Behind The Red Doors (Santori Stories #1)(22)
Author: Vicki Lewis Thompson

“Oh, Mr. Willis, I’m expecting a police officer to stop by sometime today to discuss security for the Valentino diamond.”

“Yes, Miss Faith. A man or a woman?”

“Actually, I’m not sure.”

“I’ll keep an eye out. Shall I call you when the officer arrives or send him or her on up to the jewelry store?”

“Send the officer on up.”

CARTER GRAYSON stared at the piece of paper, then back to Captain Stewart. “You can’t be serious.”

“As an effing heart attack.”

“Chief, this is a security guard job—I’m a lieutenant!”

“You’re a wounded lieutenant who got that way because you didn’t follow procedure.”

Carter set his jaw. “I always follow procedure.”

“Like wearing your bulletproof vest?”

He ground his teeth. “A bulletproof vest wouldn’t have kept me from getting shot in the leg.”

“I was making a point.” His captain sat back in his chair. “Grayson, if you have some sort of problem, you could tell me and we’ll get you some help.”

“Problem, Sir?”

“You know—alcohol, drugs.”

He scoffed. “I don’t even take the painkillers the doctor gave me for my leg.”

“Is it a woman?”

“I don’t have a woman.”

“Maybe that’s your problem.”

“Are you my captain or my mother?”

His captain shrugged. “Something’s affecting your concentration. You refuse to take vacation time, you’ve been as cross as a damn bear with everyone around here, and considering the way the Dorsey Avenue bust went down, you’ve been about as reckless as one, too.”

Carter bit down on the inside of his cheek until the metallic taste of blood filtered into his mouth. First his friends and relatives, and now his co-workers—was this some kind of conspiracy?

His captain sighed and steepled his hands. “Look, Grayson, I know this assignment is a pissant job, but you could use some downtime. I can’t put you back on the street until you’re well, so it’s this or desk duty.”

Carter winced.

“Take it, son. Take a couple of weeks and work out whatever’s messing with your mind. There’s even a gym close to this place where you can finish your rehab.”

Carter knew when to say when. He dropped into a chair with a defeated sigh, rubbed his throbbing leg, then reread the assignment sheet. “The Diamond Mine.” He looked back up. “Never heard of it.”

“New jewelry store down on Michigan Avenue in a swanky place called The Red Doors. Try not to touch anything.”

CHAPTER TWO

Saturday afternoon, February 1, 2003

CARTER FUMED during the drive to Michigan Avenue, gripping the steering wheel of his SUV until his hands cramped. “Traffic’s a freaking nightmare,” he rumbled. “Where did all these people come from? Don’t they have anything better to do on a Saturday than to clog the streets?”

In the passenger seat, his adopted yellow Labrador, Trudy, lifted her head and barked.

“I’m not talking to myself. I’m talking to you.”

She cocked her head.

“What, are you in on this…this…this citywide intervention to force me to be a nicer person?”

She barked again.

“Yeah? Well, what if it’s not my problem? Maybe everyone else has the problem—did you ever think of that? Using their pop-psych analysis to try to figure out why I’m not Mr. Sunshine all the time. I’m a cop—what the hell do they expect?”

Trudy laid her head on the console and telegraphed sympathy with her eyes.

“You know, my sister thinks I adopted you because I was lonely. I tried to explain that you just showed up at the station and followed me around until I had no choice but to take you home. She wouldn’t listen. Like most females, she just jumped to her own damned conclusion.”

Let’s face it, Carter, you are not commitment material.

He cursed and wiped a hand over his mouth. Faith Sherman’s last words were only haunting him because it was getting close to that time of year again when men were expected to prove their devotion by coughing up an expensive bauble or making a big production out of dinner or doing something really crazy like popping the question just so a woman could brag that her man outdid everyone else’s man. He knew Valentine’s Day was encroaching because he’d circled the damn date on his calendar, in red. Just in case he was involved in another promising situation, he didn’t want to muck things up by asking the woman to do something on that day.

