by Lisa Jackson
When she was finished xeroxing, she picked out a large envelope and paid for it along with the copies then shoved the door open and stepped onto the street.
Where she came face-to-face with Cole Dennis.
“What are you doing here?” they asked in unison.
CHAPTER 12
Leaning against the side of the building, wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and shades, Cole looked as sexy, irreverent, and outwardly cool as he always had. Gone was any trace of a man on the run, a man worried about being questioned by the police for a second murder, a man in near panic. In fact, she saw no indication of stress whatsoever in the sharp angles of his face.
He’d changed and taken the time to shower and shave since she’d last seen him. An improvement. A vast improvement. But, she told herself, she was impervious to any of his charm. “Im-freaking-pervious!”
“You knew I was going to be here. No need to lie about it. You’re following me,” Eve said as he pushed away from the brick wall of the bistro situated next to the UPS store. When she saw Cole wasn’t going to deny it, she added dryly, “Or you just happened to be in the neighborhood.”
The sun was bright and intense enough that rays spangled the street, catching in bits of glass on the sidewalk. Eve concentrated on her surroundings, anything but Cole.
“I just happened to be in the neighborhood.”
“Uh-huh.” She shot him a sideways glance. Was that a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth? Sometimes he was difficult to read. “So, you’ve recovered from last night?”
“I don’t think I ever will.” The smile faded, and creases appeared on his forehead above the rims of his sunglasses.
Neither would she. “So, why are you following me?”
“Unfinished business.”
Eve sighed. “You’re just making me feel tired.”
“Am I?” Again with the smile. As if he were calling all the shots, still playing the role of Hollywood’s interpretation of a rebellious hero.
She slipped her sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose and ignored him.
His smile grew at her irritation, became that insufferable and damnably sexy grin that showed off white, straight teeth and a bad boy charm that he seemed to cultivate. Well, it wasn’t working. Not on her. “Quit following me, Cole.” She started toward her car and noticed that the meter had run out, so she quickened her steps across the sidewalk and was only vaguely aware of the notes from a plaintive saxophone over the rumble and whine of traffic.
He walked a step behind her then stood by as she scrounged in her purse and came up with her key ring. She unlocked the driver’s side door, asking, “Have you gone to the police?”
“Not yet.”
She sighed and shook her head, felt the noonday heat slide through her hair. “Look, I can’t cover for you forever. I lied last night, though God only knows why. I’m on my way to the station now, and if they start asking questions about you, I’m going to have to be straight. They already think I’m a lunatic.”
“I just need a little time.”
She pulled her door open. “Sorry. All out.”
Before she could slide into the car, he slammed the door shut, nearly pinning her with his body.
“Hey!”
He was so close to her, she saw the pores in his skin, noticed the tiniest of dark hairs on his chin, smelled that same musky aftershave she’d come to think of as pure Cole. “I’m not asking you to lie. Just to give me a little more time.”
“Wait a minute. You stole Dad’s computer. From a crime scene. I’m sure that’s a felony. And I know about it. So if I lie, I’ll be aiding and abetting or…Wait a minute, why am I explaining all of this to you? You’re the hotshot defense lawyer. You already know what laws I’m breaking.”
“You’re going to the police now?”
She lifted the envelope with the clippings. “I was, yeah, but…” Oh God, why on earth did she consider giving into his request? She tried to step away from him, away from the edge of the curb, but he reached forward, and his fingers tightened around her arm.
“I’m only asking for a couple of hours.” Behind his wraparound shades, his gaze locked with hers, and she felt the warmth of his fingertips on her bare skin. Which was ridiculous. This was a man who was, if not her enemy, still dangerous. At least as far as her emotions were concerned.
“If you go to the station now, we both know what will happen,” he said. His cool exterior had cracked. Anger was evident in the set of his jaw.
She jerked her arm from his grasp. “I won’t lie for you, Cole.”
“Just to me.”
