Off the Grid (16 page)

“The Goth doctor.”

“Has a certain ring.” She sighed. Her head lolled against his shoulder. “Marnie would have appreciated it.”

“I know.” He didn’t know what else to say. To hide the lack he washed his own hair. It took everything he had to raise his arms. By the time he’d gotten them both rinsed off and out of the tub he remembered his clothes were in the washing machine. He left her to dry off and put them in the dryer. He was standing in the hall in a towel when she emerged from the bathroom.

“How can I be so tired yet so damn awake?”

A spot of lotion clung to her cheek. He smoothed it out. “I wish I knew what to say to make this easier.”

“I don’t think there are any words.” She laced her fingers through his. “You must be ready for sleep. You look exhausted.”

“Pretty damn exhausted.” He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Sounds lonely.” Her lips twitched. She squeezed his hand. “Think you can handle holding me while I sleep.”

“White knight, remember?” He tugged her closer, wrapped his arms around her. Small and desolate to his lank and weary, they were a sad set. Her arms came around him and he rested his chin on her damp hair. He pulled her scent deep into his lungs.

“Thank you.” Her cheek was cool against his chest. He felt her sigh, the faint sweep of her lashes.

“No problem, my lady.” Except it was a problem. White knight? More like the court jester. A joke. At least to Jason Drummond. They would see who had the last laugh. “Let’s go.”

He tucked her under the covers and crawled in beside her. They had simply shed towels, were too weary to worry about being naked. It didn’t matter. Any erection he might have sported fizzled the moment he closed his eyes. His brain played a slideshow of blood, death, and squalor. No one should have to die, or live, in filth. The thought of Kellie spending months in that dirty hovel of a room cranked up his agitation. In the dark Sophie shifted and Caleb did the same.

The hours passed, filled with intermittent dozing and furtive glances at the bedside clock. Sophie tossed and turned beside him. At five o’clock in the morning he gave up and went to the kitchen to make coffee.

To map out his plan.

****

Sophie found him in the kitchen, brooding in the almost dark. A hint of morning on the horizon. The comforting scent of coffee drifted from the pot on the counter. He was dressed, her clothes from the night before neatly folded and stacked on the table. His pen posed silent over a notepad. She tightened the sash on her robe. He’d been up for a while. Tiredness was etched into grooves on his forehead, around his grim mouth.

Sophie hadn’t liked waking up alone, panicky and reaching for him. He’d come to mean a lot in a very short period of time. And on the very worst morning of her life that knowledge pissed her off.

Possessed of some kind of freaky sixth sense he looked up. “Morning. Coffee’s on.”

“Thanks.” She scooped up the stack of clothes, opened the lid on the trashcan and tossed them in. He watched her saying nothing. She braced her hands on her hips. “So, what are you working on?”

“Just some thoughts on Kellie’s case.”

She poured coffee into an extra-large mug. The hot, dark liquid did little to soothe her. She went to stand next to him. He didn’t reach out, or try to touch her. She felt the loss of comfort all the way down to her toes.

“The sooner we get things worked out the better.” He bent his head and flipped the notebook closed, hiding whatever it was he’d written. He lifted his head. “How are you feeling?”

She shrugged. “Crappy, thanks for asking.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could make it better.” His oh-so-careful tone matched his anemic smile.

Okay. He didn’t know what to do with her this morning. How to pat her hand. She got it. But she had more pressing things to worry about then Caleb’s sensibilities. “Hard to make murder okay.”

“I know.”

She wanted to punch something. “Drummond’s behind this. I know he is.”

He rubbed his forehead. “I’m sure the police will figure it out.”

She snorted. “That’s make one of us.”

He set his pen down. Placed it precisely parallel to his notepad. He straightened it in a snobby kind of double check. “You need to leave Jason to me.”

“Excuse me?”

He sighed. “How about we deal with today. And getting through it.”

His tone, his dismissal, scrapped against the jagged edge of her very last nerve. Her bitchiness rose with every flick of his eyelashes. “That’s it? How many times are we going to have this discussion? This is my life. You can’t shut me out of it.”

“I’m not shutting you out of anything. I’m trying to help.”

