Midnight Intentions Read online

  "You bought that hideous thing as I recall."

  "Spent a month recovering from putting it together, too," Evan said, scooping up the roll and tossing it at his sister.

  She caught it then deposited it into the trash can under the sink. "Now, what were we talking about?"

  A giant Persian leapt into Evan's lap, settling across his legs. The Persian looked at him with slitted eyes then yawned and went to sleep. The cat's ears were gone, sliced off by a cruel owner.

  "Tell me again why you have eleven cats."

  "Twelve. I rescued another one from the pound yesterday. Chuck. He's upstairs in the isolation room."

  Evan smiled. He knew why his sister rescued animals. Her particular fondness for injured, maimed, and otherwise disabled creatures was easily guessed at as well. "Isolation room?"

  "You know, the room where I put the new guy. Then I introduce him a little bit at a time until the others accept him."

  "Right. There's so many now -- how can they tell?"

  Sharon laughed, her smile brightening the once beautiful face. Still beautiful to him. The scars on her neck were visible, but reconstructive surgery had repaired her face. Of course such surgery would never replace the sight in her left eye.

  "Stop right now. I can see exactly where your thoughts are going. I've healed, Evan. The past is the past. I'd give anything to be a model again. Anything to have two eyes that had sight."

  "I should have known. I should have done something."

  It was an old conversation. Evan felt as though he and Sharon were actors repeating memorized lines in a play. No matter how hard he'd tried he'd been unable to put aside his guilt -- his horror -- at almost letting his sister die.

  "I knew. I didn't do anything to stop it. I fooled my whole family." Sharon looked at him. "Why are we talking about this? It happened almost ten years ago. Tim can't hurt me ever again. Rehashing the past does nothing but bring up old memories."

  "I'm sorry. Domestic violence has been on my mind. The woman I told you about -- Callie -- I think she's been in a bad situation."

  "How do you know?"

  "Some of the same reactions you used to have, but mostly my gut instincts. She's scared of men. Of me."

  Sharon looked at him, her eyes narrowing. "Something tells me you have more than a passing interest in this woman. She's not just another charity case."

  "I don't do charity cases."

  "Hah!"

  "She tried to shoot me."

  "What!" Sharon sat down on the stool next to his and grabbed his arm. "She shot at you? Why?"

  "She thought I was a burglar, I guess. Yesterday, I responded to a 911 call in Southern Hills. The victim somehow managed to call while having a heart attack. She found me leaning over him -- her father -- with my gun drawn."

  "Wow." Sharon frowned. "I thought yesterday was your day off."

  He shifted on the seat. "It was."

  "Southern Hills, huh?"

  Evan didn't answer, but he couldn't meet Sharon's steely gaze, either. "Okay. What if I was?"

  "There's nothing you can do, bro. Anderson's been tried, okay? Not guilty. Let it go."

  "Marie deserved better. I'm glad she got out of the marriage and moved to Colorado. But Anderson damn near had to kill her before she woke up to reality. Wife number two's probably getting a dose of his temper. Where's the justice?"

  "Travis Anderson bought his justice. We know it. The judge knows it. The world knows it. The good guys don't win all the time."

  "Maybe," Evan said. "But I figure it's my job to make sure the good guys win most of the time."

  He scratched the Persian's ears. "So have you heard from her?"

  "Wife number two? No. She hasn't shown up at the shelter. I don't know why you torture yourself like this. Don't you have anything better to do on your days off?"

  "It's a good cause."

  "Evan, you've buried your life under good causes. You volunteer at the Battered Women's Shelter and help out at the Victim Witness Center and track down abusive spouses -- you must have earned your sainthood by now."

  "Look who's talking! You run a home for disabled cats. And there's the counseling, the chauffeuring, the -- "

  "Okay, okay. Point made. But I have a family, too. Michael and I always make time for each other. We spend time with the kids. My work at the shelter is a part of my life -- but it's not my life. What do you go home to? An easy chair and a big screen television. I know why you're always over here mooching a meal. It's because in your refrigerator there's a science experiment growing on old pizza and a couple cans of Shasta."

