Conviction of the Heart (8 page)

“I thought so,” he said. “No one better to deal with it.” His eyes were warm. Was he seeking a
quid pro quo
? “I did a favor for you, now you owe me”? She hoped not. Men thought like that sometimes.

Women did, too,
she scolded herself. She tried not to. She didn’t want to be indebted to any man, least of all one she actually liked and respected.

He didn’t say anything else, and she didn’t want to give him an opening. They fidgeted in awkward silence for several minutes until the bathroom door opened, and Maddie came out, arms hugged close around herself.

“They’re gone,” Suzanne said.

“But look at this place,” Maddie said, tears still streaming down her face.

Then the children came home from school.

Chapter Eight

Nick didn’t know what to think as he surveyed the Morgan house. It seemed to him like they’d entered a world cut from nightmare. As a child, if he had come home to find that kind of destruction, he might have been hysterical. Maddie Morgan’s quiet voice reminded him of his mother, but his father had never raised a hand to any of them. The kind of chaos these children must live in, hardly a blink as they stood, silent and pale, on the threshold just long enough to soak it in.

Then the boy tossed his book bag into the middle of the pile and bailed upstairs. The girl gave her mother a hug before she began to help clean up.

“Do you want me to stay and help you, Maddie?” Suzanne asked.

Maddie shook her head. “I’d like some privacy, actually. We’ll take care of it.”

Nick took one more look around. “Photos. You should take photos before you clean it up.” His gaze went to the refrigerator. “Especially that.”

Maddie didn’t look. She clearly knew what he was referring to. “I’ll do it. Thank you for coming.”

She walked them to the door, just like any good hostess. Suzanne made Maddie promise to call her if she had any trouble, then Nick walked her to her car.

He scribbled his cell number on the back of his business card and handed it to her. “Now I want you to promise
me
that you’ll call if you have any trouble. On Maddie’s behalf, or your own.”

Suzanne watched the house thoughtfully. “Your people will look after her, won’t they? She can call if she’s harassed, and someone will be out right away. Right? You and the officer told her someone would patrol to make sure.”

An edge in Suzanne’s voice stung him. A shot of guilt zinged through him as he admitted, to himself at least, that he might have been overly optimistic about police response. “Come on, Suzanne, you know that was for Morgan’s benefit, warning him not to come back. I can’t promise that a car will park here all night.” Nick shifted his weight from one leg to the other, uncomfortable to be put on the spot. As much as he believed his gut Morgan was the guilty party. Shadyside wasn’t his division. He probably shouldn’t have spoken for the department. He’d just wanted that smug look to leave Gregory Morgan’s face.

In his book, career politicians and evangelical preachers shared a status with low-class used car salesmen, phony through and through. Easy enough to handle them. Smile to their face, and as soon as possible, wash the hand that just shook their slimy one. Something about Morgan had never rung true, but Nick knew the man had cachet with the higher ups. He’d probably hear about this.

When he didn’t answer, Suzanne eyed him, her expression conveying disappointment. “At least the police respond to calls in this neighborhood within a reasonable time,” she said tartly. “Otherwise, I guess they can be as useless as the rest of the system.” She closed her car door, almost before he could step out of the way. He watched her pull out of the driveway, compelled to give her a half-hearted wave, but she didn’t look back.

What the hell did she want? He’d known she could handle the legal end, and it seemed like she had it all in order. He had dropped everything to help serve the papers when she called. He couldn’t exactly post an officer on this woman’s front yard, even if her husband was a crazy bastard.

Annoyed, he stalked to his car, his neck muscles pulling tight. He gunned the engine, backing out onto the street faster than he should have, narrowly missing a pair of empty garbage cans on the lawn across the street.
Calm down, Nick. You can’t afford a new bumper.

He headed back to the station, discontent percolating in the back of his mind.

But the picture that kept returning to his mind was Suzanne’s face, at the height of her game,
mano a mano
with Greg Morgan, challenging him with the depths of her soul. She wasn’t in the least afraid of a man who was clearly dangerous. The flash of her eye, the straight line of her back, the stance like the proverbial mother lion protecting a helpless cub all revealed something fiery in her soul, someone he admired and wanted to know intimately.

