Chapter 33
I didn’t go anywhere. And I don’t plan to. As long as Amelia is next door, I’ll be right here. Despite what I thought earlier, I need to be near her.
After ensuring Amelia locked her door, I met Cruz downstairs to debrief. She brought me my go bag and laptop and I gave her the phone to double check. She then wasted no time telling me what she thought of my plan and reiterating that I’m making a huge mistake by protecting Amelia. Maybe I would agree with her if I hadn’t seen the fear on Amelia’s face, the terror in her eyes when I ran into her apartment five hours ago.
But that doesn’t prove what’s going on doesn’t involve her. In fact, that”s the only thing I’m certain of. None of this is a coincidence. There’s a reason for it all.
If only I could figure out what it is.
I listen at Amelia’s door until I’ve heard enough movement to prove she”s alive. Now I’m on my bed, on top of the covers, listening. She’s got the TV on so loud I’ll never be able to sleep. But I didn’t plan on sleeping anyway. Not with someone out there intent on harming the woman who has weaseled her way into my heart with no plans to vacate any time soon.
I open my laptop, forcing myself to dive into work until my eyes burn.
I have to find Liam, and Justin’s killer, because I’m sure they’re connected. But how? The killer left no breadcrumbs to follow. They took Amelia’s laptop and a team is currently trying to track it down.
I think back over Liam’s past crimes. The art museum earlier today was more confusing than anything.
It was hit in the middle of the day. The fire alarm was pulled, everyone evacuated, and when they returned, only a single painting was missing. I pull up the photos on my laptop, carefully scouring the images for a clue to confirm Liam did this. But the security cameras were hijacked during the heist and not even traffic surveillance picked up a man of his description. And the painting was…well, I’ll never understand art in general, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t it. The thing was horrendous. The best way to describe it was abstract.
Granted, I know as little about art as Amelia knows about police work.
It doesn’t make any sense. Was Liam’s sole purpose in coming to the States to rip off a small, unknown museum in Phoenix for a terrible painting? The cost of which was a measly thousand dollars. Not enough to cover his flight from Turks and Caicos where he’s been hiding out for the last four and a half years under the name Levi Henry. That intel was the one positive from Amelia’s date with him.
So why is he here?
And why did he date Amelia?
A message comes through from Cruz, forwarded from the police medical examiner.
Cruz: Time of death estimated to be around 6:20 p.m.
The museum was hit at noon. That would have given Liam plenty of time to get over to Amelia’s apartment and kill Justin. If he killed Justin.
I have to find him. Then maybe I’ll find some answers. If only I would have questioned him directly sooner. Maybe we could have avoided this whole thing.
I scrub a hand down my face. Why did I let Amelia get caught up in this mess? Something tells me she would have ended up here on her own, but what if it had been worse? What if she had been killed?
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to block out the assaulting image of her lying in that tub. But it only becomes a nightmare.
I fall out of bed, shirtless and drenched in sweat.
I fell asleep. I can’t fall asleep. I splash cold water on my face, five, six times. I have to keep Amelia safe. Because I’m terrified that nightmare is waiting to become a reality.
I fell asleep again. For two hours. And I’m so upset I force myself off the bed and straight to the floor to do a hundred pushups as punishment. But then I hear Amelia singing, in the shower, I believe, and I force myself to do another hundred to get my mind off of her.
Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work. She’s become my favorite obsession. The home screen for all my thoughts.
After a quick shower, I change into the spare outfit in my go bag. Then I perch on the edge of my bed, closest to her door, listening to the rhythmic thumps and shouts coming from her room every few seconds. What on earth is she doing?
There’s a soft knock on the door and I open it. “Cruz.”
“It wasn’t bugged.” She says in greeting. She shoves Amelia’s phone into my chest and walks into the room, making her perusal of the room evident. “Except for the tracker you left in it.”
“I didn’t—”
“I saw the indentation on the back of the case. Those are government trackers, Harris.”
“Clearly the woman needs to be tracked.” I cross my arms, refusing to back down.
“If that’s what you need to tell yourself.” Cruz plops down at the desk. “But she doesn’t need to be kissed, remember that.”
The back of my neck burns. Can she read my mind, because that seems to be all I can think about lately?
I drop onto the edge of the bed, leaning over my knees, “Did they find anything at her apartment?”
“Nope. Wiped clean. No prints, no blood.”
That doesn’t make sense. If Justin was killed there, why wasn’t there blood somewhere? Is that why they stuck him in the tub?
And then Amelia gave him a freaking bath. Dang it. How much evidence did Amelia wash away? If I didn”t know her better, I would think she did this.
“It was Liam. It has to be.”
“The only connection between the two of them is your girlfriend,” Cruz says. “But since the police seem to believe she’s innocent—”
“She’s not my girlfriend and she didn’t do this. She has a solid alibi.”
Cruz rolls her eyes. “Family always lies for family.”
“You don’t have to trust her, but trust me, please. Something else is going on here.”
“Yeah, you’ve lost your mind.” Another round of thumping comes from Amelia’s room, followed by a ”hi-ya.” Cruz raises a brow. “Okay look, you’re my partner, I’ve got your back. But if she was in on this, in any way, I’ll have no problem telling you I was right.”
“As you should.”
She rolls her eyes. “Ugh, you’re pathetic when you’re in love.”
I clench my jaw and purposely avoid everything about that statement. Do I like Amelia? Yes. I will admit that I have developed very real feelings for her. But love? Nope. I’m steering clear of that boat. Waving to it from a distance but not purchasing a ticket to board. I’m on the like ship forever and always.
I clear my throat. “Have you found out anything else?”
