02_The Hero Next Door (11 page)

“Believing doesn’t take away suffering and doubts, Heather. Mother Teresa is a good example. She labored most of her life under terrible conditions to bring love and compassion and hope to the poorest of the poor. She was praised by everyone for her great faith. Yet after she died, her letters revealed a soul in darkness. For most of her life, she felt distanced from God. Surrounded by blackness. But she continued doing what she felt called to do, despite her despair.

“That’s what faith is all about. Believing, hoping, trusting even in the darkest hours. I trust the Lord, and I know He’ll provide the answers I’m searching for in His time if I put everything in His hands.”

“It would be nice to have such a sense of certainty.” There was a wistful quality to her words. “But I don’t think I could
relinquish control of my life to anyone. I’d feel…smothered. Shackled.”

“Believe it or not, the opposite happens. It’s freeing when God is in charge.”

She sifted the sand, watching the grains slip through her fingers. “Have you always believed?”

“Not to the extent I do now. But my mother had a strong faith. And I had a very persistent college buddy who dragged me to services one Sunday after he watched me struggling to keep my family together. That visit got me started on the right road.”

A capricious breeze ruffled Heather’s hair, and she brushed the silky strands back from her face. “Brian told me Nathan is in prison.”

“Yeah.” J.C. felt the familiar twinge in the pit of his stomach as he thought about the train wreck that was his brother’s life.

“You’ve had a lot of tough things to deal with for a lot of years.”

Compared to her, he supposed that was true. There might be troubled marriages in Heather’s background, but there was a lot more bad stuff in his. Yet dwelling on it was an invitation to bitterness.

He lifted one shoulder. “You cope with the hand you’re dealt.”

“Some do it better than others.”

That, too, was true. He’d managed to rise above his past, for the most part. Marci had, too. Nathan was still mired in muck. And perhaps always would be, he thought as a wave of despair washed over him.

It was time to change the subject.

Gesturing toward Brian again, he brought the conversation back to the reason for this outing. “I’d like to think your nephew could learn to do that. He appears to be getting back on track.”

To his relief, Heather followed his lead. “I agree. He seems to do better when he’s occupied.” Shifting into a cross-legged
position, she tucked her skirt around her legs. “I wish I knew some good, solid young people his age to introduce him to while he’s here. That kind of positive peer influence could be helpful.”

An idea took shape in J.C.’s mind. “I have a thought. The church I’m attending here has a high school–age youth group that does service projects during the summer, mixed in with social activities. It’s designed to teach kids real-world skills, while instilling a sense of social responsibility. This Wednesday they’re going to do some painting for an elderly resident in ’Sconset, with a beach party afterward. If you don’t mind the church affiliation, I could invite Brian. I volunteered to help part of the day.”

Gratitude warmed her eyes. “That sounds perfect. And we know he’s had some experience painting.”

“Are you guys talking about me?” J.C. and Heather turned in unison as the dripping teen bounded up the beach.

“Yes, we were.” Heather flipped up the lid of the cooler. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved.” He flopped onto his towel as she passed out sandwiches and soft drinks. “Do you have another painting job at the house?”

“No, but J.C. has one.”

When Heather looked his way, J.C. took the handoff. “A youth group at the church I’m attending is going to paint a picket fence for a senior citizen this Wednesday, and I thought you might want to help. You did a great job on your aunt’s house.”

Brian scrunched up his face. “Church kids are dorks.” He took a huge bite of his turkey sandwich.

“Why do you say that?” J.C. snagged a bag of chips and opened the top, keeping his tone conversational.

“My mom’s been dragging me to church lately, and she forced me to go to a youth group meeting.” He kept chewing as he spoke. “It was the pits.”

“Your mom goes to church?”

From Heather’s startled question, it was clear this was news to her, J.C. concluded.

“Yeah. And the kids are all losers.”

“That might be true there, but the kids at my church are pretty awesome.” J.C. spread some mustard on his sandwich. “One of the guys is a fantastic hockey player. A lot of college scouts have come out here to look at him.”

“Yeah?” Brian shot J.C. an interested glance.

“And last year one of the girls was a national finalist in the Junior Miss program.”

Brian stopped chewing. “That’s pretty cool.”

“Another guy teaches at one of the island’s surfing schools.”

Brian swallowed his bite of sandwich and adopted the carefully indifferent, “I’m interested but I still want to appear cool” attitude J.C. often observed in young teens. “So how many kids will be at this painting thing?”

“I think fifteen have signed up. Afterward, they’re going to have a barbecue and play a little beach volleyball. I’ll be there part of the time, too. I was going to go out later in the day, but I could make a quick stop in the morning and introduce you to a few of the kids if you want to go.”

