Dangerous Liaisons

by Maggie Price

  Minutes later, he strode into Homicide where Grant Pierce and his new partner, Elizabeth Scott, were already at work at their desks. Jake caught the heady scent of fresh coffee, and blessed them both. His lightened mood veered to one of caution when he spotted Whitney. Shooting out waves of irritation, she lobbed her purse onto her desk then jerked off her blazer. He recognized the fire in her eyes, knew why it was there.

  “What the hell kind of partnership do you think we have, Ford?” she asked when she caught sight of him. “You get a tip on Cárdenas’s girlfriend’s whereabouts and don’t call me?”

  “The tip came at 1:00 a.m.,” Jake said after reaching their desks that butted against each other. “I brought her in for an interview. I didn’t pick up Cárdenas until an hour ago.”

  “What difference does the time make?”

  “You’re still on your honeymoon. I figured I’d give you a break and let you stay in bed with your husband.”

  “I ought to shoot you in the kneecap just for saying that.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw that Pierce and Scott were both leaning back in their chairs, watching the show.

  “Things worked out without my needing to call you in. I used some uniforms as backup, so the arrest was no big deal. I thought I was doing you a favor by giving you a couple more hours at home. You’ll just have to get over not being in on this one.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I really need coffee—”

  “Get over it.” Jamming her hands at her waist, Whitney took a lethal step forward. “You’ve been in a surly mood for days. I put up with it, figured you’d get around to telling me what put the burr under your butt, so I didn’t press. Five minutes ago I walk in here and find out that my partner took down one of our suspects—our suspects—without bothering to let me in on it.”

  “Chill out, Whit, would you? I was just trying to give you more time with your husband.”

  “Bull!” A finger stab to his chest accompanied the word. “This new stupidity of yours has nothing to do with my status as a newlywed, and everything to do with my sister-in-law.”

  When Pierce sent up a wolf whistle, Jake’s vision blurred to red. “That tears it!”

  Locking a hand on Whitney’s arm, he towed her toward the back of the office and into the small storage room where file cabinets lined the wall.

  “Nicole’s got nothing to do with my mood,” he countered when the door swung shut behind them.

  “Oh, really?”

  “Really.”

  Jerking from his touch, Whitney moved to the small table that sat in the room’s center, propped a hip against one edge. “Nicole hasn’t spent a lot of time at the house lately, but when she was there, she was quiet, withdrawn. At first I figured that was because of Mel’s mother—I know Nicole was fond of the woman.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I went to the funeral yesterday afternoon. I stopped by Mel’s house afterward to pay my respects and to see Nicole.”

  Jake ran a palm over the knotted muscles in his neck. He’d wondered repeatedly how Nicole was handling the woman’s death. “How is she?”

  “Near exhaustion. Mel’s badly shaken, so she’s trying to give him both support and comfort. Plus, the house was filled with friends and relatives. Nicole was on her feet the whole time, making sure there was plenty of food on the table, that everyone had something to drink.” Whitney’s dark brows furrowed. “She looked so pale I thought she might faint. I filled a plate of food for her, found us a quiet corner and insisted she take a break. She put up a good front, but she finally broke and told me what happened between the two of you. Jake, how in holy heaven could you be so dense?”

  He set his teeth. “I did what I had to do.”

  “You had to toss away a chance for happiness by forcing a wonderful, sensitive, gorgeous woman out of your life?”

  He opened his mouth, shut it. Put that way, he sounded like an idiot. “It’s best.”

  “For whom?”

  “For both of us.” He crammed two fingers inside his shirt pocket. When he found it empty, he wished fervently he’d never given up smoking. “Breaking things off was best for both of us.”

  “You panicked, Jake,” Whitney said, her eyes softening. “You walked in and found Nicole in the twins’ bedroom, and you got scared that history would repeat itself.”

  “Yeah, I got scared,” he shot back. “All I could think about was having Nicole, then losing her, like Annie.”

