Deception (5 page)

She nodded, scooted out from under him and crawled toward the phone on the other side of the couch.

Alex combat-crawled to the window, dragging his bad leg behind him. He peeked over the edge, but didn’t see anything.

When Tess crawled back, he whispered, “Get my gun. It’s in the drawer beside the bed.”

Othello looked out the window, barked once more, then lay down. Sirens wailed in the distance.
Son of a bitch
.

While he didn’t like having an intruder in his backyard, he didn’t want the guy to get away either, and those sirens would sure as hell scare anyone away.

Had it been the killer? Coincidence told him yes. He and Tess had chosen this neighborhood for its low crime rate. Burglars didn’t lurk around every corner.

“So, you saw a shadow.” Patrolman Reynolds swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing and Tess knew his nervousness had a lot to do with the angry, injured guy on the couch.

“No. I saw
movement
in the shadows,” Alex said.

“Right. You saw movement in the shadows.” Reynolds scribbled in his notebook.

The doorbell rang and Tess let in a few more uniforms and a Sergeant Wilkins.

“Juran.” Wilkins nodded to Alex and peered over Reynolds’s shoulder to read his notes. “Heard you had some excitement.”

“Some idiot running through my backyard,” Alex said.

“Mmm hmm.” Wilkins’s gaze met Alex’s and turned to Reynolds, who looked like a deer caught in headlights. “Find anything outside?”

“No, sir. Nothing.”

Alex stood but had to grab the back of the couch for support. His jaw clenched when the officers watched him.

“And did you see anything, Mrs. Juran?” Wilkins asked.

“No. I was in the other room.”

“I see.” Wilkins’s eyebrows went up and he turned to Reynolds. “You got enough for the report?”

“That’s it?” Alex asked. “That’s all you’re going to do?”

“What else do you want us to do, Juran? Reynolds looked outside, looked all around the house. The snow’s already covered any footprints. Reynolds’ll write up the report, we’ll file it. I’ll put out a couple extra patrols through the night. But my guess is the guy’s long gone.”

Wilkins turned to Reynolds and the two other officers who watched the interaction in silence. “Let’s go, calls are backing up.”

They walked out and Reynolds cleared his throat. “I’ll, uh, write that report up as soon as I get to the office. In the meantime—”

“Yeah, I know. In the meantime if I see anything else I’ll give you a call,” Alex said, his tone bitter.

Reynolds looked away. “Yeah, okay. Well then, uh, see ya around.” He beat a hasty retreat, shutting the door behind him.

Alex slumped into the couch, spearing his hand through his hair and looking at the Christmas tree. “They didn’t believe me.”

“Sure they believed you. They just didn’t have anything to go on. The snow—”

Alex snorted and leaned his head against the back of the couch. “Someone was out there.”

“I know.”

“He ran toward the house and all I could think…” He closed his eyes and his voice dropped to a whisper. “All I could think was that I had to protect you.”

“Do you think it was the killer?”

“Look at me.” He waved his hand at his injured leg. “I’m a damn cripple who can’t even protect you.”

“Wilkins said—”

“Fuck Wilkins. He didn’t believe a word I said. You saw the looks I got, Tess. They think I’ve gone off the deep end.”

“Alex, they’re just doing their job.”

“Yeah, I know. Filing a report.”

“And patrolling the area. What would you have done in their shoes?”

His lips thinned and he looked away. This wasn’t about Wilkins not doing his job.

This was about Alex unable to do his.

Before the separation, she’d wanted a husband with a normal job and normal hours, whose only danger was rush-hour traffic. Tonight just proved that Alex could never be that man. Being a cop was in his blood.

“It’s okay to feel frustrated, Alex.”

“Go to bed,” he said wearily. “You need to work in the morning.”

Of course. He’d never admit a weakness. “Are you going to bed?” she asked, trying to hide her hurt and anger. Why she thought he’d start communicating now, she didn’t know. It wasn’t like they had a recent history of being open with each other.

“Does it matter?”

