Protective Instincts (17 page)

"Hi, Zeke. I'd like you to meet my friend, Sam. Sam, meet my dear old friend, Zeke."

The men shook hands like adversaries taking measure. Despite smiles, Brit was sure each used an extra firm handshake. There was no questioning the arms crossed across the chest pose, or the daggers shooting from Sam's eyes.

"So, tell us, how did you become
Zeke the Hunk
and a softball coach?" Brit asked.

Zeke blushed. "At O.C.S. they thought I needed muscle. They said I would become a man, and they weren't kidding. When I decided eight years was long enough to serve Uncle Sam, I left to work in industry."

Joe led everyone to the den.

Sam grunted.

Brit gave him a dirty look.

"Your girls played well, coach."

"The league was going to disband their softball team if they couldn't get a coach. These girls didn't want to be absorbed into other teams where they would be extra wheels. I don't have much experience with kids, but I couldn't leave them to a winning-is-everything type, who'd squelch their spirits."

"Well, you were right, Coach Zeke." She grinned and tapped his shoulder with her fist. "They are winners, even if they don't win another game this whole year." Brit grinned, "Oh, yeah, remember Julie? You need to call her mom's house. Julie's visiting her mom too. She'd love to see you."

"Yeah," Sam raised a black eyebrow. "Bet you have lots to discuss."

The man took one of Brit's hands in both of his. Brit felt Sam's tension and anger at wanting to rip her hand free from Zeke's.

"Maybe the three of us can get together before you leave. I want to hear all about you." He grinned like a jerk. "And Julie, too." He looked too smug. "I'm sure Sam would be bored by us.

"Never bored. Wouldn't miss it."

Zeke stayed an hour and then left. As much as Brit wanted to hear all about her friend's life, she had a lot on her mind tonight.

When the house was finally quiet, she wandered onto the porch and headed for her glider, her island. What must Tommy think? Would he approve of the wild passion she had with Sam?

The night was so still and felt so remote, so like a secret place, so safe. The only light came from the streetlight at the corner and the moon. The glider was shaded from the streetlight. Brit plopped down onto a large soft cushion and was rewarded by a grunt. "You finally came out."

Brit gasped, then punched Sam's chest. "You scared me. I told you not to do that."

"Some goodbye kiss you gave ole Zeke at his car."

"You were watching?"

Sam nodded. "Couldn't miss it. So, the jock used to be a geek who had a crush on you. Does he still?"

"That's none of your business."

"Is that a yes?"

"You'll never know."

"I'll bet he couldn't make you feel the way I do." Sam's finger stroked her cheek."

"Mind your own business." She could barely breathe. She needed distance from Sam so she could use her brain. "Get off my porch and out of my life! You're too much trouble and you confuse me." No one had made her feel the way Sam could.

"Can't. Not gonna happen, love."

Brit jumped from the special haven now invaded. "You – egomaniac, you – you – smug pain in the ass!"

"Temper, darlin'! Sweet dreams," Sam smiled.

Thoughts of his woman in another man's arms had bombarded him all evening. It had been all he could do to resist punching out the guy. He knew the look of a man who was hot for the sack and that joker was hot to make it with his Brit.

I don't know why she can't just admit she's in love with me. I know she couldn't make love like she does, if it doesn't mean something special
.

They should have been able to sit together while they visited with her parents. He'd wanted to pull her into his lap and sniff her hair or kiss her cheek or hold her hand. He'd have to help her get over being self-conscious around her parents. Maybe when they were married she would be different.
When they were married?
God he had it bad.

"Brit," Sam finally found his voice as well as his brain. "Did your husband ever talk to you about his work, any of his clients?" he rubbed a hand across his mouth and chin in an attempt to appear far more nonchalant than he felt.

"Not really." She drew her brows together. "Why?"

"I was just thinking. Sometimes married people talk about things they wouldn't discuss with anyone else. Did you have a lot of your husband's paperwork to go through after his death? Maybe he had a dissatisfied client or found out something he shouldn't know."

"Sam, you're scaring me with these questions." She frowned. "If you want to know something, just ask outright."

"Honey, I spoke to Drew again this afternoon about your situation --"

"You what?"

"I've kept him informed since the hang-up calls and the dead weeds you got before the second attack. He and I discussed just about everything that happened. Since he is a detective, an investigator, I wanted to get his opinion about the way the Florence cops were handling things."

"And?"

"He wondered if you were the target of more than a rape."

"More than a rape? What do you mean
more
than a rape? Sam, now you're really scaring me."

"Honey, your husband must have handled cases involving some unsavory characters." Sam let out a slow breath. "Maybe he ticked someone off."

"Sam Samuels, Tommy was the most honest man you could have met. He would never,
never
do anything --" Her voice shook.

