Asking for Trouble (5 page)

She and the Fiorellis knew bringing the newly diagnosed sixteen-year-old diabetic into the house would be a challenge. Foster kids brought a unique set of issues to begin with. Adding a serious illness and an even more serious attitude problem into the equation would be a test for everyone.

Trust took time. If and when trust developed at all. Morgan straightened her shoulders but her stomach lurched. Kelley was right. Drew did like Brandon, and that was something.

As she broke down the shipping box, she caught Kelley watching her, a frown on her face. “What's wrong?”

“Where's Lydia's medicine?” Her baby blue eyes widened with concern. “We always do her medicine first because it's the most important.”

Morgan stooped down in front of the little princess. “We had to change Lydia's meds, remember? We'll take her in another few weeks to get them.” Kelley didn't need to know that while her foster sister's new meds had stopped the growth of the tumor on Lydia's brain stem, the strain of AIDS continued to take its toll on her system as well. It was only a matter of time before Lydia's body couldn't take any more and the medication she was on did more harm than good. Morgan straightened Kelley's tiara.

Watching the two little girls together, fighting their medical battles with the valor of a Special Forces team, was part of what kept Morgan going.

Brandon, in his typical caretaker fashion, slung an arm over Kelley's shoulder and steered her into the living room, challenging her to a game of Monopoly. She heard the Fiorellis' van in the driveway and headed to the front door. “Let's help Nico and Angela with the groceries,” she called as Brandon raced outside. Morgan stopped when she spotted Kelley staring at the front page of the morning paper, her tiny mouth hanging open as she looked up at Morgan.

She knew that look. “What's so interesting?” Morgan circled behind Kelley and nearly groaned at the photograph of her and Gage headlining the society page. “Kelley—”

“I told you. I told you you'd meet Prince Charming.”

Too tired to fight eight-year-old fairy-tale logic, Morgan plucked the paper from Kelley's hands. “Things aren't always as they appear,” Morgan told her as she put the paper on top of the hall table and pivoted the little girl out the door.

If there was one thing Morgan could be certain of, it was that Gage Juliano was no Prince Charming.

***

Gage took a final swipe with the fine-grit sandpaper and stepped back from the oak table that would soon occupy his kitchen.

He bent down, blew the dust away, and squinted, searching for any imperfections he might have missed, before tackling the varnish. He ran his fingers over the surface, feeling for bumps, ridges. A few. Tiny. Imperceptible to the naked eye, but if he didn't remove them now the flaws would gnaw at him like termites feasting in a lumberyard every time he sat down to dinner.

Jim Morrison tried to get his fire lit on the radio as Gage inhaled the calming combination of sawdust and lingering turpentine.

Some men drank to decompress; others obsessed over sports or women, or both. Gage preferred Sunday mornings in the detached garage, crafting furniture or refinishing antiques. For the last year he'd concentrated on refurbishing the craftsman bungalow he called home, but having completed the work last month, he'd had to find a new outlet. At the rate he was going, he'd furnish the house in half the time it took him to do the upgrades.

He'd spent countless hours like this after he'd come back to Lantano Valley. It was his version of physical therapy, he supposed, especially after he'd stopped taking the painkillers that turned his brain to sludge.

This was where he felt alive, where he could turn off all thoughts of work and recharge. He might not be happy, but here he was happiest.

Happy wasn't happening. Not much of anything was happening except that he'd burned through a year's worth of sandpaper, all the while thinking of a leggy, lush blonde with a hint of sadness—or maybe fear—in her eyes. People were normally so clear to him, and yet Morgan was an enigma. And puzzles were impossible for Gage to ignore.

“Thought for sure I'd find you at the office.” Jon Juliano strode up the driveway, a frosty six-pack in one hand, his permanently attached laptop bag hitched across his chest like a Boy Scout sash. “Isn't that what usually happens after Nemesis makes a midnight visit?”

Gage glared at his youngest brother.

The bitterness lingering over that obnoxious note Nemesis left on his window Friday night reared again Saturday evening when the burglar made one of his unannounced visits and relieved a Hollywood producer of a recently discovered and rumored to be priceless Renoir. This meant Nemesis had forced Gage to abandon his skybox seats at the Dodger game and spend an unproductive and useless three hours at the scene.

