Still Waters (10 page)

Now, if Jake Reed had invited her…

Tiffany ended the thought before it could take root. She had even less in common with Jake than she did with Henry. Forcing her mind away from the men—or lack of men—in her life, Tiffany put another dab of gel in her hair and tugged it back ruthlessly.

She might be a failure in relationships, but she’d be darned if she would let her hair get the better of her.

An hour later she finally admitted defeat and moved on to the face mask—a strange cucumber and avocado concoction she’d bought online. Scooping up a liberal palmful, Tiffany smeared the green lotion onto her face. Leaning close to the mirror, she eyed the results. Though her hair shimmered with gel, it refused to lie in the elegant upswept style she’d been trying to achieve. Reddish curls popped out in every direction and stood at attention. Green sludge covered her face and dripped down her neck. The result of her makeover, Tiffany decided, was thus far less than becoming.

“May as well do my nails while I wait for this to dry. What do you think, boy?”

Bandit lifted an eyelid before returning to doggy dreamland.

“What color? Lush Raspberry? Blue Mist? No, I’ve got it—Neon Purple. That will go great with the green mask and red hair.”

Tiffany smiled a little as she applied the first coat of sparkling purple polish. Allowing her youngest niece to pick out the color had seemed a good idea at the time. When the three-year-old grabbed for the brightest, most garish nail
color available Tiffany had hesitated but Skylar’s brown eyes, wide and lit with excitement, convinced her that purple would indeed enhance her wardrobe.

Humming softly under her breath, Tiffany applied more nail polish and wished she had thought to invite her nieces for a sleepover. At three, five and six, the girls were old enough to be active and engaging, but not quite old enough to completely fend for themselves. This made life difficult for Tiffany’s sisters. Jenna, who was six months pregnant with her second child, and Valorie, who was still recovering from the birth of her third, would both have been happy for a break.

And Tiffany was sure
she
would have been happy with some messy, loud and adorable distractions from the funk she was in. Swiping another coat of garish nail polish onto her nails, Tiffany pictured her nieces, two blond-haired, blue-eyed replicas of Valorie and the darker-haired, brown-eyed little wonder that Jenna had produced. Somewhere in the labyrinth of her brain, Tiffany had stored pictures of the children she hoped to have one day. Red-haired imps with her own green eyes, little girls with pigtails, and boys with eyes the color of summer sky.

It seemed strange, now that she thought of it, that Tiffany had never pictured her children with Brian’s dark eyes. She supposed that was another one of the little signs of incompatibility she had missed. Now, instead of worrying about eye color, she was beginning to wonder if she would have children at all. Though she knew women who had babies into their forties, Tiffany didn’t think she wanted to be one of them. She’d always said if she didn’t have children by the time she was thirty-five, she wouldn’t have them at all.

Time was running out. Fast.

Slamming down the bottle of nail polish, Tiffany stood up
and stalked across the room. She refused to wallow in self-pity. If God didn’t intend for Tiffany to have children, she would learn to love being childless. She hoped.

Determined to be cheerful, Tiffany rifled through her stack of CDs and pushed one into the player. Cranking up the volume, she sang along with the music as she sat down on the bed and began painting her toenails. She had just finished her right foot when Bandit jumped up from the floor and began barking ferociously.

Heart skittering in her chest, Tiffany leaped from the bed and shut off the CD player. Bandit’s hackles were raised, his teeth bared, as he growled at the closed bedroom door.

“What is it, Bandit? What’s the matter?” Kneeling beside the dog, Tiffany put her arms around his rigid back, and listened for sounds beyond the bedroom door.

For a moment all was silent, then a rustling sound whispered through the door. Cold with fear, Tiffany crept forward and pressed her ear against the wood, straining to hear above her heart’s frantic pounding.

When the sound came again it was unmistakable—the same rustle of fabric Tiffany heard each time a visitor brushed against a hanging quilt. On normal occasions the sound put Tiffany at ease.

Now it filled her with terror.

Jake’s words of warning shouted through her mind as the creak and groan of the floor at the base of the stairs confirmed her fears—someone was in the house.

Legs trembling, Tiffany stood, her mind racing for a plan. She hadn’t had a phone jack installed in the bedroom, so she couldn’t call for help. She could hide in the closet and hope the intruder would leave, but what if the person had a weapon? Or worse, decided to do real damage to the
property and burned it to the ground. Old, dry wood burned easily.

Just the thought made Tiffany shudder. No way could she stay and wait things out. With careful, quiet steps she eased toward the closet and grabbed her softball bat. Then she pressed close to the door again, listening for the creak of wooden steps. When it didn’t come she pushed open the door and peered into the hall. She’d left the lights off, hoping to discourage a visit from Henry, and she could see nothing but darkness.

Lord, help me get out of here.

