Deadly Obsession (A Brown and de Luca Novel Book 4) (8 page)

“Ohh, is that a puppy?” she asked.

“No. It’s a wombat. Escaped from the zoo. I’m taking it back.” He didn’t turn around, just kept right on walking. “Call me when we can have breakfast, Uncle Mace.” His kid brother followed him out of the room.

She knew he was raising his nephews, so this didn’t come as a surprise to her. She was just glad the kids were leaving them alone. Good. Just what she needed.

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes, then turned to beam up at Mason full power. “Why is everyone being so mean?”

“I think it’s got to do with your outfit.”

“What about my outfit?” she asked, looking down at herself. “Don’t you like it?”

“It’s inappropriate.”

She blinked at him, then smiled a little. “Then you
do
like it?”

“It’s unprofessional,” he said.

Oh, he was grasping. Trying really hard to keep his attraction to her at bay. She knew he was. It was admirable, trying to be loyal to that bitch who didn’t deserve him.

“I don’t think this is gonna work out, Gretchen. You need to go on home now. I’m sorry.

“Because of my outfit?”

“Yeah and, frankly, your judgment.”

Right. He wasn’t upset that she’d worn it, he was upset that she’d worn it in front of that arrogant girlfriend of his. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“You’re right, it won’t. Goodbye, Gretchen.”

He stood there holding the door open. Her temper flared up, but she tamped it down. He didn’t realize yet that she was his destiny. It was normal for a man to resist a little when he first met his soul mate. Commitment of such intensity was scary for men. He would get used to it. He was already going to be unable to get her out of his mind. She’d made sure of that. He wanted her. She felt it. And she’d done a good job of putting his girlfriend on notice. She would make him hate her before she took her out. It would be easier on him that way.

Things were going perfectly.

His phone started ringing just as she left. It was probably
her
, calling to give him hell. She deliberately swung her ass all the way to the car, knowing he was watching. She even dropped her keys near the car door, then bent over slowly to pick them up.

Yeah. He was eating it up, all right. She didn’t need to look back to confirm it. Not looking back would be more effective anyway. He would be eating out of her hand in no time. He was already on fire for her. It wouldn’t be long now, and he would belong to her entirely.

6

J
eremy and Joshua helped Mason change his bandages right after breakfast. Then Jeremy drove them both to school in the Jeep, which was practically brand-new, because Mason didn’t trust him yet with the Monte Carlo, which was old, but classic.

If something got banged up, he would prefer it to be the Jeep, but that was actually third on his list of reasons not to let Jeremy drive the Monte Carlo alone. First was that it was a hot rod, and Jere would be too tempted to drive it like one. But since he wasn’t yet experienced enough to handle that much power safely, an accident would be more likely in the Monte Carlo. He and Josh could get hurt. Second, the Jeep had air bags, antilock brakes and very high front-and side-impact ratings. Not only was it less likely to wind up in an accident, but the kids were safer in it, should something go wrong.

He wasn’t worried about the Camaro, because he intended to spend a lot of quality time with Jeremy teaching him how to drive it safely. He also intended to take him to a nearby track and let him cut loose with it on a regular basis, so he would know how to do it right and could let off a little of that teenage steam.

Teenage boys were going to do stupid things with their cars. Best Jeremy know how to do it right.

He was turning into a parent. Knowing that was a relief, too, because he’d wondered if he had it in him.

As he cleared up the kitchen, his bandages came unwrapped and dangled in his way. He was thinking that he would have to try rewrapping them himself when there was a knock on the front door.

He looked, then frowned and looked again. Nurse Gretchen was back, a rectangular plastic container in her hands and an extremely demure uniform covering the rest of her. White scrubs with pink piping. The top was tailored to fit her shape and had a shallow V-neck that revealed nothing, and two big pockets low on either side. The pants fit but were not tight. Her hair was in a neat bun, and if he wasn’t mistaken, there were brownies in that container.

He opened the door. She sent him a great big smile. “I’m really sorry about this morning. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend. I hope she wasn’t too angry.”

He lowered his head; this was awkward as hell. He hadn’t expected to see her again. “It’s fine. We’re fine. Apology accepted.”

“Thank goodness,” she said, stepping inside. “I don’t know what I would’ve done otherwise. I mean, I turned down three other temp offers after you hired me, and those spots have already been filled. I’d be screwed completely if you’d fired me.”

But he
had
fired her. Hadn’t he? He was trying to recall his exact words when she set the container of brownies on the table and turned to frown at his draping bandages. “My goodness, who did this?”

“I did. With some help from the boys. I guess nursing isn’t our calling.”

“Well, sit down. I’ll fix you right up.” She pulled her medical bag from her shoulder, and within a few seconds she was efficiently removing the messed-up bandages and applying a new set.

“Gretchen, I think I might not have been clear with you earlier. When I said this wasn’t going to work, I meant—”

“I changed my clothes,” she said. “Isn’t this better?” She left off wrapping, and took a step backward, looking down at herself.

