The First Law of Love (29 page)

Inside
, I decided.
I
'
ll go inside and then I
'
ll call him.

I hauled my purse and my bag up the stairs, holding Case's jacket to my breasts, and unlocked 206. The door bumped against something, but it didn't occur to me that something was wrong; I just shoved harder, irritated. I stepped inside and then paused, frowning as my eyes roved over my space, before a cold chill broke out along my spine and I froze. My purse and my bag slid down my shoulders and hit the floor.

My apartment floor, which was covered with my things. Trashed, as though a bunch of teenagers had thrown a roof-shaker of a party. My coffee maker in pieces on the kitchen floor, my clothes strewn everywhere, along with my shoes, a drawer from the dresser in my room, overturned in front of the television. The placemats from my table, the picture on the wall, the hanging quilt, all torn from their original locations.

“What?” I whispered faintly. “What the hell?”

I looked frantically around, as though whoever had done this might still be lingering, and then anger flushed through my entire body. Still clutching Case's jacket, I stormed through my apartment, finding the sheets ripped from my bed, the contents of my bathroom cupboard littering the hall. More drawers overturned in here, my underwear and bras all over the place.

What the fuck?!

I marched back to the living room and retrieved my purse, dialing Case as though by instinct; he answered between the second and third ring.

“Tish,” he said before saying anything else, and his voice made my knees weak. I sank to a crouch.

“Hey,” I said in response, but that was enough for him to know that something was wrong.

“What is it? Are you all right?” he asked at once.

“I'm home,” I told him, trembling now. “I'm home and someone has been in my apartment.”

“What?” he asked.

“Someone's been in here and ripped apart all of my things,” I said, and tears leaked over my face, infuriating me.

“I will be right there,” he said. “I want you to go outside and call 911. Will you do that?” When I was too choked to reply, he said more urgently, “Tish. Will you do that?”

“Yes,” I said. “Please hurry.”

I put his jacket on, over my green sundress which I had once again worn for travel. I curled it around my body, stumbling down the steps and out into the sun. I sat on the curb and dialed 911; the woman on the line assured me that someone would be right over. Minutes later I spied Case's maroon truck and I sprang to my feet, gladness rising so swiftly within me that I felt dizzy.

He parked and climbed determinedly from his truck. I met him halfway, crazy for the sight of him, devouring him with my eyes; his burned a path straight through me. Nothing had seemed more natural than to be collected against his chest, where I clung. I didn't care what he thought about that, I simply held him as hard as I could.

“When did you get home?” he asked, his arms tight around me. I could feel his heart beating against my breasts. And then, “Did you call 911?”

I nodded, so reluctant to draw away from him, but I wanted to see his face. I felt like I had already taken too many liberties and I let my arms drop back to my sides. He cupped my right elbow before releasing me altogether, and he asked softly, “What happened?”

I tucked hair behind both my ears, as my face felt hot and sweaty. I could not look away from his eyes, his beautiful eyes that were so worried for me. I said, “I just got home, hardly ten minutes ago, and when I opened the door, I saw…” I paused and drew a breath, steadied my voice. “Everything is torn up, broken, my clothes are all over the place…”

“What the hell?” he asked, his eyebrows knitting. “I'm glad you called me.”

“Wy gave me your number,” I explained, and just as I said it a cop car came crunching into the lot.

“There's Jerry,” Case said at this, and he was so reassuring, turning with me to address the man climbing from the white SUV with a revolving light on the top.

“Spicer, what's going on?” asked the sheriff, an older, mustached man with black hair going salty-white, visible beneath the back edge of a gray cowboy hat. To me, he extended a hand and added, “Jerry Woodrow. You're Patricia Gordon, the new lawyer, is that right? I haven't had the pleasure.”

I straightened my shoulders and said, “Yes, that's me. Good to meet you too.”

“Not the best circumstances, I'll give you that,” Jerry allowed. “What's going on this evening?”

I told him what I had found and he listened patiently, then said, “I'll go and have a look. Did you notice anything missing?”

