Under the Surface (33 page)

“It wasn't your fault either, but you're paying them.”

He looked at his brother. Really looked at him, for the first time in a very long time. “Fine. Send me a check every month.”

“As they say, my brother didn't raise no fool. I'd do that if you deposited any of the checks I've written you up to this point. No, sir. I'm sending checks straight to the med center's billing department. Besides, you don't get a new AC unit in this house and Eve's never going to want to spend the night,” Luke said.

“That's over.”

“Let me get this straight. You had a relationship with her when it probably violated whole sections of the department's code of conduct, but when it's all over and you can be with her, you walk away?”

“I lied to her. She pretended to be my girlfriend so we could trap a drug dealer, who then kidnapped and nearly killed her. None of it bears any resemblance to real life,” he finished.

“Dad took us out to look at Christmas lights and a five-time DUI offender takes the curve on the Thirty-Sixth Street on-ramp too fast for the conditions and Mom and Dad die and I'm in this chair. That's life. It's unpredictable. Uncontrollable. You took a shower. She answered the door for the UPS guy. That's what people do, Matt. Shitstorms happen. It's what you do after the storm ends that matters.” Luke waited a minute. “That's your specialty, so I thought you knew that.”

“She doesn't need me. She's surrounded by family and friends and all the people who love Eye Candy. Her brother's got a mediator waiting in the wings when she's ready to date again.”

“Let's think about that for a second,” Luke said.

Let's not.
“She doesn't need me to clean up after this.”

“Yeah,” his brother said, the sarcasm of youth dripping from his words. “A woman that involved in East Side community activism doesn't need to watch her back. Lightning won't strike twice in the same place. Probably she'll never get kidnapped or shot at again, but she'll be making waves until the day she dies—”

“Ninety years from now, in her bed, from extreme old age.”

“—so there's no good reason for her to get involved with a cop. Except maybe she likes you. You can be likeable enough when you come out of that I'm-in-control-of-everything armor.” His brother heaved a disgusted sigh. “Matt, has it ever occurred to you that maybe it's not only freaking annoying but unhealthy to frame every relationship in the context of service and duty? That was good for the Army and the department, but not for you?”

Matt kept his focus on the stacks of CDs.

“That maybe the people who love you want to take care of you as much as you want to take care of them? That maybe you hurt us a little more every day when you treat us like your responsibilities, but won't let us help you?”

Direct hit to the sternum. Breath and pulse halted as he locked eyes with Luke. Again, Matt broke first, looked away from the perceptiveness in his younger brother's eyes.

“You want her. You need her. And that spooks you.”

He didn't just need her. He loved her. He didn't have a choice in the matter. He loved her. Going back to the way he used to be wasn't going to happen. Going forward terrified him. He balanced on the edge of a bottomless chasm, the gulf yawning at his feet, the ground crumbling behind him and no bridge in sight.

He gave a half-shrug, pretended to check on the import progress.

“What are you going to do once you've got all that on your computer?” Luke asked. “Which, for the record, is going to take days.”

“Transfer it to my phone. Yes, I do know how to use iTunes,” he said, when Luke opened his mouth.

“Mail call,” Luke said, and handed him an envelope.

The envelope was postmarked in Lancaster. The return address was Eye Candy's. He slit the top of the package with his pocketknife and opened the envelope. Wrapped inside a sheet of stationery was a folded piece of paper, a CD case, and a section of newsprint.

He picked up the newsprint first. It was a column from the Metro section of the paper announcing the decision to go ahead with the redevelopment project, and Mobile Media's commitment to the new business park. The sidebar announced the demolition of the building across the alley from Eve and welcomed the community to a demolition party to view the redevelopment plans and meet some of the business owners, politicians, and executives involved.

The picture of Eve showed a fading bruise on her cheekbone and a serious glint in her eye. Also pictured for the story were the East Side's city councilwoman, the deputy mayor, Eve's father, and the CEO of Mobile Media.

The city's sexiest cocktail waitress was gone, and in her place was a squared-up, dead-serious community activist.