“It’s much better. And if you’d shown up this morning in this, instead of that other getup, then we’d be fine, but as it is...”

“It’s your girlfriend, isn’t it?” She sighed, then blinked as if there were tears gathering in her eyes. “She’s insecure and jealous and threatened by me, isn’t she?”

“Um, no.”

“I’m so sorry,” she rushed on, as if he hadn’t spoken. “I really didn’t know. But I admit, I
was
trying to get your attention.” She drew a shuddering breath and resumed wrapping his arm. “I mean, you’re a hero. Saving those kids. Risking your life. I read somewhere that you were single, and I just thought...” She shrugged. “Well, what woman wouldn’t try for a man like you?”

He couldn’t help feeling warmed by her praise. It was flattering, and he was human. “Thank you,” he said.

“But like I said, I didn’t know about your girlfriend. I mean, I would never even have tried...and it’ll never happen again. I promise.” She finished wrapping and taped the bandages into place.

“I think that ship has sailed, Gretchen. I’m sorry. I’ll pay you for today. But after that you—”

“Don’t say it. Please...don’t say it.” She sank into a chair and lowered her head, staring at nothing, sniffling. “If I lose this job, I lose everything. You don’t understand.”

He looked at the bandaged arm. She’d done a good job, as good as they’d done in the hospital. He could tell it would last all day. He sighed, got up from the table and poured the woman a cup of coffee, because he didn’t know what else to do, and according to Rachel a great cup of coffee could fix a whole lot of things. He set it in front of her, and shoved the cream and sugar closer. “It can’t be all that bad. This was only supposed to be a three-week gig, after all.”

“I know. But I was counting on the extra money.”

“Well, what were you doing before this?”

“Psych nurse,” she said. “But the third time I was attacked by one of my patients, I realized I couldn’t keep it up. I’m too petite. And I was reading this book that said to trust the universe. To take a leap of faith and watch for my net to appear. Some bullshit like that. And I believed it. I believed it. Damn that writer for steering me so wrong.”

“What, uh...what writer?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“Rachel de Luca.” She shrugged. “She’s some kind of self-help celebrity. I heard she lives around here. Anyway, I thought...” She shook her head, took a fortifying drink of her coffee and seemed to get hold of herself. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Stupid of me to throw my life away because of something some writer I never met put in a book, huh?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think it was stupid to leave a job where you were getting hurt. You didn’t have much choice.”

“I still have the home care job waiting for me, but it doesn’t start for a few weeks. If I could just work for you until then—”

“Look, I don’t need that much. A bandage change twice a day. It’s not going to pay enough to make a huge difference in your situation.”

She shook her head slowly. “You’re paying me about half of what I’d make full-time. Plus mileage. I won’t lose my apartment, and I can feed my kids.”

“You have kids?” he asked.

“Yeah. A boy and girl.”

“How old?”

“Almost the same ages as the ones you saved from the fire.” She shrugged. “Maybe that’s why I felt so attracted to you.”

“You have to stop with that. I can’t have you working for me if you’re going to—”

“I get to keep working for you?”

He heaved a sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, what the hell. It’s only for a couple of weeks. All right.”

“Oh, thank you!” She bounced out of the chair and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his, and bathing his neck with warm breath and warmer tears. Then she backed away, lowering her head. “Sorry. I’m just...so grateful.”

“Yeah. Okay. You’re welcome.”

“Well, why don’t you go lie down? You’re supposed to be resting. I’ll pick up the kitchen for you and—”

“Not necessary. You’re not here to keep house.”

“You can’t be putting that arm into dishwater, Mason.” She shrugged. “Just relax. I only have an hour and then I have to leave. My other job isn’t far from here. I’m going to wash up the dishes, and then I’ll get out of your hair, okay?”

“Okay.” He bit his lip, not liking this at all, and feeling somehow as if things had spiraled out of his control in a hurry. “I’ll be in the other room.”

“Here,” she said, and when he turned, she handed him a brownie. “I made them just for you and the boys.” Big smile, laser-beam eyes, the most innocent
blink blink.
She was young and in a bad situation. Two kids, no husband, in between jobs.

He took the brownie, turned and went into the living room, wondering how the hell he was going to make this okay with Rachel. She said she trusted him. He hadn’t meant to give her such a challenging way of proving it.

* * *

I had lunch with Mason’s partner, Rosie, at a sports bar in downtown Binghamton, where Mason was highly unlikely to show up, unless he was more psychic than I was.

I’m not psychic,
I reminded myself.
I just have super heightened perception. That’s all.

Rosie came in a few minutes after me, so I’d already gotten us a table, ordered appetizers, and was sipping my Diet Coke when he arrived. I got a table, not a booth, because he was getting bigger around the middle all the time, and I didn’t want to embarrass him if he couldn’t fit. I hoped he could retire or get promoted to a desk job soon, because he was too out of shape to be chasing down bad guys. Besides, his wife, Gwen, was a friend of mine, sort of. We’d bonded over the holidays while trying to keep from getting killed.

