“Yeah,” Juan answered. “Or we could be solving not just one case, but two. What are the chances that a woman’s boyfriend is murdered and she goes missing the next day and it’s not connected?”
“Very slim.” Mark’s words came out in almost a growl. “But…it’s just nothing is cut-and-dried about this case.”
“I’m going to grab the Liu file and go through it again.” Connor dropped his feet off his desk. “And when the sketch is finished I’ll make a few calls to see if we need a warrant to snag some film from the airport. I’ll take a shift at Bates’s apartment tomorrow.”
Juan nodded. “I’ll see Mr. Grimes out and then I’ll start going through mug shots looking for anyone who might fit the sketch.”
“We’re going to solve this one.” Mark got up and pulled his gun out of his drawer.
Juan hoped Mark was right. For the Noels. And for Cindy Bates.
* * *
Juan spent the rest of the afternoon on the computer looking at mug shots, hoping to find a dark-haired, six-foot-plus guy with a spider prison tattoo. He hadn’t found anyone in their database. Considering the guy was from Los Angeles, he called the LAPD, offered to send them the sketch to see if someone there could look into their database and call him if they found anything. They were happy to help but couldn’t promise a speedy turnaround.
He headed home and was almost there when his phone rang. Checking the screen, he saw his sister-in-law’s name.
“Hi, Christina,” he said.
“I like her,” his sister-in-law said.
“Who?” he asked.
“Your girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Okay, call her your neighbor.”
Air caught in his throat. “You met Nikki?”
“Sí, and I like her. But I’m going to hate her tomorrow when my muscles are sore from taking her Pilates class. Why didn’t you tell me you knew her?”
“It didn’t come up.” What exactly had Nikki told his sister-in-law?
“I hope her daughter’s okay?”
“Huh?”
“The school called earlier and said her little girl was really sick.”
“With what?”
“I don’t know, but Nikki hurried out. I heard something about a high fever. Can you let her know we have someone to cover her classes if she can’t make it tomorrow?”
“Yeah. I will.”
He hung up. A sense of urgency he shouldn’t feel pulled at him. How many times had she insisted she could take care of herself? So why did he feel the need to charge in to help?
He parked in his garage, put Sweetie on her leash, and walked over next door.
He waited a good sixty seconds after ringing her bell, and was about to leave when he heard footsteps approaching the door. She greeted him with a frown and she looked pale, with dark circles underlining her eyes.
“Hey. Christina called and said Bell was sick.” Sweetie started yanking the leash to go inside.
“It’s a virus. She’ll be fine. Thank you.” She started to shut the door.
“You don’t look well, either. Can I do anything?”
“No.” She looked ready to bolt. “I think I got it, too. But—”
“I need to run to the store.” It was a lie, but a good one. “You need anything? Soup? Medicine?”
Interest flashed in her eyes.
“You’re really going?” Desperation sounded in her voice.
“Yes.”
She hesitated.
“I’m going. What do you need?”
“Pepto-Bismol and maybe some soup. Kid’s Tylenol. And a thermometer,” she added.
“What kind of soup?”
“Chicken.” Suddenly covering her mouth with her hand, she swung the door half-closed. He heard a gagging sound.
He took a step closer. Sweetie barked as she tried to get inside. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“I’m good at holding hair back.” As his words slipped off his tongue, he remembered Angie’s three months of morning sickness. The thought thumped him in his chest. A pang of grief followed at the memory of what she said every time she threw up: It’ll be worth it when I see my baby smile. She’d been robbed. And so had he. And yet here he was, offering to hold a different woman’s hair. It felt wrong, and yet somehow not so wrong.
She was his neighbor and he wanted to help her.
But he couldn’t deny that wasn’t all he wanted.
Chapter Sixteen
Vicki had made Bell and herself a pallet on the hall floor in front of the bathroom. Once she’d gotten home, she’d discovered she had only one dose of Pepto left. She gave that to Bell.
