Soft Target (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

When Gray woke, sunlight flooded the room and she’d disappeared. Had he dreamt it?

Part of it had been real. He flexed his fingers, and the skin pulled against the stitches under the bandage. Each digit was a healthy pink, and they were all there. Lying still, he inhaled deeply, exhaled, and tested his muscles in an assessment that had become habit. He ached, but nothing refused to move. All in all, it could’ve been worse.

The floorboards creaked, and breakfast smells filled the house. It could’ve been much worse. He’d practically fucked her against the car while brake fluid drained into the parking lot, before speeding along that crooked road with her almost in his lap. And he’d dissolved into a drugged stupor and left her to protect both of them in the dark.

Ignoring the protests of his bandaged hand and banged-up body, he climbed from bed and dressed without screaming. Then he went in search of coffee and Maggie, in that order.

He found her in the office, sitting on a stool staring at the suspect board, tapping her pen against her chin. He cleared his throat and she dropped her notebook as she spun toward the door, muffling her cry as she grabbed her shoulder.

Cuts littered her hands and arms, and one short, deep gash on her brow line was stitched closed. A monstrous bruise climbed from the collar of her shirt to halfway up her neck, and its mottled red and blue pattern complemented her black eye.

When he found this bastard, they’d be picking up pieces for days.

“It’s nothing,” she said as she winced and straightened her spine. Her smile was shaky. “How are you?”

“Sore, but it’s the best sleep I’ve had in a while.”

“It was the drugs,” she suggested.

She’d talked him to sleep, then watched over him. It wasn’t the drugs. “What are you doing?”

“You’ve sacrificed a lot for this, and I thought I’d pitch in.” She sipped her coffee and turned back to the board.

Every time she gasped, his conscience twinged. He walked to her side and stared at his suspects.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“The break-in. He broke everything, but he never looked for me. It was like a tantrum.”

Gray nodded. “He thought you’d be here.”

“And the gas tank. He knew I’d be driving. But how did he know I’d be alone?”

As he stood there, Gray willed his brain and his body to ignore how she’d felt against him. How whole he’d felt last night. “Who knew I was gone?”

“The glass guys and the furniture repair crew, but they don’t make any sense. They haven’t been around for anything else. And everyone at the bar.” She looked up at him, her mouth in a stubborn line. “No, Graham. It can’t
be one of them.”

“I don’t want to think about it either, Badger. But it’s a clue, maybe. And it narrows our focus. Church, the fund-raisers and the bar on Wednesday night. Can you make a list?”

She did, and it was longer than he would’ve liked. A few of his suspects showed up, a few didn’t. They argued long and hard before she let him put Marco Romanelli on the board. They backed up and looked at their morning’s work.

“It could still be anyone.” Maggie sighed.

“Since I can’t go to the quarries for a while, I’ll spend some time with Glen and the guys. They can question these guys about their alibis.”

She shivered at the word. “Can you talk to Bill Granger by yourself? He’s home with his mother for a few days. If you don’t mind, you can take a loaf of the sweetbread I have in the oven.”

He followed her to the kitchen. “I don’t think you should keep to your routine anymore. No bar, no meetings, no volunteering.”

She dropped the bowl to the counter. Silver clattered against glass as the fruit bounced onto the counter. “I can’t do that.”

“The world won’t end if you take a break.”

“I have responsibilities, just like you do. These people expect—”

“I don’t give a shit what they expect.” He dragged in a breath to keep from yelling. He didn’t want to fight
. “
I can’t keep you safe if you’re running around town.”

“I’ve culled a lot of stuff from my schedule, but I can’t just
sit
here.” She was making the same effort, he could tell by the grip she had on the countertop. “Besides, if I hide so does he.”

He shook his head. “You aren’t bait.”

“Yeah, I kinda am.” She released her grip on the granite and put her hand over his. “Please, Graham. I can’t let him win.”

He stared into her gold-flecked hazel eyes and flipped his hand to wind his fingers through hers. “I go where you go. No more driving without me. You host all the meetings here. Deal?”

