Nowhere to Hide (36 page)

“
No, you listen. Being scared is normal. When it mattered, you acted. When we met, you freaked out at popcorn. Last month you kept your head in the middle of a shootout and saved my life. Functioning over the fear takes courage, and you’ve got that. In spades. You can get over the panic attacks. If you’d stop and think, you’d realize you already have.”

For a moment, she was back at the Bradfords’. But only for a moment. Then she was at the Walters’. “I killed someone,” she whispered.

“
We
killed someone, Colleen. Four shots. Together. There’s no way to know which was the fatal shot.”

She got off the couch and knelt beside the recliner, taking his hand in hers. “Graham…”

“
The pills take the edge off, but they don’t knock me out that fast. I know what I’m saying,
mo chridhe
.”

Overcome, she lifted his hand to her lips. “I want to be close to you. Can you walk to my bedroom?”

“
You realize I can’t do much once we get there.”

“
Can you hold me?”

He smiled, a smile of pure male satisfaction. “That, I can do.” He lowered the leg rest and Colleen helped him out of the chair. When they’d made it halfway up the stairs, she realized how weak he still was.

“
How did you manage the airports?” she asked.

“
Wheelchairs.”

The thought of him willing to accept a wheelchair made her chest ache.  “I wish you’d said something. We could have stayed downstairs. I just wanted to be close to you.”

“
We’ll get there. If you weren’t so damn skinny, you’d be able to handle your share here. You’re all bones, woman.”

She slid under his arm, supporting what weight she could. “There’s still some strength in these bones.” They made it up the rest of the way with only one more stop. When they got to her room, Graham was filmed in sweat, and she hurried him to the bed. “Lie down.”

It was more like falling down, but he got to the bed before he hit the floor. “Nice room,” he said. “How do you get it to spin?”

“
Shit, Harrigan. I don’t think I was as bad off as you were when I got shot, and I sure wasn’t up and around like this. You shouldn’t be up.”

“
I’m not. I’m back in bed, just like the doctor ordered. Help me with my shoes.”

Colleen unlaced his sneakers and tugged them off. She sat at the foot of the bed.

“
Relax,
mo chridhe
. Lie down with me.”

She lay beside him, staring at the ceiling. All of a sudden, she was afraid to touch him. Afraid of what she would feel. His hand found hers, and their fingers entwined.

“
I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice deep and low.

“
I’ve missed you, too.”

“
Good. Kiss me.”

“
I don’t want to hurt you. You need rest.”

“
There’s nothing wrong with my lips. I’ll let you know if you’re overdoing it.”

She turned on her side and propped herself up on her elbows, careful to avoid putting weight on his chest. Slowly, gently, she lowered her lips to his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks, and finally his lips. His mouth coaxed hers open, teasing, probing. She deepened the kiss, finally pulling back when she realized Graham was struggling to breathe.

“
I missed you so much,” he said. She heard the emotion in his words, even as he labored to say them.

“
You’re going to make me cry again, Graham. Please don’t.”

“
I can’t help it. I need you. You fill a place in me that makes me whole.”

“
I know. Life without you is nothing. It’s like … like trying to make pancakes without baking powder. You can find substitutes, but it’s not quite the same.”

He gave her a crooked grin. “Have you been out finding substitutes?”

“
Without you, I don’t even want pancakes.”

“
That’s good to know.”

She searched his eyes and saw trust, compassion…and love. She saw someone who had put everything on the line, sacrificing pride and dignity, and come across the country looking for
her
. “Can we make this work?”

“
I’m willing to give it my best.”

She smiled and snuggled next to him. “Can you hold me at all?”

“
If I can sit up a little, I think we’ll be okay. It’s only my left side that’s sore.” He reached for the pillows. Colleen took them and propped them against the headboard, then helped Graham slide up on the bed so he was leaning against them. Gingerly she sat next to him, as he wrapped his good arm around her.

“
You like being a detective, don’t you?” she asked.

A corner of his mouth turned up a fraction. “All but the being shot part. I told you, you’re more important to me than a job.”

“
You say that now, but five, ten years down the road, when you’re stuck in a library with all those musty books, don’t you think you’ll wonder what it would have been like?”

“
Not if I come home to you.” His voice was a low, deep growl. “I said I love you, Colleen.”

“
Fears and all?”

“
Fears and all.” He grinned. “Lets me feel needed. Besides, I have a few of my own.”

“
Like what?”

He yawned. “Like right now. Jet lag has me running on fumes, my meds are kicking in, and I’m desperately afraid that if I fall asleep, you’ll be gone again. Promise me something?”

“
What?” That was the word she heard come out of her mouth, but inside, she knew she’d said, “Anything.” That no matter what, being with Graham was better than anything else she could imagine. With him, she knew she would never have to hide from herself again.

“
Be here when I wake up.”

In response, she reached over and stroked his cheek, tilting her face to his. After a deep, lingering kiss, she cuddled up beside him. “Always.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This book took root a long time ago, but would never have seen life outside my hard drive without a lot of technical help.

With heartfelt gratitude to the dedicated men and women of the Orlando Sheriff’s Office for everything they do for the citizens of the county. Special thanks go to PIO Jim Solomons, and to SWAT Commander Tom Stroup for taking the time to answer my endless questions about how things work in the department, and to Mark Hussey, Mick Kispert and Darrell McCaskill for their help. Don’t blame them for any errors. They’re either my mistakes or liberties I’ve taken using the ‘it’s fiction’ defense.

Thanks to Wally Lind at crimescenewriters for his vast knowledge and willingness to help with all things crime-related, and to The Graveyard Shift’s Lee Lofland. For the medical consults, thanks to Drs. Randy Ferrance and CJ Lyons, and to Robin Tennenbaum.

To all my critique readers—the Pregnant Pigs for their continued support and patience through revised chapters and a full manuscript read. Each of you brings something special to the tale.

To Steve and Karla at Novel Alchemy.

To the ladies at CFRW.

To Jessica for her brainstorming and fight choreography. Thanks so much.

Book 1 in the Pine Hills Police series.

Sarah Tucker's hands shook with anger as she fumbled the keys into the lock of That Special Something. Bad enough the bus driver stopped beside a puddle the size of Crater Lake, which she cleared despite the restrictions of her skirt and pumps, thank you very much. But when that headbanger in the heavy metal-blasting SUV had sped by, any satisfaction at her nimble footwork disappeared in a dousing of muddy water.

The cheerful jingle of the boutique's door chimes did nothing for her mood. Sarah rushed to her small office behind the glass sales counter and shrugged out of her coat to assess her wardrobe damage. She had an appointment with Mr. Ebersold at the bank to discuss her loan application. She couldn't go home and change, and the last thing she wanted was to look like she actually needed a loan. If you needed money, you couldn't get it, but if you had it, they'd give you whatever you asked for. She dampened some paper towels and daubed at her mud-spattered shoes and stockings.

Enough negative thoughts.
Sarah hung up her keys and tossed her instant soup packet into the basket by her coffeepot. Another gourmet lunch. At a knock on the door, she checked her watch. It wasn't quite ten, but she'd open for a possible sale. Patting her windblown hair into place, she hurried to the front door.

Christopher Westmoreland stood there, looking impeccable as always. No headbanger would dare splash water on his perfectly creased black trousers. His strawberry-blond hair wouldn't dare blow in the wind.

"Chris. What brings you to town?" She stepped back into the store and toward the register. "I'm getting ready to open, but if you need anything, I'll be glad to get it for you."
As if he'd actually buy something.
 

"Not today. I've got some appointments over in Salem. Thought I'd say hello before I head out." He strolled to the counter and leaned over its glass top, close enough for Sarah to smell his sandalwood aftershave and the cinnamon gum he chewed. "You haven't returned any of my calls. I know things have been tough since David … died. I want to help. Why won't you let me? For old times' sake?"

