Soft Target (24 page)

Chapter Thirty

As Gray refilled their coffee cups, the breeze ruffled the newspaper and the patio stones scratched and massaged his toes. Out in the yard, Felix bounded through the grass, pouncing on shadows and chasing leaves. Greedy squirrels chased birds from the feeders, but they didn’t go far, choosing to remain in low-hanging branches and screech their disapproval.

It provided a counterpoint to the music on the stereo, and Maggie’s sweet scent heightened his awareness of the flowers in the yard. Their bright blooms nodded in the sunshine.

“How about we go in late this morning?” he asked.

Maggie looked up from the Futures section and nodded, smiling. “We could swing by the hospital and see what’s-her-name before Tiffany and Michael take her home.”

“God, that has to be scary.”

“Says the man who’s been shot,” she teased. “But I know what you mean. She’s so little. Can you imagine?”

That was the problem. He could.

Maggie’s pink blush hinted that she was imagining the same thing. He shifted in his chair, bringing them closer.

Gimme three steps, gimme three steps Mister...

He leapt from his chair, swearing under his breath as he strode into the kitchen, catching his phone as it jittered off the counter.

“What?” he sighed.

“I know I’m the last person you want to talk to, but Ginger Taylor is going on maternity leave. That leaves Bob’s tax division short two people. He’ll get pressure about filling your job. Tell the shrink what she wants to hear and get back to work.”

He couldn’t leave. Maggie wasn’t safe yet.

“You can’t tell me you’re ready to give up your career for a life in Idaho,” Shelby said.

“I’ll have to talk to Maggie.”

“Seriously? You’re going to ask
her
opinion about your career.”

“She has a say in this.” He knew what she’d say. She’d square her shoulders, lift her chin and tell him to go.

He thought about Chicago, with the lake, the fog and the music. And the takeout, the noise and the crowds. Skyscrapers, not mountains. His own space. Eating breakfast alone, sleeping under an electric blanket.

Shelby’s voice softened. “We had some good times together, didn’t we?”

“We did.”

“I remember that vacation in the Bahamas,” she whispered. “Come home, Gray.”

Maggie would love the Bahamas. He’d love to show them to her.

“You haven’t been yourself. You made a stu—quick decision. It doesn’t have to ruin your life.”

Their marriage had been quick, but it didn’t feel stupid. He felt less stupid every day. And he didn’t feel ruined. He still wasn’t sure what his second chance would look like, but he knew what it
wouldn’t
look like.

“Shelby, I’m happily married. Don’t call me again.” He disconnected the call and tossed the phone on the counter, only to snatch it up again. Two quick taps and she was blocked. Why the hell hadn’t he done that sooner? Weight lifted from his chest and his shoulders softened with his deep exhale. It was a great start on a second chance.

His mind a jumble, he returned to breakfast.

“Everything okay?” Maggie asked without looking up from the paper.

“Yeah,” Gray lied, sliding the mail toward him in a desperate grab for something normal. But it wasn’t normal. None of the envelopes had his name on them. All
his
bills were in Chicago.

He stared at the receipt from the library. “You paid for the book we selected for my parents?”

“I wrote a check and picked it up when I was at the library on Monday. I put it in your office.”

“I need to pay you back.”

She shrugged without looking at him. “How about half?”

He’d asked what they could afford, and she’d named an amount that was “appropriate”—as in low enough not to get attention. She didn’t need his money. And he wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life as a trophy husband.

The next bill had a number on it that made his lips go white. “Gym equipment?”

“Oh yeah. With everything going on I forgot to tell you. Diana gave me a list of what you’d need to finish physical therapy and the name of a rental vendor in Hastings. They’re delivering it tomorrow.”

“I can’t afford this. You should have asked me first.” She never asked him anything.

She looked up with a frown. “You’re stuck here because you can’t leave me alone. I wanted to help.”

“We talked about this in Vegas.”

“I’m not paying you.”

“No. You’re paying
for
me.” He waved his hand at the pile. “Everyone’s simply added me to your accounts. Even my dry cleaning bill is in your name.”

“Why change them only to change them back when you leave?”

