Guarding His Midnight Witness Page 17

  “I’ve seen that picture,” Eden said. “I like it.”

  “That’s high praise.” Allie leaned over Simone to tell Greta. “Eden isn’t the biggest fan of art.”

  “Sure, I am,” Eden said. “When it makes sense. You do good work, Greta.” She toasted her with her can and earned another look from Simone, this one sparked with confusion. “What?”

  “I just realized you aren’t drinking,” Simone said. “And given the size of the wine fridge you had installed on this boat when you moved in—”

  “And you hate lemon-lime,” Allie added. “You say it’s soda with an identity crisis. What gives?”

  Eden’s mouth twisted, but not enough to hide the smile. “Guess I gave myself away. Cole? I’ve been outed.”

  “What?”

  Greta looked over with the other women as Cole looked up from the grill, oversize tongs in hand. He looked at his wife. “I thought you had this planned. I told you you’d blow it.” But his smile mirrored Eden’s.

  Joy, Greta thought and felt almost as if she was intruding on a special moment. How Eden and Cole looked at each other, how they spoke without words, grabbed hold of Greta’s heart. “Oh, that’s just lovely,” she whispered and earned a surprised glance from Allie and Simone.

  “Eden?” Simone’s hands gripped the edge of the bench. “What are you saying?”

  “No sense in hedging now. I’m pregnant.” Eden’s laughter was muffled by Allie and Simone launching themselves at her, engulfing her in a hug that erased Eden from sight.

  Greta unfolded her legs as Ashley came over to sit beside her, but Greta barely noticed. She was watching Jack congratulate his friend and partner with the most enthusiastic hug and smack on the back she’d ever seen. He was so unreservedly happy, and the sight warmed her from head to toe.

  “Champagne is in the cooler,” Cole announced.

  “On it!” Max went to pull out not one but two bottles. Corks popped, glasses were filled, and once the hoots and hollers and celebratory cheers finally eased, Cole held up his glass.

  “The only thing better than seeing that stick turn blue is making this announcement to our friends. Our family.” He motioned to his wife, who, after a moment, gave him a quick nod. “And to our baby’s godmothers.” He nodded to an almost squealing Allie and Simone. “And her godfather.” He turned back to Jack. “If you’ll accept, of course.”

  Jack blinked and a slow smile spread across his face. “Of course, I accept. I’d be honored.”

  Greta’s eyes misted. He looked so content and at ease, surrounded by his people. This was exactly where he belonged.

  “That’s just great.” Ashley sniffed beside Greta. “First night in months I wear makeup, and now it’s ruined.”

  “Nothing is ruined,” Greta assured her and squeezed her hand. “Happy tears are never bad.”

  “He’s always wanted to be a dad,” Ashley told her as she dabbed at her eyes. “Even with everything he’s seen, all the cases he’s worked, just the idea of a houseful of kids brings a smile to his face. That smile.”

  Greta’s own smile faltered as reality settled over her. Jack would make a wonderful father. But she could never be a mother. Not because she couldn’t have children but because she knew, deep in her heart, she shouldn’t.

  “My brother’s a good man, Greta.”

  “I know.” Greta did know. As sure as she understood the sun would rise in the morning. That was the problem.

  “Whatever anyone throws at him, he deals. He stands. You could not have a better person in your corner. Or at your side.”

  “Ashley—” Greta knew exactly what Ashley was trying to say and that there was no arguing with her. But even good men had their tipping points. Greta couldn’t let herself believe, even for a moment, that there could be anything close to a future for the two of them. Not when the best thing for everyone was for her to be alone.

  “Tell him, Greta,” Ashley urged. “Whatever it is, whatever you’re afraid of, just tell him. Let him help you.”

  She didn’t want Jack’s help, Greta almost said. She didn’t want anyone’s help. Even if she did, there wasn’t anything they could do. No matter how she might wish otherwise, there wasn’t anything anyone could do about the future that was hurtling toward her like a bullet in the dark.

