Gossip (Desire Never Dies)

by Clara Grace Walker

  A sideline, he decided quickly. He’d be willing to bet Dr. Watson had a little something on the side going on. And given his day job, most likely it was pushing pills. That thought planted even more questions into his head. “You have a busy practice?” he asked.

  Ken led them down a bright hall, passing below the curved staircase opening up in the foyer, and into an oak-paneled room that smelled of cigar smoke. He sat down at a partner’s desk, commanding a spot in the center of the room, and Danny took a seat on the other side. Ken opened a cigar box and held it out to Danny. “Smoke?”

  “No, thank you.” The guy was avoiding the question. “Do you see patients in the one office, or do you visit multiple locations?”

  “A little of both, actually.” Ken laughed, as though he found such a vague answer amusing. “I just have the one office, but I do a lot of work at corrections facilities around the state.”

  That was the detail he wanted to discuss. Nice of the guy to bring it up. “That must be a little scary at times. Dealing with so many dangerous felons.”

  Ken shrugged, laughing it off good-naturedly. “The guards are the ones they don’t like. I’m just there talking to them, making them feel better.”

  “Yeah. I get that.” Especially if the guy was pushing pills. “You happen to remember an inmate by the name of Michael Bradley, aka D-bag. Got paroled about ten months ago?”

  The doctor shook his head, not meeting Danny’s stare. “Can’t say I do. Anyway, you said you wanted to talk about my wife’s disappearance.”

  “That’s right.” Danny found himself staring into the man’s aristocratic face and black eyes and thinking how strange it was the guy was a pill pusher. “Turns out this D-bag character worked for Peter Arnold at the porn studio. Peter even put up the money for his bail.”

  “Is that right?” Kenneth Watson shrugged like the revelation meant nothing to him. “Guess that’s one of those small world things. Don’t really see how that helps find my wife. Not unless you think this Michael Bradley had something to do with it.”

  “Could be.” Danny didn’t get the guy. It seemed like he was hiding something. “Another thing I’m wondering about,” Danny pressed on. “Did your wife have any friends from out of state?” He wanted to ask whether Pearl knew anyone who drove a silver Rolls, but Sarge would have his head if he breathed a word of that detail to anyone. He’d piqued Dr. Ken’s curiosity with the question though. He could tell from the inquisitive stare the guy was giving him from across the desk.

  “She and Marianne Clarke have been close for several years. After Marianne moved, Pearl used to go to Atlanta for the weekend quite a lot to visit her. You know, do girl stuff. Lunch. Shopping. Trips to the salon. That sort of thing.” He paused. “Do you think Marianne’s in danger, also?”

  “No, no.” Danny laughed the suggestion off, as if it were nothing. “I was just wondering if there was any chance Pearl might have gone to visit a friend. Maybe we should be looking for her someplace else.”

  “My wife did not leave me.” Hot temper flashed in the man’s eyes and sounded in his voice. “I should have known you were just looking for some gossip angle to exploit for your paper.”

  Good. Just let the guy think that. “I’m sorry, but we do have to look at all the possibilities here. And that’s an angle that hasn’t really been covered.”

  “Well you can cross it off your list and stop considering it. Pearl loves me. She would never leave me. Especially not without taking any of her belongings with her. If you’d done your research, you’d know she was on her way home from a trip out of town when she disappeared.”

  “Okay, okay. If you say so.” He held his hands up in submission. He was used to catching flak for his questions. “If you’re sure she didn’t run off someplace, we’ll just stick with the missing socialite story.”

  Dr. Watson rose from his chair. “Do that. In the meantime, this interview is over.”

  Fine.” Danny followed him back to the front door. “Thanks for speaking with me, Ken.”

  “It’s Dr. Watson.”

  The guy slammed the door in Danny’s face. Danny shut off the voice recorder in his pocket and made a beeline for his truck, punching in Sarge’s number on his phone.

  She answered at once, sounding on edge. “What’ve you got for me, Ventura?”

  He was already turning his key in the ignition, rumbling the old pickup to life. “Remember I told you Dr. Kenneth Watson signed off on D-bag’s psych eval for his parole from prison? I think there’s a chance Pearl Watson could have met D-bag that way. I also think Dr. Watson may be our source for the methadone. Oh yeah, and you should run that motor vehicle check again. In Georgia this time. I’m betting you’ll find a silver Rolls registered to Marianne Clarke.”

  “No kidding? Good work, Ventura. Keep this up and I may have to deputize you.”

  He laughed. He hadn’t been this excited about an interview in one heck of a long time. “Have that star ready for me when I get there. I’m on my way.”

  Chapter 74

  Jamie was miserable, tired and hungry. Every muscle in her body ached. On top of that, bouts of nausea came and went, threatening to spill whatever contents were still left in her stomach. So far, she’d managed to keep that from happening. Shock waves rolled through her. Two crazy women wanted to kill them. Because of some story Nick printed two years ago. Leaning her back against Nick’s, her head resting on his neck, she worked diligently on his knots, poking and twisting her fingers into the tight confines of the rope. She’d never grown her nails long, preferring to keep them clipped and out of her way. Right now, she wished she’d skipped her last manicure. Nails might prove useful for prying loose knots.

