I went to jail.”
Finding Pittmon and his Buick couldn’t be this easy. “Do you remember the address?”
Gibbs recited a number off Truman Road, an address Eli knew by heart. “The Boatman Clinic? You and LaTrese were in rehab together?”
“He moved out first and I had to stay. And then I didn’t have any roommate.”
Jillian was in that place. With crazies and scum like Gibbs and Pittmon. Everyone there was trying to clean up their life and find a better place for him or herself out in the world. But for some, the rehab never took. Would Jillian end up in jail like Gibbs? Would some other cop be tracking her down as an attempted murder suspect like Pittmon?
Eli might be lost in guilt and second-guessing, but Shauna coolly moved on with the questioning. She picked out three photographs and set them in front of Gibbs. “Donnell, do you know any of these men?”
“You’re pretty.”
That snapped Eli back into the room. What the hell was Gibbs’s fascination with Shauna? He liked his women below the age of eight, didn’t he? Though Gibbs was proving to be a cooperative fount of possible leads, Eli wasn’t thrilled with the creepy savant’s interest in her.
“Thank you.” If Shauna was aware of Gibbs’s unnatural curiosity, she didn’t let on. She smiled and pointed to the pictures again. “Would you look and see if you recognize anyone?”
Donnell studied all three pictures as carefully as he counted dots. Finally, he pointed to one photograph. “That’s Charlie.”
Charlie Melito? As in dead Charlie in the gangsta clothes at the bank?
“He wasn’t my roommate.”
“Did you meet him at the Boatman Clinic?” Shauna asked.
Gibbs nodded and pointed to a photograph of Richard Powell. “He lived there, too. He’s mean.”
Shauna’s green eyes snapped up at Eli. She was wondering the same thing he was.
Chilling coincidence? Or a trail they could finally follow?
Four men. One clinic to tie them together. All related to the recent threats against Shauna’s life. Donnell Gibbs was the only one with the tidy alibi of a jail cell to clear him of driving the blue Buick. Charlie Melito was dead. Could either Powell or Pittmon be Yours Truly? Did one of them know the real truth about Jane Doe’s murder?
Before Eli could connect the dots Gibbs had laid out, Donnell looked at Shauna again. “I’ve seen your picture, too.”
She gathered the photos together and nodded as though having a locally famous face was no big thing. “I’m on TV and in the newspapers a lot.”
Donnell squirmed in his chair. He squinted, as though trying to see Shauna in a different kind of focus. He craned his neck to see the photos in Shauna’s hand, then looked at her again.
An alarm went off in Eli’s head. Donnell Gibbs could remember anything he’d seen. He remembered Shauna from a photograph.
Eli squatted down beside Gibbs, who was rocking nervously back and forth in his chair now. “Where did you see Ms. Cartwright’s picture, Donnell?” He took the photos and shuffled through them to find Richard Powell again. “Did this man have her picture?”
Gibbs shook his head. He turned to Eli and whispered. “It was with a picture of her.”
Her? Now Eli was confused. He pointed across the table. “A picture of Ms. Kline?”
“No.” Gibbs was getting agitated again. “The girl with the pretty eyes and pretty dress. In the sandbox.”
Dwight swore. Audrey gasped. Eli grasped Shauna’s hand under the table, holding on even tighter when she tried to pull free. “You saw Shauna…” He corrected himself before she could. She’d understand his need to hold her, even secretly, if Gibbs gave the answer Eli expected. “You saw Ms. Cartwright’s picture in the same place you saw a picture of Baby Jane Doe?”
Shauna’s poker face remained intact. But the chill he felt on her skin was a tangible thing.
“I don’t know her name.” Donnell thought Eli was asking about the mutilated girl again.
“Where did you see the pictures, Donnell?”
“I don’t know. It was dark. I couldn’t see the numbers. LaTrese gave me a ride. It was a mean place.”
“Who had the pictures?”
“I don’t know.” He tapped the stack of photographs. “He’s not here.”
“Do you remember the man’s name?”
“No.”
Shauna laced her fingers through Eli’s and held on, just as she had last night. “Why were you looking at the pictures, Donnell?” she asked.
“So I could learn how I killed that little girl.”
