Hidden Fire, Kobo (14 page)

His expression softened. "I didn't
want to scare you." Before she could protest, he came over and enveloped
her in his arms. He rubbed his face in her hair. "I care about you. I want
to protect you. It's not that I don't think you're an independent woman. It's—"
His voice caught. "I love you, Sarah. And a man protects the people he
loves."

She accepted his embrace, wrapped her
arms around him. "I love you, too. But—"

He cupped her head with one hand while
keeping her close with the other. "Shh. Don't say anything else. We'll
work this out."

She hoped so. How could she tell him that
she didn't know if loving him was enough? She trickled her fingers down his
chest.

"I guess I'd better dig out the
insurance policy." Again. She found the thick folder in her file cabinet.
Hefting its weight, she figured she'd be lucky if they'd continue her coverage.

Randy stood by the front window, talking
on his cell again. Being a cop. Which she should be grateful for, if he'd stick
to the cop stuff and not the smothering protector.

He twisted around, saw her and ended his
call. "I have to go to the station. I don't want you alone here."

She didn't particularly relish the idea
of being alone in an ocean of vandalized merchandise, but she refused to let
her fear show. "I suppose I'll need a police report for the insurance
company. Do we do that there?"

"Yes. I'll take care of it."

Half an hour later, they sat in his
office while she answered more questions and he filled out paperwork. He handed
her a copy and she added it to the insurance folder. "I'd like to go home
now, please."

"I told you before. I'm not sure
that's a good idea tonight."

"Fine. Have it your way. Will you
take me home? Or I'll call a cab." The worry in his eyes sparked anger
inside her. Why wouldn't he let her make her own decisions? And why was she
fighting the ones he was making when deep, deep down she agreed? For whatever
reason, she refused to bow to his authority. "It's my home. I belong
there."

He shoved his chair away from the desk
and went to the window, his hands fisted at his sides. "I wish you wouldn't
fight me. I know my job."

"I said, please take me home."

"Stay with me," he said softly.

"You'll be working, won't you? I'd
be alone there, too."

"I have an alarm system. And I'd
feel better knowing you were somewhere harder to find."

"If whoever did this is local, they'll
have a pretty good idea where to look if I'm not home, don't you think?"
She got up from her chair and dragged the strap of her purse over her shoulder.
"You're having my place watched, right? If it was anyone else, would you
forbid them access to their own home?"

He spun around. His nostrils flared. A
vein at his temple throbbed. Involuntarily, she leaned back in her chair.

"Not forbid," he said, each
syllable clipped. "But I would
emphatically
suggest
they
might want to stay with someone until we had a few more leads on whoever might
have done this." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry. We're
both upset. Let's not fight."

She was being unfair. "You're right.
I'm probably overreacting. But I want to go home. Do
something
. Sitting
here, watching you work makes me feel helpless. It's easier when you're doing
something isn't it?"

He nodded.

"So, let me go home. Let me be doing
something, even if it's staring at a spreadsheet. Maybe I'll see a pattern.
Find a clue."

His face relaxed. "Like what?"

How the heck should she know? But it was
something to do. "Didn't you once say you had to look at everything and
then figure out what was usable?"

"I did." He ducked his head and
gave a half-smile, as if he was embarrassed to have his own words used to make
her point.

"So, who knows what I'll find. But I
know I won't find anything sitting here all night, or alone at your place."

"All right. I'll run you over, then
come back and follow up with locating witnesses. And I'll call New Jersey to verify
Chris is where he's supposed to be."

"And you'll call me when you find
out?"

"You'll be the second to know."

Sarah marched to the door.

Randy smiled at her. "Pine Hills
Police's ace detective concludes that the lady is ready to leave."

She couldn't help the smile that spread
over her.

The silence between them was
gossamer-light as they drove to her apartment. Her stomach did a quick
somersault when she saw the patrol car parked in front of her building, but she
took deep breaths until it relaxed.

"Anyone I know?" she asked.

"Rick Montoya," Randy said. "Until
midnight. It might be drive-bys after that, but call me if—"

She cut him off. "I'll be fine. You're
programmed into my speed dial. I'll have the phone on and with me, even in the
bathroom. Promise."

He parked in the small lot behind the
building. "Wait here a minute." He got out and walked around her
Element, bending low to look underneath, running his fingers along the edge of
the hood.

It's his job. He's not trying to scare
you. He's being careful.

She waited for him to open her door and
help her out. Part of her was grateful for his support, yet another part hated
the reminder she was vulnerable.

He kept his arm around her waist as they
walked up the stairs. He stopped her at the door and took her hand as she
slotted the key into the lock. "Let me."

She relinquished her hold and stepped
back. Raising a hand to her forehead, she massaged her temples while he walked
through her apartment. The thoughts echoed.

It's his job. He's not trying to scare
you. He's being careful
.

It didn't ease her nerves any more than
it had downstairs. She'd been fine until he started doing all his cop stuff.
She shook her head, straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

"All clear," he said when he
came back.

She breezed past him. "Great. Now I
can get to work and so can you." She turned the burner on under the
teakettle. "I'm going to have some tea and work at my computer. Call me
when you catch the creep." Without making eye contact, she gave him the
best grin she had available and made shooing motions. "Go. Strike while
the iron's hot. Get the game while it's afoot. Whatever it is you do."

He stood where he was for several
heartbeats. She took a mug from the cabinet, dropped a tea bag in it and wiped
her already clean counter.

"Lock the door behind me." His
voice was quiet, but she heard the hurt.

