Chapter Eleven
CJ sat on the front steps of her childhood home and absorbed the sounds of the village.
Two houses down a couple were having it out, their angry voices carrying in the darkness.
Across the street stray cats yowled and hissed in a territorial battle that likely involved the resident’s freshly discarded trash.
Beyond that, the constant ebb and flow of traffic and sirens on the parkway, underscored by the distant, lonesome wail of the ten o’clock train, provided a familiar urban melody that had lulled her to sleep every night for most of her life.
As on so many of those nights, Edward sat next to her, his presence comforting, familiar. She never would have escaped this world without his help and boundless encouragement.
His quiet strength proved more heartening than he could possibly know. Yet inside, where no one else could see, she trembled. CJ didn’t want to feel alone, but tonight she felt entirely alone even with Edward’s patient vigil.
Shelley had been CJ’s only family. Her responsibility.
Now she was gone. CJ had failed her.
“I wish you would reconsider,” Edward prompted, unwilling to concede on the issue.
CJ appreciated his concern. He didn’t want her staying here alone. But she needed to be here. Close to her sister’s things. Close to her.
“I’ll be fine.” She patted his arm, allowed her hand to linger there in hopes of reassuring him of her fortitude.
“I’ll call you before I go to bed and first thing when I wake up in the morning.
” Again that surreal feeling washed over her, as if this were a dream or theater production playing out beneath the struggling spotlight of the feeble porch light.
“You haven’t eaten, have you?” Kind gray eyes searched hers. “I’m certain you’re utterly exhausted.”
His diagnosis was accurate on both observations. She felt emotionally and physically drained, completely spent. “I couldn’t eat. Not tonight. I’ll get some sleep and perhaps we can have one of your splendid brunches in the morning.”
With a surrendering sigh, he settled his hand on hers. “I’ll stop badgering you, then. You mustn’t worry about the arrangements. I’ll take care of everything.”
He’d done the same thing when her mother died. CJ appreciated his kindness, but she needed to do this for her sister. Later they would have that conversation. She couldn’t do it tonight.
“Thank you . . .” She stopped, drew in a deep, steadying breath. “For always being . . . you, Edward.” A heartfelt smile quivered across her lips. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” A tear slipped past her firm hold; she swiped it away. Couldn’t do that right now either.
He squeezed her hand ever so gently. “As much as I enjoy your company,” he said, standing up, “I should go and let you get settled.”
CJ pushed to her feet. Her limbs felt weak, unsteady.
He hugged her chastely, gave her a smile, and said good night.
CJ watched him go, wondering why such a good, kind man was still alone.
He’d turned fifty-two this year. He’d never been married, hadn’t even come close.
He was tall and extremely fit for his age, and even the gray hair lent a distinguished quality to an undeniably attractive and wealthy gentleman.
Any woman would be lucky to have Edward in her life.
Maybe he’d been so busy taking care of the Patterson sisters he hadn’t taken time for himself. That burden settled heavily onto her shoulders alongside the too numerous others. CJ closed her eyes and cleared her mind.
She didn’t need to try sorting out any of this tonight.
Tomorrow would be soon enough.
Grabbing her bag, she climbed the final step up onto the porch and hauled her weary body to the door.
She dug in her bag for the key. Tomorrow she would go through the house to get an idea of where to start with the packing up.
Maybe, if she was really lucky, she would find something that would give her some degree of insight into Shelley’s final days.
To CJ’s knowledge, her sister hadn’t kept a journal, but there could be other clues: notes to herself, a calendar . . . something.
CJ shoved the key into the lock and gave it a twist. She might even attempt to talk to Ricky one-on-one.
Maybe he would open up to her if it was just the two of them.
Alibi or not, she was nowhere near convinced of his innocence.
Anything she could get out of him might help focus the investigation in the proper direction.
Inside, the house was dark, stuffy. CJ closed the door and dropped her bag on the sofa. She reached for the light switch. A loud thwack followed by shattering glass stopped her cold.
Lifting her gaze to the ceiling, she stared at the cracked plaster.
For two beats she tried to convince herself she’d imagined the sound. Maybe a squirrel had gotten in somehow.
The scuff of hard soles on bare wood jolted her out of denial.
Fear rammed her heart against her sternum.
Cell phone. Pepper spray. She probed in her bag for both, her gaze never leaving the staircase across the room.
