To Cherish Read online

  He downed a couple of ibuprofen for his headache and stared at the names Jemma had given him. Maybe he was being paranoid. It wouldn’t be smart for Cunningham to hire someone to boldly register as a guest to get inside the B&B.

  Sitting back in his chair, he gently probed the swelling on his right temple. The skin was beginning to turn dark purple, but he sensed he was lucky the injury hadn’t been worse.

  Assaulting a cop was a stupid, reckless move. He wanted to believe the jerk would continue to make mistakes.

  Since the radio was quiet, Garth spent another thirty minutes trying to identify Cunningham’s friends. He knew the guy hung out with other cops, but maybe there was someone else he was friends with, not associated with law enforcement.

  But his search was futile. He’d need to find out from Jemma if there was anyone in particular from Cunningham’s past who may be swayed into doing something as despicable as attempting to kidnap a kid, stalking a cop’s ex-wife, and assaulting a cop.

  Seemed incredible that anyone would need money that badly to do something so drastic.

  Dejected, he stood and walked back out to his squad car. It was close to three in the afternoon, time to make another loop through town. He knew that just having law enforcement visible was enough to deter many a criminal act.

  Thankfully, Clark County wasn’t a hot bed of illegal activity. Oh, they had the usual drug abuse issues that everyone else across the country struggled with and the accompanying petty theft. But the closest thing to attempted murder he’d seen recently was when Jazzlyn’s ex-fiancé had tried to cut her throat.

  And now another McNally sibling was in trouble. Maybe he should be glad the McNally brothers hadn’t shown up yet. He’d learned from Jazz last month there were a total of four McNally brothers, all older than the twins. If the brothers attracted as much trouble as the twins had, they’d need more police support. There were only a couple of deputies on duty at a time.

  Thinking of Jazzlyn’s case made him remember old Leon Tate and the animosity he held toward the McNallys. Maybe he should visit the Tates, see if he could convince them to come clean about whatever is bothering them.

  With a destination in mind, he drove through town and turned right on Maple Street. Leon Tate didn’t live far from Betty Cromwell, and he liked to cruise past her Cape Cod on a regular basis too. Elderly residents were often viewed as easy targets by drug users, and as much as Betty drove him crazy with her nonstop gossip, he didn’t want to see anything bad happen to her.

  He pulled into Leon Tate’s driveway when a call came through his radio. “Unit ten, there’s a vandalism call outside the Friendly Fitness Center.”

  “Unit ten, responding.” He threw the gearshift into reverse and backed out of Leon Tate’s driveway. He hit the strobe lights and maneuvered through traffic to the Friendly Fitness Center, located on the opposite side of Main Street, a few blocks down from the grocery store.

  When he turned in, he was shocked to see Jemma standing in the doorway, holding Trey on her hip. Her face was pale, and there were damp tear tracks on her cheeks.

  He leaped from the car and rushed to her side, pulling her and Trey into his arms. “Jemma! Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was low and husky, muffled against his chest. Embracing her felt right, and he didn’t want to let her go. “But the van isn’t.”

  The van? Without releasing his hold, he glanced over his shoulder. It wasn’t difficult to find the older model green Dodge van in a parking stall several spaces down from the front door of the fitness center. A red haze of fury clouded his vision when he realized that all four tires had been slashed with a knife.

  Cunningham or his puppet had struck again.

  6

  Jemma couldn’t help leaning on Garth, her knees weak and shaky. His woodsy scent and the reassuring comfort of his arms around her waist were exactly what she needed.

  This was what she thought she’d have with Randal.

  Strength. Support. Caring.

  Instead what he’d given her was fear, intimidation, and cruelty. She blinked back a fresh wave of tears, hit by an overwhelming wave of despair. Would this ongoing torture never stop?

  Garth’s arms tightened around her. “Did you just notice this when you came out of the gym?”

  She nodded, her throat tight with tears, making it impossible to speak. The peaceful Zen feeling she’d managed to find after forty-five minutes of yoga had vanished in an instant.

