Kiss Me Awake (21 page)

She stood there a long moment looking up into the filtered sunlight, waiting for a transformation. But she was the same
;
nothing had changed. She chuckled to herself. What was she expecting, some dramatic conversion?

Her face flushed with heat, ashamed of her hope, and she quickly busied herself, marking the date and time of the bridal shower on her calendar. Aimee would make Eric a wonderful wife.

Jaida reached for a pen, and her hand brushed the budvase sitting on the edge of the desk, knocking it to the floor. She picked up the crystal tube and tossed the dried-up rose in the trashcan. She should have tied it with a ribbon and returned it to Lance. He’d used her to get at Gale’s money, and the evidence. He was the one who took the tape. She was sure of it now.

She sat at her desk, sorted through the stack, and pulled the accident report on the Hawn case. It was an accident reconstruction. They’d been hired by the liable party to overturn the citation. It should be a quick job once she got the rest of the reports from Auggie.

She reviewed the witness statements. All five were consistent in the retelling with very minor discrepancies. That was rare. It was commonplace for differing perspectives to skew the facts.

Maybe that was why relationships faltered and fell like bloodied corpses by the wayside. Everyone approached the scene of their offenses with their own bias, their minds interpreting words and seeing things entirely different than the other person. Not false witnesses necessarily, but tainted witnesses. Tainted by a distorted worldview.

Hadn’t she done the same? Insulated her heart and broken Spencer’s, because in her mind her abandonment had defined her as unworthy; something meant to be discarded? She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. There was no sense looking back. What was done was done.

Jaida looked up. The red light was blinking on her phone. She’d been so distracted she hadn’t noticed. Maybe Ray had finally called. She pressed the ‘play’
button.

“It’s me, Kev…” Not in the mood to deal with him, she deleted the message midsentence. Carina’s silky, almost-bored tone followed the second beep. “Let’s meet later. Call me.” Jaida returned the call and scheduled a late dinner with her at a new mom-and-pop Italian restaurant not far from her house.

That was it. Kevin and Carina, nothing from Ray. She was beginning to wonder if she would ever hear from him again.

J
aida turned her left blinker on and pulled into the alley behind her house. The narrow street was lit well enough by the streetlights along the sides of the drive, but the windows on the backside of her house were dark.

She frowned at the blackened glass and touched the brake with her foot. Had the timer malfunctioned? It
failed once before, when she first moved in, but that was before she’d become acquainted with Gale. Now it mattered.

She sat in the idling car in front of the garage, her hands wrapped tight around the wheel. Should she go inside? Marilyn warned her to be careful. But what more could she do? Her alarm was set, her lights were on a timer, and she had deadbolts installed on every door. If anyone got past that…

But what if that man had returned? The one Marilyn saw lurking around? Her heart pumped faster, the surge of adrenaline a keen blade that sharpened her senses, bringing her fully alert.

Jaida lowered the car window and scanned the grounds, watching and listening for anything out of the ordinary. The couple that lived in the gray single-story clapboard behind her was home. From the sounds and smells filtering through the screens, Dave was practicing scales and arpeggios on the drums, and Shelly was banging around the kitchen, cooking something tomato based for dinner, her silhouette visible from the window.

She could ask Dave to do a walk-through with her, make sure it was safe before he left her alone. He was tall and stocky, a former fullback for the UCLA Bruins; he could take care of himself…and her, if necessary, unless weapons were involved. She was unarmed, her Ruger stashed behind the phonebook in one of the kitchen drawers.

Her only experience handling a weapon was at the shooting range. She was precise, accurate. She didn’t miss. But at the range, the targets were paper. They didn’t bleed.

She was getting ahead of herself, assuming the worst. The timer probably failed, and in a few minutes she would walk inside and find out she was overreacting to some fluke, a simple mechanical glitch.

Jaida opened the garage and pulled inside then lowered the automatic door as soon as she hit the brakes. She fished the flashlight out of the glove box and tucked it under her arm.

She slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder and looked up at the house. It stood about fifteen feet from the garage. She sucked in a breath and hurried up the concrete walk, her cell phone and house keys clutched in her fist.

Inside, Jaida dropped her purse on the floor and kicked off her shoes. If she had to run, barefoot was easier than heels. She moved her hand blindly over the nubby plaster, feeling for the light switch. She flicked it up, and her stomach sank.
Nothing.
No light, not even the flicker and pop of a dying bulb.

She felt like the unsuspecting victim in a horror film. A ripple of fear licked up her spine, and she cast a longing glance at the door behind her. Now might be a good time to turn back.

Remembering the flashlight, she slid the switch on the shaft. It didn’t light up. She shook it, the batteries rattling inside the case. “Great. All this technology, and here I stand in the dark.”

She tightened her grip on the flashlight and took another step down the hall, the weight of the heavy-duty steel tugging against her wrist. It was durable, solid, and would do some damage to an intruder if there was one.

The electric bill!
A nervous laugh bubbled from her throat. That was it. That was why the lights were out. She never paid it. The tension that drew her shoulders into a rigid line drained away. It made perfect sense. She remembered Carina sitting at the counter waving the notice around like a flag. Edison had never been that quick to turn it off in the past, but apparently they changed their policy.

There were utility candles and a box of matches in the pantry. Her steps more confident, she moved down the hallway toward the kitchen. She would pack a few things and crash at Carina’s after dinner. Tomorrow morning she would take care of the bill and get the lights turned back on. It was inconvenient, but a simple fix.

