Fractured (14 page)

He watched her dress through hooded lids. An embarrassed flush rose on her skin, which seemed ridiculous considering all they'd done last night.

His jaw clenched tight but he didn't say a word, even as he pulled back the covers and got out of bed naked. She gave herself a tiny indulgence as she watched him dress. Having explored every inch of that body during the course of the night, she would have figured she'd be immune to the sight, but, based on the spike in her pulse, not so much.

“I'll take you,” he grumbled as he buttoned his jeans and slipped on a long-sleeved Henley shirt.

Thankfully he hadn't been aware of her lustful stare. If he had, surely he'd have wanted to take advantage of it. And, frankly, she wasn't so sure she had the willpower to resist.

“You don't have to. You worked pretty darn hard last night, me being a gimp and all.” She gave him a crooked smile and wished she didn't feel this warm, squishy feeling inside.

“Glad you noticed.” He pulled on socks and slipped into tennis shoes. “But I'm still driving you home. Trains are on a crappy schedule on Sunday morning, you know that. You could be waiting an hour or more. Besides, what kind of guy lets a gal do the walk of shame alone?”

“Ah…most.”

“Yeah, right.” He nodded. “Guess that's the whole point about the walk of shame, isn't it?” He slipped on his coat, helped her with hers and then turned her towards him. “You're not regretting last night, are you?”

Was this regret she felt? She sure as hell felt something lodged in her chest every time he looked at her. Rather than speak, she shook her head.

“Good. I'd hate to think you were feeling bad about something that felt so good.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead. “And I'm keeping my promise. No strings.”

She finally found her voice. “Appreciate that.”

He didn't say another word, only led her out the door with a touch of his hand against her back. Suddenly she felt weird, like she'd said something or done something wrong. Normally she wouldn't have cared about those kind of things, but with Landry things were different.

There seemed to be an awkward wedge that hadn't been there twenty-four hours ago. Neither one of them spoke on the short drive to her apartment. As good as the sex was, maybe it had been a mistake.

Ten minutes later, he'd found a parking spot by her place and parked. “I'll go in with you and make sure my cousin didn't do anything stupid.”

Isabella felt a whole lot better after he spoke, even if it seemed like a trumped-up excuse to check out her apartment. “When I talked to him at the wedding, he promised he'd done a perfect job moving my things downstairs. He still wouldn't tell me how much I owed him, though.”

“Neil's idea of perfect and yours might be totally different.” He guided her up the front sidewalk. “Ian could paint the upstairs apartment for you.”

“Let me guess, another cousin?”

He nodded. “There's a million of us Taylors around here waiting for the opportunity to pounce.”

“Everything from serving and protecting to removing your garbage, the Taylors have cornered every conceivable market in this town.”

“We're building an empire.”

She laughed and inserted her key inside the door. “Before you know it, I'll have to start speaking Gaelic to survive.”

He rubbed his hands together. “That's the master plan, although you'll have to keep us away from the tavern long enough to get a good head of steam going on the progress thing. We Irish always seem to get waylaid by stories, or drinking, or women, or, well, I guess just about anything. We tend to be a little fickle.”

“Not stereotyping, of course.”

“Never.”

When they walked inside, it felt a little strange at first, but better than she would have anticipated. With all the remnants of Lou and Cynthia missing, and replaced by her own things, it didn't feel so much like she was encroaching.

“I'll get a fire going before I leave. It looks like it's going to be a cold one today.” Landry seemed detached as he spoke, almost as if he wanted to say something more but didn't.

“Thanks.” What was there to say at this point?

He gathered wood from outside and stacked it next to the fireplace. Then he put some logs onto the hearth and got it started. “That ought to help keep you warm for a while.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Landry. For everything.” She smiled. “Including scratching that elusive itch of mine.”

He gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “Are you kidding? That was the fun part.” She could see his reluctance to leave in his slow progress toward the door. “I checked your fridge. It looks like you have enough food. But are you sure you don't want me to get you anything? I could stay and we could go a couple of rounds in your bed.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Tempting, but I think our bodies might need a rest.” Although, to be honest, she wanted nothing more than for him to stick around. But that was dangerous kind of thinking, especially for a loner like her. Attachments to others were messy and complicated. As attractive as it sounded at times, it would only come to bite her in the end.

