In His Sights (15 page)

“Thanks, but I just agreed to stay with Robyn until my house is cleared.”

Tonio shot Robyn a speculative look. “Oh, okay. That's cool.”

“How's it coming with the testing on the stuff they took from my house?”

“Slow. I'll let you know when they pinpoint the source, believe me. I want that bastard caught and punished for what he did to you.”

Except for in the emergency room, this was the most emotion Robyn had seen him express in the few times they'd met.

“Me, too. It takes a pretty sick mind to do something like this. There's no telling how many people he's killed and how many are suffering.”

“True. And by the way, speaking of the sicko, the clothes I brought for you are from the mall. Couldn't risk bringing your own clothes until the techs are done with them.”

“Jeez, I owe you one.”

“No, you don't. So forget it.” Tonio clamped a hand on Chris's shoulder. “Listen, I'm going to go for now. I'll be back later, or I'll come by the doc's house if you've been discharged once I have some news.”

“That works. Thanks again.”

“Anytime.”

After the other detective left, a surge of visitors from the station came to his room. Word was obviously out that Chris was better. Robyn had to make rounds but kept an eye on the flow of people. Finally she shooed the last of them out and ordered the nurses to make sure he rested.

The next day, the final round of Chris's tests came back clear, and she decided to discharge him with some restrictions. First and foremost, he had to rest for a few days, no argument. She had a feeling he'd agree to just about anything to be able to leave.

She managed to time his release with her getting off shift, and after he was dressed in the fresh clothes Tonio brought him, a nurse wheeled him out to her car.

Almost as soon as the car began moving, Chris leaned his head against the window and passed out. She felt so bad for him, but she'd help him all she could.

At home, she had to wake him to get him out of the car and inside. Even though Rachel rushed to help her—with Maddy fluttering around
thinking
she was helping—it was still quite a challenge to get him into the guest bedroom. Once they did, he went out like a light again, and so the three of them tiptoed out to let him sleep.

Maddy had a hundred questions about what was wrong with Chris and why he was there. She might be
only seven, but she was a smart girl and knew something was wrong. Keeping it simple, Robyn told her Chris was sick and couldn't stay home alone. Truth enough. Maddy accepted that and threw herself into the role of caregiver with relish.

Robyn smiled in spite of herself, putting her feet up in her easy chair for a bit. Maddy really loved Chris. And the feeling appeared to be mutual. Throughout the evening, he woke up to ask where the little munchkin was, and she'd magically appear with tea or water to help him feel better. He declared it did, and Maddy was happy.

Only after Maddy was in bed did Robyn sneak down the hallway to the guest room. There, she closed and locked the door and slid underneath the sheets with him. As she did, something he'd said to her before he'd gotten sick came rushing back.
I want all of you, Robyn.
Even if she was afraid of saying those words back to him, she couldn't deny to herself that she felt the same way: she wanted all of Chris. She held him all night long, grateful beyond words that she still could.

They had to catch the murdering bastard soon. The connections had to be made soon.

And Robyn hoped like hell she would be the one to do it.

Chris awoke to an unfamiliar bedroom, and it took him a few minutes to get his bearings. Rolling over, he pressed his face into the pillow and postponed getting out of bed as long as possible.

At least until he recalled Robyn sliding in next to him last night, and that made him wonder where she'd gone. Maybe he'd slept so long, she'd taken Maddy to school and had gone to work already.

Curiosity propelled him to push himself upright. He sat for a moment, testing the waters just in case he got sick or dizzy. When neither of those things happened, he got out of bed and stood. So far, so good.

By the time he got to the en suite bathroom, he realized he was still tired and a bit weak. The cyanide had done a number on him for sure. Nothing he couldn't overcome, though, with another day of rest. Moving slowly, he showered and dressed in some jeans and a T-shirt.

Then he went in search of Robyn. And coffee. What he found was one of those fancy one-cup automatic
machines and several types of brew to choose from. But no Robyn. A piece of paper on the kitchen table caught his attention, and he walked over to read it.

Took Maddy to school. Running a few errands, be home soon. Bringing pastries.

His stomach growled and he went back to the coffeemaker. After investigating the choices, he settled on a French roast that he hoped was strong enough to revive his brain and get the juices flowing. Might take two cups.

After making his coffee, he took the steaming mug and tried to sit still at the kitchen table. But he got restless and decided to wander to the living room. There, he turned on the TV and watched a bit of
Good Morning America
. Soon his attention strayed and he found himself looking around the room, focusing on the photos Robyn had displayed.

The ones on the end tables were mostly of Maddy. On the wall were pictures of two different older couples, and he figured these must be Maddy's grandparents.

