Toss Up (The Toss Trilogy) (17 page)

Sally sank onto the bed. Her stomach curled in pain. She felt the quick sting of tears in her eyes.
Well, damn. He turned me down flat.

It didn’t hurt as much as it should have. Why wasn’t she distraught?

She took a moment to poke around in her emotions. Something inside her felt strong and sure. And unafraid.

How strange to feel so certain. But she was.
Because I know he loves me. I do trust him. And corny as it sounds, he’s a forever kind of man.

He loves me, and I love him.
For a few moments she basked in love’s  gentle glow. Then cold slipped in like a knife separating her from those nice, warm feelings. It didn’t do much good to love him if he didn’t believe it. He thought she only wanted his protection…and his body.

The pain in her stomach was replaced with the dull ache of resign
ation. She heaved a sigh.
Dammit, I can’t blame him for that.
The problem was how to fix it, especially since she had a reason to need him that had nothing to do with love. Blast it all, she needed not to need him, so he could see that she loved him. She had exactly zero ideas how she could pull that off.

Whatever
. Right now she had to get out there with Tyler and Jim. Describing the situation as awkward was a screaming understatement. But the sooner they got past the first few minutes, the easier it would be. She went through the bathroom shelves and drawers, located some anti-redness drops and dripped a few in each eye. Then, after finger combing her hair, she stepped out of the bedroom.

Tyler was still watching the television, and Jim was messing with some
make-work in the kitchen. She sat next to Tyler, ruffled his hair and gave him a hug.

“I’m hungry, Mom. Are we going to
go eat soon? And Dr. Donovan said we were going to get you a new bed.”

“Are you ready to do all that now, Tyler?” she teased.

“Well, we waited a really long time for you to wake up.”

“You’re right, Tyler.” Jim leaned back against the kitchen counter and entered the conversation. “We waited a really long time for your mom to wake up.”

Sally couldn’t help it. Her heart rate accelerated, and fear clutched at her gut. Something in the tone of his voice…the sense of finality in it… He seemed to be saying he was done with waiting for her—that it was over.
No. That can’t be
. She had to be misinterpreting. She tried to see his eyes, but he avoided looking at her.

“Now that your mom’s awake, let’s get moving.” He pushed himself up and grabbed the truck keys off the corner of the counter, heading for the front door. Tyler immediately rocketed off the couch, and Sally fo
llowed, worrying.

As they piled into Jim’s truck, she was forced to set her new concerns aside. She didn’t want Tyler to notice anything amiss.

Jim seemed to be doing the same thing. He didn’t look at her, but his voice was neutral, like hers. They were both pretending, for Tyler’s sake, that nothing was wrong.

Sally suggested a stop at the discount store and went inside alone to pick
up some basic clothes for herself and Tyler—it was a relief to be away from Jim for a few minutes. He was kind, as always, and seemed to understand, without her saying a word, that she couldn’t face her house yet. When she returned to the truck, Tyler spoke up for food and talked them into pizza.

Sally watched Tyler and Jim battling zombie invaders.
Last time we were here was when it all started. I was so much stronger then.
Now I feel weak.
She sighed heavily.
I hate this.

Afterwards, grateful that Jim had already provided an excuse that sa
tisfied Tyler, she bought a new mattress for her bed and arranged for delivery. They killed the rest of the evening by taking Tyler to a movie. It was a blessed relief after an afternoon of painfully polite conversation with Jim—conversation so distant that it tore at Sally’s heart.
What if I’ve learned to love him too late?

When they returned to Jim’s loft
Sally got Tyler settled on the couch and took a long, hot shower. Jim had insisted she take the bedroom—after all, he and Tyler were having a sleep-over. She would rather have slept on the couch, but kept her mouth shut—she didn’t want to have to explain that preference.

Now, in her new sweats, she lounged on the old sofa by the window, turning pages in one of Jim’s books while he got cleaned up for bed. The darker it got, the
more tense she became, almost twitchy. It was silly. She needed to sleep, but she dreaded pulling open the sheets on Jim’s bed.

She kept seeing that hateful scrawl of red, and re-living the terror of the night before. She shifted around on the
sofa, unable to get comfortable and aware that the problem was not with the furniture.