“Speak for yourself.” He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

She needed him to leave, before she gave in to the temptation. “I'll be fine. You get back to…well…whatever it is you do on a Sunday. I imagine that means watching football games.”

“Probably.”

She walked him towards the door both eager for him to leave while at the same time desperate for him to stay. Friday night upstairs alone had been brutal. For a woman who valued her privacy that was pretty earth-shattering. She didn't want a repeat of that night from hell.

“Call me if you need me for anything. Absolutely anything.” He held onto the door frame as he spoke. As much as she knew he wanted to say more, he didn't.

“Thanks again. I'll check in with you later.”

“You do that.”

She watched him through the open door until he got to his car. When he turned, she waved and shut the door behind her, turning the dead bolt. Walking into the kitchen, she fixed a cup of tea. Sheltering the cup in her hands, she checked out the bedroom to make sure there wasn't anything missing from upstairs. Her bed, dressers and clothes were all relocated and arranged in almost the same layout.

They'd even moved the furniture from the spare room, including the stuff from the closet. She didn't have a clue how much a move would cost. And Neil certainly went above and beyond getting this thing done in record time.

After turning on the stereo, she rummaged through the closet in the spare room in search of a nice warm blanket to take with her into the living room. The closet set-up was a little different than upstairs and there weren't any built-in shelves inside. Neil had hung up her summer clothes on the rack and had put the blankets on the shelf above. She jumped up to reach the stack and gave a tug. The stack of blankets tumbled to the floor. Landing on top of them was Teddy B.

“I thought for sure we'd be good through the weekend.” Malone didn't sound too happy on the other end of the line.

Welcome to the club. Still Landry wasn't about to divulge the ins and outs of his and Isabella's relationship. “She's complicated.”

“I'm beginning to see that. Where are you now?”

“I'm parked in the back alley, but I can't stay here too long without her noticing.”

“The guy stationed outside of your place should be around front.”

“Yeah, I spotted him following us on the way over.” The guy was pretty good, but not good enough to fool a cop. Luckily, Isabella hadn't noticed.

“But given the vulnerabilities at her place, I'd feel better if there was somebody stationed in back as well. Give me about fifteen minutes. A half hour tops.”

“I'll sit tight till he gets here. But I don't feel good about the situation.” Understatement of the century.

“You think I do? After the stunt yesterday, she only proved how rogue she'll go. Did she find out anything?”

Landry bit back a shudder. He felt like a complete ass. Spying on her was not why he signed on to do this. “No, your idiots T-boned the car before she could find out anything.”

“It was a calculated risk. My guys were worried for her safety and did what they needed to.”

“What happened to Sergio, the guy driving the car? I called it in and he wasn't brought to any of the local hospitals.”

“We're asking ourselves the same question. He was gone before the ambulance got there. The guy somehow disappeared.”

* * *

Even though she wasn't the sentimental type, tears formed in her eyes as she touched the bear. “It's been a long time, Teddy B.” As an adult, she saw the bear for what it was—a simple, cheap teddy bear. No doubt her father had impulsively bought it at a local drug store on his way to see her. But at the time it didn't matter. It was and would always be the only thing she'd ever gotten from him.

Still, there was something more to that day. Something that somehow made it even more special. But the memory floated out of reach. She closed her eyes, trying to dredge up the day: It had been her birthday. He'd given her Teddy B, shown her the new tattoo on his arm and told her a secret. When she breathed in, she could still remember the scent of his cinnamon gum on his breath when he laughed and felt the sensation of his rough beard against her skin. But why did the remainder of the memory fade away?

Frustrated, she opened her eyes and touched at the brown fur of the bear, allowing the emotion to roll through. Now instead of hating her father for deceiving her, she struggled with love/hate memories that left her more confused than ever. If she could go back in time and understand what happened, why it happened, she would do it. Unfortunately, the time machine hadn't been invented yet so she'd have to go about things the old-fashioned way and dig for some understanding, or go on with life as she had in the past and pretend he never existed. Somehow she didn't think the latter was possible anymore.

Isabella brought Teddy B into the living room, sat by the fire, listened to music, drank tea and examined the bear. Not surprisingly, it had signs of wear and tear. She'd brought that bear with her everywhere. On reflection maybe she'd missed those sporadic visits from her father more than she'd realized.

