Kiss Me Awake (22 page)

She turned away from it and moved back toward the dining room, toward the light. “I know who did this.” And it wasn’t Lance.

“Who?”

“I don’t know his name, or why, but I know who did this,” she repeated.

“Mind sharing it with me?” he asked, frustration seeping into his tone.

There was a knock at the front door. Flickering red and blue lights from a squad car on the side street flashed in the windows and streaked across the walls. “The police are here.”

“I’m five minutes away,” he said.

She hung up, set the phone on the dining table and rushed to open the door. Two male uniformed officers greeted her. One looked to be in his forties, his temples flecked with gray, and the other one was a good decade younger, his close-cropped black hair stark against his fair complexion.

“I’m Officer Reynolds,” the older one said. “We got a call from this address, a break-in.” He jabbed a thumb at the man beside him. “This is Officer Wilson.”

Wilson gave an abrupt nod. Reynolds leaned to the right, tipping his head to peer inside. He scratched the side of his jaw, the sound of stubble scraping against his trimmed nails. “Somebody sure did a number on the place.” His gaze swung from the house to her face.  “Can we come in?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Jaida stepped back to let them in. “Sorry, I’m a little shook up.”

“That’s perfectly understandable, ma’am.”

They cleared the threshold in two strides and the younger man let out a low whistle, meandering deeper into the living room. “Have any idea who might have done this?” He turned, eyeing her in a way that made her flush with guilt. Why? She hadn’t done anything wrong.

Yes. No.
What did she say? She had every physical trait, every minute detail etched in her mind. She could describe him to a sketch artist, but she had no name to give them. And how did she explain everything without sounding like some crazy woman?

“No,” she said, deciding it was the best answer. Reynolds’ face suddenly turned hard. What? Didn’t he believe her? 

Before she knew what was happening his hand clamped around her wrist and he jerked it up her back. She gasped, crying out for help. He yelled at her to be quiet then shoved her against the wall, her cheek smashing into the plaster.

What the…?
“What are you doing?” Were these cops dirty? Were they even cops at all?

“What’s this?” He yanked the gun from her hand and shoved it in her face where she could see it, her head still pressed to the wall.

Stupid, stupid; how could she be so stupid?
She pressed her eyes closed, wincing when he jerked her arm further up her back, pain searing her shoulder. “It’s mine,” she said, her voice muffled against the wall.

“Is it now?” He pressed his weight against her, leaning his face close to hers. “What’s your name?”

“Jaida Martin.”
And you’re cutting off my oxygen.
“I have a permit.”

The other cop joined in. “Do you live here?”

“Yes.” What did they think, that she staged this? Or worse, that she vandalized the house and did away with the real owner?

“I’m going to need some proof,” he said.

And how was she supposed to provide proof with her face shoved into the wall? “Is this force necessary? You have the gun. This is all an honest mistake. If you’ll just let me explain…”

“Where’s your ID?”

“In my purse at the end of the hall.”

“Wilson, go check it out.”

“I know this looks bad, and I understand your alarm,” she said. “But someone was in my house. I didn’t even realize I was still holding the gun.”

“Why were you hiding it behind your back?”

“Not hiding, holding. It wasn’t a conscious choice, I just was that’s all.” Her argument sounded lame, even to her. But it was the truth.

The patio gate clanked shut. Auggie! He was here! Thank God! He would set these two straight.

Dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, he appeared in the foyer and took in the scene. “What’s going on here?” he demanded. “What are you doing to her?”

Officer Reynolds barked at him to stay where he was, spittle spattering the side of her face. She had this guy good and scared, which didn’t bode well for her.

Warm tears spilled down her cheeks and she laughed. She was hysterical and her untimely outburst earned her another painful body slam against the wall. Auggie was right. She was too much trouble, and without even trying. No wonder he wanted to marry her off.

“That’s what we’d like to know. Your friend here planned to pull a gun on us.”

“That’s a lie!” she said.

“There’s obviously been a mistake. If you let her go, I’m sure we can clear everything up in a satisfactory manner.” Calm and professional, Auggie was handling this well, but then he wasn’t the one being roughed up.

She heard Wilson’s approach, his radio squawking. “This is her house all right, and she has a permit.”

Reynolds was reluctant, she could sense his hesitation, but he eased away from her, his hand still tight around her wrist.

Wilson eyed Auggie. “Who are you, and what’s your business with this woman?” Her wallet was still flung open in his hand. She wanted to reach for it, take what was hers, but she thought better of it.

“Name’s Auggie Garcia.” He flashed his identification and Wilson snatched it from him. “I’m head detective at Baseel Detective Agency, and Miss Martin here works for me.”

Wilson looked it over and nodded at Reynolds, confirming his identity then handed it back. Reynolds released her then, his hand sliding from her wrist. “I don’t take it lightly when I encounter a
victim
and they’re concealing a loaded weapon.”

“I didn’t…”

He raised his hands silencing her. “I could take you in, press charges, but I’m going to let it go this time. I hope you learned something from this?”

She rubbed the raw skin at her wrist then nodded, holding her tongue, refraining from offering her side of it. If his scolding tone was the worst she endured for her gaffe, she was getting off easy.

“That your cat?” Wilson asked glancing in the direction of the slain animal.

Auggie left her side and reappeared with a chair from the dining room. He set it in the foyer where they stood. “Sit down,” he said, nudging her arm.