“I guess that would be okay.” Brian took another bite of his sandwich.

Heather stepped back into the conversation and directed her question to J.C. “Are you working nights again this week?”

“Yes.”

“When do you sleep?”

He grinned at her. “After I introduce Brian around, I’ll come back and crash. I was going to go out again about five and help supervise the wrap-up party. We could use a few more chaperones for that if you could squeeze it in.”

Uh-oh. Bad move, J.C. berated himself. Manufacturing reasons to interact with Heather was
not
a good idea.

But maybe she’d follow the prudent path and decline.

No such luck.

“I could help out after the tearoom closes.”

“That would be cool, Aunt Heather,” Brian chimed in. “What’s for dessert?”

She shifted sideways to rummage through the cooler, withdrawing a plate of assorted tea pastries. “These are leftovers from yesterday. I didn’t think you guys would mind.”

“I’ll take these kinds of leftovers any day.” Brian helped himself to three different pastries.

When she extended the plate toward him, J.C. took a chocolate tart. “Thanks.”

Weighing the tart in his hand, he watched as she selected a miniature éclair for herself and took a bite. A few specks of the custard filling clung to her lips, and J.C. found himself fixated on her mouth.

Oh, brother. This was not good.

Forcing himself to turn away, he popped the whole chocolate tart into his mouth and tried to figure out how the woman beside him had managed to totally disrupt his equilibrium in the space of a few short weeks.

As the rich chocolate dissolved on his tongue, the sudden distinctive tang of peppermint kicked in, taking him off guard. That, in turn, gave way to a hint of spice—cinnamon, perhaps?

The innocent little chocolate tart wasn’t quite what it had appeared to be, he reflected. Beneath the surface, a subtle blending of flavors and ingredients had produced a dessert of surprising complexity.

Reminding him of its creator.

And the more he learned about her, the more intrigued—and attracted—he became.

Meaning that for the sake of his heart, he intended to spend the rest of this outing in the water with Brian.

T
his is a mistake.

As Heather waited beside her garage for J.C., that refrain echoed over and over in her mind—as it had been doing ever since she’d agreed to accompany him to ’Sconset to help chaperone today’s youth group beach party.

What had she been thinking?

Now that they’d both acknowledged the spark between them—as well as their mutual aversion to romance—they should be avoiding each other, not seeking out opportunities to spend time together. J.C. shouldn’t have invited her to help chaperone. And she shouldn’t have accepted.

Meaning this thing between them was strong enough to short-circuit rational behavior.

And that was scary.

“Heather!”

At Edith’s summons, Heather tamped down her panic and moved to the half-moon gate in the privet hedge by her garage. The older woman was standing on the back porch of The Devon Rose, holding Heather’s wallet.

“You left this on the counter. Julie found it.”

Shaking her head, Heather met her neighbor halfway down the brick walk. “Thanks, Edith.” She slid it into her purse.

“A little distracted today, are we?” Edith arched her eyebrows and peered past Heather’s shoulder. “Is J.C. here yet?”

“No. He should be along any minute.”

“This was a brilliant idea, getting Brian involved with the youth group. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered. I doubt anyone but J.C. could have convinced him to give it a try.”

“He does have a certain persuasive charm.” Her eyes began to twinkle. “Is it working on you yet?”

“Edith!” Heather shushed her. Checking over her own shoulder, she lowered her voice. “He and I discussed this, and we agreed that in light of his short stay, it would be inappropriate to pursue anything romantic.”

“Humph.” The older woman planted her hands on her hips. “If you ask me, you’re being way too analytical.”

“Better analytical than disillusioned. Or hurt.” Heather resettled the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “Thanks again for stepping in to help Julie with the cleanup today. I couldn’t have gone otherwise.”

Edith smirked at her. “Why do you think I said yes?” Leaning closer, she winked. “That man is a keeper, Heather. And I’m praying you come to that conclusion before it’s too late.” With a wave, she headed back to the house.

Huffing out an exasperated breath, Heather retraced her steps to the car—where she found J.C. waiting.

“I was about to come looking for you.” He flashed her an easy smile. “We were supposed to meet here, right?”

“Right.” She’d set it up that way so Edith wouldn’t have a chance to throw out any less-than-subtle innuendos to the pair of them.

Her strategy had half worked.

“Did you get some sleep?” Heather slid into the driver’s seat as J.C. held her door.

“Enough.” He shut her door, then joined her on the passenger side as she put the car in gear. “Any word from Brian?”

“No. And that’s good news. I told him not to use the cell phone unless it was an emergency.”

“He hit it off right away with two of the kids. I felt comfortable leaving him. And there are plenty of chaperones. Thanks for letting me use your car to run him out there this morning.”

