Thursday, December 29
Garrett didn’t know what time Angelica fell asleep.
As for him, he never slept. Couldn’t. He spent the remainder of the night and the pre-dawn hours staring at her serene, child-like face.
So different from the face that greeted him and disturbed him as he entered her bedroom.
Now dormant, her pain lay in wait to erupt once the sun set, destroying her peace of mind.
In the quiet of the hour, Garrett had a private conversation with his sleeping beauty.
“Angelica, I love you so much. Will I ever get the chance to tell you? Would you even care? I hope you would. When we sat together, I thought for a moment you did. Was that nothing more than a passing spark, dear? You’re all I think about morning, noon, and night.
And every day, I fall more in love with you.
Do you ever think about me? If I only knew?
So, Ms. Angelica Whitely, now that you know how I feel, will you marry me? ”
In the distance, his work phone pinged with a voicemail. A little while later, it pinged again, and again. He didn’t give a damn.
Snuggling closer, Garrett whispered, “I love you, darling.” He kissed her cheek, then nodded off with the love of his life in his arms.
He wouldn’t have woken up if Angelica hadn’t stirred. She blinked, her eyes as wide as an owl’s, pushed away from him, and sat upright with a start.
“What are you doing in my bed?!”
It didn’t take Garrett long to hop off the bed, step back, and ramble, “Don’t you remember?
You had a bad dream … Were screaming during the night …
I raced in here with my revolver.” He pointed to his Glock.
“I thought Jenkins had broken in through the window … You were terrified ... I just held you ... Nothing happened ... I wouldn’t do that to you, Angelica ...
After you fell asleep, I stayed in case you woke up again .... I swear ... that’s it! Nothing more!”
The hell with that look in her eyes last night. He was going downhill fast.
“I’m so sorry,” Angelica moaned, burying her face in her hands. “You should have left days ago. I’m too much trouble. You don’t need this.”
Garrett didn’t need ‘this’; he needed her. If ‘this’ came with the package, he’d deal with it. “You’re not trouble, but I wouldn’t say you weren’t troubled last night.”
Angelica ran her hands through her hair, stopping midway. “Why don’t you leave?” she pleaded, her wide eyes voicing the same. “All I’m doing is making your life more complicated. You must have better things to do than babysit a crying woman.”
As far as Garrett was concerned, the day he held Angelica by the side of the road was the day she complicated his life. She turned everything upside down. He couldn’t turn back now.
“Sitting with this so-called ‘crying woman’ is my top priority,” he said, stepping closer. “I don’t want to pry, but do you want to talk about what happened during the night?”
Angelica’s shoulders drooped as she sighed. Garrett rested his hand on the headboard as a hush fell over the room. For him, the quiet was both soothing and condemning. It filled a void, yet it was a void.
In the dim light, Garrett studied her face in the heavy stillness of the room. When she finally opened her eyes, a tear slid down her cheek. Oh, crap! He made her cry. Hell, he wanted to cry.
“It’s the same terrifying dream, night after night. They started after my accident,” Angelica relayed, trailing off into nothingness.
Bingo. Her words jolted him. Amid the fear and violent chaos, an undeniable truth emerged.
“It isn’t every night,” Garrett said reassuringly.
Angelica shook her head. She brushed drooping hair from her face. “It is.”
Garrett crouched down by the side of the bed. “You’ve never had them while you slept on the couch, Angelica. Not once. I would know because I was there.”
“I don’t?” Angelica muttered, her tone as bewildered as her eyes and her hitched brows.
Things were becoming much clearer now. Going out on a limb, Garrett took her hand. “That’s right. You don’t,” he said.
“I wonder why?”
He didn’t intend to say anything else. He thought his few words were plenty and obvious enough. “Try to think about that later. Now go back to sleep. I’ll be inside.”
“Thank you, Garrett.”
Garrett squeezed her hand. “No thanks, needed, honey.”
He grabbed his service revolver and shut the door behind him as he left.
* * *
While downing his first choice of brew, Garrett’s pinging cell bounced in dance on the coffee table.
So many texts were coming in that you’d think they needed him on the battlefield of an armed invasion.
Not up to dealing with the dead, he got dressed, but didn’t plan to leave in the immediate future.
He meant to wait until Angelica woke up to make sure she was okay.
After celebrating the sunrise with two beers, the time arrived to face the day sober. His four-legged pal, Daisy, stood by her bowl. Meow! He fed the cat kibble from the pantry, fed fresh grounds into the coffee maker, and waited for the dripping brewmaster to do its thing—make fresh caffeine.
