Dangerously in Love (2 page)

After a cup of tar-like coffee and nearly-burnt toast slathered with apricot marmalade, Perry stuffed his dirty laundry into a duffle bag. Sorting colors didn’t matter to him—it would all go into one load, no matter how dingy the clothes became afterward. The clothes that mattered, his suits and dress shirts, were laundered at the cleaners.

Perry Chadwich was huge, fit, tough, and bold. At over six feet and two hundred sixty pounds of solid muscle, he hardly encountered an aggressor. There were a few who had tried to trifle with him, to their detriment. But that was rare.

Despite his machismo, going to the laundry room in the building where he lived was always eerie to him. It was as if someone had dropped him into one of those Freddie Krueger horror movies, trapped in a dark, dank basement where someone scary, egged on by a menacing soundtrack, could jump out with a machete at any second.

He noticed every dark doorway, storage room, and air vent. As he passed the super’s closet, the tingling in his spine heightened. Walking past that metal door gave him the creeps. He imagined a deranged, masked janitor leaping from the hollow shadows of the corridor, aiming razor-like fingers at him.
Silly.
But it was a real fear.

Finally in the laundry room where there was a garden window and a little light gleaming through, he felt a tad less horrified. He dumped his clothes into the washing machine, shoved six quarters into the slots, and started the wash cycle.

Back upstairs in the safe haven of his apartment, he flipped through the cable channels and stopped at ESPN when his phone rang. He almost never looked at the caller ID. It didn’t matter to him who was calling, he would answer. A lot of cases either went cold or were drawn-out by folks not answering their phones. That one phone call could have provided the missing link, the smoking gun, the lost puzzle piece. He answered. It was Agent Reeves. “Mindy’s here,” Reeves said.

Once Perry had folded his clothes and put them away, he put the top down on his faded red convertible and headed to the precinct.

***

Mindy sat across from Perry, popping her gum and toying with her embellished acrylic fingernails. Her deep V-neck T-shirt exposed her ample braless cleavage which drew Perry’s attention long enough for Agent Reeves to notice where his eyes had focused. Mindy didn’t care. She liked the attention, even though she pretended not to. She leaned forward on her elbows to give Perry a better view.

Agent Reeves had downloaded the audio surveillance from the devices Mindy had retrieved for him. She was Agent Reeves’ confidential informant, and also one of Adam Church’s housekeepers. Reeves found her to be an effective CI because she had access to every nook and cranny in the Church mansion. She was the only person able to place and remove bugs and surveillance cameras without detection.  Mindy managed to tear herself away from Perry’s gaze long enough to reach for the small electronic devices that Reeves was returning to her.

“I want to you to place them where you had them before. It was perfect. The audio was clear,” Agent Reeves said.

“That Rosemary broad is always watching me. It’ll be hard to do it again.”

“I’m not interested in how difficult it is for you. I just want it done. Do whatever you need to do,” Reeves commanded.

Perry motioned for Reeves to calm down then looked at Mindy, starting at her cleavage and roving up to her tired eyes. “We understand the difficulties and the fact that it might be dangerous for you. But just do your best. Call
me
,” he said with emphasis on ‘me’ as he glanced at Reeves then returned his attention back to Mindy, “After you’ve placed each of the devices. Okay?”

Mindy nodded as she popped her gum.

“Counselor,” the judge said.

“Judge,” Hill replied.

Hill hoped his father wasn’t there to lecture him about his life’s choices—how he should be practicing law with a respectable firm rather than playing in the dirt like a child. He’d heard that lecture more than he’d care to admit, ever since he had announced he wanted to pursue landscaping. He had an undergraduate degree in architectural engineering. He liked designing things, using his hands to build and create. His father, the Honorable Leonard Parker, didn’t understand that. It was bad enough that Hill had chosen to go to a state college rather than an Ivy League university, which he’d had plenty of offers to attend. But that was a different lecture, reserved for another time.

“What happened to your face?”

“An accident at work,” Hill said impatiently, suspecting his father’s visit wasn’t a social one. “What do you want, Dad? Because if this is going to be another lecture about law school or going back into practice, save your breath.”

“I just wanted to see my son. That’s all.”

Doubtful,
Hill thought. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. He twisted off the cap and took a swig. When he closed the refrigerator, his father, who had followed him into the kitchen, was standing at the other side of the door.

“Would you like a beer?” Hill asked.

“Sure.” But before the judge could stop himself, he asked, “You haven’t acquired a taste for a good wine yet, son? Beer is so . . . sophomoric.”

Hill handed his father a beer. Their hands brushed in the exchange. Hill hadn’t felt his father’s touch since he was sixteen—since his mother died.

“I can appreciate good wine, judge. I just prefer the taste of beer.”

“Ken Logan says he has a spot for you at his law firm if you want it.”

“Dammit, Dad! No!” he shouted, slamming the beer bottle on the counter and causing a little to spill out. “I went to law school
for you
. But now, I’m landscaping
for me
. I did the whole lawyer thing, and I wasn’t happy. Now I am.”