“The thanks are all mine, trust me.”

To Heather’s relief, J.C. confined the conversation to innocent topics during the seven-mile drive to the east side of the island. Once there, he directed her to a small cottage that backed to the sea. A pristine white picket fence delineated the tiny front yard and extended to the back, where it enclosed the more spacious rear grounds, forming a line of demarcation between sand and grass.

The teens were clustered in small groups, intent on cleanup duties. She spotted Brian rinsing brushes as she pulled up, but he was too interested in talking to a girl with a perky blond ponytail to notice their arrival.

J.C. chuckled. “Why do I have a feeling you won’t have any problem getting him to stay involved with this group while he’s here?”

She gave him a rueful smile. “Yeah. But now I have other things to worry about.”

“No, you don’t. These are good kids. I’ve met most of them. They’ll keep him occupied with wholesome activities for the remainder of his stay.”

“Thanks to you.”

He shook his head. “I had no idea if this would work. But I’m glad it did.” He scanned the young people, watching as a wiry, wizened older man with thin, neatly combed gray hair walked among them. “That’s the owner, Henry Calhoun. I
met him this morning. He won all the kids over immediately with his homemade banana nut bread.” The hint of a smile softened his lips.

As Heather watched, the elderly man stopped beside Brian and the girl. Whatever he said had them both laughing before he moved on. “I can’t believe that’s the same insolent kid who showed up here ten days ago with a huge chip on his shoulder.”

“The change is remarkable.” His expression grew melancholy. “It’s too bad Nathan didn’t get involved with a group like this when he was Brian’s age. It might have made all the difference.”

Heather’s heart contracted at the ripple of pain and regret that roughened his words. Without stopping to think, she laid her hand on his.

He went still except for a subtle, sinewy flex in his strong, sun-browned fingers as he looked down, then searched her face.

“I’m sorry about Nathan, J.C. I wish I could help you with him as you’ve helped me with Brian.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and the color of his eyes deepened from ebony to midnight. Slowly, he lifted his free hand and rested his fingers against her cheek, his touch as light as the whisper of a gentle breeze.

Heather stopped breathing.

“At this point, I don’t think anyone but God can help Nathan.” His voice came out husky. And not quite steady. “But it means a lot to me that you care.”

For several moments his gaze held hers. Then, with obvious reluctance, he removed his fingers and managed a smile. “I guess it’s time to put on our chaperone hats. Sit tight. I’ll get your door.”

As he slid out of the car, lifted a hand in greeting to Brian, and paused to exchange a few remarks with Henry, Heather didn’t have any choice. The stiffening seemed to have gone out of her legs.

As well as her resolve.

Because Edith could be right. J.C. might very well be a keeper.

But if he was, how in the world was she supposed to reconcile the issues that stood between them?

Playing volleyball hadn’t been on J.C.’s agenda at the teen beach party, but he’d needed to expend some energy. And keep some distance between himself and the lovely woman who’d spent a good part of the waning hours of the afternoon and early evening chatting with Henry and several of the other chaperones. Avoiding him—just as he’d been avoiding her.

And the reason was obvious.

Those two simple touches in the car—one initiated by her, one by him—had jacked up the voltage on the electricity between them.

But he couldn’t dodge her all night.

Stepping out of the game, he waved in one of the kids on the sidelines to take his place and moved across the sand toward her.

She was talking to Henry’s neighbor now, the E.R. doctor who’d set up the service project. J.C. had noticed him at Sunday services. A tall, good-looking guy. Single, too, according to Edith.

That little fact had never mattered to him. But now that Heather was giving the man her rapt attention…

Just as a frown darkened his brow, she turned his way. Even from a distance, he could sense her sudden tension.

The doctor apparently did, too. Leaning a bit closer—too close, in J.C.’s opinion—he said a few words, then stepped away.

Good.

Moving in, J.C. tried for a smile. “How about some food?”

“Sure.”

“I think it’s a limited menu. Hot dogs, chips and cookies were all I saw. Not quite like the gourmet fare at The Devon Rose.”

“I like hot dogs.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “With lots of relish and mustard.”

He grinned. “You don’t strike me as a hot-dog kind of woman.”

She gave him a steady look. “Don’t let the trappings of the tearoom fool you. My personal tastes are pretty simple.”

Not certain how to interpret that remark, he motioned toward a large piece of driftwood at the edge of the beach. “Grab us a seat, and I’ll get the food.”

Without waiting for a reply, he headed for the grill.

As he approached it, his cell phone began to vibrate. Still mulling over the undertones in Heather’s comment, he pulled it off his belt and gave the caller ID a distracted glance.

His step faltered.

It was his sergeant from Chicago.