Damn that stupid creep. I won’t let him rule my behavior
. She would not sleep on top of the covers. She would pull down the sheets like a normal person and sleep in the bed. Ignoring the fist squeezing her heart, she turned a few more pages.

At last, Jim came out of the bedroom, wearing pajama bottoms a li
ttle too short for him and carrying blankets and a pillow. At least his torso was obscured, but she couldn’t help but notice his strong, arched feet.

Johnston, you are pathetic. Now you’re getting off on his feet? Time for bed.

She rose from the sofa and walked to the bedroom door, not looking at Jim. If his feet were a distraction, she didn’t need to see that chest and
abs again. Besides, staying out here to avoid facing the bedroom was not an option.
Focus
.

Pulling her defenses together, she opened the door, prepared to face down her fear. She stopped dead, just inside the doorway. Then without turning, she gently shut the door behind her.

Tears filled her eyes. The comforter was pulled to the very bottom of the bed, on both sides. The unmarred oatmeal-colored bottom sheet was fully exposed—even the pillow was off the bed, sitting on the chair. How could she ever… What could she ever do to…

Oh, God… he loved her so. She stepped forward and sank to her knees beside the bed. Blinking the tears out of her eyes, she rubbed her cheek on the soft fabric, drawing in the faint scent of him that clung to it, stretching her arms out to caress the cotton.

She had to find a way to make things right.

It was a long time before she rose. Finally, heart still clogged with gratitude, she replaced the pillow, climbed onto the bed, and pulled the comforter over her body. Thinking only of Jim, wrapped in the evidence of his love, she fell swiftly into deep, untroubled sleep.

chapter
fifteen

The sunlight streaming in the windows of Jim’s apartment was brighter than it had any right to be at this hour in the morning. Sally slipped out of bed and looked outside, wincing against the glare. Roofs of nearby buildings, tops of light poles, even lids on dumpsters in the ally were all covered with a reflective layer of white. The snow had finally come.

Concern for Jim, guilt that she had hurt him, and worry—because she had no clue how to fix that mess—were all pushed aside to be faced later. She dressed quickly, already making plans. Today was going to be busy. After missing the locksmith yesterday morning, she’d called and co
nvinced him to come today. The new mattress she’d bought would be delivered, and she had a shelter to manage—Nancy had already gone above and beyond for her. On top of all that, her Economics paper was due in a week. Thank goodness the shelter would be closed from tomorrow until Monday for the Thanksgiving holiday. Maybe she would finally get some work done.

Worries about the situation with Jim squirmed their way back into her mind, clamoring for resolution. Again, she deferred them.

The last few days had been traumatic, but they were over. She refused to dwell on them. More troubling, her house had been left empty—with inadequate locks—since Sunday night. She added concern for her home to the lock-box of worries she refused to consider right now and concentrated on searching out the supplies she needed to make breakfast.

She moved quietly, not yet ready to deal with Jim and Tyler, who were sleeping feet-to-feet on the two sections of the L-shaped couch. In the refrigerator, she found two lonely eggs, three and a half sticks of bu
tter, an unopened quart of milk, and a wide variety of uncomfortably ancient-looking restaurant take-out containers. There was only one frozen waffle left, so she searched through the cupboards. Behind an empty syrup bottle and a sparse selection of condiments and seasonings, she discovered a five pound bag of sugar with a teaspoon sticking out of a hole in the top, a dusty container filled with flour, two open boxes of stone-hard brown sugar, and an unopened can of baking powder—no cereal. Opening another door, she found bread, but no peanut butter.

It actually felt good to be faced with a problem she could solve. Soon the smell of pancakes and homemade brown sugar syrup filled the air. Comfort food—what she always cooked when she was nervous, if she cooked at all. There wasn’t any choice today. Though they’d been friends for years, it was clear there were still plenty of things she didn’t know about Jim. Like where he ate breakfast.
Because it clearly wasn’t here.

Tyler poked his nose into the kitchen, hungry as always.

“Go wash up and get dressed first, honey. And wake Dr. Donovan.” She poured three more pancakes into the frying pan she was using as a griddle. Tyler’s school things were still at her house. His homework wasn’t done, and he’d missed a whole day of school.

It’s a two-
day week. He’s fine.

