Nowhere to Hide (19 page)

Hearing Graham’s voice did nothing to slow her pulse. “I was on my way up to pay Doris a visit.”

“
Maybe I should let you go. Do you have a way inside?”

“
A box of brownies. I was going to wing it from there. Thought I might ask to check my e-mail on her computer or something.” She heard a car on the driveway. “Wait a second. Someone’s coming.”

She walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside. The green Chevy from the other day was parked there, and two women got out and headed for Doris’ door. “Looks like she’s got company. Guess I’ll have to wait. Thanks again for the chocolate.” Her throat tightened and she had to pause. “And the poem. It was … beautiful.”

Background sounds of voices and ringing phones told her Graham was probably not alone. There was a slight pause before he spoke, his voice low. “So are you.”

She had no response, no experience in dealing with the kind of attention he was giving her. Instead, she moved into slightly more comfortable territory. “How was your day? Find Jeffrey yet?”

“
I went to Vista Gardens and found a connection. Spent hours digging through databases for phone numbers and lost track of the time. I’m not sure my ears will ever recover from the calls, but it was a great day, even if I didn’t find Jeffrey.” He paused. “Look, I know it’s an imposition, but my cruiser’s going in for maintenance and will be assigned to someone in Patrol while I’m doing my bit in CID. Since they haven’t issued me an unmarked yet, I thought, if you weren’t busy, you might swing by and pick me up. I’d love to tell you everything. Maybe over a beer?”

At the sound of voices, she turned to the window. Doris was getting into the Chevy with her friends. “Sure. Looks like Doris is going out, and I don’t think I’m up for a B&E.”

*****

Colleen pulled into a visitor’s spot in the Sheriff’s Office parking lot and took a deep breath. She focused on the flags snapping in the breeze. On her way to the entrance of the glass-fronted building, uniformed and plainclothes officers strode toward her. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. She felt lightheaded. Dizzy.

You can do this. They’re cops getting off duty
.

Nobody knew her here, nobody but Graham. He was the only person she needed to think about. She pulled open the glass doors and stepped into the lobby, trying to ignore the feeling everyone was staring. That they knew she was a failure. While she waited her turn to speak to the receptionist, she admired the Harley on display. A memorial to an officer killed in the line of duty. Her stomach lurched.

When there was nobody left in line, she forced herself to march to the glass-enclosed reception desk. “Harrigan,” was all she could say. She fought the nausea. Couldn’t breathe.  Turned and could hardly keep from running as she rushed to the door and the safety of her car, digging for her keys along the way.

Leaning against her Honda, she took slow, deep breaths. Heard Harrigan’s voice. Felt his hands press on her shoulders.

“
Didn’t want to wait for me inside?” he asked, turning her around. “Hey, you’re a little pale. You all right?”

She pulled herself away. “Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?”

Get mad. Use the adrenaline
.

His eyes bored into her. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it. “Mind if I drive? I know where we’re going.”

She relinquished her keys and climbed into the passenger seat, staring straight ahead. Her head throbbed and her stomach did backflips. Not now. She couldn’t throw up. That went with the nightmares, not the flashbacks. Or whatever had set off this panic attack. Too many uniforms. She bit her lip, took a deep breath and tried to calm herself.

“
What’s wrong?” Graham said. “You been OD’ing on ice cream again?”

“
No. But—” Damn, her voice cracked. She coughed.

“
I’m taking you home.” Graham said. “We can go out another time.”

She couldn’t find the strength to protest. She leaned against the window and closed her eyes. The car started. She crawled deep into herself. Heard his voice, felt the car sway.

When she opened her eyes, they were parked in her driveway and Graham stood beside her, unfastening her seatbelt.

“
I must have dozed off.” She refused to meet his gaze. She swung her legs around and jumped out of the car and if not for Graham’s supporting hand, would have fallen. He didn’t speak, merely helped her to the door and unlocked it. He dropped the keys on the entryway table and led her to the couch.

“
Sit,” he said.

“
What am I? Part of your K-9 team?”

