Bittersweet Chocolate (40 page)

Tristan entered the kitchen and came to an abrupt stop, his features registering his surprise at finding her there. “You’re up early and not with the kids?” He bent and kissed her mouth. “When you weren’t in bed, thought you were in the nursery, and didn’t want to disturb you. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but after going to bed, I was so edgy, sleep became sporadic. Talk about being out of control last night. I thought I’d learned to manage my temper years ago.”

“Hey, last night tested everybody’s fortitude. So what are your plans for today?”

“I’m taking Korey and Kristen out for a little fresh air...check out the neighborhood.”

“Take the dogs with you, and be careful,” he remarked, then changed the subject. “Have you given any thought to when you’re going back to work?”

“Not until we resolve my problem.”

“Good. I was prepared for a major disagreement, if you wanted to go back to work any time soon.” He watched her, his expression serious. “You know you don’t have to work at all.”

“True, but with Kate here, I don’t have any qualms about leaving the kids to return to work.”

“Hmm.” He massaged her shoulders. “That reminds me, I’ll be late tonight. I have an errand to run.”

“Sure.” She relaxed into his touch. “Don’t worry about us, we’ll be all right.” She tilted her head for another kiss.

* * * *

Tristan left for work, but remained on edge, replaying the incident of the night before in his mind. Of course, if he were honest with himself, he’d admit part of his unease stemmed from what he had planned, and keeping it from Marissa, even for her protection. Hell. After her angry display last night, his decision seemed fortuitous, and maybe his move could prevent her from going after Joel on her own.

He believed he’d done the right thing.

* * * *

Her first opportunity to acquaint herself with the neighborhood, accompanied by the dogs, she took the babies to the playground in the small park at the end of the cul-de-sac. She chose a bench near the swings, settled down, and absently watched the small children play, while she formulated a plan.

An hour later, with a sketchy outline of her next move in mind, she returned to the house. She bathed and fed the twins, put them to bed for their naps, and joined Kate in the kitchen. Lunch was ready.

“Is everything okay, Marissa?”

“Oh, yeah, but I think the outing took its toll on me as much as it did the kids. I’m going to take a nap after I eat.” She forked Italian pasta salad with shrimp into her mouth. “Mmm, Kate, this is delicious.”

Marissa finished her meal, went upstairs, and stretched out across the bed, intending to rest for a few minutes.

The ringing of the phone jarred her awake. Fumbling in the dark, she managed to reach the phone, lifted the handset, and heard Kate on the extension. She glanced at the bedside clock—six p.m. About to hang up, she paused when the caller asked for her.

“I have it, Kate,” she interjected. “This is Marissa Corbett.”

“Mrs. Corbett, I’m Miss Johnson, a nurse calling from Riverside Community Hospital. Your husband was brought into the trauma center, and he’s about to go into surgery.”

Marissa bolted upright. Her grip tightened on the phone, stretching her skin across the bony skeleton of her knuckles. Voice a shaky whisper, she stammered, “Wha-what happened?”

“Does he have any allergies, on medication?”

“No. What’s wrong with him?”

“Mrs. Corbett, how soon can you get here?”

Visibly trembling, and tears blurring her vision, Marissa looked up when Kate appeared in her doorway. “I’m on my way.” She replaced the receiver. “Kate, you heard?” Her voice caught on a sob. “It can’t be happening, not again.”

“Marissa, I don’t think you’re in a fit state to drive. Let me call Vi.”

“I can’t wait for her, but please, call and ask her to meet me at the hospital.”

Kate nodded. “Don’t worry about the children. I’ll keep the dogs close.”

Marissa slipped her feet into her shoes, whispering, “God, please not Tristan. Don’t do this to me again.” She repeatedly recited those phrases as she hurried from the house. By the time she arrived at the hospital, hysteria just below the surface, she hurried by her friend without being aware of her presence. Vi caught up with her in the emergency room.

“Vi, not again, not Tristan,” she cried. “I can’t...if I lost him...I couldn’t...”

* * * *

Vi stared speechless, shaken by such a display of emotion from someone as hard core as Marissa. Vision blurred as the threat of tears stung her eyes. For several sobering minutes, she hugged Marissa and let her cry. What else could she do or say to reassure her friend? Without any experience dealing with emotional crisis—
wait a minute.
Vi stepped back, hands on hips.