  “So, instead of waiting for fate to deliver a blow that might never come, you did it yourself.”

  “That’s right.” He thought about the miserable nights he’d lain awake, reminding himself how heady it could be to find a woman whom it felt so right to be with. How seductive. And how devastating when she was gone.

  Standing there, in the small, dim room that smelled faintly of aged paper, the helplessness of his need for Nicole swamped him, severed the tight leash he’d kept on his thoughts. It hit him then—he hadn’t been falling in love with her when he broke things off. He’d already stopped falling and had hit the ground full force. He just hadn’t realized it.

  He had thought loss was the most painful thing of all, but now he knew there was something much worse. Regret. Dammit, he didn’t want to regret Nicole.

  He muttered a curse. “What have I done?”

  “You’ve been human,” Whitney answered quietly. “For most people, it’s more comfortable to sit back, not take a risk. It can also be lonely. You deserve to spend the rest of your life with a woman you love and who loves you. You’ve got a second shot at happiness, Jake. Not everyone gets that. You’d be a fool to throw it away.”

  “I’m a fool, all right,” he said, letting the misery of the past days flow over him. He saw again the image of how Nicole’s face had paled, how her eyes had gone huge and hollow with hurt. He eased out a breath against the vicious guilt. “I hurt her, Whit. Bad. I ruined everything.”

  “So, go fix it.”

  “Like Nicole will even give me a chance.”

  “She’s as unhappy as you.”

  “She’ll kick me. Then she’ll send me packing.”

  “Not if you say the right words.” Whitney’s mouth curved. “Crawling on your hands and knees while you’re saying them would be good. I’d plan on doing major groveling.”

  “Yeah.”

  A light tap on the door brought both of their heads around, had them saying a simultaneous “Come in.”

  Elizabeth Scott poked her head through the open door. “Either of you kill the other yet?”

  Whitney shook her head. “We decided that’d be too much trouble.”

  “One less homicide to work,” Elizabeth said cheerfully. “The M.E.’s on line one, asking to talk to either of you. He said he has the tox reports back and he knows what it is that killed your victims.”

  “About time.” Jake walked to the table while Whitney stabbed the intercom button on the phone beside her.

  “Dr. McClandess,” Whitney said. “It’s Sergeants Taylor and Ford. We understand you have the tox results?”

  “Yes. The testing took longer than usual because the substance the killer used is so rare. You’re looking for someone who has gotten his or her hands on pure curare.”

  “Curare?” Jake frowned. “Isn’t that the poison some natives put on the tips of hunting spears?”

  “Exactly. Curare is also used medicinally as a muscle relaxant.”

  Whitney pursed her lips. “How is that possible, Dr. McClandess? How can a poison be used as a medicine?”

  “Curare is not harmful if swallowed. Surgeons often use a derivative of curare as a preoperative relaxant. The natives who harvest the substance often brew a drink of herbs and curare to relax muscles before setting fractures. It’s when curare is injected into the bloodstream that it can kill. A fatal dose brings on immediate respiratory paralysis.”

  “Which is the cause of death of our victims,” Jake stated.

  “Yes.”

  J
ake nodded. “How rare a poison, Doc? How could the killer get his or her hands on a vial of the stuff?”

  “That’s a good question. Curare is extracted from several varieties of trees that grow only in South America.”

  Jake caught a flash in Whitney’s eyes as she leaned closer to the phone. “Only South America, Doctor?”

  “That is correct.”

  Whitney looked at Jake, mouthed a word that he missed, then she looked back at the phone. “What did the killer use to inject the poison? Just a regular needle and syringe?”

  “That’s another thing. We just finished the comparison of the puncture wounds on all three victims. We knew the wounds were all similar in depth. Our toxicologic studies on the tissue sections of the injection sites show the depth of all punctures are exactly the same. That means the same amount of pressure was used to inject all three men. It’s unlikely someone jabbing a needle into a person’s neck could manage that.”

