CHAPTER
TEN
Brooke stared out the window, waiting on Heather to finish her shift at the hospital, while Asher made himself at home on the couch in Heather’s den. He’d refused to leave even when she’d assured him she was fine. “I’ll just hang around if that’s all right,” he’d said. “I don’t think you should be alone until Ricci’s partner is caught.”
“I’m okay with that.”
She’d texted Heather that she was there and made her way to the spare bedroom to gather her thoughts and take inventory of the clothes and other items she’d left there. Her friend had grown up in foster homes, bounced from one end of the state to the other, but with an iron will, a near-genius IQ, and an unstoppable drive to succeed, she’d graduated from high school and joined the Army so she could study medicine and squirrel away her pennies. As soon as Heather had saved up enough for a down payment, she purchased her first home and flipped it for a decent profit. Then did it again and again. And served her country while her bank account grew.
Brooke’s phone rang. This time she recognized the number and tapped the screen to answer. “Hi, Kat.”
“Brooke! Thank you for answering. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to talk. The power keeps going off and on—you know that, of course—but I didn’t give my permission to print those pictures. I’d never, ever do that, I promise.” Tears coated her friend’s words and Brooke shut her eyes to hold back her own.
“Heather told me, but I . . . I should have known, Kat. I’m sorry I jumped straight to the conclusion that you’d betrayed me.”
“I don’t blame you a bit. The truth is, I wanted to show them to the world, but not this way. Not at your expense.”
Brooke appreciated her friend’s honesty. “How is everyone?”
“I know you won’t believe this, but you’re missed. I was snapping shots of the guys playing basketball—now, there’s an assignment I’ll never pass up—and they were talking about the shrink and how they missed her even though they’d never admit it to anyone but themselves.”
“They said that in front of you?”
“I’m invisible when I’m behind the camera, I guess, and they had their guard down. But the shrink had to be you.”
Gratitude flooded her. Maybe she’d made a difference after all. “And how’s Sarah?”
“Sarah is Sarah . . . I haven’t seen her in a while,” Kat said, her tone changing, deepening. “Something’s going on with her. Frankly, I’m worried. I need to call her.”
“Why?”
“She’s staying in touch, but it’s like the power—intermittent. Whatever this story is she’s working on, it must be huge. She’s being super tight-lipped.”
“She’s been like that for months now. Keep an eye on her, Kat. If anyone’s going to wind up in trouble over there, it’s her. She’s too impulsive.”
“Boy, is that ever the truth. I’ll see if I can find her and pin her down. Get her to talk to me.”
“Just let me know that she’s okay, will you?”
“Of cou—” The phone blipped and the call disconnected.
With a sigh, Brooke tossed the phone onto the dresser and said a quick prayer for her friends.
“You have your own room here?” Asher asked from the open door.
She jumped, his voice sending her heart pounding into triple time. She glanced up from the clothes she’d laid out on the bed, and for a moment she couldn’t speak. She wasn’t sure if it was because he’d startled her or simply because he was there. He looked so solid, so strong, so . . . safe.
“Brooke?”
“Uh, no. Not my own room, just a key to get in the house and access to the guest room. Which is what I am a lot of the time—the guest.”
He eyed the clothes. “Who do those belong to?”
She flushed. “Well, me. But I just keep a couple of outfits here. Heather and I do a lot of spur-of-the-moment stuff since our schedules can be a bit crazy.” She fingered one of the shirts. “Hers mostly. We’ve learned how to be flexible and make it work for us. The clothes in my guest closet”—she gestured to the ones she was wearing—“are Heather’s. Fortunately, we’re about the same size, although she’s taller and I have to roll her jeans up.”
“I noticed that.”
Of course he had. It seemed like he noticed everything.
“She doesn’t like roommates either, does she?” he asked.
“No.”