“Girl, do not make me slap you.” She had Marissa’s attention. “Pull yourself together and go talk to the nurse. I’m not a relative, and she wouldn’t give me any information.” Vi nudged Marissa to get her moving. “Get over yourself. This isn’t about you, it’s about Tristan.”

Yes, Marissa understood tough. Shaking off her helpless hysterical demeanor, she pulled a hanky from her purse and dried her eyes. “Sorry, you’re right.” She strode toward the nurses’ station, saying over her shoulder, “I’ve got this.”

Vi followed.

A woman with shoulder-length blonde hair, standing at the counter reading a chart, looked up when Marissa approached. “Miss Johnson, I’m Marissa Corbett. What happened?”

“Mrs. Corbett, I’m sorry. Your husband came in with a gunshot wound to his back. He’s in surgery. His condition is serious, but stable.”

Marissa closed her eyes, leaned on the counter. Vi and the nurse stepped forward, but Marissa waved them away. Giving Marissa time to recover her equilibrium, Vi took over questioning the nurse. “Does anyone know how it happened?”

“He was found slumped down beside his car. His secretary said she heard what sounded like a car backfire and rushed to the window. She saw Mister Corbett lean across the front of his car, before he disappeared from sight. Thinking he had car trouble, she went out to see if he wanted her to call for help. She found him on the ground next to his car.”

“Have the police been notified?” Vi asked.

“Yes,” the nurse replied.

“Thank you,” Marissa said. “Will you let me know when he comes out of surgery, and when I can see him?”

“Yes, I will. Can I get you anything?” Miss Johnson asked.

“No, thank you. I’ll be fine.” Marissa walked away.

* * * *

Arm in arm, Marissa and Vi walked into the waiting area and sat huddled together in silence for some time before Vi spoke again. “Marissa, are you really okay?”

She nodded, stood, and started pacing, her fear for her husband and her kids overwhelming. The son of a bitch had come after her family, twice. She was right to think it was time to end it.

“Marissa, Tristan will be all right.”

She stopped and stared at Vi. “Yeah, but what happened to Tristan reinforces my belief that I need to eliminate the problem. He can’t handle what’s happening, he’s not equipped for this type of violence, and I can’t let him become any more involved.”

“Marissa—”

“No, listen to me,” she retorted. “Last night, the bastard broke into my house. In my house, Vi, and he managed to get as far as the nursery. Do you understand what I’m saying? The babies, he went after my children. Thank God for the dogs.”

“Son of a bitch.” Vi jumped to her feet. “The babies, damn him, I’ll kill the bastard myself, if he touches our babies.”

Though seething with anger, the corners of Marissa’s mouth twitched at Vi’s use of the term
our babies.
First Kate and now Vi had referred to Korey and Kristen as
our children.
“Why, Auntie Vi, so ferocious.”

Vi giggled.

The police arrived at that moment. “Mrs. Corbett?”

Marissa looked up at a tall slim man dressed in a crumpled, black linen sport coat and a pair of clean pressed dove-gray slacks. His dark brown hair, cropped short, and his smooth clean-shaven skin belied the telltale lines of aging just beginning to plot a course around his features.

She estimated his age to be late thirties, early forties. Staring out from beneath hooded lids were piercing hazel eyes that seemed to look deep into the soul. And what those eyes had seen in many a soul appeared to have shattered his spirit. Then he smiled, transforming his features, and she couldn’t help being impressed.

“I’m Marissa Corbett.” She held out her hand and returned his smile. “This is a friend, Vi Leon.”

“I’m Detective Lawrence Sanderson.” He showed his badge, shook her hand, and nodded to Vi. “I’m wondering if you could add anything to the information your husband’s secretary gave me?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know what you learned from Alicia.” Marissa stalled. The nurse told her what Tristan’s secretary had said. She wanted the police interpretation of the information, before she decided what she wanted them to know.

Detective Sanderson laughed. “Sorry.” He reached inside his jacket and extracted a small notebook from the inside breast pocket. He flipped it open and read the tiny scrawl on the page. He repeated almost verbatim what the nurse had said.

“Hmm, she didn’t see or hear a car drive away?” Marissa inquired.