“Let me see,” Luke said.

He handed the clipping to his brother, and picked up the plastic case. The CD inside was neatly labeled
PREP PLAYLIST
.

“How did she know?” he muttered.

“Magic,” Luke said knowingly.

Matt unfolded the sheets of paper, then scanned them, trying to make sense of the ads, the bar code, the name Maud Ward.

“They're concert tickets, doofus,” Luke said.

“And backstage passes,” Matt replied, still not believing his eyes. Two tickets to the upcoming Maud Ward concert. The sold-out homecoming concert. On the floor, six rows from the stage. He'd be close enough to watch her change chords.

“No fucking way,” Luke said, leaning forward to snatch the paper from Matt's hand.

“Easy with that,” Matt said, handing it over hastily.

“How did she get backstage passes to Maud Ward's homecoming concert?” Luke marveled, scanning every inch of the page.

“Eve knows her,” Matt said casually, like it was no big deal. Like Eve's way of living, doing favors, big heart, paying it forward, wasn't everything he was missing, everything he'd ever wanted, and thought he couldn't have. “She got Maud some local gigs when she was just starting out.”

“Dude. Two tickets. You have to take her.”

“She's not like that. She wouldn't give me tickets in the hopes I'd take her. Besides, she can get her own tickets.”

Luke just looked at him until Matt had to break eye contact. He opened the folded sheet of stationery last.

Dear Matt,

Music matters too much to do without it. I've gotten you started with the prep playlist, but as we both know, live music is the best. It's going to be an amazing concert. I hope you enjoy it.

Love, Eve

Sometimes you reap more than you sow. Sometimes, despite all efforts to the contrary, you reap love.

He'd walked away from her, believing it was the right thing for her, for him, for them. And she'd still sat down at her computer and made him an old-fashioned mix CD of all the songs they'd listened to while he'd fallen in love with the woman he thought he couldn't have. He ejected
They Might Be Giants,
inserted the CD into the drive, and watched the list of artists appear in iTunes. Blanket, Damien Rice, Anjulie, Maud Ward, 3 Doors Down, Alexi Murdoch.

Even now, weeks after he'd walked away from her at the warehouse, she was thinking about him. Giving him the joyful things in life—concerts, music, a chance to share good times with friends. A life of duty and honor was empty without music and laughter and love.

“Earth to Matt,” Luke said.

A flash of black shifted at the edge of his vision. Intellectually he knew it was the wind in the big oak in the backyard dappling the shadows across the counters. Deep inside, he knew it was Eve.

And he knew what he had to do.

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“That's it for me,” Hannah Rafferty said, closing her reporter's notes for a softer, follow-up piece on Eve and community leaders seizing the momentum to redevelop the East Side. She shut off the recorder on her phone, and looked at the photographer. “Got what you need?”

“The light's better over there,” he said, gesturing to the setting sunlight pouring through the storeroom's open doorway. Eve straightened her suit jacket, then braced a shoulder against the doorframe and folded her arms, going for “determined” and “resourceful” despite Caleb hovering on the sidelines. He wore his best lawyer face, poker serious, protective. Eve found herself mirroring his look as the photographer took a few shots of her gazing at the camera, then a couple more from another angle that captured Eve studying the dust rising from the rubble behind Eye Candy. “Great. We're good now,” he said, scanning through the images on his camera.

“Thanks so much for the interview,” Eve said.

Hannah shouldered her bag. “It's important work,” she answered.

“Where will this run?” Eve asked. “The last time you did a feature on me it was for the Arts and Culture section.”

Hannah smiled. “Depends on the space available. If we have the inches, it'll run as a feature on the front page, more likely the Metro section due to the community activist angle. If not, you'll be back in Arts and Culture.”

“Right,” Eve said, trying to be grateful for any coverage at all. Despite being unable to reveal significant details thanks to the ongoing investigation, the sordid elements of guns, drugs, and two police shootings meant the basics of the story made the front page of the Lancaster
Times-Herald
for several days. Determined to milk the last possible drop of beneficial coverage from the incident, the politicians showed up for the photo op and spouted community-oriented quotes they hoped would be worked into the coverage.