She recognized the silent fury in the corners of his mouth and knew exactly what he was talking about, what he was insinuating. “Low blow, Cole. And not very smart. You follow me, chase me down, ask a huge favor, and then insult me? It takes a lot of nerve to practically beg me not to tell the police what I know, then make some disparaging crack about me. Careful, Counselor.”
“I’m just trying to get to the truth.”
She couldn’t believe the nerve of the guy. “So here, in broad daylight, on the day after my father was murdered, you accuse me of lying to you…about my sex life, right?” She was steamed. Beyond steamed. “You’re unbelievable.”
He held up a hand, and the sharp edge of his jaw slackened a bit. “You’re right. I was out of line.”
“Waaay out of line! Leave me alone. Okay? Just leave me the hell alone.” Before he could say another word, she climbed into her car, twisted on the ignition, then nearly clipped a bicyclist who rounded a corner on the fly as she was pulling out. She stood on the brakes, the biker shot her a dirty glare, and then, adrenaline flooding her bloodstream, she slowly nosed the little car away from the curb.
Visible in her side-view mirror, Cole stood where she’d left him—arms crossed over his chest, gaze following her car. “Bastard,” she muttered, furious with herself for caring the least little bit about him. It would serve the jerk right if she drove to the police station this very second and explained everything he’d done. No doubt Detective Montoya would take great satisfaction in tossing Cole’s ass back in prison.
And what about you? What then? Maybe you overreacted a bit. Maybe guilt got the better of your temper. All Cole wanted to know about is, who you were sleeping with, what other man was in your life. Her hands were sweating over the wheel, anger radiating from her cheeks. Damn the man. She slowed for an amber light and rolled down the windows to cool off.
The trouble was, he’d hit a nerve.
A sensitive nerve.
Why couldn’t she remember another man in her life, a man she’d known so intimately as to have gone to bed with him? When had it happened? Before she’d been with Cole on that night, or after? Certainly not on her way over to Roy’s. She’d been late as it was; she remembered that much. Her fingers tapped nervously on the wheel.
If there had been another man in her life, one she’d slept with, wouldn’t she remember? His face? His touch? His smell? While she recalled being with Cole that night, looking upward into his stormy gray eyes, raking her fingers down his chest, feeling him sweat as he pushed into her…
In her mind’s eye she again witnessed how the cords on his neck stood out, how the sweat shone on the sinewy muscles of his shoulders and arms as he propped himself above her. She could hear the exertion of his rapid breathing over her own gasping breaths and moans again, feel the tingle of lips that tasted slightly of whiskey…. And yet not one image of this other supposed lover. Not a glimmer of who he was.
A horn blasted, and she was instantly brought back to the present. She looked up, saw the green light. Instinctively she pushed on the accelerator then glanced into the rearview mirror at the angry, impatient motorist in the car behind her.
Her heart nearly stopped.
A dark pickup with tinted windows loomed just beyond her back bumper. “Oh God,” she whispered and nearly floored it as she took a corner and headed northeast along St. Charles Avenue. Could it
be the same truck from yesterday? No way…. And yet…and yet…
She kept one eye on the rearview mirror as she drove. Another car came between them, but even as the pickup lagged back, two, maybe three cars behind, he stayed the same course as she did. At Poydras Street, she angled toward the freeway and, four cars behind, so did the truck.
“You sick bastard,” she said, her voice shaking.
Enough was enough.
At the next cross street, she timed her speed so that the light turned from amber to red just as she sped through the intersection. The silver car behind her stopped abruptly, tires screeching a little, and the dark truck, trapped behind a minivan, was forced to an abrupt stop. Eve stepped on the accelerator and drove as fast as she dared to the next light. Braking slightly, she pulled a quick right turn, tearing around the corner, intending to turn the tables on the creep and follow him for a change. She would get his license number and as much information about the truck and the driver as she could. Maybe she would even recognize the prick. Still driving over the speed limit, she cut down two narrow streets before she was able to angle back toward Poydras.