I shook my head. “It didn't occur to me to look.”

“That's all right. You stay here and I'll be back directly,” Jerry said, resettling his hat.

“I still have your jacket,” I told Case, which was a ridiculous thing to say, as Jerry disappeared into the apartment.

Case smiled a little at this and said, “I noticed.”

“I'm glad you're here,” I told him, and I meant this so very much that my throat ached. “So glad.”

He studied me intently. He said, “Me, too. I was supposed to play at The Spoke in an hour or so, but I told Lee I'd do it tomorrow night, instead.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. “And I kicked the bar exam's ass,” I went on, even as another round of tears brimmed in my eyes. Impatiently I swiped at them with the cuff of his jacket.

“Of course you did,” he said, smoothing a hand over my right shoulder, though only briefly. He added, quietly, “I'm glad you're back.”

“Me, too,” I whispered.

From up on my balcony, Jerry called, “Ms. Gordon? Would you be so kind as to come up?”

Case and I joined him in the apartment; Case drew in an angry breath at the sight of my place. Jerry met us in the living room and said, “My first instinct would be a robbery, but there doesn't appear to be anything missing. TV still here, radio, DVD player. Do you have any valuables, smaller things?”

“Not really,” I said. “My pendant watch from my father is the only thing…”

“Will you see if it's here?” Jerry asked patiently.

I hurried to my room; oddly, my cut-glass jewelry holder remained undisturbed on my dresser; my Cartier timepiece glittered at me from its usual place. I called, “It's right here.”

“Strange,” Jerry mused. “You told dispatch you've been out of town since Monday, is that right?”

I nodded. “I just got home from the airport.”

“I'll check with the neighbors, ask a few questions,” Jerry said. “No one had access to your apartment that you were aware? No one who might be an asshole and throw a party while you were away?”

“No,” I said.

Derrick Yancy
flashed through my mind then, but I needn't be a lawyer to realize that I had less than no proof of this.

“Can I clean up in here?” I asked Jerry. “Do you need to, I don't know, check for fingerprints or anything?”

He shook his head. “Not typically in these circumstances.” As though teasing me, he asked, “You didn't find a body or anything, did you?”

“Jesus, Jerry,” Case muttered, clearly annoyed with his friend's dad.

Jerry sent us a grin, tipping his hat brim. He said, “For now, I'm going to assume that some kids broke in here and trashed the place. Who knows? Maybe they heard you were out of town, maybe a neighbor has a teenager. Oh, and call your insurance company tomorrow, first thing, get a quote for property damage.”

“I will,” I said, feeling helpless and therefore angry.

“I'll help you clean up in here,” Case said.

Jerry went to knock on my neighbors' doors, but even I guessed there wouldn't be much help from them; not even all of the apartments in the building were occupied, as it was a new place. I straightened a chair first thing and hung Case's jacket along the top, as I was too hot wearing it; for the next fifteen minutes, Case and I worked in almost complete silence, both of us brimming with things we wanted to say, but couldn't. I stuffed all of my lingerie back into its drawer before I did anything else, while Case righted chairs and filled a garbage bag with the broken pieces of my coffee maker and my radio.

Next I collected all of my clothes and threw them in my room, bundled up my sheets and took them to the washing machine down the hall, feeling utterly violated; someone other than me had touched these, had torn them from my mattress. I wiped angry, frustrated tears on my shoulder as I shoved quarters into the machine, harder than necessary. When I reentered the apartment, Case said immediately, “I don't like the thought of you staying here alone.”

I looked at him with everything I wasn't supposed to feel rioting through me. I forced myself to say, “It's fine. I'm just fine here.”

“I think you should stay with Clark,” he insisted.

Stay here with me, oh God, please stay here with me
, I wanted to beg, but wouldn't. I knew he saw this in my eyes, I knew it, as he drew in a deep breath.

“At least for tonight,” he said, more softly.