Nemesis hadn't left anything new behind, and two hours after reporting the break-in, Tate Cunningham, recanted his statement and changed his story, just like the previous victims. He'd made a mistake, Cunningham said, before ordering Gage and his team to vacate the premises. The painting was in their vacation house in the Cayman Islands.

Of course that didn't stop the
Lantano Valley Times
from reporting the break-in or running Nemesis' latest thank-you note to the Cunninghams for making a meaningful contribution to society. Tate Cunningham was having a hell of a week after just having been accused of raiding his employees' pension funds. Gage's head throbbed, the result of unending hours of teeth grinding and a lack of sleep.

Nemesis targeted the obscenely wealthy under the guise of helping the less fortunate—a Good Samaritan with a serious ego problem. Not that Gage gave a damn about Nemesis' motivations. Doing the wrong thing for the right reason was something Gage would never understand. Or accept.

What the hell did Nemesis have on these people that they refused to speak with anyone in law enforcement about the case? But none of that had to do with his brother's visit.

“I'll forgive the intrusion if you plan to share those bottles.” Gage indicated the beer, then upon closer examination, cringed. “Christ, kid, root beer?”

Jon grinned. “I'm not twenty-one for another month and a half. Wouldn't want the cops to arrest me.”

Gage grabbed a rag to clean his hands before giving his brother a hug and hard slap on the back. “Good to see you.”

“You, too. Mom's been worried.”

“Must be a day that ends in
Y
.” Gage snatched up a bottle, twisted off the cap, and gestured to the step stool by the workbench.

“She's been calling you for three days.”

“I am aware.” Hence the not answering. “I'll call her today. But you didn't walk two miles to tell me to call Mom. What's up? Last semester before graduation, I'd think you'd be locked in the library cramming for finals. Don't want to lose that valedictorian spot for Lantano Valley U.”

“That's a lock.” Jon did the college student slouch as he took a seat and shoved his dark hair out of his face. “But I did want to run something by you. A kind of change in plans?”

“Whose plans?”

“Mine and Mom's. It's about graduate school.”

“Law school, right? Going to add to the family fortune and follow in Rich's footsteps?” Their brother, two years Gage's junior at thirty-three, was moving up in a law firm in New York. The fortune was a Juliano joke. Rich was heading up the pro-bono division and was lucky to make rent.

“Actually, I was thinking of following in yours.” Jon gave him an “isn't that great news” grin.

Gage took care when swallowing as a tingle of dread wound its way up his spine. “Please tell me you're referring to my unrequited love of architecture.”

Jon's grin widened, and Gage wondered if his kid brother was ever going to grow out of his baby face. Tall, a bit gangly, and with a face that had girls lining up from here to Tijuana, the entire Juliano family was waiting for him to pull his nose out of a book long enough to notice.

“If you apply to the academy, you'll kill mom. Tell me you know that.” There wasn't enough adrenaline in the world to kick-start Gage's heart if his little brother was thinking about becoming a cop. Gage had learned the hard way that working for law enforcement wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He didn't wish his near-death experience—not to mention his subsequent trust issues—on anyone, especially Jon.

“Do I look suicidal to you?”

Gage let out a long, slow breath. Thank God. “Then what are you thinking?”

“I, uh, told Mom the other night that I was considering computer forensics, cold-case investigations, primarily. Developing new programs to aid in law enforcement. And before you say anything, I'm sorry. She blames you.”

“Of course she does.” Gage understood his mother's concerns. She hadn't been thrilled with Gage's plans to attend the academy after college. Her anxiety had increased the longer he served. He didn't want to recall the argument they'd had two years ago when he'd been asked to work on the FBI task force before heading off for special training at Quantico.

Gage rotated his left shoulder, the scar the bullet left on its way to his heart igniting the memories he wished he could erase.