“I’ve got you, you bastard,” she said, her fingers tight around the steering wheel.
But at the intersection, she was thwarted by road construction.
A bearded flagger held up a hand and spun his sign from Slow to Stop as if on cue. She had no option but to slam on her brakes and stew in the resulting dust and dark glare she received from the flagger.
“Damn!” She punched her steering wheel in frustration as a lumbering dump truck loaded with gravel and belching black smoke rumbled slowly into the construction site.
She counted the seconds as the flagger motioned traffic from the opposite direction to move. A short stream of cars bounced around a gaping hole and steel plate in the intersection. After what seemed a lifetime, the flagger twirled his sign to Slow then made frenzied hand signals to get her to step on it and drive through the dusty intersection. By the time she reached Poydras Street again, the menacing dark blue pickup was nowhere to be seen. Her chance of getting the make, model, and license plate numbers vanished.
Damn the luck.
Her phone rang, and Eve’s gaze jerked to it. Her skin crawled. The creep was onto her! He’d seen her desperate attempt to chase him down and was calling to taunt and laugh at her. Breath quivering, she picked up the phone and flipped it open, carefully guiding her Camry onto Poydras.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Eve!” Her brother Van, always affable, never reliable, was on the other end of the wireless call.
Not some bogeyman. Van. Exhaling in relief, Eve said, “I guess you heard, huh?”
“Anna Maria got hold of me. Bad news about Terrence.”
She’d forgotten. Neither of her brothers had ever referred to the man who had adopted them as “Dad” or “Father.” “Real bad,” she agreed.
“Same guy who did Roy?”
Word was leaking out. “I don’t know.”
“Cole Dennis?”
Her stomach clenched as she melded into traffic, her gaze scraping every inch of the area. She looked hard at all the surrounding cars, trucks, SUVs, and minivans. “I doubt it.”
“You said he killed Roy.”
“I said I thought he did. Now I’m not so sure.”
“Going soft?”
“Just…trying to remember and get the facts straight.”
“So, I’m in New Orleans,” Van said, easily changing subjects.
“What? I thought you were in Arizona.”
“I was. Came into New Orleans for a sales conference. I’m selling spas right now. High end. How’s that for a coincidence? Just when Terrence checks out.”
Eve’s blood turned to ice. “Yeah…” Almost too much of one.
“So I thought maybe we should get together. Talk things over. Kyle’s on his way.”
“On his way? Here?”
“Yeah.” Van acted as if nothing were odd about their conversation, though she hadn’t spoken to him in months. “There are the arrangements, and the will, lots of stuff to deal with. Kyle and I, we know you’ve been through a lot. Thought we could help out.”
“Is that right?” she asked bitterly. The brothers who had never been close to her were now concerned. And she knew in her heart it was because of her father’s estate. Great. Just what she needed on top of everything else!
“Look, I gotta run. Another call coming in.” He hung up, and she considered turning her phone off. What a loser. Their dad hadn’t been dead twenty-four hours and the vultures were already circling.
The phone rang in her hand. Hadn’t turned the damn thing off fast enough. She stabbed her thumb on the green talk button, certain Van had ended his other call and come up with a new, great idea concerning the estate. “Hello?”
“He’s free!”
Click.
The phone went dead.
He watched from his parking spot. His pickup was next to the curb, hidden behind a moving van. He’d seen her frustration as she’d been forced to sit at the construction site, waiting to drive forward. She was nervous. Antsy. Her eyes searching the side streets because she’d noticed his vehicle—known he was following her.
Stupid! He’d gotten too close again. Been too eager to be near her, had driven up behind her. When she hadn’t been quick enough at the red light, some idiot behind him had laid on the horn, startling her, making her check her mirror.
He’d lagged back, but it had been too late.
She’d seen him.
Knew he was tailing her.
Even though he’d let several cars weave between them, she’d been aware of his truck.
He realized immediately she would try something; a trick to read his license plate or get a better look at him.