“I asked, said she didn’t notice. Concern for her employer took precedence. Even though she saw blood on the back of his sport coat, it didn’t register that he’d been shot,” he said. “Until the paramedics reported a gunshot wound, she thought he’d passed out, fell down, and somehow injured his back.”

“What do you think happened, Detective? Why would someone shoot my husband?”

Sanderson smiled. “That’s what I’m asking you, Mrs. Corbett. Does your husband have any enemies who would want to kill him, or scare him?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Besides, have you seen my husband? Does he look like someone who would scare easily?”

“Yes, I’ve seen him,” he acknowledged. “That’s my point. If he made an enemy, and the person wasn’t up to your husband’s physical standards, said person probably would ambush him. He wouldn’t confront him directly.”

“True, but Tristan is like a gentle giant. I can’t imagine him making enemies.”

“Yeah, his secretary said the same thing, in so many words. I guess you really can’t add any more to her statement.”

“No, I can’t. I was at home asleep when I received the call,” she remarked. “So where do we go from here?”

“Well, we really don’t have much to go on, and random drive-by shootings do happen. Your husband could have been mistaken for someone else, or some punks could have been out having fun, shooting people on a dare. I’ve seen it happen before,” Sanderson asserted. “Sometimes we get lucky, and they commit another crime using the same gun. If we’re really on our toes, we actually connect the two crimes.

“For now, I’d say, not likely,” he acknowledged. “We’ll let you know if we come up with anything. If you or your husband can think of anyone who would do this to him, please, let me know.” He handed her his business card.

“I will,” she assured him and extended her hand. “And thanks.” She watched him walk away and join a uniformed officer talking to Miss Johnson. Sanderson conversed with the nurse for several minutes, then turned, nodded in Marissa’s direction, and left.

“Marissa, why didn’t you tell the police about last night?” Vi asked.

“Vi.” She sighed and looked at her friend.

“All right, I know your sentiments about law enforcement, but this shit is beginning to scare me,” Vi admitted. “And after what happened at the house, I don’t think Kate should be alone with the kids. I’m going to stop by your house before I go home. Will you be all right, if I leave you here, or I can stay. Wherever you need me.”

“Vi, I’ll be fine. I’m only staying until I know Tristan’s out of danger, then I have to go home. I refuse to stay away from the twins all night,” she clarified. “But since you’re volunteering, will you stay at the house until I get back,” she coaxed. “Kate could use the help, and the company.”

“Girl, stop. I’m there. Moreover, you need some serious attitude adjustment before you go off trying to resolve this problem by yourself.”

“There’s nothing to talk—”

“Marissa.”

“Okay, okay,” she grumbled. “When Tristan’s better...” Vi glared, hands on her hips. “Fine, we’ll talk when I get home,” she capitulated.

“Tonight, Marissa. Girl, don’t play me.”

Outside the hospital, Jonas Steppling, the uniformed officer accompanying Sanderson, stopped to light a cigarette.

“I thought you quit smoking,” Sanderson said.

“My wife says I did.”

Sanderson grunted. “I have quit and I would be tempted, if we’re in the close confines of a car. We’ll wait out here until you’re finished.”

“What did the wife have to say?” Jonas asked.

“Couldn’t add anything to what the secretary said. But she wasn’t telling me something.”

“Like what? Maybe she’s just scared.”

“Jonas, I’ve been on the job for fifteen years. Let me tell you something about Mrs. Corbett. Gut instinct—very little scares her. Believe me. She made direct eye contact when she spoke. No hesitancy, no sidestepping the issue. Do you know I walked away feeling I’d been interrogated?”

“No shit?”

“No shit. But when I asked if her husband had any enemies, she looked straight at me and said no. I believed her. Yet something about my question—she had a friend with her, and I noticed the friend’s reaction. The woman didn’t seem to be paying much attention to us until I mentioned enemies. The friend’s head jerked up, she glanced at us, and quickly looked away.

“Hell. I’ve been on duty for nineteen hours right about now, maybe it’s nothing,” Sanderson grumbled. “Come on, let’s go. I need some coffee.”

Sanderson waited while Steppling stubbed out his cigarette in the sand receptacle atop the trash bin. Then both men strolled toward the parking lot.

* * * *