by Meg Lelvis
A dense curtain of fog in his brain diminished into disquieting grogginess. A warm, seductive dream eluded him, floating away like a phantom as he grappled to remember. Damn, like something on the tip of his tongue. At least no nightmare. He reached for Boone, ruffled his fur, and within five minutes fell asleep until his alarm buzzed. Waking, thoughts of Terri penetrated his mind; he willed them to disappear. He couldn’t lose ground now. Need to focus on the case. Involvement with her? Not smart.
Chapter 23
When Jack reached his office the next morning, Captain Murphy summoned him to the conference room. Hadn’t even wiped the sweat off his brow after the short walk from the parking lot.
Texas in August. Always reinforced his sympathy for two buddies stuck in sweat boxes at Hanoi Hilton. Chicago’s winters appeared more and more appealing.
He wasn’t in the mood to face the brass this morning, not that he ever was. Jack plopped his briefcase on the chair; no room on the desk. He picked up his White Sox mug, headed for the kitchen, and filled his cup. No one around to have to greet, thank god.
He arrived at the designated room and walked through the partially open door. Murphy and Sylvia Namos, the interim chief, lay in wait for him.
“Good morning, Jack,” Namos said. A heavy set woman in her fifties, she was soft spoken for a former beat cop. Jack had been able to stay out of her way, which suited him just fine. He sat down at the long table across from her and Captain Murphy.
“What’s the latest on the Kaplan case?” Murphy stirred his coffee with a stainless spoon. Plastic silverware from the kitchen was beneath him.
“Looks like two persons of interest,” Jack said. “We have Al Vega and Douglas Warner we’re looking at. I want to bring their guns in. Both own small calibers, what we’re looking for.”
“Think they’d volunteer them?” Murphy sipped his coffee.
Jack shrugged. “If they have nothing to hide. They’re both difficult, so who knows.”
Murphy shook his head. “I don’t know, Jack. Can’t get a handle on a strong enough motive. I remember the attempted murder of that pedophile years ago, but that was more—”
Jack grimaced. “Serious, shocking? Murph, I know times have changed, teens having more sex, but these girls are barely out of childhood. A lot of loose cannons out there wanting revenge.”
Ramos smoothed her straight black bangs from her forehead. “I can see Vega more than Warner. It’s been a couple years since Kaplan drugged Brooke. Vega’s daughter Kelly is the most recent we know of.”
Jack agreed. “Yeah, but Brooke suffered more in the long run. I found out anorexia can stem from sexual abuse or trauma.”
“Is she going to be okay?” Ramos said.
“Probably. She’s monitored by doctors, and they’re optimistic.” Jack didn’t know that, but he figured Terri would echo his opinion.
The meeting ended shortly, with Jack stating he would attempt to bring in the suspects’ guns immediately. He knew Murphy liked a drug-related motive for Kaplan’s murder, but Jack knew better.
Back in the office he drained his mug and began shuffling papers. He decided against asking Vega and Warner to volunteer their guns for analysis. Better to keep them in the dark for now, then spring a warrant on them.
Denise poked her head around the half-open door. “Bailey, you busy?”
“Yes. What do you want?”
“Is that any way to treat your best detective who isn’t a detective?” She eased herself in the chair across from Jack.
“Whose fault is that?” Jack often encouraged Denise to move up in the ranks from patrol officer to detective, but she claimed she was happy on the beat. Allowed her to mingle with the people, get to know them, she’d say.
“Yours, of course.” Denise shifted in her chair and patted her unruly hair. “Listen, Bailey, wanted to mention something. I have a good friend, Cathy, a nurse who works at Oak Bend. I met her last night for dinner, and turns out she knows Terri Warner.” Denise paused.
“And just how did that topic come up?”
Denise shrugged, smiled. “Oh, you know. Actually I kind of asked her. Don’t worry, she’s a good friend. She’ll keep a confidence.”