Fortunately, he’d figured what would happen. Sure enough, she’d gunned it through a red light and turned quickly at the next corner, her tires squealing a bit. He’d known that she was on the attack. Quickly, across oncoming traffic, he’d wheeled into an alleyway then driven behind two restaurants and back to a tree-lined avenue where the moving van was nearly filling the street. He’d been forced to pull in behind the truck while two burly guys struggled with a refrigerator. From his hiding spot, he could observe the main street, expecting her to wheel onto it again, though he couldn’t be certain where her little Toyota would appear. Then he’d spied her car, trapped by a sign-wielding construction worker.
The Reviver had waited.
Now his heart was pounding like crazy, and he licked his lips in anticipation. The Voice had been clear that he was to follow Eve, to observe her, yet there were others to come before.
Frustration burned through him.
She was the one he wanted.
But he would hold back, listen to the instructions, leave his life in God’s hands. Hadn’t God, through the Voice, told him what would be?
Your patience and your acts will be rewarded. Fear not, Reviver.
He felt thrilled when God called him by his name. Only God would tell him who would die and who would only suffer, to be revived again.
Had that not happened with Eve?
Had she not nearly died, only to be revived?
He wasn’t certain that he could really be credited for her return to the living, but he was glad she’d been revived all the same, because he could kill her again, more slowly this time, more intimately.
She would look into his eyes, and she would know.
A shudder of desire snaked through his body, touching his soul, its forked tongue flicking at his genitals, touching both balls, making his palms sweat in anticipation and his cock thicken.
He was breathing shallowly and fast when he saw the flagger wave Eve through the intersection. She turned onto Poydras Street, heading toward the freeway, but he couldn’t follow. He had too much to do. As much as he wanted to pursue Eve, there would be time later. For now, he would return to his life on the outside, deal with the idiots who knew noth
ing about him and thought they understood him. Fools, every one.
He pulled slowly from behind the moving van, waiting as another couple of husky movers eased a recliner down the ramp from the interior of the truck. Once they’d packed the chair out of the way, he drove around the van and stopped at the intersection. Far in the distance, he spied Eve’s Camry. He imagined her nervously checking her rearview mirror or glancing anxiously at the passing side streets, the other vehicles.
So how do you feel now, Eve? You, the princess…. Do you sense me watching you? Or do you think you lost me? Do you know I can see you? Do you even suspect that I’m under your skin? Oh pampered, spoiled Eve.
Just you wait.
CHAPTER 13
“This is the best I got.” Ivan Petrusky, a penny-ante grifter, un-locked the door to what he optimistically had referred to as a furnished “studio” apartment. In truth, the entire unit was one twelve-by-twelve room that had been narrowed to allow for a minuscule bathroom and a closet that hid a tiny sink, an impossibly short counter, and a microwave/refrigerator.
A sagging sleeper sofa, table, and lamp with its burned shade, where a lightbulb had overheated, were the extent of the furnishings, but the apartment was cheap. Better yet, Petrusky took cash and kept no records.
Cole needed that.
“You off the hook for that murder a while back?” Petrusky asked. A short, wiry man pushing seventy, he had bristly white hair and sported an unlit cigar forever tucked in the corner of his mouth. His glasses were thick, his eyes sharp, his mind as clear as it had ever been. Petrusky had known Cole’s father, and then, a few years back when one of his three ex-wives had accused him of battery, he’d hired Cole to fight the charge. It had been a slam dunk as far as Cole was concerned. Belva had set the chump up by having her new boyfriend beat on her, then claiming Ivan had assaulted her. Cole had smelled a scam from the get-go. He hadn’t done all that much, as the police were on to Belva, but Ivan, who had experienced his share of run-ins with the law, had decided Cole was his savior. Since that time, as far as Cole knew, Petrusky had sworn off marriage for good. “You know the one I’m talking about,” he added. “That one that happened up in the cabin. The Kajak murder.”