Chapter Seventeen

 

The early rays of breaking dawn filtered through the bedroom window. Gemma lay warm and content in Jack’s bed cuddled up against his side. He continued to sleep, for which she was grateful.

She wasn’t quite ready to face him and everything else on their plate.

For a brief while, in his arms, she’d been able to forget the nearly crippling guilt and feeling of despair that came from discovering that her mother and sister had possibly died because of her. She recalled that moment of asking Chief Williams about Crooked Spruce Mountain. He’d denied knowing anything. The anonymous note she’d received implied otherwise as had his non-verbal response to her question.

Was she reaching by connecting her mother and sister’s deaths to the story she’d been working on?

Each time she made that connection, it made her relive the moment she’d gotten the phone call about the accident. It’d taken her a long time to recover from the loss. Her aunt coming to live with her and being responsible for Dana had kept her from falling into an abyss, but she’d operated under the belief that it had been a senseless accident.

In the light of dawn, she had to face the fact that it might not have been an accident at all.

Her work as a journalist might have put her family in danger, and it was happening all over again.

It would be easy to lie here, absorb Jack’s warmth, and even turn all her problems over to him, at least the criminal ones. But that wasn’t who she was. Even so, she couldn’t quite make herself move. Moving meant facing the day.

Her fingers tightened on the coverlet. She always stood on her own two feet and now couldn’t be an exception.

She needed to focus on getting out from under the microscope of a serial killer. That had to be her first priority. She couldn’t take chances with Dana and Aunt Sylvie. She’d have to think about sending them away. But without knowing for how long, how practical was that? Dana wouldn’t understand, and the thought of separating from Dana for any length of time created a weight in her chest that made it difficult to breathe, and she rubbed the spot to ease the pressure.

If Chief Williams was behind the car accident that killed her family, she would make him pay. It might take a year or two, or more, but she would not let him get away with destroying her family.

And she hadn’t forgotten about Jack’s look alike, either.

She turned her head and regarded his profile. He slept on his side, facing her, one arm casually lying across her stomach. In repose, he still looked serious, though younger, as if he’d let go of some of the cares of his job, but not all. She continued to drink in the strong sensual planes of his face. To think if she hadn’t taken that photo, she might never have met him.

She didn’t want to think about life without Jack in it. However, that reality would be hitting her any day.

He’d made no promises.

She might be an optimist, but she wasn’t stupid. A future relationship with Jack would require him to get over his dislike of reporters and to actually trust her.

She rather thought she’d made progress on the trust front. But he still guarded himself carefully.

She disengaged herself from him and eased off the bed. She had too much on her mind to sleep. The pleasure they’d found in each other’s arms last night couldn’t be allowed to continue with the rise of the sun, tempting as it might be. Deep down, she knew it would be an excuse to avoid everything she had to face.

Quietly she crossed the room to a chair in the corner where a flannel shirt hung. Borrowing Jack’s shirt appealed to her a lot more than dressing in her suit from last night. Snagging it off the chair, she put it on. On her, it fell well below her thighs. She breathed deeply of the scent surrounding her—all Jack.

Gemma wandered downstairs, pausing on the stair treads to examine the photos that lined the wall. Most were of Jack at various stages of adolescence.

She could envision a miniature Jack, a little boy with a mischievous look in the eyes and that adorable grin.

In the kitchen, she found the makings for coffee and got that started. What she really wanted was to see the newspaper. She’d seen a few copies in Jack’s recycle bin, so she figured he must get a copy.

It was probably on the porch, in the driveway or in the mailbox. Either way, she’d have to go outside to get it. Since she had to wait for the coffee to percolate, she might as well go now.

At the front door, she peeked out the side windows, a set of which flanked either side of the door. It looked quiet and peaceful. She lowered the chain and unlocked the locks. She opened the door and stood in front of the screen door. Crisp cool air greeted her and she shivered.

The sounds of morning birds carried on the air and down the street a car engine started. A dog yapped nearby, the kind of bark she associated with an ankle biter like the Chihuahua her grandmother Addie used to have. They were the sounds of a neighborhood coming to life.