Wrapping her arms around her niece, who still complained of a stomachache, she tried to comfort her while fighting wave after wave of nausea.
She’d barely managed to clean up the entryway floor.
I’m good at holding hair back.
Juan’s words echoed in her head. Was there really a guy out there who’d do that? After she’d pushed him away again last night, the fact that he’d offered to go to the store shocked the hell out of her. The fact that she’d accepted both shocked and scared her.
“I don’t feel good,” Bell cried.
“I know, sweetheart.” Vicki rested her hand on the child’s forehead. Bell felt hot, but with Vicki feverish herself, it made it hard to be sure.
“Do you want some more ice chips?” Vicki asked.
“No.”
The doorbell rang. Knowing it was probably Juan, she forced herself off the floor. “I’ll be right back.” She stopped by the sofa where she’d dropped her purse and pulled out a couple of twenties.
Answering the door, she looked up at Juan with bags in both his hands and concern in his expression.
“Hey. Let me bring this in.” He went to sidestep her.
She shifted in front of him.
“No. I can take it.” She noticed how full the bags looked. “What all did you get?”
“Just a few extra things.” He walked around her and dropped the bags on her table. He unloaded a few of his purchases. “My mom always got us ginger ale and Popsicles when we were sick. I thought Bell might like that.” He pulled out the box. “I’ll put these in the freezer.”
Vicki blinked. Her head hurt, her stomach hurt, her side throbbed. And seeing Juan so eager to help made her heart hurt. “Thank you.”
“Can I have a Popsicle now?” Bell’s voice came behind her.
Vicki turned. “Sure.”
Juan opened the box. “You want red, white, or blue?”
“Red,” Bell answered, offering an appreciative look that wasn’t a smile but was close.
Juan opened the Popsicle, bunching the paper at the bottom, and handed it to Bell. “Hope it makes you feel better.”
The tenderness in his voice had a knot tightening in Vicki’s throat.
“Thank you.” Bell looked up at him with big brown eyes.
“Yes. Thank you,” Vicki echoed.
“You want one?” he asked her.
“No, thanks.”
He walked to the table and pulled out the other items from the bags. “I wasn’t sure what kind of chicken soup, so—”
“How much was it?” she asked.
“We can deal with that later.”
She held out the twenties. “Will this cover it?”
“I left the receipt in the car. Pay me later.”
Bell curled up on the sofa. Vicki looked from her niece to Juan. “You should—”
“Can I heat up some soup?” He moved into the kitchen with the Popsicles and she heard her freezer open and close.
When he walked out, she stepped away. “I’m sure this is contagious. You should go.”
“I never catch stuff like this,” he said.
“I don’t think you should chance it.”
He frowned as if trying to think of a reason to stay. And God help her, but part of her wanted him to stay. To help care for Bel
l. When had she started trusting him?
“We just need to rest.”
His eyebrows lifted as if her sendoff caused a visceral reaction. Then she felt it, too. Regret. Remorse. She felt like a real bitch.
“Christina said if you need to miss tomorrow, they have someone who could cover your classes.”
“Thanks. I’ll call her.”
When that stretch of silence grew awkward, he started for the door. She followed him.
Opening the door, he turned. Met her gaze. “If you need—”
“I won’t.”
“At least take my card. Call me if anything changes.” He retrieved a card from his wallet and put it in her palm.
The second his hand touched hers, emotion swelled in her chest.
“I’ll come check on you,” he said.
“Not necessary.”
His mouth thinned in disappointment. Her heart felt the same pull.
He ran a hand over his chin, looking frustrated. “Then give me your number so I can call and check in.”
“We’ll be fine.”
Noting his frown, she realized how badly she was treating him. “I’m sorry,” she said before she could stop herself. “I’m sorry for mistaking you for a burglar. I’m sorry that I’m coming off like a bitch.”
