Deadly Aim (10 page)

“Nope. Just you and me.” He smiled at her again, his eyes twinkling.

“What are you up to?” She couldn’t help smiling back, finding his excitement contagious.

“You’ll find out soon enough. We’re here.”

Brandon pulled into the driveway of a home that looked like it belonged on the cover of
Coastal Living
magazine. The lawn, what she could see of it, sloped down to the water’s edge.

“Who lives here?”

“No one at the moment.”

“Then what? Is it for sale?”

“Come on. I want to show you around.”

“Are you thinking of buying it?”

Brandon turned off the engine and reached for her hand. Raising it to his lips, he kissed it then pulled her closer, brushing a kiss against her cheek and lips. “I might be. Let’s go inside.”

“Shouldn’t you have a realtor show it to you?”

“I already made arrangements.” He got out of the car and came around to open her door. Holding her hand, he led her toward the entrance—a covered tile patio and large double doors, both framing beveled glass ovals.

“Come on, Brandon. Why are you being so secretive? Why are we here?”

“You’ll know soon enough.”

He stopped and turned her toward him. Cupping her face in his hands, he lifted her head, forcing her to look into his eyes. “I love you, Angel.”

“I...” Before she could finish, Brandon kissed her again. Angel was glad he hadn’t let her finish. He thought she was going to say “I love you too,” but she wasn’t; she’d never been able to say it. She definitely cared for him, maybe loved him
in a way; she just wasn’t certain it was the kind of love that would sustain them in a permanent relationship.

Brandon released her. “Let’s go inside.” His key easily fit in the lock, as though he’d been opening the door for some time.

“Belongs to a friend of yours, doesn’t it?”

“In a way.” He laughed. “Come on. You have to see this.”

The alarm system beeped when they entered. Brandon punched a series of numbers into the panel near the door and closed it. He turned on the entry light, revealing a magnificent tiled floor in cream-colored shades. He took her coat and tossed it on the curved banister that wound up wide carpeted stairs, then grabbed her hand, pulling her to the great room. Light from the entry flowed into the spacious living area. A huge kitchen with granite counters was off to the right. The kitchen alone was almost as big as her entire apartment. “Wow. My mother would love this kitchen.”

“Yeah, she would. Can’t you see her making one of her great pasta dishes in here?”

She nodded her head. “This place is awesome. But it’s so big and elegant and...”
Expensive
. But then, cost probably wasn’t an issue. He was, after all, a Lafferty.

To the left was a living area with a three-sided fireplace and a built-in large-screen television and stereo system. There was no furniture, but Angel could picture two sofas and two chairs with ottomans. They’d have to be natural—maybe white or cream, with colorful pictures on the wall and accent pillows. Or maybe something informal like rattan with tropical prints.

Brandon left her in the center of the room and went to click on a switch at the far wall. The huge fireplace burst into flames. He came around and stood behind her then directed her toward the sliding glass doors. There were five sets, actually, spanning the entire front of the house. All of the doors opened to a deck, offering an unobstructed view of the river. The alarm beeped again as he opened one of the sliding glass doors and stepped outside. “Come here. You have to see this.”

As they stepped away from the house, the light dimmed, allowing her to see the inky black water and the lights of
homes surrounding the bay. Several boats moved along the waterway, one of them the popular stern-wheeler that took guests out for dinner cruises.

“What do you think?” He took hold of her hand.

“Oh, Brandon. It’s beautiful.”

“I’ve always wanted to live in a place on the bay.”

So he was thinking of buying it. “Then you should, Brandon. This is nice.”

“Do you really like it?”

Angel shrugged. “Sure. Who wouldn’t? I haven’t seen the rest of the house, but I’m sure it’s great.”

“Well, the rest of the place is nice. But the view is my favorite part—and the fact that it’s so close to the water. You can’t see it very well right now, but there’s a dock and a motorboat.”

“So are you going to buy it?”

Brandon wrapped his arms around her. “I already did.” He kissed her again and drew her back inside. “I want you to see the rest of it.”

Angel had enjoyed the evening, but the day’s events were taking their toll on her. She was exhausted. Even so, she dutifully followed Brandon up the stairs, making appropriate comments as he showed her the oversized bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub and shower for two. She was mildly impressed with the huge his-and-her walk-in closets and the bedroom that looked like it could easily accommodate fifty kids on a sleep over. She liked the balcony that overlooked the living room and kitchen below and the two bedrooms and baths that would make a wonderful guest suite.

“It’s really nice, Brandon, but I’m getting tired. Can we go now?”

Brandon looked disappointed. “I’m sorry. I was so excited, I forgot—after all you’ve gone through today, you must be wiped out. We can go in a minute. I have something really important to tell you first.”

Angel rubbed the back of her neck. He was buying the house and wanted her to be excited for him. It wasn’t so much to ask. “It’s really a great house, Brandon.”

“I’m glad you think so, honey. Because...” He hesitated, drawing her into the circle of his arms again. “Because I bought it for us.”

“Us?”

“Marry me. It’s time, don’t you think? We’ve known each other since high school. I want you to be my wife. I want to start a family.”

Angel pulled away from him. She was speechless for a moment, her mind not able to process the words. Finally she managed to string some together. “You can’t be serious. A guy doesn’t go out and buy a house like this, then ask his girlfriend to marry him. What happens if I don’t want to get married?”

“I...” Brandon stared at her, openmouthed. “The minute I saw it, I knew it was for us. I love this place. I thought you would too.”

“I do, but that’s beside the point. Buying a house is something couples do together. I’m not ready for this. I don’t want to get married.”

