The Witness Read online

  for the intrusion.”

  “So you’re intruding to apologize for an intrusion.”

  “Technically. But it’s a pretty nice wine. So, been out for a walk?”

  “Why?”

  “You got some mud on your boots. Some rain last night. It gets things greening up, but it brings the mud, too. Do you always carry a gun when you walk your dog?”

  She always carried a gun, period, but that wasn’t any of his business. “I was target shooting. The wine isn’t necessary.”

  “Wine’s not necessary, but it’s one of those enjoyable perks that comes along.” He turned it so the pretty straw-colored wine caught the light. “Where are you set up, for target practice?”

  “Why do you ask so many questions? Why do you keep coming here, with your wine and your pie? What is wrong with you people? What are you grinning at?”

  “Which question do you want me to answer first?” When she merely gave him a stony stare, he shrugged. “In order, then. I’m a naturally curious sort of man, plus cop. So questions are part of it. It’s likely I got some of that curious from my mother, who came out here, with pie, because she was. And because she’s a friendly sort of woman. I already explained about the wine. From my point of view, nothing’s wrong with us. We just are what we are. Your point of view might come in different. I was grinning because I’d wondered if there was any temper in there. It lights you up. It’s nice to see the light. Did I cover it?”

  His eyes were amber in the late-afternoon sun, and his smile appealing. She thought he owned that easy, conversational style the way other men owned socks. “You think you’re charming.”

  “Yeah. That’s probably a flaw, but who wants perfect? I answered your questions, but you didn’t answer mine. Where are you set up?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “A couple of reasons. One, that curiosity again. Second, as a cop, knowing I’ve got a woman who carries habitually? I’d like to know if she can handle what she carries.”

  “I’m an excellent shot.”

  “So you say. I could tell you I can tango like an Argentinean, but unless I demonstrate, I might be lying—or exaggerating.”

  “It’s doubtful every Argentinean can tango.”

  “Like one who can, then.”

  “If I demonstrate my shooting skills, will you leave me alone?”

  “Well, now, Abigail, I can’t make a deal like that. I may have to come back. What if a gang of extremists tried to abduct you? Or aliens. We’ve got any number of people around here who’ll swear about those aliens—the E.T. kind, I mean. In fact, Beau Mugsley claims he gets abducted twice a year like clockwork.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Not according to Beau Mugsley. Don’t get him started on anal probes. And putting that aside, you’re an intriguing woman.”

  “I don’t want to be intriguing.”

  “And see that? Now you’re just more intriguing.”

  “And if there’s intelligent life on other planets, I hardly think they’d spend their time attempting an abduction on someone who’s minding her own business.”

  “You never know, do you?”

  She simply didn’t know how to argue with someone like him, someone who made no sense and was so damn affable about it. Add in the tenacity and the cop curiosity, she determined she was stuck.

  “I’ll satisfy your misplaced concern about my target-shooting skills. Then you can go.”

  “That’s a good place to start.” He noted that she laid a hand on the dog’s head before she turned. “Ma tells me your dog speaks French,” Brooks said as he fell into step beside her. “I took two years in high school, mostly—okay, completely—because the French teacher was hot. Smoking. Not a lot stuck with me, but I had two years of gazing at the hotness of Ms. Gardner.”

  “Studies show adolescent males often make decisions based on sex. Many fail to grow out of it.”

  “Can’t really blame us for genetic makeup. That’s an impressive setup.” He paused to study her target area.

  Where he’d expected a couple of circle targets, she had a trio of police-style silhouettes on draw pulleys backed by thickly padded boards. Ear and eye protection sat on a wooden bench along with spare clips. By his gauge, she had them set at a good fifty feet.

  “I don’t have a second pair of ear protectors or glasses,” she said as she put them on.

  “No problem.”

  He stepped back, pressed his hands to his ears as she took position.

  Cop stance, he noted, and she took it in a smooth, practiced motion. She fired six rounds without a flinch, then holstered her weapon before pulling the target in.

  “Nice grouping,” he commented. All six center mass, in a tight, damn-near-perfect pattern.

  “As you can see, I’m an excellent shot. I’m capable.”

  “No question of that,” he said as she picked up her brass, dropped them in a bucket. “Mind if I try it out?”

