Wicked Obsessions (10 page)

And she wished she'd met him a lifetime ago.

Teri's conscience demanded she pick up the tab and, after a brief debate, Drew agreed to split it with her.

From the restaurant, he took her to a large discount store. "I hope you don't mind, but I thought of a dozen things I wished I had today..."

She smirked at him. "And this will burn up another hour, right?"

He just grinned.

Chapter 6

It was dark when they finally returned to Teri's house. From the outside, everything appeared to be normal. "I want to thank you again, Drew... for everything. You were right about working this afternoon and getting out of the house. It was a lot better than sitting around waiting for someone to come burn the house down around me."

"Good. A lot of people wouldn't be so rational in your situation. Now, let's go inspect everything to make sure there are no surprises."

He checked every door and window for possible tampering before they went inside the house, the garage and her studio. Nothing had been touched.

"Do you think this means Rico paid them off?"

"I'd bet my boots on it. If he hadn't, there would have been some kind of follow-up tonight. Those kind don't make empty threats. However, I'd be happy to stay—"

"Stay?" Teri's eyes widened.

"Since I'm such a gentleman, I'm goin' to pretend I didn't notice how you misconstrued my perfectly gallant meanin' and go on. If you'd like me to stay in the studio tonight,
while you're in the house
, I'd be glad to."

"Oh my, no, that wouldn't be a good idea. I mean, what if someone—"

"Sh-sh-sh. 'Nuff said. But call me if you need
anything
. Even if it's just to talk to someone... besides Selena. If you don't call me, I'll give you a call tomorrow. For my own peace of mind."

"All right. Do you need to use the dark room any more this week?"

He slapped his forehead. "Ah, dang! I almost forgot to ask—I landed a really great opportunity but I need a studio for an hour or two. I'd be more than happy to pay you rent—"

"When do you need it?" she asked, cutting him off with a wave of her hand.

"Friday afternoon. But it's a shoot with two models. I know it's a huge imposition but I haven't been able to arrange anything else yet."

"Not a problem. No matter what I'm doing at that time, you can use the studio." She didn't even want to consider what she might be doing at that time. She just wanted to enjoy the fact that her studio was still intact.

* * *

"Fool!" Drew said aloud to the empty apartment. He was ten kinds of fool. The one thing the psychiatrist warned him not to do—right after no more booze and no more drugs—was no more co-dependent relationships.

"Be aware," the clinic doctor had stated, "besides being an addict, you have a caretaker personality. You're very vulnerable to people who need help."

In other words, he was a sucker for a hard-luck story or a damsel in distress. He had married Brenda believing she needed rescuing. But the only rescuing she had needed was from her own insecurities and helplessness. When he finally quit trying to help, she thrived.
He
ended up nearly killing himself and four hundred other innocents along with him. Hardly justifiable.

"Vulnerable" seemed to summarize a lot of things he was feeling. Perhaps he would have been vulnerable to any damsel at this point, distressed or otherwise. Ten months had passed since the divorce, a large portion of it spent in the rehab clinic. Before that... he couldn't be sure when the last time was that he and Brenda had made love. No, that wasn't right. He wasn't sure when the last time was that they had sex. They hadn't made
love
in a decade. Until spending time with Teri, he had thought his sex drive had retired from the active world.

Vulnerable or not, he couldn't simply turn away from Teri, could he? Or remain indifferent to her problems, knowing she might be in serious danger?

In defense of his vulnerability, he told himself Teri wasn't anything like Brenda. Teri was bright and creative and seemed to be entirely self-sufficient. If anything, it sounded like she was the caretaker in her relationship. Drew thought it was a shame he'd had to meet her when her defenses were so depleted that she was grateful for any morsel of comfort dangled before her. If they'd waited a few months, until after she'd recovered from... whatever happened with her husband, they might have been able to make a go of it together.

Thoughts of her husband made him angry all over again. What an asshole her husband must have been! How could he have used her that way? Hadn't he known what a prize he had, right in his own bed? Drew realized he already thought of Rico Gambini in the past tense, but then, so had the police.

No matter whose fault it was, however, Teri was now another damsel in distress and, even though her distress was much more genuine than his wife's had ever been, he couldn't be sure if that wasn't the primary feature that had attracted him. For Teri, he might be little more than the security blanket of a child lying awake in her darkened bedroom. Though the situation was scary, she'd probably get through it fine without his assistance.

Nevertheless, he couldn't turn away. He did decide it would be in their best interest however, if he found a less intimate way of comforting her in the future. Holding her in his arms had practically undone him and all his good intentions.

* * *

Despite how worn out she was, and the fact that her studio had
not
been burned to the ground after all, Teri could only doze for short periods at a time. She felt like her nerves were stretched so taut her ears were ringing, but that didn't stop her from pouring her third cup of coffee the next morning.

One nightmare after another had jolted her awake over and over again. The thug and his dark wraparound glasses played a key role, as did Rico. But at one point, she remembered dreaming of Detective Kidder. The intense concentration he had directed at her in the police station became a suspicious glare in her brief dream. Had he really looked at her like that, or were her fears blowing everything out of proportion?