She scrubbed an invisible spot on the
stove, sensing him walking toward the door. Knowing he'd wait in the hall until
he heard the deadbolt snick into place, she did as he asked. Her knees wobbled,
but only for a few seconds. She stopped at her CD player, filled the room with
the upbeat sounds of Cyndi Lauper, turned on all the lights and stared at the
couch, wondering if she could drag it in front of the door.

Idiot. How will you get out if you have
to? Stop being a baby. There's a cop outside your apartment. Nobody's coming up
here.

She teased back the curtain and checked
that the patrol car was still there. After she made her tea, she pulled her
chef's knife from the block and set it beside her at the computer.

Staring at her spreadsheets did nothing
more than make her eyes burn. Without today's data, what good was it going to
do, anyway? She played seven games of computer Mahjongg, drank way too much tea
and thought about a bubble bath. She got as far as the bathroom, but the idea
of taking all her clothes off gave her the willies. She locked the bedroom
door, exchanged her slacks for sweatpants, then her sweater for a sweatshirt
and pulled back the spread on her bed. Behind closed eyelids, visions of the
destruction at her shop played like a video on endless repeat. So many
beautiful things, such wanton destruction.

They didn't break everything. Think about
what's still good.

Concentrating on the stock she thought
she could salvage, she tried to reconstruct her displays in her mind. She hadn't
had time to go through everything. There had to be enough left to get started
again. She refused the thought of a Going Out of Business Sale and visualized a
Grand Reopening instead. There was a lot of broken pottery, but the paper goods
were all right, for the most part. Many of the wooden pieces, too.

After tossing and turning for an hour,
she gave up on sleep. She needed her records which were on the computer in her
office. She'd download them to her flash drive, then come home and do data
entry until she could sleep. She laced on her sneakers and grabbed her purse.
She got as far as the door and changed her mind. No point in letting Montoya
see her. He'd call Randy who would make a fuss about what might be nothing.
Check first, call later.

She tucked her hair into the hood of her
sweatshirt and crept down the back stairs.

* * * * *

Randy opened the cover on the piano's
keyboard. He warmed up with a few arpeggios, letting his mind drift with the
familiar exercises. Starsky and Hutch padded into the room and took their
customary positions in Gram's old chair.

He turned to look at them. "Any
requests, guys?"

Starsky cocked his head as if
deliberating, while Hutch lifted a hind leg and did some indiscreet grooming.

"Pathetic, aren't we?" He
picked out the strains of "Another Saturday Night". Was this the way
he'd spend his life? Home alone with his cats? "No offense, guys. It's not
that I don't like your company, but I had other ideas for this weekend."

Starsky yawned and kneaded his paws into
the cushion a few times, then curled into a ball. Hutch gave a quiet meow and
flopped on top of Starsky.

Thirty minutes spent engrossed in Chopin's
complexities and Randy thought he'd be able to sleep. He turned the volume up
on his cell phone, grabbed a quick shower and crawled into bed. Half an hour
later, still awake, he turned on the light and dialed the phone.

"Montoya here." The soft voice
of Carmen, the dispatcher bled through in the background. Code for a routine
traffic stop, then some friendly banter. Must be a quiet night. Randy's tension
eased.

"It's Randy. Report?"

"Lights went out around eleven. No
signs of anyone."

"Thanks, Rick. You can get back to
your regular sector. I'll remind Dispatch to increase visibility in the
neighborhood for the rest of the night."

"Yes, sir."

Randy ended the call and checked in with
Carmen, reminding her of the order he'd placed earlier.

"I got it, Randy. We're a man short
tonight, but Mrs. Tucker's apartment's on my sheet."

He heard the implied, "We know what
we're doing" in her tone.

"Thanks. I didn't mean—"

"Forget it. It's covered. If you
feel guilty, I like chocolate-covered cherries."

He made a mental note to have a box on her
desk Monday night, then turned off the light, sinking into sleep. He didn't
know how long he'd been out, or how long his phone had been ringing once the
sound separated itself from a dream. He fumbled for his cell, trying to shake
enough cobwebs from his head to find the button, but it wouldn't stop ringing.

Not his cell. His landline. He twisted
around and grabbed the handset with one hand, turned on the lamp with the
other. "Detweiler."

"Hey, Randy. Guess I woke you. It's
Carmen."

Carmen. Dispatch. Adrenaline surged and
his brain cleared. "Go."

"Someone called in lights on in That
Special Something. And there's a gray Honda Element parked in back. I've
dispatched a unit. Thought you'd want to know."

Damn it. What was Sarah doing back at her
shop? Why hadn't she called him? "Thanks, Carmen. I'm rolling. I'll be on
radio in five."

He threw on jeans and a polo, shoved his
feet into his shoes, grabbed his jacket and gun and raced to his truck. Once he
left the quiet of his residential neighborhood, he activated his dash lights
and stomped on the accelerator.

He forced a calm to his voice when he
keyed his radio. "What can you tell me, Carmen?"

"Nothing yet. A unit's on its way
from an underage drinking call by the river."

"Who?" he asked. "Montoya?"
He glanced at the clock. One a.m. No, Montoya would have been off duty nearly
an hour ago.

"Neville."

Wonderful. He remembered the man's
attitude when he'd been called off patrol for perimeter duty at the murder
scene. Almost antagonistic. Randy wondered if Neville always asked for third
shift because it let him slack off while he counted down to retirement. No
matter. Right now there wasn't anyone else.