“Come on, Williams. You know better.” He was half serious. He knew the rules, but was curious if Denise discovered something new about Terri.
“I know, but I couldn’t resist asking. Anyway, Cathy doesn’t know her well, but heard she was having mental issues, depression, bad marriage.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “That describes half the women in the country.”
“And half the men. But I got the idea our Mrs. Warner might not be very stable. A couple things happened at work, but Cathy didn’t know details.”
Jack feigned nonchalance. “Why are you making a big deal out of this? Why tell me?”
“Bailey, I’ll come out and say it. I got a distinct vibe you’re interested in the woman, knew it from the day you first saw her.”
Jack pushed his chair back and started to rise. “Williams, I’ve had enough of this conversation. You don’t know what you’re—”
Denise held up her hands. “Whoa, Bailey. I just wanted to caution you—”
Jack stood. “No, Williams, you want to stick your damn nose in my business. Enough of this crap.”
She rose and walked to the door. “Sorry, I overstepped. See ya later.”
Damn woman could see right through him. He felt his heart thumping and wondered if there was anything to her warning about Terri. That’s what Denise was doing, right? He failed to see what the big deal was. Who isn’t depressed in a lousy marriage and going through divorce? Maybe he’d bring it up with Clemons next week. Then again, the doc would probably tell him to focus on his own demons before becoming involved with a woman who may not be good for him. Yeah, he should put Terri on the back burner for now. He sighed. Tell that to his libido.
Meanwhile, Jack riffled through his files and dug out search-and-seizure forms for Vega’s and Warner’s guns. He could probably convince the department’s go-to judge there was probable cause to seize the guns. The man was flexible in sex-related cases.
At noon Jack took the paperwork for the warrant request to Moose, seated at his desk staring at the computer screen. He looked up as Jack handed over the papers.
“Request for a warrant for the two guns. Judge should be at the court house after lunch.”
Moose slid the papers into his top desk drawer. “Thanks, Jack. I wanna get outta here, bask in the sun.”
Jack grunted. “See ya later.” He headed for the parking lot where the August steam bath assaulted him. Damn, the idea of moving back to Chicago kept getting better and better. He reached his car, climbed in, and fired up the engine and AC. Then he remembered to call his mother. He’d bite the bullet, get it over with.
He sat with the car idling, letting the cool air enter his bones, and dialed his mom’s hospital room. He switched on speaker mode.
“Hey, Ma, your number one son here.”
“Jacky, how are you? I’m just eating lunch, if you wanna call it that.” Her voice was chirpy and raspy, reminded him of Baumgartner’s. He pictured her plump, ruddy face framed by henna-rinsed hair.
“Tommy says the surgery went fine. Just wanted to check myself.”
“Why, you worried I’m gonna croak and you’ll feel guilty about never seeing me?”
Jack chuckled. “No, Ma, you’re too cranky to die.”
“Very funny, always the joker. It’s been six years, Jacky, a long time to abandon your poor old ma.”
“Sorry, my violins are in the shop. You’re strong as an ox, be aro
und forever, too bad for us.”
“Ah, Jacky, you’ve always been my favorite.”
“That’s what you tell all of us.”
She sighed. “You gave me more gray hair than the rest, always into everything, never sat still. But you gotta move back here, at least come for Christmas.”
“I don’t know, Ma. Probably have to work.”
“Blimey, that dinky little village needs cops to work holidays? Your father would laugh in his grave at that one.”
“He’d be too soused to do anything.”
“How can you disrespect your sainted father’s memory, Jacky?”
Jack laughed. “I do miss you, Ma, but I gotta go. Enjoy your lunch.”
“Ha, how can I enjoy these so-called potatoes that are mushy, beef tough as my shoes—”
“Okay, Ma, they can’t cook like you do, but you need to soldier on. Talk later. Bye.” Jack hung up before she could say any more. Baumgartner and his mother. Cut from the same cloth.