All his thoughts banged together. He had a job and friends waiting on his return and parents who’d given up everything for his education. And he had a dead boy who’d sacrificed his life.

“They don’t know that. They think I’m staying.”

“Why are you so upset? I’m going to be the one dealing with the questions and the disappointments.”

“This was your idea. Don’t try to guilt me—”

“I think the gym equipment speaks for itself. I’m not expecting you to stay.”

“Right.” He snorted. “That’s why you bought my parents a book about Idaho.”

“I can’t buy a gift?”

“They’re
my
parents. You’re not going to meet them.”
And they will never understand.

Her eyes narrowed. “I can’t do something nice with no motive? I can’t help you?”

He had a home, a
kitten
and a goddaughter. He had a job working with his friends, clients of his own and a little girl in a hospital who was expecting him to finish a story.

And he had a wife who didn’t expect anything from him but his departure. Who couldn’t wait to be free.

“I can take care of myself,” he said. “I don’t need you.”

She stood and walked away, only to return before her perfume had faded. Every movement was measured and deliberate.

“Here’s the agreement for the equipment. You can cancel delivery.” Her voice was cold and lifeless. “And here’s the book. Shove it up your ass. Sideways.”

The only clue she’d left was the breeze stirring his hair.

Gray tried to finish his coffee, but it was bitter. He tried to read the mail, but every invoice and invitation heightened his anger. He couldn’t go to his office because there was no way in hell he was walking past her door. Instead, he scrawled a note, armed the security system and roared away on his bike without looking back.

* * *

Hours later Maggie sat on her bed, cried out and exhausted. She’d run an
errand
for pity’s sake—tried to do something nice for him—and he’d picked a fight to give him an excuse to leave the house.

Her phone rang, and she sniffed a loud, watery sniffle as she scrubbed away a straggling tear.

“What?”

“Mrs. Harper? This is Nurse Landis from the hospital. Your husband has been in an accident. We’ll need your signature before we can operate.”

Maggie’s skin chilled as her joints locked in place. He’d gone for a ride. And now—

She forced herself into action, and her knees rattled as she stood.
“I’m on my way.”

Step. Step. Where are my shoes?
Her heart banged against her ribs as her stomach churned.
Keys. I need my purse. Clothes. Should I change? Graham’s hurt, Maggie. Your shirt doesn’t matter. Run. Now.

In the garage, she slid to a stop in the empty bay. She didn’t have a car. She’d have to drive the truck. She could do that. She’d spent her life in quarry trucks.

Climbing behind the wheel of the giant truck, revving the engine to life, Maggie bounced on the seat as if it would make the garage door rise faster. She jackknifed into the turnaround and flew down the driveway. Pushing her foot to the floor, she let the whine of the engine distract her from her worry.

Halfway to town, a rock hit the windshield and a starburst flared to life at the top of the seal. Crap. How many times did she have to tell their quarry drivers to put the covers on their trucks and prevent—

Dread pooled in her stomach as she lifted her foot. There wasn’t a truck in front of her. Or anywhere for that matter. And it didn’t rain rocks, even in Idaho. Something pinged off the cab, reminding her of target practice the Christmas after Nate got his first BB gun.

Another impact shattered the passenger window and cracked through the passenger side of the windshield. Maggie stared at the circular hole in the center of a blossom of broken glass. That wasn’t a rock either.

She held her breath and pushed the accelerator to the floor. The fourth bullet hit the back window, causing another spiderweb of cracks. The fifth shattered that window, spraying her with glass. Maggie’s gasping breaths dissolved into screams. The road swam in front of her.

Slumped in the seat and peering between the steering wheel and the dashboard, she drove from memory. At the town square roundabout, she turned on what felt like two wheels and fishtailed past the savings and loan. Sirens deafened her and blue lights flashed through the cab, but she didn’t stop until she reached the police station.

The siren halted in mid-wail, but the lights still strobed. “Whoever you are, you’re screwed,” Max said as he ran to the truck, his gear rattling with each thudding step. “Maggie will have your ears for—What the hell? Maggie?”

Her knees wouldn’t work. “Where’s Graham? The hospital called. There’s been an accident.”