Jerry popped back into the apartment door then, almost crashing into me. He tipped his hat again and said, “Ms. Gordon, pardon me. No one seems to have heard anything. I talked to the super and he told me he can't believe this sort of thing could happen, go figure. He said he'll make sure he puts a lock on the door in the lobby sometime soon, as just anyone could come in right now.”

I shivered a little at this thought.

“I hate to say it, there's not much more I can do tonight,” Jerry told me. “I don't think you're in harm's way, to be honest. This sort of thing happens. Be sure to latch that deadbolt on the door, as a matter of practice, if you haven't been. And don't hesitate to call if you're concerned about anything else tonight.”

“Easy for him to say,” Case said after Jerry took his leave. My place was reasonably tidied up; my insides, however, were not. My nerves were shot. Case studied me and said, “You're exhausted. I won't let you stay here alone tonight. I'm going to drive you to Clark's.”

Anger at him bubbled inside of me, unexpectedly. I wanted him so very much and I couldn't want him, and it was destroying me. I said, “I'm all right. I don't want to needlessly worry Clark.”

Case's eyes took on even more heat as he insisted, “He cares about you. He would worry more if you didn't tell him about this.”

“I know,” I admitted, our eyes clashing. I could feel the pulse beating in my throat. We were facing each other, no more than five feet apart; Case was holding a full garbage bag. I said, “I'll latch the deadbolt. I won't be scared to stay in my own place.”

“Dammit, Tish,” he said then, startling me. My attraction to him seemed to be a living thing that grew more every second I was around him; currently I figured it was about the size of the state of Montana. I would be lying if I didn't acknowledge that his authoritative tone made me hotter than all the coals in hell.

I put my hands on my hips then and fired back, “I appreciate your concern but I won't be scared to stay here. I won't. Whoever did this wants that.” Somehow I knew this was true. I asked, “Has anyone been back out to your place?”

He shook his head, his eyes burning right back at me. Gone was the tender concern that had permeated all of our interaction when he'd first arrived, barely an hour ago, replaced instead with a red-hot intensity that seemed to be sucking all of the air from the room. He said, throttling down the emotion in his voice, “I know one has to do with the other.”

I wanted to tell him everything, about what I'd seen in my mind while we were in Miles City last Saturday, about what Derrick had said in the hallway. But I didn't know where that would lead. All I knew was that I wanted Case to make love to me right now, forcefully, to grab fistfuls of my hair and bend me over the kitchen table. Already I had forgotten everything but him, and this terrified me. I was so unprepared to feel this way.

“I think so too,” I said faintly. My heart was so loud I was sure he could hear it. But I squared my shoulders and said, “I won't be scared here.
Damned
if I'll be scared here.”

“Tish,” he said again. “I'm bringing you to Clark's.”

“I think you better leave,” I said, even though it was the last fucking thing I wanted. “I think you better go right now.” Otherwise I was going to lose all of my thinly-veiled control.

“You are so goddamn stubborn,” he said then, fire in his voice. “You want me to leave? I'll leave.”

“
Stubborn?
” I repeated, and my voice was unpleasantly shrill.

“You're stubborn as hell,” he said, but there was admiration in his tone, along with the frustration.

“Goddammit,” I said then, helpless and furious, both. I snapped, “
You should talk!
”

He dropped the garbage bag and came to within a foot of me, and his eyes were all over me, caressing my face. I felt jolted by heat and light that burned hot trails through my body at this proximity to him, all the air in my lungs having vanished. Slowly he cupped my face with his strong hands and I shivered, turning my chin into his touch, grabbing his t-shirt with both fists.

He held my face, cradling me, sliding his palms over my skin, down the sides of my neck to my shoulders, bare in my sundress, as though touching something unimaginably precious. The expression in his eyes made me come utterly undone. He leaned and pressed his lips just beneath my right ear, breathing against me, making a small, hot spot with his tongue.

I threw my arms around his neck and clung to him, hearing inadvertent pleading sounds flowing from my lips. He kissed my jaw, tasting me, curling both hands deeply into my hair and tipping back my head so he could kiss my throat with hot, sensual kisses. He took my chin between his teeth and red fireworks burst against my eyes.