She unlatched the screen door and stepped out onto the porch. There was no sign of a paper anywhere. She scanned the driveway. Nothing there either. It must be down by the mailbox.

She looked down at herself and wrinkled her nose. Barefoot and dressed only in Jack’s flannel shirt she would certainly garner some neighborhood attention, not to mention she’d probably freeze her tushie off and bruise her feet.

She returned to the front hall and opened the closet just to the right of the front door. Inside she found several jackets and coats, along with a couple of umbrellas, boots and shoes of various sizes. She grabbed a jacket that looked like Jack’s. It hung past her hips. Among the shoes, she discovered a pair of flip-flops. They were a few sizes too big, but she’d survive.

She crossed the lawn and breathed deeply of the morning air. A new day meant new possibilities. She couldn’t let the past cripple her ability to function in the future. A little girl’s voice floated on the breeze, reminiscent of Dana’s. “Mommy,” she called out. Dana would never get the chance to call for her mommy. For a moment, anger and rage surged at all Dana had lost and she stumbled.

She paused and took in big gulps of air, swallowing down the tears and the cries that threatened to erupt. When she had herself under control, she continued towards the mailbox.

There, next to the mailbox, she spied another box for the Carville Gazette. She was pulling the plastic-wrapped paper from the box when she heard barking. A miniature white ball of fluff with a red ribbon tied on its head ran towards her. When it reached her it paused, barked, then moved a little closer to sniff and bark again.

Gemma bent down and held out her hand. “Hey, there. Do you belong to someone around here or are you checking out the neighborhood?” The little dog crawled forward, its butt in the air and its small tail wagging furiously. Gemma took that for a friendly sign and cooed at the beast until it gave a tentative lick. Gemma laughed as the dog licked her toes.

“Stop. That tickles, silly.” She rubbed the fluffy, snowy head.

“Snowball, you naughty girl.” The frail voice brought Gemma’s head up.

An elderly woman with hair as white as the little pooch hurried towards them, a leash in her hand.

Gemma hooked a finger into the collar and continued to pet the dog. “I’ve got her,” she called out to the woman.

The woman slowed her steps. “Thank you for catching her,” she said as she neared. She bent down and clicked the leash on and Gemma straightened, aware of her odd attire.

“Bad girl, Snowball.” The woman shook her finger at the dog while she spoke. Snowball simply twisted in a circle, barked and wagged her tail. Gemma didn’t think the admonition was working.

“I’m glad I could help,” Gemma said, holding the newspaper close to her chest, feeling the cool wind on her bare legs and feet. “She’s a friendly pup. My niece keeps asking me for a dog, but it’s such a lot of responsibility.” And if she lost her job or couldn’t make the mortgage payment, they’d have to move. A pet would be a complication, which was not something you could explain to a four-year old.

The woman smiled. “They are a lot of responsibility, but they give back so much, especially when you live alone like I do.” Snowball tugged on the leash and the woman told her to sit. “I’m Mavis Crawford. I live next door.” She waved towards a large Colonial home painted in grey with white trim on the lot next to Jack’s.

“I’m Gemma. Gemma Fitzgibbons.” Nothing like meeting the neighbors in next to nothing. Miss Manners probably had a rule about this.

“Nice to meet you, Gemma.” Snowball barked again and Mavis shushed her. “Are you a friend of Jack’s?”

Heat rushed to her cheeks and Gemma cursed her Irish roots. “Um, yes. We’ve been working together.”

Mavis’ eyes twinkled as she looked Gemma over. “Is that what they call it these days? Well, never mind. It’s good to see the boy having some fun. He’s been too serious for too long.”

Curiosity got the better of her. She’d been about to make her excuses and scurry back inside, but this was too good a chance to learn more about Jack. “Have you known Jack’s family long?”

Mavis chuckled. “Dear, I was best friends with his grandmother. There have been O’Grady’s in that house as long as there have been Donahue’s in that one,” she said, inclining her head towards Jack’s house. “O’Grady is my maiden name. I grew up with Jack’s grandfather. The Donahue boys had all the girls swooning.”

