Christy Barritt - Squeaky Clean 07 - Mucky Streak (2 page)

“Something tells me you’re different
, Gabby. You’re spunky and determined. I have a feeling people open up to you more easily than they’d ever open up to one of those crusty old detectives.”

“I’m flattered.”
I actually
was
flattered, despite how sarcastic my words might have sounded.

“I’m serious.”
Garrett’s eyes met mine, all teasing gone. “What do you think?”

The offer was temp
ting. Very tempting. But I didn’t know if I could take it on right now. I had my hands full with my crime scene cleaning business and trying to help my fiancé. Taking Riley back and forth to therapy as he recovered from his brain injury seemed like a full-time job. Plus, I was cooking for him, cleaning his apartment, buying his groceries, and even doing his laundry. Small, molehill-sized tasks had turned into giant mountains for him.

“I
’m not sure what to say,” I finally said. “To be honest, I have a lot going on in my life right now.”

He nodded toward my engagement ring. “When’s the wedding?”

I realized I’d been absently twisting and turning the jewelry on my finger, remembering the events that had played out over the past couple of months. I frowned. “I’m not sure.”

Garrett
quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head compassionately. “That doesn’t sound good.”

My heart squeezed at his words. I w
ouldn’t let Garrett Mercer get the best of me. Things were fine between Riley and me. “It’s a long story.”

He stared at me
again, and I wondered what was going on behind those green eyes. “I see. I won’t pry. Just promise me you’ll think about taking this job. Take these files. They contain the basic information. Look them through.”

“I will. I’ll be in touch.” I glanced at my watch. “But I should run now. I
have another appointment.”

“
I understand. But you should know that I’m not a very patient man.” He leveled his gaze. “I need an answer in a week.”

“I can do that.” I took the file from him, and something stirred insid
e me. Something I hadn’t felt in the last couple of months. Something I hadn’t felt since Milton Jones.

The longing to find answers. The excitement of a new mystery.
The adrenaline surge of facing an engaging challenge.

Garrett
stood to walk me to the door. His hand went to my lower back to guide me across the room and, just as it happened last time, a jolt of electricity shot through me. I wasn’t sure why the man had this effect on me, but he did. And the fact had me steamed.

He
seemed to realize this, too, based on the sparkle in his eyes. Maybe he could feel my skin tighten. Maybe he could hear the quick intake of my breath. I wasn’t sure.

But I didn’t like that, either.

“Good day, Gabby. Help yourself to another cup of coffee on the way out.”

I walked toward the reception area, hating the uncertain feeling in my gut.
I hated the pull between two opposing desires: investigating an intriguing case or being a good, responsible fiancé. It appeared I couldn’t be or do both.

It didn’t matter
right now, though. I had to pick up Riley from therapy.

CHAPTER 2

Ten minutes later, I sat in the parking lot of the hospital. Traffic had been miraculously
light, so I’d gotten here earlier than I anticipated. Instead of going inside to wait, I decided to peruse the papers Garrett had given me.

The paper on top of the file
appeared to be the most recent article about his family’s murders. The article was glossy, from a magazine. A nice magazine. I glanced at the bottom of the page.
Time
magazine.

Wow. This
had
been a big story.

The
headline read, “Murder at the Mercer House.” As I skimmed the article, my gut clenched at the details.

Garrett’s dad, mom, and sister were all shot point blank. Nothing
was stolen from the house, and nothing had been left except for a couple of footprints. It was almost as if a ghost had come in, done the deed, and disappeared.

The police had no motives and no real suspects.

Apparently, some suspected a contractor hired to renovate the Mercer’s bathrooms who’d been seen flirting with Elizabeth Mercer, the mother. The contractor had a criminal history and no alibi. But the authorities also had no proof that he’d been to the house on the night of the murders, nothing to tie him to the scene.

Another man
named Arnold James was also suspected. He’d killed another family in Missouri, had stolen nothing, and left very little evidence. There certainly seemed to be similarities in the cases, but nothing that truly connected James with the Mercers. The man was now in prison, serving a lifetime sentence, so confessing to the murder of the Mercer family wouldn’t have added any real time to his stay behind bars, yet he still claimed his innocence.

Some speculated it was a copycat crime
, one meant to mirror Arnold James’ pattern of murder. The problem was, even if it was a copycat crime, they had no suspects for the copycat perpetrator.

There seemed to be absolutely nothing to go on when it came to find
ing the killer.

