Chapter Fifteen

 

Jack held Gemma’s trembling form against him, a well of protectiveness rising up. “What happened?” The words came out gruffly, but emotion that he usually kept locked inside when on the job couldn’t be kept contained when it involved Gemma.

She shook her head against his chest. Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes swimming in unshed tears. “Get me out of here. Please.”

A voice called for everyone’s attention and then announced that Chief Williams would be making a speech in support of the hospital. Around them the crowd erupted in applause.

Gemma clutched at him. “I can’t stay here and listen to him.” She shook her head. “I can’t.”

Jack didn’t ask any questions. He grabbed her hand and led her in the opposite direction of the throng that was moving closer to hear the chief speak. They passed through the double doors and Jack guided her towards the sweeping stairs that descended to the hotel lobby.

“Donahue, wait up.” T.J. hurried towards them. His gaze swept over Gemma, and his expression tensed. “What’s going on? Did the killer contact you again?”

Gemma shook her head and gave a shaky smile. “No. I’m not feeling well at the moment. I asked Jack to take me out of the room.”

Jack didn’t think T.J. bought it, but he didn’t press the issue. His expression only got grimmer. He turned his gaze on Jack. “You’re not going to be feeling much better either. I’ve been on the phone with Internal Affairs. They want me to come in now. They have questions. About you.”

“Why?” Gemma asked, squeezing his hand tight. “What’s happened?”

T.J. shrugged. “Hell, if I know. They didn’t give me a chance to ask any questions. I called my old boss in Vice. He isn’t saying much, but reading between the lines, I’d say someone has it in for you. Word is they’re going to accuse you of dealing drugs.”

Jack swore. Ever since Gemma had dropped those photos on the table, he’d been prepared for something like this. He didn’t know who had it in for him or why, but it felt like a net closing around him, and he wondered if his father had also felt that way.

“Jack’s innocent.” Gemma angled herself in front of him as if protecting him. Given she’d practically accused him of the same thing only two days ago, it made him want to laugh.

It seemed a lifetime had packed itself into those two days. “Sometimes,” he said, “being innocent isn’t enough.”

“I don’t believe that,” Gemma said stubbornly, but the look of sympathy on T.J.’s face told Jack that the other man understood.

Even so, Jack didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. He never had. “We’d better get out of here. You do what you have to do. We’ll be in touch.”

“For the record, she has good instincts, and so do I. Call me if you need anything.” T.J. clapped Jack lightly on the shoulder as he passed to head down the stairs.

Jack wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Anger? Hell, yeah. IA sniffing around was any cop’s nightmare, especially an innocent one. But there was something else mixed in and he wasn’t ready to examine it too closely. For a guy who usually played a lone hand and kept relationships at arm’s length, having two people who’d known him a short time declare strong belief in his innocence rocked him off center.

Still holding Gemma’s hand, he started down the stairs with her. Ten minutes later they were inside his vehicle. Gemma had been quiet the entire time, and that seemed so unlike her.

“Do you want me to take you home?”

“No. I can’t.” She turned to face him, her face pale and that stricken look that he’d seen back inside clouded her green gaze. “I can’t face them tonight. Can we go to your place? Please?” The last came out in a whisper.

They accomplished the ride in silence. Jack’s attention veered from his driving to his companion to his own problems.

He’d heard the rumors and had noticed how some officers had changed towards him. He’d ignored it, figuring his work would stand up to any gossip. Apparently, he didn’t have a choice about ignoring it any more. He’d have to hear what they had against him and fight it.

He wouldn’t let them do to him what they’d done to his father.

About Gemma, he had no answers. Until she confided to him what had happened, he couldn’t help her. That he wanted to help her, he didn’t even question, and that said a lot about how far they’d traveled in their relationship.

Jack hit the button on the garage door and pulled his SUV inside. An automatic light went on, illuminating the interior. Four cars could fit in the space and upstairs there was enough footage to convert into one big apartment or two small ones. With only his vehicle to house, he was reminded once more of how big the place was for one man.

Maybe when this was all over he’d pack up and join the folks, assuming they were fine and would be back in their condo hanging out with their fellow senior friends.

He climbed out of his vehicle and waited for Gemma near the garage doors. She walked towards him, her face too pale, her vitality dimmed. His heart constricted.

Without thought, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her against his side. He pushed the button setting the alarm for his car and another to lower the garage door and moved with Gemma to the back door.

They entered the kitchen and Jack switched on the lights. Gemma stood uncertainly, neither taking off her coat nor moving in any direction.

“Let me have your coat.” He took it from her and went to the living room closet to hang it up. He then took out his phone and braced himself for a call to the duty sergeant. If word had gotten out that IA was investigating him, he didn’t know what kind of cooperation he’d get.

He breathed a sigh of relief when Morrison got on the line. Though he and the sergeant had worked together only briefly when Jack had been in uniform, there had been respect on both sides. Jack asked that a patrol car make regular sweeps of Gemma’s neighborhood. He pocketed the phone and returned to the kitchen.

Gemma still stood there.

He went over to the cupboard and took down two glasses. From another cupboard, he fished out a bottle of Scotch. They could both do with a shot as far as he was concerned.