“Look,” he soothed. “You’re upset about what happened today, that’s understandable. Just think about it for a while.”

Angel tried to calm down but couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice. “It’s not about the shooting. I don’t
want
to get married. I don’t
want
children, and I don’t
want
this house.” She walked out and sank onto the front porch step, cradling her head in her hands.

She heard the door opening and a series of beeps as Brandon set the alarm. She’d hurt him, but she honestly didn’t know what to say. She still couldn’t believe he’d buy a house for them without her input. Granted, it was a beautiful place. And she had been dating him exclusively for the past year. But how dare he assume so much?

Brandon sat down next to her. “Angel...”

“Don’t say anything, please. Just take me home.”

“But—”

“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to know why you did it. I just want to go home.”

“Okay.” His voice sounded scratchy.

Angel sighed. Brandon loved her. She knew that. But did she love him?
“He’s a good man, Angel
,” Ma had often said.
“You could do worse
.”

Well, he could be a prince for all she cared. She just wasn’t ready.

They didn’t say a word to each other as Brandon drove back to town and into the parking lot of her apartment complex. The members of the press had apparently given up for the night. At least there were none around that she could see.

Brandon got out and came around to open the car door for her, but she’d already gotten out. When they reached her apartment, he pressed a hand to her shoulder, turning her toward him. “Angel.”

She reached up to cover his mouth. “Don’t, please. I know you meant well, but... maybe it is the shooting. Maybe.... I don’t know. All I know is that I can’t get married right now. I’m not ready, and I may never be ready. I’m sorry.”

Brandon avoided her gaze. He didn’t reach for her or kiss her good night as he usually did. But then, why would he? He waited for her to open the door and step inside, then turned and hurried down the stairs and got into his car. Angel waited in the doorway and watched until his taillights disappeared around the corner.

She could almost hear her mother’s scolding voice.
Angel Delaney, what have you done
?

I
t was after 9:00 when Callen got back to his house. Kath and the girls had gone back to Portland hours ago and had left a note on the counter. He rubbed Mutt’s head as he read it.

Sorry you couldn’t make it back before we left. We cleaned up the place and left dinner in the fridge. Hugs and kisses, Kath, Jenna, and Ashley
.

Callen smiled at their thoughtfulness and set the squirmy dog on the floor. Mutt took off running, snatched up a rubber duck, and settled into a game of duck versus dog. If the squealing was any indication, Mutt was winning.

Callen chuckled at the dog’s antics as he opened the refrigerator. Not much in it except for the stuff Kath had left him—a plate of deep-fried chicken, potato salad, and overcooked green beans—all apparently purchased at the grocery store deli down the street. He grimaced. This kind of food was one of the reasons he’d learned to cook. Not that he was a health-food nut or anything. He just appreciated food done right. Hopefully he’d be able to get to a health-food store soon, or at least to a market that had a health-food department.

He ignored the chicken dinner and pulled out the bag of raw vegetables he’d brought with him from Portland. Downing a full-size dinner at this time of night would probably give him heartburn anyway. After pouring a glass of milk, he went outside on the deck
and set his food on the glass-topped patio table. He’d found a huge sale on patio furniture last fall and had gone all out. This was the first time he’d used it.

He then pulled on his jacket and brought Mutt outside, substituting the squealing duck for a rawhide bone. Once the dog was settled, Callen sat down on one chair and put his feet up on the other.

Munching on a spear of celery, he let himself enjoy his pleasant surroundings. It was a bit nippy for an outdoor meal, but he wasn’t about to let a little thing like cooler temperatures and Northwest drizzle spoil his dinner. Once he got established here, he’d invite some of the law enforcement officers over for a barbeque. Though he seldom ate red meat, for them he’d do big, juicy T-bones and baked potatoes, maybe corn on the cob, and a salad or two—one with salad greens and another with homemade bow-tie pasta, feta cheese, tomatoes, and his special balsamic vinaigrette.

So far he liked the people he worked with. Nick and Eric had been especially helpful and didn’t seem to resent his coming into their territory. Part of that, Callen suspected, was that their superior, Joe Brady, had high respect and appreciation for the Oregon State Police.

Investigations always went better when all the law enforcement agencies worked together. He wondered briefly how Angel Delaney would be to work with. Eric and Nick had nothing but praise for her; both went out of their way to assure him that she was a good cop. “Small but mighty,” Eric had said.

“If she says she was forced to shoot, then she was. I have no doubt,” Nick had told him.

Mike Rawlings had been a little less flattering. “Seems like a nice kid. She did her job.”

Bo Williams, the deputy sheriff, didn’t have much to say. He liked her okay, but thought she was too small to be a cop. Though Bo didn’t say it in so many words, Callen suspected he didn’t approve of having women on the force.

He sighed. Deputy Williams didn’t seem to like him much either. Maybe the guy was naturally touchy and ill-tempered.

When he caught himself eating too fast, he stopped and deliberately slowed down. He’d been trying to overcome his bad habits. Eating too fast was one of them.

Karen had put him on the healthy eating kick. She’d insisted on buying everything organic and had become a strict vegetarian, saying nutrition and the right supplements were the only way she could build up her immune system to battle the cancer. She had juiced four times a day, eaten no red meat. But in the end, cancer emerged the victor. Maybe if she’d started sooner. Maybe if she’d taken the chemotherapy. But with the pregnancy she’d opted not to.

After she died Callen hadn’t cared if he ate or not. Finally, when he came to his senses, he adopted his healthy lifestyle primarily because she would have wanted it.

He put his fork down. The ache in his chest had come back along with the thickness in his throat. He hoped someday he’d be able to think about her without feeling like his insides were being ripped apart.