  The slashed tires had brought her back to cold, hard reality.

  “Okay, I need to do some interviews, see if one of the pedestrians happened to see anyone lurking around.”

  She closed her eyes for a second, wishing she could stay with him like this indefinitely.

  But of course, she couldn’t. Garth had a job to do, and she had a son to care for and protect. Jemma dragged in a deep breath and found the courage to lift her head and take a step backward. Since her knees still felt weak, she leaned back against the doorframe and subtly shifted Trey in her arms.

  Garth didn’t leave right away but placed his index finger under her chin, lifting her face so he could look at her. “I’m going to take care of this, Jemma. Once I finish interviewing the staff, I’ll drive you and Trey home.”

  His gentle tone was nearly her undoing. She blinked away renewed tears and took a moment to clear her throat, finally finding her voice. “Thank you.”

  He cupped her cheek with his hand and swiped the dampness away from her cheeks with the soft pad of his thumb. The gesture was surprisingly intimate, and it was all she could do not to throw herself back into his arms.

  Garth moved away, and she turned her attention to her son. The way he was sucking his thumb, a habit she’d thought they’d broken, it was obvious Trey had picked up on her emotional distress.

  “Guess what?” She forced a cheerful note in her tone. “We’re going to get to ride in the police car. Won’t that be fun?”

  Trey blinked, then removed his thumb from his mouth. “Will we hear the sirens?”

  “No, the police only use sirens when there’s an emergency.”

  Trey frowned and pointed at Garth’s squad car. “But the lights are on, does that mean there’s a ’mergency?”

  “No. Everything is fine.” She hated the thought of her son being exposed to danger like this. The four slashed tires had been a terrifying message, proof that either Randal himself or someone else was following her.

  How else would her ex have known about her trip to the fitness center? She’d only decided to attend shortly after lunch and hadn’t told anyone.

  Not even Jazz and Dalton.

  She shivered and scanned the faces of the gaping onlookers that had gathered around when Garth had driven up in the Clark County Sheriff’s Department vehicle. She didn’t see anyone who looked guilty, although she noticed there was an old guy leaning on a cane who wore a smirk on his face.

  As if on cue, Garth approached the guy. She was too far away to hear their conversation, but the old man’s smirk vanished, replaced by a deep scowl. After a few minutes of what appeared to be terse conversation, the old guy turned and slowly stumped away.

  Trey grew antsy, so she gently set him on his feet, but held firmly onto his hand. “Stay by Mommy,” she warned.

  He tugged on her hand. “Wanna see the police car.”

  She relented, allowing Trey to lead her toward Garth’s vehicle. Then she picked him up, so he could see the spinning red and blue lights up close. He reached out a hand to touch them, giggling with excitement. “Pretty. Like Christmas.”

  Not exactly, she thought with a small sigh.

  Trey stared, entranced by the twirling lights. When he grew heavy, she set him down. He rubbed his hand over the lettering etched on the side. “Police,” he said, as if pretending to read.

  “Clark County Sheriff’s Department,” she said, pointing at each word as she spoke. “Deputy Lewis works for the Sheriff’s Department.”

 
Trey looked confused. “Police? I have a police badge, right?”

  “Yes, police,” she agreed, suddenly weary. There was no easy way to describe the difference between a sheriff’s deputy and a regular police officer to a three-year-old.

  Fifteen minutes later, Garth walked over. “Ready to get home?”

  “Very. I’ll just grab Trey’s car seat from the van.” She dug in her purse for the keys, and Garth gently took them from her.

  “Stay here with Trey. I’ll get it.”

  There was a small part of her that wanted to insist she could do these things on her own, but she told herself to let it go. Garth wasn’t trying to be controlling, the way Randal had been. He was being sweet and kind. Comforting her when she needed it.

  Trusting another man, especially a cop, wasn’t easy, but somehow Garth had found the perfect balance of being protective and complimentary of her cooking skills. She appreciated having him to lean on in a stressful time like this.