Rosie smiled when he spotted me, a real smile that not only met his eyes, but crinkled up into his shaved head. He really seemed to like me for some reason.

“Hello, gorgeous lady. My partner driven you to murder him yet?”

I thought about the bimbo in the sexy nurse costume and rolled my eyes. “Depends on when you ask me, Rosie. He goes from dreamboat to pain in the ass several times a day. But I think I’ll keep him around a little longer. How are you and your lovely bride?”

“Blissful, as always,” he said. “We could give you two a manual.”

“I think we’re better off figuring it out as we go along. How’s your leg? You’re not even limping anymore.”

“Good as new, good as new. Thanks for asking.”

A waitress came and deposited two sampler platters with every appetizer they offered—the very best kind of lunch, in my opinion—and Rosie’s eyes lit up. “What will you have to drink?” she asked him.

“Iced tea. Decaf, if you have it.”

“I’ll bring that right out.” She hustled away, and Rosie dug in.

“You wouldn’t be trying to soften me up with offerings of food for any reason, would you, Rachel?”

“Of course I am. I want to know what you found out about Peter Rouse’s mystery woman, Noelle Baker.” I took a pizza-shaped helping of quesadilla, dolloped it with sour cream and bit in.

“Apart from the fact that she doesn’t exist, you mean?” he said, after he’d downed a riblet and sipped his newly arrived tea.

I lifted my eyebrows and stared him down while he started on a mozzarella stick. “I think she does.”

He shook his head, chewed, made me wait. “I’ve checked everything Rouse gave us, which was precious little. The phone number can’t be traced. One of those prepaid deals like the terrorists use. It could’ve been anybody’s. Could’ve been his, for all we know. The address he gave us is a vacant lot full of glass an’ trash. The place he says she worked at never heard of her. There is nobody by that name who fits the description he gave.”

“But you did find some women by that name?” I asked.

He nodded, but he’d popped a chicken finger in, so I had to wait until he’d swallowed it and swiped his mouth with a napkin. “Three Noelle Bakers. One’s dead, one’s ninety-two, and one’s around the right age but doesn’t match her description.”

I shrugged. “She could’ve cut her hair, colored it, got some tinted contacts.”

“Yeah, but could she have gained fifty pounds in three weeks?”

I had to think on that one and decided that yes, one probably could, if there was enough chocolate around. Of course, I was only speaking for myself.

“I got nothing, Rachel. And when you get nothing, there’s usually nothing to get. He made her up.”

I ate my quesadilla slowly, savoring every bite, while he continued munching and talking, never at the same time. He had excellent table manners. Gwen had trained him right. If anything, Rosie waited too long after each bite to return to listing reasons why the firebug stalker from hell could not possibly exist outside our suspect’s imagination.

Eventually I said, “None of that matters. She’s real.”

“Rachel, I know you’ve got great instincts, but I’ve got twenty years on the force. And I’m telling you, if this chick was for real, I’d’ve found something. Maybe only just a tiny crumb of something, but something. When I find absolutely nothing, then there’s nothing to find.”

“I respect that, Rosie.”

“Good.”

“But I was there. I was there listening to the guy when he told us about her. And I’m telling you, he wasn’t lying.”

Rosie met my eyes, tipped his head sideways, nibbled on one last chicken wing. After he put down the bones and used the provided wet wipe, he nodded. “Okay, let’s say she
is
real. Then she’s covered her tracks awful damn well.”

I nodded. “What about her car? He described her car. Can we look for that?”

“A silver Chevy Cruze,” Rosie said. “One of the most common cars in
the
most common color.”

“Hmm.” I sipped my soda and racked my brain. But I didn’t see any way to track her down. “Is someone watching him? I mean, maybe she’ll try to see him again.”

“Not 24/7, no. We don’t have the manpower.”

“Well, what about the hacksaw?”

“Nothing on that hacksaw linked it to anyone. Only to the fire.”

I sighed in frustration. “Dammit, I’m sure she’s real. Rosie, you know that I know things, right? I need you with me on this. I want to find out who set that fire and see to it that they get put behind bars for what they did to Mason.”

“And those kids. And their mamma, right?”

“Naturally.” But this was also personal. That bitch, whoever she was, messed up my man. And she was damn well going to pay.

I just had to find her first.

“Thanks, Rosie,” I said, finishing my drink and digging out my credit card so I could hand it to the next waitress who passed by. “You’ll keep digging, right?”

“I promise. And you’re not buying my lunch.”

“I invited you. Don’t be a chauvinist.” The waitress swept over and took my card before he could argue any further.

* * *

Mason’s cell phone rang at two in the afternoon. He had been working, but that had turned into napping. It hadn’t been intentional, he’d just nodded off on the sofa like his sixty-four-year-old mother sometimes did after dinner. She would never admit to it, of course. And he understood why. He felt almost guilty when he picked up the phone. Since when did he sleep in the middle of the day?