  "What's your point, sis?"

  "Get a life, you idiot. Why not ask out Callie?"

  A pure thrill of desire and longing shot through him at the thought of seeing Callie. "I don't know if that would be a good idea."

  "Why not?"

  "She might say no."

  Sharon cocked an eyebrow. "My gorgeous brother has never been turned down. Besides, your ego will recover from the blow if she refuses. What's the harm?"

  "There's not any, I suppose. You know, she almost shot me. Don't you think that could put a crimp in our relationship?"

  "I'd say she's smart and got good reflexes. Besides, she didn't shoot you, and she's the only woman you've shown a healthy male interest in a long time. Ask her out."

  "I'll think about it," Evan said dubiously. "But no promises."

  "I give up." Sharon stood and put her hands on her hips. "For being so stubborn, you have to set the table. And for not listening to reason, I may make you clean the cat litter boxes."

  "All eleven?" Evan asked in horror.

  Sharon grinned. "Twelve."

  * * * *

  "You're not pretty enough for a cop's wife," Dan said, straightening his tie. "But the Chief likes you, so I guess I'll bring you to the party."

  "Isn't Stephanie available?" Callie asked, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. Stephanie had been Dan's lover for the past few months -- some woman with more breasts than brains that Dan had picked up in a bar. He delighted in telling Callie the details of their lovemaking. It made her sick and not just because she was pregnant. Her whole pathetic life made her sick, but now she had a reason to live, a reason to leave Dan.

  "I never bring whores to social functions." Dan smiled. "Oops. But I'm bringing you, aren't I, my darling whore? You'll screw anything with three legs, won't you, honey?"

  His dark laughter scraped Callie raw. Why he still had the ability to hurt her emotionally was beyond her comprehension. But soon, very soon, she wouldn't have to deal with him. She'd be free and she would run to farthest ends of the earth. She wanted a good, healthy life for her child. And Callie needed time to heal. Time to remember what being a normal person was like.

  "I said on your knees," Dan's voice grated. "Damn it, woman, are you deaf? We have to leave in fifteen minutes, but it only take you five -- Callie!"

  She looked at him, stricken, and tried to find a way to get out of what he was asking her. His grin was evil as he unzipped his tuxedo pants and pushed them down. "Come here, whore."

  "No, Dan," she whimpered. "Please."

  "You're wasting time." He grabbed her arm and yanked her forward, punching her in the chest. Cops knew where to hit people where it hurt the most. Her breath left her body as he pushed her down. Her hose ripped as she was forced onto her knees. He slapped her cheek, but she knew it wouldn't satisfy him. He liked to hit her and he liked knowing that no one ever saw the bruises.

  "We're in the bathroom," she said. "Can't we -- "

  He jerked her upward and punched her in the ribs. Dear God, if he hit her stomach -- panic made her still as a stone. If she didn't struggle, he would stop. Please, let him stop.

  "Dan," she screamed. "I'll do it, I'll do it."

  "I know you will, you pathetic bitch."

  He let her go and she dropped to her knees. His laughter clawed at her as he grabbed her hair and pressed her face against his crotch. Those dark,
evil sounds of his joy ate away at her soul and made hot, helpless tears caress her cheeks.

  Callie blinked and tears fell. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Pale. Haunted. Lost. Wiping away the moisture, she rose from the dressing table and wandered to her four-poster bed. She slipped between the cool sheets, settling against the fluffy pillows.

  The lights blared overhead, but she didn't dare turn them off. She'd rather never sleep again than have to be alone in the darkness. Drawing her legs up, she rested her chin on her knees.

  Memories of Dan threatened her peace of mind. Her sanity. She never remembered the good times. She knew she'd been happy once -- that Dan had loved her. She'd finally realized that she wasn't responsible for Dan's behavior. He'd been a monster; he'd been a cruel, violent man. She'd hated him. But worse still, she'd hated herself.

  Unable to still the ever-present restlessness, Callie scooted out of bed and walked to the window. Her bare feet sank into the plush pink carpet. She dug her toes into it as she pushed aside the gauzy white curtain aside. The rumble of car engine drew her attention to the street.