She’d have to write a note, but what could she say? Drat it, every time she turned around it seemed she had to let someone else in on what she’d prefer to keep private. Forget the note—she’d go in and talk to Ms. Stevens. That way only one person would need to know what was going
on, and she knew she could count on the veteran principal to keep the information confidential.

She poured herself a second cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine would foil the headache growing at the base of her skull. One hour down, twenty-three to go.

Half an hour before the school bus was due to pick up Tyler, Jim turned the truck onto the road that ran past Sally’s house and the shelter. Sally saw a fair number of tire tracks in the snow, made by area residents who commuted to Pittsburg to work. Jim drove past the shelter toward her house.

“Damn.” He pulled the truck to the side of the road instead of turning into the driveway.

“What?”

His gaze, closed and guarded, met
her’s over Tyler’s head. “It looks like the house may have been burglarized,” he said cautiously.

Turning her head to look out the window, she saw a line of foo
tprints running from her front door to the pines that lined the driveway. Her plans for a busy, but normal, day toppled like a house of cards. She bit her tongue to keep from swearing, and blinked hard and fast to clear away the tears.

“Let’s go c
heck!” Tyler unbuckled his seat belt and stood up between them. “Is my Wii still there?”

“Whoa, Tyler.” Jim put a hand on Tyler’s shoulder and sat him back down. “You and your mom stay here while I look around f
or a minute. We can’t go inside, we might mess up clues the police will need.”

Sally already had her phone out and was dialing 911. She looked at Tyler, who seemed satisfied with Jim’s explanation. That was a blessing. Moments later the dispatcher told her Officers Billings and Demarco, caught at shift change, were on their way.

Waiting for the police to arrive, she and Tyler watched from the truck as Jim skirted the line of trees, carefully avoiding the tracks in the snow. Tyler was certain he should stay home from school and watch the police, but she vetoed that idea. He sat back with a pout on his face.

“Are you feeling abused, Tyler? Get over it. You’ve already missed one day of school. You’re not going to miss two.”

Tyler, watching Jim vanish around the side of the house, wisely refrained from replying. A few minutes later, Jim climbed back into the cab of the four by four.

“Did you see anyone?” Tyler was clearly hoping to at least have a good story to tell at school.

“No, sorry. Whoever it was is gone now. It looks like you’ll have to go to school without your books today, Tyler. That’s your bus coming over the hill.”

Thank goodness
. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll write a note to your teacher.” Sally pulled out a notepad and pen from her purse and wrote briefly.

‘Possible burglary at our home; cannot get Tyler’s book bag.’

That would cover the homework problem as well and took driving over to talk to Principal Stevens off her list. If they wanted to make a fuss about yesterday, she’d deal with it later. She stuck the note into Tyler’s pocket and zipped his jacket up tight. “Bye, sweetheart. When you get home we’ll tell you all about what the police do.”

She sighed with relief as her son climbed into the bus.
One less thing to worry about.
Then she turned to Jim.

Her heart was beating fast, but she was mostly okay… so far. “What did you find?”

Jim’s jaw clenched once before he answered. “He came from the hemlock right up to the back door and went in. Then he came out the front door and into the windbreak before heading back. He knows we found his spot in the trees and probably figured using it wouldn’t give us any new information.”

He twisted his body to face her directly. “The problem is, it looks like he spent some time in the house. There’s a fair amount of snow blown into the tracks leading to the back door. But the tracks out the front door are fresh. Real fresh. If we’d been earlier, we might have seen him. We still might have passed him on the road.”

Sally shuddered. “Did you go inside?”

“No, and no one else should either. There’s no telling what he could have done in there. Here come the police now. I want to talk to Billings.” Jim jumped from the truck and met the police as they pulled up.

Why was she letting Jim take charge? She began to follow him, then sat back against the cushions of the truck, and watched the men talk.
Let him do it.
She already had more on her plate than she wanted. Whatever Jim was saying seemed to give the officers pause for thought. Billings scratched his head, nodded once or twice, and looked at Demarco. Then they both got back in the car, and she saw Billings pick up his radio.

Jim came back to the truck and started the engine.

“What’s going on?”

“I thought I’d take you over to the shelter, then I said I’d go pick up some coffee for them. They’re calling for a detection dog…”

“Detection dog?”

“…
to check for explosives.”