A surge of adrenaline kicked his pulse into high gear. There would be no reason for Dennis to call—unless there had been a break in the narcotics shooting.

Changing direction, he walked a few yards down the beach and pressed the talk button. “Dennis?”

“Yeah. Sorry to bother you on your leave, J.C. But we’ve got some news on the setup you guys walked into in the warehouse. I thought you’d want to know. Remember your friend Lenny?”

“Yeah.” Lenny Cardosi had been J.C.’s ticket into the narc ring. A carefully cultivated source who’d introduced him to the drug honchos and whose loyalty belonged to the highest bidder. A slimeball who’d sell his soul to the devil for the right price. J.C. had felt in need of a shower after every encounter with the man.

“We picked him up on a fencing charge.”

“No surprise there. He was always looking for ways to make a fast buck.”

“Yeah. He’s a piece of work. Anyway, we did a little prob
ing, since we knew he had connections to the ring. Turns out he was willing to plea-bargain the fencing charge with a little information.”

J.C. tightened his grip on the phone. “He knows what went wrong?”

“Yeah. Does the name Dwayne Logan mean anything to you?”

Searching his memory, J.C. came up blank. “No.”

“Could be he used an alias in the ring. But he was in deep. Anyway, according to Lenny, he has a friend doing time at Pontiac. He went down to see him once and recognized you. Must have been that quick visit you made three months ago, after your brother had the appendectomy. So he had his friend do a little digging, and the friend found out from your brother that you were a cop. That blew your cover and led to the setup.”

As the implications registered, J.C. fought back a sudden wave of nausea.

“I know what you’re thinking, J.C.,” Dennis said, intercepting his train of thought. “But it’s unlikely your brother knew the inmate he talked to had any connection to you.”

J.C. wanted to believe that. But he couldn’t stifle the doubt that knotted his stomach. Nathan had hated his career choice. Hated his brother’s unrelenting efforts to persuade him to reconsider his life choices. Hated his brother, period, perhaps.

His last visit to Pontiac had convinced him of that. After the emergency page from his street supervisor informing him that Nathan had suffered a ruptured appendix, he’d made the drive to the correctional facility in record time. Throughout the long night, when it was touch and go, he’d kept a vigil by his brother’s side. And when the danger had passed and Nathan was once more lucid, J.C.’s only reward had been a look of cold defiance before his brother had turned away.

But surely Nathan hadn’t betrayed him on purpose.
God,
please don’t let that be true!
he pleaded.
I can cope with his indifference, his antipathy, even. But if he set me up, if he wanted me to die….

Drawing a ragged breath, J.C. looked out over the ocean. The unseen sun’s slow, steady descent on the other side of the island was darkening the ocean on this side. What unseen events had darkened Nathan’s life? he wondered for the thousandth time. And why hadn’t he been able to help his brother overcome them? The Lord knew he’d tried. But nothing he’d done had been able to halt his brother’s decline into a life of crime. Or reach him since.

“You still there, J.C.?”

Dennis’s question pulled him back to the present, and he cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

“I know it doesn’t bring Jack and Scott back, but I hoped it might ease your mind to know they didn’t die because you made a mistake. It was just a rotten coincidence.”

And perhaps a deliberate setup by his brother. The agonizing uncertainty was a new torment. “I appreciate the call, Dennis.”

“No problem. You finding what you need out there?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Well, keep working. We want you back. You’re a good detective, and you’re missed.”

That parting comment was the most praise J.C. had ever heard from his taciturn sergeant, and he appreciated the man’s words. But they didn’t ease the ache in his heart.

Nothing could, except resolving the new question that clamored for an answer.

Had Nathan set him up on purpose?

But if getting to the bottom of the ambush had been a challenge, finding this answer would be even more difficult.

As he struggled to stem a powerful wave of despair, a sudden jarring burst of teen laughter reminded him he was
supposed to be getting some food for himself and Heather. He needed to switch gears. Compartmentalize.

Usually, he managed that without any problem.

But today, as he walked back down the beach, all he could think about was the brother he’d tried so hard to love—and to save—who called a small cell in an Illinois correctional center home.

Something was wrong.

J.C.’s tense posture as he veered off from the food line and put the cell phone to his ear was Heather’s first clue. The sudden slump of his broad shoulders near the end of the call was the second. And when he slid the phone back into its holder and turned toward her again, his bleak appearance cinched it.

She watched as he got in line. Exchanged a few words with the kids and the other chaperones. Picked up some food. But he didn’t linger. Once he had their plates in hand, he headed toward her.

From a distance, body language alone had told her J.C. was badly shaken. Now, up close, the tightness in his jaw and the rigid line of his lips provided further evidence of trauma, as did the haggard lines in his face, thrown into stark relief by the setting sun.