Not commitment material? He was just as much commitment material as most of the guys he knew—maybe even more so. He paid his rent on time. He picked up after himself…mostly. He rarely let the trash overflow onto the floor. He wouldn’t mind sharing a television remote because he had two televisions in the living room—one for pro sports and one for college sports. The reason he left the commode lid up was so that Trudy could drink from the toilet bowl if she had the urge. He didn’t snore…much. And he didn’t care about most things enough to argue about them.

He was too commitment material—it just so happened he didn’t want to be tied down to one woman. Responsibility. Monogamy.

And he flatly refused to believe that his mental state had suffered over the past several months because of her offhand dismissal. Okay, her dumping him had thrown him at first, but on mere principle, not because he felt anything special for her. After all, they hadn’t even slept together—it was just a few casual dates of bowling and pool. She hadn’t given him time to work his way up to darts. If things had still been going well after that, his next step would’ve been to think of some way to talk her into going to bed with him.

Of course, from the looks of her that night, she might have been willing to skip a few steps.

Still, in hindsight, it would have been a matter of time anyway before she noticed that he wasn’t up to snuff for the daughter of D. H. Sherman. Better for things to have ended when they did in the unlikely event that he would have developed some kind of feelings for her. After all, hadn’t she told him she was looking for a re-la-tion-ship?

Trudy barked, and he reached over to scratch her head. “You’re the only woman I need in my life, old girl. I’ll be in a better mood soon—I’m just in a slump, that’s all.” He flexed his left leg as much as the floorboard would allow. “And my leg is making me cranky.”

Maybe Captain Stewart was right, maybe he did need a change of scenery for a few days. He slowed as the storefront came into view. The Red Doors. He whistled low at the prime corner location, the elegant signage, the red awning over the enormous set of doors. This would definitely be a change from the bad neighborhoods and dark alleys he usually patrolled. Well-heeled men and women strolled the sidewalks of the high-end retail area, suits and dress coats prevailed.

He looked down at his jeans and leather jacket. “Think they’ll let me in?”

Trudy seemed more optimistic than he felt. He pulled into the parking garage and surrendered his key and a twenty to a somber-looking attendant. “Watch my dog for a few minutes, will you, pal?”

The man looked uncertain, but took the money with a gloved hand and nodded.

Carter took a minute to look at his reflection in the side mirror. The ball cap was probably a bad idea. He yanked it off and ran his hand through his hair to displace the distinct flattened ridge. He hadn’t cut his hair since he’d been on sick leave, and it was well below regulation length, flipping up on the ends. But it would have to do. He tossed the cap inside. “What’s the quickest way to get to that Red Doors place?”

The man looked him up and down, then pointed mutely to the nearest exit sign.

“Much obliged.”

The exit took him to a sidewalk that led to the entrance. The two immense doors opened into a small enclosed foyer, with a waist-high mahogany counter on the right, sporting a brass plaque that read Package Pickup. A few feet behind the counter, an elevator opened and a tall, older gentleman alighted carrying two wrapped packages.

“Yes, sir, how may I help you?”

“I’m looking for a place called The Diamond Mine.”

One of the doors leading to the interior opened and an attractive middle-aged blonde stuck her head out. “Alfred, if Mrs. Bangs stops to pick up those packages, don’t you dare let her shake them.”

The stiff-backed man frowned hard. “I’m with a customer.”

The woman turned her gaze to Carter, and he got the feeling that she liked what she saw. Then she squinted. “Are you here about the security job?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

The older man made an impatient noise. “I was just about to send him up to see Miss F—”

“Alfred,” the woman said rather sharply. “I’ll show the gentleman to the jewelry store.” She turned a curving smile toward Carter. “Won’t you follow me, Mr….?”

“Lieutenant Grayson of the Chicago P.D., ma’am.”

She led him through the doors into a spacious lobby with checkerboard marble floors. “Lieutenant? My, my. Can you tell me the time, Lieutenant Grayson?”