  She’d never known Taralynn Clarke, and she had no idea what had possessed the girl to leap forty floors to her death. There had to be more to it than one tabloid story though. Pearl’s own daughter, Darla, had three sex tapes posted on the internet and God knows how many stories printed about her. And as far as Jamie knew, she had never tried to kill herself.

  “Hey.” Nick slid his pinky between her wrists and the rope and stretched it back and forth. “How are you holding up?”

  She shrugged. “I’ll live.”

  They both laughed softly for a moment.

  “You will live,” he said. “I think you’re starting to make progress on my knots. I can feel my fingers again.”

  “Any idea why they haven’t killed us already?”

  “Busy trying to get whatever evidence they think they need to frame Peter, I guess.” He shifted and turned his face next to hers, speaking quietly into her ear. “I know Marianne and Pearl. They’re not as smart as they think they are. They’re bound to screw up and give us an opportunity to escape.”

  She shivered at the feel of his lips grazing her ear lobe. Not even the prospect of imminent death was enough to dampen her response to his touch. Pressing her cheek against his shoulder, she allowed herself a moment of hope. Maybe they would be able to escape. She could tell him about the baby. She should tell him about the baby. She’d promised there’d be no more secrets between them. The thought weighed heavily on her mind. She just wanted to tell him the truth and be done with it. “Nick, I’m pregnant.” The words came out spontaneously, without another thought as to what would be the right time or the right way.

  He turned all the way around to face her. The look in his eyes went from shock to disbelief, to something else. Some deep, bottled-up emotion she couldn’t quite name. Was it longing mixed with pain? She sat numbly, waiting for him to process the information and say something.

  He closed his eyes briefly; then re-opened them. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “After the first test was positive, I took two more. Although I don’t suppose it matters if we’re going to die anyway.”

  “We’re going to live.” He spoke the words defiantly. He looked at her now in a way she’d never seen before. Fierce and protective. “At least, the two of you are going to live.
I promise you that. Even if I have to sacrifice myself to make sure of it.”

  His words felt like a sucker punch. “You are not going to sacrifice yourself.” She swallowed hard, holding back a fresh surge of tears. How could she possibly endure his death? “We’re going to come up with a plan that gets us both out of here.”

  He kissed her on the cheek. “That’s Plan A, but if it becomes a choice between saving you or saving me, you get the hell out of here. Promise me you’ll do that.”

  She shook her head, turning away from his impassioned stare. “I don’t want to promise you that. Or talk about you dying.” She didn’t want to think about anything except the two of them surviving. Imagining anything else was too painful. Tears moistened her lashes. “I’m sorry about getting pregnant, Nick. I know we didn’t plan this. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you. I just didn’t want any more lies or secrets between us.”

  “Hey.” He pressed up close to her, touching his cheek against hers, brushing his stubbly chin against her face. “I’m not sorry, you know. I’m thrilled. Do you have any idea how much I’ve wanted a child?”

  “Kind of. I mean, I thought maybe you did.” She leaned into his side, taking in the warmth of his body. The memory of how it felt to lie beneath him tortured her now. She wanted him. Shouldn’t want him. And would probably die anyway.

  “That’s what Janelle and I were fighting about,” he said. “Before she died.”

  “You mean a baby?” Was that why he’d asked if she liked kids?

  He nodded. “I wanted a child desperately, and she didn’t. I think that’s why she had the affair with Rod. We were having terrible fights about having a child all through last winter and into the spring.”

  She remembered his behavior the day Janelle died; what he’d said about her being about to leave him. No wonder they’d been so close to divorce. He’d been living in his own private Hell for months before she died. “Were you still fighting about having a baby when she was killed?”

  He shook his head. “No. The matter had technically been resolved. In her favor. Like everything else in our marriage.” He let out one small chuckle. “It was a pretty one-sided relationship. Janelle wanted. Janelle got. I can’t say I was too happy about it either. It was really just a matter of who was going to throw the towel in first.”

  She wished she could touch his face; wrap her arms around him. “Nick, I’m sorry.”

  He kissed her cheek again, letting his lips linger there before speaking. “Everything’s going to be okay, sweetheart. I’m glad you told me about the baby. And I promise you, I am not going to let anything happen to you, or our child.”

  “I don’t want you to die either.”

  “Trust me. That’s not my plan. I want to be there with you when our child is born, and be his father, and help you raise him.”

  “Him?”

  He smiled. “Or her. I’ll be happy either way.”

  She nodded. “I keep thinking about the day you asked me if I wanted to have kids with you. I thought you were joking, you know.”

  “Me, too.” He chuckled. “Nice of you to take me so literally though. Now maybe you’ll give a relationship with me a chance and not run off to California.”

  There was that word again. Relationship. Images flashed through her mind, like watching a TV set. Her father coming home drunk and belligerent, screaming at her mother for locking him out of the bedroom. Her mother screaming back she should have put Jeremy up for adoption instead of marrying him and wasting her life. Jeremy flinching every time he heard it. A relationship like that was worse than being alone. “We shouldn’t jump into a commitment just because I’m pregnant,” she said. “That’s not a good enough reason. People don’t run to the altar anymore just because a woman gets pregnant.”