“The…” Snowball began barking and tugging towards Jack’s house. Gemma turned to see Jack step out onto the porch, in a pair of jeans, shirtless and in bare feet.

“Gemma, dear, I think Jack wants to get back to work. I might be old, but I recognize that look. You run along now. Come on, Snowball.”

Unable to think of a word to say, Gemma called out good-bye and headed up to the porch, her gaze locked on the sexy man waiting for her.

***

Jack watched Gemma approach and tried to ignore the unsettled feeling in his stomach. It’d disturbed him to wake up and not find her in his bed. On the heels of that had been the even far more disturbing realization that he could get used to having her in his bed on a daily basis.

She wore his shirt under his dad’s jacket and crossed the drive to him in a pair of his old flip-flops. She looked like a little girl playing dress up.

But it hadn’t been a little girl he’d taken to his bed last night.

His body stirred at the memory of being inside her. He’d have liked nothing more than to reignite the fire that had burned between them last night.

Gemma stopped in front of the porch steps. “I went out to get the paper. I met your neighbor, Mavis Crawford. She seems like a nice lady.” She took the stairs and then stood before him. Leaning up, she surprised him with a kiss.

Her lips were cool from being out in the morning air, but it didn’t take long for the heat to build.

She ended the kiss, a grin on her lips. “Good morning, to you, too.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him back into the house. Inside, she didn’t pause, merely dragging him along towards the kitchen where the scent of coffee greeted him.

He shook off his bemusement and found his voice. “Looks like you found all the essentials. I think I recognize that shirt.”

“I bet you recognize what’s underneath, as well.”

Her saucy reply surprised a laugh from him. The sound seemed to bounce off the walls, filling the house. He’d forgotten how much warmer a home felt when filled with people and laughter.

The warmth, though, didn’t dispel the physical chill he was beginning to feel. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen. I want to grab a sweatshirt and call the Florida authorities for news.” Jack reached up and lightly wrapped one of her curls around his finger. “Want me to get you something warmer to put on?”

“Nah, I’m good.” She brought her hand up to rest on his. “I hope the Florida cops have something good to say.”

Jack shrugged. “We’ll see. They haven’t called to report anything, so it’s doubtful.”

Gemma leaned forward to draw him into an embrace. She rested her head against his chest. “As much as I’d like to stay, it looks like we both have jobs to do. I’ll need you to stop at my house long enough for me to change clothes.” She lifted her head up to look him in the eyes. “Go grab your sweatshirt and make your call. Then let’s have a cup of coffee before we leave.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed. As he climbed the stairs to his room, he considered the fact that Gemma hadn’t tried to dissect what had happened last night. She didn’t appear to regret it either. The kiss she’d given him seemed to say she was okay with what had happened between them and that she was up for more.

His body might be up for more, but another bout between the sheets couldn’t happen unless he wanted something more from her. Gemma wasn’t a one-night-stand-kind-of-girl, but he also knew she would never go for a no-strings relationship. With Dana in the picture, she’d be looking for a long-term commitment from any guy she got involved with.

He stalked over to the dresser to get a sweatshirt from his drawer. He couldn’t give her that long-term commitment. He had too much to deal with and had nothing left to give to a relationship. He yanked open the drawer and pulled out a black T-shirt and a grey sweatshirt before shoving the drawer shut.

He let his head fall back and blew out a breath. This was stupid. He needed to get his emotions under control and focus. He needed to follow Gemma’s lead and keep things light.

He pulled on both garments and crossed over to his side of the bed where the phone sat on the nightstand. He picked up the receiver and dialed the number he’d memorized. While he waited for the call to connect to the police station in Florida, his eyes landed on the pillow where the indentation from Gemma’s head remained visible.

He’d swear her fragrance still lingered over the bed. He ran his hand through his hair, wishing someone would smack him good. He had to focus.

He turned around to face away when someone picked up. He listened to the standard police greeting and as soon there was an opening, asked for the detective in charge of his parents’ case.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the person replied, “Detective Borrego is not available. Would you like to leave a message?”