  * * *

  One hour turned into three, which slipped into four. She hoped Jack wasn’t an I-told-you-so type of person. Greta really hated that. But he had been right. Tonight had been...special. A night she didn’t want to see end. But for now, she was content to leave the conversations, the huddling around phones in the search of the perfect baby items, the argument between Vince and Max over who the new arrival, boy or girl, would cheer for in the upcoming football season.

  Greta headed down the steps into the confines of the boat, absorbing every perfect detail of the craft she learned Cole had refurbished himself. She didn’t snoop, much. She didn’t venture into the main bedroom but did admire the use of space in the very modern bathroom. The kitchen, galley-style for the most part, looked well used and cared for. The well-worn sofa and chairs, a small coffee table and big-screen TV completed all the amenities needed. One room, however, did catch her attention as she headed back toward the stairs. She ducked her head, pushed open the door that was slightly ajar and stepped inside.

  Larger than expected, the room was filled to capacity with shelves, a desk and three large portable white boards currently covered in newspaper articles, scribbled notes, arrows and threads connecting them to various photographs of five children.

  She couldn’t help but admire Eden St. Claire, and what she did every day of her life in trying to bring closure to families of missing, exploited or murdered children. File folders sat stacked on top of one another, balanced on a straight-backed chair against the far wall. The filing-cabinet drawers remained slightly askew, with papers sticking out, but still relatively organized.

  There were special touches, Greta realized, sitting on the shelves of the bookcases, on the desk. Photographs, some framed, including one of Eden and Cole on their wedding day, another of Eden, Simone and Allie years before, laughing into the camera. And another, off to the side, in a frame of abalone and silver. Four girls this time, Eden, Simone and Allie at about eight years old, with another girl with bright red hair and mismatched sneakers.

  “Her name was Chloe.”

  Greta gasped and spun around, pressing the picture against her chest. Eden strode in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude—” Greta said.

  Eden waved off her concern. “Don’t worry about it. Allie calls this my torture room.” Eden smirked at Greta’s frown. “She thinks I keep all this stuff up to torture myself because I haven’t helped them.”

  “This is the case you’re working on. The one in Arizona.”

  “Yep.” Eden sat on the edge of her desk. “Local police chalked up the disappearances to a rash of runaways. Because seven-year-olds run away so often. Small town, limited resources. They didn’t have the manpower to really investigate. Something I suspect the person responsible was counting on. Sorry.” She held up a hand. “Soapbox. You don’t need to hear all that. I know Allie’s just teasing, mostly. She gets why I do it. I think.”

  “You do it because no one else will.” Greta set the frame back down. “I didn’t remember at first, but I do now. Chloe’s case was recently solved, wasn’t it?”

  “Last year.” Eden had an unnerving way of watching her, Greta thought. It was as if she could see right through her. “It took us twenty years, but we finally got her justice. Came at a pretty steep cost, though.”

  “Jack. That’s when he was shot.” Greta was both disappointed and relieved she hadn’t known him then. She wasn’t sure how she’d react to the man she loved being shot. Her breath caught in her throat. The man she loved? She loved Jack?

  “He makes lig
ht of it,” Eden continued as she began rummaging around in her desk. “But in all honesty, he shouldn’t be alive. Makes me wonder what life has in store for him now.”

  Greta’s eyes had long lost focus as she trailed her gaze across the rows of true crime books, criminology texts and an eclectic collection of movies. “Not me,” Greta whispered.

  “No?” If Eden was surprised by her answer, she didn’t sound it. “Might want to clue Jack in on that.”

  “I’m just a witness in a case.” Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. She swallowed the tears that threatened to fall. “Yes, there’s something there. A spark.”

  “One that goes off every time he looks at you. And every time you look at him.”

