Homeless Heart (14 page)

The house was a loss that hurt. Drake couldn’t deny that. It was more so because he knew Kelly had liked it so much. Drake needed to get it together and go see her
. If she saw the headlines, I’ve got a whole new set of problems.
He poured himself a few fingers of brandy, thinking that she didn’t bother with the paper, unless that friend of hers got wind of it.

Drake downed the liquor, welcoming the warmth that coated his stomach.
I can’t keep anything from her, I won’t.
He left his glass on the bar and went to take the longest, hottest shower of his life.

* * * *

“I could probably get away with staying here. The distance buys you more cover,” Steve told her, tossing another log on the fire. It’d been a weird day, an unproductive day. Time had gone fast, yet dragged on with the barrage of thoughts that attacked her mind.

“I don’t need for you to babysit, remember?” Kelly smiled, thankful for Steve’s level-headedness. She was feeling better, but the dark thoughts still seeped through. The fact that this happened the same night as Drake’s Token for Tots charity event gnawed at her like varmints.

“I’ll only stay if you want me to,” Steve said, kneeling down in front of her. Kelly shook her head.

“You go ahead. Will you come with me to the truck stop tomorrow so I can shower?” she asked.

“You bet. I’ll see you in the morning. Get some sleep.” He kissed her forehead.

* * * *

The good thing about being further from the parking lot was that Kelly could let the fire burn itself out. She crawled inside her tent, rolling onto her stomach, watching the shimmery embers slowly lose their heat like a dying pulse, wondering when she’d see Drake.

Kelly would have to do what no other woman would ever understand if she ever told her story: She’d have to send him away. Drake had worked too hard to have someone like her ruin it all.

The daytime air had chilled. She had the foot warmers Drake had bought for her in the bottom of her sleeping bag. As Kelly gazed up into a blackened sky, she came to the hard conclusion that she may have to go to a shelter after Thanksgiving. She’d been staying away because she really didn’t want to integrate with the other homeless population. It only invited trouble.

Steve always warned her, “Keep your circle small. It invites less trouble. You don’t want to be well known. You want to be unknown.” Steve had his own connections. But he was much more experienced than she.

Snapping twigs sounded through the night. Kelly struggled to sit up. A narrow beam of light streamed through the trees, the line moving back and forth.
Drake!

Kelly reached for her boots and her flannel shirt, scrambling to get dressed as the light zeroed in right on the fire pit. She crouched, ducking out of the tent, and stood. The light shifted over her, illuminating her face. His deep voice broke her wide open. She swallowed, forcing all her temptation down into the recesses of her body where they belonged, and would have to stay.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Hey,” Drake said, calling out to her, his smile faint. “Is it too late?”

“No, I just…” Kelly wrapped her blanket around her shoulders, the fire now dying, releasing thin lines of smoke. Drake closed the distance between them, taking her hand. Kelly didn’t pull any punches.

“I know about the fire, your lovely house.” Her words broke, stifled by a choking sob.

His compassionate voice washed over her. “It’s only a house. Thank God we weren’t there.” His words were pained.

Her chest heaved, her distress spilling over. “Who would do this?” she asked.

“They’re working on that,” Drake answered her calmly.

“This is my fault,” she told him.

Drake shook his head, his brows furrowed. “Somehow I knew you’d say that. Damn it!” His fingers curled around her arms, forcing her to look at him. “Stop it, Kelly. We don’t know that, and even if it does have something to do with our newly formed alliance, who the hell cares,” Drake told her, seething. This was it. This would be the excuse she’d been looking for, her reasoning for ending something before it even really had the chance to begin.

She pulled away from him, her voice carrying through the wooded silence.

“This happened right after I went to the charity event with you. How can you not link the two?” Kelly wiped her nose on the sleeve of her jacket. Drake’s eyes were wild. “Someone saw us and obviously didn’t condone it.”

“I don’t give a shit. You’re all I care about,” he stressed.

“Jesus Christ,” she hissed. “This is like some story line in a soap opera.” She turned away from him.

* * * *

Her shoulders slumped, her body wavering under the strain. Drake went to her, enclosing her in his arms. The feel of her body tightening against his made him ill. She spun around, their faces inches apart.

“I can’t do this.” She shook her head, moving out of his reach. “Please, you need to go. Leave and forget all about me, this”—her hands cut through the air—“because this can never be.” Tears streamed down her face like liquid crystal.

Drake swallowed hard, his stomach ready to wretch.

“You can’t mean that.” He coughed around his words, his voice lost.

Kelly tipped her head, jutting her defiant chin toward the clearing. “I do. I can’t deal with the fact that I—”

“Kelly, no. It’s not like that. The police are investigating. You can’t control the malicious behaviors of others,” Drake explained.

“That may be true, but I won’t be the cause of them.” Kelly widened the distance between them, her face creasing with an anguish that cut Drake in two.

“No.” Drake raked his hands over his scalp, his nails digging.

“Go, please.” Kelly turned her back on him and walked away, kicking off her boots. Drake watched her scramble into her tent, zipping the flaps closed behind her.

* * * *

“You’re making a big mistake,” Steve told her.

“I wish people would stop telling me how to react,” Kelly said, her words curt. She kicked the coals of the fire with the toe of her boot and started yanking her tent down. Her actions were violent and hurried, mirroring her mood.

“The man doesn’t care about his material assets. Hasn’t he made that clear?” Steve asked, leaning back into the tree’s trunk, his leg tucked beneath him.

Kelly threw down the pile of canvas. “What is it with you men?”