  The weight of the van sat heavily on the rims, and she idly wondered if she’d need to replace them as well as the tires. Plus, the stupid thing would have to be towed to a garage. How much would all of that cost? Sure, she had insurance but carried a thousand-dollar deductible.

  The van wasn’t worth much more than that, but it was all she had. And all she could afford until money started coming in from their business. Randal paid child support, but only the bare minimum since she’d traded that for sole custody.

  Garth strapped the car seat in the back of the squad car, then stepped back so she could place Trey inside. The wire cage separating the front seat from the back was intimidating, but her son didn’t seem to mind.

  “Who was that old guy you were talking to?” she asked, when Garth pulled out of the parking lot.

  He glanced at her. “Leon Tate.”

  The name registered with a click. “Oh yeah, Jazz mentioned something about him holding a grudge against our family. No wonder he was smirking.”

  “He claims he had nothing to do with slashing your tires, but I haven’t taken him off the suspect list just yet.”

  That surprised her. “Why not? I’m sure this was Randal’s handiwork.”

  Garth nodded. “Your ex is my primary suspect, but I won’t rule out anyone without proof.” He grimaced. “Unfortunately, no one claims to have seen anyone hanging around your van or the parking lot in general.”

  “That figures.” In her mind, that only pushed Randal higher on the list. Her ex would be too smart to slash tires while someone was looking.

  “I’m in jail,” Trey announced from the back seat. “It’s a ’mergency. You gotta use the sirens.”

  Garth grinned. “Okay, but only for a minute because driving you home, or even to jail, is not an emergency.”

  “Sirens,” Trey demanded, kicking his feet against the child safety seat. “I wanna hear the sirens.”

  Garth moved his hand toward the switch, but she quickly stopped him. “Wait, you shouldn’t give in,” she admonished. “He needs to learn he can’t have everything he wants.”

  Garth hesitated, then shrugged. “Seems like a small thing to give him, after everything he’s been through today.”

  Their gazes clung for a fraction of a second. She smiled and nodded. Garth waited until he was in the driveway of the B&B before he flicked the switch so that the sirens wailed.

  Trey clapped his hands over his ears. “Too loud!”

  “Okay, it’s off now.” Garth grinned at her. “Guess he won’t be asking for sirens again any time, soon.”

  “Right?” She couldn’t help but smile. After pushing open her passenger-side door, she opened the back door to rescue Trey. He wasn’t crying, but he still had his hands over his ears.

  “It’s okay, Trey.” She tugged his hands away from his ears. “See? No more loud noises.”

  “Bad sirens hurt my ears,” Trey said in a solemn tone.

  She shook her head and lifted him out of the squad car. When he was on his feet, she set about removing the car seat.

  “How do you feel about driving a truck?” Garth asked, taking the car seat from her hands.

  She shrugged and kept an eye on Trey. “Not that much different from a van, size-wise. I’m sure Jazz will let me borrow hers.”

  “I’ll loan you mine. The sheriff won’t mind if I use the squad car for a while.” Garth carried the car seat toward the garage.

  “That’s nice, but not necessary.” She grabbed Trey’s hand, unwilling to let him wander too far away, then punched in the code. The door slowly lifted upward. He set the seat inside and then waited for her to close it again.

  “I insist.” He glanced at his watch. “Listen, I need to finish up my report on your tires, then I’ll stop by my place to pick up my truck. I won’t forget to grab our Chinese for dinner either. Should be back in an hour.”

  “Okay. Thanks again for the ride.” She decided to wait until later to argue with him about borrowing his truck. “Come on, Trey. Would you like a snack? Maybe animal crackers?”

  Her son nodded, his fear over the loud sirens apparently forgotten.

  She held the door for Trey, then followed him inside. She stood at the door, watching as Garth drove away.

  Feeling vulnerable and alone, she closed and locked the front door, trying to shake off the ridiculous feeling. She’d been constantly looking over her shoulder for Randal since she’d garnered the courage to leave him. She didn’t want to regress to that panicky state now.

  Jazz and Dalton were right next door.

