If A Man Answers

by Merline Lovelace

  Aside from the living room/gym, Sam had managed to make his house into a home in a remarkably short period of time. Or, she wondered suddenly, did he owe the comfortable arrangements to the sultryvoiced female who’d answered the phone the first time Molly had called to complain about his music?

  Or had she even called Sam that first time? Maybe she’d misdialed then, too. The thought sent a shiver down Molly’s spine and reminded her all too graphically of her second reason for pushing through the oleanders.

  “The police contacted me today,” she told her host. “They traced the number I dialed the other night.”

  He shot her a quick look over the steaming mugs of hot water. “And?”

  “And it belongs to a man named Joey the Horse Bennett...recently deceased.”

  Sam swore. Quietly. Succinctly. Dumping spoonfuls of dark granules into each mug, he gave them a quick stir and joined Molly at the table.

  “Tell me the details.”

  She took a sip of coffee first, finding that the telling seemed to get harder, not easier. With each repetition, the victim became more that just a disembodied voice. She imagined a short, wiry dark-haired man. Heard his desperate pleas. Tried not to see a bullet hole blossom in his forehead.

  “A Detective Kaplan in Homicide asked me to come downtown tomorrow at ten,” she finished, swirling the dark liquid in her mug. “He wants to go over exactly what I heard.”

  “You okay with that?”

  She looked up to find Sam studying her with a frown in his gray eyes.

  “No,” she admitted. “I get a little queasy every time I think about that phone call. My phantom visitor last night didn’t exactly help matters, either.”

  “I did a walk-around of your house before you got home tonight,” Sam said, surprising her. “All the doors and windows were secure. I’ll make another check after you go back inside.”

  Molly didn’t think he’d intended that as a hint for her to leave, but she decided to use it as an exit cue. Pushing her mug aside, she rose.

  “Thanks. I’m enough of a coward to appreciate the offer.”

  “No need to rush off. You haven’t finished your coffee.”

  She didn’t tell him that she’d lingered too long as it was. For a belligerent ex-military type with vampire habits and a Jekyll-and-Hyde personality, Sam Henderson could certainly turn on the charm when he wanted to. She’d better get the heck out of Dodge, or in this case, out of his beautiful kitchen, before she did something stupid. Such as get too friendly with a man who turned his emotions on and off like a faucet.

  “Coffee’s the last thing I really need tonight,” she . confessed, detouring around the steel jungle of his living room. “My boss suggested that I overheard a mob execution. That cheerful thought is enough to keep me awake without the added stimulus of caffeine.”

  “A mob execution,” Sam echoed, frowning. “I suppose that’s one possibility. This Joey character could have welched on his bets or gotten crosswise of a major drug distributor.”

  “Hey! For a guy who’s trying to reassure me by checking my doors and windows, you’re going about it all wrong!-Besides, the man I heard shoot Joey the Horse didn’t sound like a mobster.”

  “Oh? Have you carried on conversations with a lot of mafioso before?”

  She threw him a nasty look. “This guy came across as educated, sophisticated.”

  “You think today’s hoods aren’t?”

  “Okay, okay. What if it was the mob who rubbed him out? Unless the police can put a face to the voice I heard, it won’t make any difference.”

  She didn’t know who she was trying to convince, herself or Sam. In any case, she got the answer to her question the very next morning.

  Molly had only visited City Hall once before. Her boss had taken her down to meet the mayor and city council, who maintained a close working relationship with the Convention Center. At the time, the multistory elliptical glass structure on the corner of Fourth and Stewart hadn’t particularly impressed Molly. Nor had the shallow, empty fountain in front of the building. Devoid of even a trickle of water, the dry fountain had struck her as incongruous in a city bursting with vibrant energy.

  The interval between Molly’s first and second trip to the municipal building hadn’t improved its appeal. The grim purpose behind her visit only emphasized its stark, uninviting facade. After asking directions from the receptionist at the front desk, she made her way to the police department located in the rear annex and asked directions to Detective Kaplan’s office. A uniformed officer directed her up two flights of stairs and down a long hall.

