Off the Grid (18 page)

Busy indeed. “Did they find out anything?”

“Homicide is looking into her death. But so far their investigation hasn’t turned up anything significant.”

She read between the lines. “And they aren’t going to spend valuable man hours trying to find the murderer of a junkie.”

“Not true. They’re doing everything they can, but no one’s talking. No one saw anything. No one knows anything.”

Needing something to do, Sophie reached out and poured their tea. Everything was such a mess. Regret stacked her
what ifs
into one teetering tower. She pushed to her feet as they tumbled out of her mouth. “If she’d only come to me. Asked me for the money. Trusted me enough for the truth.”

Caleb followed her. “It’s not your fault.”

“But I was getting through to her.” Her voice wobbled. She cringed. “You heard Kellie, she was going to quit.”

He stepped in front of her, his hands capturing her cheeks. “It wasn’t Marnie’s fault either. The person who murdered her is the one responsible for her death.”

“We’re never going to know for sure, are we?”

The truth was in his shadowed eyes.

“If I could change things, I would. For you, I would.”

She closed her eyes, pressed her forehead into his chest. “They aren’t coming.”

His arms tightened around her. “Who’s not coming?”

“My parents. For the funeral.” She cleared her clogged throat. “My mother insists my father isn’t well enough to make the journey. They’re going to hold their own memorial later, in the summer, for the rest of the family.”

“Sophie.”

“No. It’s fine.” But the tears came despite her resistance, his comfort. She swiped them away. “Marnie hasn’t existed for them for a long time. They’re elderly. This will be easier for them.”

“But not for you.”

Trust Caleb to get it. She didn’t want to bury her sister on her own. Didn’t want the sole responsibility of laying her to rest.

“I’m here,” he said.

She let out a laugh. She pushed back what she resolved were the last tears of the day. Rolled her eyes, looked up into his. “Lucky you.”

His lips stopped a hair’s breath away from hers. His hands slipped through the strands of her hair. “Exactly.”

His lips were so warm against hers. In the dark, behind closed eyelids, she felt the swipe of his tongue. More warmth. No. Heat. And she wanted to absorb it all.

Her mouth opened and she let him in, free to do what he wanted as long as he didn’t stop. It calmed the crazy in her head, leaving her feeling less lost and helpless. Less hopeless. He pulled her in closer, his hand on her waist, one on her cheek. Not pressing. Not leading.

Her hands fumbled over the wrinkled linen of his dress shirt, over the unbuttoned section at his neck. Down sleeves rolled up to his elbows, across his broad back. The scrape of stubble on his neck and along his jawline was rough under her mouth. The stiff strands of hair at the base of his skull tickled her fingertips. It turned soft and tempting as she moved upwards and grabbed hold and captured his mouth.

He had big hands. Better to hold the world up with. They cradled her head and she sighed. He was preparing to stop the kiss. It was in the little nips, his own sigh. When he lifted his head her eyelids were slow to drift open, weighted down by passion and exhaustion. She didn’t want to let the moment go.

“I needed that.”

“Yeah?” She tried for a smile, to show some thankfulness. “Me too.”

“Something else is wrong?”

“I’m worried about Kellie. She’s so silent. So still. I know she talked earlier, but that was different. She’s shutting down, just when she was starting to open up. He’s taken one more thing from her. From someone who can’t afford the loss. It makes me sick. How’s he managed to hide it all for so long? Those goons who trail along behind him? He must pay them a lot to keep quiet.”

“I don’t think he picks them for their IQ level. Having said that, they’re smart enough to know to keep their mouths shut.”

“I’d say you were right, judging by the two he had with him at the Empress.”

“I could try and talk to them. Get them to tell me something.”

“No. Promise me.” She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt. “They’re bad news. I got as close as I could to them that night at the bar. The hairy one is dumber than a bag of hammers. The skinhead was a whole different story. He made my skin crawl.”

He tipped his head. “Wait a minute. Skinhead as in bald?”

“Definitely bald, but he also had this mean swastika tattooed on his hand.” She shuttered. “You know, between his thumb and forefinger.”