But it was the pictures on the mantel that drew him in like the proverbial moth to the flame. Unable to help himself, he rose from the sofa and padded to the fireplace, studying the studio photo of the man he assumed was Greg, who had once held Robyn's heart.

The man was handsome, he had to admit. He'd have to be, Chris thought, to snag a woman like Robyn. Not that Chris thought himself a great catch. No, it was just weird gazing at the man Robyn clearly wasn't over and trying to imagine what had happened.

Greg had dark hair and bright blue eyes. His smile for the camera was boyish. But was it Chris's imagination, or did his eyes seem a bit sad? As he moved onto the next photo, his gut did an unpleasant turn to see this one was a candid shot of Robyn on the same man's lap in a lounge chair. They were laughing into the camera, tangled together, looking very happy. The lounger was on some sort of flagstone patio, quite large and expensive-looking; behind them was a huge pool with a built-in waterfall and a gorgeous panoramic view of the desert.

We moved here from Phoenix, Arizona, after my husband, Greg, passed away.

Whatever had happened, Robyn's lifestyle had apparently been altered. If there was a house attached to that fancy patio, and it had belonged to her and her husband, it was a far cry from where she lived now. Chris didn't care whether Robyn had loads of money, but he hated that she had to suffer in any way. The loss of her husband and the home she knew must've been devastating.

Chris heard keys rattle in the door leading into the kitchen from the garage. Mug in hand, he went to greet Robyn, putting aside his questions about her deceased husband for now. That conversation had to happen someday if they were going to move forward. They couldn't pretend the man hadn't existed or hadn't had a big impact on her life. But he sensed she wasn't ready for that talk.

She looked so pretty in a pair of dark blue pants and a print blouse, hair pulled back from her face and secured with a clip at the top of her head. He couldn't help but stare. She set a white paper bag and her purse on the table, then crossed to him and pulled him in for a kiss.

“I'm glad to see you up and around. You were sound asleep when I checked on you this morning.”

“I was wiped out, I guess. It's not every day a guy gets poisoned like Snow White. Wonder where the apple came from?”

“That's not even remotely funny.”

“I thought it was, a little.”

“Not one bit.”

“Sorry. Us cops have to find humor where we can, even if it's grim. What's in the bag?”

She played along with his blatant redirect. “Two types of Danish, cream cheese and apricot.”

“Damn, that sounds good! How am I supposed to pick?”

“I got two of each, so you can have both.” She gave him a small smile.

“Sweet. Thanks, baby.”

She paused, looking at him oddly before moving to the refrigerator. “You're welcome. Milk or juice?”

“I'm just going to have another cup of coffee. I don't drink a lot of milk or juice.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “One cup of coffee this morning is more than enough after what you've been through, sweetie.”

He raised his brows. “You don't have to give me the ‘mom' voice. I'm not Maddy.”

“Did I do that? I'm sorry, but I just want you to go easy on your system for a few days. Your body had quite a traumatic shock.”

He held up a hand. “I surrender. If it's that important to you, I'll have milk.”

“It is.”

“I still don't think it's that big a deal, though.”

Turning with a glass of milk in hand, she froze. There was something dark in her eyes, almost like pain. Then she walked over and carefully set his glass in front of him.

“I care, that's all. Your health is a
big deal
to me.”

Turning, she started to walk off, but he gently caught her arm and encouraged her to face him again. “Wait—please. I meant to say I appreciate you caring about my well-being, honest. I just don't want the person I'm with trying to dictate to me or change me.”

“I'd never do that.” She blinked away tears and shook her head.

His heart fell. “Shit. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.”

“You didn't.”

“Then what is this really about, Robyn? Please, trust me a little.” She was silent, and his heart dropped. “Does this have anything to do with Greg and his death?”

Her head shot up and anger blazed on her face. His spirits fell even lower as he realized he was right. It was clear she didn't want to confide in him, either.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. “Forget I asked.”

“I can't talk about him.”

“Right now?”

“Maybe ever.”

He let go of her arm and she stepped back. Immediately he felt colder, desolate. “I want to be a part of your world, but I can't if you won't let me. It tells me you either don't trust me or don't have deep enough feelings for me.”

“That's not true,” she whispered. “You don't know how it was to be in my shoes back then. How hard it is to relive that time.”

“Then tell me.” So much for his resolve not to push. But he had a feeling that if he didn't, she'd never open up.

“I need more time. Please, Chris. It hurts too much.”

Big blue eyes pleaded with him, and he relented. “Okay. But we have to talk about this eventually, or it will always be the elephant in the room.”

“I know.”