  She found the Homicide Division...and Sam Henderson ensconced in one of the uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs placed in front of a modular desk unit.

  He rose at her approach, tall and calm and smiling a little at her surprise. For the first time in their brief acquaintance, he wore something other than jeans, sweats or thigh-skimming athletic shorts. Even in loafers, black slacks and crisp, blue cotton shirt, however, he looked like a man who knew his way around a gym.

  Chiding herself for the strange little rush of pleasure his presence generated, Molly inquired what he was doing there.

  “Kaplan called this morning and asked me to come in as well. I guess he was hoping that I could add some detail to your initial report. So far, I’ve come up blank. Here, have a seat.”

  She had just taken the other chair when a short, compact individual in wrinkled gray slacks and a tan sport coat approached.

  “Miss Duncan?” He tossed a file on the desk and held out his hand. “I’m Al Kaplan. Thanks for coming down.”

  Molly’s ear picked up a hint of an accent. German, she was sure. Judging by his dark jowls and sturdy build, the detective had no doubt descended from first-generation immigrants.

  “Have you met Major Henderson?” Kaplan shook his head at his own question. “Oh, sure you have. He’s your neighbor, the one you lodged the complaint against the night you heard the murder.”

  Avoiding Sam’s sardonic gaze, Molly nodded. “Yes, he is.”

  “I’ve read the police reports filed as a result of your two calls to 911,” the detective continued, seating himself opposite the two, “but I’d like go over them with you in detail.”

  “Both of them?” she asked with a little frown.

  “Both of them.”

  “Why? Do you think there’s a chance that the two incidents are related?”

  “We can’t discount the possibility. You said in your statement that the killer picked up the phone while you were still on the line.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  Even now, in the bright light of day, she could hear the echo of the victim’s desperate pleading and the killer’s cold, calm response.

  “You probably shook him as much as he scared you,” the detective theorized, shuffling through the files on his desk. “Could be, he decided to check you out. Wouldn’t have been hard to track you down. Especially with your name and phone number on Joey’s caller ID.”

  Molly felt the blood drain from her face. “He had caller ID?”

  “Yeah. Everyone and his brother’s got one of those gadgets these days.”

  She barely heard the offhand remark. The abstract possibility that the shooting she’d heard was somehow connected to her uninvited guest had been disturbing enough. The fact that the killer had instant access to her name and telephone number at the time of the murder lifted the matter out of the realm of possibility and put it down on just the other side of scary.

  “...again exactly what you heard.”

  She stared at Kaplan, too shaken to reply.

  “Ms. Duncan?”

  In the seat next to her, Sam cursed under his breath. He hadn’t missed the shock that darkened her green eyes or the pallor of her face. He reached for her hand, cradling it between both of his.

  “Molly?”

  Turning a white, frightened face to his, she gripped his fingers with bruising force. Protective instincts he h
ad no business feeling for this woman leaped into his chest. The need to take her in his arms slammed into him. He restrained himself, but only because Molly released her death grip on his hand at that moment and turned her attention back to Kaplan.

  “I’m sorry. The idea that the man I heard fire those shots knew exactly who he was speaking to when he picked up the phone got to me.”

  The detective picked up a pencil and leaned forward. “Let’s talk about that. What, exactly, did he say to you?”

  “‘Hello.’”

  Both Sam and Kaplan waited expectantly. When she didn’t volunteer anything more, disappointment flattened the detective’s face.

  “That’s it?” At Molly’s nod, he tossed his pencil on top of the reports and scraped a hand across his cheeks. “‘Hello’ is not going to get us far.”

  She pulled in a breath. “No, it won’t. But I also heard him talking to Joey before he shot him. He spoke with an accent, faint but definitely upper Midwest. From the way he rounded his vowels, I’d guess Wisconsin or Michigan. He also attended school or worked on the East Coast.”

  Kaplan gaped at her. “You got all that from just a few phrases?”

  “Languages are my profession and my specialty,” she answered with a shrug. “My grandparents on one side are first-generation Irish, and second-generation Polish on the other. I could swear fluently in Gaelic or in Polish by the time I was three.”

