Jessica R. Patch - Fatal Reunion

“Chloroform, maybe. Or antifreeze.”

She handed Luke the photo of Boone and Harmony. “This is the guy.”

He kneaded the back of his neck. “You should have called 9-1-1, Piper. I need to talk to Harmony.”

“You can call, but you’ll get voice mail. Her flight already left.” She gave him her number.

“Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?” Luke studied the photo.

Piper almost laughed. “You already think I had something to do with this. I’m on my own.” She clenched her teeth. “Just like I’ve always been.”

Luke’s eyes flashed with torment. “I believe this. And I would never want to see you harmed. Ever.” He pointed to the back door and raised the photo. “I need this guy’s last name.”

“I don’t know it.”

Luke laid his hand on her shoulder again. “I don’t know what his motives were. Mistook you for Harmony. Trying to take you out to get to her. To take you both.” He shrugged. “But the guy at the hospital... I don’t think it was this Boone character. Why go after you there?”

Good question. “Two isolated events? Maybe Chaz is back, and he and Boone are in cahoots?” She had no clue which it was, but her gut said Chaz was in the thick of it.

“It’s possible, and that brings us back to Mama Jean’s basement and what was hiding down there.”

He still thought she had something to do with this, if even indirectly. Luke rubbed his stubbly chin. “Don’t go back to Jackson, Piper. We’re not done, and you aren’t safe here. Can you stay somewhere else?”

Piper folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not going anywhere. And by that I mean Memphis or this house.”

Luke worked his jaw. “I don’t like you here alone.”

“I don’t care what you like or don’t like. I’m still standing.” No one would protect her like she could protect herself. And she didn’t want Luke protecting her—much. It hurt.

Luke pinched the bridge of his nose, nostrils flaring. “You are so stinking stubborn.”

“I’m not leaving.” She jutted out her chin.

“Let me drive you to the hospital.”

“No.” She wasn’t going to rely on Luke. She couldn’t.

Looking at Detective Hale, Luke shook his head. “I don’t know what to do with her.”

Detective Hale scratched his head. “We could kick you out and call this a crime scene, as it is, and force you to leave.”

“I like that idea,” Luke said.

“Get real. Boone’s prints are probably all over this place. They dated. You’re both being jerks.”

“Technically, we’re doing our jobs.” Eric smirked. “But okay.”

Luke frowned, and they seemed to carry on a silent conversation.

Detective Hale left them at the door. Luke turned to her, his voice quiet. “Baroni had your card. Somehow you’re connected. And I hate leaving you alone.”

“You left me on my own ten years ago. Now shouldn’t be any different.” Piper dared him to respond.

Luke opened his mouth to say something else, then clammed up. A wave of grief splashed across his face. “You’re right about prints. Doesn’t mean I won’t have them come out anyway. You’re out of the house, at least for a while today. Call if you need to.” He handed her his card then phoned the crime unit. “I’ll wait outside until they get here. But you’re free to go see Mama Jean.”

His protectiveness sent a skitter into her pulse. Luke closed the door behind him and she beelined it to her cell to call Braxton, one of her karate instructors.

He answered on the second ring. “Hey, Piper. How’s your grandma?”

“Stable.” She snatched her car keys. “Hey, quick question. Did anyone by the name of Tyson Baroni come into the dojo recently? About five foot ten, a ginger with freckles.”

“Doesn’t sound familiar.”

“If I send a picture, could you tell me if you’d seen him?” She snagged a banana and hurried to the front door.

“Probably. Is everything okay?” Concern laced Braxton’s voice.

“Yeah. Just checking on something. Thanks.” She hung up and stepped onto the stoop. Luke and Detective Hale were in the driveway staring at her car along with two other officers.

“What’s going on?” Piper asked and slowed her pace.

They split as if drawing open a curtain, revealing center stage. Piper’s car had been keyed and the tires slashed.

Piper thrust back her head and inwardly groaned. “I’m gonna need a lift after all.”

* * *

Luke opened the back door to their Dodge Durango and Piper slid inside. She seemed calm and collected for a woman who’d been victimized, twice. Hearing that someone had put his hands on her, hurt her, sent a wave of hysteria into his bones, then infuriated him. Had Chaz come out of hiding? If so, he must have a solid reason. One that Piper refused to cough up.

His gruff questioning had got him nowhere. In fact, it had made things worse. He couldn’t help it. Old bitter feelings had risen along with the impulse to protect and make sure she was cared for. And she wouldn’t leave the house. He couldn’t bring her to his. Frustration knotted his neck muscles.

“I’m sorry about your car, Piper. I can have someone tow and fix it for a decent price.” Offering her an olive branch was all he knew to do without getting too close.

Surprise flittered in her eyes. “Thanks, Luke.”

“I didn’t even notice it driving up.” He’d been a walking disaster, stewing and hoping she wasn’t directly linked.

Eric had a million questions, but surely he’d figure out what Luke already knew. Piper wasn’t going to cooperate if she didn’t want to.

“Hopefully, we’ll get Chaz’s prints off that door.”

“Doubt it,” Piper said, and they hit the interstate, the car charged with deafening silence. What was he supposed to do? Make small talk?

“How’s the dojo?” Guess he was.

“Growing. I’m thinking about leasing a building for a second location. Closer to Madison.” She picked at her fingernails and fisted her hands. A knee bobbed. He’d made her uncomfortable. Or maybe she was anxious to get to Mama Jean. Probably both. She was too stubborn to be scared. What could he do to make her leave Harmony’s house?

Her sweet jasmine scent wafted through the car, reminding him of times when he’d held her close, danced with her at the pool hall, kissed her good-night.

“Do you have a picture of Tyson?”

Luke frowned. “Why?”

“I want to send it to Braxton—he’s a sensei in my dojo. See if Tyson came by at some point. I called him after you stepped outside. He says no one matching that description visited, but after ten years, who knows how much Tyson has changed. Not that I wouldn’t recognize you a mile away, but I see some differences.”

Luke glanced back. “Me, too.” Softer face. More athletic build. Her hair was still all one length but longer. The dimple that rested under her left eye on her cheekbone seemed deeper.

“I don’t have any gray.” She smirked.

He touched his temples. “They say it’s a sign of wisdom.”

Detective Hale snorted. “Not in your case.”

“I don’t know. I think compared to, say, a decade ago, I’ve wised up some. How about you, Piper?” He didn’t mean to be antagonistic, but the teasing and friendliness was harder than he’d anticipated.

“I have.”

“So, tell me about your dojo,” Detective Hale said as he eased onto I-240. “You been in competitions?”

“Not as often as I used to. I run a program for troubled teenagers. Martial arts changed my life. Gave me the confidence and strength I needed.”

“I’ve found, in my life, God has been my source of confidence and strength. But hey, good for you.” Detective Hale glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled. “I think discipline is smart for unruly teenagers, and it gets them off the street.”