Tentatively she sat and they finished their breakfast, but the damage to their morning had been done. Conversation was stilted, and by the time she gathered her purse and keys for work, he was feeling ten kinds of remorse for trying to get her to open up before she was ready. Admittedly, the detective in him wanted to solve the mystery of Greg and Robyn and then put it out of his mind for good. At least the part about Greg.

After giving him a kiss, she started for the back door. “I'll see you this afternoon, all right?”

“Okay. Again, I'm sorry.”

“Don't worry about it.”

Which of course he did. After she was gone he felt restless and edgy. When he became almost overwhelmed with the cop's urge to snoop through her things—or better yet, use her computer or his police contacts to search for Greg Lassiter's name and cause of death—he did the only thing he could: he left the house.

A walk would do him good. Help him build up his strength again. He wasn't one to mope or sleep all day, no matter how tired he might be. Automatically, his feet
carried him in the direction of his own house, and he wondered if the tech guys had finished searching his stuff. Probably so, and he cringed when he thought of his stack of porn videos in the master bedroom closet. Fantastic.

By the time he got to his house, he was winded and cursing himself for an idiot. He should have stayed on the sofa and watched TV. Then again, he'd be able to get more clothes, then fetch his car and drive it back to Robyn's.

He winced to see the wood frame around the front door smashed, as well as a big cracked hole the size of a heel—Tonio's—next to the knob. Someone had fixed it as best as they could, but the whole thing would need replacing.

Fortunately, Tonio had brought him his keys along with fresh clothes. Chris unlocked the door with a little difficulty and let himself in. The house was still. A glance around showed nothing much was out of place. Some items had been moved, and he wondered what the techs had removed.

He figured starting in the kitchen was best. His hunch was right—every single item of food and drink had been cleaned out. Every last one. Even his canned goods were gone, probably to be examined for tampering. Damn. It was sort of depressing not to even be able to have a snack in his own home.

Making a tour through the house, he noted things here and there that were missing. Anything that contained liquid or was applied to his body was absent from his bathroom, including cologne, aftershave, shaving
cream—the list went on. His sense of violation grew, and anger began to break through the fog of shock he'd been feeling for the past two days.

A knock on the front door snapped him to attention, and he went to answer it.

He opened up to find Tonio and Captain Rainey standing there, and let them in. “Hey. I'm assuming this isn't a social visit?”

“I wish,” Tonio said, looking solemn.

“You get the results of the testing?”

Rainey spoke up. “We did, and they showed exactly where the poison was placed.”

“In my kitchen somewhere? In the milk or some food?”

“Nope. The cyanide had been added to both your shampoo and the body wash.”

Chris's mouth fell open. He took a moment to let that sink in. “Shit. He knew that was the best place to ensure I'd come into contact with it every day. I might not eat the same foods, but I'd probably shower.”

“Exactly,” Rainey affirmed. “The team went over every square inch of the house, and that was the only contamination. You can come home if you're extra vigilant—and install a damned alarm system. I can't believe you don't have one.”

“Never put much stock in those, Cap,” he admitted. “I always thought, if I'm home I'll take care of any intruder myself. And if I'm not home, the police won't be here for several minutes, giving them plenty of time to get out, so what difference does it make?”

Rainey huffed. “Haven't you learned anything,
Detective? Motive
and
opportunity. Criminals have the motive, and stupidity often gives them the opportunity. If the asshole had been faced with an alarm system, he wouldn't have been able to tote a dangerous poison into your house and spend God knows how long searching for the exact right spot to hide it. Because he wouldn't have had
time
.”

His face flushed at his captain basically calling him stupid in front of his partner. But the man was right. “Sorry. You're right. I'll call them as soon as you leave.”

“Good. I've already had a team in to clean your tub and shower, and it's clear of any poisonous residue. And the tech guys are bringing back the rest of your shit, in boxes, except for the perishable food and drinks, like the lettuce and milk. You'll get to have fun putting it all back.”

“Awesome.” Not.

“When do you think you'll be back at work?” Tonio asked.

“Miss me, honey?”

“Shut up.” But his partner laughed. “I'm tired of doing all the fucking work.”

“So you
do
admit I pull my weight. I'll mark this day on the calendar.”

“Yeah, yeah. So, when?”

“Tomorrow, I think.”

“Day after,” Rainey put in. “Don't think I haven't noticed you can barely stand up. Your body had a shock, and you need to be in top form before I'll consider letting you come back.”

“All right, day after tomorrow,” he relented.

“See you then, bro.” Tonio's mouth widened in one of his rare smiles.

Bro.
It was said with such warmth, such genuine friendliness, that Chris was surprised. Almost dying changed things sometimes, for all parties. “See ya.”