No Turning Back (10 page)

I had no further deliveries to make today and for that I was grateful. When I had no deliveries to make, I usually helped with the typing. The paralegals who worked in the office were forever overloaded with typing up briefs, motions, and the never-ending pile of other paperwork that went hand-in-hand with the profession. Peeking into a nearby cubby where Lori, one of the paralegals, worked, I asked if she had anything for me to do. Gratefully, she handed me a stack.

"If you could start on this motion, that would be great," she said.

"No problem." Disappearing back to my desk, I went to work.

A little while later, I felt a presence behind me and I turned. Diane was there, watching me.

"When did you get back?" she asked curtly.

Glancing at the clock, I said, "About an hour ago."

"You should always check in with me when you return," she reprimanded me, "I may have more runs for you."

"Do you?" I asked pointedly. Diane was such a control-freak; it drove me crazy.

"No," she said. "But I could have," she added snidely. "And they wouldn't have gotten delivered because you didn't check in." I'd had a rough few days and my patience with Diane had reached its limit.

"God forbid you come see for yourself if I've gotten back," I retorted. "Or just put the deliveries here for me when they're ready."

"That's not my job," Diane spat back. "You work for me; I don't cater to you."

"I work for the firm," I gritted out, "and no one else seems to have any problems with me except you."

"That's just because I expect people to actually work when we pay them," she said viciously.

That set my blood boiling and I had opened my mouth to fire back when James suddenly stepped into view.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked, looking between Diane and me. Diane's mouth shut with a snap.

"No sir," she said, "just reminding Kathleen of her duties." With that, she turned and left. I still felt like steam was coming out of my ears when James turned toward me.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, his brow furrowing. I really didn't want to say anything, I was quite sure it would be much easier for me to be replaced than Diane.

"Oh, we just don't get along very well," I said vaguely.

"Is it something I need to address with her?" he asked, concerned. I'm sure that would go over great with Diane, I thought ruefully, and make her hate me even more. An outcome that would definitely make my life here more difficult.

"No, no," I said, shaking my head. "It's nothing. You know how women can be." That should alleviate his interest. There wasn't a man I'd met yet that didn't want to steer clear of female spats.

"What did you need?" I asked, hoping to change the subject. After all, it wasn't like he just showed up at my cubby on a regular basis.

"About tomorrow night," he said, and my stomach clenched. Was he going to break our date?

"I had something come up so I won't be able to take you to dinner straight from work. Can I pick you up at your place instead?"

"Sure." I smiled through my misgivings, wishing I lived in a nicer part of town, and gave him the address.

"I'll pick you up at seven," he said. I agreed and with a parting grin, he left. I worked for another hour or so past the official quitting time just to get the file typed for Lori. It was getting close to seven by the time I gathered up my things to leave.

Walking to my car, I shivered. It had gotten colder and the wind went right through the tear in my sweater. That really upset me. I liked this sweater and now it was ruined. With a sigh, I opened my car door and slid inside, pulling the door with a slam. Then I nearly screamed. Blane was sitting in the passenger seat of my car. I went from tired to highly pissed off in three seconds flat.

"What the hell are you doing?" I yelled at him. "You nearly scared me to death!" My heart was racing in my chest.

"You should lock your doors," he said calmly, unfazed by my yelling. His eyes narrowed as he looked at me and I self-consciously tugged at my sweater, the rip fully visible. "What happened to you?" I wasn't ready to let go of my anger just yet.

"I had a run in with your friend Jimmy," I said acidly. "He had a message for me." His jaw tightened. "I'm supposed to keep quiet or else I'll get sliced to ribbons. Any idea what he was talking about?"

"What are you implying?" His voice was icy, and if I'd had more sense at the moment, I would've backed off. But I was too angry to care.

"I'm implying that you're the only one I've told about who Sheila was seeing and who I think might've killed her and now, suddenly today, Jimmy's telling me to keep my mouth shut! Do you want me dead?"