He snagged the two glasses and the bottle and jerked his head towards the other room. “Come on. Let’s get comfortable and talk.”

She bit her lip, but nodded, which he took as a sign of agreement. He made for the family room where he set the bottle and glasses on the low coffee table in front of the leather sofa. He poured out two fingers for each of them. Then he shrugged out of his suit jacket before going to the fireplace to light the gas fire.

When he turned back to the sofa, Gemma was sitting, a glass cradled between her hands.

Jack picked up his glass and sat down next to her, leaving enough room for her to not feel caged in.

“Talk to me,” he said, as he sipped the liquid, welcoming the warm rush as it burned a path down his throat. “But first, have a drink. I think you need it.”

She took a sip of the brown alcohol and promptly coughed. She took one more sip and then put her glass down on the table. She pulled the chain of her purse over her head and fumbled with the catch. From inside, she took out a crumpled piece of paper, which she handed to him.

He realized it was a napkin. Smoothing it out, he saw the black ink marking one side and read the message.

“Who gave this to you?”

“A waiter. He disappeared before I knew what was happening.” She leaned against the corner of the sofa and curled her legs underneath her.

“He handed me a glass of white wine with that napkin around the stem and said, ‘It made a splash locally nine months ago,’ and he called it Crooked Spruce.”

“Crooked Spruce?” Jack had never heard of a wine by the name, but he did know of a mountain called that. “Isn’t that the mountain where…?”

“Yes.” Gemma’s reply came out shaky. “Look at what the note says. It tells me to ask about the deaths of K, M and H. That’s Kowalski, Moretti and Hurley, the three ex-police officers who were all involved in the corruption scandal that hit your father. Then it says to ask about Crooked Spruce Mountain. Why, Jack? Why would it ask that unless the person who wrote the note thinks my sister and mom’s accident wasn’t an accident?”

“You can’t know that,” Jack argued, but as he said it, he knew it was the logical conclusion. Even so, he was a cop and knew better to accept something as fact without evidence. “The writer could be playing with you. Describe him to me.”

“I wasn’t really paying attention. He had graying hair and a mustache. Medium build.” She let out a breath that sounded packed with frustration. “By the time I’d read the message, he was gone.”

“All right. Tomorrow, I’ll ask to see the list of waiters who worked the event. Maybe we can track this guy down that way.” He loosened the tie at his neck and pulled it off.

“The paper had a photographer there. I’ll see if we can get copies of the photos. The waiter might be in one of them.”

“Good thinking,” Jack said.

Gemma reached up to pull the clips from her hair and shook her head, letting the curly strands fly in all directions. She ran her fingers through her curls and he wanted to replace her fingers with his own, to feel that softness running through his own hands.

“You know, Jack, I don’t think this guy was playing me. I don’t know what his agenda is, but I think it’s for real.”

She picked up her glass again, but rather than drink from it, she rubbed it between her palms, as if she needed to keep her hands busy. “Before the accident I had been doing background research on Chief Williams. Rumors were speculating that he was planning to enter the mayoral race. I was assigned to do a feature on him. While researching his past, I ran across the fact that he’d been the lieutenant at the time of that bribery and corruption scandal. The story intrigued me.” She paused and took another tiny sip, shuddering delicately as she swallowed.

“I began talking to reporters who had written the stories all those years ago. I had an appointment with one the night we were supposed to go up to Cornell for shopping and dinner. I begged off.”

She stared at him, her expression stricken and he gripped his glass to keep from doing anything or saying anything that would break the flow. She had to get this out. It was tearing her up inside.

“It was work. Always work.” She leaned over and put the glass down on the table. She curled tighter into herself. “The phone call came. The hospital. Trying to save Dana. Both my mom and sister dead. I had to arrange their funerals and hold it all together. I took time off work and when I went back, I moved on, picking up the next story.”

She uncurled enough to touch the napkin that lay on the couch between them with a fingertip. “Until this message, I never considered it was anything but an accident.” Immediately, she retreated, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking.

It hurt him to watch her like this, but he sensed there was more she had to get out. He forced himself to hold back.

“Chief Williams knows something,” she whispered.

“And you know that how?” He tried to keep his tone even and fair.

Her head whipped up and her entire body seemed to vibrate with fury. “I asked him about Crooked Spruce. He didn’t answer. He ended the interview. I told him I would find the fourth man. He reacted. If it meant nothing, why would he react to it? He knows something and I’m going to find out what it is.”

“Did you ask him specifically about the three officers who died?” Jack leaned over and poured another finger of Scotch into his glass, giving himself time to process what she was saying. Could Chief Williams have been involved in the corruption scandal all those years ago? Could he know something about Jack’s parents’ disappearance?

Three of the officers involved in that scandal were dead. His dad was a wily retired cop with good instincts. Jack didn’t have proof, but he felt in his bones that his father would have known about the three deaths. But what was behind the disappearance? Why now?

Had his dad been tipped off by someone and gone into hiding? As a son he wanted to cling to that idea. As a cop, he’d seen enough of humanity’s underbelly to know not all stories had a happy ending.

