I'm Watching You (13 page)

Tuesday, July 8, 5:05
A.M
.

Jacob Warwick had loved the smell of a boxing
gym since he was a kid.
The leather.
The sweat.
The liniment.
He also
loved the rhythmic sound of gloves hitting the speed bag, the thump against the
heavy bag, and the skipping rope scraping the floor.

All conjured feelings of
home
. Not so
surprising since he'd grown up in Myers's Gym.

He drove his fists into the punching bag suspended from the ceiling,
savoring the burn in his muscles, the rapid pumping of his heart, and the sweat
on his body. There wasn't anyone else working out at this early hour. The
gym didn't officially open until six, but because Pete had given him a
key he could come and go as he pleased. Often he boxed early.

By seven, the place would be full of men training and fighters sparring
in the ring.

"Let me adjust those laces for you," Pete Myers's
familiar rusty voice said behind him.

Jacob wiped the sweat from his eyes with the back of his glove.
"What are you doing here this early? I'd have figured you
wouldn't get here for another hour."

Pete flashed a grin. "Ah, you know me. I'm not much of a
sleeper and I like it here better than at home." Barring a few extra gray
hairs, the sixty-nine-year-old man looked exactly like he had the first day
Jacob had met him twenty years ago. He stood a few inches
under
six feet, kept his body fit by sparring daily, and always wore a wide grin.
"Let me see your glove. The laces look loose."

The tension in Jacob's body eased as he held out his gloved hands.
"Thanks."

When Jacob had first found Myers's gym, he'd been twelve and
his mother had been on a weeklong drunken binge. Angry and wanting to wreck
something, Jacob had stolen a dozen eggs from the market and made a beeline for
the gym, which was celebrating its grand opening. Jacob had covered the freshly
painted exterior with yolk. It had been a real laugh until a pissed Myers had
come looking for him. Jacob hadn't figured the old man could run so damn
fast or that he'd chase Jacob two blocks before catching him. The
ex-boxer's grip had been like iron.

Myers had dragged Jacob home, taken one look at Jacob's drunken
mother, and then called Social Services. Jacob's mother hadn't
fought for her son, and within two weeks, Jacob was living in the small
apartment above the gym with Pete. The two had clashed a lot in the beginning,
but Pete had never given up on Jacob.

That was twenty years ago. And a day never passed when Jacob
didn't thank God for Pete. The old boxer had saved his life.

Pete tightened the laces. "So why are you here so early?"

"I needed to break a sweat before work." Jacob hit the long
punching bag hanging from the ceiling, testing the laces.

Pete got behind the bag and steadied it.
"Everything
all right?"

"Yeah.
Kier and I have a homicide."

"Who died?"

"Harold Turner. It was on the news last night."

Pete snorted. "I saw that. Can't say I'm too sorry. A
dead attorney ain't gonna make me miss sleep."

Sweat dampened Jacob's T-shirt as he pounded the bag. "Yeah,
he wasn't exactly a model citizen."

"You guys got a suspect?"

"Not yet."

"You're a smart kid. You'll figure it out."

Jacob hit the bag again. Normally, he didn't talk about cases but
Pete was family. "This case could be a little dicey. Kier's wife is
right in the middle of the investigation."

"Not good for Kier."

"Nothing is good when it comes to Kier. The guy is a disaster
waiting to happen."

Pete frowned. "Is he drinking again?"

"No, so far I've not gotten a hint that he's had a
drop.
But once a drunk always a drunk."

"Your partner ain't your mother, kid. From what you've
said over the last few months, Kier seems to be getting his shit
together."

"We'll see."

Pete's gaze grew serious. "So how long you going to make the
guy jump through hoops before you cut him some slack?"

"I'll let you know when he reaches it."

"The department was smart to pair you up with Kier. You'll
keep him straight. He might even get you to lighten up."

The old man's confidence meant everything to Jacob. "I
don't want to baby-sit. And I sure as shit don't need a friend. I
want a partner I can count on."

Pete nodded thoughtfully. "Until the guy screws up, cut him some
slack."

Jacob knew he couldn't do that. "Sure."

Pete understood some of his foster son's scars ran deep. And he
knew when to change the subject. "So when are you going to bring Sharon
around the gym again? I liked her."

A twinge of regret nagged Jacob. "Sharon and I are history."

Pete shook his head. "Damn. The gal is built like a brick house
and can cook. What the hell more do you want from a woman?"

"Sharon was fine. It just didn't work out."

The old man swore. "Bachelorhood ain't what it's
cracked up to be. A man should have a wife and children."

Imitating Pete's raspy voice, Jacob said, "Dames are more
trouble than they are worth. I do just fine by myself."

Wrinkles deepened in Pete's forehead as he smiled.
"Don't you want a family of your own, Mr. Smart-mouth?"

"No." Jacob hit the bag. Truthfully, the idea made him feel
backed into a corner. "Besides, you never had a family."

Pete shrugged. "Keeping you out of trouble wore me out."

Jacob frowned. "Did you ever regret taking me in?"

The old man grinned and shook his head. "You drove me to the brink
of insanity more times than I could count, but I was never sorry I took you in.
I'm only sorry your mother never let me formally adopt you."

Emotion tightened Jacob's chest. He hit the bag harder.

"If you don't ease up on that bag, the bones in your hand
are gonna look like Swiss cheese," Pete said.

"I don't want to ease up. It feels good to push
myself."

"It's not a matter of what you want, kid; it's a
matter of what you need. Lay off for today. You've done enough."

Jacob stopped. His muscles ached with fatigue, just the way he liked it.
But he always listened to Pete.