Driving home he thought about Denise’s comments. She wanted him to stay away from Terri.
A mental issue? Of course she’d be depressed about Brooke’s problems; hell, anorexia was a life-threatening condition or disease or whatever it was considered these days. Could be the marriage was affected by it, or maybe it was on the rocks before. Denise tended to dramatize things; forget her. But he needed to mend fences in the next day or two. He shouldn’t have snarled at her, just laughed it off.
Jack reached his driveway thinking of an excuse to call Terri. Damn, his brain said no, against the frickin’ rules. He hated to wait forever, but the case should close or go cold in a couple weeks. Jack admitted the woman got under his skin; the first time in ten years that happened. More than a physical attraction, but an emotional connection. Wonder if she felt the chemistry, or did he dream it up? He couldn’t stand the wishy-washy asshole he was turning into.
Boone’s yelping brought him back to earth as he drove into the garage. Quit thinking and focus on the now. He’d have a couple of cold Sam Adams and Baumgartner’s casserole for lunch. Then he’d figure out what to do next on the case, his Chicago family, Terri—hell, his whole fuckin’ life.
Chapter 24
The next five days plodded along like a horse pulling a cart on an old dirt road, taking ages to get anywhere. Jack’s life was in a holding pattern, waiting for someone to give the all-clear for a landing, or something relevant to just frickin’ happen. The only laugh all week was how pissed off Vega and Warner acted when Jack and Moose served them warrants for their guns. Warner had threatened to sue the entire department, but had angrily turned over the firearm when he read the legal document.
It took forever to plow through the requisite blizzard of paperwork to submit the gun and bullet to the Houston Forensic Science lab. Hector had delivered the package himself on Friday to assure a speedy return, which was a joke. Jack tried to get priority status, but hell, seemed every cop had the same idea.
Now it was Wednesday, and Jack took off early for lunch and his second shrink appointment.
He thought of a week ago, the last time he’d seen Terri. He could still breathe in the lilac aroma as she swished past him in her living room. He wondered if her auburn hair felt like Karen’s, thick but silky. As he drove from the parking lot, he chastised himself for wanting to drive to Terri’s house, ring the bell, see her at the door. No, stop. It’s against regulations, he could lose his job. But the urge to do the forbidden was overcoming his rational character.
As he crossed the Brazos River away from town, he turned toward the Pecan Grove area. It wouldn’t hurt to drive by her house, see if Bryan’s car was in the driveway. Maybe she wasn’t home.
No law against finding out.
Within ten minutes he turned from Old South Drive onto Pecan Crossing and inched into the Warner’s cul de sac. No car in the driveway. He drove to the end of the turn-around, no one in sight, and crawled his way back to Terri’s house. He stopped and glanced at the front door. What the hell. Go for it. For an unknown reason he parked across the street between two houses.
Knowing he overstepped the boundary of ethical behavior, Jack checked his hair in the mirror, smoothed it down, and stepped into the August fiery furnace, in more ways than one. He forced one foot in front of the other and made his way up the winding sidewalk to the massive front door.
Without hesitating, he rang the bell. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He wiped them with his hand. His heart pounded. He took two deep breaths. What was he doing? He really did need a shrink. Losing his grip. He waited. Should he ring again? He reached out and pressed the bell.
Nothing. No shadows through the beveled glass beside the door.
Feeling like a damn fool, he turned and walked several yards down the sidewalk when he heard the door open.
“Lieutenant, is that you?” Terri’s voice sent electric currents through him.
Jack turned around and nodded. “Guilty as charged.” He slowly approached her.
“Did something happen? Another problem come up?” She stood holding the door open.
Jack clamored for something to say. He should have rehearsed, prepared. “No new issues. I was in the area and thought I’d check on Brooke.” He paused. “See how she’s doing. Oh, and Bryan too, I wondered if he thought of anything else.” God, he was a blithering idiot. Rambling, making no sense.