He took a healthy swig, concentrating on the smooth warmth sliding down his throat. Bottom line was he had to believe his folks were okay or he’d go crazy.

Gemma shifted on the sofa. “The Chief said Kowalski and Moretti were accidents. Then he said that he hadn’t known about Hurley’s death. But I don’t believe him. Why bother to visit Hurley when he was off the force? How likely is it that he wouldn’t have learned about Hurley’s death?”

Jack stared into the brown liquid and thought about all she had said. It was flimsy at best. “You have a lot of assumptions and not any facts.” He took a sip of the drink and then placed it on the coffee table.

He expected her to react emotionally to his statement, to be angry that he didn’t believe her or was dismissing her conclusions.

She sighed, the sound loud in the quiet room. “I know. It’s all gut feeling.”

He should have known she would surprise him. Gemma never did the obvious.

Suddenly the space between them was too much. He couldn’t take the way she sat there hunched in on herself, carrying the burdens of her family and her need for truth all on those slim shoulders.

“Com ’ere.” He tugged gently on her arm until she closed the distance. He settled her against his side, her head pillowed on his chest, her fingers curled into his shirt.

“Williams is dirty, Jack.”

“Maybe. Without evidence, we have nothing.” He rubbed his jaw against her silky hair, liking the feel way too much. She smelled good, too. It’d been a long time since he’d had a woman over. And even if this wasn’t a date, the house didn’t have the lonely, solitary feeling that he usually faced every night after a long day at work.

“What are we going to do?” She played with the button of his shirt as she asked the question.

He covered her hand with his palm, stilling her movements. “For now, nothing, but I won’t ignore it.”

She pushed against him, putting space between them, so that she could face him fully. “I don’t expect you to take this on. It’s my—”

“Hush,” he interrupted. For emphasis, he tugged on one of her curls to get her attention. “Right now, I don’t want to think about what the Chief may or may not have done, about what IA is going to do to me tomorrow, or about a sadistic killer on your tail.”

He let his hand slide down to cup her cheek. “I want you, Gemma. Only you.”

***

Gemma’s heart seemed to stop beating and speed up all at the same time. He threw her emotions into a tailspin. She wanted him. Heck, she’d wanted him the moment she’d set eyes on him at the bar. But, the timing was so bad.

Could they really take a time out from all the horrible circumstances surrounding them?

Jack’s large hand wrapped around the nape of her neck. Gently he pulled her forward as he lowered his head. She focused on his eyes, seeing the desire there, but beyond that she saw need.

The first brush of his lips seemed almost tentative as if he was waiting for her permission. He ran his tongue lightly over the seam of her lips until she opened for him.

He didn’t plunge in as she expected, but took his time. He held her face between the palms of his hands as he deepened the kiss. He tasted of Scotch and passion, a combination she discovered an instant liking for.

Their previous kisses had been flash and fire. This was slow, seductive and every bit as potent to her senses.

The heat from the fire warmed her back, but the heat generated by being in Jack’s arms burned hotter than any flame.

Her tongue dueled with his. He pulled her tighter against his body and she brought her arms up around his neck to hold on. The kiss seemed to go on forever. She let herself drown in the sensations, wanting to feel something other than the guilt and fear that had become her constant companions.

Eventually, like all good things it came to an end. Gemma pressed her forehead against Jack’s, unable to say a word. The only sound in the room came from the crackle of the fire and their breaths going in and out as if they’d both been in a race.

“Stay with me tonight,” he said, breaking the silence.

His blue eyes gazed back at her, direct as always. How had she thought for even a minute that Jack might be involved in something shady? His integrity ran bone deep and at this moment, she recognized his need for her—a need as strong as her own.

“All right,” she agreed. She wouldn’t think beyond this one night. Tomorrow would take care of itself. “I’ll need to call home and let Aunt Sylvie know. She’ll worry otherwise.”

“Tell her I’ll send a car to watch over the house.” Jack dropped a kiss on her lips that probably lingered longer than he’d intended. He smiled ruefully at her, then got up from the couch. When she saw him taking out his phone it spurred her to do the same.

Several minutes later she hung up. Aunt Sylvie had taken the news with her usual aplomb, only checking to be sure Gemma was safe. She spent a few minutes talking to Dana about her day and reassuring her that she would be home tomorrow and Jack would be there, too.

Jack had slipped into their lives so easily. How would Dana take it when he was no longer a part of them?

Probably about as well as Gemma would take it.

So she wouldn’t think about it. But as she stared at her phone, she wondered if she was making the right decision. She was honest enough with herself to know that she didn’t want to face her family tonight, especially Dana. Her work had cost her family so much and she felt too raw emotionally.

“Second thoughts?” Jack stood by the fire, both hands in his pockets. He appeared relaxed, but she didn’t buy it. The tension in his shoulders told a different story.

She shrugged. “Second thoughts. Third thoughts.” They were there. She’d be foolish not to re-evaluate her decision. But Jack got to her as no man ever had.

She walked up until she stood in front of him. “But I’m not changing my mind. I want you, too, Jack. Only you.”