She nodded. “Deal.”

“We’ll start tomorrow. Everyone comes here for lunch, not to Nate’s.” He smiled. “This house—your house—is plenty large enough. Take advantage of it.”

After breakfast, Maggie started a quiet playlist, and Gray stretched out on the sofa to read the latest David McCullough. When the heavy hardback woke him by falling on his nose, he glanced across the room. Maggie was in a chair in front of the window with her feet propped on the ottoman. Her hair glowed in the sunlight as she nodded off and dropped her book to the floor. Jerking awake, she stretched down to reach it and gasped in pain.

Stifling his groan, focusing on lifting his feet instead of shuffling, Gray retrieved his bottle of aspirin and a glass of water. Back in the living room, he offered both to her.

“Thanks,” she said as she shook pills into her hand.

Gray touched the stitches on her brow.

“I’m fine.” She tilted her chin and angled it until a thin white scar was visible. “See. I’ve had them before.”

“What happened?”

“I fell on a rock. Well, actually, I jumped out of the tree and landed on a rock hidden in the leaves.”

“Why did you jump out of a tree?”

“We were playing Musketeers, and I was leading the ambush. You can’t ambush from the ground.”

“No, you can’t.” He ran his fingers along her jawline to her ear and let her hair tickle his fingers. “But I’m supposed to protect you and I didn’t.”

“Yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And nothing happened to you at all.”

A car crept down the driveway. “Come away from the window, Badger. Sit on the sofa.”

Sure she was safe, he opened the front door. Glen Roberts emerged from his patrol car and trudged up the steps. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks. What did you find?”

Glen lifted his hand to display rubber tubing with neat slashes and cuts run through it. “Sabotage. We’re going over what we can on the car. I knew you’d want to know, and I wanted to check on you both. Need anything?”

Gray shook his head. “Can you tell how long it had been leaking?”

“No. A day, maybe two. But if it had been two days, you would’ve seen it.”

Would he? Or would he have been staring at his wife in her silky blue dress and her wedding ring glinting under the garage lights? “Thanks, Glen. I’ll come in on Monday.”

He shut the door and turned to Maggie, who was already asleep on the sofa. Sitting next to her, he pulled her to his chest and then stretched out. She roused even as she stretched her legs to mimic his. “Graham?”

“Let’s watch a movie,” he said as he reached for the remote control.

He picked the first comedy in the queue. Maggie yawned and snuggled closer. Gray stared out the window, imagining loonies behind every tree.

Wrapping one arm around her, he pulled his phone from his pocket. It took him twice as long to text one-handed, but there was no way he was letting her go.

S.O.S.

The text alert chirped.

I’ll be there in a week.

Gray smiled at Jeff’s quick, unquestioning response. That’s what friends did.

After dozing throughout the day, they went to their own rooms late that night. He collapsed to the mattress, exhausted from hyperalertness and inactivity. He should have expected the nightmares. For months, that sort of exhaustion had spawned them.

“I trusted you! You were supposed to keep her safe!” Nate screamed at him from the corner of Orrin’s great room while Gray looked up from the floor. Past him was a crowd of people chanting, “How could you?” Bakers, jewelers, engineers and frowning businessmen all sprang to life from the files at their feet, all targets of his cases.

He tried to stand but his body wouldn’t obey and his hands slipped on the bloody hardwood. Maggie lay between them, her eyes vacant while Felix licked her wounds.

“No. No!” His entire body shook as her voice rang in his head. Please, Graham. “No!”

* * *

Graham’s screams jerked Maggie awake and fear tightened her lungs as she ran down the hall. Instead of an intruder looming over him, his sheets were tangled around his legs and knotted in his fists.

Leaping onto the mattress, she grasped his good shoulder and shook him. He wrestled away from her and then swept her aside.

“Please, Graham. Wake up!”

He sat bolt upright, his body covered in sweat and his chest heaving with every shaky breath. His wide eyes finally focused on her.

“Sorry.” He dragged in a shaky breath. “Just a nightmare. Did I hurt you?”