  “So how does Gaelic translate to upper Midwestern?”

  “My dad worked for the Great Northern Railroad. We moved every few years, and I picked up the local slang wherever we happened to live. Since then, I’ve studied seven additional languages, including German, French, Japanese and Korean.”

  Sam was impressed, Kaplan even more so.

  “I’d recognize the man’s voice instantly if I heard it again,” Molly finished.

  “If you hear it again,” the detective pointed out. “I’ll run what you gave us through the PD’s database to see if we turn up anyone with a Midwestern background and a record. We’ll also work the local pawn shops to see if anyone with that particular accent purchased a .38 recently. It’s a long shot, but worth a try.”

  He flipped the file folder shut, then hesitated. Sam sensed what was coming next He felt the worry in his gut even before Kaplan voiced it.

  “In the meantime, Ms. Duncan, you’d better stay alert. It also wouldn’t hurt to have the locks on your doors changed and a security system installed. Whoever killed Joey the Horse knows who you are and may or may not have paid you a visit already.”

  “As if I needed that reminder!”

  Molly pushed through the outer glass doors into the dry, searing heat. She stood on the broad steps for a moment, face lifted to the sun, willing the warmth to chase away the chill of Kaplan’s remark.

  Sam saw the pallor under her scattering of frekles and felt the knot cinching his gut tighten another notch. He knew he should walk away. Now, while he still could. He had enough problems of his own without adding Molly Duncan to the list.

  But he couldn’t just stroll off and leave her to deal with the shock of knowing that a cold-blooded killer had taken her name and phone number off a caller ID unit.

  “It may take a while to get that security system installed,” he said slowly. “With all the building going on in Vegas these days, I had to wait two weeks for mine.”

  “Two weeks!”

  Dismay darkened her eyes to a deep, shadowed green. Sam held out for five seconds. Ten. Almost a half minute.

  “I’ve got three empty bedrooms at my place,” he forced out. “You’re welcome to use one until you get your house wired.”

  She glanced up, as surprised by the offer as he was by having made it. He saw the polite refusal forming in her eyes and bit back a sigh of relief. He’d offered. He’d done his neighborly duty.

  To his consternation, she hesitated. He could almost see her mind working, clicking through her friends and acquaintances. Her brows drew together, carving a little groove down the middle of her forehead.

  “Maybe....”

  The tentative reply stopped his heart He held his breath while she nibbled delicately on her lower lip and the heat rose in shimmering waves around them.

  “Maybe I’ll take you up on that. If you’re sure?” Sam glanced down into her freckle-dusted face. At that moment, he knew he was about to commit what the military termed “a serious mistake in judgment,” a catch-all phrase for any irresponsible act leading to total and irrevocable havoc.

  “I’m sure.”

  Chapter 5

  “You’re staying with the jerk?”

  Davinia lifted a perfectly arched brow in disbelief.

  “The creep?” she asked melodramatically, as if doubting her subordinate’s nod. “The defiler of the airwaves and would-be slayer of oleanders?”

  “Only for a night. Two at most.”

  Or so Molly hoped! Avoiding her boss’s incredulous stare, she plopped the thick yellow pages down on her desk. A quick thumbing brought her to the section on burglar alarms.

  “I must have missed something here,” the older woman mused. “When did your surly neighbor go from obnoxious to so hospitable that you two are going to shack up for the weekend?”

  “We’re not shacking up,” Molly sputtered. “We’re just spending a night or two under the same roof.”

  “Suuuure you are.”

  Davinia, as her employee well knew, didn’t ascribe to the theory that platonic friendships between men and women were possible, or particularly desirable. Swinging a shapely foot encased in a lizard shoe sporting a three-inch, hourglass shaped heel, she gave her subordinate a speculative once-over.

  “Come on, girl. Let’s have it. Why are you sleeping with the enemy instead of staying at the condo with Antonio and me this weekend?”