  A mint condition 1969 Corvette slid smoothly past, slowing in front of the house. Her heart skipped a beat and she placed a hand against her throat.

  Dan's car.

  Stop it! Daniel was dead. Expensive Corvettes were not exactly foreign to this neighborhood, it just happened to be the same color as Dan's. Metallic black with chrome accents and ... she stopped her thoughts and took a deep breath. It was dark. The car might have been purple or blue and it wasn't Dan's. She'd sold it in California. Along with everything else. She wanted no reminders of their life together. His death had not haunted her as she thought it might. But other regrets did. His abuse. Her lost identity. Her baby. Callie placed her hand against her stomach, stroking her abdomen. No babies now, she thought and the anguish crashed through her so suddenly she thought she might drown in it.

  Callie turned away from the window, unable to shake off the residue of fear clinging to her. Would Dan control her even from the grave? Only if you let him, a voice insisted. I won't let him. I won't.

  Her gaze caught the beautiful tulips that now occupied a glass vase on her nightstand. She touched the petals and smiled. Evan's face rose clearly in her mind; his concerned brown eyes, his reassuring smile. Hope, he'd reminded her. There was always hope.

  Removing a pink tulip from the vase, Callie crawled back into bed and cradled the precious flower in her hands. With the stem clutched in her fingers, she finally slept.

  --------

  *Chapter Three*

  At the loud, unexpected chime of the doorbell Callie dropped the photograph. The picture of a single tulip drifted back down into the large pan. Gingerly grasping the edges, she allowed the solution to drip, then she clipped the photo to the wire hanging above her head.

  The chime rang again, somehow sounding more insistent. Callie frowned. Who could it be?

  Wiping her hands on an old tea towel, she exited the basement studio and climbed the stairs to the first floor. By the time she'd walked down the long hall and reached the living room, the impatient person at the door had rang the bell again.

  "All right! I'm coming."

  Callie peered through the peephole and her heart did a double-flip. She unlocked the top two deadbolts and unchained the door, easing it open. "What do you want?"

  "Not a morning person, huh?" Evan asked, grinning. "Me, either."

  "I love mornings. Especially when they start at noon."

  His delighted laugh curled through her. She clutched the door at the sweet emotion. No. She was never going to jump headfirst into another relationship. She was never going to jump into any relationship. And she was not going to be impressed, charmed or googly-eyed over another handsome man. "Did you decide to arrest me after all?"

  "No. But I could cite you for obstruction."

  Her eyebrow rose. "What am I obstructing?"

  "Me." Evan's grin widened and she noticed a small dimple in the left corner of his mouth. Great. The man had dimples.

  "Look, if you're not going to arrest me or something, then maybe you should leave."

  The teasing glint in his eyes dimmed, but his smile never wavered. "I have coffee," he said, drawing her attention to a white paper sack in his hand. "And donuts."

  Her stomach growled. "What kind of donuts?"

  "Chocolate."

  "If there's one with nuts and coconut flakes, you're in."

  "Would you settle for candy sprinkles?"

  Callie opened the door and allowed Evan entrance. Her breath hitched when he passed her. The earthy scent of his masculinity wrapped around her, but it was the broadness of his shoulders and the muscles rippling under his shirt that made the ribbon of fear slice through her.

  "So how's your father?"

  "Better. Grumpy, but recovering."

  She heard the quiver in her voice and cleared her throat. But apparently Evan, too, had heard the fear and he turned, his smile melting into a frown as he looked at her.

  "Callie," he said softly. "I can make you one promise. I will never hurt you."

  "Don't be ridiculous," she said, shutting the door and walking past him. She ignored the trembling in her knees as her arm brushed his. The betraying ache of desire danced with fear as she lead him through the living room into the large kitchen. Her attraction to Evan terrified her more than his size and strength. Hadn't poor judgment led her straight into the depths of hell? Her marriage to Dan had opened her eyes. Where men were concerned, she was no longer blind. Or naive.