Terri gazed at him without speaking. Jack managed to croak, “But if you’re busy, I can—”
She smiled. “No, that’s okay. Come on in.” Terri stepped aside for him and then closed and locked the door. She looked alluring, dressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and crisp white pants with black and white striped sandals. A gold clip held back her hair, and diamonds winked in her earlobes.
“Are Brooke and Bryan home now?” Jack said as Terri led the way into the living room. The same lilac fragrance floated in the air. Downright intoxicating. He needed to pull himself together.
Terri indicated the white leather sofa for Jack, so he sat at one end. She joined him in the middle, not the opposite side as he expected.
She crossed her slender legs, turned toward Jack, and placed her arm over the back of the couch, almost reaching his shoulder. “Brooke is doing better I think. She goes for outpatient treatment a few times a week.” She paused to brush imagined lint off her pants. “Bryan’s at school. I think he’s staying with his friends tonight.”
Jack nodded. “Glad Brooke’s better. Bryan’s friends verified his whereabouts on Tuesday, the night of the—”
“Yeah, I know. So he’s not a suspect?”
“Not unless anything else comes up.” Jack wondered if she felt the magnetic vibe in the air like he did.
Terri uncrossed her legs and tucked them beneath her. She removed her hand from the back of the sofa and placed it beside her, closer to Jack. “I’m sure you’re tired of people saying you look like Liam Neeson.” Again, that half-smile.
“Sometimes they can’t come up with the name, maybe ‘cause I have gray creeping into my hair.”
Terri laughed. “Maybe, but you don’t look older.”
“Actually we were born the same year, but don’t ask.”
“Okay, but can’t wait to Google him.” She seemed to examine Jack. “Now where were we?”
Jack wet his lips. Her eyes were a sultry green, not blue like Karen’s. A romantic cliché popped into his head about getting lost in those eyes. “I—ah—wanted to check on Brooke and ask about your, ah, husband or ex. We submitted his handgun for analysis and—”
“Yeah, he told me. Pissed him off, but didn’t say anything else.” Why was she staring at him?
&nbs
p; “Just wanted to make sure he wasn’t bothering you—” He let the sentence hang in mid-air.
Terri shifted closer. “Lieutenant, do you always take such good care of your witnesses or whatever you call me?”
Jack cleared his throat. He edged closer, locking eyes with her. “Your husband—”
“Officially my ex. Signed the papers last week.” She slowly tilted her head toward his shoulder. Their eyes locked. He was sinking deeper, deeper.
Like a tidal wave, every buried emotion in the past ten years crashed down on him as he kissed her with long forgotten hunger. Their bodies entwined, hands urgent, then Terri gently pushed his shoulders away. “Come on.” She took his hand, they stood and she led him through the foyer and up the stairs.
Jack mumbled, “This is crazy, we shouldn’t, what if Brooke comes home.” He didn’t give a damn, but who knows why he said it.
“It’s not even noon yet.” She led Jack down the hall. “No one will bother us.”
Terri opened a door at the end and pulled Jack across the gigantic suite to a king sized bed, unmade with a partly-folded peach colored comforter at the foot. She tumbled down on ivory silk sheets, with Jack falling on top of her.
Oh god, oh god. Was he talking or thinking the words? Shirts, pants, underwear, shoes, flying here and there. Terri giggling. Their glorious noises. God, at long last. Pounding surf enveloping both body and spirit. My lady with the auburn hair. Another realm. Another time.
. . . . .
Afterward Jack lay on his back, Terri dabbing his face dry with the edge of the sheet. He wiped the sides of his eyes. Shit, those weren’t tears. Can’t be. Jack Bailey doesn’t do that.
She curled beside him, head on his shoulder, fingers caressing his barrel chest. Smiling like a cat preening in the sun, she rubbed her cheek against the wiry gray and black hair. They were silent for several minutes.