One Perfect Love

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Book excerpt

Chapter One

Jenny knelt in front of the small headstone, reaching out with one finger to lightly trace the inscription — Michael Jasik 1996 – 2014 – Beloved Son. It had been two years since the funeral, but there were times she forgot it wasn’t just yesterday. Those were days when the grief snuck up behind her and then slammed her in the gut like a battering ram. Those were the days when she was a total wreck. Unable to work. Unable to do much of anything except maybe breathe.

And even that was a challenge.

She didn’t know why she kept coming here. She knew Michael wasn’t here. At least not in spirit. According to the preachers of her childhood, Michael was either in heaven or hell. There was no in-between with those men who spoke of a God who would rain fire and brimstone down upon the sinners of this world. Jenny always had a hard time relating to a God like that. Perhaps that’s why she stopped going to church as soon as she could move away from home and escape the mandate that “you will go to church as long as you live in my house.”

Even though she never acknowledged it, a small part of her did know exactly why she came here so often. Besides the officers at the Little Oak police department, Michael was the only one who knew that Jenny had shot a man two years ago.

Her grief was split between the loss of a son and the loss of a piece of herself.

She could share that with Michael.

She had also been able to share that with Steve. Warm, wonderful, wise Steve who had been the first man since Ralph that she had even considered as someone who could be a permanent fixture in her life. The chemistry was there. They both recognized it as they’d worked together on that drug task force. Then, it had been professional boundaries that kept them on either side of a distinct line. Afterward, they had tried to build something, but they both just found it too hard to try to be normal when nothing was normal in either of their lives. So she had gone back to being a single woman without a relationship.

Most days, that was tolerable. She had her kids. And her friends. And her work. And her wonderful business partner. But it had been a long time since she had a companion, in bed and otherwise. That one person you would call first with good news, or bad, who was not your girlfriend. And someone to hold close in bed on cold winter nights.

A cool October breeze brushed across her face, drying the tears that had run down her cheeks in a great warm river. This was a safe place to let the tears pour out. She couldn’t do that at home in front of her other kids. They were dealing with mountains of grief in their own way. She knew that, and if they still cried, they hid it well. Not like the first year when tears cluttered the house like old newspapers and magazines that should have been thrown out months ago. The crying couldn’t continue indefinitely. She realized that, so she had started hiding her tears, trying to establish a different kind of normal that didn’t include losing emotional control at odd moments in time.

This fall, Scott had run headlong into his senior year, and Jenny didn’t want to be all emotionally needy when he was focused on school and grades and to which college he would apply. And Alicia? Well, Alicia was still being the strong little girl she’d been most of her life, holding them together as a family the best she could. Even though she was now thirteen and blossoming into a lovely young lady, she would always be Jenny’s little girl. And she would always be the strong one. The peacemaker. The one who encouraged smiles, not tears.

Jenny rose, checking her watch. Almost eight. Scott and Alicia were on their way to school by now. Earlier, she’d left them finishing breakfast with stern orders to clean up when they were finished. They didn’t ask why she was going to work so early. Some things none of them asked about. It was still an hour before opening, but she knew she should be headed to the shop by now. Her partner Mitchell was coming in late, so she was going to be on her own for most of the morning. He was taking Jeffrey to a doctor appointment. That horrible AIDS just might claim another victim. Poor Jeffrey. Poor Mitchell.

After one more glance at the headstone, Jenny turned and hurried to her car. Luckily, she was only a few miles from the floral shop she’d owned with Mitchell for ten years now. It was housed in an old, Victorian-style house that she’d recently painted a soft blue. It had needed paint for several years, but, well, life had interfered, starting with Michael’s death. Shortly after he was killed in that car accident, she’d muscled her way on to a drug task force to help the police stop the proliferation of drugs in the sleepy little town of Little Oak.

Until remnants of a white powdery substance had been found at the scene of the accident that had claimed her son’s life, she’d had no idea that the use of cocaine was so prevalent in the town. She was too busy raising three kids by herself and trying to run a business. Then the accident. Then the awareness. Then the task force. She still couldn’t believe she’d done it. When she’d joined the task force, she was numb with grief and not thinking well at all, a fact of which her mother and her best friend kept reminding her. But she’d persevered, passed the physical and helped bring down the main drug supplier for North Texas.

Pulling to a stop in front of her shop, Jenny glanced at the sign and smiled. A TOUCH OF JOY/Flowers for all Occasions. She’d thought about changing the sign when she painted the building, but Mitchell had vetoed that idea. He’d reminded her of why she’d named it that in the first place. “Flowers bring joy no matter the circumstances.”

He was right. Flowers helped celebrate the happy occasions and brought comfort in the not-so-happy occasions.

She locked her car and hurried up the walk, stopping short when she noticed the front door was slightly ajar. What the …? Her heart thumped so hard against her ribs, she thought it would bust right out. She took a breath and pushed the door open, calling out, “Mitchell? You here?”

Silence.

Taking a tentative step inside, she paused a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dim interior, then she saw it. The mess. The arrangement she always kept on the end of the front counter now on the floor, flowers scattered and squashed. The vase smashed to pieces. Papers strewn about, some floating in the water from the arrangement. The old grandfather clock pushed over. Chairs upended. Her cash box tossed into the corner. Open. Empty. Anger and frustration warred within her, fighting for top billing. Some horrible person had broken in and done all this.

Was that someone still here?