“Okay, son. Okay.” He took a few swallows of the beer. “One hundred twenty thousand dollars for you to become a
gardener
? Such a waste. . .”

Hill wished he had a mute button for his father’s lectures. He didn’t want to hear the same ol’ tune, visit after visit. Then he noticed how much his father had aged. The judge seemed to have shrunken a few inches because his posture was a little more hunched than before. His cheeks had become drooping jowls. His voice quavered in a way Hill hadn’t heard before. His skin and hair were both grayer and thinner. The judge wasn’t a young man anymore. Hill felt himself soften a little, knowing how much he’d miss his father when he was gone. He swallowed hard, trying not to choke on his emotions, wiping the mist away from his eyes with his forearm.

“Nice building. It’s got great bones,” the judge said, shifting the subject to something more amenable for Hill.

Hill had purchased the old warehouse for virtually nothing. Twelve grand was what he paid at auction. No one bid against him, mostly because the warehouse was flanked by railroad tracks on one side and a highway on the other, and surrounded by other dilapidated, abandoned buildings, which he later bought, too, but hadn’t yet improved. He’d been renovating it ever since—little by little—which had been about five years. He used reclaimed materials he bought from salvage facilities and reuse yards, giving the converted warehouse unique design features while remaining eco-friendly and inexpensive. It looked like he’d spent a small fortune on renovations—which would probably impress his father—but he hadn’t spent much at all. He did most of the labor himself or with the help of Gabe and Ty. The materials were salvaged, thus he paid pennies on the dollar for them.

Hill looked around the open space, taking in all the improvements he had made. He took a sip of his beer and nodded. “Yeah, it’s come a long way. I’m almost finished. I’ve done most of the work in the past year.”

His floors were finished with reclaimed woods of varying types and sizes, which he had sanded and stained, giving his floors a very unique and elegant style. His kitchen floors were grouted tumbled ceramics of varying colors and designs. It made his kitchen pop with color. The kitchen island was built from old doors, cut down to size and sanded and stained, with tempered glass affixed to the top. His backsplash, countertops, and cabinets were also done in reclaimed lumber and other materials.

“You said you did most of the work recently? Is that because leaving your practice has given you more time?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s mainly because I don’t have a girlfriend demanding all of my time.”

They both laughed. Something they hadn’t done together in a long time.

“Don’t you miss it, son?”

“What? A girlfriend?”

“The law.”

“Dad. . .” he said, shaking his head, not wanting to engage in any conversation about the legal field.

“It’s in your blood . . . your grandfather, your great-grandfather, his father . . . me.”

“Dad, we were having a good conversation. Don’t ruin it.”

“Son. . .”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“No, son, your. . .”

“Dad, for Christ’s sake!” he yelled.

“Your nose is bleeding.”

Hill put his hand to his nose and saw the dark red blood. He got up and rushed to the bathroom. Blood dripped into the sink as he looked into the mirror. His left eye was swollen, the other was blackened. His lip was split. He hadn’t noticed earlier how badly he’d been beaten. He sat on the toilet lid while his father got a wash cloth and created a cold compress to stanch the bleeding.

“What kind of accident did you have? Did you crash your truck?”

He shook his head. “No, nothing like that . . . although it felt like it.”

“What happened then?”

“I flirted with the wrong woman,” he said, looking up at his father shamefaced.

The judge laughed heartily. Hill hadn’t ever heard his father laugh like that. The judge laughed so hard, tears got caught in the wrinkles around his eyes. Hill tried to smile, but his face was so numb from the cold compress that he wasn’t sure if his attempt was successful.

“My lord, counselor.”

“It was an ambush, judge. I didn’t see him coming. He beat the hell out of me with my own tools.”

The judge put Hill’s hand on the cold compress so that he could hold it himself.

“You could sue.”

“I’m not suing, Dad.”

“Why not? You have a case.”

“Because I might’ve done the same thing if she’d been my woman.”

The judge’s laughter became raucous.

“Why is this so funny to you, Dad?”

“Because it happened to me a time or two . . . and my dad, and his dad. I guess this is also in your genes.”

Hill didn’t laugh, although he did see the humor in it. His only thought was of his mother.
Had Dad cheated on Mom
? He shook the thought out of his head, standing and rinsing the bloodied cloth. He’d had enough bonding with his father for one day.

The judge’s laughter had dwindled to a snicker. He put his hand on Hill’s shoulder as they walked into the open space that Hill called his den.

Both Perry’s and Samantha’s cell phones vibrated at the same time. Perry pulled his phone from the inside pocket of his blazer and glanced at the message illuminating his screen. Samantha, whose phone was set atop the table, tapped the screen then snickered after reading the message. She shook her head while looking at Perry, who was also snickering.

“Do you want to go ahead and order?” Samantha asked Perry.

“Why not,” he said as he flagged the waitress to their table.

“Sorry, folks, not going to make it,” Samantha read aloud. “Who sends a message like that without some sort of explanation after keeping us waiting almost a half an hour?”

