In Shadows Read online

  * * *

  Still wearing the afterglow of Jack’s unexpected visit, Shelly walked into work in baby blue slacks and a white short-sleeve blouse. She’d pulled the long curls away from the sides of her face today, clipping them at the nape of her neck with her favorite silver clip, but it was the big smile on her face that drew her coworker’s attention.

  “Morning, Shelly. Who took you to bed last night?”

  Shelly’s comeback was tinged with surprise that Mitzi would ask that, and worry that she’d let part of her private life slip into where she worked.

  “What kind of a question is that, Mitzi Shaw? Do I ask you how many times you and Joe do the dirty? And just for the record, I took myself to bed and the smile was because I felt like smiling, and now I don’t.”

  Mitzi frowned. “Dang. I was only making polite conversation.”

  “In no way is that question part of polite conversation. Lord... I may as well work in a bar,” Shelly muttered, and went to her own cubicle to begin her day.

  She kept books for five different businesses at Bates and Davis, the accounting firm where she worked, and she was good at her job. Most of the time working with numbers was calming to her. There were no variables in accounting. Numbers told the story, and if they didn’t balance out, then the search would be on. Shelly liked sure things.

  Like how she’d felt the first time she’d seen Jack walking into a classroom her freshman year of high school. She’d been absolutely positive that he would love her and that they’d live happily ever after.

  That was her first sure thing she marked as memorable. And it still held true today. She couldn’t wait for the case he was working on to be over.

  When noontime came, Mitzi ambled over to Shelly’s cubicle and then peered over the divider.

  “Want to go to lunch with me, or are you still too pissed?”

  Shelly hit Save on the program she was in, then looked up.

  “Yes, I’ll go to lunch with you. We’ll talk about your love life instead.”

  Mitzi blushed. “Zinger...and a good one. I promise no more ‘inquiring minds want to know’ shit, okay?”

  Shelly smiled. “Yes.”

  “How does Chinese sound?” Mitzi asked, as Shelly grabbed her purse.

  “Like a good idea. It’s right across the street, which leaves us a little more time to enjoy the meal, instead of rushing back.”

  Outside was slap-in-the-face hot, which left no time to dawdle as they walked down to the crosswalk. Traffic was thick and it was loud. Pissed-off cabdrivers were honking at each other, trying to maneuver their cabs three lanes wide on a two-lane street.

  “Lord, remind me why I thought Houston would be a swell place to live,” Mitzi muttered, as sweat beaded on her upper lip and on the back of her neck.

  Shelly pointed at the crosswalk light and then they started walking within the moving crowd. Her purse was crossways over her shoulder with the bag pulled around in front of her chest, and held firmly within her grasp. As a law officer’s wife, safety first had been drilled into her from the beginning of their married life.

  About halfway across, she felt the strap give on her shoulder and then a hard yank. She tightened her hold as she pivoted and saw the man behind her. He was holding the cut purse strap with one hand, and the knife he’d used to cut it in the other. Without thinking, she reacted just as Jack had taught her, kicking out as she spun, using the momentum of the turn to land a bone-breaking kick straight on the kneecap.

  She heard it pop over the loud blare of the traffic and followed up the kick with the heel of her hand, ramming it into his nose.

  Blood splattered as the thief dropped the purse strap. His knee went out from under him as his eyes rolled back in his head. He dropped in the middle of the crosswalk, flat on his back, unconscious.

  Mitzi was screaming. Traffic had come to a complete stop all four ways, and as the crowd parted around them, a city cop cruising past witnessed the last half of what was happening.

  He hit lights and siren as he radioed in the assault, and then he pulled his vehicle up to a curb and got out, already directing traffic before the man got run over.

  “Get him out of the street!” he yelled, and three young men came running to move him to the sidewalk.

  Shelly was rattled and she was angry. He’d ruined her Coach purse, which had been a Christmas gift from Jack.

