Trouble Comes Knocking (Entangled Embrace) (5 page)

John did
not.
In fact, after seeing him shirtless I could honestly say the guy had muscles on top of muscles. Lean but definitely not weak by any means. I huffed. “Are we here to talk about John or the investigation?”

“You brought him up.”

Crossing my arms, I waited for him to either apologize or keep going.

“Fine.” He pulled a folder from his briefcase and took a sip from his steaming cup of coffee. “We’ve talked to everyone in accounting, and they all had alibis but one, and she didn’t have a reason to stand out.”

“Names?”

“Can’t give you those.”

Well, that chapped me. “How am I supposed to compare what I have with what you have if I don’t have names to work with?” As I bit into my muffin, some of the crumbs slipped into my bra.
Great, more for later
.

From the look on Eli’s face, he hadn’t missed the descent, either. Still, he had the decency to look up after only one
ah-hem
, which was nice.

He folded his papers together, stuffing them back into his folder, and pulled out a notebook. “You’re unofficial right now. I can’t give you information because none of this is being released to anyone outside the department. If that changes, I can fill you in, but until then, I’m afraid it will be a one-sided dialogue.”

I started to open my mouth to argue when he interrupted.

“And why does it matter anyway? You get paid the same regardless of what I give you. You’re getting paid for what you give me.”

Which squashed the argument. “Clive Brewster. I hope he’s not involved. He’s the boyfriend of a coworker, and he works in Central Processing. The only information Mr. Winters gave me on the day I talked to him was that department, so I’ll be starting there.”

“And what makes you think Brewster might be involved somehow?”

I explained to him about the party and the meeting. Also my suspicions about Diana.

“So, really, you don’t like the way they met or the fact that he hasn’t proposed so you’re throwing his name out there.”

Why, why, why had I agreed to be a part of this? I could have left HGR, gone on to find a job at some coffee shop, like the flirty barista here, and started my life over. Again.

Thinking about Dee, I reminded myself I have to take care of her now. I took a deep breath. “You know what I do, how I don’t forget things. Well, it also makes me have strong gut instincts. Diana had my job before me. If Clive and she were trying to slip something through data entry, wouldn’t they need someone to pin it on in the end?”

“Makes sense. Anything else?”

The numbers changed. The day I came back I’d noticed but hadn’t wanted to tell Eli yet. I don’t know who swapped them out, but all the numbers from this week added up. I’m sure his analyst would figure out the same thing in no time, but if he held things back, I figured I should, too. Besides, if I could trace down the person who changed the numbers, I could maybe trace down who killed Mr. Winters. “Not yet,” I said. “But as soon as I have something, I’ll give it to you.”

He finished his coffee, and we stood together. “Here’s the thing, Lucy. I don’t know who killed Mr. Winters, and I don’t want you to risk your safety. If at any point it looks like things are getting too dangerous, I will pull you. Do you understand me?”

Apparently I wasn’t the only one with an eerily psychic ability to read people. “Trust me, I don’t want to die over a few dollars.”

“Good.”

He walked me to the door, placing his hand on the small of my back as he held it open for me. His warm fingertips lingered, and for a moment the synapses that usually fire from my brain to tell my feet to walk didn’t. I basked in the heat of his touch, slight yet still manly.
What the hell?
Yes, Eli was a good-looking man, but seriously not my type.

So why did I think about him before going to bed last night?

As if the universe wanted to set things right, my phone rang. John. My stomach fluttered. “Listen, I have to get this. It’s John. Tomorrow?”

Eli frowned and nodded. “Same time.”

Before I could say good-bye, he walked away.

I caught the call right before it went to voice mail. “Hello?”

“Good morning, beautiful.”

My whole body warmed at the sound of his voice, low and sexy. “No one’s ever called me to say that. You’re such a sweetheart, John.”

“Can’t wait to see you. You’re probably still all tucked into bed and cozy, huh?”

A night apart worked. “I’ll be there in a bit. I start at nine today.”

I sat on a bench outside The Jumping Bean and looked around as we talked. This was a beautiful area, but not always. It had once been one of the more dangerous parts of Fort Worth. Crime, desolation, a massive homeless population. They’d done a lot of restoration to make this a lovely area.

“Lucy?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked if you’re at home right now.”

I laughed. I’d been so busy looking down the tree-lined streets I’d missed part of our conversation. “No, I had coffee with a friend this morning. I’m on Magnolia.”

“The Jumping Bean?”

“That’s the place.”

“I love that place. It’s pretty romantic, actually.”

