Chapter Eight
Dusky twilight surrounded the building, accentuating the golden glow shining through the window Nick currently had his camera pointed toward. Seated in a nondescript, dark-colored sedan parked across the street from the apartment he was staking out, he watched the unit, waiting for its owner to arrive home. As much as he hated stakeouts, they were a necessary evil in his business. Undercover work usually meant lots of long nights, stale coffee, and microwave-heated burritos loomed in his future, unless his intended target showed up soon.
The clock on the dash flipped minute after minute, and he squirmed on the uncomfortable seat, wishing he could’ve used his own vehicle instead of this hunk of junk. But discretion and invisibility were key to hiding in plain sight, and his brand-new, high-priced pickup would’ve stood out like the proverbial sore thumb in this neighborhood. His borrowed nondescript sedan tended to blend into the background and wouldn’t warrant a second glance. Anybody living in this apartment complex wouldn’t think twice about a ten-year-old, low-end sedan with rust spots and a ding in the driver’s door.
His diligence and patience finally paid off. The brunette he’d been waiting for climbed the staircase to the second floor. Her apartment was in an older building, built decades before the idea of apartments being enclosed and contained inside high rises, where the sunlight and moonlight remained hidden beyond the concrete walls. It reminded him of an older motel, converted for apartment use, with a large bay window next to the front door.
He couldn’t help noticing Gracie’s shoulders were slumped and there was an air of weariness enveloping her. Within minutes, light blossomed through the sheer off-white curtains framing the living-room window. The long-range telephoto lens angled toward his intended target, and he hoped he’d catch his unwary prey spotlighted within its frame. A tingle of excitement whispered at the corners of his mind, and his lips curved up. Anticipation jolted through his body, adrenaline like a shot of whiskey coursing through his blood.
Movement drew his eye to the apartment’s window. Holding his breath, he silently urged his quarry to come out and play. Ambient golden light silhouetted her shape like an apparition from a medieval fairy tale—or a nightmare—depending on how much you knew about the lady currently in his crosshairs.
Grasping a glass in one hand, she eased open her front door and left it ajar, moving to stand against the railing in front of her apartment. He almost wished she had a balcony. That might have afforded her a little privacy, maybe a bit of quiet away from the harsh realities that somebody like Jeremy Brewster was after her.
Resting her forearms along the top rail, her gaze appeared focused on the distant skyline. Darkness rapidly approached, the sky a swirl of muted colors, but he could still make out her face and form clearly through the unblinking lens of the camera. With her eyes closed and her face raised toward the dwindling sunlight, he studied every nuance, every subtle movement, looking for something, anything to make his job easier.
She looks tired.
Zooming in, he focused on her face, noted the way the light breeze played with the few loose tendrils that had worked free from her messy bun. The mahogany brown strands trailed across her cheek, and she brushed it back. He knew when her hair fell loose, it curled over her shoulders, lush and enticing.
Wonder if it feels as silky as it looks?
Without thought, his finger depressed the shutter-release button, snapping several quick photos in succession, the normally inaudible click, click, click from the camera annoyingly loud inside the confines of the vehicle. Lowering the camera, Nick took a deep breath, reaching for the Zen-like calm he practiced each morning during his meditation sessions. He wouldn’t allow himself to be fooled by a pretty face again. As beautiful as Gracie appeared, the stacks of evidence forwarded to Rafe from the San Antonio district attorney’s office pointed to her being up to her pretty little neck in the whole mess with Brewster. She’d turned state’s evidence to avoid jail time herself. Not that he blamed her. He knew firsthand the hellacious weight being inside a cage brought to a person’s psyche.
There was also the small fact she’d been Brewster’s mistress. Or did they even call it that these days? For appearance’s sake, she carried the title of girlfriend. According to the transcripts, Gracie had claimed not to be aware Brewster had been married when he’d seduced the barely legal eighteen year old. Part of him understood Brewster’s fascination with the beautiful Hispanic woman. Everything about the lovely brunette beauty screamed sensuality.
You’re just pissed because she’s exactly your type, his inner voice taunted.
She lifted her glass, taking a long sip before she turned and glided back into her apartment. Nick lowered the camera again, placing it carefully on the dashboard, and flipped open the lid of the laptop on the seat beside him. Instantly multiple frames appeared on the screen, dividing the display into four equal quadrants. Each displayed a different view of the few rooms within the apartment.
Gracie walked across the tiny living room and disappeared from the screen for mere seconds, before reappearing in the bedroom. Earlier, he’d snuck into her place and planted the surveillance equipment, positioning the bedroom’s camera high up in the corner, right above the curtain rod. It gave a clear view of most of the suite, including the queen-sized bed dominating almost the entire west wall.