No, it didn’t matter, because six months ago they stopped sleeping together, stopped living together for this very reason. His job consumed him. The funny thing was, he never saw it. Never understood how lonely she’d been or how hurt when she’d asked him to take time for her.

Hours later she was still awake, listening to the creak of the bedsprings in the next room as Alex shifted.

She climbed out of bed and threw her robe on. Maybe if she turned the heat up and checked the windows and doors she could get some sleep. On the way to the thermostat she peeked into Alex’s room. In the dim light, she could see him lying on his back with Othello next to him, the dog’s big head on the pillow. His tail thumped against the bed.

“What do you need, Tess?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“So what do you want me to do about it?”

She pushed away the hurt his harsh words caused. “Can I borrow the dog? He usually sleeps with me and since…since everything that’s happened tonight, I just need a warm body next to me.”

Othello rolled to his side and grunted.

“I don’t think he’s moving,” Alex said.

No, it didn’t look like it.

Alex flipped the covers back. “Get in.”

“Alex.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t jump your bones.”

She took a backward step into the hall. “I’ll just turn up the heat.”

“It’s not the heat that bothers you. You’re scared.”

She was scared and lonely but her pride wouldn’t allow her to admit it. Besides, what would happen if she climbed into bed with him? Maybe he’d never return to police work. Maybe his career wasn’t an issue anymore. But they had other issues. Things that stood between them they’d never spoken of, let alone tried to resolve. And things they had spoken of and couldn’t resolve.

“Thanks, but I’ll just turn up the heat.”

“That’s right,” he said sarcastically. “You didn’t want me whole, why would you want me now?”

Tess sighed and leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t do this, Alex.”

Silence. She couldn’t see through the darkness well enough to determine what he was thinking. And maybe because of the darkness she felt freer. “Wanting you was never the issue.” Sex had never been the issue between them. If only it had been.

“You married me knowing I was a cop. Seems kind of crazy that you would divorce me for the same reason.”

Yes, it did. But back then she had thought their love was enough. And it had been until everything fell apart.

“There were other things. Other issues.”

“Yeah.”

That was all he said, just “yeah”. And that said it all. Again, they couldn’t talk about it, couldn’t put words to the ocean of grief they shared, yet didn’t share.

“I’ll just turn up the heat.” She pulled the door closed behind her.

***

The next morning, Tess’s chest was tight, her eyes gritty from lack of sleep. She’d tossed and turned the rest of the night. Should she have climbed in bed with him? Lord knew she missed him so much it hurt, but what would have happened? In the light of the morning, all their problems would still have been there and nothing would have been resolved. Just an itch scratched.

Dressed and ready to face the day, she let Othello out the back door and poured a glass of orange juice. She sipped her juice and studied the backyard, looking for any signs of last night’s intruder. A good two inches of snow had fallen since then, wiping out any clues.

Had the person in the backyard been the same one who had shot Alex and killed his contact?

Tess let Othello in and had to lean into the door to push it closed against the frigid wind.

She pulled eggs and butter out of the refrigerator to begin the first batch of cakes, then headed to the front door to get the morning paper. She braced herself for the burst of cold air and opened the door, grabbed the paper and stepped back inside almost simultaneously.

With her hand stilled on the doorknob, the paper dropped from her lifeless fingers. Obscenities had been spray-painted on her front door.

Pig.

Die.

Prick.

At first she thought it had been written in blood, but realized it was red paint that had dripped, making it look like blood.

***

He slipped into the shadows and studied the Juran house from across the street. Hatred sparked a fire through him, spreading its poison, eating away at rational thought. That always happened when he thought of Supercop Alex Juran.

When Juran had been shot, he’d held his breath and waited to see if he would pull through.

The funniest thing about that week was that he’d been there, mingling with the bigwigs of the department, and they hadn’t even known it. They were arrogant to the core and he’d stood beneath their turned-up noses and laughed at them.

Now
that
was irony. A roomful of cops and it never occurred to them he had the balls to strut in their presence and thumb his nose at them. Pricks.