I figured he would. With its local artist paintings and open mic nights, I could totally imagine John in a place like this. I could imagine making out with John in a place like this, too. Not that I’m all PDA, or anything, but every time I saw or thought about him, I remembered that first night we almost spent together. And how much I wished it could have lasted longer.

“You going back home before you come to work?”

I hadn’t thought about it. I brought my e-reader in case Eli was late, but he’d been right on time. Still, it was a beautiful morning. Quiet, cool but not cold. “No. Think I might stay here and read for a bit. I’m so glad it’s not summer anymore.”

“Me, too.”

“What about you? What are you doing up this early?”

“Started early today,” he said. “Ben called in sick so I came in to cover.”

We chatted for fifteen minutes about nothing in particular. No pressure, no need to try to impress him. He didn’t care if I was skinny or how I dressed. I licked my bottom lip, remembering our “almost” night together and decided I wanted nothing more than to get to work, steal him away, and make out like teenagers until someone caught us. “Listen, I think I’m going to get going. Do you want anything from the coffee shop?”

“Naw. Looking forward to seeing you.”

My face heated up again. “All right, see you in a bit. Maybe we can do lunch today.” I stood and gathered my things.

“Sounds good. ’Bye, Lucy.”

I hung up and stuffed my phone into my purse before heading toward the small park across the street.

From out of nowhere, I heard a squeal of tires and looked up to see a green car coming right at me.

Chapter Four

I froze as the car bore down. Only feet away it swerved and missed me, squealing around the corner and out of sight.

Shaking, I ran across the street and locked myself in my car. I threw my purse into the passenger seat and braced my hands against the steering wheel. Where had it come from?

“Shit!” I said. Tears gathered at the corners of my eyes, and I gulped a few deep breaths. Was it some random bad driver? Or had he been waiting for me?

“So wait,” Officer Len interrupted. “You were almost hit by a car?”

“Yes.”

“And if I understand correctly, you didn’t tell Detective Reyes about this after it happened?”

“No.”

“So even though he told you he would take you off the investigation if you were at risk, you didn’t tell him you were in danger?”

“Not the first time.”

“There were more?”

After I had time to breathe, I settled on probably just a random bad driver. Wrong place, wrong time. I mean, no one knew I was at the coffeehouse except for Eli and John, so it wasn’t as if the murderer lurked, happened to see me, and decided to run me down. Or, of course it could be that, but then again, that would assume the murderer knew who I was and that I might somehow have information about him or her, which I didn’t.

The whole business made my head swim and stomach belly flop. So, with shaking hands, I took a few more deep breaths and headed to work.

Once inside the parking garage, I found a sense of security surrounded by people I work with milling around.

Not that I knew them, or they me, but with all these witnesses, if someone did have it out for me, it wasn’t as if they’d be stupid enough to go after me here.

I entered the building and went straight to the security desk, thinking about how much I needed to feel John in that moment.

“Lucy, I didn’t expect to see you so soon!”

I pulled him into a tight embrace and settled in when he didn’t try to end it too soon. I was still shaken, though thankfully my heart rate had returned to normal and the need to cry had washed away.

He finally pulled back and looked me square in the eye. “What happened? Are you okay?”

I told him about the green car and the white light I very nearly walked toward.

“Sit! Oh my Lord, sit down. Do you need water? Need me to call someone? Dee? Lucy, you could have been killed!” He knelt in front of me and held my hands in his. They were warm and big, and I felt small but safe with him.

“I’m fine. Really. I’m fine. I can’t promise I’ll feel like taking an evening stroll down a dark road any time soon, but I’m okay. Truly.”

He tilted his head and stared for a few moments. “I can’t believe that. It’s like…wow.”

“Yeah. Like totally wow.”

When Natalie came in with a short, balding man, I told my story all over again.

“You have the worst luck!” she exclaimed in a voice that sounded wistful and jealous.

I stood and looked from Natalie to the guy she had walked in with.

“Sorry!” she waved her hands as if frazzled. “I can’t believe I did that. Lucy, this is Clive. Clive, Lucy.” I reached my hand forward to shake his.

Clive looked nothing like what I’d expected, though he did have gorgeous green eyes. If bad guys were supposed to look a certain way or give off a creepy feeling, Clive never got the memo. His hand stayed at Natalie’s side the entire time they stood there. “Nice to meet you,” he said before turning to her. “Babe, I gotta get up to Central Processing. Wanna meet for lunch?”

“Of course!”

“Hey, why don’t we join you?” John piped in.

