by Evelyn Adams
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said. “I can’t imagine him doing anything illegal, but I don’t think Ed Samson is her biggest fan.”
“It’s a place to start.”
CLAIRE STEPPED BACK to look at the run of cabinets. At the speed they were moving with the install, she and her guys would be ready for the countertop fabricator to measure by the end of the day – first thing in the morning at the latest. Mike was finishing up the electrical upstairs and she had two guys hanging fixtures and mounting outlets on the main floor. The rest of her crew was painting and doing the odd bits of finishing jobs which seemed never ending.
Still at the rate things were going, they could be done as early as the following Friday. As soon as she got the CO, she could list the property and schedule the open house. With the added costs, she might not turn a profit, but she should at least make back her investment. It was a lot of work to just break even, but at this point, she’d be happy to stop hemorrhaging money. There would be other houses to flip and with the commercial side of the business looking up, it would only be a matter of time before she was back on track.
“That looks good, Jesse,” she said dragging her thoughts back to the job at hand. “Let’s get the island cabinets set next.”
Jesse looked up from where he knelt on the floor, adjusting the bun feet in front of the recessed toe kick. He nodded and then his eyes went wide at something behind her. Claire looked over her shoulder in time to see Detective Benson coming into the kitchen followed by one of the detectives from the night Pete fell. Claire couldn’t remember his name, but she’d never forget his face.
“Ms. English,” said Benson. “This is a nice place you have here. Decent neighborhood too.”
“Thank you, Detective. Are you on the market for a new place?”
Smiling an I’m harmless smile, Benson shook his head. “I’m actually looking for a Michael Ramirez. He works for you?”
He phrased it as a question, but Claire knew he already knew the answer. “Has something happened?” The idea of the police focusing their attention on Mike made her stomach tighten. She knew that until they had better leads, she and her crew were at the top of their list, but she didn’t have to like it. Mike loved Pete and he was a stand up family man. He’d never be involved with anything shady.
“We’d just like to ask Mr. Ramirez a few questions. Can you tell me where to find him?” The detective’s tone was friendly and accommodating but his eyes flashed with a determination that made Claire think he’d be singing a much different tune if he was pushed.
“He’s upstairs. I’ll show you,” she said but before she’d finished speaking, the detectives had turned and were headed for the stairs.
Claire followed along behind. She didn’t want Mike to have to deal with them on his own. He was crouched on the floor in the second bedroom, mounting outlets boxes along the wall. He glanced up when he heard them come in, looking concerned when he saw the detectives.
“Mr. Ramirez?” asked Benson.
Mike nodded, getting to his feet and looking worried. “Yes.”
“We’d like you to come down to the station to answer a few questions for us.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“No,” said Benson. “We just need some information.”
“I’ll call Luke’s attorney,” said Claire, stepping around the detectives. “You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.” She was pretty sure that was true and when the detectives didn’t step in to correct her, she figured she’d guessed right.
“No,” said Mike, unfastening his tool belt. “I’ll go. I don’t have anything to hide.”
Detective Benson motioned to the doorway and Mike handed Claire his tool belt.
“I’ll call Luke,” she said, and he nodded before walking out the door, with Benson and the other detective following behind.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Luke’s number, tapping her foot in frustration as she waited for the call to connect. Colin answered on the third ring.
“Ms. English,” he started but she interrupted him before he could go on.
“I need him, Colin. Can you put me through?”
“Of course.”
Claire heard two clicks and then Luke picked up.
“What’s wrong, Claire?” he asked, sounding worried.
“The police came. Benson and that other guy with the dark hair. They took Mike in for questioning. Can you call Mason for me, please? I’ll pay whatever he charges, but I don’t want Mike to have to deal with this alone.”
The phone went quiet for a moment and Claire’s frustration grew as the seconds passed.
“Mike is the young guy on your crew? The one you were hugging the night of the accident?”
“Yes,” said Claire, her frustration reaching the breaking point. She couldn’t figure out why any of that mattered and she was getting pissed at the delay. “He’s also the one with the little boy and the pregnant wife. He’s part of my crew, Luke. I’m not going to let him deal with this alone. Can you call Mason for me or do I have to find another attorney.”
“Of course,” he said. “We’ll meet you at the station.”
“I know you’re busy. You don’t have to come,” she said, but he’d hung up the phone before she finished talking.
BY THE TIME she made it to the parking garage connected to the precinct, Luke was already there waiting for her. He was by himself, waiting at the door to the walkway connecting the garage to the station, and she worried his attorney had been tied up in court or something.
The concern must have shown on her face because he pulled her into his arms, pressing a kiss to the center of her forehead where it creased when she was worried about something.
“Mason is already in with him,” he said and she relaxed into his arms, soaking up some of the comfort he offered.
“Thanks for sending him. I’ll pay for it.”
“No you won’t. I have him on retainer,” he said, nuzzling the sensitive skin behind her ear. Worry turned to desire so fast it made her head spin. “But if you insist, I’ll let you think of other ways to make it up to me.”