"I didn't mean he did anything wrong. But what if he learned something threatening about a client or someone else." He held her shoulders and looked into her startled eyes. He didn't want to frighten her, but they had to know as much as they could about her husband's contacts before his death. "Do you still have notes that were not part of his papers at work?

"Sam? Sam, are you trying to say someone had him killed?

"Does Drew know something about Tommy's death?" Her voice caught. "Oh, my God! Does he think Tommy was murdered? But what does that have to do with the attack at school?"

Realization dawned with such a vengeance she trembled as Sam enclosed her in his arms. She rubbed against him, as though to erase the possibilities creeping into her brain. Raising her head, she asked, "Why would they kill me?"

"Maybe they think Tommy might've told you something. There could be a notebook, or file, or tape that would incriminate them. Drew said he thought one of Tommy's clients was freed of a charge years ago, but he has been charged with worse things now."

Sam rubbed her back, wishing he could do more. "Maybe your husband was onto something he couldn't prove. Maybe they killed him because they thought he'd cause trouble."

While Brit sobbed against Sam's chest, he'd have cut off his arm rather than hurt her. But someone did want to hurt her.

When her crying subsided, he used his handkerchief to wipe the tears still glistening in her eyes. "Did you, or anyone, go through or throw away his personal notes?"

Brit shuddered. "I have boxes of papers from his home office. Does Drew think we should go through them? Oh, Sam!"

Brit looked tired enough to crawl in bed and pull the covers over her head. She pulled away from the warmth and confusion of his comforting embrace.

"Night, Sam." Brit took several steps toward the front porch door. Turning back, she spoke, "see you in the morning."

* * * *

Sam waited until Brit went inside. By now, she'd be in her room, safe from him and his need to hold her and comfort her and make love to her. Rising stiffly, Sam headed inside to the room he had been assigned. It was time to call it a night, or early morning. Sleeping just doors down from Brit wouldn't be easy.

Drew had said there might be papers or notes, maybe threats against her husband's life. Going through her dead husband's things would be rough on her. There had to be some clue to track down his enemies. His death probably hadn't been an accident.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Sam couldn't sleep. He thought about the woman in bed just doors away. He ached, thinking about the way she'd looked and smelled, so fresh from her shower. Visions of her making love with him in the hotel room after the trashing of her yard, had left him breathless and heart-sore. He dreamed about caressing her silky skin. They had been as one body, moving together in sensuous abandon. Brit had to realize they were meant for each other. He had to get her back to her home.

Two doors down the hall, Brit sat on her bed and used her cell to check her answering machine messages.

Message one set her teeth on edge. "You betta come home soon, sugar. Miss ya." How had the man had the opportunity to make such a call from jail? "See ya soon."

"Not if I see you first," she muttered. She could do this without Sam's help.

Message two was no better. "You're out late, girl. The boyfriend was looking for you. Don't you tell him where you're going? Maybe he's not the only one you're givin' it to. Gonna share it with me when I get out of this Hellhole, Bitch."

Brit shook her head. Who was keeping him informed?

How many people were watching her? She had never chewed her fingernails before, but she had to snatch her thumb away before she gnawed it to the knuckle.

Message three made her shiver. "I'm gonna get you soon. You'll look around and I'll be there. And I'm gonna have me a good time hurting you. Think about it, dream about it."

Brit watched the shadows of her curtains dancing in the night breeze. Her digital clock changed time with agonizing slowness for an hour before she drifted into a fitful sleep.

She awoke in the cloying dark, shaking from the nightmare she thought had gone away. Tommy darted in front of a truck. She tried to warn him, but he didn't hear her. The truck sped toward him, as she had seen it do so many times, in the nightmares she had for the first two years after his death. It always went the same way. His strong, healthy body flew through the air, landing in a lifeless, crumpled pile, yards from the point of impact.

Brit bolted upright in her bed. Her scream woke her. Forcing herself to breathe slowly and deeply she turned her head into her pillow, certain she wouldn't go back to sleep. She did, finally. She had better dreams this time.

She was having the strangest dream. Strong hands moved over her body, touching her skin, heating it with a fever. Her moan awakened her in time to hear her mother's quiet knocking at her door. She opened her eyes to the daylight. "Come in," she croaked with a voice thick with sleep.

As Brit arose from her bed, she remembered that she and Sam were going to bring down the boxes of Tommy's personal papers and stuff. Maybe that was why she had been visited by the nightmare again. Would she and Sam find something to help explain Tommy's death and her own danger? What did she hope? It was one thing to know her husband died as the result of an accident, even a stupid accident. The possibility that he was murdered was hard to consider.