A chuckle escaped before he could stop it. Quickly he glanced around to see if anyone heard. The street was empty. Only an idiot would be out in near freezing temperatures.

He wasn’t an idiot by any stretch of the imagination. An idiot couldn’t get at a cop lying in ICU. An idiot wouldn’t dare talk to a cop while he lay in that room all hooked up to monitors and IVs.

Oh, yeah, he’d heard those monitors raise a fuss when he spoke to the high-and-mighty Juran. He’d heard and he’d known Supercop was scared. He’d thought about pulling the plug on a few of those machines, but he hadn’t and now he was glad.

He’d been surprised as hell when he heard Juran couldn’t remember who the shooter was. That’s when his brilliant plan popped into his mind. After that, he’d started praying for dear old Alex’s recovery because he had something better in mind for Officer Juran. Something much better.

A patrol unit cruised into Juran’s driveway. Taking his time, the police officer opened his door, got out and arranged his gun belt.

Supercop Juran, leaning heavily on his walker like an old man, let the cop in and closed the door, but not before checking out the street.

Still under your nose, Juran. Still watching you and yours.

He was a little bummed Juran had moved in with his wife, disappointed in Tess too, for allowing that prick back into her life. But he’d deal with it. He’d adapt. His ability to adapt and to think on his feet was what made him so good at this game. Just like last night. He’d forgotten all about the dog. Soon as he heard the barking, he’d changed plans. Didn’t matter though. He’d accomplished what he’d set out to accomplish, and this morning he’d remembered the dog and had done his business with the front door while the dog did his business out back.

He grinned. The ironies kept piling up, one after the other after the other.

Chapter Seven

Jackson studied the front door.

“Spray paint.” He made a notation in his notebook. “How’s Tess?”

“Shaken up.” Alex’s fingers tightened on his walker. She’d come running into his room, eyes wild, hardly able to breathe. He’d wanted to jump up and take care of it but had to move slowly, thumping and shuffling down the hallway while she called 911.

“We got footprints,” Jackson said.

Alex studied the prints in the snow while Jackson crouched down and took pictures.

“What do you think?” Alex asked.

Jackson snapped off a few more pictures. “I think it’s a clue.”

Alex tamped down on his frustration. Tess had been right, of course. Last night had been about his anger and frustration at himself. If he was in Jackson’s shoes, or Reynolds’s, he would have taken the report and moved on to the next call. He tried to keep that in mind, but it was entirely different when it was your house being vandalized and your family in fear.

“I think it looks like a man’s shoe,” Alex said, still looking at the prints, trying to decide what size.

“We’ll step up patrols.” Jackson stood and put his notebook in his front pocket.

Alex nodded. Jackson gave him a two fingered salute, walked to his cruiser and climbed in.

Alex pushed away from the window and let the curtain fall. Whoever was doing this was sick. Slipping in and out unnoticed. Adapting and overcoming.

Mixing bowls banged together and the microwave pinged. Othello paced between the kitchen and the living room, checking on first Tess then Alex, as if sensing things weren’t quite right in his little world.

Alex entered the kitchen and stepped up beside her.

The bright red fall of her hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Two flour handprints were smeared across the butt of her faded jeans. She was attempting to scrape butter out of a bowl, but her hands were shaking so hard she missed most of it.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” She sounded as if she was congested and he wondered if she’d been crying.

He pushed the walker away and managed to turn her around and gather her in his arms while standing on one foot.

She stiffened and pulled away. “I’m fine,” she said again.

He nestled her head under his chin and rested his cheek on the top of her head. The strawberry scent of her shampoo and the butter in the mixing bowl reminded him of strawberry shortcake and summertime and, like the butter in the bowl, Tess melted against him.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She sniffed. “It’s nothing. Just a delayed reaction.”

He kissed the top of her head.

She pulled back and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of flour across her cheek.

With his thumb, he tilted her chin up and kissed her.

In all the months they’d been apart, he hadn’t allowed himself to miss this intimate touching. Touching that heightened the sexual tension until he would nearly burst with his need for her. It felt good to do it now. Right. Like coming home.