Pete grabbed a clean towel for Jacob and handed it to him.

"Thanks."

Pete started to unlace Jacob's right glove. "So I guess
you'll be working this weekend?"

"Depends on the case."
Jacob wiped the sweat from his
eyes. "What do you have in mind?"

"I'm looking for a sparring partner for a fighter. I want to
schedule a few friendly rounds on Saturday."

"I'd love to do it. I should know by late Thursday how the
case is going."

Pete nodded, satisfied. "Great. I knew I could count on
you."

Whoever said life was supposed to be easy?

The words Lindsay's mother had spoken to her so often played in
Lindsay's head as she cradled a cup of coffee in her hands. She sat in an
Adirondack chair on the back patio garden of her town house. The sun had crept
up high in the sky but the air remained comfortable, thanks to
yesterday's storms, which had banished a lot of the humidity.

The rains had been a welcome respite from the July heat for her gardens,
which covered most of her ten-by-twelve backyard. Her yard was separated from
the others by a tall privacy fence that looked like all the others in the
development. However, her yard was completely unlike the others, which were
little
more than patchy plots of grass.

Her yard was an oasis. She'd only been in this town house eleven
months, but already she'd filled the tiny land plot with numerous flower
pots overflowing with brightly colored annuals, including marigolds and
petunias. There were more pots filled with tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers, and
sweat peas.

Lindsay had learned to garden from her mother, who had always kept a
lush garden. Her mother had always taken pride in her tomatoes, which
frequently placed in the county fair, and her roses, which were once photographed
for the paper. Her mother had spent hours in that garden, tenderly caring for
her plants. Lindsay had loved digging alongside her mother in the rich soil. In
the garden not only could they create, but they could escape her father's
foul moods.

Sipping her coffee, Lindsay wished she had more gardening space and more
land. One day, she'd have a real home with property around it to plant
bushes and trees, and a vegetable garden. One day.

A flicker of movement caught Lindsay's attention. She turned as
Nicole pushed open the sliding glass doors. Her friend wore an oversized
T-shirt and long pajama pants that brushed her ankles. Blond hair swept high on
her head in a rubber band accented clear green eyes and a high slash of cheekbones.

Nicole surveyed the garden.
"You and your
garden.
I'm starting to think it's an obsession."

Lindsay stretched out her legs. "What can I say? I'm a
sucker for greenery."

Nicole sat in a matching Adirondack chair next to Lindsay. She touched a
bright yellow marigold blossom in a pot next to her chair. "Remember
sophomore year in college when we had the room that overlooked a flat
roof?"

"How could I forget? We lived next to that girl who liked to play
Broadway tunes at five in the morning. I swear
,
if I
ever hear the theme to
Cats
again I'll go
nuts."

Nicole smiled. "I was thinking about your garden."

"I filled the windowsill with pots."

"And when the windowsill filled, you expanded your garden pots
onto the roof. Inch by inch you took it over and filled it with every kind of
vegetable imaginable. I'm surprised security didn't bust
you."

Lindsay sipped her coffee again, hiding a grin. "Actually, they
did. Mr. Wheeler, the head of security, found the garden and threatened to tear
it down. I gave him a few tomatoes to try and he was hooked. I supplied him
with vegetables all spring and he looked the other way."

"Bribery?
I'm shocked, Ms. O'Neil."

Lindsay laughed. "I learned early on how to work the
system."

Nicole's normally tanned skin looked
pale,
tired. At first, Lindsay had attributed it to her change in hair color. Lindsay
had cut Nicole's dark hair and helped her dye it blond. It was a shame
because her black hair had been so beautiful.

"Want some coffee?" Lindsay offered. "I just made a
fresh pot."

Nicole held up a hand in surrender.
"No, thanks.
I'm a little queasy again. I think I've caught another bug from one
of the kids I photographed. I had one yesterday sneeze all over me."

"So, how was work last night?"

She tucked her legs underneath her. "Good and bad. I actually got
some great shots of the two kids I photographed. Their mother was thrilled and
she ended up ordering twice as many prints as she'd planned."

"Good. What was the bad part?"

"My boss, Bill, loves my work too. He keeps raving about it. He
keeps wondering how such a talented photographer landed on his doorstep."

"Why is that bad?"

She brushed her bangs out of her face. "He wants to enter some of
my photography in a national competition. Says the publicity would be great for
his business. I really was flattered. I'd gotten so used to downplaying
my work. And it's been too long since someone has praised my photos.
I'd forgotten how much I missed that."

Lindsay set her cup down on the arm of the chair. She understood living
in secret was hard, but it was necessary right now. "Nicole, you
can't enter a national competition."

"I know, I know. I'm not foolish enough to risk national
exposure." She drummed her fingers on the chair's arm. "But I
really hate living under the radar. I want my life back. And I want a
divorce."

"You've only been here a couple of weeks. The bruises have
only just faded and you're running on raw emotion. It's very
natural that you'd be angry."

"I am angry. In fact, I'm furious. Last night I woke up and
was so mad I couldn't get back to sleep."

Lindsay kept her tone even. She remembered how battered Nicole had been
when she'd first arrived. And from what little Nicole had shared about
her marriage, Lindsay knew Richard was a monster. "And if Richard were to
find you, he would force you back to San Francisco. And I'm afraid he
would treat you far worse than before."

Nicole picked at a loose chip of paint on the chair arm. "This is
the twenty-first century. It shouldn't be this way. I have rights
too."

"I know, I know. This isn't fair. But sometimes it's
better to be safe than right. Sometimes the only solution is to just
vanish."