  Callie sat on a barstool next to the cook's island. Fortunately, the other stool was on the opposite side. Evan's presence still disturbed her, but at least she could breathe easier with ten feet of Formica between them. She watched as he removed two Styrofoam cups from the sack and a small box. Her mouth salivated at the plump, fragrant donuts inside. "I didn't eat breakfast."

  She saw him glance around the chrome-and-white kitchen. "I imagine it's because you gave up finding anything to eat. Do they give maps out at the door?"

  "It is rather big, isn't it? I never noticed until now."

  "Did you grow up here?"

  Callie accepted the gooey chocolate donut and the hot cup of coffee. "No. But I grew up rich if that's what you're asking. Rich, spoiled brat -- that's me."

  "Not anymore, I bet."

  She looked at him, saw the emotion gathering in his dark eyes. Sympathy. Understanding. Desire. She dropped her gaze and bit into the donut. The chocolate melted on her tongue, but the taste lacked pleasure. She glanced at Evan just in time to see his tongue gather a crumb off his bottom lip. Pure electricity zapped her stomach. Damn, damn, damn.

  "Why are you here?" The question sounded harsher than she intended, but she hated this growing awareness of Evan. The huskiness of her voice betrayed the riot of emotions. She didn't want this ... didn't want him.

  He finished his donut casually, then sipped his coffee. "I thought if I filled you up with coffee and donuts, you'd want to work off the calories."

  The donut in her hand fell to the floor and she stood, the stool scratching against the tiled floor. "What!"

  "Ice skating. There's a rink close to here. It'll be fun."

  Her pounding heart slowed and she bent to pick up the chocolate mess. "Oh. I -- I don't think that ... I don't skate. Ice skate or whatever. No. I'm -- I'm sorry."

  "Callie."

  She looked up at his serious tone, swallowed heavily, and backed against the steel refrigerator. "I'm sorry."

  He stood, rounded the island, and stopped in front of her. He didn't tower over her, merely stood there. "If you don't want to go ice skating, that's fine. If you don't want to go out with me, that's fine, too."

  "Go out with you? On a date?"

  A smile made the dastardly dimple appear. "Yes. I'm asking you out. You can even bring along the twenty-two if it'll make you feel better."

  She stared at him, her heart pounding again. "You mean that, d
on't you?"

  "Yes."

  The refrigerator felt cool on her bare legs. Callie picked at an invisible thread on her tan shorts. "I can't."

  "Okay."

  "Okay?"

  "Yep." He shoved his hands into the jean's pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Wasn't that easy?"

  His response was so darn casual, she wondered just how many women he was currently dating. He sounded as if he didn't care if she said yes or no. "Thank you for asking. Thank you for being interested."

  "Callie?"

  "Hmmm?"

  "I asked you out because you're the first woman in a year that's interested me."

  "Oh."

  He grinned. "I'm a patient man. I'll just ask you again in a couple weeks."

  "The answer will be the same."

  "We'll see."

  "Evan." His name was a sigh on her lips. "I can't go out with you, not now, not in two weeks, not ever."

  "I understand."

  Callie looked into his eyes and realized that he did understand. But the tilt of his smile warned her that understanding and giving up were two different things. She shook her head, reaffirming her decision. Yet she felt a sudden sense of loss, as if she'd stretched out a hand to a flittering butterfly but had withdrawn before the elusive creature could alight.

  "Evan, I -- "

  The screech of tires accompanied a crash of glass. Shock coursed through her and she stiffened, watching Evan draw his gun. She ran after him into the living room. The huge glass window was shattered, the sheer white curtains billowing in the aftermath of the damage.

  "Stay back or you'll cut your feet."

  He sheathed his gun and crunched across the carpet. Nausea roiled in Callie's stomach as she assessed the damage. Again. It was happening again. During the trial, well-aimed bricks shattered her car windows and graffiti defaced her home. Dan's cronies never let her forget she'd killed one of their own, but surely no one had cared enough to follow her here to continue the torture.

  Evan crouched down and pointed to a large red brick. "There's the weapon." He glanced up. "Who'd you piss off?"