She fingered the bright red heart stitched into the bear's chest before remembering the not-so-hidden pocket at the top. A vivid recollection of the day her father gave it to her slunk inside and held.

“No matter what, always remember I love you, Bella.”
She could almost feel the whisper of his cinnamon-tinged breath across her cheek as she fought through the memory. Goosebumps shot down her arms as she pulled out the picture she knew would be inside.

The tiny photo was the only one of the two of them together. Taken on her birthday, their heads were so close they were touching. They both sported goofy smiles—hers without her front teeth—as they mugged for the camera. She remembered the sense of a conspiratorial whisper when he stuck the picture inside the pocket.

“
This will be our little secret, baby girl. Whenever you miss me, you can pull this out and remember this day.”

Secrets were a big deal at the age of six. For the first time that she could remember, a warm feeling enveloped her as she thought about that time with her father.

Maybe her recollection of an absentee father hadn't been as accurate as she originally thought. He had been around; not every day, not even in a predictable manner, but he'd been there. Even at a young age, she sensed something was different on that birthday. Of course she didn't have words to articulate that at the time.

And then suddenly everything got messed up with the sudden death of her mother and the subsequent disappearance of her father. She wished she had someone in her family to talk to now to help her sort through this jumble of emotions and memories. If her grandfather were still alive, she'd broach the once-taboo subject with him. Surely he'd be forthcoming about the reality after all this time. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option.

The remainder of her mother's side of the family wasn't worth the effort. They were too young, or too strung out, to be able to give her an idea of the history. While she'd never had any connection to her father's family, she couldn't help but consider the idea. As she mulled the thought over in her mind, she examined the photo once again, struck by the resemblance between her and her father. Until this moment in time, she suppressed any curiosity about her father or his family, but now felt the burning urge to know something.

Anything.

She let the picture fall from her fingers. It seemed to move in slow motion as it flittered to the floor. How could this be? She'd spent her whole life despising this man and now didn't know how to feel. Like it or not, she was and would always be her father's daughter.

After wiping tears from her cheeks, she made a vow to get to the bottom of what was happening in her life as well as what happened in the past. Number one on that agenda was paying a visit to Special Agent Malone first thing Monday morning.

* * *

Even though she‘d been adventurous enough to sleep in her own bed, she didn't sleep well. It wasn't visions of her dead father that kept her awake. Instead she'd been preoccupied by the picture, the memories and what they meant or didn't mean, and the final piece of that day she couldn't recall. Anticipating a confrontation with Malone didn't make her day any brighter.

Before she left her house, she made a quick call to the lieutenant. She needed to get back to work for her sanity, as well as to accomplish a few items on her personal agenda. Being a cop definitely had its perks in that regard.

“Hey, Lieutenant. Are you ready to spring me loose yet?”

“I heard you already moved back in.”

“I couldn't very well wait until I got the okay from Malone so I had to work up the chain of command. No doubt he wanted to lord his power over me for as long as he could.”

“Come on, Sanchez, give the guy a break.”

“That's funny, because I'm thinking he sprung my dad and then left him to blow in the wind. Maybe he set him up himself. It would only be a matter of time before my dad was nailed from what I figure.” Okay, she was fishing a little on that last part. It would stand to reason that her father's death had something to do with what he knew, which also connected up with why they gave him a get-out-of-jail free card.

“You shouldn't make assumptions like that.”

“They're not assumptions. Seems like the truth to me.”

“I can see I'm not going to change your mind. Why'd you call?”

“The investigation is over and I need to get back on the job.”

“You're forgetting a couple of things. You're technically in the clear, but I heard you had an accident the other day. You'll need to get a doctor's okay before you return.”

“Come on, that's bull and you know it. I can clear up the medical piece at the doctor's office this morning. She might put me on desk duty, but that will do for the time being.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you're like a bulldozer?” He paused. “When I talk to you, I'm not always sure who's in charge.”

“You know it's not like that with me.” She'd be the first one to admit she was overbearing at times and tried to tone it down. “I respect you. But you've got to know I didn't kill my father.” As much as she wanted to be forthright about everything, she wasn't yet ready to talk to him about the personal struggle she was waging inside.

He swore softly. “You get the go-ahead from the doctor and you can start tomorrow. Come see me then.”

“Excellent. I'll be there by nine.”