The side of her foot brushed against something soft and unfamiliar as she swept down the hall. She paused and jerked it back, her toes curling on contact.
What was that?
She skirted the object then looked down at her feet, but it was too dark to make out the shape. Dirty laundry, maybe? She’d carried the basket down this morning. Had some fallen out?

The clouds shifted and the moon’s white light split through the pitch turning it a hazy slate. She could see the outline of the dining table below the front window and the arc of the chair backs surrounding it.

Visibility was still restricted, but it was sufficient to orient herself and easily find her way into the kitchen. She set the cell phone, moist with sweat from her palm, on the counter then moved toward the pantry. Her knee slammed into something solid. The flashlight sailed from her hand and her body buckled. She tumbled to the floor, landing in a pile of pots and pans, the clanging steel splintering the eerie silence.

Someone
had
been here. Were they still? Whoever it was had emptied her cupboards, dumping the contents onto the floor. She rolled onto her knees, wincing at the fresh stab of pain then dragged the flat of her palm over the front of the drawers, counting. One, two, three… She pulled it open and slid her hand inside an empty drawer. Her gun was gone.

Was it among the debris? Jaida slid her hands over the tile, shoving pan lids and ladles out of her path as she went. Her fingertips grazed something light, the contact sending it skittering across the marble floor. She reached out and slapped blindly at it, pinning it down, recognizing the familiar feel and shape under her palm.

She sat back on her heels and ran her fingers over the weapon. She checked the clip. It was intact and loaded. She pushed up from the floor, released the safety, and turned enough to observe the stairs and hallway. She shifted her position again to
view the living room, crying out when she glimpsed the destruction.

The gun trembled in her hands. She stepped out into the open, her eyes darting back and forth over the lower floor. She saw no movement, heard no sound.

Tables and lamps were overturned. She edged her way around them. Lumps of fiber from the couch cushions covered
the area rug like a layer of fresh snow. That must have been what she’d brushed against in the hall.

She reached down, and gripping the rim, righted the lightweight table that was tipped on its side. As if it made a difference. Everything was ruined. Her collection of sculptures was smashed, and the shards of porcelain scattered across the tile. Something in the pit of her stomach sank. Priceless, irreplaceable art destroyed. Remembering that her feet were bare she backed away from the glass.

Jaida spun at the noise on the landing, turning her weapon on the open staircase. Her grip on the gun no steadier than before, she waited and watched, but darkness obscured the top steps where they rose and blended in with the shadowed landing. How could she shoot if she couldn’t see?

She tightened her hold on the grip, her ears alert to any movement. She cocked her head. There it was again, the same rustling noise. Her stance eased, her fingers relaxing. It was only the palm branches brushing against the window in the spare room.

Strange how fear made the familiar alien, how the creaks of a settling house or the rustling of windblown branches were the sounds of an unseen enemy.

She stepped back behind the walls of the kitchen, away from the illuminating moonlight and picked up the phone, making a quick call to 911. After filling in the emergency dispatcher, she was told a squad car was already on its way.

Jaida disconnected and dialed Auggie. He answered on the first ring.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Someone trashed my house.” She pressed a palm to her forehead, her voice taking on an unexpected quaver. “They destroyed it, even slit the cushions. They were looking for something.”

“Did you call the police?”

She nodded though he couldn’t see. “Yeah. They should be here soon.”

He didn’t ask what they were looking for. They both knew. All it would take to end this was a call to Spencer. She would request a loan; he would make it a gift. But it was the principle that kept her from asking. She didn’t take Gale’s money. She owed him nothing.

She heard a car door slam on Auggie’s end. “I’m on my way,” he said. “Stay on the line until I get there.”

Her legs suddenly weak, Jaida rounded the kitchen wall and sank down on the single barstool left standing. She was so tired. Tired of fighting what she couldn’t conquer, tired of trying to control what she had no power over. Her shoulders slumped and she wept softly, silently.

“Jaida? Are you there?”

“I’m here,” she said. She hadn’t meant to go quiet on him.

“Any sign of the police?”

In the distance, sirens wailed. “I can hear them.” If it was for her they blared. “Thank you for coming out, Auggie.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“No, I knew you would. I just wanted you to know I appreciate it.” She could always count on him.

“Have you been through the house? Made sure no one is still hanging around?”

“No, the lights don’t work.” Jaida slid off the barstool and flipped the switch in the dining room. The lights lit up instantly, making a liar out of her.

She looked up at the recessed lights in the kitchen. They were ripped from the sockets, gouged out eyes staring lifelessly at the floor. The hall light was probably in the same condition. Was it Lance? Would he do this to her? Of course, he would. He was owned by Gale.

“A passbook,” she muttered to herself.

“What?” Auggie’s voice in her ear startled her.

“The lights in the ceiling are gutted. I think they were looking for a passbook. You know, for the money?”

She moved toward the hall to have a look at the damage then stopped cold at the lump on the floor. The light from the dining room spread only so far, but it must be what she’d grazed with her foot. It wasn’t filler from the couch like she’d thought.

“No!” she cried, backing away.

“What’s wrong? Is someone there?” Auggie’s stricken voice shouted at her over the airwaves, but she couldn’t answer.

“Jaida!”

“He killed it. I can’t believe he killed it.”

“Okay, now you’re freaking me out, chica. Who killed what? What are you talking about?”

“A kitten. A stray I took in. He killed it and left it in my house.” Its white fur was streaked with pink and red and matted to its body.

“Hang on. I’m almost there.”