She’d barely finished the prayer when the sound of shattering glass filled the air. A loud bang followed, then a thud as something fell or was thrown. Tiffany didn’t wait to hear more. With one hand on Bandit’s collar and the other holding the bat, she rushed down the stairs. She hit the landing at a run and careened the rest of the way down, her hold on Bandit loosening as she neared the front door.

He lunged, breaking her hold, barking and growling as he disappeared into the dark hall. A shouted obscenity followed. The dog’s howl of pain an echoing response.

Frozen in place Tiffany commanded her trembling limbs to move. They responded with nightmarish slowness, carrying her forward just as a hulking figure rushed from the darkness and barreled into her. Knocked off balance, Tiffany lost her grip on the bat and tumbled sideways. She righted herself, prepared to fight but strong hands wrapped her arm in a cruel grip and twisted it back until Tiffany thought it might snap. Before she could even cry out in pain, she was shoved hard into the wall. Colors burst behind her eyes as her head smashed into the corner of an antique wall sconce. Stunned, dizzy, Tiffany scrambled to right herself, struggling to face her attacker.

He was gone. Or he seemed to be. The empty hall stretched to both sides of Tiffany, the front door gaping open. Tiffany’s instincts told her the intruder had fled, but her mind conjured up vivid images of a tall, masked figure lying in wait, ready to attack her the minute she let down her guard. Though the office with its phone was only feet away, Tiffany couldn’t bring herself to go into the room. Better, she thought, to use the cell phone she’d left in her car. At least then she could drive away if she needed to.

“Bandit?”

Relief poured through Tiffany as Bandit responded to her barely audible whisper, slinking out of the office and limping toward her. She grabbed him by the collar, patting a hand along his back and down his flank, checking for evidence of injury.

When she found none, she released her hold and stepped toward the door, reaching down to pick up the fallen softball bat. “Come on, boy. Let’s get out of here.”

She hesitated at the threshold, her eyes scanning the darkness beyond the door. Was the intruder lurking outside, waiting for her? Or was he hiding in the house, hoping to finish what he started? The thought spurred Tiffany to action, and she grabbed her keys from the coatrack, prayed that no one waited outside the house, and stepped out into the night.

J
ake jumped into his patrol car and slammed it into drive, fury and fear making his hands tremble and his heart thunder. He’d expected trouble, but nothing as cocky as this. The dispatcher had said burglary in progress. Jake knew it was more than that. It was a message. One he heard loud and clear.

Tom’s gang wanted him back. And they didn’t plan to let Tiffany get in the way of that happening. By breaking into her house while she was home, they proved they had the upper hand. It was a scare tactic. An effective one.

Siren blaring, Jake sped down Monroe Street, and braked hard at the edge of Tiffany’s driveway. The house was dark but for a single light in an upstairs window. Despite the darkness, Jake could see the open front door. Tiffany’s Cadillac was a long, dark shadow near the front porch. According to the dispatcher, she was in the car waiting for help.

Pulling his gun from its holster, Jake stepped from the cruiser. Adrenaline pumped fast and hard as his eyes scanned the thick bushes that lined the porch. The perpetrator might be hiding there or behind one of the ancient oaks. Jake listened to the night, to the chirping crickets and the toads calling back and forth. Leaves rustled slightly as air shifted and in the distance a siren heralded the arrival of another officer.

Jake waited another minute but there was no hint of movement. No quieting of the night creatures. Gun in hand, he moved toward the house. As he approached, the car door opened and Tiffany called out. “Officer?”

“Stay in the car. Lock the doors and don’t come out until I give you the all clear.”

At the sound of his voice, Tiffany opened the door a little wider. “Jake? Is that you?”

“I said stay in the car and wait.” His voice sounded harsh and cold, even to his own ears.

“Sorry.” Tiffany closed the car door, but unrolled the window. “Be careful.”

Jake heard the shakiness in her voice, could sense her fear, and wanted to comfort her, but now wasn’t the time. He stepped away, moved up the porch steps and into the house.

It was empty.

Jake knew it before he checked every room. His instincts buzzed with the knowledge, his body relaxing in response. Still he walked through each room, checked each closet, searched every hiding place. He checked the basement and walked out to the garage.

“See anything, Sheriff?” Henry Simmons strode around the corner of the house, his face set in lines of worry.

“Some damage in Ms. Anderson’s office. A brick through the computer monitor, dumped files, a broken chair. Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

“What are you thinking?”

Jake shrugged. “Same thing you’re thinking.”

Henry nodded. “Kids again.”

“Right. Come on, we’ll dust for prints. See if we can come up with anything.”

Jake was glad for the other officer’s presence as he dusted for prints and catalogued the damage. While he worked, Henry collected evidence, including the brick and a wood chisel that had been used to break the lock on the kitchen door.