That question sent her heart racing again, so fast she thought it might explode right out of her chest. She tried to take a breath to steady herself, standing absolutely still for a moment. Then she shook the fear aside and pulled a can of Mace from her purse. She held her hand out as she stepped the rest of the way inside, careful to avoid the part of the flooring in the entry that always squeaked. She’d never fixed the loose board because it always alerted her to a customer if she was in the back design area. Letting the can of Mace lead the way, she walked slowly around the front counter to the doorway that led to the back of the shop. She sidled up to one side, peeking around the corner. What was she thinking? Clearing the building like some cop on a TV show? She smothered a laugh, knowing the impulse was driven by manic fear, not humor.

The design part of the shop was one spacious room with wide work counters on two walls, refrigerators on another, and shelving on the fourth. It, too, was a mess, but there was no place for an intruder to hide. She took a deep breath to stop the pounding of her heart, dropped the Mace back into her purse, and pulled out her cell to dial 911.

~*~

Lieutenant Steve Morrity looked up as Officer Linda Winfield poked her head into his office. “Just took this call from dispatch,” she said. “Thought you might want to respond.”

“What is it?”

“Burglary.”

“Why aren’t you taking it?” Being his subordinate, she was the most likely person to handle a burglary, but rank was just a title here, not a pecking order. The whole department was comprised of Chief Gonzales, Steve, Linda, and four patrol officers. They tended to work together more on equal footing than not, and Steve liked it that way. Still, he had that murder case wrapping up with tons of paperwork and didn’t need anything else right now. Linda knew that.

She walked over and dropped a piece of paper on his desk. It fluttered for a moment in the breeze from the overhead fan, then settled on the burnished wood. “Thought you might want an excuse to see this woman again.”

“Huh?”

“Read the name and address.”

Steve picked up the paper and read the information. Jenny? Really? My Jenny? Steve shook his head. How absurd to even think that. She wasn't his Jenny. Not that he hadn’t wanted her to be when they worked together on that drug case. They both had recognized the electricity that sizzled between them, and they’d tried to act on it once the case was over. But she needed to back off. She needed time, and he’d understood. Hell, at the time, he’d still needed to back off. He’d known he wasn't over losing Katie. Not enough to fully allow another woman into his heart. And Jenny deserved a man who was able to give her his all.

Now?

He smiled. It was possible that he was ready. Was she?

Linda chuckled. “I was right.”

Steve had almost forgotten Linda was still there until the laugh. He looked up at her. “What do you mean?”

“I’m surprised you do so well at poker.”

Now Steve chuckled. “Get out of here.”

Linda stepped out, and Steve shut down his computer after saving the report he’d been working on. He wasn’t surprised that Linda had remembered about Jenny. Steve had talked enough about her that Linda, ever the romantic, had urged Steve to say screw policy. Linda knew that while Steve was willing to skirt around some things in the policy handbook, keeping a professional boundary between himself and a CI was one he took seriously.

Steve shook the memories off, stood, grabbed his jacket, and headed out. He didn’t need the paper with the address. He knew where to find Jenny.

A short drive later, Steve pulled the unmarked car to a stop in front of the flower shop and turned off the engine, noting that not much had changed about the old building, except for a new paint job. Before he even got to the door, it opened, and Jenny was standing there. She had changed a lot in the time since he’d last seen her. The tight lines of grief and anxiety around her eyes were less noticeable. Her hair was cut in a short straight bob, dark brown hair framing her face, and she absolutely took his breath away. He grimaced inwardly at that thought. That kind of stuff was for a romance novel. Not that he read romance novels. But Linda devoured them, and when things were particularly slow at the station, she’d feel compelled to share a particularly juicy passage with him in the break room. Men were always having their breath taken away, or feeling their hearts stopping, and other physical reactions that always made him blush. She seemed to like to make him blush.

And Jenny apparently liked to see the blush as well. He hadn’t even been aware of the red heat creeping up his neck until she said, “Getting a lot of sun lately?”

For a moment he was puzzled, then he laughed and said, “No, not so much.”

“I’m surprised to see you.”

“You called.”

She hesitated a moment as if processing that, then said, “Right.” She opened the door. “I was expecting a patrol officer.”

“They were all busy.” He smiled, and then followed her inside, thinking how nice it was to fall back into that friendly banter they’d shared when they’d worked together.

Once Steve surveyed the rooms, careful not to touch anything, he called back to the station to have Linda come out with a couple of patrol officers to dust for prints, take pictures, gather any evidence, and document the crime scene. Linda had taken the CSI training in Dallas, so she could take care of the preliminary crime scene analysis.

Steve closed his notebook where he’d written down Jenny’s statement, covering the details of her actions from the time she’d arrived. He’d frowned when she told him about going into the shop. “You should have stayed outside and called us.”

“I’m not exactly helpless, you know.”

There was a meaning behind her words that reminded them both of those months when she’d worked on the drug task force.

“I know.” He smiled. “I’d ask if you want to help us with this one. But I’m afraid you’d say yes.”

Jenny smiled in return.

Now they were standing outside the shop, and Jenny asked, “Do you think this could be related to what I did before?”

Steve thought for a moment then shook his head. “The whole drug scene has been pretty quiet around here. And if anyone wanted to retaliate against you, they would’ve done it right after that business.”

“So this is random?”

“Maybe. There’ve been a couple of other burglaries downtown. Might be the same person. Or persons.”

Now, despite the earlier banter, a hint of awkwardness hung between them like a piece of gauze, and they looked at each other for a long, silent moment. It was as if once the business was taken care of, neither of them knew what to say. Steve shifted his weight from one foot to the other and said, “I’d better get back to the station.”

“Oh. Sure. You must be busy. I’ll wait outside until Linda gets here.”

Steve nodded. “Good idea.”

Mentally kicking himself for not moving the conversation from professional to personal, Steve strode to the car. Real slick move, there.