Catherine Lanigan - Hers To Protect

Just then Katia came out onto the terrace carrying a glass tray of appetizers decorated with tropical flowers. “Josh! How are you?” She placed the tray on the patio table. She bent and kissed his cheek.

“Katia, you are a vision,” Josh said. Then he slid a glance to Austin. “You don’t mind me saying that, do you, dude?”

“It’s the truth. And she’s my vision.”

When Katia looked at Austin, Josh knew she wouldn’t have known if a cyclone blew into town. He’d seen the look of love before, but theirs was so intense, he felt he was interrupting.

“Listen, guys, I know you have a lot to talk about,” Katia said. “Daisy and I are still cracking crabs for dinner. So, take your time. Josh, seriously, always know this is your haven. Okay?”

Josh felt a lump the size of a speed bump in his throat. “Thanks.”

“You okay?” Austin asked as Katia went back inside.

“You’re a lucky man, Austin.”

“I know that. But so are you. I saw that photo of you in Racing People . That girl. What’s her name? Joycelyn? She’s a knockout.”

“Who?”

“Joy—”

“Austin.” Josh shook his head. “She’s an infield girl. That’s for publicity. I don’t have anyone.”

Austin’s eyes widened. He took a long slug of wine. “I thought... Well. That you had your pick.”

“There’s never been anyone special. Certainly no Katia.”

Austin’s gaze went to the wide kitchen window where they both could see Katia and Daisy laughing and poking each other with crab legs. “I’ve loved her all my life.”

Josh felt chills down his back. He’d give anything to say that. To know there was a special someone for him. He didn’t know what it was or why this was happening to him now. Was it being in this small town? Was it the shock of finding himself behind bars? Or was it Officer Hawks? He couldn’t stop thinking about how she looked at him when the jail cell door had clanged shut. If a gong had been struck in his head, he couldn’t have been more affected. He felt derailed, on a new course, and he hadn’t the slightest idea where he was headed.

As much as he daydreamed about a different life, the reality was he’d been living as the image Harry and he had concocted for the media years ago. He was a winner. Women came and went. He was successful, rich and alone.

Quite alone.

Yeah, his dreams were mirages. A life like Austin had would never be possible for Josh.

CHAPTER SIX

VIOLET DUMPED SOME vegetable soup into a bowl and shoved it into the microwave. Her thick black belt, holster, handcuffs and gun were methodically arranged on the sofa table her mother had given her when she moved into Mrs. Beabots’s apartment. Though she’d picked up her clean uniforms from the laundry, Violet had re-pressed the shirt, taking out the tiny crease she’d seen on its back.

She chuckled as she extracted a soup spoon from her organized flatware drawer. Her mother, Connie, often kidded Violet’s compulsive need for order and cleanliness had finally found a purpose in her “spit-shine” world of law enforcement. Violet didn’t think she was all that obsessive. There was right and wrong. Good and evil. Black and white. “And clearly, clean and dirty.”

The microwave dinged. She took out the soup just as her cell phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Violet,” Mrs. Beabots said, “don’t think about eating that sodium-laden canned soup. Come downstairs for dinner. I have pasta and chicken in a pesto sauce. Homemade.”

Violet narrowed her eyes. She’d known Mrs. Beabots since she was a child, and the woman always made her think she had eyes in the back of her head. “How did you know what I’m having for supper?”

“I’m a detective.”

“You saw the cans in my trash bag.”

“That, too. Now come down here for dinner. Sarah and Maddie are coming over. And Liz is bringing wine. Oh! I hear Liz’s truck now. She really does need to get that muffler fixed.”

“See you in a sec.” Violet looked down at her skinny jeans, sky blue high-top sneakers and powder blue turtleneck cotton shirt. She was comfortable and had planned to go for a walk after dinner. Now that it was May, the evenings had finally warmed to a brisk fifty degrees, and she loved the flowering Bradford pear trees and forsythia. Having grown up in the country, she’d never appreciated town living, but after six months living on Maple Boulevard, she’d found it had innumerable charms.

Violet tucked her cell phone in her back pocket and walked down the long staircase to the main floor landing. She heard voices and laughter, and she could smell the aroma of garlic and basil coming from under the door. Her stomach growled. “Guess I do need more than soup.” She knocked on the back kitchen door.

“Come on in, honey,” Mrs. Beabots said. “Door’s always open.”

Violet entered the kitchen to find Sarah Bosworth, the next-door neighbor, architect and mother to Luke Bosworth’s children Annie and Timmy. Sarah and Luke’s toddler, Charlotte, looked just like blonde, cornflower blue–eyed Sarah.

Sarah hugged Violet. “It’s great to see you. Where’re the kids?”

“Luke got pizza and a movie. Need I say more?”

“Nope.”

Next to Sarah was Maddie Barzonni, owner of Cupcakes and Coffee Café, and married to Dr. Nate Barzonni. Maddie was breaking up romaine lettuce leaves into a huge wooden salad bowl and giggling with Liz Barzonni, owner of Crenshaw Vineyards. Liz was removing a cork from a bottle of wine.

“Hi, Maddie.” The women hugged. “Hi, Liz. That a new wine?”

Liz held up the bottle. “Very special pinot noir.”

“Special?” Violet asked.

Mrs. Beabots winked. “Violet. You’re just in time for our toast.”

“Oh? What are we toasting?”

Sarah beamed. “I just beat out the rock star of all Chicago design firms for a new medical complex on the east side of town.”

“I never doubted your design abilities, Sarah,” Maddie said as she took a glass of wine from Liz.

“I know and I love you for it, but there were days...” Sarah looked across the kitchen to the window that looked out on the adjoining yard to her house.

“Hey,” Liz said. “That was after your mother died. Before Luke. Before the kids. You got your juice back.”

“And then some,” Mrs. Beabots said, handing Violet a glass.

They clinked their rims and said, “To Sarah!”

“Congratulations, Sarah,” Violet said. “I know the relief and satisfaction that comes from winning those contracts. Whenever my mother would win a design bid, she’d make us all a nice dinner just like this.” She smiled at them all. “You should be proud.”

“Thanks, Violet,” Sarah said.

Maddie lowered her glass. “Gosh, Violet. Your mom wasn’t one of the other bidders, was she? Connie is so talented, I’d feel terrible if she lost.” Her eyes tracked to Sarah.

“No. She’s working on a high-rise residential tower in Indianapolis.”

“Oh.” Maddie’s relief was audible.

Violet stared at the wine. Indianapolis. Where Josh Stevens lived.

Where had that thought come from and why would she be making that connection? “Um, can I help with any of these preparations? I always made the herbed butter for the bread.”

“Sure,” Mrs. Beabots said, handing Violet the bread knife. “I set the table earlier. This was supposed to be a think-tank dinner and a meeting for the fund-raiser for a new foster child care center I want to spearhead.”

“Really?” Violet unwrapped the silver paper around the Italian bread. “Tell me about it.”

“I want a privately funded and operated family center. No government funds or grants. That way we don’t fall under their jurisdiction, though we will comply with all state and federal regulations. But in the end, our arms will be open to whatever needs there are. Drop-in day care. Possibly a temporary shelter until a family gets back on their feet. I envision job-placement service. Even job training.”