Three
A quick search of the women’s hot pink locker room for evidence to pin on Olivia Wyatt left Heath empty-handed. But he really hadn’t expected to find anything incriminating, at least not that easily. So he tackled the wet floor, pushing and pulling the industrial-size mop across the linoleum, pausing every few sloppy strokes to squeeze the head in the wringer attached to the bucket. As he worked, he mulled over his situation. For some reason he felt even more bent out of shape than usual.
“What’s your problem, Stone?” he grumbled aloud. “Just do the drill and get out. This assignment is a cake-walk compared to the last one.”
Five days ago he’d been in full body armor, a stinger in his grip, as he used the steel battering ram to break down the door of a crack house. A cop could never be sure what he’d find on the other side; could be drug-dazed kids, could be gunfire.
Hanging out at Table of Hope would be a big honkin’ bore by comparison. But hadn’t he just tried to convince Biddle that a quiet existence was exactly what the doctor ordered? Putting his life on the line over drugs was a losing battle. As soon as he wrapped this case he’d be off to the West Coast and the life of a professional geek.
“You ’bout done?” Velma yelled through an inch-wide crack in the door. “I got ladies who need to get in there.”
“You tell ’em unless they want to slip on this wet floor and break a leg to hold their horses for ten more minutes,” Heath yelled back. Then he muttered, “Pushy woman.”
“I heard that,” Velma called as the door creaked shut.
He felt a smile spread the width of his face, maybe for the first time in days. This place was definitely run by control freaks, but that seemed to be a good thing. From what he’d been able to observe, the facility was clean and in spite of his lame contribution to the meal, the food had been tasty and plentiful. It was a good thing since there were more hungry and homeless around here than he’d have guessed.
Yep, with so many people coming and going and the staff’s constant activity, this shelter would make a convenient cover for drug trafficking whether Olivia was involved or not.
Olivia.
He was bugged by a quality in her that he couldn’t quite identify. Was she a willing participant, covering for someone who’d let her take the fall? Or was she the real deal with this religious stuff? There was softness in Olivia’s dark gaze that appeared ready to forgive unknown and unconfessed sins. It was reckless and brave at the same time and, again, difficult to interpret.
He found that as worrisome as an unchained guard dog. Heath’s knack for reading people made him good at his job, kept him alive. Olivia Wyatt would be a challenge. Well, at least he’d leave undercover work on an interesting note, thanks to the unconventional nature of this assignment.
He crushed the mop in the wringer while reviewing the personal decision he’d admitted to Biddle earlier that day. Heath’s mind was made up. He was ready to nail shut the pine box on this phase of his life, bury the work he’d been doing in an unmarked grave and move across the country. Short of going into witness protection, this was the only way to move on with his life.
Anyone closely associated with Heath was in danger if the criminals he’d sent to jail ever put two and two together. He wasn’t afraid for himself but concern for his parents was the reason he’d bought out their duplex and hurried them off to an early retirement in sunny Florida. The hurt in their voices when he refused their offers to visit during holidays was slowly choking an already weak relationship.
All Heath’s life, his folks had been perplexed by his sullen personality and working undercover only magnified his skepticism. Every day he moved further away from being the son they wanted, the son they deserved. This was not a life worth sharing and it was the very reason he didn’t dare reconnect with his biological sisters.
Heath hadn’t been much more than a toddler when the mother he couldn’t recall was murdered at the hands of their brutal father, sending two daughters and a son into the family court system to be scattered like wildflower seeds in a Texas whirlwind. He’d found an adoptive home, but nobody had wanted the older girls, Alison and Erin.
Twenty-five years later, Alison had somehow found his address and tried repeatedly to make contact. Her most recent letter was still in his backpack. He didn’t have the heart to write Return to Sender on another envelope.
The woman was a stranger, but she was still his sister and deserved his protection. He knew very little about her, she knew nothing about him, and as things stood today it had to stay that way.
He clenched his jaw as he acknowledged the key to his anger. It wasn’t so much the constant battle with criminals as it was the by-product, his growing anonymity. The past six years had taught Heath to be invisible, and he was tired of living like a phantom. He wanted his life back. He wanted to know his family.
“That’s what’s bugging me!” Heath said to himself, the revelation suddenly clear as he pushed the mop across the floor.
The thought struck him like a gun butt to the skull. Olivia Wyatt was the only thing standing between Heath and his future. As soon as this case was solved, he could move on with his life.
He’d crack that unreadable expression and get her to show her true colors no matter what it took. And he’d start right now.
Heath’s gaze swept the nearly dry floor, coming to rest on the row of lockers. His fingers twitched at the thought of rifling behind the doors that were padlocked. The men’s private area would look just like this, which meant there were at least fifty locks to pick. He had the tools and experience to give it a go, but time was his enemy. There was no telling what else in the place was kept under lock and key. With a transient clientele, that probably meant everything of value.
Female voices grumbled in the hallway.
“All clear!” he called. The door burst open with Velma, a red-lipped fireplug of a woman in the lead and a dozen more close behind.
“It’s about time.” She leaned her hip against the open door and held it wide for him to exit. “The kitchen is closed up for the night so grab your Bible and meet us in the big room. Miss Livvy’s expecting you.”
Before he could comment that he didn’t own a Bible and had no idea where to find the big room, the line of women had shuffled past him, headed toward the showers.
“Last one gets cold water,” Velma explained as the door closed in his face.
Heath stood alone in the hallway, not at all sure which way to turn but certain somebody would give him bossy instructions at any moment. Meanwhile, he simply took a few beats to appreciate the floor-to-ceiling strokes of color that brought the walls of the corridor to life.
Lavish green plants and a rainbow of flowers sprang from soil you would swear was damp from rain. Birds of yellow and scarlet perched on shaded limbs of tall trees. A lazy blue stream wound through the setting, splashing down layers of rock and over smooth stones. Sunny rays filtered through clouds casting shadows that swayed with the wind. The scene was breathing with primary colors but mostly it was…moving. Alive with motion.
He stared hard, shook his head. He really needed a good night’s rest.
Olivia turned a corner and headed Heath’s way. “You like?” She swept her hand toward the walls.
“I can’t believe I hardly noticed it the first time I passed through here,” he confessed.
“Yeah, you really have to stand still and take it in. Eventually, everything starts to move. It’s kinda creepy in the dark but still cool.”
Heath nodded, glad it wasn’t the lack of sleep getting the better of him. But this kind of talent had to be expensive. He spotted an opportunity, baited the trap.
“I’m surprised you can afford art like this on the tight budget Amos keeps reminding me about. It must have cost a small fortune.”
She