“It’s a date,” Natalie said, her cheeks blooming a bright and happy shade of pink as she, too, headed to her desk.

“Sure you’re okay, Lucy?” John asked again, a worried frown creasing his brow. I wanted to smooth it away.

“Yes. Positive. I’m fine. Fit as an armadillo crossing the road.”

He shook his head. “Okay. Then I’ll see you at lunch.”

He kissed me on the forehead, and I headed to the elevator.

My throat squeezed. A forehead kiss was not the kiss I’d imagined after my near-death experience. I’d expected a back-bending, sweep-me-off-my-feet type of deal. This was more a glad-you’re-okay-sis kind of kiss. My lips puckered into a disconcerting O of confusion as I pressed the button for the elevator. John and I had been going strong. Until that kiss I’d had no question we were headed straight for Relationshipville, population: us. Now, I felt a bit dry and dusty, a wind could have taken me away. Why did he kiss me like that?

Had I read more into John’s feelings than what was there?

Each tick on the clock behind Natalie’s head left me with another iron ball clanging around in my stomach. By ten o’clock I’d decided John definitely wasn’t into me, had only wanted a one-night stand, and now he had no way to unravel himself from my overly clingy grasps. I grappled with the sting of humiliation that I knew was most likely in my head, but I’d already jumped on the train away from Relationshipville and was headed straight toward Crazytown. I didn’t see any way to make the icy sting I felt each time I thought of that kiss go away any time soon.

All from a forehead kiss.

“Boys are confusing,” my mother told me once.

This conversation took place long before the summer of my first kiss and the dead body. “You think you know exactly what they want from you, and then they go and swap the script.”

“Why?” I asked.

We’d picked several pints of strawberries from our garden and were in the process of preserving jam in our kitchen—white-painted brick walls, the old table with metal legs we’d had since I was five, the dripping of the sink. Rooster prints lined the edge of the wall nearest the ceiling in place of molding. A leaf-shaped stain from where I’d touched the lower cabinets with paint-dipped hands as a small child.

She let out a sigh. “Boys and girls are different,” she said, pushing jars into a pot of boiling water. “I don’t think they mean to be confusing, but they find it hard to communicate the way we do.

“I remember being told in a sociology class once that girls develop rapport while boys spend time reporting. It means girls want to talk things over while boys only want the facts.”

I nodded as if I understood, but I totally didn’t. She and my dad fought the night before, and I think that’s what prompted the conversation. I couldn’t hear what they’d been fighting about, but I never wanted to, anyway. I’d overheard my own name too many times—enough to think I might be the center of all their struggles.

I can still remember watching her at the stove.

“Mom, be careful. Those jars haven’t been in there long enough, if you pull them now, the lids won’t seal.”

She looked at me and smiled. “I’ve been watching the clock, baby.”

“I know, but I think the battery is dying on the clock.”

“Oh, I thought I just changed that battery,” she said. “But you’re probably right. You always are. How much longer, sweetie?”

“I’ll let you know when.” I’d been sitting at the table, supposedly cutting off the tops of strawberries but eating as many as I threw into the washbowl.

She looked like a mom right out of one of those fifties magazines, working at the stove, wearing a tan skirt and an old pair of tennis shoes, and in that moment I was glad she was mine. That morning I’d helped her pull her brown hair back with two combs. We laughed together as we put on our aprons, sang goofy songs while we did our kitchen work.

I was eleven then.

I had no idea who she was.

I still don’t.

I wanted to beg out of lunch and would have if not for the possibility of getting some information from Clive. I wasn’t sure what I might get, but I knew if he let anything slip, I’d catch it.

Still, I wanted to sit next to John about as much as I wanted a root canal.

Yesterday everything had been so exciting and wonderful. Now my confidence was rattled by that stupid kiss. What kind of asshole gives a wimpy-ass kiss after the woman he supposedly likes nearly dies, anyway? The only thing keeping me from feeling like a complete social failure was that I had Natalie on my side. Not that she knew anything was wrong, but literally, she stayed at my side.

“This is gonna be fun,” she bubbled. “I’ve never gone on a couples date before. Clive is always so grouchy about hanging with other people. ‘I’m tired,’ he says, or ‘I don’t feel like it.’ It’s always some excuse. I can’t believe he agreed today.”

Couples date? Really? We were eating lunch at work, in the cafeteria, no less. “Mmm-hmm.”

She turned to me at the elevator. “What’s with you? I can tell something’s wrong. You know, I don’t tell people this but,” she leaned in close and whispered, “I’m a bit of a psychic.”