In the Simpson's cheery kitchen, Sam settled his gaze on Brit. She obviously hadn't slept any better than he had. Taking a bite of eggs, he asked, "Did you check your phone messages?"

"Yep, I did."

"So?" Sam held his fork beside his plate.

"He's back." She took a sip of coffee.

"Want to tell me about it?"

"Not really." Brit glanced pointedly toward her mother. Surely, Sam didn't expect her to talk about something so awful in front of her mama.

"Later?" He shrugged.

"Why don't you just let him listen to the messages? You didn't erase them, did you?" Ellen looked from Brit to Sam. "I'll bet the police have already checked into them."

Sam and Brit looked at the woman who had made the suggestion as though she offered them napkins or more juice.

"Well, they are bugging your phone, aren't they? They certainly should be."

"Mama?"

"You don't need to pussyfoot around me. I know more about the world than you realize. I've been around a long time and I'm not a hermit. There must be something I could do."

"Just being here when I need you is enough."

"How long will it take for you two to get ready for church? You are going aren't you? Matthew took Alisha in early."

Brit stared at Sam.

He shrugged.

She hadn't even thought about church, but maybe she could use a little divine guidance. "I can be ready in fifteen minutes. Sam, you don't have to go just 'cause --"

"Think I'd let you go anywhere without me?"

"I'm leaving in twenty minutes. Your daddy'll meet us."

* * * *

Sitting in church had brought some peace for Brit. She'd heard little of the sermon, but the music and stained glass windows always made her feel better about things. Neither she nor Sam had eaten much lunch. Sam appeared to be as distracted as she was.

Bare bulbs dangled at ends of long cords in the large walk-in attic. Afternoon light streamed through windows.

"These boxes are my things," Brit called to Sam. "I'll check the contents, since I'm not sure what Mama packed in them."

"Here, use my knife to cut the tape." Sam hunkered down beside her. "Wait, this one says 'clothes'."

Smiling at her mother's neat magic marker printing on each box, Brit pushed the first one aside before pulling a second box closer to Sam. "PAPERS - TOMMY'S DESK - DEN," she read.

A bundle of cards, tied in pink ribbon, were from Brit. A stack tied in twine were from other family members. Other bundles were from friends and business associates. "He was a sentimental pack rat, see these notes I sent him from college?"

She smiled. "Here's the program from the play we did together. That was how I met him, you know? It was his last play as a pre-law student. He knew there wouldn't be time for outside activities once he moved into law school fulltime. A napkin from a fraternity dance. He belonged, but he didn't
really
belong since he didn't care for much drinking. He wasn't a prude, but he was into law and order, very conservative, very Republican.

Brit shuffled through mementos of her time with the man she'd said was her first and only love. "Look at these!" She pulled out small notebooks and appointment books. She held her breath and passed them for his inspection. "Should we go through them now or should we call Drew?"

"I called him before we went to the restaurant after church to check on his progress and to tell him what we planned for this afternoon. He should be here in another hour. We could take these downstairs."

Let's check the other boxes before we take these down." Brit placed the stacks of cards and memorabilia back into their box.

"What is it, baby?" He touched a tear traveling from her eyes to her cheek. "Need a hug?"

In an instant, she was in his embrace, holding on for dear life. He placed a kiss on her head. She felt his breath hot on her hair. She shivered, then sighed and pulled away.

"I am glad you're here. Thanks."

"Any time, sweetheart, anytime."

They took one other box of papers with envelopes and scraps of paper with notes about appointments downstairs to her room for sorting.

"Sam, would you look at this." She held up a desk calendar with notes scribbled on some dates.
See Costello about inconsistencies in testimony
was written on a square three days before Tommy's death.

"Who is Costello?"

"Tommy represented a Bick Costello. Tommy was awfully quiet after the first day in court with that case."

Sam pointed to the next day. "Send Brit to spend a few days visiting her parents."

Brit frowned. "He did suggest I come home for a few days, but I had classes to teach."

"Check the month before his death." Sam rifled through more papers. The notes about people to call or see seemed routine, until they saw the note:
Everyone is entitled to a defense. Why me?

Beside the day of Tommy's accident, Sam read, "Call GBI about Costello, then resign from case."

The most shocking thing they found was a large manila envelope, containing a wrinkled envelope bearing Tommy's bold scrawl, "No sale!" Brit's voice quavered. On the outside, someone had scribbled
fifty thousand, down payment.
Inside there was a stack of hundred dollar bills and more.

"Sam," Brit whispered, "this doesn't look good. Tommy was too honest to be bought. This means someone killed him before he could return it, doesn't it?" Her voice broke. "Damn!"

"We'll give everything to Drew. Maybe there'll be finger prints, besides Tommy's, on the bills or even the envelope."