Henry was a good officer. A competent one who’d been in law enforcement for almost as long as Jake had been alive. Unfortunately, he liked to talk. And tonight what he wanted to talk about was Tiffany Anderson.

“It’s a shame. A cryin’ shame. Poor woman living alone can’t even feel safe in her own house.”

“Hopefully the situation will change when fall arrives and the summer folk leave.”

“Well, I have to say, I’m worried for Tiffany. That young woman needs a man around this big house. That’s for sure.”

The way Henry puffed up his chest, Jake knew who he thought should fill the position. Ignoring a stab of possessiveness he had no business feeling, Jake jotted down some notes and hoped Henry would tire of his pet subject soon.

“I wouldn’t mind taking care of things around here for her if…”

Jake didn’t let him finish. “I think we’re finished here. Why don’t you head out and finish up your patrol?”

The dejected look on Henry’s face made Jake regret his abrupt words and he hurried to fill in the awkward silence. “You do great work, Simmons. We make a good team.”

The older man nodded, the frown easing from his face. “Thanks, Sheriff. See ya.”

Jake ran a hand through his hair and shrugged off his frustration, then walked toward the Cadillac. Tiffany waited, huddled in the back seat, one hand still clutching her phone, the other wrapped around Bandit. In the faint moonlight her face seemed unnaturally pale, her eyes dark and filled with fear.

Jake rapped on the glass and gestured for her to open the door. “The house is clear.”

“Thank goodness.” Tiffany nudged Bandit out of the car. “I was beginning to worry that you and Henry had been injured.”

“We were just trying to get an idea of what happened in there.” Jake offered a hand and helped Tiffany out of the car. The skin of her arm felt cool and Jake fought the urge to rub his palms against her flesh until it warmed.

“Is there much damage?”

“Not much. Let’s go inside. You can relax while I ask you a few questions.”

“That’s fine.” Fatigue laced Tiffany’s voice and she pressed a hand against her temple, wincing a little.

“Headache?”

“Not too bad but I’ll take something for it before we talk, if that’s all right.”

“Tell you what, you sit down. I’ll get your medicine. We can talk when you feel up to it.” Jake resisted the inclination to hold Tiffany’s arm as they made their way into the house and down the hall.

The living room light was off and Jake switched on a table lamp as Tiffany lowered herself onto the love seat.

“Thanks.” She glanced up and Jake saw the tension that marked her brow and the corners of her eyes.

He saw something else, too, something that looked like green goo covering her face—hairline to chin. Dry and cracking, it gave Tiffany the appearance of aged porcelain.
Her hair looked different, too, slicked back in some places and standing on end in others. Jake’s eyes drifted to the terry cloth bathrobe that gaped over cow print pajamas. Tiffany’s feet peeked out from the pants, her right toenails painted a garish, sparkly shade of purple that exactly matched the color of her fingernails.

Lips twitching, Jake looked away. What
had
she been doing to herself? Having no sisters and a minimal relationship with his mother, Jake knew nothing of women’s exotic beauty rituals. Surely such things didn’t include caking cucumber-colored paste on one’s face.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“What?” Jake dared another look at Tiffany, then struggled to control his laughter.

“Don’t laugh. This is
not
funny.” Tiffany rubbed at her face refusing to meet his eyes. Her hands were shaking.

Sobered, Jake nodded his agreement. “You’re right. It’s not. Sit tight. I’m going to get your pills.”

Tiffany watched him go, scraping a fingernail across one of her cucumber-encrusted cheeks. It figured Jake would show up tonight; he always seemed to be around at her most embarrassing moments. And she really couldn’t blame him for almost laughing at her. She made a ridiculous sight. If she wasn’t so tired, Tiffany figured she might be able to see some humor in the situation herself. As it was, she was just glad the entire ordeal was over.

Leaning her head against the cushions, Tiffany tried to halt the fine trembling of her muscles. Still, shaken by her ordeal, she felt absurdly grateful for Jake’s strong, reliable presence.

“Here, take these.”

Jake’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts and Tiffany took the pill bottle and water he held out to her. “Thanks.”

She glanced at Jake as she swallowed the medicine, ex
pecting humor to be dancing in his eyes. Instead she saw anger and frustration barely contained beneath a facade of unyielding calm.

Tiffany wondered about the man beneath the surface. Wondered at the shadows and secrets she saw in his eyes. No doubt Jake’s years as a city police officer had toughened him. But what else had made him the man she saw?

Though they had shared several conversations and Jake knew much about Tiffany’s life, she realized she knew nothing about him. Not where he had grown up, or who his parents were, or why he’d come to Lakeview.

That she wanted to know those things worried her. A year ago she’d been curious about Brian McMath and look where that had brought her. Not to mention several curiosities during her college years…all ending with someone’s heart broken. Usually hers.