Shaking his head, he tried to dislodge the picture of Gracie lying on those silken sheets, all that lush long hair spread across the pillows.
Focus, you idiot. Get your head in the game and do the job.
Gracie placed the glass of wine on the dresser and reached up, removing the pins holding up her hair. It spilled across her shoulders and halfway down her back, and she ran her fingers through it, eyes drifting closed. She rolled her shoulders and rubbed at the nape of her neck before reaching for the zipper of her dress.
Its slow slide continued downward in silence, and Nick swallowed a groan when she shrugged her shoulders and did a little hip shimmy.
Have mercy.
She kicked off the shoes and bent over, picking up the dress and heels, and strode to the walk-in closet, disappearing from view. As much as he’d wanted to put a camera in there, too, he’d been afraid if he planted too many, somebody might spot one of them, and he’d blow his surveillance. Better safe than sorry.
Emerging wearing a silky black robe that hit midthigh and belted at the waist, she walked over, picked up her glass and took another sip. Nick shifted on the car’s seat, trying to find a comfortable position, and couldn’t help wondering when Brewster or one of his goons would show.
According to Alvarez and Rafe, Brewster was obsessed with Gracie, to the point he swore he’d find her once he got out of prison. And with the specter of his parole looming over her head, Nick had made the decision that best way to keep her safe was to keep her surveilled. Yeah, he probably should have discussed his plan with Rafe, but better to ask forgiveness than permission as the old saying goes. He’d take the heat if it meant keeping an innocent woman safe.
It wasn’t like he had anything better to do at the moment anyway. He was at a standstill in the hunt for whoever had taken a shot at him and hit Antonio. Calvin had feelers out all over, and he’d come up empty, but their last call had left Nick wondering if his mentor, his friend, was hiding something from him. The thing was, he couldn’t figure out why the man he’d trusted since he’d been a scared, snot-nosed kid barely old enough to know what really trusting somebody meant, would suddenly keep him out of the loop. Especially since it was his life that was being targeted.
A shadow of movement caught his attention, dragging his focus from the laptop’s screen. He lowered the lid, not wanting the light from the screen betraying his position. Maybe it was simply a tenant heading toward their apartment, and Nick was being a paranoid idiot. Lots of people lived in Gracie’s apartment complex. Could be somebody heading home after work, ready to stick a frozen dinner in the microwave, like he’d done a hundred times before. But something about the way the shadowed figure moved had the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention, and he fought the urge to sit up straighter in his seat.
The male figure stayed within the shadows, moving with the kind of stealth an ordinary resident wouldn’t employ. Glancing upward, he watched Gracie’s shadow cross in front of the large window, and his heartbeat slowed, his whole body going into hunter mode, one he was intimately familiar with. All his training, the years he’d spent tracking criminals kicked in, and he knew he had to protect Gracie. While she might not be innocent, he knew she’d lived a squeaky clean life since moving to Shiloh Springs, and he wasn’t about to let Jeremy Brewster or anybody else hurt her.
Fortunately, he’d removed the lightbulb from the overhead interior light in the old sedan, so darkness covered the movement of him opening the car door and sliding silently from his seat. He watched as the man took the stairs two at a time, giving up any pretense of hiding, which made it easy for Nick to see the gun held in his right hand. Reaching into his pocket, he slid his cell phone free, and quickly hit the speed dial for Rafe.
“We’ve got a problem,” he whispered when Rafe answered, not giving him a chance to speak. “There’s somebody lurking around Gracie’s place, and he just headed up the stairs with a gun.”
“Son of a—”
“Yeah, well, I think we might need to talk with him, so get yourself over here ASAP. We’ll be waiting.”
Nick cut off the call before letting Rafe say anything, slipping the phone back in his pocket and heading for the stairs, eyes glued to the man as he moved toward Gracie’s door. He didn’t hesitate, obviously knowing which apartment she lived in. Nick couldn’t help wondering how that information had gotten out to whoever this person was, because Gracie had been adamant nobody knew where she lived outside of the people she knew in Shiloh Springs.
Nick didn’t bother pulling his own gun. Too close to civilians in an apartment complex, and definitely too close to Gracie’s home. Unless the creeper had extensive military-style training, he figured it wouldn’t be that hard to disarm and subdue him until reinforcements arrived.
Moving with cat-like swiftness up the stairs, he kept his gaze laser locked on the stranger, watched him stop to stare into Gracie’s apartment window. He’d have to talk to her about those sheer curtains, because anybody could see straight into her place, which made her an excellent target. And with it looking like this Brewster guy was pulling strings from prison, she needed to take extra precautions.