“I insist,” she said, tipping back her head to offer him better access to her throat. “I definitely insist.”
She felt his laughter reverberate against her neck as he kissed his way down to the neckline of her T-shirt. As his tongue dipped below the scooped neck, they heard the sound of a car’s engine drawing nearer and pulled apart as if they realized at the same time they were making out in a parking garage.
“Come on,” said Luke as the ancient sedan rolled past. “Let’s go get a cup of coffee before we get arrested for indecent exposure.
She hesitated, not wanting to leave while Mike was still inside.
“It’s okay, Claire. They won’t let you anywhere near him and Mason will call the second they’re finished. There’s a coffee shop next door. Let’s go. The stuff in there will kill you.” He motioned with his head towards the police station and wrinkled his nose.
She couldn’t hold back her laugh, and although she didn’t like it, she knew he was right. “Okay, but I want a donut, too.”
Grinning down at her, he draped his arm over her shoulder and led her to the stairwell.
CLAIRE WAS LICKING powdered sugar from her fingers when Luke’s phone rang. He finished the last bite of his second donut before answering. He listened for a moment and then told whoever was on the line where they were.
“They’re on their way here,” he said when he’d disconnected the call.
Claire nodded then took a sip of her coffee and swallowed, her nerves ratcheting back up.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Everything’s okay.” He took her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers, swiping at the last of the powdered sugar with the tip of his tongue. “Remind me to get some donuts to take home. I like the way they make you taste.”
Visions of she and Luke licking powdered sugar from each other’s bodies flashed in her head
and she felt her face heat. Before she could respond, Mason came through the door with a relieved looking Mike following behind him.
Claire slid over in the booth to make room for them, but rather than let one of the other men have the seat, Luke stood and moved to sit next to her. He motioned for them to sit. Mike slid into the booth opposite them and Mason pulled up a chair to the end of the table.
“How did it go?” asked Luke.
Mike looked to Mason who answered for him.
“I feel fairly confident that the ATF will turn their attention to someone other than Mr. Ramirez,” he said. “His military background raised some questions.”
“I was an ammunitions specialist for the Army before I became an electrician,” said Mike.
Claire knew he’d been in the service before he’d come to work for English, but she hadn’t know what he’d done.
“They had some questions about the circumstances surrounding Mr. Ramirez’s discharge that were easily cleared up. As long as the answers he gave are backed up by his commanding officer.”
“Which they will be,” interrupted Mike.
“There shouldn’t be any further problems, but next time, Claire,” said Mason, getting to his feet. “Call me direct.” He handed her a thick white business card with embossed lettering that screamed money. “Who knows what kind of finder’s fee he’s charging.”
“Nice,” said Luke, shaking his head.
“Good luck with the new baby, Mr. Ramirez.”
“Thank you,” said Mike.
Mason gave Claire’s hand a squeeze, before hurrying out the door.
“Are you okay?” asked Claire.
“Yes,” said Mike with a nod. “I was worried, but Mr. Jeffries was great.” He turned to face Luke. “Thank you for sending him. I don’t know how I’ll pay you back, but I will.”
“No, you won’t,” said Luke. “I’m happy to do it. Put your money towards that baby you have coming.”
Claire reached under the table to catch Luke’s hand, grateful for the way he’d tried to put Mike at ease.
“Go ahead and take the rest of the day off,” she said. “I’ll see you on the job tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks, boss,” said Mike, sliding out of the booth. “And thanks again, Mr. Masters.”
“Call me Luke,” he said and Mike nodded, but he didn’t repeat Luke’s name, and Claire doubted he ever would.
“You said on the job. What job?” asked Luke when they were alone again.
“I’ve got my crew working on the flip while the Ashton Court job is shut down.”
Luke arched an eyebrow and Claire held up a hand to stop him from saying anything. She could only imagine what he was thinking after she’s massacred him for wasted money on added labor costs.
“Don’t say it. I know, but I couldn’t lay them off. They’ve got families to support. The bad news is, I’ll be lucky to break even on the Chestnut Street job. The good news is, I won’t have to work this weekend. I’m making lemonade,” she said with a rueful smile.
“I see that,” he said, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. “Now about those donuts.”
LUKE WATCHED CLAIRE RIFLE THROUGH stacks of doors leaning against vertical supports taller than she was. She looked tiny next to the heavy doors, and he hurried to help her before she buried herself under a pile of history. He still wasn’t sure how she’d gotten him there, but when she said she planned to take Saturday morning to go to the salvage yard, he’d ignored the mountains of work he had to do to go with her.
“Claire,” he said, holding back a mountain of solid wood doors so she could slide out the narrow, raised panel door she wanted. “Don’t you think we should ask for help?”
He didn’t want to admit his muscles were straining under the weight and he sure as hell couldn’t figure out how she’d ever thought she’d do it alone. But then again he hadn’t seen anything yet she couldn’t handle.
“I can’t imagine the owner wants the liability of you getting squashed back here.”