“No.” She kept his hand and softened her voice as she sat on the edge of the bed and waited on him to relax. As he reclined, she brushed her fingers over the webbing of tissue that glistened in the dark. First across his ribs and then up to his shoulder, wishing she could erase them for him. He edged away.

“They’re ugly, Maggie.”

“Why?” Holding her breath, she leaned forward and brushed her lips to his skin. He relaxed beneath her, and his nose tickled her ear.

“They’re a road map of my worst mistake,” he murmured.

She brushed her fingers through his silky hair. “You’re safe, sweetheart. Rest.”

“Stay, Badger,” he breathed as he closed his eyes. “Stay with me.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It was early when she woke, warm and comfortable against him while he was still asleep. What she wouldn’t give to hear
come with me.
But he hadn’t asked that, so this would have to do.

Slipping away, she went to her end of the house and got ready for church, careful to avoid squeaky floorboards, and showering with the bathroom door open so she could hear if he woke.

She was in the kitchen, putting a roast in the slow cooker, when Graham came around the corner. He was dressed, shaved and his hair was still damp from the shower. “Good morning.”

“Hi,” she said, inhaling his clean scent while her skin warmed, recalling how he’d felt against her just hours ago. “You’re ahead of schedule.”

“I thought we’d get to church early and diffuse the gossip,” he said as he made his coffee and grabbed a muffin. “Half the town thinks I’m divorcing you, and the other half probably thinks I’m trying to kill you.”

They finished breakfast in easy silence and then drove to church like a normal couple. He parked, and she waited on him to come to her door.

“What do I need to do?” she asked. “Should I be looking for something?”

He curved his arm around her waist and urged her forward. “Leave that to me.”

Maggie stayed close to him, under his strong arm, as they walked into the sanctuary, content to pretend they
were
a normal couple.

Everyone swamped them, concerned about bruises and stitches.

“We’re fine,” she said as she hugged Faye. “Banged up, but lucky.”

She
was lucky Graham had been behind the wheel. She was lucky he was here now, beside her, with his arm around her waist and his voice rumbling through her.

As worry faded, the older women stared at them with soft smiles and dewy eyes. Her grandmother’s friends were all happy she’d found the someone her grandmother had hoped for. Tiffany’s dreamy gaze was countered by Charlene’s bawdy leer. Abby’s and Faith’s smiles wobbled on the edges. Even Kevin and Michael stared. And it was a lie.

She would not cry.

Her steps slowed. The seating was wrong. Everyone had shifted back, leaving an empty pew behind Nate.

For the new family.
How could I have forgotten?

Even as she asked, she knew the answer. She’d given up on it. She’d celebrated the tradition on the periphery, glad to know her friends and family surrounded her. And the boys had inherited their families’ spots. Those names hadn’t changed, their pews hadn’t moved. No families in the front rows had expanded in the last thirty-five years. Until today.

She tugged Graham’s hand, panic setting in as he continued forward on his charm campaign. It was bad enough to pretend, but to have it engraved?

When they reached their friends, he finally noticed the change in seating. His fingers tightened on hers, or maybe hers squeezed his. On the vacant pew was a shiny, new brass plaque. His tongue slipped along his bottom lip as he stared down the aisle noticing companion advertisements. She could recite them all. Anderson, Est. 1957, Marx, Est. 1960, Mathis, Est. 1937. And now Harper, Est. 2015.

She sat, feeling everyone’s stares and battling the temptation to scream her confession. They’d know soon enough, and then they’d all feel sorry for her again. The alternative was sitting here alone every week, after Gray left. She wasn’t sure she could do that.

Graham took her hand. “Maggie—”

“Don’t you dare tell me not to cry,” she whispered. Her fingernails dug into her palm, and if her chin went any higher she’d be staring at the ceiling. “What the hell do you think I’m doing?”

She knew he was staring, but his gaze was different from the others. Somehow it was warm, like his fingers on her skin or his lips against hers. Those thoughts weren’t helping. He’d be gone. She’d have to face this alone. She focused on her breathing until her exhales didn’t shake.