  “Ma’am, are you hurt?” the policeman asked, as Shelly and Mitzi followed the crowd out off the street.

  “No, just shaken,” she said, and held up the strap on her purse. “I felt him cut it.”

  Mitzi wasn’t screaming anymore, but she was trembling.

  “How did you know to do that?” she asked.

  Shelly shrugged. “My husband taught me.”

  The cop handcuffed the thief, who was already regaining consciousness, sat him up so he wouldn’t choke on his own blood and then called for an ambulance.

  “I’ll need your information,” the cop said.

  “We’re on our lunch hour,” Mitzi said, and then realized that had nothing to do with what had just happened, and shut up.

  Shelly was too rattled to cope with both Mitzi and the cop. “Mitzi, go eat. There’s no need for both of us standing here missing lunch.”

  Mitzi hesitated. It didn’t seem right abandoning her friend.

  “Seriously, Mitzi. I have to do this, you don’t.”

  Mitzi finally nodded. “Okay. I’ll bring you takeout,” she said, and looked over her shoulder twice as she walked away.

  Shelly’s hand was beginning to hurt a bit, but she could move everything just fine, which meant nothing was broken. She pulled out her ID and began giving her statement while the sun continued its high noon phase, making the top of her head feel like it was on fire. At first she was just uncomfortable, but in a few short minutes she began feeling sick.

  She could hear approaching sirens and started watching the traffic, praying for their arrival. But after a couple of minutes when they still hadn’t come, she interrupted the officer’s inquiries.

  “Officer, either I get out of the sun, or you’re going to need another ambulance.”

  He looked at her. She was pale and shaking like she was cold, which was impossible in Houston heat.

  “It’s not going to take much longer,” he said.

  “No, you don’t understand,” Shelly said. “I feel nauseous and dizzy.”

  And just like that, the sirens were suddenly screaming in her head as cop cars and an ambulance pulled up simultaneously from different directions. But it was too late. Just as she had cautioned, her legs went out from under her and she was on the sidewalk.

  Someone was trying to help her up, and people were talking to her, but she couldn’t focus.

  “Get me inside somewhere cool. I need water,” she kept saying.

  Someone handed her a bottle of water, and other people were lifting her to her feet and walking her inside the nearest business, which happened to be a florist shop. The immediate swath of cool air that washed over her body felt wonderful, but she was still weak and shaking.

  One of the owners came running with a folding chair from the workroom, and another came with a handful of wet paper towels. Shelly drank water and held the wet towels on the back of her neck until she began feeling better. Finally she felt good enough to give Mitzi a call, glossed over what had happened and asked her to come to the florist when she was through to walk her back to the office.

  The cop who’d kept putting her off finally had his perp on the way to ER and was free to come check on her.

  “I’m really sorry, ma’am. I didn’t fully realize the seriousness of how you were feeling. Do you want me to call an ambulance for you?”

  “No, I’m already feeling better. I’ll be okay, and my friend is going to walk back to the office with me.”


  “You’re sure?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m positive. And thank you for the rescue.”

  He grinned. “You rescued yourself. I didn’t do anything but pick him up off the street. And by the way, kudos to your guy. He was a good teacher,” the cop said, and left.

  The shop owner came up front to check on her again between customers, then gave her fresh cold towels and another bottle of water.

  Shelly took it all gladly. “You’ve been so kind. Thank you for helping me out like this. As soon as my friend shows up, I’ll be out of your way.”

  The man patted her shoulder. “You aren’t in anybody’s way and I’m glad we could help. Take care now, and call out if you need anything more.”

  Shelly was blinking back tears as he walked away. Everyone was being so kind, but the only person she wanted was Jack, and that was impossible.

  A few minutes later, Shelly saw Mitzi coming up the street at a lope. Her purse was on one arm and Shelly’s to-go lunch in a sack on the other. Then she was inside the store, crying.