When Brooke and Heather had discussed moving back to Greenville, neither had broached the idea of moving in together. They knew each other too well for that. Heather wanted her space, and Brooke needed her own too. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t perfectly comfortable using her key and letting herself into Heather’s home while she got herself together and charted a plan of action. “When we were looking for houses to buy, we tried to find something we both liked in the same area, but she wanted to be near the hospital and I wanted to be near downtown. So we’re about ten minutes apart. Like I said, it works for us.” She paused. “When do you think I can get back in my house?”
“Probably tomorrow. I think we gave them all the information they needed. The crime scene unit will process everything, and then someone will let you know when you can go back. Did you contact your insurance company?”
“No, I’m not filing a claim. Nothing was taken and all I need to fix is the window.” The truth was, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go back. Well, she did, but not until every possible entrance to her home had been appropriately wired. “I’ll call the alarm company first thing in the morning and set up an appointment.” She let out a deep sigh. “But for now, I’m hungry and I know Heather will be starving when she gets home. She probably hasn’t eaten much today.”
“You cook?”
“I love to when I have the chance—or someone to cook for.”
“I’m willing to be a guinea pig.”
His eagerness made her smile. “You don’t have someone who cooks for you?”
“No, not really.”
His eyes flickered with a look she couldn’t interpret. She tilted her head and studied him, then walked past him into the hall and led the way to the kitchen. He followed as she’d figured he would.
“I dated someone for a while, but my . . . uh . . . issues seemed to be off-putting to her.”
“Then she didn’t deserve you.”
He stilled at the instant response. She hadn’t even had to think about what to say. It felt good. “Thanks.”
She tossed a smile over her shoulder before rummaging in the cabinet for the large pot to boil water.
He leaned against the doorjamb to watch, and once she had the water going, he shifted. “Can I do anything to help?”
“Depends on what it is.”
“Chicken tetrazzini.” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out the chicken.
“Ah, yeah, no. I believe that one’s above my pay grade—or kitchen skills in this case. How do you know all the ingredients are here?”
Using the cutting board and a large knife, she began cutting the chicken into strips the way she liked it. “Because Heather has a shopper and she always fills the refrigerator with fresh meats and veggies on Tuesdays.” She tossed him a smile. “And this is one of our favorites. Can you get the pasta out of the pantry?”
With a slightly bemused look on his face, he gave her a quick nod, then moved to do her bidding. Once she had the chicken prepared and in the oven, as well as the pasta boiling, she motioned to the table. He sat and she took the chair opposite him. “So, what’s your story, Asher?”
“You know most of it.”
Brooke let a short laugh escape. “I know next to nothing. Tell me about your siblings, your parents. What are they like?”
He cleared his throat and dropped his gaze to his hands clasped on the table. “My parents are Jonathan and Patricia James. They’re good people for the most part. Well meaning, I think, and . . . nice. Very proper, thanks to my mother’s British upbringing.” Another nod, but this one more for himself than for her. “My father is a lawyer. I think he may have political ambitions, but he hasn’t announced that yet. My older brother, Nicholas, is also a lawyer with Dad’s firm, much to my parents’ satisfaction—and probably relief. My younger sister, Lyric, graduates from college this year with her biology degree. She’ll start med school in the fall.”
“Very high-achieving family.”
“Well, most of us. I’m the black sheep.”
“Hmm. And your mother?”
“The perfect lawyer’s wife. She’s brilliant and was studying to be a physician when she met my father. At the time, she decided she’d rather get married and have kids than finish school. I think she regrets not finishing now, but all in all, she seems to be content.”
She studied him. “They don’t understand you at all, do they?”
He laughed—a short humorless bark. “And are completely confused as to where they went wrong with me.”
“But they love you.”
“Yeah, they do. Most of them anyway.”
“Are they from Greenville?”
“No, Charlotte.”
“So you wound up here because of the job with Gavin?”
“I did. What about you?”
She got up to check the pasta. “What do you want to know?”
“Same stuff. Siblings? Parents?”