  Jake kept his eyes on Whitney while he bit back an urgent need to hear what she had snapped to. They had to finish their conversation with the M.E. “How did the killer pull off three same-depth injections?” he asked.

  “My guess is by using a spring-loaded Syrette,” McClandess replied. “Its needle would penetrate the flesh the same depth every time. Numerous Syrettes are sold containing premeasured doses of drugs for people allergic to bee stings and other ailments. Another option would be a lancet, a spring-loaded instrument used to stab a finger to get blood.”

  Jake narrowed his eyes. “Like diabetics use?”

  “Yes.”

  After a few more questions, the call ended. Punching the disconnect button, Jake met Whitney’s gaze. “What have you got, besides the fact that Mel’s mother was diabetic, so he’d know how to use a lancet?”

  “Yesterday, when I was at Mel’s house, Nicole introduced me to his uncle Zebulon. While the uncle and I were chatting, he mentioned he distributes exotic woods for a living.”

  Jake pulled from his memory what Nicole had mentioned about the man. “He cultivates fresh herbs as a hobby. What about the exotic woods?”

  “They all come from South America. Zebulon Hall told me he makes monthly business trips there. Jake, that’s how Mel could get his hands on curare.” She frowned. “But why? Why kill all those people? What would he think it could gain him?”

  “Let’s go ask him and his uncle.”

  “Zebulon Hall’s leaving on a nine-thirty flight. One of Mel’s neighbors is taking him to the airport.” She glanced at her watch. “That doesn’t give us much time to get him.”

  “You know what he looks like, so you’d better cover the airport.”

  “I’ll radio ahead to the airport police, give them Hall’s description so they can start narrowing the field.”

  Jake reached for the phone. “I’ll call Nicole, tell her to lock the door of her office until I get there. I want her the hell away from Mel.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “What?”

  “They’re not working today.” Whitney shoved her auburn hair behind her shoulders. “I saw Nicole in the kitchen this morning on my way out. She was putting together a basket of pastries to take to Mel’s house. Said she didn’t want him to be alone so soon after his mother’s death.”

  “She’s alone with him.” Fear for Nicole rolled through Jake in a wave that left every nerve raw, every sense alert. “I’ll try her cell phone. Maybe she’s not there yet,” he said, punching in the number. Seconds later, he cursed, slammed down the receiver. “Her phone’s not on.” He fought for calm and logic. “Give me Mel’s address.”

  Whitney rattled it off as they dashed out the door. “Jake, get there fast. I’ve got this sick feeling that Mel has some sort of plan that involves Nicole.”

  “His plan is about to get changed.”

  Nicole pulled her Jaguar into the driveway of the tidy, two-story house, its white shutters glowing beneath the bright morning sun. She knew Mel was expecting her, knew he was alone with his grief and she should go in right away. Instead, she rested her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes while fatigue pressed down on her like a lead weight.

  She was so punchy with exhaustion she shouldn’t even be able to think, yet that was all she’d been doing. Thinking of Jake. She would survive his absence in her life, she knew that. Still, the grief and loss she felt were so fresh it was hard to imagine a future when she wouldn’t hurt.

  Yet, that was what she had to focus on, she reminded herself, rubbing the heel of her hand over her aching heart. Had to concentrate on getting over Jake.

  With the warm sun angling through the windshield, she felt herself drifting. Her mind had slid into a half sleep when a sharp tap on the window next to her ear jolted her.

  Swiveling her head, she stared through the window at Mel’s concerned face. “Are you okay?” he mouthed.

  Feeling a stab of guilt at having caused him to worry, she hit the lock’s release button.

  “I saw you out here,” he said as he pulled open the door. “You were so still that I thought something was wrong.”

  She plucked up her purse and the basket of pastries off the seat beside her, then slid out of the car. “I’m sorry, Mel, you shouldn’t have had to come out here.”

  “You’re okay?”

  “Of course.” Forcing a smile, she skimmed a hand down the boxy aqua silk blouse that matched her slacks. “Just resting my eyes. How are you doing?”

