Friday, December 23
Garrett heard her bedroom door open as dawn broke. As he sat up, his furry companion scurried away. Angelica came down the hall in a white terry bathrobe, lit by a nightlight.
She looked great in everything she wore, but she’d look even better in nothing. Don’t forget her damn messy hair, the kind a man wants to lose his fingers and himself in. Groaning became unavoidable around her.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his throat tight, staring—no, gawking—as his socked feet settled on the area rug.
“Oh! I’m sorry I woke you, Garrett. I needed a drink,” she murmured, pausing to push loose strands of hair off her cheek.
What a way to wake up. This was worse than standing in the bedroom with Angelica yesterday. Garrett swallowed hard and ran a hand through his Ivy League-cut hair.
“You didn’t wake me. It’s good you’re up. I need you to lock up behind me.”
Angelica asked hesitantly, “Were you able to get any sleep?”
“I slept well enough for your cat to join me,” he chuckled, slipping on his shoes. He chose not to reveal that he had lain awake all night, lost in sexual fantasy.
“I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t a problem. Daisy and I set some rules. I gave her permission to sleep at my feet, not on me. She agreed to the compromise.” He laughed again, then retrieved his service revolver and cell phone from the coffee table.
Garrett grabbed his sports jacket from the back of the desk chair, draped it over his left shoulder, and headed toward the front door.
“Thank you for staying, Garrett.”
With his hand on the doorknob, he turned to her and noticed her puffy eyes. “It’s okay. Don’t give it a second thought, Angelica. Go back to sleep. I’m sure you’re tired. I’ll see you later tonight.”
“Wait, Garrett!” She raised a hand. “I won’t be home tonight. I’m going downstate for the weekend.”
“That sounds great. I’ll check on the house while you’re away. When will you be back?” he asked, shifting from foot to foot on a doormat that read ‘Attack cat!’
Angelica leaned against her nearby rolling desk chair. “I’ll be back Sunday, though, not too late.”
“Do you want me to stop by then?” After spending time with Angelica in her living room last night, he hoped for another invitation.
She tilted her head ever so slightly. “I’d like that very much.”
“I’ll come by around eight on Sunday. Take care of yourself and have a good time, Angelica.” A smile lit his face as he stepped into the cold air.
Garrett spent the entire drive home thinking about Angelica and about his twilight hours at her house.
He was in her living room, and she was just down the hall—so damn close. He was convinced that, as she lay in bed, she was every bit as sexy. How else could she appear? That’s the only impression she gives off. That might be good, or it might not be. This time, he groaned.
Yesterday morning offered no hint of how his day would unfold—with a woman in his arms beneath the trees, staying at her house because she desperately needed him.
Garrett stopped himself; he was overthinking this.
Angelica is out of his league—way too classy for a detective.
Sadly, there’s nothing on her end, just a traumatized woman who called him.
It could have been anyone, even Officer Wynkowski, who showed up.
And what’s with that damn perfume? He even called her “honey.” God, he’s losing it.
Once home, he took a shower and gave himself a quick once-over before shaving. He looked decent for his age and lifestyle. Consuming endless beer. No one knew about his reckless alcohol habits except Talbert. He must quit, or he’ll get an early visit to a new home. In heaven. Or maybe hell!
Ready for another day, Garrett called the police department to see whether the loser, Matthew Jenkins, had been brought in for questioning.
Negative. His whereabouts were unknown, meaning Jenkins lurked in the shadows.
The shadow man seemed very stealthy; other than one DUI nine years ago, he had no priors, including assaults, robberies, weapons charges, or arrests.
Still, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?
Is camping out in Angelica’s living room again an option? He’d even put up with her damn cat. Is he turning into a softie? She might welcome his presence, but he decided against it. She needed an alarm system.
A daring idea crossed his mind—going to Jenkins’s home and beating the crap out of the guy if he was there. But that wasn’t an option. He had to stay involved, protecting Angelica at any cost. Garrett was committed to that, regardless. He made that promise to himself on the sofa and to her.
Upon Angelica’s return, he must persuade her to file charges against that degenerate. She would undoubtedly agree now.
One way or another, the jerk should spend some time behind bars, even briefly. A satisfying thought. Nevertheless, Garrett regretted missing the chance to knock Jenkins out in the restaurant and see him sprawled on the floor, which would have earned him instant karma.