  “I shouldn’t have left you. I’m so sorry, sweetie. I’m so sorry. Are you feeling better? I can call a cab for you and send you home. I’ll tell Willard what happened when I get back to the office.”

  Shelly shook her head. “I think I’ll be—”

  “No, I insist. You were attacked by a mugger! You’re white as a sheet and have no business going back to work. I’m going out to hail a cab. You watch through the window and come out when you see it stop.”

  Going home was suddenly the most important thing she needed to do.

  “Yes, yes, okay, I think I will,” Shelly said. “And thank you.”

  Mitzi handed her the sack she was carrying. “Here’s your lunch. It’s on me. You get home, get comfy and eat, then spend the day resting. You had the best smile on your face when you came to work this morning and now this. Horrid people. Lazy, horrid thief.”

  She leaned down and gave Shelly a quick kiss on her forehead and out the door she went.

  Shelly stood up, mostly testing her equilibrium before trying to walk again, and sighed with relief. She was certainly steady enough to be mobile. She watched from the window until she saw the cab stopping, then left the shop.

  Hit with the heat and humidity again, Shelly was suddenly glad she’d opted to go home.

  “Thank you again,” she said, as Mitzi helped her inside the cab.

  “You’re welcome. Now mind what I said. Rest.”

  “Yes, yes, I will,” Shelly said.

  Mitzi shut the door.

  Shelly gave the driver her address and then leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes.

  Two

  Adam Ito was in his warehouse watching his men unloading crates of decorative urns and tea sets from a shipping container that had just come in from China.

  His crew boss had the manifest, carefully checking numbers against the pallets being unloaded. Mahalo’s size and girth were massive, and the amount of sweat on his bald head and dark skin gave his large body an ebony sheen. To Adam, who was a fan of sumo in his native Japan, Mahalo was so massive he was almost beautiful.

  But then his gaze shifted to the man operating the forklift, and beauty was not a word he could associate with him. Judd Wayne had a rolled-up black-and-white bandanna tied around his head. The old T-shirt he was wearing had the sleeves cut out. He was sweat-soaked, plastering everything he was wearing to his body like a second skin, and he exuded sexy—something Adam envied.

  Even though Judd did his job, he was an unknown, which always made Adam uneasy. And, from the complaint Mahalo made against him this morning, it appeared Judd wasn’t averse to pushing boundaries. Adam understood the male need for sex, but how long did it take to find a hooker, these days?

  Adam stayed for another half hour to reassure himself they had the job well in hand, then returned to his limo to enjoy the cool air. He’d already given Mahalo the news about the special shipment coming in Friday morning and told him to ensure the crew would be available and on the dock by 1:00 a.m.

  He poured himself a glass of sparkling water, added a few cubes of ice from the ice bucket and took a quick sip, appreciating the effervescence. After one last glance at the crew in action, he pressed the intercom.

  “Tommy, take me home.”

  “Yes, sir,” the driver said, then put the limo in gear and left the dock.

  * * *

  Mahalo breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the boss’s exit—he didn’t like it when Ito stayed to watch—then returned to the task at hand. One glance at the manifest indicated two more pallets in the container and then they’d be through. Before they scattered for lunch, he needed to let the guys know about the new orders, so he left the warehouse to round them up. They arrived at their own speed and then had to wait for the last one to come out of the bathroom. As soon as he arrived, Mahalo began.

  “Listen up. Mr. Ito has a special shipment coming in at 3:00 a.m. Friday morning and he needs all of us here.”

  The men shifted from one foot to the other. One showed his displeasure by spitting tobacco juice from the wad in his jaw only feet from where Mahalo was standing.

  A half dozen of them let fly with complaints. But the undercurrent of grumbling ceased instantly when they saw the look on the crew boss’s face.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Mahalo snapped. “I want every one of you here at the warehouse before midnight Thursday night. I know the boss said 1:00 a.m., but if you don’t show, it’s on my head. I want to know you’re here before he is, and no excuses, or don’t come back at all and pray you never see me again.” He stared straight at Judd Wayne when he said it. “A shipment will be unloaded here and we have to transfer it into the container ASAP. You know the drill.”