Tiffany forced her gaze away from Jake. Forced her mind away from the questions that begged for answers. She’d learned her lesson. God would have to drop a man down through the roof of her house before she showed interest in one again. Especially one who seemed so determined to keep from being known.

“Do you think you’re up to telling me what happened?”

At the sound of Jake’s voice Tiffany choked on the water she had been swallowing. Coughing violently, she leaned forward and tried to catch her breath.

Jake’s large hand thumped rhythmically against her back. “You okay?”

Finally catching her breath, Tiffany sat up and managed to nod. “Yes, I just swallowed the wrong way.”

Jake waited another minute while Tiffany wiped at her watering eyes. “If you want I can leave and send someone out tomorrow to take your statement.”

The thought of Jake leaving her alone in the house sent fear crawling up Tiffany’s spine. It was an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling. “No, I’d just as soon get it over with now.”

“All right. Why don’t you tell me how you knew someone was in the house?”

Tiffany described what had happened, giving as many details as she could remember, struggling to put facts in place of feelings and to describe what had been, not what she imagined had been.

Jake scribbled notes across a small pad of paper, asking questions here and there to clarify what Tiffany said, but mostly remaining silent. When Tiffany’s story wound to an end, he slipped the notebook into the shirt pocket of his uniform along with the pen. “Good enough. I’ve taken some fingerprints. If you can come down to the station tomorrow, we’ll get your prints and a list of the people who have been in the house in the past few days.”

“Do you think whoever was here left his prints?”

“It’s too soon to tell. The chisel had prints on it. Whether or not they belong to your intruder remains to be seen. Finding prints, unfortunately, doesn’t mean we catch the bad guy.”

Tiffany nodded. “I’m hoping you can match any prints you find.” She didn’t say that she wouldn’t rest easy until the person was caught.

“I’m hoping for the same thing.” Jake surveyed the room, his gaze resting on the windows. “In the meantime, a security system might be a good idea.”

“You think he’ll be back?”

“I’m not sure. I do think that the break-in had something to do with Tom. And I also think there’s going to be more trouble before the summer is over. I’d hate for you to be part of it.”

“Me, too.” Tiffany shuddered at the thought of another intruder.

“I hate to bring it up again, but—”

“I can’t fire Tom. It would ruin him.”

Jake ran a hand through his hair and began pacing the room, frustration in every line of his body. “Look, I can’t tell you what to do. I won’t even try, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about your safety.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I can’t see why anyone would want to harm me. Besides, there hasn’t been any violent crime this summer. Just a bunch of childish pranks. Tom’s group of friends—”

Jake turned, his eyes blazing. “Gang, Tiffany. Not group. There’s a difference. One is harmless. The other isn’t.”

“Still, they don’t have any reason to harm
me.
”

“You don’t get it do you?” Jake’s voice was low, his face cold. “They don’t
need
a reason. You’re here. You’ve stolen the loyalty of one of their members. They want revenge. Maybe a chance to get Tom back. Or maybe a chance to get back at him. Whatever the case, you’re the way to do it.”

Tiffany couldn’t respond. Could think of nothing to say in the face of Jake’s anger. Instead she grabbed her empty water glass and stood. “I need more to drink.”

Before he could respond she fled the room.

Jake cursed himself for an idiot and followed her into the kitchen. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh. Hadn’t meant to sound as if anything that had happened was Tiffany’s fault. She deserved better.

Tiffany stood facing the sink, her gaze fixed on some point beyond the window. He walked toward her, noting the fatigue and tension that bowed her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so harsh.”

“It’s okay.”

Jake placed a hand on her shoulder, urging her to turn and face him. “No, it isn’t okay. I’m frustrated. I spent most of the day trying to track down members of Tom’s gang and didn’t have much luck. I’m worried about you. About Tom. And about the safety of Lakeview residents. But it isn’t your fault and I shouldn’t have acted like it was.”

“I understand.” Her eyes held sympathy, compassion and forgiveness.

“You remind me of Will.” The words were out before Jake knew he was thinking them.

“Will?”

“My partner when I worked in D.C. He was also my best friend.”

“Was?”

“He was killed last year. A single bullet to the chest, fired by a kid he’d been mentoring for over a year. We were called in on a report of a robbery. Will saw the kid running from the scene, called for him to halt, but never pulled his gun. He believed in that kid. Believed he was redeemable. He’s dead because of it.”

“That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

Jake was, too, but he didn’t have the heart to talk about it anymore. “Look, I know you want to trust Tom. I won’t tell you not to. Just be careful. Don’t take any chances.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. And get that security system. The sooner the better.”

A shadow darkened Tiffany’s eyes, and she nodded. “I will, not that it’ll do me any good tonight.”

“You’ll be okay. Bandit will let you know if there’s anyone prowling around.”

“I’d rather have a housemate. Or better yet a husband.
The Incredible Hulk type. Big muscles. Bad temper. No one would dare come near me.”