“
Explosi…” Sally’s throat closed up halfway through the word. She swallowed hard and tried again. “You think he put explosives in my house?”

“Probably not, but he could have. We know someone was in the house this morning. He may have been there yesterday, too. There’s no point in taking any chances.”

Great. More things she didn’t want to think about. “I didn’t think we had police dogs.”

“We don’t—at least we don’t have detection dogs for explosives, but there’s a private security firm that does. They mostly check school loc
kers for drugs, but they also have a few animals trained to detect gunpowder and explosives. Billings said they sometimes help out the police force as a community service. The big plus is that it will be a lot quicker than getting a unit out from Pittsburg.”

“Great. You think my house is going to get blown up.” Her eyes na
rrowed, and her voice grew louder.

“I told you probably not.” Jim shrugged like it was no big thing. “But he’s threatened retribution and to punish you. I’m not willing to take the chance that he’s left a booby-trap behind.” Jim tilted his head back t
owards the police car. “They aren’t willing to take that chance either.”

“So what now?” Her voice edged upwards. “What about my house? What about the mattress delivery? Having to check everything, and not knowing what kind of mess he may have made or what nasty little su
rprises he’s left for us to find… if you ask me that’s punishment in itself.”

“Well, ” Jim paused to pull into the lot at the shelter, “My biggest hope right now is that he agrees with you. I hope he’s only trying to spook you, and that there’s nothing to find. But the thing is, we have to look. You and Tyler can stay at my place again tonight. Or I’ll call and get rooms at the Homestead Inn. I’ll be very surprised if this is finished today.”

All Sally wanted to do was crawl into bed and—she flashed on the memory of the last time she’d pulled covers down to crawl into bed. Her stomach rolled and she shuddered.

Don’t go there.
“I’ll call and postpone delivery on the mattress. But then I have to get some work done here.” She jerked her head towards the shelter.

Jim nodded. “Go for it. They don’t need you at the house right now. But I might hang around there for a while after I get the coffee. An
ything in particular you need from inside? I’ll tell Demarco.”

“Yes. Some clothes, if they get the bedroom checked out in time. Fo
rtunately my notes for the paper are still in the back office at the shelter.” She groaned with frustration. “I hate this.”

His warm hand closed over her cold fingers and gave them a quick squeeze. “Hang in there, Sally.”

She turned her head aside as tears burned under her eyelids. His touch was friendly and supportive, nothing more. She wanted to scream out at the unfairness of it all. “I will. Gotta go, there’s Mark waiting for me.” She slid out of the truck’s cab, hurrying toward the disgruntled-looking volunteer, who was scowling as he waited for her to unlock the shelter door.

Jim drove back to Sally’s house after a quick trip to town. On the seat beside him were a paper sack containing a huge breakfast burrito and a drink holder securing three large coffees. He pulled to the roadside b
ehind the police car. Billings and Demarco were standing outside the cruiser and seemed to be conferring over a clipboard Billings held. When Jim stopped the truck, Demarco headed straight over to take the paper sack Jim held out the window, and Billings opened the passenger-side door.

“Thanks.
Most important meal of the day, breakfast. ‘Specially after night shift.” Demarco unwrapped the burrito and took a bite.

Jim nodded. He
handed a cup of coffee to Billings, took one for himself, and got out of the truck, setting the drink holder with the third coffee on top of the cruiser for Demarco. “When will the dog get here?”

“Should be here now, I’d think,” answered Billings. “You know, we’ve finally made some progress with those lists. Pulled together everyone with a connection to Oceanside or Camp Pendleton, those who went to school at Penn State, and those who might have followed Mrs. Joh
nston—newcomers within the last five years. We kept all those who had two of the three. Gave us a much shorter prime list.”

Jim nodded, hiding his surprise that the cop was talking to him so frankly. Maybe they’d finished his background check. “Any chance I can get a copy?” If it was short enough, it might actually be useful.

“You know better than to ask me that, Donovan.” Billings paused. “You know, when I grabbed this coffee, I think I might have set my clipboard in the cab of your truck. Mind getting it for me?”

Jim smiled, looked the portly officer in the eye and nodded. “Happy to oblige.”

The list on the clipboard contained only a dozen names and some brief notes. Scribbling rapidly in the small notebook from his glove box, Jim saw more than a few that he recognized: