Crime & Counterpoint (31 page)

“No, please. Just” – she yawned and settled onto his lap again – “a few more minutes.”

He had no inclination to push her away. He turned off the lamp and the room fell into dark, watercolor silhouettes created by the opened curtains. The trees outside the window yielded to the elements, dancing to the rain. He stared at the city-foreign sight, soaking it in.

The seconds stretched luxuriously.

Just when he thought she’d fallen asleep, she spoke softly. “You need to forgive your dad.”

The mere mention of David Ericson cooled his demeanor like an ice bath. “You only say that because you had a good father,” he said tersely. “But could
you
forgive a man who abandoned you? Who tore you down? Who willfully allowed you to be abused and ruined a once-in-a-lifetime shot?”

“But if he hadn’t, where would I be now?”

Her words echoed loudly in his mind. He grasped her hand and kissed it. “You said it yourself: you don’t need me.”

“But I want you,” she whispered.

He felt a pang as her statement registered. Sadly, he sighed, combing his fingers through her sweet-smelling hair. “That’s not an option, sweetheart.”

She pricked at the term of endearment her father always used, and her heart tightened with delirious ache. His gentle motions soothed her.

The pattering against the windows filled the silence. Until–

“Do you know why I failed?” she asked timidly.

He searched his memory. “You mean the Van Cliburn thing?”

She pushed herself up and sat next to him, the outside glow barely illuminating her face. “The night before the competition, I heard my parents talking in our hotel room when they thought I was asleep.” She sniffled. “My Mother’s hands were bothering her – the nerve damage from the accident.”

“What accident?”

“You really don’t know?” she asked, astonished. He shook his head and so she plowed forward. “I was accompanying my mother. She was rehearsing for her upcoming tour. And – well, she was very agitated that day. I don’t know why. I was particularly nervous. She yelled at me for everything and I jumped. Finally, she left her best violin in the mouth of the piano to get herself some water. Only I didn’t notice. She was saying that she couldn’t hear herself and so I decided to lower the lid. But as I was lowering it, my Mother yelled at me so loud, I dropped the lid altogether.” She covered her hands as if frightened, and Zach put an arm around her. “My mother had lunged to try to save the Stradivarius and because of that–”

She couldn’t continue. Her voice died away, but he figured the rest out. The heavy piano lid must’ve crashed down on both the violin and Carol Mitchel’s hands.

“And when was that?” he asked gently.

She sucked in a shaky breath. “When I was about fifteen. There was blood everywhere. On the keys. On the carpet. On her clothes. She was wearing cashmere that day. I couldn’t get the stains out.” She sobbed. “My Daddy was so devastated. That’s why he fell in love with her, you know. Because of her talent. And I took it away. She couldn’t play anymore. She couldn’t use her hands for anything.”

Zach felt his walls tremble. He hugged her tighter. “So what happened? With Van Cliburn, I mean.”

She swallowed convulsively and wiped at her wet cheek. “At the hotel, she was telling my Dad that she felt horrible for resenting me. For wanting me to fail. Because I ruined her life.”

Zach’s brows drew together.

“And Daddy, he didn’t even tell her to forgive me. He just – he just held her while she cried. She said I stole her passion.” Another swipe at her cheeks. “I don’t even know how I made it to the finalist round. But at the worst moment, I – I just couldn’t remember any of the music.” Her voice degraded to barely a whisper. “I deserved to fail.”

He frowned, her words resonating with him. He had nothing to heal her. Wrapping her tightly in his arms, he pressed her close, sheltering her.    

A minute later, and she was asleep. He knew it but reluctant to let the moment pass, he stayed there, holding her. Thinking. Remembering. Listening to the steady rain. Her rhythmic breathing.

Leaning his head back against the headboard, he stared at the dark shadows playing along the wall. The sense that he was going to expire sooner than later hit him all at once – powerfully, sickeningly, creeping into his bones and lodging there. His head wretched with pounding ache. He pleaded with God to spare him, to give him another chance, but the feeling never lifted and instead strengthened, shackling his spirits further.

Dead certainty broke the temporal peace.

And for the first time in forever, he wanted to weep.

The room glowed a fiery red as the sun rose over the trees, crowning the new day. The gentle flames roused Zach from a deep sleep. The rain had moved on, leaving the bedroom cool but cozy. The waters of the bay glittered in the morning sunshine.

On his back, he came fully alert, lifting his head a few inches, gaze darting around the blue and purple environs. But there was no immediate danger. He was fine. And Shelley was – he looked over – snug against him beneath the blankets, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her body. Safe.

Last night, he’d fallen asleep sitting up. But apparently, he’d managed to lie down and she with him. He glanced down at her profile; she was fast asleep if her closed lids fringed by dark lashes were any indication. He could feel the rise and fall of her rib cage.

Reluctantly, he turned his head to inhale the top of hers. The sweet-smelling, mahogany strands caught the stubble on his jaw. Her long hair blanketed his bicep, and her hand covered his scarred chest. Warm, bare legs curved against his, her breath fanned his skin, and her breasts pressed sweetly into his side. His fingers dared to move along her back.

Too tired to gauge the inappropriateness of her proximity, he closed his eyes and listened instead to her gentle breathing; her nearness quieted his soul. Reflexively, his left hand moved to cover hers on his chest. He feathered her skin, marveling at how soft she was.

Intruding on his rest, his phone vibrated on his night stand. She didn’t wake, and he was careful not to move too much as he reached to check the caller ID. And as soon as he saw the lawyer’s name, he knew this was one call he couldn’t send to voicemail. He answered, voice husky and rough.

“Where is she?” Henri Mitchel demanded. “She’s not answering her phone.”

“She’s safe with me,” Zach replied, defiance in his tone, privy to oh so many family secrets now.

“That’s debatable.”

Zach scoffed quietly. “She’s sleeping off the trauma. I’m watching her right now. And I don’t want to wake her, so…”

“Then leave the room.”

Hand moving along her spine, he said with a dark smile, “I’m afraid I can’t extricate myself right now. You’ll have to call back later.” Boldly, Zach hung up. Shelley stirred as he stretched his arm to set down the cell, and he felt more than heard her sharp gasp. She’d apparently woken on the right side of propriety.

But feeling devilish, he tightened his hold. “Good morning,” he rumbled.

She lifted her head and looked at him; the sunbeams cutting through the teary windows caught the gold intonation of her eyes. His breath arrested. He thought to himself there was nothing he wouldn’t give to wake up to her every morning.

“How do you feel?” she queried, eyeing the swell on his neck.

“Well… I’m alive,” he answered. But he regretted the rash words as hurt overcast her glow, making him feel like he’d drawn her blood.

Without asking, she sat up and grabbed a packaged disinfectant wipe from the other night stand, ripped it open, and then turned to him, applying the swab to the reddened area.

It stung, cold electrifying his sore nerves, but he didn’t let his discomfort show. “How does it look?”

She drew a breath. “A little enflamed, but I think you’ll be alright as long as you keep it clean.”

He examined her face inches from his, unable to help recalling last night, when she was at her most vulnerable. And the piano lesson. It seemed like a dream now. Maybe it was. But he could remember the resistance of each key he’d depressed, the feel of the smooth ivory.

Finished, she placed the used swab in the open packaging and then handed him two ibuprofen tablets. “Do you want water?”

He shook his head and popped the pills, chewing them instead of swallowing. The bitter, desiccated taste filled his mouth and irritated him, helping to distance himself from her. But not much. He breathed her honeyed fragrance; it made his whole body chill and roil with desire.

Sensing his arousal, she did them both a favor and averted her gaze. “I’m… sure you’re hungry. I’ll get breakfast started.” With a fluid motion, she slid off the bed – escaped was more like it – before he could stop her.

He watched the back of her exit the room. Only then, did he rise.

Finished with a morning shower, Zach joined Shelley in the daylight-bright kitchen, shirtless, hair again wet, jeans on, his same black polo in his hand. He draped the shirt on a barstool just as she passed him a hot plate of freshly-baked biscuits, a four-egg omelet with Portobello mushrooms, tomatoes, onions, garlic, and bell pepper, and golden-fried hash browns, squeezing a little honey on the side for the biscuit.

“Wow. You did this in thirty minutes?”

She smiled pleasurably. “No. I ordered take-out from this amazing diner down the street.”

He deposited himself on the stool, scrutinizing her. Hard to tell if she was lying or not. But a quick glance at the glowing stove, the cracked eggs, the floured board, the half-used carton of fresh mushrooms, the potato peelings, and he gave her a ‘yeah right’ look. Smelling the savory amalgam, he dug into the food, devouring a bit of everything, his senses heightening with the amazing flavors exploding in every bite. He then chased it with black coffee which tasted exponentially better than his. He didn’t even want to think about what he would’ve had this morning.

He shoveled the eggs and hash browns into his mouth like he hadn’t had real food in weeks. It wasn’t until he was nearly finished that he realized she was just watching him. He picked up his coffee and washed it down. “Do you ever eat? Or do you only watch people eat?”

She smiled sweetly. “No. Just you.”

Warmed, he slid off the stool and treaded the tile towards her.

Her breath hitched, smile turning to alarm; she backed up. “Zach, stop it. I was being serious.”

He cornered her against the Pearl Neff cabinets. Taking her waist, he lifted her up and set her on the granite counter. She hadn’t changed out of her silk camisole and shorts, and he was willing to bet she regretted it now.

“What are you doing?” she asked, nearly to panic.

“Do you remember last night?” He slid his hands over her smooth thighs, massaging them gently. “I do.”

Her eyes rounded as she tried to get her knees to touch while pushing him away. Neither worked. “Last night?” The intimate way he spoke made her fear the worst. The truth was she didn’t remember anything except not being able to sleep and worrying he was going to end up drinking.

He brought his mouth to her ear causing her to have to touch his bare chest. “We were sitting on the piano bench. You were practically in my lap.”

“Oh no.”

“Mm hmm.” He let his lips graze her neck tortuously. “And then–”

“Don’t say it,” she breathed, both panicked and hot all over.

All of a sudden, he pulled away, retreating from the brink, and said, “Nothing. Happened.” He gazed into her eyes as he produced the diamond ring and slid it onto the fourth finger of her left hand.

She regarded it with both surprise and dismay. But then she smiled in earnest, intense relief. “Thank you, Zach.” She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him like he was a harmless teddy bear.

He embraced her right back, admitting to himself it felt good to have done the right thing, as much as it had killed at two o’clock in the morning.

Her grip loosened, and he set her back down on the floor.

They barely had time to share a smile before his Galaxy clamored for his attention.

“What the hell is going on in that head of yours?!” It was Carter. “Bennet said you intercepted Shelley from her FBI chaperone, which resulted in a huge fiasco!”

“They hijacked her phone, for crying out loud,” Zach defended. “Feds weren’t on to
that
.”

“God, are you listening to yourself?!” Carter railed. “Do you have any idea what a bad light this puts you in? You
just
got out of class B felony charges, you
just
got your probation revoked, you
just
finally did something sensible for once in letting the Bureau handle Cervenka. And now you’ve undone all of that in one fucking night!”

Zach’s blood teemed with adrenaline. “If I hadn’t stepped in, they would’ve abducted her or just flat-out killed her. There were six of them!”

“No, if you hadn’t stepped in, none of this would’ve happened!”

“Come on. You don’t know that.”

Carter snorted. “Yes. I do. Where are you, anyhow? Jared said you refused an overnight stay.”

“I had to bring Shelley home.”

“What? I thought her FBI consort did.”

“We agreed. He’d handle clean-up while I took care of her.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. You saying you spent the
night
?! Her parents are–”

“Relax, Carter. Nothing happened,” Zach said, unable to stop himself from replaying the moment he’d said the same words to Shelley.

“That brings me to another point. In his report, Special Agent Forte said you fired a gun directly at Shelley. At the guy who’d held her. He must’ve been exaggerating, right? Or was it just too dark to see?”

Zach’s conscience singed, and he couldn’t say anything.

“Please, for the love of God, tell me you didn’t do it.”

“I don’t – I don’t know if it was the drug they used on me or–”

“Fuck! You know what? You’re done, Zach. You are
done
! I can’t defend you anymore. I’ve tried. God knows I have. But I don’t know what to do with you anymore.”

“Do whatever the hell you want, Carter! Okay? I don’t care!”

“That’s right, you don’t! You don’t give a damn about anyone! I don’t want you following my fiancée around anymore.”

“Maybe if you spent more time with her, I wouldn’t have to,” Zach seethed.

“You’re so goddamn arrogant! You’re a danger to her, can’t you see that? Leave her alone and let the Feds do their job.”

Zach grabbed the back of his neck as the image of his dream last night came back to him. “Fine, Carter. Fine.”

“Good. And while you’re at it, tell her the club’s getting shut down.”

“What?” he asked in alarm. “I promised her it would stay open.”

“There’s little point in keeping the place operational now that Kazanov is wise to the whole setup. And you have no business making her any promises at all. So get your ass back to Manhattan and face the music like a big boy. Think you can handle that, Zach?”

Carter’s tone grated on Zach’s emotions like sandpaper to an open wound. Jaw muscles jerking, he hung up and nearly threw the cell phone across the kitchen. But at the last moment, he succeeded in restraining himself and pocketed the device. He would have to seek out Shelley now. Give her the bad news.

“Shelley!” he yelled as he ascended the curvilinear staircase. His voice echoed like he was in an empty museum. Checking his tone, he walked into her bedroom.

But she wasn’t there.

He stepped back out into the drafty, bannister-lined hall and found the bathroom door mostly closed with a strip of yellow shining through the inch-wide opening. Deciding that if she really wanted privacy she would have shut and locked the door, he rapped on the pane lightly and pushed it open. But then he heard the shower and realized she was in it.

He forced himself to harden because he knew Carter was right. He was a danger to her. And he could just hear Henri echoing the same sentiments.

Indignation burned under his skin, and that spot in his neck picked that moment to sorely irritate. “Shelley?” he called, softer this time.

“Yes?” she answered sweetly, and he could see her naked silhouette through the steamy glass shower. It smelled like Dove in here.

For an infinitesimal second, he felt spiteful and vindictive, but no matter how angry he was at Carter right then, he knew he could never ruin a friendship as old as the girl between them. “Never mind. I’ll just wait–”

“No, it’s okay. I’m done.” The water shut off then, and he almost turned away when she asked for a towel. “I forget to get one. Sorry.”

He clenched his abs as he went and pulled out a fresh towel from the linen cupboard. He tossed it to her over the shower door. She thanked him, and he felt relinquished to leave. But then she stepped out, towel wrapped around her. Her hair was up, and she smiled at him. Trustingly.

Great.
You don’t take advantage of a vulnerable girl one time…

“Anyway, I uh, I’ve gotta go. The Feds are going to be guarding the house so you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”

Her eyes filled with disappointment. She reached up a hand and took down her chignon; long mahogany waves tumbled about her shoulders and arms. His hands fisted. She just kept looking at him with such innocent confidence.

But then she noticed the wounded, hardening shade of his eyes, and her concern came to the fore. “What’s wrong?” she asked, coming close and laying a hand on his chest lightly.