  She didn’t answer, but took off the ear protectors and glasses, passed them to him.

  She looked back to where the dog sat, patiently waiting. “Pillow.”

  “What?”

  “I was speaking to my dog. Otherwise, he’d … object when you draw your weapon.”

  “Wouldn’t want that.” Brooks passed Abigail the wine, put on the glasses and the ear protectors.

  “You use a Glock 22,” she noted. “It’s a good weapon.”

  “Gets the job done.” Now he took his stance, loosened his shoulders, fired six rounds.

  He glanced back at the dog as he holstered the weapon. Bert hadn’t moved.

  Abigail drew in the target, stood a moment, studying the grouping that was a near twin of hers.

  “You’re also an excellent shot.”

  “I always figure if you carry, you’d better hit what you aim at. I got a good hand with a long gun. My mother’s got a flower child’s objection to guns, could be why I honed a skill with them. Standard rebellion, I suppose.”

  “Yes.” She looked up at him. “Have you shot anyone?”

  “Not so far. I’d like to go on saying that. I had to draw my weapon a few times, but it never came to firing it.”

  “Could you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know if you never have?”

  “Protect and serve.” He looked at her, those changeable eyes sober now. “Protect comes first. I’ve got no business having a badge if I can’t protect. But I’d be happy if it never came to putting a bullet into anyone.” He, too, picked up his brass. “Have you?”

  “Shot anyone? No. But then, I’d say that even if I had, to say I had would only lead to more questions.”

  “You’re not wrong. Could you?”

  “Yes. I could.” She waited a moment. “You don’t ask how I know.”

  “I don’t have to. Have you got any of that pie left? And before you ask why, I’ll tell you. Now that we’ve shown each other what good shots we are, I thought we could crack that bottle open, have a glass of wine and a piece of pie.”

  “The wine was a ploy.”

  “In part, but it’s still a pretty good wine.”

  He had his mother’s charm, she decided, and very likely the same skill in getting his way. There was no point denying she found him physically attractive. Her hormonal reaction to his looks, his build, his demeanor, even his voice? Completely natural.

  “I can’t eat all the pie. It’s too much for one person.”

  “Shame to waste it, too.”

  She stowed the protective gear in the seat of the bench. “All right. You can have the pie and the wine. But I won’t have sex with you.”

  “Now you hurt my feelings.”

  “No, I haven’t.” Deciding to make her position clear, she started for the house. “I like sex.”

  “See there, we just keep finding common ground. If this keeps up, we’ll be best friends inside a week.”

  “If I wanted friends, I’d join a book club.”r />
  Loosening up, he thought, delighted with the sarcasm. “I like to read, which is another check mark on common ground. But we were talking about sex.”

  “The act of sex is a normal physical function, and a pleasant experience.”

  “So far, we’re on the same page.”

  She took out her keys, unlocked the door. Once inside, she reset the alarm. “It may be you find me physically attractive on some level.”

  “All of them, actually.”

  “And that may be the reason you came here, with wine. I’ll have a glass of wine with you, but I won’t have sex with you.”

  “Okay.” Absolutely delighted with her, he followed her to the kitchen. “Any particular reason why not, other than the fact we haven’t even shared huckleberry pie yet?”

  “You ask too many questions. Answering them is annoying and tiresome.”

  “Damn that curiosity. Jesus, Abigail, did you smile?”

  “It was probably a grimace.”

  “Now you made a joke. Any minute you’re going to put on a party hat and dance on the table.”

  “You’re funny. I’m not, so I can appreciate someone with natural humor.” She took off the jacket, opened a door to what he assumed was a small utility room and hung it on a peg. “And you’re physically attractive and fit. I prefer having sex with someone who keeps physically fit.”

  She got out a corkscrew, and though he would have taken it, opened the wine for her, she set about doing so briskly and efficiently.

  What the hell, he thought, and sat. “So far the only strike against me is curiosity?”

  “There are others. Proximity, for one, which would make it awkward and problematic when I no longer want to have sex with you.”

  “What makes you think you’re going to want to stop having sex with me?”

  She got out two glasses, two small plates, two forks. “The law of averages.”

  “Oh, that. I defy the law of averages.”

  “A lot of people believe they do. They don’t.” She poured the wine, studying him as she offered a glass. “I like your nose.”