“There haven’t been any accidents.” He pushed her up the steps and into the corner of the main room. “Stay there. I’ll call him.”

Try as she might, and she did try, she couldn’t sit still. Instead she paced, careful to stay away from the window.

She was on her third lap around the office when the door swung open so hard it banged against the supporting wall. Graham hurled his helmet onto the countertop, and it bounced and rolled halfway into the room.

“What did I tell you?” he thundered. “I think I remember
something
about not driving without me. Do I have to tie you to a fucking chair?”

Maggie barreled into him and wrapped her arms around his waist. She’d never been so glad to be yelled at in her life. “You’re okay. You’re not hurt.”

The muscles under her cheek softened, as did his voice, as he wrapped his arms around her. “You might be cracking a few of my ribs, but otherwise no.”

He was still healing, and not just from her accident. Loosening her grip, she stepped away.

“It’s a joke, Badger. I’m—”

His laughter faded and his softness disappeared, replaced by narrow eyes, thin white lips and an iron jaw. She knew why. The scratches stung, tightening as the blood dried and then cracking open with every expression.

“A woman called and said you’d been in an accident and they needed me at the hospital,” she explained. “I was on the road, just past Abel Shepherd’s place, when someone started shooting at me.”

He dropped onto the nearest desk, pulling her with him as he combed his fingers through her hair. Splinters of glass bounced off her back and clicked onto the floor.

She stayed in his arms while an EMT checked her wounds. He kept hold of her while she gave Chet her statement.

Ignoring the battered truck, she slid into Max’s squad car and went home without a word. She did, however, check over her shoulder to make sure Graham was close behind.

What if the sniper was still out there?

Max pulled the cruiser all the way into the garage, and she waited until the door closed and the men searched the house. Graham ushered her inside and to the living room sofa, going through the kitchen to avoid the windows.

Felix leaped into her lap, and she rubbed his velvety ears between her fingers and let his purr vibrate her knees. She stared at the patterns in the rug until Gray’s feet appeared in her line of sight.

“Maggie?”

He was sitting on the ottoman. His face was still tense.

“You should go home,” she whispered. “What if you’d been with me? You shouldn’t be hurt again.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m broken.” He took her hand. “I hate it.”

His stitches slashed across his skin and disappeared under his wedding ring. “But I’m the one who broke you.”

“I can handle it.” He knelt beside her.

She squeezed her free hand until her nails bit into her palm.
My eyes aren’t burning. My nose isn’t running. My throat isn’t closing off against the salty taste. Think of ice cream. Chocolate malts. Popsicles. Snowmen
.

“Which of those morons taught you not to cry?” he whispered.

“Kevin and Michael.”
That is not water garbling my voice. I am not crying.
“Every time I was tormented in school, they defended me. Their parents threatened to send them to military school. So I learned to take care of myself. And then there were the funerals, and David, and everyone watched for it. But I had a job to do, and I couldn’t dissolve in a mess. I had to be brave.”

“So you hid in the pantry.”

She didn’t think he’d remembered. Nodding, she sucked in gulps of air. “Mathises don’t cry.”

“Harpers do,” he murmured as he wound his fingers in her hair and kept eye contact. Everything about him softened, from the fingers against her scalp to his hair falling over his forehead. His breath brushed her skin. His blue gaze was the color of her favorite blanket, and his warmth melted every cold thought. Her dam cracked. Gray tightened his grip, preventing her escape and anchoring her in the flood. “Trust me to take care of you.”

Tears spilled over her lashes as she sagged in his arms and dropped her head to his shoulder. Recent relief faded into long-suppressed grief and anger, and he held her through it all. Wrapping his strong arms around her, he whispered nonsense until she quieted into hiccups. It was so nice to have him.

Her tears began again, hot this time. She didn’t have him. He was leaving. His hold gentled as he stroked her hair. After she was safe, he’d go home. Eventually he’d find someone he loved. Whoever she was, she’d be a very lucky girl.

She finally managed to control her self-pity. He leaned away and wiped her eyes. “How about a movie? I think I saw Monty Python on Netflix.”