The Chance (Thunder Point #4)(37)

“I don’t know about that. Maybe too much has happened between us. To me all a truce means is that I’m willing to accept his negative attitude toward me and what I do. I can’t change him. I’m happier just being estranged. But will you please do something for me? Will you call him and ask him why he’s calling me? What does he want? Because you can actually talk to him.”

“If that’s what you want. But that doesn’t sound like you’re through with him.”

“Please?” she asked.

An hour later Pax called her back. “He said he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. He hasn’t called you. He asked me to check on you and make sure you’re all right.”

“What? Why wouldn’t I be all right? I’m not calling him!”

“Okay,” Pax said. “I’ll tell him.”

“What else did he say?” Laine asked suspiciously.

“He said he didn’t...” Pax paused. “He asked me if you had our mother’s phone and I said of course not. Doesn’t he have it? Did we throw it out?”

“I thought Senior put it in a drawer or something. We stopped service when she...”

“Then...listen, I don’t know how to say this, Laine. He wondered if you were finally flipping out. He suggested PTSD from all your insane undercover work. His words, not mine.”

She growled into the phone. “Thanks! I’ll be texting you from my new number in the next day or two!”

* * *

Eric was ready to leave the station before Norm arrived to watch over the evening shift. Norm had called to say he was running a little late but would be there by seven. Ordinarily that wouldn’t make any difference. Up until now, there were only two things that mattered a whole lot in Eric’s life—Ashley and the station.

But now there was Laine. And something had been bothering her the past day or two. When he tried calling her cell the call wouldn’t go through.

“Just go,” Justin said. “You’re going to Laine’s, right? Two blocks away? If I have a problem in the next hour, I’ll call you. But I won’t.”

“I guess it would be okay,” Eric said.

“You worry too much, man,” he said. “What’s going to happen? Armed bandits? Or maybe you’re afraid I’ll steal from you?”

Eric frowned. “You’d do that exactly once,” he said. “Actually, I thought something might come up for you, that your mom or brothers might need you for some reason. If that happens, call me. I can be here in five minutes.”

Justin actually laughed. “That so? Five minutes? Then your love life is pretty sad. Maybe you need a few pointers?”

“Oh, really? Do we need to talk about that?” Eric asked, really hoping the answer was no.

“I’m not talking,” Justin said. “Just trust me—you can’t even compete!”

“Check,” Eric said. “The topic of our next weekly meeting.”

“We don’t have weekly meetings!”

But Eric had accidentally fathered a child, something for which he was grateful now, but that didn’t speak to the fact that it shouldn’t have happened. “We do now, Casanova. Call me if you need me.”

“Y’know, if you pay attention you’ll see I can manage nights and weekends just fine. And I could use the hours anyway. In fact, I’m up for learning some more mechanics. Doesn’t that get a little bump in pay?”

“We’ll talk about it at our next weekly meeting.”

Eric stopped off in the washroom to scrub up a little bit. It was a habit. He didn’t go out before making sure there was no grease under his nails. He also washed his face. He used to brush his teeth, but now there was a spare toothbrush in Laine’s bathroom. In fact, a couple of changes of clothes had somehow drifted over to her house. And he had a key for those late nights.

The French doors were closed against the late February chill, but he could see she was out on the deck, reclining on the chaise, wrapped in a quilt, her fire pit lit against the descending darkness. He moved out onto the deck cautiously. For all he knew, she was armed! As he moved toward her he could see her earbuds in her ears. She was gazing out over the fire toward the bay. He casually stood in front of her.

“Eric!” She pulled out the earbuds. “I’m sorry! I forgot it was your early night!”

He smiled at her. “That’s okay, you’ve been preoccupied with something. You look comfortable. And warm.”

“I didn’t cook anything,” she said apologetically.

He moved closer and pushed her feet up so he could sit on the end of the chaise. “You’re not looking for a man to take care of, remember? I’ll make sure we eat. What’s taking up my space in your brain?”

“Huh?”

“Usually when you know I’m coming you lay a nice trap for me.” He grinned at her. “The past couple of days something has been off. You know you aren’t stuck with me. If you need alone time, all you have to do is—”

“Stop,” she said. “You’re the best part of my day. Every day. It’s not you.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t know what to say,” she said with a shrug. “I told you, I’m at odds with my father. I always have been, but it’s worse since my mom died. A couple of days ago he called my cell phone every couple of hours for a whole day and only left one message—asking me where I was and when was I coming home. That’s it. No apology, no asking me to call him, just that one odd message. So I called Pax, asked him to check with Senior, find out why he was calling me. He said he had never called, said I had PTSD from all my ‘ridiculous undercover work.’”