He wore reasonable like a suit. Too bad she wasn’t falling for the act. She didn’t have to. She wasn’t one of his clients. “I didn’t ask for an intervention.”

“Most don’t.” His tone was dry as dirt.

“I want you to listen to me. To hear me.”

“All right. You’re right.” His jaw tightened. “It’s still a big accusation.”

For some much needed warmth she clasped her hands around her mug. “He had the most to gain.”

“Okay.” Her man of many words kept it short.

“Don’t pat me on the head determined to be stoic and supportive because it’s what poor Sophie needs.”

He shifted in his chair, his expression cool. “What do you want me to say? You want me to say I think Jason is capable of murder? He’s a lot of things, but a murderer?”

“I want you to admit it’s a possibility. Acknowledge I’m not being a paranoid wreck.”

“You’re under a lot of stress.”

“So, I am being a paranoid wreck.”

“I didn’t say that.” He pushed back from the table. On his feet he put the short length of the table between them. “Look, I need to get going. I need to stop by my condo. It’s Saturday but I need to go into work for a couple of hours. I’ll be by later. We’ll talk then and we’ll come up with a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Yes, a plan.” He stood and gathered up his phone, tore a couple of pages free of the notebook. He set it aside. Much like he was doing with their relationship. Unless he didn’t see it as a relationship.

“Things getting a little too messy for you, Caleb? It’s time to un-complicate things? Get back to your world. Forget about the ugliness of all this.” She set her coffee mug down on the table, swept a hand around the room.

“I think we’re both too tired to talk right now. I have to get to work.”

“No. I think we should talk about it right now.”

“Sophie…”

“You’re out of your comfort zone. But you can’t push aside what happened. We need to talk about it.”

“Easy to say.” He shook his head. “Not so damn easy to do.”

“So try a little harder.”

“And why can’t you understand I don’t want to do this with you? I’m trying to make things better not worse.” His pushed a hand through his hair. “So stop poking at me in an effort to avoid your own feelings. You’re the one who needs to talk about last night, not me.”

“I tried, you don’t believe me.” There wasn’t a whole lot of room in her tiny kitchen but she managed to back up a step. To retreat. And there were those stupid tears again. She swiped at them, furious for doing this in front of him. Her heart was breaking and she was unraveling, leaving the threads of her confidence in a heap at her feet.

“Sophie—”

“Don’t.” She put out a hand to stave him off.

But he gathered her up. She wanted to resist the warmth, his comfort, but she didn’t want to be alone in this swamp of sadness. His shirt was soft against her cheek, his chest solid. She sniffed and got a whiff of her soap and fabric softener. Giving in and holding on seemed like good medicine.

“I’m sorry. Please, don’t cry.” He ran a gentle hand over her sleep spiked hair. “We need to think this through, to be careful. We can’t accuse him without evidence.”

“I know.” She sniffed. “I do. But I’m terrified no one will care about a dead junkie.”

His arms tightened around her. “We care.”

“I said I’d talk to her.” She let go enough to point in the direction of the living room. “He stood right there, very confident Marnie would no longer be a problem.”

His hands slid down her arms until they gripped her elbows. “It’s not proof.”

“I know.”

He rubbed her arms, his eyes serious. “I need a couple of hours, but I’ll be back.”

She nodded.

“I promise.”

“Go.” She thought of her sister, the arrangements she needed to make, Kellie. The weight of those things bowed her shoulders. But they were private thoughts and she wanted to keep them close awhile longer. “I’ll be fine.”

He kissed her forehead, then raised her chin. Meeting his eyes was the hard part. “She loved you.”

Sophie had never heard her say it. And now it was too late. Her sister was gone. Her worst nightmare had come to pass. Marnie was dead. Sophie had failed. In so many ways.

Love?

She hungered for it.

Marnie.

Liam.

She broke contact.

How many times did you chase the impossible?

Chapter Six

Caleb returned to his office with another refill of stale, office coffee. A couple of hours had stretched into four, six, then eight. Caleb scrubbed at the back of his neck. Knowing what needed doing and getting it done had taken some maneuvering. The sun was going down on a day spent ensuring the safety of the ones he loved.

