to restore the Wyatt name by giving back to the community her father had swindled.
Some citizens had objected to another mission, even complained that it encouraged transients to frequent the area. Olivia would not be distracted by opposition, since she realized from her first volunteer experience that she was called to witness to the homeless. Or nonbelievers like the one standing before her now with his rubber gloves fisted on his hips.
“Is this an interview?” Even while he was glaring and demanding an answer, the man was a pleasant sight. His lean arms pulled the sleeves of his black T-shirt tight against a solid chest. “Or are you just nosy with everybody?”
“Pretty much everybody, but especially with the ones I allow to hang around for a while,” she said, a reminder that she had every right to ask a few questions. “Some of your answers would already be in writing for me if you’d had time to fill out the paperwork. How about if I empty out that sink while you take a break and get those forms completed.”
The glare of his eyes softened, the set of his jaw seemed to relax and his head tilted ever so slightly as if he were sizing her up. He turned back to the sink and resumed his attack on the white stoneware.
“If you get a nonnegotiable, then so do I.”
Olivia detected a hint of humor in his words.
“And what would that be?”
“I don’t shy away from hard work. I pull my own weight, especially in the service of a lovely lady.”
She hadn’t thought of herself as a lady in quite a long time, let alone one who was lovely. Humility was a free by-product of dressing in cast-off clothes.
“I never argue with a man who wants to do his part.” She sidestepped the compliment. People were generally grateful when you took them in, so it was her practice not to read too much into flattery.
“Miss Livvy, a toilet in the women’s lavatory is overflowin’ like the Brazos in rainy season.” Velma stood in the doorway with a mop in one hand and a janitor’s bucket at her side.
“Not again,” Olivia groaned. “The plumber promised it was fixed.”
“I already shut the pipes off, but I could use some help to clean up the water.”
“I got it.” Heath made a beeline for Velma and relieved her of the mop. “Point the way.”
“Just follow the stream.” She glanced at the wet tile floor. “It’ll lead you straight to the source.”
“You get the ladies out?”
“Sure did.”
“Can you wait by the door till I give the all-clear signal? We wouldn’t want anybody to slip and fall.”
“I got you covered, sugar cookie.” Velma winked at Olivia before she hurried after Heath.
Olivia offered up a prayer of thanks for having another pair of strong hands for a while, whether he was a willing volunteer or not. He hadn’t hesitated to take charge of cleanup in the ladies’ room, a place most guys wouldn’t go if their lives depended on it. He even made it a one-man job, so maybe that would get a thumbs-up from Amos. Staff relationships were important in close quarters.
She’d been exposed to a lot of unhappy people in her life and Heath had a thorn in his paw, for sure. If she had to make an educated guess, she’d say it had more to do with how he felt about himself than how he felt about the world around him.
According to Detective Biddle, Heath had thought about it for a while before choosing Table of Hope for his community service. She understood his reluctance to move into a shelter. Lots of people break the law intentionally, but very few associate with homeless folks by choice. A mission wasn’t exactly one step up from a labor camp and serving others shouldn’t be considered as a form of punishment.
Still, she’d gone along with the arrangement because it was nice to know Waco’s finest were aware and keeping an eye on activity at the shelter. There was a modicum of comfort in knowing that she wasn’t totally on her own when the lights went out each night. With so few trustworthy men in her life, the cops were high on her short list.
Chapter Three
A quick search of the women’s hot pink locker room for evidence to pin on Olivia Wyatt left Heath empty-handed. But he really hadn’t expected to find anything incriminating, at least not that easily. So he tackled the wet floor, pushing and pulling the industrial-size mop across the linoleum, pausing every few sloppy strokes to squeeze the head in the wringer attached to the bucket. As he worked, he mulled over his situation. For some reason he felt even more bent out of shape than usual.
“What’s your problem, Stone?” he grumbled aloud. “Just do the drill and get out. This assignment is a cake-walk compared to the last one.”
Five days ago he’d been in full body armor, a stinger in his grip, as he used the steel battering ram to break down the door of a crack house. A cop could never be sure what he’d find on the other side; could be drug-dazed kids, could be gunfire.
Hanging out at Table of Hope would be a big honkin’ bore by comparison. But hadn’t he just tried to convince Biddle that a quiet existence was exactly what the doctor ordered? Putting his life on the line over drugs was a losing battle. As soon as he wrapped this case he’d be off to the West Coast and the life of a professional geek.
“You ’bout done?” Velma yelled through an inch-wide crack in the door. “I got ladies who need to get in there.”
“You tell ’em unless they want to slip on this wet floor and break a leg to hold their horses for ten more minutes,” Heath yelled back. Then he muttered, “Pushy woman.”
“I heard that,” Velma called as the door creaked shut.
He felt a smile spread the width of his face, maybe for the first time in days. This place was definitely run by control freaks, but that seemed to be a good thing. From what he’d been able to observe, the facility was clean and in spite of his lame contribution to the meal, the food had been tasty and plentiful. It was a good thing since there were more hungry and homeless around here than he’d have guessed.
Yep, with so many people coming and going and the staff’s constant activity, this shelter would make a convenient cover for drug trafficking whether Olivia was involved or not.
Olivia.
He was bugged by a quality in her that he couldn’t quite identify. Was she a willing participant, covering for someone who’d let her take the fall? Or was she the real deal with this religious stuff? There was softness in Olivia’s dark gaze that appeared ready to forgive unknown and unconfessed sins. It was reckless and brave at the same time and, again, difficult to interpret.
He found that as worrisome as an unchained guard dog. Heath’s knack for reading people made him good at his job, kept him alive. Olivia Wyatt would be a challenge. Well, at least he’d leave undercover work on an interesting note, thanks to the unconventional nature of this assignment.
He crushed the mop in the wringer while reviewing the personal decision he’d admitted to Biddle earlier that day. Heath’s mind was made up. He was ready to nail shut the pine box on this phase of his life,