“
You’re almost transparent and you’re shaky. You’re one step away from me taking you to the hospital, that’s what you are.”

“
Because I fall asleep in the car? Maybe I didn’t sleep a lot last night. Maybe I had a long workout this afternoon. I’m fine.” She struggled to stand, but his hand on her shoulder kept her down.

“
Not yet. Sit there for a few minutes.” He went to the kitchen and came back with a glass of orange juice and a damp towel. “Drink this.”

“
Thanks. I’m sorry.” She reached for the glass and swallowed half of it before he took it from her trembling hands.

“
Not too much at once. You going to tell me what happened?”

“
Nothing.”

“
I might accept it if you hadn’t done the same thing Wednesday. You’re not epileptic. Diabetic?” He sat on the couch, pulling her against his chest so she leaned into him. His steady heartbeat calmed her. She blew out a long, shaky sigh. His strong fingers brushed the hair from her face, the cool cloth wiped away the sweat. Tears welled in her eyes and her control started to crumble.

“
I’m healthy as a horse. Please. I’ll be okay. I need to be alone.”

“
Like hell you do. Talk to me.”

She couldn’t. The words stuck, trapped behind the fist in her throat. “McDonalds don’t cry,” she finally whispered.

“
Bull. McDonalds most certainly can cry if they’re with Harrigans.” He turned her so she faced him. His blue eyes, dark with pain, broke the last barrier. The tears flowed. Slowly at first, and then deep, chest-wracking sobs took over.

The harder she cried, the tighter he held her. She heard murmured words she didn’t understand, and finally, her blubbering diminished to hiccups. She relaxed into his chest, now wet with her tears. “Oh, God, I’ve ruined your tie.”

“
It’ll clean. Hush.” He kept her close, stroking her back, nuzzling her hair. “I’m no expert, but I’d say you’ve held it inside a long time. Too long.”

She pulled away and managed a weak smile. “I am so embarrassed.”

“
Don’t be.”

She lowered her head back against his chest, trying to absorb his warmth.

“
Damn it, woman. You’re shivering.” He tilted her chin so she met his eyes. “I’m dead serious here. I think you’re bordering on shock and you’ve sweated through your shirt. I want you in something warmer and in bed. On your own, or with my help, but I’m going to insist. Either that or the Emergency Room.”

“
Let me up,” she said. He released her, and she pulled herself to her feet. The room spun, and she grabbed his arm. With his arm around her waist, they walked to the bedroom. After lowering her to the edge of the bed, he pulled back the covers.

“
Sweats?” he asked. “Warm pajamas?”

“
Dresser. Bottom drawer.” Her legs wouldn’t support her, and the room kept fading in and out.

He handed her a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. “Here. Can you manage?”

“
Damn right I can,” she snapped. “Go.” He’d seen her stripped emotionally. That was naked enough for one day. She waited until he left the room.

It took three times longer than it should have, but eventually her trembling fingers unbuttoned and unzipped her slacks, and she got them off and the sweats on. She wriggled out of her wet upper garments, donned the sweatshirt, and crawled under the covers.

“
You all right?” she heard him call from outside the door.

She wasn’t sure if she answered before she fell asleep.

When she woke up, she fumbled in the half-darkness that could be morning or evening. The memory of her collapse flooded back, and she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, testing her strength. A double-check of the clock told her it was six-thirty p.m., not a.m. She’d been out for an hour, not thirteen. Tantalizing smells made her mouth water, and she sat upright.

Sitting seemed to work. Standing? She got to her feet with no hint of dizziness. From the edge of the living room, she could see Graham busy in the kitchen. What did she have in her house that could smell so good? She took a seat at the kitchen table and watched him chop and sauté, stir and sample. He tasted whatever he was cooking and smiled at her. “Hey there. You feeling better?”

She shook off her embarrassment. “I think I’ll be cured if you’ll share. Smells heavenly. What is it?”

“
Don’t know. Little of this, little of that.” He filled a large pot with water. “Now that you’re up, I’ll start some water for pasta and whatever this is will become pasta
a la
Harrigan.” He extended a spoon full of something red and rich.

She leaned forward and tasted. “Heavenly doesn’t do it justice. I didn’t know you could cook.”

“
With five kids in my family, we all had to pull our weight. I enjoyed cooking. Worked out great because Mary Margaret hated it, so she’d swap out cooking for laundry duty with me. I can’t iron worth a damn.” He set the pot on a burner and lowered the heat before turning to her. “There are lots of things you don’t know about me. I hope you’ll want to find out more.”

And find out everything about her, in exchange. She could read it in his eyes, although his expression was matter-of-fact. Still, the way she’d felt in his arms, she might be able to tell him. Maybe. Not yet.

“
Why don’t you go sit on the couch while I get everything ready?” His eyes bored into hers, still showing his worry.

She met his gaze, refusing to concede any weakness. “I’m feeling fine. Honest. It happens. I needed to sleep. Can I help?”

“
You can go sit down so I don’t worry about you. I’ve got everything under control.” He turned to the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of salad. “You have any balsamic vinegar?”

“
What the hell is that? You’re lucky I have vinegar, period. I’ve been to the market once. There should be some Thousand Island in the fridge.”

He grimaced. “Never mind.” He reached into the refrigerator and removed a jar of mustard and a lemon. “This will do.”

She watched in fascination as he began rolling the lemon under his palms. “What are you doing?”

“
Breaking down the pulp. You get a better juice yield.” He cut the lemon in half and squeezed it through his fingers into a small bowl.

“
Don’t tell me. Straining the pits.”

“
Sometimes the God-given tools are the best ones for the job.” He added some mustard, salt and pepper and started trickling a stream of oil. “Now go sit down,” he said as he mixed everything together.

She glared at him before she went to the couch, aware he was watching her, ready to leap to her aid if she faltered. She tried to figure out the feeling that suffused her. Not anger, not embarrassment. Warmth, she decided, as she leaned back into the corner of the sofa, stretching her legs in front of her.

She picked up the remote and clicked on the television, settling on Channel 13’s twenty-four hour local news. Half her attention on the broadcast, half on catching glimpses of Graham as he moved in and out of view in the kitchen, she caught part of a follow-up story on the stranded whale.

“
Hey, Harrigan! Ever hear about the whale that beached in Oregon in the Seventies? The one they tried to blow up with dynamite?”

“
No,” he called from the kitchen. “I don’t think so.”

“
It was amazing—big chunks of smelly whale everywhere. Even destroyed someone’s car. I wonder what they’re doing with this one.” She was quiet for a moment, then called out, “Harrigan! Come here. The whale. They said they were going to bury the thing at the county dump in St. Augustine. But the pit where they bury large animals couldn’t handle a whale that big and when they started to enlarge it, they unearthed a body. Male. No ID.”

“
Turn it up,” he said from behind her.

She clicked up the volume and they listened to the announcer.

“
Medical examiners say it has been there for at least several weeks and they are trying to identify the remains.”

“
Gross. I am so glad I don’t have to deal with something like that.” She turned to Graham. “You don’t think it’s Jeffrey, do you?”

“
Saint Augustine is pretty far up the coast,” he said. “There’s no reason to think it’s him.”

“
Well, are you going to call the cops up there and at least ask them to check?”

“
After we eat. He’s been dead for a while. He’s not going anywhere, whoever he is.”

Graham went back to the kitchen. The water had come to a boil, and he opened a package of linguini. He lowered small handfuls into the pot, making sure the water never stopped boiling. Once he had half the package in the water, he gave a quick stir, corrected the heat, and let his mind drift.

Could the man in the dump be Jeffrey? Too easy, too convenient and too much of a coincidence. St. Augustine was in St. John’s County, over a hundred miles away. But he’d call and ask. Colleen’s voice registered, and he turned to see her at the table, watching him.

“
Earth to Deputy Harrigan. You here?”

He grinned. “Sorry. Cooking’s an outlet for me. Sometimes everything will click when I’m concentrating on cooking instead of my other problems. Lets the subconscious through, maybe.”