“Can you say
hell
in church?”

His question derailed her focus, and she sputtered into giggles as the choir filed into the loft.

After the service, every woman in church wanted to know what they thought of the little piece of brass. It led to another round of hugs and congratulations and more tears as they all talked about her grandparents and her poor, dear father. It took them forever to reach the truck.

Graham sat behind the wheel, staring out the windshield. “I’ve never had my name on anything more permanent than an apartment lease. What will happen...later?”

“They’re easy to remove,” she said as she forced a smile.

He reached over and tugged her ear. “Quit working, Margaret Anne.”

Exhaling, she let her act dissolve. “We’ll deal with it.” She put her hand in his. “We should go.”

Once home, Maggie pushed the morning behind her and fell into the role she’d had for years. Lunch, watching baseball on the big screen, cleanup, chores. Only this time, the routine didn’t chafe like a harness.

“Can I help?” Graham asked.

“You can entertain the guys.” She glanced around the house. Her friends were smiling too much, staring too long. They believed the lie. “Please. I need some space. You shouldn’t get your bandages dirty anyway.”

He nodded and walked away. “Let’s go outside, guys.”

“But the game’s on,” Nate protested.

“My house, my rules,” Gray said as he opened the back door.

His house.

She quelled the thought and directed the melee as the women adjusted to an unfamiliar kitchen. While Charlene finished tossing the salad, Faith mashed potatoes. Tiffany set the table while Maggie put green beans in the oven.

She looked outside as she dished the roast from the slow cooker. The guys were relaxed, laughing. In here, the girls were have a grand time in the kitchen she’d designed for just this purpose. Surrounded by her friends and family.
My house.

Graham winked at her.

Our house.

“Does Gray like sweet tea?” Faith asked.

Maggie blinked. “I don’t know.”

Charlene was next. “What about onions?”

“Umm, I’m not sure.”

Tiffany unwrapped her prize-winning banana pudding. She froze, staring at Maggie. “Don’t tell me.”

“Sorry, Tiff. He hates them.” She patted her friend’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ve got chocolate ice cream in the freezer. He can eat that.”

“He likes chocolate?”

“I think so,” Maggie mumbled as she dished broth into a pan on the stove. Gravy. She needed to make gravy. Using cornstarch as an excuse, she fled to the pantry to catch her breath. Returning, she focused on the chore that was more like chemistry than anyone realized.

Reduce the heat, sprinkle in the starch and stir. Stir. Stir. More starch.

“What’s his middle name?” Tiffany asked.

“Whose?” Maggie mumbled as she focused on the stove. “Oh. I’m not sure. It starts with an A.”
I think.

“Alastair?” Tiffany guessed.

“Achilles?” Charlene giggled.

“Agamemnon?” Faith chimed in.

“Alaric?” Tiffany tried again.

Maggie banged the whisk on the sides of the saucepan and tipped the spoon. Just a little more starch.

“Ooh,” Charlene squealed. “Anakin?”

The whole spoonful went into the mixture. Lumps appeared in the broth.
Dammit. I don’t know!
Battling tears, Maggie reached for the extra broth but bobbled the slick glass, spilling it across the stove.

Smoke. Squealing alarm.

The back door banged open and a herd galloped through.

“Turn that fucking racket
off
,” she yelled.

Blessed silence reigned. For about a minute. Everyone began to choke on laughter. At her. It wasn’t funny.

All of this is a lie.
Maggie felt the words bubbling under her trembling bones.

“We were trying to guess your middle name,” Tiffany explained. “So far Anakin’s the best guess.”

“It’s Androcles,” he said.

Maggie snapped her gaze to his, unable to stop her smile. “You’re joking.”

“I am,” he conceded. “Nothing that unique. It’s Anthony.” He led her from the kitchen and into his hallway. “We’ll be back in a minute.”

He shut his bedroom door. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“All I knew was you hate bananas,” Maggie muttered. “What kind of wife doesn’t know her husband’s middle name?”

“The bananas were important,” he teased.

“This is serious, Graham. They believe us. Even Faith is starting to play along.”