  Judd wasn’t one of them complaining. He had a feeling this was going to be the shipment he’d been waiting for.

  “Are we through for now?” Judd asked.

  Mahalo glared. “Why? Want to chase some more tail?”

  “No. I’m hungry and there’s a food truck just down the pier. Want anything?”

  Mahalo blinked, absently rubbing his big belly. “Uh...sure, why not? Whatever they have, I want two.”

  When he reached for his wallet, Judd held up his hand. He’d stood up to Mahalo earlier, and now it was time to smooth things over. “It’s okay, boss. This one’s on me, but I’m driving. Too damn far and hot to walk it. Back ASAP.”

  “Hey, Judd, got room for me to hitch a ride?”

  Judd glanced behind him. It was Munoz.

  “Yeah, sure, why not?” he said.

  A couple more of the men followed behind him, one on a motorcycle, a couple of them in a beat-up Jeep.

  They stood in line for shrimp tacos, and when they finally reached the counter, they placed their orders and paid, then stepped aside to wait for delivery.

  Jack was eyeing a pelican perched on a nearby pier when he heard the men start to laugh. He turned around to see what was funny and realized they were all looking at a little television inside a truck.

  “Whoa...look at her! You wouldn’t want to make that one mad.”

  Jack moved closer.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Look...they’re showing it again,” Munoz said. “Just watch.”

  At first all Jack saw were the backs of people crossing a street, but when he recognized the florist shop in the clip, his heart skipped a beat. The building Shelly worked in was on the opposite side of the street from that florist.

  “Look! Here’s where you see some dude trying to snatch this woman’s purse. See! There’s the knife in his hand. He’s already cut the strap off her shoulder and is trying to pull it out of her grasp. Now watch this!”

  Jack kept thinking, why did that person film what was happening instead of calling out a warn
ing? Then he saw that long curly hair and knew before the woman turned around it was Shelly. He felt sick but hid his shock. He watched her look over her shoulder, saw the fear on her face, but then all of a sudden she kicked sideways, hyperextending the mugger’s knee. He couldn’t hear the man’s shriek but could see his face contorting in pain.

  “Now here comes the hammer,” Munoz said.

  And that was exactly what it looked like. Jack gritted his teeth as he witnessed her finish the rotation with her arm extended, her fingers curled, aiming with the heel of her hand. And just as he’d taught her, she used the momentum of her body to increase the impact of the blow. Blood spurted from the mugger’s nose as his head snapped back, and then he was down. People were crowding around her again as the clip ended.

  “Man, she is one fine bitch,” Munoz said. “I wouldn’t mind tapping that.”

  Jack resisted the urge to punch him and closed his eyes, remembering clearly the self-defense lessons he’d given Shelly for weeks on end.

  Then the woman in the food truck called out a name.

  “Judd, your food is ready.”

  He made himself focus and stepped up to the window. “Thanks,” he said, and then headed for his car.

  He started it up to get cool as he waited for Munoz, and picked up one of the tacos from his order and began to eat. The food settled his hunger but not his anxiety. He needed to hear Shelly’s voice to make sure she was okay.

  A short while later he and Munoz drove back to the warehouse. Mahalo was waiting in the doorway when they arrived.

  “Two orders of shrimp tacos and they’re damn good,” Jack said.

  Mahalo took the bag. “Thanks,” he said, and ambled off into the shore side of the warehouse to catch some of the sea breeze while he ate. Jack grabbed a bottle of water out of the old refrigerator from their lounge area and followed, not for the conversation, but the cooler air.

  Houston was an amazing city, but for a man who’d been raised in Colorado, it was too damn hot. He leaned back against a bench right in front of a broken window overlooking Galveston Bay and took a drink, savoring the cold liquid sliding down his throat.