Being ex-military, Charlie was shock-proof, so he didn’t give a rat’s ass what she looked like. She was a tech genius, a member of Mensa, better at Karate than he was, had a pilot’s license and drove a Mercedes.

  He had yet to find something she couldn’t do—and do well. But it was her unwavering honesty, her dedication to making his company successful, and knowing she always had his back that made him tolerate her constant and brutal assessment of what he was doing wrong.

  When he finally saw the I35 exit that would take him to downtown Dallas, he accelerated into the curve. As he was turning, his phone rang. Assuming it was Wyrick calling to ask him where the hell he was at, he answered with an edge in his voice.

  “What?”

  “Is this Charlie Dodge?”

  He frowned. It wasn’t Wyrick.

  “Yes, who is this, and how did you get my number?”

  “This is Jason Dunleavy of the Denver Dunleavys. I want to hire you.”

  The tone of Charlie’s voice reflected his disbelief as he was trying to remember why that name was familiar. “How did you get my number?” he asked again.

  “Ted Dunleavy gave it to me.”

  “Dr. Dunleavy gave out my personal number?”

  “Not exactly. I might have gotten it off his phone without his permission, but he did recommend you, and this is a matter of great—”

  Charlie disconnected and focused on the drive.

  Getting to the high-rise where his office was located was second nature, and driving into the attached parking garage eased some of his tension. He turned off the windshield wipers and drove up to the sixth floor, then to his assigned parking space, and got out.

  He paused, giving his stiff knee a few minutes to adjust, then started walking. The sound of the rain drowned out the normal echo of his footsteps, which made him jumpy. If he couldn’t hear himself, he wouldn’t be able to hear anyone else. He glanced over his shoulder more than once as he continued toward the entrance that would take him into the adjacent building, and breathed easier once he swiped his key card and went inside.

  He was wondering what was so important that Wyrick needed signed, and made quick work of getting to the office.

  The moment he walked in, he smelled the sandalwood candle Wyrick burned discreetly in the break room—and then did his best not to react to what she was wearing when he saw her coming out on her way to her desk.

  Skin-tight black pants tucked inside knee boots, a black turtleneck, a black bomber jacket. Her only concession to femininity was the black eyeliner and the purple eye shadow. She looked far taller than her six feet, and when she glared, she was almost scary.

  “Good morning,” Wyrick said.

  “That’s debatable,” Charlie muttered. “What is it you want me to sign?”

  She opened a file, feathered a half-dozen pages with tabs marked for signature in front of him, and handed him a pen.

  He was just about to scan the text when the office door opened. The secretary from the insurance agency across the hall walked in carrying a notary stamp, followed by two of the agents who worked there.

  “What are they doing here?” Charlie asked.

  She pointed at the papers. “If these are agreeable, we need them notarized.”

  He looked back at the papers.“Exactly what am I reading here?” he asked.

  “The papers you asked to be drawn up regarding Annie’s care should anything happen to you.”

  “Oh.”

  He scanned the pages all the way to the last one and then stopped.

  “Why isn’t my cousin Laura’s name on these papers like I asked?”

  “Because when I ran a background check on her, I discovered she’s in rehab, for the third time I might add, and for a gambling addiction. I assumed you wouldn’t want her in control of the money for Annie’s care.”

  Charlie blinked. “Straitlaced Laura gambles?”

  Wyrick pointed to another file on her desk. “The facts are all there.”

  He waved that aside.

  “Then there’s nothing to sign until—”

  “Read page three, paying closer attention to section A, subsection 1, this time, ” Wyrick insisted.

  He fumbled through the pages, read the text, then suddenly stopped and looked up. “You?”

  “Until you find someone else, I’m the logical substitute. I don’t need money, and I honor your devotion to your wife. When you find another more agreeable family member, we can change it. This just protects her until you do.”

  Charlie stared. First at the purple eye shadow, and then at the nearly black lipstick she was wearing—and realized he trusted Wyrick with his life every day. He could trust her with Annie’s, as well.

  “Thank you,” he said gruffly. Hesigned the papers, and handed them to the notary, who instructed the witnesses where to sign. She stamped and signed them before handing the papers to Wyrick as they left the office.

  Charlie was still speechless about the fact that his cousin was in rehab when Wyrick got up to make copies. She gave him the original, filed one and laid the last one on her desk.

  “I’ll mail this one to your lawyer to have on file.”

  He nodded. “So, am I done here?”

  “Yes, unless you want to—”

  “Whatever you were going to say, the answer is no. I’m going to see Annie. Don’t bother me with phone calls. Whatever happens, take messages.”

  Charlie paused, waiting for her to acknowledge she’d understood. His eyes narrowed.

  “Damn it, Wyrick, did you hear me?”

  She was addressing an envelope to his lawyer and didn’t bother even looking up.

  “Of course I heard you. I may not have boobs, but there’sd nothing wrong with my ears. Stop being pissy and go see your wife.”

  “Who’s the boss in this office?” Charlie snapped.

  Now she did look up, pinning him in place with that black, bottomless stare she’d perfected, and said nothing.