  Devastation clouded his face. “That’s not the only reason I want to be with you.” Hurt registered in every word he spoke. “Was what we shared really just sex for you? I know I haven’t said it out loud, but let me be clear, Jamie. I love you.”

  Did he really? “You might say that now even if you didn’t; because of the baby.”

  “I’m not just saying it.” Anger replaced his hurt. “I wanted a relationship with you before you told me you were pregnant, if you’ll recall. I love you. I wasn’t just after sex. Believe me. I can get that from a lot of women.” He paused. “Was sex all you were after?”

  She wished. And damn him for making her admit otherwise. “No,” she said. “It wasn’t.”

  He looked at her again, taking a deep breath, staring at her like he was trying to figure something out. “Do you not want this baby?” He closed his eyes. “If you don’t want it, and we get out of here alive, I’ll take care of it for you.”

  He looked about as close to breaking down as she had ever seen him. “That thought never occurred to me.”

  He opened his eyes. Relief shone in his face. “So you do want the baby?”

  “Yes. I want it.” And him, too. Damn him.

  “Then what’s the problem?” He continued speaking before she could answer. “I like to think I’m a pretty decent guy. I work hard. I don’t smoke or take drugs. You’re obviously attracted to me. And I’m loyal and honest. You could do a lot worse, you know.”

  “I know.” Hell, they were probably going to die anyway. She might as well give him an explanation. “It’s not that I don’t want you, or think I could do better. I just never intended to end up with anyone. My own parents got married because my mother was pregnant, and they wound up resenting each other. And they made my brother Jeremy feel guilty about being born. Everyone in my family has been divorced. Except my parents. And they should have been. Relationships don’t end well, as far as I can see. You either end up divorced, or you wishing you were. And the one time I tried giving a relationship a chance….”

  “The jerk left you for your best friend.”

  “Yes.” Strangely enough, the hurt of that memory stung a little less.

  He nodded. “I get it, sweetheart. You’re not the only one who’s afraid, you know. I was married twice to the same woman. She divorced me the first time and cheated on me the second. If she hadn’t been murdered, we would have gone through divorce number two. Do you think I’m not afraid of diving right in for another shot at happiness?”

  “I’m not afraid.” Her denials, however, rang false. Even to her. “I’m just trying to be practical and spare us both from being hurt down the road.”

  “By hurting us now?” He kept his probing stare leveled at her. “You are afraid, Jamie, and I am, too. But I don’t let fear keep me from going after what I want.”

  “I am not afraid.”

  “Then prove it,” he challenged. “Tell me how you really feel about me.”

  Tears stung her eyes once more. She hadn’t cried this much in eight years. “Why do you have to do this to me?”

  “What do I do to you? Tell me.”

  Damn him for not letting up. Even tied up and facing death, he remained his usual bulldog self. “I love you, Nick.” Her words came out in a whisper, her voice cracking.

  His face went from sorrow to elation. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He kissed her on the mouth, pressing his lips gently against hers before deepening the kiss with his tongue. Looking into her eyes even after his kiss ended. “Now that we’ve got that settled, let’s not let these psychos steal our future from us. I’m not going to lose you, and you’re not going to lose me either. I’m going to get us both out of here. And prove to you a happily-ever-after can exist. Now let’s get back to untying these damn knots.”

  Chapter 75

  Sarge rested on the chair on one side of her desk. Peter Arnold leaned back on the other. Out of jail, looking pretty damn relaxed for a man awaiting trial on sexual abuse charges. In the chair next to him sat his attorney, Roger Sheldon, a smug-looking man in an expensive suit, who kept looking at his Rolex. Probably wanting to make sure he got his billing records straight. She’d kept them cooling their heel
s at the station for over an hour while Sanchez hauled Kenneth Watson in for questioning. The man had folded like a house of cards in a stiff breeze at her first question, after she threatened to slap accomplice charges against him for the murders of Janelle Tyler-Beck and Patrice McKenzie. She hadn’t had such an easy time breaking a suspect in…ever. By the time Peter Arnold and Roger Sheldon were ushered into her office, she had her interrogation played out in her head like a symphony.

  She found Peter pathetically upbeat for a man about to spend the rest of his useful life behind bars. His red hair had been combed back; his dress shirt, he left unbuttoned to partially show off his chest. He sat in a relaxed posture; legs spread slightly apart, arms folded across his chest. He gave the appearance of a man trying to seem open, while still closing himself off.

  She didn’t care how much money he spent on his fancy New York attorneys, he was going down. “Your golf buddy has recanted his story about meeting up with you for drinks the day your ex-wife came up missing. Seems you no longer have an alibi.” She made the statement calmly, quietly, but with the unspoken challenge for him to defend it.

  He tried laughing it off, but his laugh sounded hollow and forced to her ears.

  He conferred with his attorney in a whisper before turning back to Sarge. “I have no alibi? Perhaps not, Sergeant Freeman, but neither do I have any motive for wanting to make her disappear.”