“My mom left when I was sixteen. I haven’t talked to her since.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “I was, too, for a long time, but she didn’t want to be a mother. Or maybe she just didn’t know how. I’ve learned to let her go and can honestly say I hope she’s happy. And . . . I’ve got two sisters and a brother.” She drained the linguine. Once the chicken was finished, she’d add the pasta and it would be done. Her mouth watered at the thought. “My sister Veronica is twenty-four. She’s the baby and is off exploring the world trying to find herself—and has been for the past two and a half years—so the joke is she’s just really, really lost. My other sister, Misty, is on her third marriage. She has two kids from the first marriage and teaches fifth grade at an elementary school near her house.”
“Three marriages?”
“It’s not like we had a very good role model of what to look for in a husband.” The words were out before she could implement the filters.
“So your dad—”
“Wasn’t great. Very controlling, rigid, unforgiving. Sarah Denning and I often talked about the similarities between our fathers. Hers is much the same way.”
“Ouch.” They fell silent for a moment. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You’re not married. Any significant other?”
“No.” She couldn’t help the clipped response in spite of doing her best to keep her mind from going to Kirkland Hatfield.
“But . . .” He drew the word out.
Brooke grimaced. “But nothing. Unlike Misty, I seem to have a harder time meeting someone.”
“Meeting someone or committing to someone?”
“Meeting someone worth committing to. And anyway, the commitment issue wasn’t mine.” She hopped up and went to check the chicken in the oven.
“So whose was it?”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s in the past.”
“Hmm. And the brother?”
“That would be Paul.” She smiled. “He’s the best and I love him. He’s a pastor, believe it or not.”
“A pastor? Where?”
“Here. In Greenville.”
“What led him to that?”
“I think a lot of his search for God came from a . . . dissatisfaction with the father figure in our lives, so he went looking for a better one. He jokes that he found himself spending so much time with God that he figured he might as well get paid for it.” She shook her head.
Asher laughed. Then blinked as though the sound surprised him.
“He was my spiritual influence,” she said. “He’d found peace and life, and I wanted to know how he’d done that. It took a while for me to believe it could be real, but I discovered that it could. Doesn’t mean everything in my life is perfect, but at least I know I’m not alone in dealing with it.”
“Have you called to tell him about what happened with Sharon?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Brooke planted her hands on her hips. “You’re awfully nosy, aren’t you?”
“How else am I going to find out what I want to know?”
“Right. I didn’t want to worry him. He’s a . . . well, he can be a helicopter brother, and I prefer to just stay quiet for now. So how well did you know Isaiah?” she asked. Two could play the change-the-subject game.
His eyes glittered with what she thought might be humor for a brief second. Because he knew exactly what she was doing. The humor faded. “Isaiah was one of us. Part of my unit.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m glad you were there for him in the end,” he said, all trace of laughter gone. “Not glad you were hurt, but glad he wasn’t alone.”
“He was so concerned about being labeled a traitor. His last words were to make sure Miranda knew he wasn’t a traitor.” She bit her lip. “What if—” No. It was a crazy thought.
“Don’t stop. What if what?”
“What if he wasn’t the traitor, but someone in your unit was? And they set him up to take the fall?”
Asher reared back. “What? No. No way.”
“I know. It’s a harsh thing to say, but I keep going round and round about it and it’s the only thing I can come up with. If Isaiah wasn’t a traitor and there’s evidence that says he was, then he was set up. It’s pretty simple, if you ask me.”
Simple? Hardly. “I know those guys and there’s not one that could do that.” He wouldn’t believe it. Not for a second. And yet he wouldn’t have thought Mario Ricci could have done what he’d done either. Still . . . “We ran missions together—good ones and a couple that went sideways. Every man in that unit has saved my hide more than once, including Isaiah. I can’t see it.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
The words were calm. Curious and nonjudgmental, but she might as well have shouted them. “Can’t. Won’t. What difference does it make? They like to blow off steam and they can be loud, obnoxious, and rowdy, but none of them would do anything that could be considered traitorous. Except Ricci, of course. His actions have gone against everything I’d ever believe him capable of, but the others? No way.”
“But . . . what if?”
“There is no what-if.”