Then he wondered why he’d never met anyone like Angelica before.
But this is what happens when you live in a God-forsaken place.
Should he reconsider his existence in this hole-in-the-wall county?
Apply for a job in the capital region, where more is happening on the social scene, and where women of Angelica’s caliber reside. The pay is bound to be better, too.
He came here to escape his hometown. Did he go too far? Garrett realized it was time to reconsider many things. Holding a woman felt desirable and pleasurable once again.
* * *
Angelica left her suitcase and the gift bag with the fine wine bottles on the marble foyer floor. She poured herself a glass of Chablis from the wet bar and headed to the living room.
To the far left, a massive Christmas tree, towering more than nine feet, winked at her.
Hundreds of blinking, multicolored lights brightened the corner as the field of windows captured the dancing light show.
On the opposite side, the electric fireplace glowed, its fan spreading warmth throughout the room beneath the dimmed overhead lights.
Angelica sneered, thinking Nicky had created this atmosphere with his cell phone at work.
She’d need a refill before he arrived home.
Angelica sank onto the oversized U-shaped couch, mesmerized by the flickering red and yellow electronic tongues of the flames that neither consumed the ceramic logs nor scorched her shattered dreams, but taunted her vulnerabilities.
Her stinging memories told her she shouldn’t be here. She didn’t leave on a high note.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
Angelica squealed. Nicholas entered the room, light on his feet, invading her quiet space, dressed to impress and looking ready for a cocktail reception—as the guest of honor.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” she cried, her hand landing on her chest.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” Nicholas said. “You’re not sick, are you? You look like you’re out of it.”
Good choice of words. Men are such idiots. Tell a woman she doesn’t look good or maybe drunk.
She gulped her drink. Much was going on—it wasn’t health- or liquor-related—but she wished to share little, except the most recent problem.
“My home was robbed yesterday.”
Nicholas sat beside Angelica, lifted her glass from her hand, and set it on the floor. He wrapped an arm around her and kissed her cheek. She rolled her eyes. “You weren’t hurt, were you?” he asked.
“I’m okay. Thankfully, I wasn’t home. I’m just upset. I lost my jewelry,” she said, tears clinging to her lashes.
“Who the hell cares about the jewelry? It can be replaced. You can’t. I told you it was foolish to go that far north alone. Anything could have happened to you, and this proves it. You weren’t thinking clearly, dear.”
She was thinking perfectly fine when she left, better than ever.
Even so, Angelica didn’t want to hear anything about her home tonight or about why she’d moved so far away.
She squashed it all with the admission she’d been hesitant to share, hoping it would reveal to Nicky his rightful place in her life.
“The police believe they know who committed the crime. It may have been my ex-boyfriend.”
Nicholas shot to his feet, and his shoes hammered the tile floor as he paced like a lion before the glass encaging him. Deep creases lined his forehead, and a faint twitch played at the corner of his mouth.
His coal-colored eyes, cold and piercing, bored into her as he turned, his jaw clenched. “You lied to me!” he scorned. “You told me you weren’t seeing anyone. You shouldn’t be dating at all. You know that.”
Angelica blinked and shuddered. She wasn’t in the mood for a confrontation. She was beat, and her frazzled nerves were beyond belief or repair.
“What business is it of yours if I was seeing someone, anyhow?” she snapped. “I’m not a nun. For Pete’s sake, you sound like an older brother!”
“I’m not your brother, Angel. Far from it. Damn it, I’m your …” He paused, clearing his throat. His words dripped with hostility as he loomed over her. “I was your lover, if you care to remember, my dear.”
“I’m trying to forget!”
“Okay, I made a mistake. I admit it. I was wrong.”
She sat up, straight and rigid, like the tree boxed into the corner. “That was more than a mistake! Why does it always come back to this?”
“It comes back to this because you won’t let it go. How many times do I have to apologize?”
Angelica leaped up, pushed past him, and fled to the far end of the clear glass, the only clear thing.
She stared down at the muddy waterway below, lit by flickering yellow lamplights that cast shadows across the deserted piers.
The ghostly lampposts stood alone in the night, and at that moment, she felt the same way. She twisted her hands.
“I don’t know,” she muttered. After all these years, was Nicky the problem, or was it her?
Nicholas slipped up behind her, his arms encircling her as he buried his face in her hair. “I love you, darling. You believe me, don’t you?”