Chapter Ten
While Shauna met with the director of the Boatman Rehabilitation Clinic, Eli checked his gun and followed a counseling psychologist through the lobby into the heart of the complex. The therapist had recognized Eli from his intake meeting with Jillian and greeted him with a handshake.
“She’s making substantial progress,” he’d said. “We’re not out of the woods yet by any means, but I don’t think it would hurt her to have a visitor today. Would you like to see her?”
“I didn’t think I could.” Eli wanted to see with his own eyes that he’d done the right thing by sending her here. But he didn’t want to cause any setbacks in her recovery.
Shauna was the one who nudged him forward. “Family comes before business, Eli.” Not Detective. “I’ll execute the search warrant for the files. Go see your sister. I think you need to.”
“That’s not why we’re here.”
“That’s an order.”
Eli obeyed.
Out front, there were Oriental rugs and leather chairs to complement the silk screens and modern art on the walls. The superficial entrance was posh and welcoming, exuding class and confidence.
But behind the lobby were padded rooms and hospital beds and locked doors, reminding Eli of the kind of space Donnell Gibbs was occupying down at the jail. There was a nurse’s office. Meeting rooms, rec rooms. An indoor gym. Living spaces that looked like dormitory rooms. A backyard with a tall fence and more locks on the gate.
In every direction he looked there was some sort of supervised activity. A group session. A cooking lesson. A pickup game of basketball.
That’s where he found Jillian.
“I’ll tell her you’re here,” the therapist offered.
“No, wait.” Eli stopped him just outside the door. “Is it okay if I just watch for a minute?”
“Sure. They’ll be taking a break soon. You can talk to her then.”
Watching Jillian run up and down the court took Eli back in time. The spiky punk cut of her hair was a far cry from the bouncy ponytail from her youth, but she still had that wicked three-point shot that could have gotten her a college scholarship. She was skinnier than she’d been, a by-product of her addiction, but she was still selfless on the court—passing to a player with an open shot instead of hogging the ball herself.
Though it was just a game of basketball, Jillian looked happy. And Eli hadn’t seen happy—or sober—on her face for a long time.
For just a minute, Eli remembered how close he and Jilly had once been. She’d been pretty and sweet and innocent…and ready for anything anyone could dish out. She was just hitting her teens when their parents had died. Eli had come home from college to take care of what was left of his family. He g
ot a job, kept a roof over their heads, and scheduled night-school classes around Jilly’s basketball games so he could see her play.
Then she was off the team. Skipping school. Getting drunk and getting high. The little girl he’d loved had become a troubled teen, trying to forget she was taller than all the boys in her class, trying to forget she had no mother to learn from, no father to protect her. Trying to forget her brother and sister worked too much and set too many rules.
There were the older men Eli chased away from the house. The nights he stayed up until dawn without any sign of her coming home. Money from his wallet, gone. The college fund from Jilly’s inheritance, gone. Jilly herself, gone for days at a time. Then weeks. Eventually, she’d show up at the front door, strung out, thrown out by her latest boyfriend.
And no matter what Eli did—the talks, the discipline, the counseling, calling in favors from other cops to track her down—it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t get mad enough, couldn’t love her enough. He couldn’t get her to love herself enough. He couldn’t save her.
But hopefully someone here could. Hopefully, she’d turn out into a better life than the clinic’s alumni he and Shauna were here to investigate.
Relief at seeing her smile couldn’t erase his concerns about his decision to follow the judge’s advice and place her here. Judges had sent Gibbs and Pittmon and Richard Powell to Boatman for detox and rehabilitation, too. Were those men inherently destined to return to a life of crime? Or did something—or someone—here at the clinic have a dangerous influence on them?
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Jillian spotted him from the court as the game was breaking up. Crisp air and exercise had whipped a rosy color into her cheeks. Eli saw the beautiful girl she’d once been, and could be again.
“Hey, kiddo. It’s good to see you.”
“What’s with the beat-up look?” She pointed to the bandage and bruises on his face. “Did some punk finally catch up with you?”
“I had an accident.”
“I see.” She bounced the basketball twice, then passed it to Eli. “Think fast, big bro.”