“You’re not honoring Drake’s reasoning for wanting to be with you. How many times does the guy have to explain it to you?” Steve bent over and grabbed his backpack. “I think I’ll scoot and let you be. I’ll see you later, maybe.”

Kelly dropped down onto a nearby boulder. The frustration related to the recent events had her drained. All she wanted to do was sleep, but she’d have to wait. The sun was up and there was already activity going on in the parking lot, trucks coming and going to refuel.

It looked like today would be the first day she ever went to the soup kitchen. There was no other place to hang out if she wasn’t with Steve.

* * * *

“Is there anything I can do?” Keith asked, handing Drake a large coffee.

“Yeah,” Drake answered more forcefully than he intended. He stood and circled his desk. “With all the women that we’ve dealt with who seem to love our money more than us, how do you convince the one who’s afraid of it that it doesn’t matter?” Drake peeled the plastic tab back, sipping cautiously.

Keith’s gaze held his. His eyes moved to the window, staring through the panes for a moment.

“I’m taking it that Kelly is having trouble adapting to your lifestyle?” Keith’s brows rose in thought, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

“Trouble,” Drake scoffed. “She thinks the fire was her fault.”

“Ah.” Keith set his coffee down. “How so? I smell a story. You’ve been holding out on me, boss.”

Drake turned and picked up the phone, asking Colleen to hold all his calls. He told Keith everything, reverting back to the night his car broke down, leading them up to the present events. By the time Drake finished, Keith had had to sit down. His face was still. Drake cleared his throat, almost afraid he’d made a mistake confiding in his most valuable employee.

“Say something, please.” Drake laughed nervously.

“It’s a powerful story. I think you might have to take the hardcore approach,” Keith told him. Keith kneaded his chin in thought. “I think you may have to get down and dirty.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The sun began to edge its way down the horizon. Kelly breathed a sigh of relief that a long day had ended. She just wanted to crawl inside her tent and escape through a deep, hibernating sleep. She’d looked for Steve all day to apologize, but couldn’t find him. He didn’t deserve what she’d fed him this morning. Remorse had pulled her down deeper, making her one with her despair.

It’d been a lonely day of wandering around the truck stop before hiking down to the Delaware River. She’d sat on the bank all afternoon watching the traffic glide over the bridge, thinking of Drake and how much space he’d taken up in her heart. The connection had been powerful, maybe too powerful for their lives ever to be joined.

The pain had begun as a dull, empty ache that was now altering into something else.
Did I fall in love with him?
It’d happened while trying to keep a lid on all her emotions, covering all those plates that smoked with a heat and desire she’d never experienced.

Kelly started a fire and slipped into her tent, watching the flames shoot into towering points. Resting her chin in her palms, she became entranced by the orange flames, following the streaks of blue that swathed around the logs, wondering where she would go from here.

* * * *

“We’ve got enough for a warrant,” Detective Crain informed him. Drake’s feet became adhered to the floor, sinking into the sticky substance of deceit, something he wasn’t used to. He glanced at the clock. It was after eight. He was just about to leave and implement his plan and try to get through to Kelly.

Detective Crain held up two small, plastic baggies.

“Did your ex smoke?” Detective Crain asked, his brow arched in question. Drake peered at the bag. A rather large butt of a cigarette that’d been crushed out by the toe of a shoe lay in the bag.

“She did…at one time.” Drake gripped the edge of the stool near the kitchen island. Detective Crain’s voice came at him again, his tone abrupt.

“This look familiar?” He held up another baggie. Drake leaned into the plastic that dangled in the air. It was a small, black glove. The designer name stitched into the material had Drake’s teeth grinding down into nubs.
Carolina Amato!
Drake released a hissing breath, his head dizzy with shock.

“That’s something she would wear, yes.” Drake sat down.

“You think the stress of the breakup could’ve caused a relapse with the cigarettes?” Detective Crain asked, lowering his hand, the baggies clenched between his thick fingers.

“I don’t know.” Drake tipped his head back, squeezing his eyes shut, still stunned. If this was indeed Nina’s doing, the hate he never would’ve seen buried beneath that polished veneer could’ve caused him so many problems later on. Better to get it over with now.

“Mr. Larson?” Detective Crain’s voice reeled him back, reality shaking him. “The smoking…was there any sign that she might’ve picked it up again?” Drake’s mind whirled. The last time they’d been intimate he hadn’t smelled it, but so much had happened since the evening of her volunteer dinner, and that night he’d kept his distance.

“Maybe, I don’t know…I’m not sure,” Drake told him, his tone sharp. “I’m sorry, I just—”

Detective Crain interjected, his words rushed with impatience. “I’m going downtown now to get the warrant. I’ll be in touch, Mr. Larson.”

Drake sat idly on the stool, watching Detective Crain through the window walk toward his patrol car.

Drake reached for his coat, retracing his steps into the living room. He stared at all the polished glamour, all the smooth, glossy surfaces. His eyes darted to every trinket Nina had purchased for him while on her travels. The large piece of coral from Australia, an Oriental wall hanging from Japan, and the terracotta ashtrays from Mexico.

Drake walked up to the wall and ripped the wall hanging down, flinging it behind him. He darted around the room, scooping the items up. He spun on his heel, recoiling his arm like a professional pitcher, and hurled each item at the rectangular, gold-trimmed mirror over the bar. One popping blow after another resounded through the room. Shards of glass flew through the air, hitting the hardwood floor, sounding like sleet.

His pulse thundered through his chest, pulsating in his wrists. Drake stood back, taking a deep, cleansing breath. Turning his back on the disorder, he left, slamming the door behind him.