“I've told her I wouldn't be working in the field that much, and that chances are I wouldn't have to carry a gun.” Judging from the excitement on Jon's face, he was hoping that wasn't the case. “But I was thinking you could smooth things over a little with her? Let her know I won't be in harm's way like—”

“Like I was.” Gage shouldn't have been surprised by Jon's enthusiasm or his shift in educational attention. Of all the Juliano kids, the youngest boy had always been the most curious with the deepest sense of honor. The examiner. The brains behind the mayhem. Well, until Gina and Liza came along. When it came to masterminds, the seventeen-year-old twins were one diabolical plan away from merging into a supervillain, with Gina most likely acting as the brain. Liza could design a kick-ass costume, though. “I'll see what I can do. But you have to tell me why.”

Jon shrugged in that way that made Gage's temple throb. “Lots of reasons, but it's different. Rewarding. Besides, you make it look like fun.”

Gage nearly shattered the bottle in his hand. Five exhausting months in the academy was anything but fun. After the years of riding with Brady Malloy, he'd spent the next four in a patrol car with a partner who was distracted by his personal life. Not fun. Another four bouncing from department to department never finding the right fit was definitely not fun. Getting shot and stabbed while undercover with the Feds was the least fun of all. Being thrown under the bus afterward, however, had been a hundred times worse.

“It's tough,” Gage corrected. His family didn't need to know the extent of what he'd gone through. It should be enough that he'd come home to the less chaotic atmosphere of Lantano Valley where he could start over and find something. “Being a cop is rewarding. It's also all-consuming. But it's rarely, if ever, fun.” And shame on him for ever making it appear to be.

“Not even this Nemesis case? Come on. He's the Robin Hood of my generation. Stealing from the rich, helping people pay their bills, save their homes, cover medical costs. I mean, yeah, you're trying to stop him, but still, tell me there's not a hint of fun in that. Like the Sheriff of Nottingham.”

“Brady Malloy's grave is at East Lawn Cemetery. Feel free to run that theory by him.”

The smile on Jon's face evaporated like water on a hot plate.

Damn. Gage felt as if he'd just sat on the kid's award-winning science experiment. “Sorry.” He shook his head. “You didn't deserve that. It's been a crap couple of days.” And nothing he wanted to delve into further. “I'll do what I can to smooth it over with Mom.”

“Thanks.” While Jon's smile wasn't nearly as contagious, his expression remained curious. “Can't have been all crap. We saw the picture in the paper over breakfast yesterday. Who's the new girlfriend?”

The root beer bubbles backed up as Gage swallowed too hard. He covered his mouth as he burped. “What girlfriend? What picture?”

“The one that made mom stop grumbling about my ungrateful, selfish, and ill-advised career choice.” Jon pulled out his phone and tapped a few buttons. “
Lantano Valley Times
, society pages. From the Tremayne fund-raiser Friday night. You didn't see?”

When Jon turned his phone around, Gage stared at a photo of himself and Morgan dancing very, very close. That look on her face made Gage frown. She seemed happy, sultry. Why the hell had she run away from him? Not that it mattered. Except that it did matter, and the fact that it did bugged the crap out of him.

“No. I didn't see.” Gage's chest felt as if it were suddenly overflowing with a troupe of Chinese gymnasts. Shit. He'd bet his mother was ordering wedding invitations online at this moment.

As if waiting for a cue, Gage's phone erupted into that obnoxious boy-be-bop song. He stared at it for a good ten seconds, considered using the rubber mallet to silence it for good.

“Answer it, man,” Jon whispered from behind him, but when Gage looked over his shoulder, Jon stepped away, hands up in surrender. Or preparing to run for his life. “You know how she gets when we ignore her.”

“Yeah.” Gage turned his attention to the phone as Jon headed home. Police academy training, fifteen years on the job, and he'd rather walk unarmed into a drug den than answer that phone. “Coward.” Gage winced as he snatched the phone and clicked on. “Hey, Mom.”

“We made a deal after you got shot, Gage. I'm supposed to hear from you every two days, remember?”

Gage took a calming breath. Hard to forget any deal made with a tube down your throat and a catheter up your—

“I figured you'd be busy working on Stephen's birthday party.” His life was never more peaceful than when Theresa Juliano was in event-planning mode. Thank God there were five other siblings to occupy her.