What could he do to get her attention?

****

Two days passed before Nick got his head far enough above water at work to call her. He’d been right that departmental feathers would be ruffled by his appearance in Shadyside, but he’d staved off the worst of it with a personal call to Phillip Johnson, his counterpart. He’d explained what happened, and Phil shrugged it off. Cops did what they had to at any given moment. They all understood that.

He’d arrived home late before he’d decided to call her. Eight o’clock on a weeknight? She had teenagers. Plenty early enough.

His fingers stuttered clumsily on the face of his cell phone as he tried to dial the number he’d saved when she’d called him. The third time, he got it right, silently cursing the fact she made him so nervous.

How many casual dates had he arranged without so much as a second thought?

But something about Suzanne Taylor set his insides twisting.

He turned off the lights in his small living room and opened the sliding glass doors to the wooden deck that ran the length of his half of the side-by-side duplex. He’d owned the building on the outskirts of McKees Rocks for nine years. The tenant in the other half, an older woman who taught junior high school, paid rent that covered the mortgage. The arrangement worked for him.

He leaned on the rail on the deck’s edge and looked up at the stars, spotting the constellation Orion in the southwest. As he watched, a spot of light streaked across the sky. He made his wish, like his mother had always taught him to do.

The phone rang several times, leaving him scrambling for something to say should the call go to voicemail. His words seemed to duck into the nooks and crannies of his brain, impossible to find, daring to play hide and seek with his tongue. He was actually grateful when she picked up.

“Suzanne Taylor,” she said, all business.

“Suzanne, it’s Nick Sansone. Do you, ah, have a minute?”

A hesitation. “Has something happened to Maddie?”

“What?” Not what he had expected. “No. No, that’s not why I’m calling.”

“Oh. What is it, then?”

“I..ah.” He cleared a throat strangled by nerves.
Come on, Sansone. Just tell her what you want.
“I wondered if we could get together this weekend.”

Another hesitation, longer this time, then her reply, laced with wry amusement. “Really, Lieutenant, haven’t you gotten tired of my company over the last week?”

He considered the correct response. Something serious? A zinger? She didn’t seem the kind who wanted hearts and flowers. What answer would get him past the doorstep? “It’s either this or hope they play tackle at the next Bar-Badge charity football game.” Nick held his breath, waiting to see if he’d chosen the right course. To his relief, she laughed.

“It’s kind of you, but I’ve got serious plans this weekend. Me and a garden rake.”

A light breeze riffled through the hair on the back of his neck. “Hey, I love garden rakes,” he said, packing enthusiasm into his tone.

“Really.”

“Really! I have one. Here. Somewhere.” Must be one in the garage. He wasn’t sure what all was out there, between what he’d bought and what his father had dropped off from time to time once he had his own house. But a rake, that was pretty standard. People had shovels, hoes, rakes. Sure, he had one.

“Do you know how to use it?”

The biting note both stung him and made him smile. “I’m pretty sure which end to hold. Look, you tell me where and when and I’ll be there, fully armed.”

“I’m serious about the gardening. The yard’s full of leaves and I’ve got to tuck everything in for winter. I’m tempted to call your bluff, just to make you sorry.”

“I dare you.”

A soft chuckle came across the phone. “You’re on, Lieutenant. Nine a.m., I’ll make the coffee, and you’d better be holding your equipment.”

He chuckled at the double entendre. “I’ll be there. With my Housebuilders belt on.”

She gave him her address, and general directions. Worried he might say something to jinx the miracle he’d somehow managed to pull off, he told her goodbye and clicked the button.

When you wish upon a star…

He laughed at himself. “Yeah, pal, look what you’ve done. Congratulations, you get to spend half a day at manual labor.”

But with a companion like that, it wouldn’t be so bad. Not bad at all.