  He stared back at her, willing himself not to be the first to look away, and focused instead on the tic beside her right eye.

  “Fine,” he muttered, and started to walk off when he heard the sound of running footsteps and a man burst into the room, slamming the door behind him.

  He was middle-aged but fit, and his Gucci suit attested to either a big spending habit or big money. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and began mopping his brow, then straightening his tie, as he fixed Charlie with a frantic look.

  “Are you Charlie Dodge?”

  Charlie thought he resembled an older version of the actor Robert Downey, Jr, right down to the dapper black mustache.

  “Yes,” Charlie said. “Who are you?”

  “Anson Stiller. I need your help. Someone is trying to kill me.”

  Before Charlie could respond, they all heard another set of footsteps out in the hall. The stride was long and the steps were heavy. He glanced at Stiller. The man looked like he was going to faint, and then the door flew inward and Stiller screamed.

  “That’s him! That’s the man who’s trying to kill me!”

  The man saw Stiller, doubled his fists and headed toward him, roaring with rage.

  Charlie was braced to stop him when Wyrick stood up from her desk and shot him with a Taser. The man dropped like a felled ox, jerking and seizing.

  Stiller spun, looking at the six-foot Amazon in disbelief.

  Charlie glared. “Damn it, Wyrick, I had it covered.”

  “The last time you had a fight in here, you broke my desk,” she said.

  “Fine.” Charliestaried at the man still in the throes of the electrical charge. “Call the cops. I’ll handcuff him.”

  He yanked the Taser prongs out of the big man’s chest and rolled and handcuffed him before he could come to his senses.

  Stiller’s mouth was agape.

  Charlie pointed. “You said this is the man who’s trying to kill you?”

  Stiller nodded.

  “So, I believe your problem’s been solved. I have a minimum charge of five thousand dollars for a simple service. I take check or credit card. Wyrick will write you a receipt.”

  Stiller frowned as he reached for his wallet.

  “Out of curiosity, why was he trying to kill you?” Charlie asked.

  Stiller shrugged as he pulled out a gold credit card and handed it over.

  “I was having an affair.”

  “What does he have to do with it?”

  “He’s the one I was having the affair with,” Stiller said. “I broke it off this morning. He didn’t take the news very well.”

  Charlie could hear sirens, which was good. A few minutes later the sound of more footsteps could be heard. He went to the door, and then waved at the trio of police officers coming down the hall.

  “In here,” he said.

  The trio from Dallas P.D. entered the room.

  “Hey, Dodge, what’s going on here?” one of them asked.

  Charlie pointed at Stiller.

  “He’ll tell you all about it. Right now all you need to know is the dude in handcuffs was supposedly trying to kill the dude in the Gucci suit. I’m late for an appointment. If you need anything else, ask Wyrick. She’s the one who took him down.”

  The officers knew all about Dodge’s assistant. He realized she made them nervous, but a witness was a witness. They walked toward her desk as Charlie went out the door. By the time he got to the parking garage, he was already thinking of Annie.

  It would be twenty-three years this May since they’d married, and going on three years since her early-onset Alzheimer’s diagnosis. She’d lost cognizance so fast that he’d been forced to place her in Morning Light for her own safety. It was a memory care center, twenty minutes from his Dallas townhouse, and the fact that they were now in charge of her care and he was just the visitor in her life grated on every nerve he had.

  He drove out of the parking garage and back into the rain with all the intensity of going to war. He hadn’t seen her in a week. She didn’t miss him, but he missed her, to the point of physical pain.

  He wondered if the cops had left his office yet, but wasn’t worried. Wyrick could handle herself. And most times she handled him, too, even though she was supposed to answer to him. He was, after all, the damn boss.

  Memo to self: But he did answer to her. She ran his private investigation business like a Fortune 500 company, while treating him like the janitor who never swept the corners. And he tolerated it.

  He braked for a red light and as he did, saw the car in front of him shoot through the intersection and get T-boned by the driver of a delivery van. Both drivers got out in the rain. One was yelling. The other was waving his arms. One swung, one ducked, and the fight was on.

  As soon as the light turned green, Charlie drove out around them and moved down the street. A couple of blocks later, he was turning the corner toward the care center when a cop car came toward him from the other direction, running hot. The cop’s lights and siren probably had more to do with the fight than the accident.

  When he drove into the parking lot at Morning Light and saw emergency vehicles in front of the building, he frowned. Surely if this had anything to do with Annie they would have notified him. He checked his cell phone to make sure he hadn’t missed a call, and then breathed a little easier when it was clear.

  He parked as close to the entrance as he could, then ran into the building, dripping water as he went. And as always, the moment he crossed the threshold he felt off-balance—like the residents who lived here.

  The receptionist, a middle-aged woman who went by the name of Pinky, saw him coming. He could tell she was trying to gauge his mood. However, their relationship was barely cordial, so she quickly looked away. She’d pissed him off once and clearly didn’t want a repeat of that day.

  No smile.

  Steely eyes.

  Square jaw.

  He knew he scared the shit out of her.

  “Good morning, Mr. Dodge.”

