Читать книгу A Season For Family - Mae Nunn - Страница 12

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 waved away Heath’s concern. “Oh, the paint is donated and I do all the work myself.”

“You’re the artist?” Heath stared again at the walls.

“Oh, I don’t know about being an artist, but I do all the painting around here. I had some help with the exterior, but I did the inside by myself before we opened.”

Heath couldn’t recall another day in his life when he’d been caught off guard so many times in such a brief period. Either this woman was something special or he was slipping.

Whatever the answer turned out to be, it was just a job. A job standing between him and the rest of his life.

“I came to get you for Bible study,” Olivia explained.

“It’s been a long day. Can’t I get a pass since it’s my first night here?”

“Nice try, but I already saved you a seat up front.” A smirk lifted one corner of her mouth. “Right next to Amos.”

Heath was mesmerized by Olivia as she spoke to the small group. She perched on a folding chair in the common space they called the big room, sitting tall with one foot tucked beneath her. For half an hour she talked about the Book of Job in a way that made the man’s struggles come to life, like the scenes she’d painted on the walls in the hallway.

Until that moment Heath had viewed Job merely as one more character from the stories he’d been told during childhood. Noah built his ark, Moses parted the Red Sea and Lazarus returned from the dead. Those were little more than fairy tales to Heath. Still, he loved a good superhero.

But Olivia was presenting a flesh-and-blood man whose trust in God overcame the worst trials Satan had up his sleeve. She made a convincing argument for faith and it was tempting to buy into her perspective.

Heath would keep that in mind. Charisma was an excellent shield. The world was full of smooth-talking leaders with hidden agendas. A disapproving puff of air rushed past Heath’s lips at the aggravating thought.

The point of an elbow poked against his ribs. Amos’s scowl indicated that Heath should bow his head, somebody was praying. He dipped his chin but slanted his eyes toward the others. He recognized a few faces from dinner, when he’d kept mostly to himself. During the meal he’d risked a glance across the room at Olivia. Her eyes were already fixed on him, affirming what he expected; she was keeping him under scrutiny.

And she should. He was a stranger, new on her turf, and as far as she knew he’d been convicted of a cyber crime. Yet he hadn’t seen any judgment in her eyes, only kindness.

The closing prayer droned on, so Heath’s gaze wandered back to the front of the room and homed in on Olivia. As if he’d tapped her on the shoulder, she looked up, gave him a brief smile and lowered her eyelids again.

“Shame on you,” Amos hissed when the meeting was dismissed.

“For what?”

“For lookin’ around when Bruce was praying.”

“If you’d been minding your own business you wouldn’t have noticed.”

“I was just checkin’ to make sure you were participating.”

“I agreed to attend. I never said I’d participate.”

“That’s true.” Olivia came to his rescue. “Heath is meeting all the requirements and he’s done an okay job.” She looked his way, her eyes wide with expectation. “So far.”

“It must be tough to get an atta boy around here,” he mumbled.

Olivia watched a sullen glaze settle in Heath’s eyes, like that of a brooding boy who longed for approval.

“Well, it’s a bit soon for praise, don’t you think? Give me a few days to see how you fold laundry and make beds.”

Heath’s shoulders slumped forward. He shoved his fists deep into the pockets of his baggy jeans, hiding and folding in on himself in one motion.

Olivia couldn’t wait to get his enrollment forms and study them in her personal quarters upstairs, the only truly private area of the shelter. Something was up with this guy and she planned to figure it out during the time he’d be completing his community service.

“Come on, sugar cookie.” Velma appeared at Heath’s side. “I’ll show you the rest of the place.”

“I’ll take over from here,” Olivia was firm. She looked from Velma to Amos. “I need the two of you to get a final head count before we lock up for the night.”

“Alrighty, then.” Velma fanned her fingers in a goodbye and tugged at Amos’s sleeve to ensure that he was close behind.

“Thanks for joining us this evening.” Olivia acknowledged Heath’s presence in her Bible study.

“I didn’t think I had a choice.”

“You didn’t. But you attended without an argument and that’s appreciated.”

“Do you get much backtalk?”

Olivia couldn’t hold in a smile. The guy seemed clueless about the streets. Maybe his tough look was all for show and he really was a nerd in skater boy clothing after all.

“What’s so funny?” His brows drew together.

She motioned toward the coffee station and moved away from the conversation couches of the big room. She poured a cup and turned her back to the others as she offered it to Heath.

“Homeless folks can be unpredictable.” She kept her voice low. “Sometimes they’re so worn down by their circumstances that there’s no fight left. It’s all they can do to put one foot in front of the other each day looking for shelter and food. Other times they’re like cheap firecrackers. The fuse is already short and it’s just a matter of time before they explode.

“And, sadly, we get our fair share of clients with mental problems. We do the best we can, referring folks where better resources can meet their needs.”

He nodded. “So, if nobody melts down or blows a gasket it’s a good day.”

“That’s it in a nutshell.” Olivia tore off several sheets from the wall-mounted paper towel dispenser and began wiping up drips and splashes around the coffee urn.

Heath leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, shook his head. “Isn’t there a smarter way for a single lady to make a living? I mean, where’s your chance for advancement, your five-year plan?”

“Thoughtful questions from a guy spending his vacation in a homeless shelter because he was too shortsighted to consider the consequences of a prank against city government.”

Olivia couldn’t resist dishing it right back when Heath had the nerve to question the wisdom of her professional decisions.

“My bad.” Heath lowered his eyes, tapped the toe of his sneaker against the linoleum of the big room.

Was hanging his handsome head a sign of humility? Or shame? Or just an act?

Olivia planned to figure out which one it was but she didn’t need to get in a hurry. Heath still had about ninety-five hours left on his sentence, plenty of time for her to decide what made him tick.