  Greta couldn’t tell if Eden thought that was a good or bad thing. She trailed her finger along the line of DVDs. History documentaries, science specials, big blow-’em-up action movies she suspected were more Eden’s style than Cole’s. They had quite a collection of classics from Bogart and Bacall, Marilyn Monroe, Errol Flynn. The Thin Man series, Sherlock Holmes and...

  Her finger froze, as did the air in her lungs.

  “Feel free to borrow whatever you want,” Eden said as Greta slipped the movie free. “Those are more Cole’s bailiwick than mine. He likes that film noir–type stuff. Chinatown meets Hitchcock. Midnight Witness is one of his favorites. He drags it out every few months. I’ve watched it a few times.”

  “Have you?” Greta stared down at the embracing couple, the throwback-Hollywood blonde bombshell entwined with the tooth-achingly handsome actor turned director. Her hand shook so hard she could hear the disk rattling in the case. “What did you think?”

  “Honestly? I thought the lead actress...what was her name?”

  “Serena Lamont.” Greta’s heart ached.

  “Yeah, her. I thought she looked sad. Like she couldn’t quite break through to the character, you know? Almost as if she was playing herself.”

  “The critics agreed.” The film, made in the late eighties, was supposed to be the first in a series of new noir, an updated genre aimed at the fans of the Mike Hammer mysteries and The Maltese Falcon. It hadn’t caught at the time but now was considered a cult classic. Especially, Greta thought, given what had happened to its stars.

  “Seems to me, I remember something about a scandal with the actress and director. I’d forgotten about that. One of Hollywood’s tragic stories. A suicide pact, I think?”

  “Murder-suicide,” Greta whispered, unable to let go of the movie. “It was a murder-suicide.”

  Eden snapped her fingers. “That’s right. Serena and Anthony Lamont. She had a pretty good career going, then one night she just snapped. Killed her husband in some kind of rage, then herself. There were other details I don’t remember. Riveting story. Tragic, but riveting.” Eden swore, bent over and then crouched almost into a ball. “Uh-oh. Here we go again.”

  Greta set the case down, bent down to touch Eden’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just feel like I’m going to puke.” She took in a long breath, let it out, keeping her eyes closed. To Greta, however, Eden looked a bit green. “Can you believe it? Motion sickness, even when we’re docked. This kid hates our home.”

  “Sit down.” Greta pushed her into the desk chair. “Can I get you another soda? Do you want me to get Cole?”

  “No.” She grabbed Greta’s arm when she stood. “No, it’ll pass. Eventually. Cole’s stressed enough about this. He thinks we should find someplace else to live, which breaks my heart because he loves this boat. It’s his one true home.”

  “If it makes you sick, maybe he’s right.”

  “I never like Cole to know he’s right. About anything.” Eden managed a short laugh. “On dry land, I’m fine. I knew I should have held on to my town house, but I honestly didn’t think we’d be doing this for another couple of years.” She pointed at her stomach. “House prices are ridiculous these days, and I don’t want Jack selling this boat to buy someplace he hates.”

  “So don’t buy. Rent.”

  “Not exactly a lot of options out there. At least not in any area we want to live.”

  The idea formed in the blink of an eye. “How about midtown?”

  Eden rolled her head to the side. “You’re funny. Do you have any idea how much rent goes for in midtown?”

  “No, actually. I own. In fact, the building I bought has a vacant second floor loft. Three bedrooms, lots of space. Tons of potential. If you want it, if it’ll help, it’s yours.”

  Eden looked genuinely baffled. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Can’t be serious about what?” Cole stopped in the doorway, looked down at his wife, who was now crouching. “What’s going on? Are you playing Twister again without me?”

  Greta wasn’t sure she’d ever seen something so sweet. There had been panic, a quick flash across Cole’s face, but he’d covered, no doubt because Eden would have taken exception to his concern. He leaned down, covered her hand with his. “Junior giving you trouble again?”

  “Junior. He thinks that’s cute,” Eden joked. “Greta just offered us an apartment.”

  “Did she?” Cole glanced up at Greta.