“Tell him Jack Donahue called. He’ll know what it’s about. Ask Detective Borrego to call me, please.” Jack pinched the bridge of his nose as he hung up. He had a hunch that before the day was over, he’d be battling a killer headache.

His cell phone rang, dragging his attention back to matters at hand. He snatched it up and checked the caller ID. He didn’t recognize the number.

“Donahue,” he answered.

“Detective Donahue, Lieutenant Silverstein from Internal Affairs. I want you in my office at 9:30 this a.m. I suggest you tell your partner that you’re going to be a while.” The line clicked dead.

His stomach went into free fall and Jack swore, “Hell.”

***

Gemma stayed silent during the ride to the station. They’d paused long enough at her place for her to get a quick shower and change. Jack had told her about his call from IA, and then he’d withdrawn into a shell that needed TNT to crack open.

Inside the squad room, he told her to have a seat while he spoke to the Captain. She watched him walk across the room, his back straight, profile chiseled as if from stone, and his chin up. She wished he would let her in.

T.J. walked in and strode over to her. “Where’s Jack?”

She nodded towards the captain’s office. “In with Captain Wheeler. He’s to meet with Internal Affairs at 9:30.”

“He told me,” T.J. said, his hands pushing his suit jacket aside to place his hands on his hips. “He also asked me to be your shadow today.”

“Thanks.” She offered up a smile, but she knew it was barely there.

He half turned and gestured towards the coffee pot. “You want a cup? Help yourself any time.”

“That coffee is lethal. I think I’ll save myself an ulcer and get a cola.” Gemma rooted in her bag for change. She hadn’t been kidding about drinking the coffee they served, but she needed caffeine. The one cup of coffee she’d had at Jack’s wasn’t enough, not to get her mind firing on all cylinders.

She decided she needed to go over the lists she’d made the day before and add the latest information to it as she pumped change into the machine and pushed the button for her choice.

She grabbed her soda and turned around to find Jack approaching. His face seemed carved from granite, as if he’d locked his emotions down tight. It almost hurt to look upon him.

She wanted to fix things for him but she didn’t know how.

He jerked his thumb towards the elevator. “I’ll be with IA for as long as it takes. Stay with T.J. I’ll call if I can.” He hesitated as if he wanted to say more, but she must have been mistaken because he gave her a quick salute and strode away.

The lists, she reminded herself. Something on one of those lists might break one of these cases open.

She hurried back to the squad room where she noticed T.J. was on the phone. She found an empty desk and got herself settled. Pulling out her computer, she fired it up and accessed the documents she’d made.

On the top of one page she read the words ‘Serial Killer’ and reviewed all her notes. On the next document, she’d typed ‘Corruption Investigation’ and now added the additional information on Jack’s parents’ disappearance. The third document focused on Jack’s look-alike.

While she went over the information, adding to it and moving it around, she let her mind wander, trusting her instincts to eventually see a connection or lead. As time passed, something began to niggle at the back of her mind. There was something she wasn’t seeing, but she knew it was there.

She nibbled on the end of her pen as she reviewed each document. Her phone buzzed signaling an incoming call, distracting her attention.

She dug it out of the pocket in her bag where she’d stored it and checked the caller ID. No name. Her stomach lurched but she reminded herself that many people had her number who were not registered in her contact list.

“Hello,” she answered.

“Ms. Fitzgibbons? This is Phil Vassey from Country North Insurance regarding the claim on your roof.”

Relief swept through her at recognition of his name. “Yes, Mr. Vassey, what can I do for you?”

“I tried calling you last night to let you know I needed your signature on one more paper, but couldn’t reach you.” A pregnant pause accompanied the words.

Gemma didn’t know why she needed to explain, but she did. “I was engaged last night and turned off my phone. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. You said you have papers you need me to sign.” Her gaze returned to the papers in front of her. What was she not seeing? Something on her list was making her intuition tingle.

“Ms. Fitzgibbons, are you listening?”

Gemma held back a sigh. She hadn’t exactly been listening. “I’m sorry, could you repeat what you said?”