“Hill.”

“Shall I respond, or will you?”

“I think I’d better.  You might cuss him out.”

Perry thumbed out a message to Hill:

P: What’s going on?

H: Went to E.R. Broken rib.

Perry handed his phone to Samantha so she could read the message.

“The E.R.?”

Perry nodded.

“Ask him what happened,” Samantha demanded.

“He said it’s a long story.”

“Long story, my eye. I’m going over there.”

***

“What are
you
doing here?” Hill asked.

“You said you went to the emergency room. Of course I’m going to stop by to see how you’re doing,” Samantha explained. She sandwiched his hand between hers. Her hands were soft and hot, but sort of clammy.

Hill had sent Gabe and Ty to the Church property while he made the trip to the emergency room. He had awakened in so much pain, he could hardly move. He had a little difficulty breathing, too. The hospital ran an MRI, blood tests, and took x-rays. They also gave him pain meds. He had a fractured rib, broken nose, and concussion, all of which would have to resolve on their own. Except the doctor did manipulate the broken nose. Worst pain ever. After nearly eight hours in the ER, he was released.

Back at home, he’d dozed off from all of the pain medication. When he woke up, beautiful but concerned brown eyes were staring down at him. Samantha. She stood over his bed, her hand pressed gently against his cheek. She leaned in and kissed his forehead.

“I’m alright,” he said, closing his eyes to her warm touch, realizing he’d enjoyed it a little too much. He opened his eyes, moved her hand from his face, and elevated himself by propping the pillows against the headboard. He sipped the apple juice she’d brought him. He had missed her, every part of her. The feel of her—the scent of her. Samantha had walked out on him a year ago and, even though they maintained a decent friendship, he knew he’d been a fool for letting her go. Now she was with
Bob
. Actually, his name was Bill, but his name didn’t matter to Hill, so he’d call him
Bob
every chance he got. Hill couldn’t believe that Samantha had chosen
Bob
. He was sort of a dweeb. Hill wondered if that little guy could even satisfy her. Still, that didn’t change the fact that Hill was the one sitting on the sideline, watching
Bob
do for Samantha what he had wanted to do. He flipped through the TV channels and found a White Sox game. He liked baseball mainly because it filled his sports obsession during the summer months.

“Excuse me for a minute,” he said. He got up, bare-chested and wearing only his boxers, and went to the bathroom. When he came back, Samantha was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Now can I give you a proper hug?” She stood and hugged him. He scowled from the pain. “Oops. Sorry. Does it hurt a lot?”

Hill nodded. She sat on the edge of the bed again and touched his bandages gently. “Aw, little Hilton has a boo-boo.”

“Ain’t nothing little about me, darlin’,” he said and kissed her cheek. “Move over so I can get back in the bed.”

Once settled, she joined him, kicking off her shoes and sliding under the covers.

“Baseball? Turn that mess off. Let’s find a movie.” She channel-surfed until she found one. “Did you hear? The state’s attorney is resigning. Yippee, that means I may be getting a new boss. Makes me so happy!”

“Yeah, I heard. You should go for his seat. Samantha Clark, state’s attorney. Sounds good.”

“No, I couldn’t stand up under the scrutiny. I do hope I get to stand next to your dad on the Illinois Supreme Court someday, though.”

“How’d you get in here anyway?” he asked, realizing she didn’t have a cardkey or a door key.

“The door was unlocked.”

He nodded. The drugs must’ve gotten to him. He never left the front of the warehouse unlocked. He pointed at the television. “I like this part.”

“Me, too . . . the best part of the movie.”

They sat together, watching the movie on the king-sized bed. Not much else was said. Hill was just happy to have her there. He’d missed her, even though they met for either lunch or drinks every few weeks or so. She laid her head against his arm. He wanted to wrap his arm around her, but the pain would have been excruciating.

He’d begun dozing off, and then he felt her head loll and bob. She’d fallen asleep, too. He tapped her on the shoulder.

“Are you staying or going home?”

She yawned and looked at the time. “I should probably be going home.”

She slid to the edge of the bed, tucking her feet into her shoes, then kissed his forehead. Hill pulled her down and kissed her with the kind of scorching heat that drew her on top of him—painfully so. He groaned and pushed her up.

“Ah . . . that hurts. I guess I’m not ready for this, either,” he grumbled.

She kissed his lips tenderly. “When you heal, you should come over to the house for drinks,” Samantha offered.

Hill shook his head. “Will
Bob
be there?”

“Bill. His name is Bill, dammit. And no, he won’t. He’s in Japan helping the victims of that tsunami.”

“Bill. Bob. It’s all the same to me.” He grinned. “So . . . it’ll just be the two of us.” He winked.

“You’re disgusting, Hill.”

He laughed and got up to walk her to the door. “I’d love to, Sam.”

She kissed his lips in a quick, friendly manner. He slapped her butt, forgetting how painful that type of motion would be. He smirked but thought it was worth the pain.