Memories of David crashed over her. It had been more than a year, but the pain lay right beneath the surface, waiting for her to drop her guard. She shoved her emotions back into that metal strongbox in her brain, slammed the lid and turned the key. She was no longer Sarah, David's wife. Or Sarah the daughter, or Sarah the high school sweetheart. She was Just Plain Sarah.

Sarah met his pale green eyes, the ones she'd found so irresistible in high school. "We've been through this before. I need to do it on my own. I can manage without your money." Even though he'd promised "no strings", Sarah knew if she took a dime from him, she'd be attached with monofilament line. The kind that cut when you tried to break it.

"Are you sure? You look like you haven't slept in a month. And your hair. Why did you cut it?"

"Well, thanks for making my morning." Sarah fluffed her cropped do-it-yourself haircut. "It's easier this way."

"How about dinner tonight? Come on, Sarah. We're friends, right?" His eyebrows lifted in expectation.

Dinner with Chris or five-for-a-dollar ramen noodles at home? Accepting dinner wouldn't be selling out, would it? "Maybe. Call me later, okay?"

"Great. See you." He turned to leave, a broad smile on his face.

"I said, 'maybe', remember?" Sarah walked him to the door and flipped the sign from "Closed" to "Open". She rearranged the crystal in the front window to catch the light and dusted the brightly colored pottery, shifting a pot, turning a vase so its pattern was visible from the street. Once she was satisfied with the effect, she meandered through the shop, adjusting animal carvings and moving a display of stationery to a roll-top desk.

An hour later, Sarah refused to let the lack of customers bother her. Easter was approaching, then Mother's Day, and throngs of people would descend upon That Special Something to find the perfect gift. Throng?  Right now, she'd settle for a trickle.

The door chimed. Sarah assessed the well-dressed woman who entered the shop. Probably in her sixties, with a large designer purse draped over one shoulder. A hat with ribbon trim and black leather gloves made her a bit old-fashioned and out of place for the tiny Oregon town, but a customer was a customer. Sarah gave the woman her biggest smile and stepped out from behind the counter. "Good morning, ma'am. Welcome to That Special Something.
Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"My niece is getting married. I thought I might find something out of the ordinary here." Her voice was clipped, with a touch of sophisticated arrogance that said she was used to getting her way.

"Unique gifts are my specialty." Sarah motioned to a display of crystal. "Perhaps she'd like these hand-painted wine goblets? Or some of these Egyptian perfume bottles?"

"Thank you. I'll browse for a while, if you don't mind."

"Take your time. I'm Sarah. Feel free to ask any questions." Fighting the urge to follow her customer around, Sarah retreated and let the woman roam the shop.

The way Chris had referred to David's death churned through her thoughts. That horrible pause. The same one everyone used. But Sarah knew it had been an accident. David would never commit suicide. This afternoon, she'd get a loan from the bank and rehire the private investigator, or find a better one. The investigator would get the police to reopen the case and they'd find out it wasn't suicide. Then she'd get the insurance money, which would pay off the loan and the shop would be safe. It made perfect sense. And maybe it would eliminate some of the guilt.

Sarah dragged her thoughts to the present, straightened her shoulders, and found her professional smile again. Her customer was studying some silver picture frames. Expensive ones. She thought about how hard it had been to get Anjolie to display her work in the shop, that her creations were
too good
for a
mere boutique
.

She telegraphed mental messages to her customer—Please, show Anjolie she was wrong. Buy one. Buy six.

The woman set the frame down and turned away.

Sarah wouldn't let her disappointment show. "Can I show you something else?"

The woman strolled back and fingered the frames again. "You know, I like this one." She picked up the most expensive one, the one with the lacy pattern of roses and leaves. "And I think I'll take the matching vase over there."

Not good to let a customer see you jumping up and down clapping your hands. Instead, Sarah called up her most professional tone. "Excellent choices, ma'am. Would you like them gift-wrapped?"