She did as he asked, then shook her head in answer to Wilson’s question. “It’s a stray I took in. The owner came for it yesterday.”

“If the owner already claimed it, why is it in your house?” Reynolds asked.

Jaida dropped her head to her hands. She wanted to scream that she didn’t know why it was in her house. Wasn’t it their job to find out?

Auggie touched her head lightly, his voice soft. “It’s okay, Jaida. Just take a deep breath and tell them what happened.”

It took every ounce of her strength to compose herself, but she managed to do it. She lifted her face and looked Reynolds in the eye. “I think the man who came for the kitten was the one who did this. I don’t think that it really belonged to him.” She started to tremble but her voice held steady. “He used it to get to me…to my house.”

“And why would he want to do this, ma’am?”

She blinked, confused. “I don’t know.”

Wilson asked, “Any broken windows or busted locks?”

“I haven’t checked,” she said. There were no lights. At least she’d thought that at the time.

“Did he come to the front door?” Auggie asked, joining in the questioning.

She nodded.

He stepped around her and knelt in front of the open door, sliding his hands over the doorjamb. “No sign of forced entry,” he said.

He squinted inside the latch opening. Then reached into his pants pocket, produced a small knife and flicked it open, using it to pry something out of the hole.

“This would be the point of entry,” he announced, holding up a smooth piece of steel. It was small enough to hide in the socket but large enough to keep the door from sealing tight.

That was why the man had requested a glass of water. It gave him the opportunity to jam her lock. But her alarm should have notified her that the door wasn’t latched.

Auggie dropped the first piece of evidence inside a small plastic bag. “It’s probably too small to pick up a full print.”

It was then that Jaida remembered the water glass she set aside. “That glass on the counter should have a clean set of his prints.”

She stood and hurried to the kitchen, found the box of gallon-size Ziploc bags and handed him one. “He asked for a drink,” she said. “He said he was thirsty.”

He picked up the glass with a dishtowel and held it up to the dining room light. “Perfect.” He slipped it inside the bag then sealed the top.

Wilson came down the stairs. “Whoever did this is long gone.” He wrote something down on a pad glancing up at Jaida. “They were definitely looking for something. Any idea what?” 

Auggie caught her eye, silencing anything she might have said with a slight shake of his head. She frowned.

“No. I have no idea what they were after.” She looked back at Auggie who handed over the bagged glass to Reynolds. Why didn’t he want them to know?

Auggie came up beside her. “Why don’t you pack a bag and I’ll book you a room? We’ll sort through this mess in the morning.”

She nodded and did as he asked. It was probably for the best.

It was a small hotel, privately owned, and tucked away at the end of a residential street. It was safe. That’s the way Auggie described it. He turned from the counter handing her the key card then took the overnight bag she clutched in her hands. 

“You’re in room 125,” he said then started down the hall
,
his swif
t
s
tride leaving her in the dus
t
.

She quickened her steps to keep up. “Where’s the fire?
”
She looked u
p
at hi
m
for an answe
r
, but he only grunted.

Wa
s
he angry with her? He’d hardly said a word on the drive over. She supposed he had a right to be. She had interrupted his evening to bail her out of yet another mess.

The hall they tramped down was narrow, but the light-colored walls made it feel broader than it was. They edged closer to the wall, single file, allowing another couple to pass. She agreed to this too quickly she decided. She didn’t need to hide out in a hotel.

“Take me home,” she said.

“No.” He shot her a quick glance then turned a staunch face forward.

“We both overreacted. Whoever it was that broke in isn’t coming back.”

“It’s one night, Jaida. It won’t kill you.” Her bag banged against his shin. He lifted it up and stuffed it under his arm, muttering a curse. “Besides, I already dropped eighty bucks on the room.”

“I’ll pay you back,” she argued. “I need a friend not a parent.”

“What you need is some common sense.”

What was with the insults? “What’s bothering you?”

He snorted. “Are you serious? A butchered cat in your house, your furniture shredded by some maniac, and you ask what’s bothering me?”

“It’s more than that.” She gripped his arm, but he shrugged her off. “Talk to me. Why are you so upset?” 

“This is my fault.” His throat worked. “If something happened to you…”

His fault?
“You’re not making sense. How is this your fault?”

His jaw hardened, but he didn’t answer.

Whatever he was warring against was winning. If it would ease his mind, she would do as he asked. Like he said, one night wouldn’t hurt her.

Tired, Jaida slowed down and followed a half step behind, past the ice machine, the vending machines. He stopped abruptly and dropped her bag in front of her door.

“Do
not
leave here. I’ll be by in the morning and we’ll go back to your place together.”

She nodded. “Alright.”

His face softened. “You gonna be okay?”

“I always am.” She tipped her chin up. He chucked it, and she jerked it away.

Jaida watched him walk back the way they came, the usual swagger in his stride and his cocky demeanor were doused by something unseen. But whatever was troubling him, he wasn’t sharing.

She turned and slid the card in the slot surprised he hadn’t done that for her too. The light blinked green, and she pushed the door open. 

“Home sweet home.” She turned on the light, looked at the outdated furnishings and frowned. If a room could be called frumpy, it was. 

Two double beds draped in brown bedspreads were along the wall to her right. She dropped her overnight bag and purse on the bed closest to the door. There was a clock and a lamp with an orange shade on the nightstand.