Her respiration echoed in the silence.
Someone was up there . . . not her imagination.
Another creak.
She froze.
Shelley’s bedroom.
He was in Shelley’s room!
Blind fury lashed through her, propelled her across the room and up the stairs.
“Don’t you touch my sister’s things!”
The words exploded in the air, startling her with the realization that she’d voiced the thought.
She hit the upstairs landing without slowing and lunged into the darkness of the hall toward her sister’s room.
A body plowed into her.
Knocked her backward.
She hit the floor.
The breath whooshed out of her lungs.
The pepper spray slid across the floor. Her death grip on the phone was all that kept it in her hand.
A foot came down right next to her head as the intruder scrambled over her.
The boom of footsteps on the stairs catapulted her upright.
She raced after him.
Definitely a “him.” Big. Strong. Hard-muscled.
Stumbling down the last two steps in her haste, she landed on all fours on the living room floor.
The back door banged against the wall.
He was getting away!
She staggered up. Ran.
She burst through the door he’d left open. Stumbled around in a circle, searching the darkness of the yard.
Where the hell was he?
Peering across the moonlit yard, she got a glimpse of a dark figure as he ducked into the alley.
“Bastard,” she snapped. She fought to catch her breath. If she’d turned the upstairs light on, maybe she would have gotten a glimpse of his face.
Dammit.
Her body started to shake. She was cold. And it was hot as hell, sticky, muggy out here.
The adrenaline was draining away.
She took a deep breath, then another.
Calm down.
It was over.
He wouldn’t be back.
The scumbag had likely heard about Shelley’s death and decided to see if there was anything in the house worth taking.
“Piece of shit.”
Catching hold of the railing for support, she climbed the back steps and went inside. She’d see if anything was missing and what had gotten broken, then she would call the police.
For all the good it would do.
Turning on lights as she went, she moved through the kitchen to the living room and up the stairs. At the landing, she switched on the hall light this time.
The consuming quiet pressed in around her, felt creepy.
Call the police now.
As she eased cautiously toward Shelley’s room, the little voice that had been screaming at her, which in her emotional outburst she had ignored, prompted her to do what she should have done in the first place. She tightened her grip on her cell.
At the bedroom door, she slid her hand along the wall until she hit the switch. Light flooded the room.
CJ poised her thumb to enter the three digits, then froze.
The window was broken. Glass had spewed across the floor. Shelley’s things were tossed all around the room. But none of that was what held CJ transfixed, unable to move or even to scream.
On the wall above the bed was a message written in bold crimson swipes: stay and there will be two dead bitches.
The phone slipped from her icy fingers and bounced on the floor.
CJ blinked.
Her lips parted with the sound that burst from her lungs.
She whirled and ran for the stairs.
Plunged downward, barely staying vertical.
She rushed for the door . . . and rammed into a hard chest before she could stop her forward momentum.
The scream died in her throat as her reactions scrambled to catch up with the message her brain was sending.
“CJ, what’s going on?”
Braddock.
All the hurt, disappointment, regret, anger, and fear folded in on her. She crumpled into his arms.
He was whispering to her. She couldn’t make out the words over her sobs. Strong arms lifted her. He carried her across the room and settled on the sofa with her in his lap, cradled in his arms.
Once the tears started, they wouldn’t stop. She clung to his strength, to the warmth of his body. She was so cold. So tired. The misery was so overwhelming.
And no matter how vehemently she’d denied it, she’d missed him.
It felt good to be in his arms. All those nights they’d talked, just being close to him had warmed her .
. . made her want things she’d never dared to want.
Made her want to give herself to him and to take all he’d had to offer.
Even now, he had the power to make her tremble with that same need when she shouldn’t.
She didn’t want to think anymore . . . didn’t want to feel this agony. She wanted to lose herself. Her lips found his. She kissed him with all the emotions churning madly inside her. Wanted to learn every part of him the way she’d dreamed of so many times before.
“Slow down,” he murmured as he tried to draw away.
“Can’t.” She pulled his mouth back to hers, kissed him harder. Her fingers knotted in his shirt, tugged at it until she found naked skin. Hot . . . smooth. She wanted to touch more of him. Wanted him to touch her. She guided his hand to her breast. He squeezed. She gasped, squirmed in his lap.