With her scent covering him and images of their bath fresh in his mind, he birthed the impossible thought he might be in love with Sophie. He gulped another mouthful of lukewarm coffee. For the first time growing old with someone didn’t smack of marriage roulette.

He wished he wasn’t going to have to tell her Jason Drummond was going to get away with murdering her sister. There was no hard evidence to prove otherwise. None. Of course, the investigation was ongoing. The fine members of the Vancouver Police Department didn’t like junkies turning up dead in filthy hotel rooms despite what Sophie assumed. They probably cared more than most. Caring didn’t create leads or conjure up evidence.

A lot of blood. A lot of filth. A lot of people in and out. Small space. And rats. The only CSI capable of finding information of value played one on TV.

It didn’t mean Jason Drummond wasn’t going to pay. There was the matter of Sophie’s clinic, Kellie’s child support, and mayoral candidacies to address. He wasn’t going to let any of those things go. And Caleb had a plan. Jason had been very careful in orchestrating his depravities while avoiding any hint of scandal. With one exception.

He hadn’t spoken to Kimberley McKay in too many years. Not since she’d come to him for help and he’d brushed her off. Knowing the right questions to ask would be key. Nothing intrusive or insensitive. Often times the less you pushed the more you ended up learning. He’d forgotten everything he’d learned when he’d confronted Marnie. He’d pushed. Hard. He’d let anger overrule his good sense. Fear for Sophie had goaded him into making mistakes. Now her sister was lying on a slab in a morgue.

He paced to the bank of windows rimming his corner office phone in hand, Kimberley’s number written on a slip of paper. No, he couldn’t prove Jason Drummond was a murderer. His fingers tightened around the piece of paper, crushed it into a ball. But he’d still pay, and with more than money. Caleb was going to hit him were it hurt. There would be no legacy. No votes for or against. No public office. No limelight.

“Caleb.”

He turned at the sound of his name and the accompanying knock. Devin Donnelly, fellow lawyer and friend, walked into Caleb’s office with a sheaf of papers in his hand and a jangle of keys. He set the lot down on Caleb desk.

“Thanks,” offered Caleb.

Devin nodded an acknowledgment. “When you’re ready we can go over everything. Dot our i’s and cross our t’s. Then I can meet Kellie next week and we’ll go from there.”

“Great. I appreciate it.”

Devin hesitated, hands shoved in the pocket of his pants. “You’re sure about this?”

Caleb nodded in his direction, smiled even though he dug deep to find it. “Kellie will make an excellent condo sitter while you’re in Dubai. I’ll keep tabs on her.”

Devin didn’t look convinced. “I know I don’t have the whole story.” He held up a hand. “And I don’t need to know it. Just take care of yourself, man.”

“Never doubt it.”

“Okay then.” Devin saluted as he headed out the door. “You know where I am if you need me.”

Caleb made another call first. Secured a lunch date for Monday, New Year’s Eve. His heart hurt with the weight of what he had planned. It didn’t stop him. He punched in Kimberley’s number. Getting away with murder was going to come with a very high price tag. But being someone’s judge, jury, and executioner wasn’t going to come cheap either. There was no way to avoid moral bankruptcy when you were deciding who to sacrifice as collateral damage.

****

Sophie opened the door at Caleb’s knock. The rush of cold air cooled her cheeks, relief dampened the burn of grief. She needed him and there he stood on her stoop with a tray of to-go cups in his hand.

“A round of hot chocolate.” He lifted the tray and even though a smile whispered at the corners of his mouth his eyes told the real story. Tired with dark circles underneath, but still warm, compassionate, caring.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

Sophie stepped aside to let him in. “Not as bad as I’d expected, but still…bad.”

“How’s Kellie?” Caleb handed her the cups and shrugged out of his coat, hung it on a hook.

“Devastated.” She put a hand on his arm when he stepped in the direction of her front room. “And confused. I don’t know how much more she can take without breaking.”

He moved in closer. Sophie noted his regret in the soft knuckles he brushed across her cheek. “Understandable. But I need to talk to her. I have questions. I need answers.”

“Maybe now’s not the best time to press her. She’s in a very fragile state.”

“I’ll take care with her. If Jason is going to pay for what’s he done, I need those answers.”

When they turned, Kellie was there. There was only one word to describe her: destroyed.