She slipped on her coat and went out the door. Taking the El downtown would be much easier than trying to drive in morning traffic, so she walked the couple of blocks and picked up the brown line.

The platform was crowded with commuters waiting to start their day. On instinct, she surveyed the crowd to keep a good handle on her surroundings. After the last couple of days, she would be a fool to not be proactive in terms of watching her back.

The ride was short this time of the morning. She got off on Wabash and made the trek to Dearborn rather than transfer to another line. Besides, she needed to work off a little of this pent-up frustration before she met with Malone.

First she had to go through the security line. Here, her badge was powerless. Her gun immediately got confiscated. Considering her mood about Malone, that might not be such a bad thing.

“Sorry, Detective Sanchez. We'll give this back to you on your way out.” The rent-a-cop behind the screening table seemed young and more than a little naïve.

“No problem. I'm a rule-following gal.” She went to the elevator banks and punched in the floor number for the FBI. It only took a few seconds before she reached her destination.

There was a main reception area. Underneath a sign labeled ‘Federal Bureau of Investigation and Drug Enforcement Administration' a woman who couldn't have been more than twenty sat behind a humungous desk. Since most of the agents had voice mail and a line straight to their office, Isabella couldn't imagine what this woman did all day. Then again, maybe they had a lot of visitors. Somebody had to keep out the riffraff. Why not a twenty-something beauty queen?

She planted her badge on the desk. “Detective Sanchez from Chicago PD. I'd like to speak with Agent Malone.”

The receptionist examined the badge superficially and put in a call to Malone. Judging by the head nod and “okay,” Isabella assumed he answered. “He'll be out in a few minutes.”

She tugged at the edge of her coat while she waited. “Guess they saved some tax dollars putting the two agencies on one floor.” When the girl looked at Isabella like she'd sprung two heads she pointed to the sign. “The FBI and DEA?” Clearly an IQ wasn't part of the requirements for the job, only a pretty face and a high-class wardrobe.

The receptionist glanced above her head. “They did some cost-cutting a while back. Even though it's double the work, I don't mind.”

Yeah, this woman had it rough with all the people parading around in the Brooks Brothers suits and ties. How could she possibly keep track of all the clones? Isabella would love to give her a tour of 12
th
and State where, at any given moment, complete bedlam could break out. Then again, the girl might break a fingernail, or have to answer the phone, or get cursed out by a whack job.

“What happened to your arm?” The girl chewed on her lip as if she were breaking protocol to ask Isabella a personal question.

“Ah, this.” She tapped at the half cast covered by the bandage and sling. “Got attacked on Lower Wacker. But you should see the other guy.”

Based on the look on the girl's face she didn't know whether to laugh or be shocked. Instead her face morphed into somewhere in-between.

While Isabella was having a good time enjoying the girl's discomfort, Malone snuck up behind her.

“Detective Sanchez, I wasn't expecting you.” He didn't look uneasy, only mildly annoyed. “I understand you're back in your home. Is there something else I can do for you?”

“Let's start with the truth, like why a couple of your guys tried to kill me the other day.” She let the statement sink in for a moment, although judging by his neutral expression she hadn't even nicked the surface. “Then we'll go on to meatier issues like sending an imposter into Stateville. Actually, I have quite a long list.”

He sent the receptionist a glance that must have conveyed ‘don't call security yet but maybe later' before he ushered her into his office. “Have a seat, Detective Sanchez, and we can talk about your ridiculous allegations.”

“Ridiculous?” She shook her head. “Two of your men T-boned a car I was in yesterday, then chased me through Chinatown.”

“Why do you think it was two of my men?”

“Let's say they didn't look like any gangbangers I know. Besides, who else would have the authority to get a black and white to turn off their siren while your minions were searching for me?”

“Maybe the siren annoyed the businesses in the area. That kind of thing can't be good for business.”

“You don't really expect me to believe that, do you?”

He shrugged. “Apparently you're going to believe what you want to believe, no matter what I say.”

She realized she wasn't going to get him to admit to anything, so she chose the path of least resistance, and possibly the one where she had a small chance at an opening. “I'd like to see the video you showed me of Stateville. Since I know it wasn't me there, I want to know who you sent to impersonate me.”

“Detective Sanchez, you are giving me more credit than I deserve. I do my job like every other public servant. Much the same as you.”