“Not yet,” she says. “I’ve been looking into neighbors and the women Justin cheated with. Maybe one of them found out and wanted him dead.”
“Send me all the names, I’ll work on it from my end.”
“Already did.” She stands and heads for the door. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“What qualifies as stupid?”
Her eyes dart to the adjoining door between mine and Amelia’s rooms. Then back to me, her eyebrows raised in a challenge. Then she turns and walks out the door.
I wait a beat before following her out. Protecting Amelia isn’t stupid. She’s in danger. Not protecting her would be a bigger mistake. But there’s a fear I can’t escape, only reinforced by Cruz’s parting shots, that I’m going to screw something up here.
My mom would be proud of me for doing what I think is right despite the backlash I might receive, that much I know. I always went to battle for her, fighting the doctors on new treatments, fighting insurance because she couldn’t do it herself. She needed me. And now Amelia does. My job is to protect, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep Amelia safe because despite what everyone else thinks, I think she’s in danger. And I’ve got to go with my gut. I’d rather be overprotective and be wrong than have done nothing and be right.
Sighing, I walk the two steps over to Amelia’s door and knock.
Wait.
Knock again.
Wait.
I knock harder this time.
The door swings open and a rush of warm air slaps me in the face. It’s an intoxicating mixture of her perfume and body wash, and coffee. She’s still in her bike shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Her hair is up in a ponytail, but several strands have already escaped, poking out in every direction. She’s both sexy and cute. A lethal combination.
I want to wrap her up in my arms. I shove my hands into my pockets.
“What time is it?” Amelia asks. She’s her usual perky self, but there are shadows under her eyes that weren’t there yesterday and I hate what they mean.
“Seven-thirty.” The time is on the alarm clock behind her.
“Seven-thirty.” She repeats like she’s never heard of that time. Maybe she’s never been awake to see it. “It feels like it should be later. I’ve been awake for hours. I even tried communicating telepathically with you but I don’t see donuts in your hands so I guess we need more practice. Here, read my mind.” She furrows her brows.
“Um.” I rub my chin pretending to read her mind. “You want a donut?”
“Ah!” She pokes a finger at my chest. “It does work! You just chose not to bring me one.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “I apologize. Next time I’ll buy you a dozen.”
She beams. “If you insist.” She grabs her purse from the side table, turns off the TV, and pushes out into the hall. “You know, it’s like a whole new world without technology. I feel so alive. Like life is more vibrant.”
“Weren’t you using the TV?”
“I was using it to block out my thoughts while I worked.”
“You were working in there? Who got a fresh cut, the fake flowers or the curtains?”
“For your information, I’m good at a lot of things besides cutting hair. And I had to pick up a new hobby, since my last one…” Her voice trails off.
Because her last one became a murder weapon? That is quite unfortunate.
“But I didn’t have much to work with and my neighbor was making these weird grunting noises.”
I clear my throat.
“So, I learned kung fu from a fitness channel on the TV.” She slices a hand through the air, barely missing a sconce.
I’ve never seen a kung fu class broadcast on TV. “And what did you learn?”
“That I’m excellent at karate.”
I stop walking before I get smacked in the chest by her wild arms. “I thought you were learning kung fu.”
“Same difference.”
Not at all.
“So…” I pull her phone out of my back pocket. “Since you enjoyed your technology-free morning, should we toss this?” I hold it over the trash.
“Don’t you dare.” She lunges for it, but I anticipate as much and spin around, keeping the phone out of reach and hitting the elevator button.
She pulls a hand back by her ear. “Don’t make me do it. Don’t make me render you speechless with the Wuxi Finger hold.” She wiggles her pinky finger in the air.
I grin at her seriousness. “Wait, what fitness channel was this? And were the characters possibly animated?”
“Kung Fu Panda is a classic!” she yells, and then launches her body into my chest, latching on like an octopus with way too many arms.
I stagger back trying to maintain my balance. I did not predict that, and I am surprisingly speechless. Because I like this, more than I should. But I also like that I never seem to know what this woman will do. It only makes me want to stick around to witness it all.
Her fingers dig into my armpits and I jump, slinging an arm around her back before I accidentally drop her to the floor. “What are you doing?”
“Tickling you.”
Her sharp claws are doing the very opposite. “You’re not very good at it,” I grimace as I get another poke to the armpit.
“I’m an excellent tickler, you’re just not ticklish.”
I have the strange urge to find out if she is and before I can stop myself, my fingers find her ribcage. She instantly shrieks and tries to get out of my arms by climbing up my body like a monkey. Her foot connects with my groin and the blazing pain takes control of my body. I drop both of us to the ground in a heap of limbs.
I groan and roll to the side, finding a pair of pink slippers an inch from my nose. I glance up at an older woman, holding a matching pink bathrobe in place and looking rather amused.
“Going down?”
Something like that.
“Caleb, are you okay?” Amelia leans over me, her hands rubbing my face and neck. Is she checking for injuries? Her hands drift down to my pecs and stay. Not checking for injuries.
“You tried to kill me,” I grunt.
She smirks. “You mean you were struck by my beauty and fell head over heels.”
I look into her velvety blue eyes. “If I fell for you, it was an accident.”
The humor falls from her face as the moment turns serious.
No time for serious.
I grunt and pull myself up, then her, as the elevator dings. “Let’s go, little menace.”
“To the Blueberry!” She calls and skips inside the elevator, and I notice that she now has her phone.
“The what?”
“The car! Oh wait, yours is black. The Blackberry!”
I step in next to her and she latches onto my arm. It’s useless to try to peel her off. She always comes back. And something about that consistency is oddly comforting.