  “Abigail, you fucking fascinate me. Why do you like my nose?”

  “It’s been broken at some point. The lack of symmetry adds character and interest to your face. I like character.”

  “And still, no sex for me.”

  She smiled again, fully this time. “I’m sure you have other options.”

  “That’s true. I make them take numbers, like at a deli.” He waited until she got out the pie, uncovered it. “Do you want to know why I’m not going to have sex with you?”

  He’d surprised her, he noted. Stirred her curiosity. “Yes, I would.”

  “You’re attractive, and you look pretty … physically fit to me. You’ve got a way of looking at me that feels like you’re looking right through to the back of my brain. I don’t know why that’s sexy, but it is. You need help.”

  “I don’t want any help.”

  “I didn’t say anything about want. You need help, and I’ve got a weakness for people who need help. I like your dog even though I figure he’s as dangerous, or damn near, as that Glock on your hip. I like the way you talk, like you’re just a little rusty at it. I’d like to feel the shape of your mouth under mine. I’d like that more than I’d considered. But.”

  On an exaggerated sigh, he lifted his hands, let them fall. “I’m always going to have questions. So that’s a problem. And while I’m a man, so I’m fairly up for sex if a woman sneezes in my direction, I generally like to get to know her first. Dinner, conversation, that sort of thing.”

  “A date. I don’t go on dates.”

  “You know, hearing you say that doesn’t surprise me. Now, we’ve shared an activity, shooting at targets. We’ve shared conversations and viewpoints. Now we’re sharing wine and pie. If I stretch that, I could ease it over the line into a date.”

  The look she gave him was the definition of flustered. “It’s not a date.”

  “By your gauge.” He gestured at her with a forkful of huckleberry pie. “I’ve got my own. That means the only thing stopping me from having sex with you is my naturally curious nature. I can work around that. I can decide it’s not a problem for me; then the only thing stopping me from having sex with you is you being willing.”

  “I’m not, so if we’re going to talk, it should be about something else. That wasn’t a challenge,” she added, when it occurred to her. “I didn’t mean to pose a sexual challenge.”

  “No, I got you didn’t mean to, but it sure has that flavor. And it’s tasty. Like the pie.”

  He scooped up a bite. “Did you design the security system here?”

  She looked wary again. “Yes.”

  “Cameras, too?”

  “Yes. Obviously, I don’t actually manufacture the hardware.”

  “Obviously.” He angled to study her computer station. “It’s quite a setup.”

  “It’s my work.”

  “I’m okay on a computer. I can get done what I need to get done, usually find what I need to find. My father, now, he’s amazing. I get a glitch, he’s my man. It must be the math nerd in him. Were you a math nerd?”

  At one time, she remembered, she was an everything nerd. Perhaps she still was. “I enjoy math. Its logic.”

  “I coulda figured.” He angled back to her, drank some wine. “I like your place. My mother wants your kitchen.”

  “You should get her a dog.”

  “What?”

  “She says she isn’t ready, but it was clear by the way she behaved and reacted to Bert she is. She misses having a dog in her life. She—I’m sorry.” Color rose up to her cheeks. “It’s not my place.”

  “We don’t stand on place so much around here. She loved that dog. We all did. It just about flattened us when we had to have him put down.”

  He looked down at Bert, resisted—because he liked having his hand—reaching out to pet the dog. “You really think she’s ready to start with another?”

  “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “You did. I’m asking your opinion.”

  “Then yes. It seemed to me she felt it would be disloyal if she herself got another dog. But a gift, from one of her children. That’s different, isn’t it?”

  “It is. Thanks. She liked you, my mother.”

  “I liked her. You should take the rest of the pie, and her dish.” Abigail rose to cover the remaining pie.

  “Here’s your hat; what’s your hurry?”

  “You weren’t wearing a hat.”

  “It’s an expression. Like, say, don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.”

  “Oh. Then yes, you have to go. I need to feed my dog, and I have work waiting. Please tell your mother I enjoyed the pie.”

  “I will.” He rose, picked up the dish.

  “And thank you for the wine. I’ll let you out.”

  At the front door he waited for her to unlock, turn off the alarm. Then he set the pie on the little table.

  “Tell your dog to relax.”