  “Fine, now that you’re here. Losing Mom still seems like a bad dream.”

  “I know, Mel. I’m sorry.”

  He smiled gratefully when Nicole handed him the basket. “You brought my favorite.”

  “Blueberry muffins, at your service. I thought we’d have them with some tea, then we can tackle the paperwork you need to fill out.”

  “Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  As they walked up the driveway, she studied him out of the corner of her eye. He wore a pullover shirt and khaki pants; his blond hair gleamed beneath the sun. His eyes were clear blue and unshadowed. She was glad Mel had at least gotten some sleep last night.

  They walked through the front door, down the hallway and into the paneled living room that always brought cozy winter evenings and log fires to Nicole’s mind. The kitchen itself was homey, its soft yellow paint setting off deep blue counters.

  “I take it your uncle Zebulon caught his plane?”

  “The neighbor who works at the airport picked Uncle Zeb up in plenty of time,” Mel said, settling the basket on the nearest counter. “I feel guilty saying this, but I’m glad he’s gone. I’m glad everyone’s gone and it’s just the two of us.”

  Nicole gave a distracted smile across her shoulder while she pulled teacups and saucers out of a cabinet. “It’s not easy to lose someone you love, then have to put on a strong face for so many people.” She retrieved the big kettle off the stove, then walked to the sink and turned on the water. “I’m not going to stay all day, Mel. I know you need time to yourself.”

  “I need time with you.”

  His voice, coming from just behind her, had her fumbling the nearly full kettle; it dropped into the sink with a clatter. The instant she turned, he clamped his hands on either side of the counter, trapping her.

  “The first time I saw you, I couldn’t get my breath.”

  “Wh-what?” she stammered.

  “I could smell your soap and your skin. You smiled at me and my mind clouded.” His gaze slid down her body. “I thought about us together. A million times I’ve thought about us.”

  “Mel—”

  “I love you, Nicole. I know you love me.”

  With the water gushing in the sink behind her, she stood stunned, her heart hammering, her breathing shallow while she stared up into eyes that seared into hers.

  “Like a friend,” she said carefully. “I love you like a friend.”

  “That will change.”

  “Mel, I don’t know what to—”


  The sentence ended against his mouth. He hauled her against him and captured her lips in a hard, greedy kiss before she could take one full breath.

  “Stop it!” Shoving him back, she jerked from his grip, staggered sideways. She had to be calm, she told herself as she turned to face him. Until this instant, she’d had no idea he had a crush on her, but that was clearly the case. He was young, she reminded herself. She needed to take care with his ego.

  “I know you’re upset about your mother.”

  “Yes, but it’s going to be all right. Because you’re here with me.”

  “Yes, I’m here to help. You’re not alone. You have a lot of friends like me to help you.”

  “We’re more than friends. I cherish you, Nicole.”

  Struggling for calm, she took a deep breath. “I wish you had told me before how you felt. We could have talked about this. I could have explained—”

  “I couldn’t tell you, not as long as Mother was alive. I’m an only child, she was my responsibility. It wouldn’t have been fair to ask you to burden yourself with caring for an invalid. The doctor kept telling me it was a matter of time until Mother passed on.” His eyes darkened. “I knew we could be together then, so I waited. But that didn’t stop me from protecting you. I’ve been protecting you all along.”

  Her scalp prickled. “What do you mean, ‘all along’?”

  “Ormiston, Villanova, the professor.” He smiled. “For you. I did it for you.”

  “Oh, God. Oh, God.” She heard the whimpering panic in her own voice and bit down fiercely on her lip. Mel was standing between her and the kitchen door. Behind her was a utility room that led to the garage. She knew from taking out a bag of trash the day before that the door to the garage was kept locked, the dead bolt requiring a key that hung on a peg beside the dryer. If she ran that way, she wouldn’t have time to grab the key and deal with the lock before Mel grabbed her.