“You’re not coming off like a bitch. You’re coming off—”
“I’m sorry that I’m not in a place to accept…everything you’re offering. It’s not you. It’s me. And I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “I’m just being a neighbor. You’re sick and your kid’s sick and I just want to help.”
“You have. And it’s too much already.” Realizing she still had the money in her hands, she held it out. “Let me know how much I owe you.”
He left without taking it.
Vicki rested her head against the door and tears of frustration filled her eyes. How could it be that she’d completed the Ironman competition, yet all it took was a stomach virus and a sick kid to make her want to scream uncle?
* * *
Juan had barely gotten off Nikki’s porch when his phone rang. “Yeah,” he answered without checking the number.
“She’s back again.”
His mind raced as he tried to recognize the voice. “Who?”
“That Bates woman. I just got home and she’s sitting on my porch swing. My husband said to call you.”
He realized it was Mrs. Henley’s voice, the owner of the house Cindy Bates had rented. “Okay, don’t go in the backyard. Don’t look out the window. I’m on my way.” It would take him fifteen minutes, so he called to get a unit there as quickly as possible and gave them a description of Bates’s car.
When he pulled up to the Henleys’ place there was a cop car in the driveway. An officer stood on the porch speaking to Mrs. Henley. He didn’t see a burgundy Saturn parked out front, but he still jumped out and headed to the door.
Mrs. Henley looked at him. “The dog barking scared her away right after I got off the phone with you. I went out and tried to stall her. She asked me for money. Said we owed it to her and that it was for an orphan fund. I told her to let me get my purse, but I was so nervous, I think she knew I was just trying to stall her. When I came back out, she was gone.”
“Shit!”
The patrol cop looked at Juan. “I’ve called in to be on the lookout for her car.”
Mrs. Henley crossed her arms. “Why does she keep coming here?”
“I told your husband to secure your back gate. Did he?”
“He said he was going to do it this weekend.”
“Maybe you should get him to do it sooner,” Juan recommended.
“Who did that to her face?” The empathy was clear in her voice.
“We have the guy locked up,” Juan said.
The woman frowned. “She left a notebook on the swing if you want to see it.”
Juan followed Mrs. Henley into the backyard. He picked up the artist notebook. Written in neat handwriting was poetry. He read the first two lines.
I’m ready to join you, my friend.
My heart just will not mend.
The next page had the same poem he’d read in her journal at her apartment. The one about a mirror and a face. The next page had some detailed sketches of a birdbath with a couple of birds perched on the side. Another page had different kinds of statuary. An angel, a concrete stand with a moon and a sun. Like in the paintings at her place, talent shone in the work. He looked around and saw she’d been sketching items from the garden area.
“Seriously, I’ll look at how much the swing costs and I’ll give it to her. I’ll even pay for the birdbath and all.”
“So she did all this?” He looked at the corner garden.
“Yeah. I’ll pay for them, too.”
“I don’t think it’s all about the money. I think this place feels like home.”
“Well, it’s not her home anymore.”
“I know. Did she appear to be on drugs?”
“She was nervous, but not like she was high on anything. Do you think she’s dangerous?”
“I don’t know her well enough to say. But I would keep your guard up and make your husband put a lock on the gate.”
Juan left with the notebook. The first line of the poem echoed in his head. I’m ready to join you, my friend. Was Bates thinking of killing herself?
* * *
At almost midnight Tuesday night, Vicki and Bell lay on opposite ends of the sofa. The television had played on a kid channel all day, although Bell mostly slept.
Vicki had stayed awake on mama duty and watched over Bell, who’d had a temperature on and off, but now her own sickness was taking its toll.
Her niece wouldn’t eat any solid food, but she drank the ginger ale and ate Popsicles. Vicki’s appreciation for Juan kept going up, while her willpower kept going down. She’d fought the urge to call and say thank you a dozen times.
Rolling over, she felt the throbbing in her side worsen. She hissed as the pain radiated across her stomach. This had to be more than a stomach virus. It had to be the flu.
