Her father had dozed off in his wheelchair. The officer looked a question at her. Nicole smiled. “Don’t worry about my father. We won’t bother him. Household noises don’t wake him up.” Pain would eventually wake him up, as it did regularly. For now, if he was sleeping, the pain had subsided. He needed his rest.
She watched his sleeping face. The skin now hung off his beautiful bones like a too-large garment. His once magnificent head of black hair was bald, with only a few tufts clinging here and there, the effect of the last course of radiation therapy to the head.
During the day, her father put on a brave face, but what he felt was there, not hidden, in the sleeping man. He was exhausted and in pain and it showed.
Dying, she thought with a pang.
Nicole turned to her guest and indicated a chair. Mike Keillor sat stiffly, back upright, hands on knees. Nicole sat on the sofa, facing him.
It had to be faced. “So. Um. Sam sent you?”
“Yes, ma’am. He said you were having trouble with two fu—guys who were escalating.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Escalating. Becoming violent. It’s a process, and it’s always the same. I’ll bet they started bothering you by staring, then shouting insults or lewd invitations. Am I right?”
She sighed. “Yes, since the day they moved across the street. Every time I left the house, it seemed they were there.”
“Because they were watching out for you. But after a while it wasn’t just words, was it? There were probably gestures. And the gestures got cruder and cruder. Then they walked down the porch steps. Then they came to the edge of the property.”
Nicole stared. “Yes. Exactly that. How did you know?” She thought back to her conversation with Sam. “Sam told you.”
“No, ma’am, he didn’t have to. It’s behavior as predictable as the seasons. Sam said they touched your car. Is that correct?”
Nicole shivered at the memory. “Yes. I mean, one of them did. Just knocked on the window of the car, but it—it scared me.” She gave a half laugh. “I’ve lived in third-world countries, I’m not usually such a wuss.”
His jaw tightened. “You’re not a wuss, ma’am. Not at all. The next step is touchingyou, and once they do, they won’t stop. Sam recognized that. It’s why he sent me. Believe me, we’ve seen this behavior over and over. They’re bullies when they sense someone is weaker than them. But deep down, they’re cowards. They won’t want to mess with the police. I’ll keep coming around. Might actually have a little heart to heart, in full gear. Scare the shit out of them.” He bowed his head. “Pardon the language.”
Scaring the shit out of them sounded just fine. Fantastic, in fact.
He sat there, broad and square and tough as hell, actually frightening to look at. Dangerous. Not to her, but to anyone he might deem an enemy. Those heavy muscles moved with athletic grace. He was SWAT. He more than knew how to handle weapons. Creepy and Creepier might very well try to attack a woman, but not one with this level of protection. He’d put himself and all the resources of the police department at her disposal.
He’d just made her safe.
A deep-seated tension dissolved. She hadn’t even admitted to herself how much Creepy and Creepier frightened her. How she’d had to steel herself to walk out her front door every morning.
Nicole smiled. “Well, thank you very, very much, Mike. I must say I feel relieved. So far, they haven’t done anything I would report, and half the time I thought I was exaggerating their importance in my mind, but you’re right. I guess I felt that one day they might do something…violent.”
“They would have done something violent, and soon. Count on it. But I’ll make sure they get the message. Mess with you and they’re in deep sh—trouble.” His blue eyes fixed on hers. “And don’t thank me, ma’am. Thank Sam. He’s the one who sent me. He’s the one making you safe.”
Nicole’s heart thumped as a wave of heat washed over her. Oh my God. Did heknow? Did she have something on her face that showed she’d spent the night making frantic love with Sam Reston? And that she’d been avoiding him all morning?
“Ah—” she began, her voice a croak.
“Señora. El café està listo.”
Nicole turned gratefully. Manuela stood in the doorway with a tray holding a pot of her world-class coffee and three cups, bless her. If her father woke up, he would enjoy a cup.
Manuela put the tray down on the coffee table and Nicole leaned forward, looking a question at Mike.
“Black, no sugar, ma’am.”
She smiled. “Manuela’s coffee is strong enough to wake the dead, Mike. Are you sure you don’t want sugar? And please call me Nicole.”
“No. The stronger the better. I like the taste of bitter coffee. Reminds me of the field.”
His shoulders relaxed just a little as he accepted the small cup. It looked tiny in his huge hands.