“I said,” his tone was beginning to sound disgruntled, “could we meet today to discuss your claim further.”

“Today? I’m not sure...”

The Pink Kitty kept jumping to the forefront of her brain. Candy had worked there, but she didn’t think that was it. So did Lenny, the bartender. Her first meeting with Jack had been about the strip club and, of course, they’d gone there together to interview...

Bingo!

The photos she’d taken of the Jack look-alike. There’d been a person in the background she thought she’d recognized. She rummaged through her bag for the envelope that she had placed them in.

“Ms. Fitzgibbons, your claim cannot be processed without your signature.”

“I understand,” she said, even as she triumphantly held the envelope aloft. She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder and dumped the photos out on the table. Her hands quickly sorted through them until she found the image she wanted.

She sensed a presence next to her and looked up to see Jack standing beside her. Joy swept through her at the sight of him and she realized that she’d been worried about him.

She picked up the photo and waved it at him while she spoke into the phone. “Mr. Vassey, I’ll have to get in touch with you about that appointment. Thanks for calling.” She disconnected the call.

“What are you waving at me?” Jack asked.

“A photo. But, first, how’d it go?” She searched his face for signs of doom and gloom

Jack shrugged. “They’re investigating at the moment. I’ve denied everything and they don’t have enough evidence to prove their accusations. They’re fishing.”

“Got something,” T.J. said as he approached the two of them. “How’d it go?” he asked Jack, repeating her question, but she noted the way he seemed to be examining his partner.

Gemma slapped the photo onto the desktop. “Look at this. It’s one of the photos I took of Jack’s doppelganger.”

“Yeah?” T.J. bent over to look at the photo more carefully. He let out a whistle. “This guy’s a ringer for you.”

“It’s not me,” Jack growled.

T.J. straightened. “Didn’t say it was. But if this dude is dealing drugs, he’s definitely your problem.”

Jack swore under his breath. “I know.”

“Never mind that,” Gemma broke in. “We’ll prove Jack’s innocent, but that’s not what I want you to look at.” She jabbed a finger at a man sitting at a table in the background. “It’s not very clear, but look at this guy. Does he remind you of anyone?”

While they stared at the image taken in the dimly lit club, Gemma went back to her computer notes.

“I don’t recognize him,” T.J. said.

Gemma glanced at Jack and saw him stiffen. His brows furrowed as he picked up the photo and peered at it one more time.

“The lighting isn’t great and he’s in profile, but he reminds me of Stan Moretti.” He dropped the photo back on the table.

T.J. looked back and forth between them. “Stan Moretti? Should I know that name?”

Jack paced a few steps away and then returned. “Moretti was my dad’s old partner. He was one of the men accused in the old bribery scandal.”

T.J.’s gaze narrowed. “So, Moretti has a thing for strip clubs. What am I missing?”

Gemma typed quickly into her computer and then turned her laptop around for T.J. to read the screen. “The problem is Moretti died nine months ago.”

“The body was never found,” Jack said.

“True,” Gemma agreed. “But where has he been? Why didn’t he come forward to say that he was alive?”

T.J. crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe your guy preferred being dead. Start over. New life.”

Jack shook his head. “I might buy that if the other two guys he was accused with in that scandal didn’t die one before and one after his boating accident. Something stinks here, and I’d bet anything it’s tied to my parents’ disappearance.”

Gemma noted the worry lines on his forehead. She wanted to stand up and wrap her arms around him to let him know he wasn’t alone. But this wasn’t the place and she wasn’t even sure he’d welcome the gesture.

“What disappearance?” T.J. asked, a thunderous scowl darkening his features. “What the hell is going on?”

Jack’s jaw tightened as he looked at his partner. “A lot can happen in twenty-four hours.” He then proceeded to give a succinct account of the facts they knew so far.

“Whatever you need,” T.J. said, his expression fierce, “you ask.”

“Thanks,” Jack said, his voice gruff.

Gemma switched her focus to T.J. “You mentioned you had something a few minutes ago.”

T.J. nodded and relaxed his stance. “Yeah. Lenny the bartender is back at work at The Pink Kitty.”