He sat in a chair and pulled her to stand between his knees. “Did you guess Anakin?”

“Of course not! You’re a tax lawyer, not a Sith Lord.”

“I have files full of people who would swear I’m the hulking monster of their nightmares.”

Well, crap. Now she was going to have to change her ringtone. “You aren’t a monster. I’m sorry if I hurt—”

He shook his head. “I’m more concerned you didn’t read our marriage license before you signed it, and that I’ll have to eat plain potatoes since you ruined the gravy.”

“You really are my favorite,” she whispered as she kissed his cheek.

He turned toward her, and his fingers tightened on her waist as his lips touched hers. “Good to know.”

Relaxing into his arms, she traced his lips with the tip of her tongue. Their softness complemented his freshly shaven jaw. She danced her fingers down the cords in his neck and across his wide, strong shoulders. Deepening the kiss, she tasted him the way he did her and savored his rich, salty-sweet flavor. It reminded her of truffles, biscotti and coffee, whiskey.

As his hair tickled and tempted her fingers, his groan rumbled through her and his warm hands pulled her closer. One slid to her hip, and the other traveled up her ribs toward her breast. Her insides coiled in anticipation.

“Hey, sis!” Nate called as he rapped on the window. “When’s lunch?”

She jumped away, staring at Graham in the chair. His hair still had furrows in it from her fingers.

She put a trembling hand over her warm, swollen lips and listened to her brother’s cackling laughter. It was bad enough her friends believed the lie, but now she was beginning to believe it, too. Tears coated her throat as she scurried for the door. She had to get out of here before she embarrassed herself. Again.

* * *

The car rocked on its squeaky suspension as Shelby slammed the door. She’d spent the morning at Sunday brunch with Kate, listening to the small-town tramp gossip about Maggie Mathis and town history, looking for an angle. The woman was livid over the events from the fund-raiser. Gray and his
wife
had stood up for each other. They’d formed a successful team.

Shelby knew most of it already. She’d been there, watching as they left the party. He’d forgotten they were in public. Gone from protecting his princess to dry-humping, leaving both of them vulnerable.

Of course she was upset he’d been hurt in the accident. The brakes weren’t supposed to fail when he was in the car. It should have happened earlier, when she was alone. Instead he’d saved her, and now
Maggie
slept next to him and calmed his nightmares. And they had everyone at their home—like a family.

It led Shelby to one horrible conclusion. Gray wasn’t returning to Chicago. Regardless of why he’d originally come here, he’d given it up to play husband. But for how long?

How long before the newness of this impulsive decision wore off? She’d seen it before with cops who fell for witnesses, or marshals who screwed informants or protectees during a case. They returned to their daily lives, boredom set in, and the spouses became a burden. Gray would do the same thing. He’d wake up in the middle of nowhere with a socialite wife and no career prospects outside the family business.

He’d be clawing to come back to Chicago and his old life, but it would be too late unless she helped him. Now.

Two hours later, she wiped sloshed coffee and pie crumbs from the diner’s countertop and put her plan in action.

“Carl, I’ve talked to Gray.”

“Why?”

“We talk all the time. We’ve even met a few times at the Holiday Inn in Boise.” She moved closer and dropped her voice. “He’s going to leave Maggie.”

Hope and sadness warred across the young man’s face.

“He’s waiting until she pays him. He’s saving enough for us to get a good start somewhere new.”

“She’d never pay him!”

“Oh dear. He said he was getting money. Surely he wouldn’t...”

“He’s going to take her money and leave her?”

Anger flared in the young man’s eyes, and Shelby stopped. Working undercover had taught her the art of believability. Push just enough and then let the target fill in the blanks.

She willed tears into her eyes. “I thought you’d be happy. He’ll be gone, and you can be here to pick up the pieces.”

Falling silent, she went to work and waited. He’d do this. She knew it. She was never wrong.

“Are you sure you want to leave with him?” he asked.

“That’s awfully sweet,” she said, ducking to hide her satisfied smile, “but I can take care of myself. You take care of Maggie.”