  Smiling, Molly ticked off the reasons. “One, because you gave me a fairly detailed outline of what you were going to do to and with Antonio when you got him alone this weekend and I didn’t want to get in the way.”

  “You wouldn’t have been in the way...much.”

  “Two, I need to be at my place to give the security folks access. And, three...?”

  “Yes?”

  “All right,” Molly admitted. “The Major and I have, well, declared a truce.”

  “Aha!” Her boss’s turquoise eyes gleamed. “I knew it.”

  “A truce, Davinia. That’s all.” She shoved a hand through her hair. “If I’d been thinking rationally this morning, I would’ve made arrangements to stay at one of the hotels. I guess that business with the caller ID rattled me.”

  Her boss’s smug expression disappeared. “That would have shaken me, too.” She drummed a long nail on the desk. “Ex-number-three knows some folks in the construction business. Do you want me to see if he can recommend a reliable alarm company?”

  “Yes, please!”

  By shamelessly exploiting Davinia’s ex-husband’s connections, Molly arranged for Allied Security Systems to survey her house that very afternoon. She drove home to meet the company rep at four-fifteen.

  Surveying the house was one thing, she soon learned. Installing the system was another. After alternately begging, brow-beating, and acting the frightened female...which didn’t really take all that much acting...Molly finally wrung a promise from the harassed rep to send a work crew out tomorrow.

  “No, wait. Tomorrow’s Saturday.” He shoved his ballcap back and swiped the sweat off his bald crown. “I’ve got all three of my crews working overtime on that new housing development off Flamingo Road. Hafta be Sunday. Or Monday, if we run behind.”

  “But...”

  “That’s the best I can do, Ms. Duncan. Take it or leave it.”

  Molly blew out a slow breath. “I’ll take it.”

  Twilight hung in a soft purple haze outside her bedroom windows when she dumped a sleep shirt and a few vital necessities into a plastic tote decorated with a glittery gold MGM lion.

  This house-sh
aring arrangement with Sam would work, she told herself again. Molly would make it work. She’d get up early and get out of Sam’s way. She had plenty to do at the office to keep her busy over the weekend. Allied promised to call when they were ready to come out. She’d meet them here, then move right back into her own home. That way, she’d inconvenience her host and herself as little as possible.

  That was the plan, anyway, when Molly slipped on a pair of low-heeled thong sandals in the same cherry red as the short-sleeved top she wore with her jeans, then made her way downstairs.

  Sam unfolded himself from the rattan chair in her living room and eyed the little plastic tote. “Do you have everything you need?”

  “Everything I need for tonight. Hopefully, I won’t have to impose on you longer than that.”

  “You travel light,” he replied with a smile that creased his tanned cheeks. “And as for imposing on me, we’ve already covered that ground. Several times. I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t want the company.”

  Given his on-again, off-again personality, Molly wasn’t so sure. Tonight, though, she had to admit he was on. Definitely, devastatingly, one-hundredpercent on. His easy smile could charm the bark off a tree. It certainly peeled away a few of Molly’s outer layers.

  He’d traded the black slacks he’d worn earlier this morning for his customary jeans, but still wore the blue cotton shirt. He’d shoved up the sleeves to his elbows and acquired a small grease stain on one cuff, probably from the Mustang he’d been working on when Molly had pulled into her driveway.

  She didn’t think he’d been waiting for her specifically since he spent a good number of his evenings bent over the fender of the little red classic, but his solid presence had given her a surprising spurt of pleasure and...okay, she could admit it...relief. When he strolled across their parallel driveways and accompanied her inside her empty house, she’d been more than happy to let him do a quick search of the premises.

  As Molly walked beside him now through the deepening twilight, her sandals crunching on the lava rock, she grappled with the disturbing fact that the narrow strip between their properties now seemed more like a safe passage than a hostile fire zone. She didn’t like the fact that she’d been frightened out of her own home, but she liked the possibility that a killer might be watching her and her house even less. Sam shouldered open the door to his home, stepping back for her to enter. “Take your pick of the rooms upstairs. Come on down when you’re settled and I’ll throw some steaks on the grill.”