Once a Marine. Loree Lough
of avoiding men since the attack? Or had her loneliness finally reached its peak?
ZACH STARED AT the computer and shook his head. He’d looked up six variations of her name on Google and came up with summer menus, summer getaways, summer party ideas and summer bug repellents. He finally found some links with her name, and curious, he clicked a few, learning that she’d narrated hundreds of TV and radio ads. They helped him understand why her easy-on-the-ears voice sounded so familiar, but did nothing to answer questions about her attack or the court proceedings that might have followed. Could Alex have misunderstood or exaggerated what happened to her two years ago? If he hoped to teach her how to prevent future attacks, he needed to learn as much as possible about the one that changed her life—changed her.
He dialed Dave’s cell phone, and his former marine buddy picked up on the first ring.
“Well, as I live and breathe, if it isn’t the one and only Champ Marshall.”
“How goes it, Reece?”
“It goes. You still teaching old ladies how to do half nelsons and Argentine leg locks?”
For some odd reason, Dave got a kick out of comparing self-defense tactics to wrestling holds, and Zach had learned the hard way that correcting him was an exercise in futility. He didn’t expect that a dose of his own medicine would cure Dave, but Zach couldn’t help himself. “And are you still the glorified secretary at Precinct Six?”
“Hey. This place couldn’t run without a good desk sergeant.”
“A good desk sergeant, eh? Sorry to hear they replaced you.”
“Ha ha ha. Still a comedian, I see. If you ever get tired of coaching gymnastics, say the word. I know a guy who can get you a spot on open mic night at the Laugh Lounge.” Dave snickered. “But I’m guessing you didn’t call solely to cast aspersions on my career...”
“You’re as perceptive as usual,” Zach countered. And then he shared what little he knew about Summer’s history. “I’m hoping you can use your powers of persuasion to get me a little more information.”
“Why? You interested in her?”
Zach pictured her, pretty and petite, with a smile so warm it could thaw ice, and eyes that put Bambi’s to shame.
“Only as a potential student,” he fibbed. “She came out of that mess with some permanent injuries. I don’t want to put her in any situations that could do more damage or trigger flashbacks to the attack.”
“I hear ya. Hold on a sec. Got another call.”
While Zach waited, he paced from kitchen to living room and back again. The 750-square-foot apartment above the studio served him well, with a steep staircase leading to the loft bedroom, a closet-sized bathroom and a built-in storage unit that ran the entire length of the living room. He’d furnished it simply, with an overstuffed leather love seat and matching recliner, a narrow coffee table where he ate most of his meals, and a wrought-iron floor lamp. He stopped momentarily to take stock. With no knickknacks, no valances atop the wood blinds and no pictures on the white walls, the place looked bleak and boring, especially when compared with Summer’s inviting town house.
Zach slapped a hand to the back of his neck and resumed pacing. He’d spent all of thirty minutes in her presence, and here he was, wondering what his place might look like if she had a chance to decorate it?
“Bad idea,” he grumbled. Bad on so many levels, he didn’t know where to begin. Soon after returning home from Afghanistan, he’d made a promise to himself, thanks in no small part to Libby’s unsolicited advice: “No more knight-in-shining-armor behavior.”
It made him more determined than ever to hand Summer off to Emma...if she decided to enroll at the studio. His assistant’s teaching methods, though vastly different from his own, produced positive results. And in Summer’s still-fragile physical and emotional state, working woman-to-woman would probably be best for her.
In that case, why bother digging into her past? If she ever found out about it, he’d look like some crazy stalker, not someone bent on doing what was best for her.
He was about to hang up when Dave came back on the line.
“Sorry that took so long. Had to process a perp. Now, where were we?”
“Y’know, I should have given this look-into-her-background thing a lot more thought. Let’s just forget it, okay?”
“Too late, Champ. The wheels of investigation are already rolling.”
When had he had time? Zach didn’t know what went into processing a perp, but surely it required some concentration. And more than five minutes.
“I did a cursory search,” Dave said, answering Zach’s unasked question. “But it came up empty. So I shot an email to Adam. If he can’t dig up some good dirt, it’ll mean there isn’t any.”
Dave’s twin had earned a reputation for being one of the most hard-nosed assistant district attorneys in the Denver prosecutor’s office. Chances that he’d get involved in something as trivial as this were about as good as Summer showing up at the studio on Monday. That put Zach at ease. He thanked Dave, exchanged a few more good-natured barbs and ended the call.
He’d no sooner returned the handset back to its cradle when the phone rang.
“Uh oh,” Libby said, “what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, you nut. What a crazy question.”
“Watch your language, big brother. People in my line of work are sensitive to words like nut and crazy. And you of all people should know I’m not that easily distracted. You sound...off. So how about you save us both a lot of time and tell me why your voice is all tight and gravelly, because I won’t let up until you do.”
And she wouldn’t. Zach saw no harm in bringing her up-to-date on what he laughingly referred to as the Summer Chronicles.
“You better hope your DA friend doesn’t decide to bend the rules just because his brother asked him to,” she warned.
He had his own reasons for wanting the same thing, but curiosity compelled him to ask why she shared his concerns.
“Need I remind you about that night during my senior year at the University of Denver?”
He’d been home for a rare, month-long leave when Libby opted to spend time with him rather than join her dorm-mates for a downtown pub crawl. Both girls were from out of state, so when homesickness or trouble erupted, they turned to the Marshalls. That night, Zach answered the phone. Annie, on the verge of hysteria, explained how they’d met a guy who must have spiked Taylor’s drink. “She was only out of my sight for half an hour, and now she can’t walk or talk or keep her eyes open!” He’d ordered Annie to get Taylor to the hospital, promised to meet them at the ER, and called the police. It didn’t take long to confirm that Taylor had been drugged, and the cops and medical staff agreed she was lucky to have survived the double dose of Rohypnol.
“Good thing no one would tell you the guy’s name,” Libby was saying.
In hindsight, he had to agree. But that night, when he saw Taylor lying limp as a rag doll on the exam table, he’d seen red. “Where’s the guy who did that to her?” he’d demanded. Not “How is she?” or “Will she be okay?” but “I’m gonna murder him.”
“You would have gone to jail,” Libby added.
“It was a natural, knee-jerk reaction. Any decent person would have felt the same way.”
“That might be true...if it was the only time you put yourself in a bad situation, defending a woman.”
Zack knew what was coming, and he braced himself. Sure enough, Libby reminded him that moments before his best friend died,