In a flash of movement too fast for me to react, Blane shifted and suddenly I was pinned in my seat, his hand wrapped around my throat. Terrified, I choked in shock, gasping. Although I had accused him of setting Jimmy on me, I hadn't really believed it. My hands had instinctively come up and grabbed hold of his arm, but I couldn't budge him. My eyes squeezed shut and I sat immobile, waiting to see what he'd do. His hand was firmly on my neck but it wasn't painful. Yet. As I waited, barely breathing, I felt his lips near my ear.

"If I wanted you dead," he whispered into my ear, "you'd be dead. And I wouldn't need Jimmy to do it for me." I shivered slightly at his words. His hand loosened around my throat but remained there. I opened my eyes and found his face inches from mine. Our eyes locked and neither of us moved. Suddenly, it wasn't just fear that was making my heart race and thickening the air in my lungs. I was sure he could feel my rapid pulse beneath his fingers.

His eyes dropped to my mouth and I knew then what he was going to do. I wasn't sure if it terrified me more or less than the threat of him killing me.

Lowering his head, his lips lightly brushed mine and I felt as though a bolt of electricity had shot through me. His mouth settled gently over mine, his lips pressing softly, urging me to respond. I fought it, unable to turn away because he still held me immobile. He was insistent, though, his tongue lightly tracing the seam of my lips. A whimper escaped me and I caved, opening my mouth beneath him. With a groan of satisfaction, his hand moved from my throat to cradle the back of my neck as he deepened the kiss. My hands crept upward, finding the lapels of his suit coat and sliding under them to touch his hard chest covered by crisp linen.

His mouth was insistent against mine, yet he took his time. Blane was a very good kisser and it seemed I'd only ever been kissed by amateurs before him. I felt heat curl low in my stomach. The taste of him was intoxicating to me. He tasted of danger and intimacy, safety and the unknown.

Blane reluctantly pulled back and I could feel my pulse racing. His eyes were focused on mine, their gray depths luminous in the deepening twilight shadows. In the absence of his body heat, I shivered slightly, the cold air seeping into me.

Sitting back, Blane shrugged out of his suit jacket and wrapped it around me. It was still warm from his skin and I could smell his cologne mixed tantalizingly with his own scent on the fabric. Sliding his hand under the collar, he lifted my hair free. The touch of his fingers against my skin sent another tremor through me and I dropped my gaze, my cheeks heating.

"You're blushing," he said quietly, the back of his hand brushing my cheek. I cursed my fair skin. "So young and innocent," he murmured, almost to himself. Not daring to look him in the eye, I focused on the slight bulge of his Adam's apple in his throat.

Fingers under my chin forced me to look up. When my eyes met his, I drew my breath in sharply, taken aback by the intensity with which he gazed at me.

"Be careful," he cautioned. "Don't get involved any further in this." With those curious words, he leaned forward and brushed my lips again. My eyes slid shut. Then there was a gust of wind and the slam of a car door. He was gone.

My fingers touched my mouth and I realized I was still trembling, but not from cold. Leaning my forehead against the steering wheel, I groaned in frustration. Blane utterly confused me even as he intrigued me. I couldn't deny it. But his words seemed to confirm what I'd already suspected, that he knew more about what had happened to Sheila than he was telling me. What that was, I had no idea. But if he wasn't sharing, then I was going to do what I could on my own to find out who had killed Sheila. While I had faith in the police, I knew better than most how overworked and understaffed police departments were. Sheila had been my friend and I felt I owed it to her to do what I could.

I drove home and took a really long, really hot shower. I let my hair air dry and dressed in the warmest pair of sweats I had. I carefully hung up Blane's jacket, my fingers lingering on the expensive fabric, and I refused to let myself press my nose against it to smell his scent. Okay, just once but that was all.

Opening my refrigerator, I sighed. Some milk, cheese, a couple eggs and a loaf of bread that had seen better days were all it contained, as well as the usual assortment of condiments. I felt the need for comfort food. Throwing on some sneakers, I grabbed my keys and headed to the store.

I wasn't a great cook but I did all right and tonight I needed something warm and filling that would remind me of home. Potato soup seemed to fit the bill and was cheap to make, an added bonus. Loading the necessary items in my cart as well as few other staples, I splurged and grabbed a pint of my favorite flavor of Häagen-Dazs – Rocky Road. I paid for everything and drove home.