Chills, stomach pain, body pain. She couldn’t remember ever being this sick. Surely this thing couldn’t last much longer.
Bell moved up on the sofa and stretched out beside Vicki. Just the soft pressure of the child against Vicki’s side made her moan. She wanted to ask her niece to move away, but how wrong was that? So she rested her arm around the child.
“You’re hot,” Bell said a few minutes later and woke Vicki up.
“Yeah,” she answered.
“Do you need a Popsicle?” Bell asked. “It made me feel better.”
“No, hon. I’ll be fine. But it’s late.” Obviously after napping all day Bell wasn’t very sleepy now. “You know what? I might fall asleep. Can you be good and watch TV? And if you get to feeling bad, wake me up. Okay?”
“Can I play games on your phone?”
“No, baby.” She needed to set the alarm so she’d wake up to give Bell more medicine in case her fever came back. “Just watch TV now.”
“What about your old phone? I found it in the garbage.”
“No. It’s broken.” She forced herself to sit up. When she did, the blanket slipped off her legs, and goose bumps crawled up her calves. Her head swam and she clung to the edge of the sofa. She managed to reach the phone to set it.
“Are we going to sleep on the sofa?” Bell asked.
“You want to?” Vicki fell back on the cushions and pulled the blanket back over her.
“It would be like a sleepover party.” Bell sounded chipper.
“Yeah.” Vicki forced a smile.
“I’m kind of hungry,” Bell said.
“You want some soup?” But did Vicki have the energy to get it?
“Yes.”
With Bell on the mend, Vicki could hope she wasn’t far behind. She pushed up again. Her arms trembled. Her head pounded. Damn, she was so cold. She perched on the edge of the sofa for several seconds, garnering
her strength so she could walk. Then as she pushed up, her knees nearly buckled. She caught herself on the arm of the sofa.
She made it to the kitchen, but had to hold on to the counter to keep standing. Wasn’t there some rule that mothers couldn’t get sick at the same time as their kids? She supposed it didn’t translate to pretend moms.
Shaking, Vicki opened the Chicken and Stars soup and poured it into a bowl. The smell almost turned her stomach. She stuck it in the microwave. When another wave of cold hit her, her entire body shivered. Her fever must have gone up again. While the microwave hummed, she found the liquid Tylenol and took a big swallow. The sweet taste curled her tongue and for a second she didn’t think she was going to keep it down.
She stood there, hanging on to the counter for dear life. When the appliance dinged, she somehow managed to get the soup out. Some of it spilled out of the bowl as she moved back to the sofa. But she didn’t care.
“It might be hot. Be careful.” She placed the bowl on the coffee table and literally fell back on the couch.
Bell slid off the sofa to the floor and looked at her soup. Vicki realized she’d forgotten a spoon. A knot of desperation swelled in her chest.
“Can you get yourself a spoon?” she asked Bell, who looked up at her as if worried.
“You don’t look good,” Bell said.
“I’ll be better tomorrow.” She watched Bell get up to get her spoon. Vicki pulled the blanket over her and tried not to think about the jackhammer going off in her head.
Chapter Seventeen
Pablo parked a few houses down from Dan Jefferies’s place. It was eleven p.m., and most of the neighbors had their lights out.
Vicki’s boyfriend wasn’t due back for two more days, but Pablo couldn’t help but think he’d missed something that could lead him to Vicki. She’d dated the man for years. And Pablo kept thinking about what Sam said about Vicki not having his money.
When Alison left, she’d packed a lot of shit in boxes. What were the odds that Vicki didn’t know Alison had taken his money? When he’d tossed Vicki’s condo before she ran away from L.A., he hadn’t found Alison’s things. What would she have done with those boxes? Could she have stored them at Jefferies’s place? In his attic maybe?
Don't Breathe a Word: Includes a bonus novella (Texas Justice Book 2) Page 17