Luckily, her stalker-burglar was too intently focused on Gracie to notice Nick moving closer. As he reached for the doorknob, Nick slid an arm around his neck, pressing hard against his throat, and wrestled the gun away with the other hand, heard it hit the concrete with a dull thud. He struggled, grabbing at Nick’s arm with both hands, scrambling to break free, but Nick held on, applying more pressure until the man raised both hands in surrender.
Nick wasn’t stupid. Nor was he about to turn the man loose to let him make a break for freedom. Instead, he used his foot to kick against Gracie’s door, maintaining his hold on the other man.
Gracie’s door flew open and he heard her startled gasp.
“Nick!”
“Hey, Gracie. Found this guy,” he frogmarched the man across the threshold and into her apartment, “peeking in your window. Rafe’s on his way.”
“No,” a voice answered from the open doorway. “Rafe’s here. Luckily, I wasn’t far away when you called.”
“Antonio’s here too, if anybody cares.” Antonio stood slightly behind his brother, his lips quirked up in a smile. “Looks like you’ve caught a live one.”
Nick’s predatory grin was his response.
“Gracie, hon, can you grab me a couple of paper towels and a paper or plastic bag?” Antonio waited in the doorway while Rafe strode across to stand next to Nick, who still had an arm wrapped around the burglar’s neck. Loosening his grip, he shoved the guy across the space and into the kitchen. Antonio nodded when Gracie handed over the requested items and stepped back outside.
“Does somebody want to tell me what’s going on? Who’s this guy?” Gracie pointed toward the stranger now seated in one of her kitchen chairs, glaring daggers at Nick. Nick loomed over him, refusing to get more than a step away. His fingers itched to go back around the guy’s throat when he thought about what might have happened to Gracie if he hadn’t spotted the man.
“I won’t know until I get a chance to question him.” Rafe gently grasped her shoulders before pulling her into a hug, and Nick felt an unreasonable spur of anger swirl deep in his gut. He quickly quashed it down, knowing he had no right to feel anything when it came to Gracie. She wasn’t his. With his job, he knew it wouldn’t be fair to even contemplate making her a part of his life.
Antonio slipped through the door, the brown paper bag held in his right hand, and his eyes met Nick’s. He gave an almost imperceptible nod and Nick knew the gun would be turned over to the sheriff’s office for prints and tracing the serial number, if there was one.
Gracie stared at the man seated in her dining chair. “Who are you?”
He kept his lips zipped, like he knew any answer he gave would dig the hole he was in deeper. Guess it wasn’t his first rodeo, Nick thought. Standing with his arms crossed, he watched the man’s face, the stubborn set of his jaw.
“I want a lawyer.”
“Look, he speaks.” Rafe pointed to the badge on his hip. “I haven’t even read him his rights yet. Guess he’s been arrested a time or two, that or he’s a fan of cop shows on TV.”
“My guess is the former,” Antonio piped in, moving to stand a few steps closer to Gracie, bending to speak softly in her ear, though Nick heard every word. “Rafe and Nick are going to take him to the sheriff’s office. I’m gonna call Momma, and have her and Dad stay with you until we figure out who he is and what he was doing sneaking around your apartment with a gun.”
“Gun? What gun?”
Antonio held up the paper bag she’d handed him earlier, and all the color drained from her face. Nick’s hand’s itched to pull her close, comfort her, and promise everything was going to be alright. Instead, he balled his hands into fists to keep from reaching out. He still didn’t understand this pull he felt every time he was near her. Heck, he barely knew her, had only seen her a handful of times, and yet he knew there was something there. Something—special.
Antonio surprised him by handing Nick the gun, but he realized Rafe would have his hands full cuffing and escorting their suspect to the awaiting car. Looked like he’d be responsible for handling the evidence, at least momentarily.
“Go with them, Antonio. I’ll be fine. You don’t need to call Ms. Patti.”
Antonio chuckled. “When word gets back to my momma that we caught a prowler outside your apartment, and believe me she’ll hear, and finds out that I didn’t immediately call her—well, let’s just say I like having my hide in one piece.”
A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Gracie’s mouth. “She’s not that bad.”
“Yeah, she is. But we love her.”
Nick grabbed the front of the stalker’s shirt and pulled him to his feet, and Rafe snapped handcuffs on his wrist. The guy took a deep breath, opened his mouth like he was going to say something, and then shut it. Guess it was too much to hope he’d spill his guts.
As Rafe started to walk past with his prisoner, Antonio told him he’d meet them at the station as soon as his mother got there to stay with Gracie. Rafe gave a curt nod and walked out of the apartment. Nick met Gracie’s gaze, reading the question in her eyes, but couldn’t give her answers. Not yet anyway.
This thing, whatever it was between them—chemistry, attraction, call it what you will—they’d have to talk about it, because he had the feeling it wasn’t going away.
And he wasn’t sure he wanted it to.