I only had two paper sacks and thought I could probably make it in one trip up to my apartment. Balancing one carefully in each arm, I used my hip to shut my car door. Trudging up the stairs, I tripped and nearly lost a sack.

"Here! Let me help you." Peering around the sack, I was momentarily taken aback. A beautiful, black woman stood on the stairs. She was tall, at least five-ten, with long black hair that hung straight down her back.

"Oh my God," I mumbled in shock, "you're Tyra Banks." She laughed, the sound almost musical it was so lovely.

"I get that sometimes," she said, relieving me of one of my sacks. "But trust me, I'm not. 'Cause if I were, I sure as hell wouldn't be living in Indiana." She walked up the stairs and I followed her, still a bit stunned.

"You must be Sheila's neighbor Kathleen," she said when we'd reached the top. I moved around her to unlock my door. She followed me inside.

"I am," I confirmed, setting my bag on the kitchen counter. She did the same. I had the sinking feeling she didn't know about Sheila's death.

"It's nice to finally meet you," she said, her smile was wide and had a touch of mischievousness about it, which only enhanced her beauty. "I'm Gracelyn, but my friends call me Gracie."

"Thanks for helping me, Gracie," I said, and couldn't help smiling back at her, she was so friendly and cheerful. I dreaded what I knew was coming and sure enough, she confirmed my suspicions.

"Do you know where Sheila is?" she asked. "She was supposed to have dinner with me last night, but she didn't show. I left her a few voice mails and she hasn't called me back." At that, I turned and looked at where I'd left the phone on my kitchen counter this morning. It was gone. The uncomfortable realization that someone had been in my apartment made me pause before I answered her.

"I'm so sorry to have to tell you this," I said to Gracie, "but Sheila is dead." I flinched inwardly at the abruptness of my words, but didn't know how else to put it.

Gracie's face froze in shock for a moment, then she seemed to recover herself. She didn't cry. Actually, she looked more resigned than anything else.

"How did she die?" she asked quietly. I swallowed heavily before answering.

"Someone killed her," I answered. "I found her late Saturday night in her apartment."

Gracie leaned back against the counter and looked up at the ceiling, blinking her eyes rapidly. I remained silent, letting her absorb the news about Sheila and regain control of her emotions. Finally, she took a deep shuddering breath and looked at me again.

Smiling a little, she said, "She talked about you, you know. She really liked you. Said you were sweet and kind and brought her coffee in the mornings." Now I was the one who felt tears stinging my eyes.

"We got along pretty well," I said, clearing my throat from the tears clogging it. I began unpacking my bags and Gracie helped. As I put things in the refrigerator, I had a thought.

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" I asked, and her bright smile appeared again.

"I'd love to," she said, "thank you."

It would be nice to have someone to cook for, for a change, I thought. Usually, it was just me. I felt a brush against me and looked down to see Tigger winding his way around my legs.

"You have Tigger!" Gracie exclaimed, bending down to scoop him up. I winced. Gracie was wearing dark jeans that fit like a second skin and a long-sleeved black blouse. Tigger was going to shed all over her.

"I couldn't let him go to the animal shelter," I said, "and I thought Sheila wouldn't mind me taking him."

"Yeah, she would have wanted you to have him," Gracie confirmed, nuzzling Tigger's fur. He purred contentedly in her arms.

I started cooking dinner while we chatted. Finding half a bottle of wine in the refrigerator, I poured two glasses. I found out that Gracie was originally from Ohio and had moved to Indianapolis with a boyfriend, but they had broken up a while ago.

"So how did you know Sheila?" I asked, ladling soup into two bowls.

"We worked together," she answered, as we sat down at my small kitchen table. I thought I knew what that meant even though she clarified. "For the escort service, you know."

"I don't plan on doing it forever," she said, taking a sip of her wine. "I'm saving my money so I can travel. I've always wanted to go to Ireland."

"My family is Irish," I said, and her eyes brightened with interest. "Well, my dad's side anyway."