Which would make one interesting investigation.

I glanced up at the time on the console of my van and gasped. I was three minutes late meeting Riley.

I threw the folder into my passenger seat, grabbed my purse, and dashed through the parking lot
. In my haste, I darted in front of an oncoming car. The smell of burning rubber quickly assaulted my senses and deepened my guilt.

I tapped the hood, waved, and tried to ignore the
driver shaking his fist out the window at me. I knew Riley would be fine for a few minutes without me. But a small part of me feared leaving him alone for too long. I feared he might wander or forget who was picking him up.

I was so thankful to have Riley in my life. The past
couple of months had been hard, though. Despite the fact that he was recovering physically from his brain injury, he was still having trouble with his memory. The doctor wasn’t sure how quickly those issues would resolve. In my mind, there was a possibility they would never resolve.

Honestly, I just wanted my old Riley back. I felt selfish, but every night, that’s what I prayed for.
Over and over again. To the point of tears.

And I had moments of hope. I had moments when I saw glimpses of my old Riley. His humor came out. His protective instinct showed. His intelligence became clear.

But then he had other moments of looking vacant. Of not remembering certain moments in our history. Of looking like he couldn’t find the words.

Those were the heartbreaking moments. The
moments when I realized that Riley may have survived the gunshot wound, but he still had a lot more to survive.

I tore inside the building, bypassed the elevator and climbed two flights of stairs. I was breathless by the time I
reached the Neurology Wing. 

Riley was in the waiting room. He stood when I walked in.

Good. He hadn’t wandered out. Hadn’t forgotten I was coming. Hadn’t panicked.

I rushed toward him and kissed his cheek. “Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay,” he insisted.

I studied his face a moment.
His blue eyes were gloriously beautiful and clear. He had thick, dark hair and nicely proportioned, even features.

Really,
Riley looked the same. If someone saw him and didn’t know what had happened, they’d have no idea. They wouldn’t know the trauma his brain had been through. They’d have no clue that the once successful attorney had put his law firm on hiatus and assigned his cases to other attorneys. They wouldn’t guess how frustrated he became sometimes because his life had been turned upside down.

Today, there was something new in his gaze. Almost … an apology? I couldn’t be sure.
I decided I was imagining things.

We started walking back down the hall. “How’d it go?”

He shrugged. “My therapist said I’m making progress.”

“That’s great. It’s going to take time. But it will happen.” I reached down and grabbed his hand.
He used to be the one who grabbed my hand, but I wasn’t complaining. Not really. At least, I was trying not to complain.

“That’s what everyone says.”
Riley frowned. My old Riley was a fighter, a crusader. He’d been athletic and sure of himself.

It’s going to take some time. But it will happen.
My own words echoed in my head. Maybe my problem was just that I was impatient.

We climbed on the elevator, squeezing between
three senior citizens, two nurses, and a family with a small child. The ride down felt awkward and tight. There was no need to attempt a conversation.

W
e stepped off and began walking toward my van. I pulled my canvas jacket closer. Winter seemed ready to stake its claim on the area, even though it was only early November.

As we walked
, I sensed a new heaviness about Riley. I wanted him to tell me what it was, though. That was one of the things the therapist said to do. Not to push too hard. To let him deal with things on his terms.

“Did you get any work done today?” Riley asked, changing the subject.

“I worked a little while this morning. Chad and I are renovating fire damage at a house. Can you believe it? It was Chad’s idea. He mentioned something about wanting to expand our company outside of crime scene cleaning.”

“What do you think about that?”

I shrugged. “I guess it makes sense. Expanding would give us more opportunities, though there’s a part of me that’s still holding back. Regardless, I spent all morning learning how to properly use a nail gun.”

He smiled. “I’m sure you’ll master it in no time.”

“I just hope I master it without accidentally killing someone first.”

“
Didn’t you say you had a meeting with someone, also?” Riley asked.

“
As a matter of fact, I did.” I told him about Garrett’s job offer, probably delving into too many details. But it was something to talk about. Something that wasn’t life changing or a sad reminder in our own lives of what could have been. The topic seemed like safe territory.

Riley looked down at me, that same
heaviness still present in his eyes. “You should go for it.”

I shrugged
. In times past, I would have been tempted to say yes to the challenge of officially investigating a case. But things had changed. “It’s a tempting offer, but I probably won’t accept it.”