Perhaps she should have asked Drew to stay after all. Having someone nearby might have given her enough security to allow her some rest. But the final dream before she got up had proven what a serious mistake that could have been. When she had refused his offer, she had been considering how it would look to the neighbors, or worse, how Rico would react if he did happen to wander home. But those possibilities took a back seat to her greater concern.

She couldn't trust herself.

If Drew had been in the studio last night, she would have gone to him—maybe for reassuring conversation, perhaps for another comforting hug. But alone, in the middle of the night, she might have asked for more.

As she did in her dream.

The chime of the doorbell caused her heart to trip. She set down the coffee mug and took a deep breath. Whoever it was, she needed to calm down.

The identity of the visitor made that feat impossible. Through the peephole Teri recognized Detective Kidder, and anxiety squeezed her heart. There was only one reason she could think of to explain why he would be at her house at eight o'clock in the morning. He had news of Rico.

On the other hand, the fact that he was dressed in a casual short-sleeved shirt instead of a jacket and tie, as he had been yesterday, suggested he was off duty. The dream image of him ran through her mind, increasing her fear of what he had to tell her. With great effort, she forced herself to unlock the door and partially open it.

Detective Kidder's gaze scanned her and the room beyond before he greeted her. "Good morning, Mrs. Gambini. Glad I didn't wake you. We met yesterday."

Teri nodded but failed to make the rest of her body move. She wondered if police had always had the ability to strike terror in her heart, or if it was only a result of the circumstances. It took every ounce of courage she could muster to make her vocal chords function. "Yes. I remember." Her voice cracked on the last syllable and she cleared her throat. "Detective Kidder, wasn't it?"

"Right," he said, not smiling. "Could I come in for a few minutes?"

She finally regained some control over her arms and legs and opened the door wider. "Of course. Please." Stepping back, she waved him into the living room. "Have you tracked down Rico?" she asked as soon as she closed the door behind him.

He didn't answer. Instead, he walked further into the room, moving his head as a camera would pan a scene. She was close to screaming at him for an answer when he turned around. Her expression must have been readable, because he immediately looked contrite.

"Sorry, I didn't realize you were speaking." He took something out of his shirt pocket and affixed it to his ear. "I forgot about this."

She stared at the hearing aid and wondered why she hadn't noticed it yesterday. He answered her, as if he had clearly heard her thoughts.

"Vanity. I hate needing this thing—especially around the youngsters at the station. They think the old man ought to be put out to pasture as it is." He made an adjustment to the aid then gave her a brief, close-mouthed smile.

It didn't go far to relax her. "Detective—" When he turned his head slightly, she raised her voice a bit. "Do you have news about my husband?"

"I guess that would depend on your definition of news. Is that coffee I smell? I hate to ask, but I left my house so early this morning..."

Why was he being so evasive? Although she felt like shaking him until his teeth rattled, she decided she'd better let him tell her what he had to say in his own way. "It's a fresh pot. How do you take it?"

"Light and sweet. Please," he added as an afterthought, followed by another tight-lipped smile.

A minute later, Teri was back with a mug of steaming coffee, but Kidder was nowhere in sight. Assuming he needed to use the bathroom, she set down the cup and paced impatiently. When another minute passed without the expected sound of running water, she headed down the hallway.

At the same time as she noticed the vacant guest bathroom, Kidder stepped out of her bedroom at the end of the hall. "Were you looking for something, Detective?" He didn't look nearly as guilty as Teri thought someone should look when caught snooping.

"Nice house. My late wife liked Oriental things, but I always thought it was too fancy. Wish she'd seen this—kind of southwest desert and American Indian. Did your husband help pick it all out?"

She'd completely lost her patience by the time they returned to the living room. "No. He didn't care one way or another.
Please,
Detective, tell me what's going on."

"Have a seat, Mrs. Gambini," he firmly suggested, as if they were in his office instead of her home. She complied only so that he'd get to the point.

"First, I wanted to personally make sure you and your property were unharmed. You had said the man had threatened violence if the money wasn't repaid by last night."

"That's right. And since nothing happened, I want to believe it means Rico used the money I gave him to clear his debt and I don't have to worry about that at least."

"You're probably correct, but I'll keep the watch order on the house in place just in case. Secondly, we haven't located your husband. As I mentioned, for the police to begin a search, usually someone would need to file a missing person's report. But after hearing your story, I decided it required looking into without a report."

Teri angled her head. "You're a homicide detective, right?" He nodded. "So does that mean—"

"Let's just say I have a reasonable suspicion that warrants my checking a few facts."

"His car was still in the post office's employee lot this morning so we've impounded it, just in case it turns out to be needed for evidence. I got a copy of his regular route and approximate time table from his supervisor, Mr. Kelly. Yesterday I spoke with several merchants at the Village Shopping Plaza, one of the places your husband delivers mail. He definitely delivered there Saturday morning. And the managers of the two apartment complexes on his route also confirmed that he'd been there. On the other hand, most of the mail left behind in his truck was destined for the end of his route, all single-family homes. Mr. Kelly is working to figure out exactly where the last piece was delivered."