****

Since she’d offered coffee, he drove his big silver Chevy pickup truck across town to Moio’s in Monroeville for fresh Roman cannolis, a specialty ladylock shell stuffed with fresh vanilla custard and a cherry in the middle. By the time he found a place to park, got in the crowded shop and back out, he’d wasted over an hour. He knew he was trying too hard, but something in his gut insisted he had to set the bar fairly high to impress this woman.

Her house was north of the city in Indiana Township, on a road best categorized as rural. A long stone driveway led up to a white two-story with a side porch and a yard. A huge yard. His heart sank as he saw it. He’d really gotten himself in deep this time.

Grabbing the string-tied box with the cannolis and his rake, as promised, Nick strolled up to the door. She opened it before he could knock.

A lazy smile settled on his lips, taking much more effort than he allowed her to see. “You needed cheap labor, ma’am?”

“Glad you wore your play clothes,” she said with a smile. Her hair was up in a ponytail, and she wore jeans that fit just right, with a green T-shirt bearing a Sierra Club logo. She gestured to the box. “Is that for me?”

“For us. You did say you would make coffee.”

“So I did. Come on in.”

She stepped aside, holding the door open. He entered a shadowed hallway. The family room was off to his right, evidenced by the large-screen television that hung on the wall and video games scattered around the floor. Big windows let light into that room, although the angle of the sun wasn’t right for it to reach into the foyer. Neutral-toned furniture posed around a large burgundy Persian style rug and an oak coffee table stacked with magazines.

“Coffee’s this way. Come into the kitchen.”

She led the way down the short hallway to the kitchen, which was a sunburst of shades of yellow, from the walls to the curtains, to the rack of bright plates that sat above the white-faced cabinets. The closer he got, the better the coffee smelled.

“This is a great place,” he said. “It’s old, isn’t it?”

She smiled and took a pair of thick yellow mugs from the cabinet. “About eighty years, according to the title search.”

Nick examined the window casements, then the design of the ceiling. “The window construction postdates the rest of the moldings. You remodeled it?”

“About five years ago, when I bought it.” She shook her head. “You’re a construction expert, too?”

Nick grinned. “There are a great many things you don’t know about me, Suzanne Taylor.” He snapped the string on the box and opened it. “I thought we could splurge a bit. I expect you’re going to work that many calories out of me before we’re done.” He took the opportunity to peer out the wide-silled kitchen window, set with half a dozen small terra cotta pots planted with herbs. “Oh, yes. Plenty to be done here.”

“I warned you.” Her smile was unapologetic.

“What about the children? My mother always volunteered me for these jobs.”

“My parents agreed to take them to their activities today so I could get this done.” She set out small plates to match the mugs and took half a cannoli. “You really drove all the way over to Moio’s? You must have been up at the crack of dawn. On a Saturday, you can’t get out of there in less than half an hour.”

“I’ve got pull,” he said.

“The badge is useful for more than just catching your reflection, is it?”

Her sarcasm burned him again. He could have explained that his uncle was married to the owner’s sister, but he didn’t want to waste the time. She obviously had some issue with the police. This wasn’t the opportunity to challenge her on it. Not if he wanted to keep seeing her.

“I use mine to serve cheese and crackers sometimes.”

The response provoked a laugh, and she moved on. “Would you like a tour? I’m always up for someone to admire my woodwork.”

He gulped some coffee. “Sure.”He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and followed her back toward the foyer. She took a right past the stairs, and they entered a room full of plants and books. The central piece of furniture was a rolltop desk along the far wall, piled so high with papers they seemed seriously in danger of sliding off.

“This is my office away from office,” she said.

He ducked a dangling spider plant as he looked out the bay window. The flowered pillows on the seat felt very much like home. Sun shone in, lighting up the bright blossoms on the curtains and sofa. “Kind of like a jungle, isn’t it?”

“Isn’t that great?” She reached out to brush dust off a tall potted ficus. “Especially in the winter. I can close the drapes and pretend I’m on a Florida vacation.”

“Lucky you.”

She picked a couple of dead leaves off the plant and tossed them at the wicker wastebasket next to the desk with a sigh, scuffing one sneakered foot on the thick, nubbly carpet. “Time to quit stalling. I’ve got to confess, I’m not anxious to play master gardener.”