“A swastika?” He looked past her, his eyes not resting but shifting.

She reached out and smoothed the lines gathered across his brow. “I know, right?”

“And you saw him at the Empress?” he persisted.

“Yes.” She frowned at him. “Am I missing something here?”

He turned away. She grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “No. No holding back.”

“In the lobby. At the Balmoral. I was walking in when this guy ran into me on his way out. Bald. 5’11.” The faraway look was back in his eyes. He grimaced. “I remember his watch. Expensive. Very. But he also had a swastika tattooed right here. On his way out the door he pulled up the hood of his coat, gave me the finger. I saw it. I saw him.”

Sophie looked to where he pointed between his thumb and finger. “Oh my God.”

He snapped his fingers. “That’s it. That’s the connection.”

“Between Drummond and Marnie’s murder.” It wasn’t much but it was something. And something was exactly what she needed right now.

“It’s not proof.” He smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear. His touch as cautious as his words. “Of anything.”

“It’s proof enough for me.” And it was. It was confirmation that self-righteous bastard had murdered her sister.

His hands went from cupping her face to gripping it. “You are not law enforcement.”

“It’s something.” She pushed against his chest.

He didn’t budge. “We’ll go to the police with what we know. They’ll take it from there.”

“My faith in urban policing is a little low to say the least.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s for them to investigate.” He relaxed his grip, his thumbs stroking, but the warning was still there. “We’ll concentrate on the child support issue.”

“Marnie got in his way and she’s dead. Forgive me if I don’t trust him to honor the law and pay the expenses of a child he refuses to acknowledge.” She tried to push back. He refused to let go. She wanted him to understand. To agree with her. To fight with her. “What happens next year or when Quinn’s old enough to ask about his father? When he’s old enough to go looking for him on his own?”

A muscle jerked along his jawline. “By then it will be old news. He’ll have thought of a way to spin it and come out looking pretty.”

His mask was slipping, his well-meaning softness fading. Her need for reassurance shifted into a need to strike a blow of her own. “Is that how rich people do it? You don’t believe Jason Drummond is going to let this go any more than I do. He’s going to find a way to get rid of them. We won’t know when. Or where. Or how. We won’t be able to stop him.”

“You continue to underestimate me.” His mouth flat lined, his cheekbones harsh points under cold eyes.

It was her turn to feel the burn of panic. She grabbed onto his arms to hold him in place. “What are you planning? So help me, Caleb, if you’re plotting something you need to tell me.”

He stiffened under her hands. “I won’t let him hurt Kellie or Quinn or you.”

“You can’t spend the rest of your life being the vigilante to his villain.”

“I’m capable of doing whatever it takes.”

She gave him a shove. “Why are the good guys always so clueless? Don’t you get it? There are different rules down here. You can’t just will it and make it so.”

He stepped back. “True. It’s not like I’m the dedicated doctor giving her life to helping the less fortunate.”

“Caleb.”

“But I can spend it being the careless rich guy.” He put a couple more feet of space between them. “Stick with what I know.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He turned back. “Right.”

“It’s not.” She wouldn’t love him if it were true. If he were the man he described. He was so much more. She put a hand to her stomach. Gave herself a second to regroup. To acknowledge the truth. “I don’t want to spend the next decade wondering what he’s going to do.”

“I can handle Jason. He won’t be allowed to hurt Kellie or his son. Be mayor. Or get rich off gentrification schemes.”

“Wait. What schemes?”

He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “One thing at a time.”

“Again, since I didn’t get a satisfactory answer, what are you planning?” Her stomach lurched. By making himself a target? “I want to know. I deserve to know and you need to trust me enough to tell me.”

“I’m going to a party.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“It’s going to be next to impossible to prove Jason arranged for Marnie’s murder. The only thing we have is a connection between Jason and Marnie and a connection between Jason is this skinhead.”

“So what do we do?”

“I’m going to attend the Drummond’s annual New Year’s Eve party. I’m invited, although I’m pretty sure he’s not expecting me to show up.”

“And how’s this going to help us?”

“I’m going to start by having a little chat with Jason and making it clear he won’t be announcing his intentions to run for mayor.”