With a coffee mug in hand, Garrett went to sit on the couch that had promised great things last night. A knock on the door interrupted his plan. He rolled his eyes, set the steaming black energy fix on a coaster, and went to answer it with the same disposition as if facing an IRA audit.
A young man stood on the top step. “What the hell do you want?!” Garrett yelled.
The startled stranger grabbed the doorframe and caught himself from toppling backward. The guy stammered, “I’m Jim … the … Jiffy Alarm Company installer. Are you … ahh … Mr. Whitely?”
“I’m Mr. Fitzpatricks.” He rubbed his stubbled chin. Who was he to the homeowner? Best friend? Boyfriend? Bodyguard? Maybe one, most likely none. “Ms. Whitely is inside.”
“Did I get you at a bad time?” asked the guy.
A bad time? Let him think. A bad time would’ve been last night when they were on the sofa, while he was running down the hall with a loaded revolver, holding Angelica on her bed, and now. Basically, get the hell out of here, Jim! He’s packing.
Garrett let the installer, who looked like a high school kid, in with a bark, “She’s expecting you. So, where the hell do you usually start?”
Tool bag in hand, the young man backed away. “I can ... can start in the kitchen if that’s ... that’s convenient?”
Convenient was two days ago when Mr. Jiffy didn’t show. Garrett dismissively waved Jim Bob toward the kitchen. He headed to the bedroom and knocked on Angelica’s door. Peeking in, he found her where he had left her—lying in bed. The place he wanted to be.
He walked in and turned on the nightstand light. Angelica must have been close to waking, since she pushed herself up with her hands.
“Did I hear someone at the front door?” she asked, her hair tousled, which did the same to his insides.
Then Garrett spotted her attire. Lots of black lace with a plunging neckline. Could he kill Jiffy Jim and get away with it?
Hiding his irritation, he sang, “The alarm installer is here!”
“Yikes! How could I have forgotten he was coming?”
“Go get dressed, Angelica.” Or keep this seductive number on; Garrett wouldn’t argue. “I’ll keep the man entertained.” The last person he wanted to entertain.
Angelica hopped out of bed before he left the room, giving him an eyeful. If the white nightgown were a mirage, this one amounted to a million-dollar jackpot. The sheer lace nightgown with peek-a-boo cut-outs didn’t cover much and left little to the imagination.
When Garrett stumbled into the kitchen, dizzy with lust, a cold shower and another Coors crossed his mind.
He dropped onto the stool, faced his new buddy, and chatted, “How are you doing, Jim? So, how long do you think it’ll take to complete this installation?”
Gripping the wire cutters, Jim grinned, clearly the owner of a short memory. “Oh, I’m fine. Thanks for asking. The Wi-Fi and cell signal aren’t very reliable around here, so we wire them. This is a small house, so it should take about two to two and a half hours.”
Garrett believed that keeping the half and losing the two hours was best. He checked his watch; it was past 1 o’clock. He went into the living room and picked up his phone. He scrolled through his texts, all from Ed—the man eyeing a demotion to dispatcher. He considered calling him Ed, the pest.
First Text – Crime scene, Maple Lane, Steubenville
Second Text – Betters is waiting on you
Third Text – Get your ass over there
Fourth Text – You drunk again?
Fifth Text – Can I fire you?
Sixth Text – Don’t bother. Bickney’s got it. Are you dead?
He erased everything, including unheard voicemails, growling loudly. Why the hell did he take this job?
Garrett revisited his recent conversation with Angelica as he sipped his hot brew.
She slept peacefully through the night while he held her.
She’s so exhausted she can’t tell one night from the next.
Quite understandable. Should he come right out and tell her he’s the reason?
Angelica entered the room as he pondered his dilemma.
She lost her nightgown but was irresistible in leggings and a tunic sweater. She looks utterly irresistible in everything she wears—whether it’s a lot or a little. Forget beautiful; she’s absolutely gorgeous! How could he have missed that? He definitely needs glasses.
“I would say good morning, Ms. Whitely, but it’s afternoon.” Garrett raised his cup and winked. “Oh, I made coffee.”
Angelica sat beside him, wringing her hands. “I’m so sorry about last night, Garrett.”
His arm returned to the top of the sofa for safety. Garrett wished he could carry her back to bed and hold her all day.
“You have nothing to apologize for, Angelica. Let’s forget about it,” he said, knowing he’d never forget the terror in her face or voice when he charged in, or her frantic attempt to escape an unseen attacker. “Do you want me to get you a cup of coffee?”
“I could use a much stronger drink right now,” Angelica mumbled, sounding as exhausted as she appeared.