  “If you want. It’s another loft, actually. It’s just sitting there empty. It’s pretty much a duplicate of mine. You can come by and look at it whenever you want. Check it out. Whatever. The parking isn’t great, but—”

  “I don’t think we can afford—”

  Greta threw out a number. “And you pay utilities.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Eden countered. “You have to make some money.”

  Greta shrugged. “I own the building outright and, well, I inherited a lot of money at a very young age. Investments have been good. You’d be doing me a favor. I’d prefer someone to move in, and I’d really prefer it be someone I know. Talk it over. If it makes sense, we can do a short-term or even month-to-month lease. Whatever works best for you. I can have my lawyer draw up the paperwork in no time.” Because she rather enjoyed the dazed and confused look on both their faces, she left and closed the door behind her. When she turned, she collided with Jack. She squeaked, “What are you doing skulking...oh!”

  The kiss happened so fast, took her under so deeply, she didn’t think she’d ever surface.

  “What was that for?” she asked when he broke the embrace. At some point he’d pushed her up against the wall, pressed his body against hers in a way that had her wishing they were somewhere—anywhere—else.

  “You’re wrong. You do really well with people, Greta.” He stroked her cheek, ran his other hand along the curve of her hip. “But I think it’s time I got you home and into bed.” He kissed her again. “What do you think?”

  What did she think? She thought he needed to slow down so she could think more. She thought that going to bed with him, making love with him, was going to open a whole lot of doors to problems she didn’t want.

  “What about protocol?”

  He looked into her eyes so deeply she almost saw stars. “What about it?”

  It would be a mistake. It would create a connection she might never be able to sever and yet...she didn’t want to go into another day without having been with him. Embrace the now, she told herself. She’d worry about tomorrow...tomorrow.

  She kissed him, deeply, drawing him against her, into her, wrapping herself around him so she could barely feel where she left off and he began. “Take me home, Jack,” she murmured against his lips. “Take me home now.”

  Chapter 11

  “I worried all the way up here that the elevator was going to stall.” Greta arched her neck as Jack’s mouth trailed down the side of her throat. They’d made it to her front door—barely—and all but tumbled through when she unlocked it.

  “We would have found a way to entertain ourselves.” His breath was hot against her skin
and made her shiver. She’d been surprised he hadn’t hit his light and siren as the drive home seemed to have taken forever. Greta had reached out to take his hand at one point because she’d needed to touch him, to feel that anticipation of having that hand all over her body. She’d threaded her fingers through his, moved closer and felt an unfamiliar surge of power when he’d let out a moan in the back of his throat.

  The sound had thrilled her. Excited her.

  Now, in the confines of her loft, he kicked the door shut before toeing off his shoes. His jacket came next, with her helping push it off his strong, broad shoulders. She brought his mouth back to hers as his hands worked their way beneath her shirt, inched up to slip under her bra. She felt it release, then he pushed her bra free. His palms rubbed against her bare nipples, and she gasped, the sensation shooting straight to the apex of her thighs.

  “Oh.” She bit her lip, squeezed her eyes so hard this time she did see stars.

  “Off,” Jack panted and grabbed her shirt to drag it over her head. He discarded her bra as well, then stood there, looking down at her as the cool air of the room circled them. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Exactly as I’ve imagined.”

  “You’ve been imagining my breasts?” Greta laughed until he bent to draw his tongue through the valley between them.

  “I’ve been imagining more than that. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this for years.”

  “So have I. In fact,” she said and trembled as his fingers flicked open the button of her jeans. “Jack, I need to tell you—”

  “Tell me what?” He dropped to his knees, pressed a kiss against her navel.

  “Something.” Her brain was a fog, but not the fog she often got lost in. A fog that shrouded them both from the outside world. “Right. Jack. I meant I’ve been waiting years. Not just for you. For this.”

  His hands circled her waist, his fingers flexing. And then he stopped and looked up at her, those amazing blue eyes of his sparking in the dim light of the solitary lamp. “This is your first time?”