“And what am I going to be doing during all this? Looking pretty?”

“You’ll be here where I don’t have to worry about you.”

For real? “I do not think so.”

“Sophie, this will be easier if I know you’re safe. If I know Kellie and Quinn are too.”

Then they heard it. Weeping coming from the living room. The sound of crying was quick to disappear, stifled. Caleb dropped his head to stare at the floor. He lifted it on a deep breath in then out. She shook her head at his silent question. “I’ll go. It’ll be easier for her.”

He nodded. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

****

She crept out of Kellie’s room, Quinn’s soft breathing keeping time with his mother’s. She indulged in one last glance back. Safe and sound. But for how long?

Out in the hall she paused in the soft glow of the muted nightlight. No sound of Caleb or the television. She checked and his coat was hanging in her small front vestibule. He’d left his keys, some loose change, and his phone on the kitchen table. An empty glass sat beside a bottle of whiskey, the ice cubes melting into water.

That left her bedroom.

She found him in bed taking up more than his share of the space and blankets. Fast asleep with an arm flung over his head, he didn’t move an inch. His clothes and a towel in a heap beside the bed. She shed her clothes. Not an eyelid flickered. Like him she left her clothes where they fell.

She settled on the mattress, and he shifted in his sleep, turning onto his side to face her. His breathing remained deep and even. She waited before edging under what covers she could pull free. Her eyes drifted shut. Images flashed, old and new memories. She tried a new position, counting back from a thousand. She got to 976 when he reached over and tugged her closer. Her back to his chest.

“Go to sleep.”

“I’m trying. It’s not working.” But she settled into him, his warmth to tempting to resist.

His hand settled over the no-man’s land under her breasts, not brushing up against anything obvious and making no move to venture lower. “My favorite place in the world is this spot on St. Thomas. A private beach where the sun always shines and the water’s always warm. It’s my happy place.”

“I’m sure it has more to do with your companion of the moment.”

His smile brushed against her ear. “I’m not going to lie, usually the sex is pretty damn great.”

She elbowed him in the stomach. It was her turn to smile when he huffed out a shot of air. “Brag much?”

His arms tightened around her. “Maybe I’m fishing for compliments. Anyway, it’s where I go after a difficult negotiation, vicious court battles. Or after I’m forced to spend prolonged amounts of time in the presence of both my parents. Mental detox.”

“Bad, huh?”

“The job is the job. It’s what I signed up for and I’m not sorry I did. But it’s different with my parents. It’s personal. It’s been fifteen years and they haven’t moved on, not even enough to find someone else.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. They’re adults acting like children. My point is, in the coming days you’re going to need a happy place.”

She was beginning to think it was right here in her bed with him. “I don’t know if I have one. I’ve been so focused these last years, whether it was on becoming a doctor or lately as an activist, nothing else mattered.”

Which put her relationship with Liam in bright, blinding perspective.

“Those photographs on the wall in your living room tell a different story.”

Surprised, she craned her neck back to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Just because those scenes aren’t bathed in sunshine, or aren’t glossy or pretty? Doesn’t mean they aren’t beautiful. Or that the people you fight for can’t be your happy place. They’re your strength. When you’re overcome with the arrangements of burying your sister, when you’re feeling guilty over not being able to save her, take a walk on the streets you both loved and remember what it is to do good.”

Her heart stilled its hammering at his last words. He knew what was going through her head, the worry there, and wasn’t afraid to say it straight out. It took a little of the tiredness away. She shifted around so she was right flush against him. You couldn’t have slipped a piece of paper between them.

“You’re very good with words.”

He brushed a hand over her hair, tugging at the short ends hugging her neck before moving on to stroke her cheek. “I think it’s pretty evident once I stop talking things are going to get awkward.”

She bit her lip and tried to keep the smile out of voice. “That’s quite the invitation you’ve got going on down there.”

“Sorry.” He groaned and rolled away from her. He grabbed onto his hair like he was grabbing for his sanity. “You’re tired and I’m tired. I’m trying to be a gentleman. But it’s not working. You’re too naked. And you smell too good. And taste too good…”