“Why not? It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

I paused right there in the parking lot and laid my hand on his chest.

“O
f course it’s not because of you.” I shook my head, realizing that the words I’d intended to be soothing might actually sound like apathy. “I mean, yes, you do play a part in my decision.”

Riley looked confused.

What did I mean? “I’m just trying to say that I want to be there for you. This isn’t a good time.”

He squeezed my arm.
“You’ve already made a lot of sacrifices, Gabby. It’s starting to wear you down. I can see it in your eyes.”

I shook my head an
d looked away, afraid he’d see too much truth in my gaze. “That’s not true.”

He let out a sigh
but said nothing. Slowly, almost unwillingly, we started walking again. We took several paces in silence until we reached the garage.

“You’d need to go to Cincinnati
if you took the case, wouldn’t you?” Riley pulled away from me and stuffed his hands inside his jacket pockets, his steps slowing.

My eyes widened. “You’ve heard of the case.”

I was amazed at what he remembered and didn’t remember. For instance, he couldn’t remember when we’d almost been killed while tracking down an escaped serial killer whom Riley had put behind bars back when he was a prosecutor in L.A. He couldn’t remember being shot, either. It was probably better that way.

“The story
was all over the news back when I was in college.”

I was surprised I hadn’t heard of it. Of course, back then I was
immersed in my studies. When I wasn’t studying, I was helping to take care of my mom who’d been diagnosed with cancer. I’d picked up extra jobs to help with the bills.

We reached my van and climbed inside. He picked up the papers from the files and glance
d through them as I cranked the engine. “Sounds like a really interesting case, Gabby. I didn’t put it together that Garrett was connected with those murders. I’m sure having some answers would mean a lot to him.”

“You
remember Garrett?” Again—how did he remember that detail, of all things?

“I remember you talking about your encounters with him when I was in the coma.”

The coma.

My throat clenched at the memory. Those had been some hard, hard days. The
uncertainty of not knowing whether Riley would wake up had wreaked havoc on me both physically and emotionally. Spiritually and mentally, too, if I were honest with myself.

I put the
van in reverse, but Riley’s hand covered mine. “Wait a minute, Gabby. There’s something I need to tell you.”

Tension pinched my spine
as I slid the van back into park. “Okay, what is it?”

He glanced down at his
lap. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately, Gabby. I’ve been talking to my therapist about something, and I think I’ve finally made a decision.”

“
Made a decision about what?” Dread formed in my gut.

He licked his lips
before his eyes met mine. “I’m going to go stay with my parents for a while, Gabby.”

“Your parents? Why would you do that?” His parents lived up in D.C., about three and a half hours from here.

“Because my mom has offered to help with my recovery. She doesn’t work, and my parents have the resources. They can transport me around without having to rearrange their schedules.”

All the air left my lungs.
“Please don’t punish me because I have to work and I don’t have resources.”

He wiped a hair o
ut of my eyes. “Punishing you is the last thing I want to do. I want to do the opposite.”

“Then don’t go,” I
hurried. All thoughts of exhaustion and being overwhelmed fled from my mind.

“It’s the only way things are going to return to normal.”

Tears rimmed my eyes. “You’re breaking up with me?”

“No!” he rushed. “I’m just giving you some space. I’m giving
me
some space. I think this is going to be the best for both of us. At least I won’t feel like a burden this way.”

“
A burden? I’ve never thought of you as a burden. If we were married—like we were supposed to be—this would just be one of those valleys, one of those ‘for worse’ moments—”

“But we’re not married, Gabby.” Riley’s words caused my heart to feel like a brick, like a solid lump that made it hard to breath.

“We should be married,” I added. We were a week away from the big day when he was shot.

“Life isn’t fair, Gabby. You and I both know that.”

Circumstances continued to prove that to me again and again. Including this moment right now.

“I want you to stay,” I finally stated.

He rubbed the top of my hands with his thumb. “This isn’t forever, Gabby. It’s just until I’m better. Until I don’t have so many appointments. Until I can start working again. We’ll still talk. Every day. I can come down to visit or you can come up to my parents’ place.”

A little bit of hope pooled in my heart. Still, I couldn’t
help but think this was the end for us. I couldn’t help but envision him moving up to D.C. and staying. Or meeting someone else. A nice little nurse who helped nurture him back to health maybe. Or what if he felt like he’d always need his family’s help and support? Or that D.C. was a much better place for his social justice law firm?