Chapter 16
Warning
Samuel Foster
Ifeel like I can breathe again for the first time in days. Seeing Arielle this morning has lifted the weight on my chest that’s been pinning my heart down. By the time I turn the nose of my car into the road to my place, I’m almost feeling like my old self again.
Scrap that. My old self was a dick.
I feel better. I know a man can’t change overnight, but I’m going to give it my best shot.
As I pull up to the gates of my house, I see a car parked outside, and feel apprehension unfurl. I don’t immediately recognize the vehicle, or the guy in the front seat, but there’s something familiar about it all. As I cruise up to the gate, he opens the driver’s door and steps out, and everything in me flips into high alert. I surreptitiously feel around in the console of my car for the panic button I keep there.
He doesn’t look like a mobster though; too clean-cut, and... and... Everything about him is screaming ‘cop’.
Fuck.
I know exactly who this is. Steve’s old partner, Tim Ledger. Even though we haven’t met yet, his presence has lurked on the periphery of my relationship with Arielle. I know I wasn’t off the mark when I told her the guy had the hots for her. Even without meeting the man, I could guess that much. He’s just too fucking involved in her world...the babysitting, the constant visits I’ve picked up on. And if I recall, she says he’s never dated anyone else? That’s just not normal. I roll my window down and wait as he walks up beside my car.
“Afternoon, sir,” he begins, resting both hands on the roof of my car. I’m guessing the move is designed to intimidate me.
“Hello, Tim,” I reply and feel a twinge of satisfaction as his eyes widen slightly. He gives no other sign of surprise at the fact that I know who he is. “Care to come in?” I ask. I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what he has in mind, so I might as well control the situation by extending the invitation. Tim gives a nod and turns back to his car. His movements might seem casual on the surface, but I sense that every motion is underpinned with awareness. If I do anything to spook him, that ‘piece’ tucked in the back of his pants is going to make a sudden appearance.
I wait until he’s back in the driver’s seat and then press the button on the gate control. As the gates swing open, we both drive through and finally park in front of the house. I mull over this development for a second, wondering if it’s wise to let him inside my home. I didn’t have any plans to talk to him out on the street, but I sure as hell don’t want him in my house either.
I climb out of the car and lean against it, waiting as he strides over. He’s no lightweight, that’s for certain. Almost as tall as I am, and broad, to boot. This is not the clichéd doughnut-eating stereotype of a cop I’ve seen in too many movies. This man knows the limits of his body and is not afraid to push them. That spells danger any way that I look at it.
“Good day, Mr. Foster,” he says, as he finally reaches me. “Or should that Mr. Colt?”
I shrug. “Either will do.” I’m not sure what he plans to say to me. If it’s to warn me to keep away from Arielle, that hardly seems an appropriate conversation to have while he’s on duty. I fleetingly wonder if he’s one of those ‘dirty cops’ that seem to be the other typical Hollywood stereotype.
“Got some questions for you, Mr. Colt,” he says, and I narrow my eyes.
“Call me Sam,” I say. I’m not giving the man any excuses to think I’m all about smoke and mirrors.
“Sure...Sam. Could we go inside?” he says, about to walk toward the stairs.
“Nope,” I reply. I really don’t what to drag this out. “What is this about Tim?” I ask, almost waiting for him to throw a punch or break into some cheesy speech about keeping my hands off his girl.
“I’ve been tasked with investigating a series of burglaries,” he dives right in, and I blink.
Not about Arielle then...What the hell?
I shrug because what is there to say? Anything that won’t make me look guilty as sin, at any rate.
He continues, “Seems there’ve been a long string of petty thefts over the past several years that bear more attention.”
“Petty theft? In Las Vegas? You don’t say?” I lace as much sarcasm into the words as possible, but there’s a tightening in the base of my belly that’s growing increasingly unpleasant.
“Sure...not unheard of,” he acknowledges. “Except that, on closer inspection, it seems these thefts all have one thing in common,Sam.” He stops and I realize I’m supposed to say something. I don’t want to give him the fucking satisfaction.
“Really? What’s that?” I eventually give in.
“You, Sam. Or, more accurately, Atticus Colt.” He gives a shit-eating grin that I really want to smack off his face, but instead, I fold my arms across my chest.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tim,” I respond, trying to keep my tone level.
“Oh, come on now...Sam,” he says, “don’t tell me you thought nobody would ever connect the dots? Every time ‘Atticus Colt’ puts on a show for some fat cats, the underground rumor mill goes wild with stories about jewelry going missing.”