“Asher—” The rumble of the garage door opening stopped her. “That’s Heather.”
He sniffed. “And I think the food’s done.” Grateful for the timely interruption, he rose to take the dish out of the oven, and while the friends greeted each other, he added the pasta to the chicken and set it on the table.
Heather tilted her head toward Asher. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too.”
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” Heather said, dropping her purse and mail onto the counter. “It’s been a very long, tedious shift, and to come home to this is an answer to prayer.”
“Then let’s eat,” Brooke said. She went to the refrigerator and pulled out the fixings for a salad while Heather set the table. They worked together, not having to ask each other anything, they just knew what to do. Kind of like the guys in his unit.
“You two do this a lot?” Asher asked.
“A couple times a week,” Heather answered with a smile.
It didn’t take them long to demolish the meal, and Asher soon leaned back, his stomach full and his eyes heavy. If he’d been at home, he would have moved to the couch and slept—for as long as he could have anyway. He didn’t dare fall asleep here.
“So tell me, what’s going on?” Heather asked. “When you texted, you made it sound like it could wait, but apparently you downplayed everything and then you wouldn’t answer your phone.” She shot a reproving glance at Brooke. “The simple text you sent saying you’d explain when you saw me was decidedly not acceptable.”
“I didn’t want to distract you from doing your job,” Brooke said. “And Asher’s been with me every minute.” She sent him a grateful smile and his heart thudded an extra beat.
What was it about her that drew him like a magnet? She was pretty, but not drop-dead gorgeous like Heather. While he noticed Heather’s beauty, and even liked her personality and quick wit, it was Brooke he was drawn to. It was confusing—and bemusing.
He cleared his throat, then finished off his iced tea and leaned forward. “I think we need to talk about the elephant in the room.”
Brooke sighed. Nodded. “All right.”
Heather’s gaze bounced between them as they related what had happened, but she didn’t say anything. Only her expressions betrayed her shock.
Asher turned to Brooke. “Mario Ricci broke into your home.”
Heather gasped and Brooke frowned. “What?”
“Uh . . . nothing.”
“You know Mario?” Asher asked.
“Not really. Let’s just say I know the name.”
Brooke narrowed her eyes. “Okay.” She glanced back to Asher. “And yes, he broke into my home.”
“It appears that he was looking for something other than cash or stuff to fence.”
“Again, yes. But what else could he have been looking for? I don’t have anything.”
“There’s another possibility,” he hedged.
He really didn’t like this one, nor did he want to share it with her.
“Come on, Asher, tell me,” Brooke said. “I need to know.”
“It could be he had no intention of leaving without you and was just seeing what he could find while he waited for you to get home.”
She paled.
“So if he was after something besides goods that he could easily unload on a fence,” he continued, “I’d say we need to know what that something is in order to ensure your safety.”
“Well, if he’s still alive,” Brooke said, “we need to go to Memorial. You have a connection with him just from serving in Afghanistan, if nothing else. If you play that up, you might be able to get him to talk.”
He doubted it but could see it would mean a lot to her if he’d try. He hesitated, then caved. “All right, we can head to the hospital whenever they say he’s awake.” A pause. “If he wakes up.”
“Yeah. If.”
“Wait a minute,” Heather said. “You mentioned Memorial. I had a GSW victim come through surgery. The only one tonight. Are you saying that’s the guy who attacked and tried to kill you?”
“If his name is Mario Ricci, then yes,” Brooke said.
“Um . . . I see.”
“But you can’t say,” Asher said. “HIPAA and all that?”
“Yes, HIPAA and all that.”
“Did he have any friends or family with him?”
“Not that I spoke to.”
Brooke’s phone rang. She glanced at the number and frowned.
“Who is it?” Asher asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve gotten a couple voice mails from numbers I don’t recognize. I guess I need to take care of those soon.” She let this call roll to voice mail as well. “But I can do that later. I want to know how Mario is doing and if he can answer a few questions.”
Asher nodded and slipped into the den to make the call.