“We've got to run,” Hannah said. “Deadline's in two hours.”

“Thanks again,” Eve said, and showed them to the front door. When she returned to the storeroom, Caleb stood feet braced and hands in his pockets, admiring the ruins.

“When's all this cleared out?” he asked idly.

“Tomorrow,” she said. Tomorrow the remains of the building would be hauled away, and in the spring, her dream of a patio would become a reality.

It was amazing what could happen when a community mobilized around a common goal. Her parents had attended the demolition ceremony, along with Caleb and Quinn, representatives from a number of community organizations, the VP of Community Engagement for Mobile Media, board members from the SCC, the East Side's city councilwoman, and the community relations liaison from the police department. An East Side landscaping company offered to do the brick patio at a steep discount in exchange for a tasteful banner mentioning their work and a few mentions on social networking sites. The city's last remaining ironwork shop offered the same deal for the railing. As word spread on Twitter and Facebook, every known band in the city contacted her for a gig next summer. Maud Ward agreed to open the summer concert series to kick off the tour for her new album. Eve's mother had not only volunteered to put her master gardener skills to use at Eye Candy to design and maintain the oversized flowering pots that would line the wrought iron fence, she also put together a team from the Lancaster Garden Club to mentor East Side teens and families interested in caring for a series of planters lining Thirteenth Street.

Not once did she mention Eve's job or single status.

But despite all the press for Eye Candy, Eve had seen neither hide nor hair of Matt Dorchester in the three weeks since she'd climbed into the ambulance transporting her father to the hospital, and she wouldn't push. She was a lifelong Eastie with a thriving business. He knew where to find her, if he wanted to.

The fall breeze caught Caleb's red silk tie. He smoothed it down. “Are you the first person on the East Side to organize a demolition party?”

She smiled. “Maybe,” she said. “I hope I'm not the last.”

He gave her a quick look. “Sleeping any better?”

“A little.” Half her dreams were of the business end of a semiautomatic pistol, of the gun clenched in Lyle's fist and swinging at her head, of her father's pale, clammy face. Loud noises made her jump. The bruise on her face got double takes at the bank and the supermarket, concerned inquiries from customers, and when the whole story broke in the news, a flood of publicity that took days to handle, which was fine, because she wasn't sleeping much anyway.

For the first time in weeks, standing outside was a pleasant activity. Summer's heat and threat were both gone, replaced by fall's crisp air and deep blue skies, and a sense of possibility for the East Side's revitalization. Before the demolition ceremony she'd gone out to pick up the sandwiches donated by Henry from Two Slices, and cupcakes donated by Cindy's Cinful Cupcakes. According to Henry and Cindy, traffic was up at both locations, and optimism and purpose infused the East Side's main shopping district. For a moment, for just one moment in her afternoon, she let herself savor the victory.

Heels tapped briskly across the storeroom's cement floor, too brisk to be Natalie. Eve and Caleb turned in unison to find Sorenson behind them, wearing a navy suit the same shade as Caleb's.

“Hi,” Eve said. “Thanks again for coming to the demo ceremony. It meant a lot to me.”

“It was a good chance to get reacquainted with some of the community leaders,” Sorenson said. “We're looking into the matter we discussed a few weeks ago.”

The corruption festering in the Eastern Precinct. Caleb perked up, but Eve didn't give anything away. “I'm glad to hear it. I'll do what I can to help.”

Sorenson's visit wasn't her first, or the only, from a member of the Lancaster Police Department. Lieutenant Hawthorn, Captain Whitmore, and several stone-faced officers from Internal Affairs had visited at other times, all asking the same questions about the shooting at the warehouse, and with the exception of Sorenson and Lieutenant Hawthorn, all carefully probing to see how she intended to portray the department in the upcoming media storm. Her responses to any and all questions followed the same basic script: “The Lancaster Police Department and the East Side citizens worked together in unprecedented and productive ways to stop a threat to our community. We hope that this is a sign of continued engagement and partnership.”