Page 47 of Protect My Heart

“Um.” He didn’t hand over his registered weapon to just anyone. But this was Doc. “Sure.”

He released the magazine and cleared the chamber before handing the firearm over, butt end first. “Remember, don’t point it—”

Sure handed, she gripped the gun, slid the action open, and rechecked the chamber. She pulled it up and checked the sights. “Not bad. I like a .380 but this is nice.”

Her next move had his mouth dropping open. She swiftly disassembled his gun in thirty seconds flat, and reassembled it almost as quickly.

“What the fuck?” He stared shell-shocked as she tipped the handle toward him and offered it back.

“Military kid and really, have you met my cousin? Like he would let me go across the country without knowing how to defend myself.” She tipped her head up and gave him a fast, hard kiss before stepping out of his reach. She moved a few more yards down the hall and opened a door. “Prepare yourself. The last time I was in here I found the lost scrolls of Alexandria.”

Jim checked the clip and chambered a round. Never hurt to be prepared for anything.

He was still shaking his head. When would he learn? She surprised him over and over. And damn if he didn’t like that about her.

Doc disappeared through the door with Jim close on her heels. He followed her into the room. Heck, he was starting to think she could lead him around by a nose ring and he’d be happy as a coke addict in the evidence locker.

He shook off the thought as he surveyed the room. Hoarders had nothing on Walt and Rosa when it came to the volume of stuff packed into the twelve-by-twenty space. The Whittiers were nice enough to have a two-foot path around the shelves in the middle of the room. Eight-foot-high steel shelving ringed the perimeter with totes in all colors stacked to the ceiling. “Could we be lucky enough to have them labeled?”

“Not a chance.” Doc wandered down the aisle peeking into bins. “It took me years to get Mami to move the things from cardboard boxes to plastic totes. I tried to get her to pitch half of this stuff but she wouldn’t hear of it. Hoping for organization would be too much.”

“So where do we start?”

“Well, this is Christmas stuff in the front bins, so I’m thinking if she has Papi’s things they’d be in the least accessible spot.” She moved to the back shelf and craned her neck to look at the top. “I’d start there.”

Jim silently thanked his father’s genes for his height as he stretched up to grab the top box. He gave it a test shake. Not too heavy, so he pulled it from its home for likely over a decade judging by the dust.

Doc coughed. A musty smell assailed their noses as she removed the lid. “An Egyptian pharaoh’s tomb couldn’t stink this much. What did she put in here?”

She pulled out Manila folders and peeked inside before sliding the contents of each out. Hospital records and keepsakes landed on the floor. “It’s our baby boxes.”

Jim picked up an ID bracelet that read, O’Roarke baby boy. A callused thumb stroked the smooth plastic. His sight blurred as he envisioned the words Swenson baby boy. His child would have graduated this year. Blinking, he turned his head and wiped the mist in his eyes. “Dusty in here.”

He coughed, covering his moment of weakness. Doc flipped through the things and set the envelope aside. She removed a christening gown and a tiny pair of white satin booties with blue bows. Her lips rose in a half smile.

“I remember teasing Mami about dressing me in boy colors when I saw the photos of my baptism. She just smiled and said she hoped one day her grandbabies would wear the same outfit.” Her eyes lifted from the garment in her lap to his face. Tears hung on her long dark lashes. “I told her she should at least change the bow color to white before Mikey’s kids wore them.”

What was it about baby stuff that makes grown people turn all mushy and weepy? He reached for her. “Doc?”

She shook her head, blinked away the tears, and set the outfit aside. The pungent aroma grew as she lifted a tattered bear from the box. The mystery of the foul smell was solved. “Whoa! Pooh needs a bath.”

Jim covered his nose as he looked into the box. In the bottom of the box sat an old wooden car and a few children’s story books.

“Abuelo made those,” she said when he picked up the worn toy her grandfather carved. “He loved his wood working. When he came here from Puerto Rico back in the Seventies, he worked for a cabinet maker.”

She exhaled deeply and set everything back in the box, except the bear. Jim put the box back on the shelf and grabbed the next one. This one was heavier. Not wanting to show weakness, he removed the tote with one swift move.

This time, she found a rag to clear the dust before they removed the lid.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” An old army uniform sat folded on the top. With gentle hands, Doc lovingly set the clothes aside. She pulled out a pair of boxing gloves.

“Your father boxed?” Jim slipped one onto his hand.

“I don’t remember.” Liz had memories of her father going out at night, but couldn’t recall where.

Her fingers caressed the dark leather. The glove was still soft to the touch. There was so much she didn’t know about her father.

Emotions prickled the back of her throat. She placed the gloves on top of the clothes.