By the time Drew's black truck pulled up to the Simpson house, Brit and Sam waited in the porch swing. The scruffy man approaching the porch steps sent Brit into fits of laughter. His worn, tight jeans looked like they had been washed too many times, while his black tee shirt was so tight it molded to his muscular chest and showed fine-honed, tanned upper arms. His longish black hair and beard were enough to set small town law officers to checking wanted posters.

"How nice of you to get all dressed up just for us." Sam reached for his brother's hand. "Didn't have anything casual?"

The tug of war that began when Drew took Sam's hand ended in a back-slapping, bear hug.

"Where's your motorcycle?" Brit asked when Drew turned his brother loose and hugged her. "Mama'll love this. Especially the spider earring. I'm glad my niece isn't here to fall madly in love with you."

Ellen wiped her hands on her apron, then pushed the screen door to greet the stranger on her porch.

"So, you're Sam's brother, Drew?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Come have some supper," she said without blinking an eye. "I've just put food on the table."

Sam and Brit lagged behind Drew.

Ellen took his arm to lead him through the door.

They exchanged shrugs as they followed the unlikely pair to the dining room table.

Brit laughed when Matthew stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of his mother leading the Hell's Angel look alike, so out of place in her neat, conservative house. To his credit, he said nothing to show his shock at the appearance of the man introduced as Sam's brother.

Supper went well, considering the anticipation plaguing Drew, Sam, and Brit, and quickly.

Brit smiled at her dad when he arrived just after everyone sat down to eat. He took the introduction of Sam's brother in stride, showing little surprise at the addition of the scruffy guest. "I'm running short on time." He reached across the table to shake Drew's hand.

"Sorry I have to eat and run, but I have a mother in labor and twins that should arrive in a couple of hours. They don't care if the doctor's hungry or tired. Their poor mama won't appreciate it if they show up early and I'm not there."

And he did eat quickly, finishing just as his beeper signaled that he was needed. "Glad to have met you, Drew. Gotta go help two stubborn babies get here."

Both Matthew and Ellen warmed up to Drew. Neither knew the real reason for his presence. It didn't pay to have too many people privy to that kind of information. He kept up his end of a conversation without giving away too much.

When the three conspirators sat down with the boxes of papers in Brit's room, no one expected to discover more than Sam and Brit had found earlier.

After an hour of reading and discarding notes to the 'not relevant to this situation' stack, Drew let out a long whistle. He pulled Sam aside near the window, before he blurted under his breath, "Jesus H. Christ, Sam! This is it! Look at these comments. The week before her husband was killed, he had an appointment to see a Charles Russo about a rumor he heard. Look, it says here that he planned to discuss his concerns about several warehouses belonging to a Peter Salvo."

"We have to tell Brit."

"Yeah, these warehouses are known now for being sites for drug dealing, among other illegal activities. I know of more than one bust there."

"That is unbelievable. He was definitely a target then. I'm sure Brit had no idea."

Flipping the page, he saw notations dated the next day. "The big man had refused to meet him. He sent flunkies to warn nosy lawyers off things that didn't concern them."

Brit had put down the letter she was reading and joined them near the door.

"Oh, Tommy, what did you get yourself into?" Brit covered her face with her hands and shook her head. "He never said a word to me about this."

"He couldn't involve you. I didn't hear you come up." Drew tried to reassure her. "He couldn't go to the police until he had more evidence to go on. Without proof he'd be in trouble."

The room was quiet, except for the turning of pages and an occasional
hmmm
or
wow!
"We need to know more about Costello. I'll check the records of our Mr. Drake's visitors in his special quarters, courtesy of the state. Where can we get copies of these papers made?" Drew looked at Brit.

"Not here, this late on a Sunday." Brit shook her head.

"We need to get this information to Atlanta and hide the originals. With what we have learned in the past three years, we can use these notes to nail the lid on at least one crook's coffin." Drew stacked notebooks and papers in his backpack. "Since I'm a special investigator, I can get an interview with the scumbag who attacked you, Brit. I'll get him to tell me who sent him."

Brit paced. The more real the danger seemed, the harder it was for her to sit. Drew stood beside her. Taking her hand in his, he explained, "Once I convince the right people that the attacks weren't isolated rapes, we can get real protection."

"Won't you be in danger, Drew, since you'll have the evidence?"

"Not for long. I didn't see anyone following me, so this line must not be tapped. No one is likely to think a cop visited you today." Drew laughed at the idea of someone who looked like him visiting this picture-perfect small town. "I think you shook anyone who might have been following you, when you left with Julie. No one seems to be watching this place. I checked things out before I came in and again after supper."

Sam clasped his brother's hand. "Call or text me as soon as you get home and let me know how things go at the sheriff's office. I'm betting you'll flash your credentials and get any help you need, as usual.