She grinned at him but didn’t stop wrestling the door free of the pile. “You’re not going to let that happen,” she said. “And Bob lets me root through whatever I want. I’m a good customer.” She waggled her eyebrows at him, and he caught himself before he rolled his eyes like a teenager.
This woman who wasn’t much more than half his size knew how to push every one of his buttons.
“There,” she said, finally managing to drag the door free.
He let the pile of doors lean against the wall, discreetly stretching his aching muscles.
“It’s good.” He took a moment to admire her prize. It was good. Narrow, probably a 2.0 with six horizontal raised panels. In the right setting it would be a perfect architectural detail, and he had no doubt she’d find exactly the right setting.
“It is, isn’t it?” She ran her finger appreciatively along one of the panels. “I’ll take it.”
He cringed realizing there was ever a doubt after all that work to get it out.
“I still need some hardware, but most of that is up front,” she said, picking up the door.
“Put it down, Claire,” he said, gritting his teeth so he didn’t snap at her. What did she think she was doing carrying a door on her own and what was he supposed to do? Trail along behind her? He took the door from her, hefting it in his arms and falling into step behind her.
They walked through a room filled almost exclusively with wrought iron panels and then through another one with row after row of bathroom sinks. By the time they reached the room with the bins of reclaimed hardware, he was grateful to set the door down for a moment. Claire crouched in front of a bin on the floor and started looking through the door knobs.
“Perfect!” she said after digging for a few minutes.
She held what looked like an old enameled doorknob with an intricately cast brass lock plate out to him. He squatted next to her to get a better look.
He was surprised by the weight of the fixture. It felt solid in his hand. Authentic. He didn’t have to wonder why she loved restoring houses the way she did. Building them from ground up would probably never interest her as much as uncovering and restoring their hidden beauty did.
“Now if I can find five more sets, I’ll have enough to do the upstairs. I can cannibalize the sets that are already there for the main floor doors and I’ll be done.
“Just five more,” he said, glancing at the bins piled full of doorknobs with seemingly no rhyme or reason. If he wanted to get home before dark, he’d better dig in and help, he thought, turning his attention to the neighboring bin.
After a few minutes of rooting through the piles of fixtures, he could see her fascination. They were all beautiful, some more than others, and looking for the ones she wanted felt like a treasure hunt. When he found one, he was so excited he had to bite back a yelp.
“Got one,” he said, offering her his prize.
“Oh, you fantastic man,” she said, flinging her arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
He could buy her dozens of doorknobs – jewel encrusted doorknobs, and it wouldn’t feel half as good as finding the one she wanted.
They dug through three more bins before they found the last three knob sets. By the time he found the last one some of the thrill of the hunt had worn off and he was ready to get her home.
“You’re good at this,” she said when he handed her the last set. “Maybe we should get a house together.”
He leaned away from her so fast he fell back on his ass.
“Easy, Masters,” she said laughing at him where he laid sprawled on the bare concrete. “I meant as an investment.”
He knew that’s what she meant, but he hadn’t been able to prevent his visceral reaction to her words. He’d always known he carried scars from his childhood. He was fucked up. He just hadn’t realized how badly until he met Claire.
She deserved someone to buy a house with her. To have children with her. To build a life with he
r. He didn’t know if it could ever be him, but a small, quiet part of him wanted like hell to try.
Still grinning, Claire clutched the knob sets in her arms and headed to the register to check out, leaving him to pick up the door and follow behind her.
CLAIRE SPREAD TOMATO sauce in the bottom of the casserole dish and topped it with a layer of cooked noodles. It wouldn’t be on par with Eric’s food, but it had been so long since she’d had time to cook, and she was in the mood for comfort food. Her grandma’s lasagna was the perfect choice. It took all day to make and it would hold until Luke got home from work. She just hoped seeing her cooking in his kitchen didn’t scare him to death.
She’d actually knocked the man over with her suggestion that they renovate a house together. She made the suggestion on a whim. He seemed so into the challenge of finding the door knobs; she thought he’d love the challenge of restoring a house. Instead of being interested in the idea, he backed away from her so fast; he fell over.
The whole thing would make her sad if she couldn’t still picture him sitting on the floor in his faded jeans, his legs stretched out in front of him from where he’d fallen. He’d seemed so overwhelmed, and she’d caught a glimpse of what he must have looked like as a boy. What in the world happened to make him so averse to any kind of personal commitment that he’d rather end up on the ground than risk it? It was heartbreaking and ridiculous.
She spread the cheesy ricotta mixture over the noodles and topped it with parmesan before adding another layer of noodles. It wasn’t like she was asking him to move in together. She smeared on more meat sauce, fighting the urge to give in to being angry. She could tell he felt bad for overreacting but it hadn’t stopped him from doing it. And she didn’t think it was getting better. Every so often she’d catch him looking at her like he was trying to figure something out or say something. As if she had what he wanted beyond the obvious choices. He’d be sweet and attentive and she’d be so sure they turned a table only to watch him slide away again moments later. She’d never had so much sex in her life, but it didn’t make up for the ache she sometimes felt.