  “Who’s the ambulance for?”

  “It’s not for your wife. She’s in the solarium,” Pinky added.

  Charlie signed in, then strode past the desk, still dripping water, and stopped at the door, waiting to be buzzed in. As soon as he heard the click, he went inside, moving past the patients wandering the halls without making eye contact, ignoring the ones slumped over in wheelchairs, and cursing beneath his breath as he passed the woman crying in the hall.

  Once he’d asked what was wrong with her, and they’d told him when she wasn’t sleeping, she just cried, because it was all she remembered how to do. He couldn’t imagine Annie ever being in that condition, and yet he knew it was only a matter of time.

  The solarium wasn’t as bright as usual because of the rain. The dark red blooms on the crepe myrtle visible from the windows, drooped heavily on the limbs from the added weight. Today the heavens cried for Annie and others like her, and tomorrow the ground beneath those same bushes would be red with blossoms—a little bloodshed in their names.

  An old man sidled up to him, staring intently into his face.

  “Are you Marty?” he asked.

  “No, I’m not Marty,” Charlie said.

  “Are you Marty?” he repeated.

  Before Charlie could answer, an aide came after the old man and walked him away.

  Charlie swallowed past the knot in his throat. He hated this part of coming here. His heart was pounding now as he scanned the room until he saw her, sitting at one of the long tables with pieces of a jigsaw puzzle scattered before her.

  He approached her with a calm he didn’t feel, thinking as he came closer that she still had the same pretty curve to the back of her neck. Same ash-blonde hair as the day he’d met her, and she was wearing blue, her favorite color.

  He had a dream of her that recurred often.

  The one where she turned in her chair and smiled at him.

  The one where she laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  That dream.

  His gaze slid from her to the table.

  Annie loved jigsaw puzzles—at least she had in the time before. Today she was picking up pieces, then putting them down in another spot on the table or in her lap, and repeating the process over and over—picking them up, putting them down, unable to remember what to do with them next.

  As he slid into the seat beside her, he wanted to lean over and kiss the spot behind her ear that used to make her sigh. Instead, he began picking out the pieces that made up the border and putting them together.

  “Do I know you?” Annie asked.

  She always asked him the same thing, and it was a bloodless gutting every time he heard it.

  “You used to,” he said.

  She picked up a piece of the puzzle from the pile in her lap and handed it to him without making eye contact.

  He took it without comment and laid it aside as he continued to search for pieces of the border. The more pieces he fitted in, the more she gave him, until she’d handed him the one that finished the border.

  She leaned forward, staring intently at the puzzle and all the empty space yet to fill in, then looked at him and smiled.

  “It fits,” she said.

  He watched her eyes, trying desperately to hold onto that brief moment of cognizance, but it was already gone. She’d forgotten the puzzle, like she’s forgotten him, and was looking through the windows into the garden.

  His cell phone rang. He glanced down and saw his office number on Caller ID. Damn it! He’d told Wyrick not to call him and ignored it.

  A moment later he got a text.

  Answer your fucking phone. We have an issue.

  He sent back a text.

  I’m with Annie.

  There’s a gas leak at our building because the one across the street is on fire. What do you want saved most—your computers or your hard copies?

  “Shit,” he muttered and sent back a text.

  Computers and I’m on the way.

  Annie was still staring out the window when he got up and paused long enough to whisper in her ear. “I remember us.”

  He walked away, trying not to focus on how much it hurt to breathe.

  Pinky looked up as he strode past the front desk.

  “You didn’t sign out,” she called.

  He kept walking. By the time he got to the car, he was running. Despite the rain, he could already see a black cloud of smoke billowing above the Dallas skyline as he headed for the office.

  * * *

  Wyrick was in recovery mode and making what was probably her third or fourth trip, carrying computer equipment to her Mercedes, when Charlie pulled into the parking garage, parking in the slot beside her.

  Not for the first time did Charlie wonder how she could afford a Mercedes like that. They started at a hundred and fifteen thousand dollars, went from zero to sixty mph in five point three seconds, had a five hundred and thirty-six horsepower engine and five hundred sixty pounds of torque. He knew because he’d looked it up it in a moment of curiosity. It had more gadgets inside it than something out of a James Bond movie.

  He drove a Jeep.

  “I have one more trip to make for the computer stuff,” she yelled as he got out. “The hard copy files are boxed. You get them.” She ran back into the building.

  The urgency in her voice shot through him, and he lengthened his stride as he ran inside behind her.

  “I thought we were leaving the hard copies,” He said.

  “I wanted both.”

  “Where is everyone?” Charlie asked, staring at the office doors all standing ajar.

  “They began evacuation soon after you left,” Wyrick said.

  He frowned as he stacked two boxes of files. “Then what the hell are you still doing in here?”

  “Same thing you are,” she snapped. “Hurry up. We can finish this in two trips now that you’re here.”

  He ran without thought, dumped the boxes in the back seat of his Jeep and was on his way back to the office as a work crew from the gas company pulled up inside the parking garage. They followed Charlie and Wyrick inside, shouting as they went. “You’re not supposed to be here!”

 

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