“Yeah?” My eyebrow rose. Not because I believed her, but because the earnest look on her face told me
she
believed her.

“Yes. I’m good at reading people’s auras, always have been. I’m in tune with the natural vibe people exhibit.”

“Okay.” I hoped she couldn’t tell how hard I tried to hold back from laughing. Natalie was my only work friend. I didn’t need to piss her off before we’d known each other for a full week.

The elevator dinged, and we both stepped on. “You’re very black today,” she said. “Normally you’re kind of an orange, secretive but mostly happy. Today, total black.”

She wasn’t far off. I do hold a lot back. Especially when I know people are as judgmental as they are about what I can do. And I certainly don’t tell them about my past. That’s a whole other can of worms.

So, I lied. “I think I’m still a little run-down from being sick.” Run-down was an extremely poor choice of words considering my morning.

She looked me up and down, shrugged, and accepted it. “Probably. Yeah, I could see that turning your aura black. So, Clive asked me questions about you.”

“Did he?” My stomach tightened, and if I had an aura, it would have gone from black to ghostly white. If he was involved, I didn’t want him asking questions. But also, if he was involved, the questions he asked might tell me something. “What did he want to know?”

We stepped off the elevator on the first floor and walked down the hall to the cafeteria. The boys weren’t there yet, so we picked a booth in the corner and hunkered down to wait.

“Normal things. Where you’re from, where you worked before this. You know, who you are. I think he’s protective of me.”

“I’ve heard that a lot lately. My aunt is protective of me, too.”

“So you live with your aunt?”

I played with a packet of sugar and regretted my quick tongue. “Yes.” Then again, I’m a pro at verbal chess. I can take anyone’s move and twist it back on them. “What about you? Do you live with family?”

She smiled dreamily. “For now. Clive and I want to live together, but, you know.”

“Yeah. Have y’all talked about kids?” Yes! Sometimes I wanted to pat my own back.

“Oh my gosh, yes. See, I want at least a boy and a girl, but Clive says he’ll just take whatever we get. I know he wants a little boy, though. He only has sisters, so I know he would love to have a son to teach things like fishing and hunting to…”

Once she started talking about her future with Clive, she forgot about my past.

And by the time the boys showed up, it was too late to keep talking about me. Or so I thought.

“So where did you live before Fort Worth?” John asked, not even glancing at me. He took a bite of his Rueben sandwich, followed quickly by a chip. He ate like someone in prison; I expected him to guard his plate with his arm and pocket his butter knife for later.

At least this time he didn’t get any sauce on his face.

Other than telling John about my memory, I’d done a good job at keeping my past secret. I took a bite of spaghetti and chewed slowly to delay the answer. But, unfortunately, they all waited. “Um, Arkansas.”

“What part?”

“Northern.”

“I have family in Mountain View,” Clive said, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. “I might know the area.”

For the second time that day I found myself faced with having to lie. Telling the truth, that I grew up in Shady Grove would mean he could look up the story of my family. It wasn’t exactly hidden in the papers. Small towns are like that, big secrets make bigger news. “Harrison. Not too far from there.”

“Are your parents still there, or do you live with them here?”

“She lives with her aunt,” Natalie supplied.

“Oh, are they still there then?” he asked again.

My laughter came out as a nervous titter, and my instincts told me to shut it down. “What is this, twenty questions?”

Everyone smiled and chuckled slightly. Natalie jumped in. “She’s right. Let’s lay off.” She turned to me. “We’re all curious because you’re the new girl. You’re the first new person in data entry in two years. People don’t quit HGR; it’s too great a place to work.”

“Diana quit,” I reminded her. “If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here. Yay for Diana quitting.”

Clive stood abruptly at the mention of Diana’s name. “I need to run. I have a report due at one o’clock, and if I don’t get it in I’ll have to explain to my boss’s boss. I don’t have it in me.” He gave Natalie a quick peck on the cheek and tossed the rest of his lunch.

“He does that sometimes,” Natalie defended, about his quick getaway. “I don’t think he even realizes it. Gets, you know, preoccupied.” She fiddled with the straw in her soda, taking one last bubbly slurp before pushing it forward.

“Cool.” John took a gulp of his milk and looked at his cell. “I have another twenty.”

I looked at my own and stood. “And we’re late. A half hour just doesn’t last as long as it used to. Natalie, you ready?”

She stood, her wooden chair scratching against the concrete floor as she did so. “I suppose. That data won’t just enter itself,” she said with a chuckle. “Get it, data enter itself? As in data entry?”