  And Garth would return in an hour. She felt cold despite the warm weather, then reminded herself that whoever might be following her must have noticed how she’d been given a ride home by a sheriff’s deputy. She doubted he’d be so quick to make another move against her.

  She just wished she knew what would scare the guy off, for good.

  Garth finished his report in record time, then also made arrangements for Jemma’s van to be towed to a local garage. He couldn’t explain why he’d felt so nervous leaving Jemma and Trey at the B&B alone.

  At his place, he tossed his shaving kit and a spare change of casual clothes into his duffel bag. No need for a uniform because he’d switched shifts, picking up Friday so he could be off tomorrow, Wednesday.

  He intended to be close at hand the next time her ex-husband, or his vandal-for-hire, struck out at her. At the rate he was going, it wouldn’t be long before he made his next move.

  The scent of Chinese food filled the interior of his truck as he drove to the B&B. As he pulled into the driveway, he was struck by the odd feeling of coming home.

  Crazy, because the B&B was hardly a home. It was a place of business. He was only staying there temporarily. Yet he couldn’t deny the yellow room called to him in a way his apartment never could.

  Whoa. What was he thinking? This couldn’t ever be his home. He sat for a moment, reminding himself that he shouldn’t get personally involved with Jemma and Trey. He needed some professional distance in order to protect them.

  Glancing at the duffel on the floor of the passenger seat, he realized it was too late.

  He’d already crossed the line.

  The image of Kate Bruno’s face and that of her innocent daughter, Sophie, flashed in his mind, and his heart squeezed with dread. They’d both almost died on his watch.

  Because he’d gotten too close. Had let his feelings interfere with his duty. Had thought everything was fine, when it clearly wasn’t.

  He couldn’t, wouldn’t do that again. He considered backing out of his request to stay overnight in the B&B, then decided he couldn’t disappoint Jemma.

  Or risk leaving her and Trey alone and vulnerable.

  With an inward sigh, he slid out from behind the wheel, then went around to sling his duffel bag over his shoulder, then pulled out the large white bag of Chinese food.

  Jazz answered the front door. “Right on time,” she said lightly, although her gaze remained serious. “Jem told us about he
r van, and I hear you took care of getting it towed, for which we are very grateful. Do you have any leads on who is behind all this?”

  He was relieved Jemma had mentioned the news herself. He’d felt bad ratting her out earlier. “Not yet.”

  “It’s her ex-husband,” Jazz said firmly.

  “Probably,” he agreed. “But I can’t prove it. And his boss has provided an alibi.”

  Jazz frowned. “That means he hired someone to do it.”

  “That’s my best guess.” He remembered his intent to grill Jemma on who her ex was friendly with, outside of other cops on the Bloomington police force. “Again, not much I can do without some kind of evidence.”

  “Something smells good,” Dalton said as he came into the great room.

  “Chinese.” Garth handed the bag to Dalton. “I hope there’s enough,” he joked. “I forgot I was feeding a small army.”

  Dalton peered into the bag with a frown. “I don’t know, I mean this is good for me, but I don’t know what the rest of you are going to eat.”

  For a moment Garth froze, wondering if he was serious. Had he underestimated how much food they’d need?

  “Stop it,” Jazz chided with a smile. “Garth isn’t used to your warped sense of humor. I’m sure there’s plenty for all of us.”

  Feeling foolish and awkward, Garth followed Jazz and Dalton into the kitchen, his gaze zeroing in on Jemma. She wore a pair of slim ankle-length tan slacks with a bright orange blouse that accented the blond highlights in her hair. She looked lovely, and his pulse jumped erratically.

  Yep, he’d crossed the line, big time.

  “How come you’re not wearing your uniform?” Trey asked.

  “I’m off duty.” He knelt down to look the boy in the eye. “Why don’t you call me Garth instead of policeman?”

  “Garf?” Trey cocked his head to the side. “Your name is Garf?”

  “Rhymes with barf,” Dalton teased.

  “Deputy Lewis,” Jemma said forcefully, crossing over to pick up her son. “You may call him Deputy Lewis. Not barf-er-Garth.”