Page 31 of Evidence of Deceit

Joe picked up the shopping bags and brought them into Claire’s room. Claire was sitting on the bed, staring into space. He watched as Sam packed Claire’s pitiful belongings into the tattered suitcase. It was too small to hold all her new items.

“Almost ready?”

“Yeah.” Sam looked at the little suitcase and then pointed at the shopping bags. “Joe, you’ll have to carry those. Tomorrow, we’ll get a bigger suitcase.”

“No,” said a small voice. Claire hadn’t moved from the bed, her shoulders hunched. “I’m not getting a bigger suitcase. Tomorrow, I’m returning everything, and as they say, ‘getting out of Dodge.’”

Sam sat next to her, rubbed her shoulder. “Claire, you’re not returning anything, and you’re not going anywhere. Except to Joe’s house. We are going to protect you. Keith will not get to you. Do you understand?”

Claire sighed. “You don’t understand. He’ll ruin you. I don’t know how he does it, but he can. He will.”

Joe needed to be with Claire, but what he really wanted to do was finish the bastard. No one had a right to abuse another person, to bully them, touch them inappropriately. He hated Keith.

“Humph. Not happening on my watch,” said Sam as she stood up. She nodded at Joe. “Will you get Claire’s suitcase?”Then she looked at Claire, tightened her lips and asked, “Do you want any food to go? You must be starving.”

Claire shook her head, stood and followed them out of the room. Joe watched as she kissed Mark goodbye and wiped a tear from her eye.

“Joe, I’m so sorry to be such a bother. If there isn’t any room for me at your house, I can get a room. Somewhere.”

Joe put the suitcase and bags in the truck. He turned toward her, placed his hands on her shoulders and lifted her chin so she had to look at him. “Listen to me. You. Are. Never. A. Bother. I have good security, plenty of room, and personally, I’m glad to finally get you in my house. Do you understand? I’m happy you’re coming home with me but not at the reason why.”

Claire nodded and gave him a little smile.

The ride to his house took about half an hour. The very fact that he bought a house, which to most people was normal and meant stability, success, and safety, had been a surprise to him. Those factors weren’t as important to him as the fact it was a sign that he was putting down roots. He never had roots after traveling all over the world for work, growing up on the streets and in foster homes.

Well, except for the four years at Mr. and Mrs. G’s home for foster kids. He’d also sworn to himself to never return to Black Pointe. He had a reputation as a bad boy. And God almighty, he had been. He was always on the police radar. Parents, except for Claire’s parents, didn’t want their daughters—or sons, for that matter—hanging out with him. So, he always felt like an outsider. But here he was. On good terms with the police, a productive member of society with a terrific job and a house. A house! He shook his head. Maybe miracles did happen.

The rain made good on its promise to come down—sheets and sheets of it. The roads were slippery, and Joe drovecarefully. When he finally got to his driveway, he pushed the garage door opener and pulled the truck in. The tires crunching on the gravel could barely be heard over the rain.

“Whew, I was afraid we would have to run for it,” quipped Claire.

“Hey, nothing’s too good for you.” He was happy that Claire could find a little humor in the situation.

They entered through the kitchen. Joe put Claire’s belongings down, spread his arms. “Home sweet home.”

Claire lookedaround the homey kitchen. It wasn’t high-end, but Joe did have a gas stove, always a plus in her mind. His cabinets were painted white, and countertops were a checkered pattern of white and black. The walls were a soft yellow. There was a small table in the corner with two chairs, and he had an island with three barstools pushed under it. A toaster oven and coffee setup were the only other appliances she saw. Overall, a little outdated but spotless.

“Joe, this is so homey-looking. It looks familiar.” She thought for a moment. “Oh, my goodness, it’s so similar to Mr. and Mrs. Grissom’s kitchen.”

Joe looked around, shrugged. “Yeah, probably.” Not probably, it did. He remembered all the good times he had around his foster parents’ table in the kitchen. Now that he thought about it, it was probably subliminal that he would decorate his home like the only place he considered home.

“Come on. I’ll show you to the guest room. It has its own private bath, and you should be comfortable there.”

Claire followed Joe down the hall. She wanted to look at everything, but the only thing she could concentrate on was his back muscles flexing through his tee.And what beautifulmuscles they were.His shoulders filled the small hall, and when he stopped short, she almost ran into him.

He turned around and raised a brow. She took a step back, and a small smile threatened to erupt on his face.

“Okay, then. Here you go.” He motioned for her to go into the bedroom and placed her suitcase and bags on the bed. “If you need anything, let me know.”

“I’ll be fine, thanks.” Just then, her stomach growled.

“How about I make some eggs. We left Mark’s before we could eat.”

“Eggs sound wonderful.”

Joe slapped the door and headed toward the kitchen. Claire glanced around the small room. A double bed was placed in the middle of a wall and covered with a white coverlet. Joe had a pleasant beach scene over the bed, but that was the only picture in the room. The room was painted a peaceful sage green. There was a comfy-looking accent chair in the corner. Claire wished she brought a book with her, but she still had her crossword puzzle, so that would have to do until she could buy one.

“Eggs are ready.”

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