The Crush

by Sandra Brown

  “That’s what Grace said too, but neither of you was there.”

  “Grace?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Oren gestured expansively. “My wife has become Dr. Newton’s number one fan.”

  “I knew they had met. All Grace said to me was that she was glad I was in such capable hands.”

  “I get slightly more than that at home. I get an earful about how I’m judging the doctor too harshly and unfairly. Grace thinks I’m holding a grudge because she served on that jury.”

  For the first time since Oren walked into his room, Wick came close to smiling. He liked to think of Grace giving his partner an earful. If there was anyone on earth Oren would listen to, it was his wife, whom he not only loved but also respected for her insight. “Grace is a smart lady.”

  “Yeah, well, she didn’t see the romantic setting that I did. She hasn’t seen this, either.”

  From the breast pocket of his sport jacket, Oren withdrew several sheets of paper that had been folded together lengthwise. He laid them on the bed tray next to the untouched juice. Wick made no move to pick up the sheets.

  “In all the excitement of recent days you might have forgotten that Dr. Newton fatally shot a man when she was sixteen.”

  “It didn’t escape your memory, though, did it?”

  “Don’t you think it needs to be checked out before we submit her name for sainthood? I contacted Dalton PD, along with the county sheriff’s office. It’s all in there.”

  Wick resented the incriminating sheets on the bed tray and was reluctant to read them. “Why don’t you summarize it for me.”

  “Ugly. Very ugly,” Oren said. “Daddy walked in seconds after the two shots were fired. Raymond Collier was dead. Died instantly. T. Dan asserted that his big bad business partner had tried to seduce his sweet baby girl. She shot him to protect her virtue. Clear-cut self-defense.”

  “It could’ve gone down that way.”

  “It could’ve, but unlikely. Especially since she’d been going down on Collier.”

  “Oh, good segue, Detective.”

  Oren ignored the remark. “A good question for her would be why she chose to protect her virtue on that particular day.”

  “Did anyone ask her?”

  “I don’t know. I doubt it. Because here’s where it gets really interesting. No one was formally questioned. There was no hearing, no inquest, no nothing. T. Dan had deep pockets. Apparently he threw enough money around to bury the thing quicker than it took for Collier’s body to get cold. His death was ruled an accident… at the scene. Case closed. Everybody went home happy, including Collier’s widow. She left Dalton for her new, completely furnished condo in Breckenridge, Colorado. She made the trip in her shiny new Jag.”

  Wick thought it through, then said, “You talk about reduced credibility. I don’t believe any of it.”

  “Why not?”

  “The police department and sheriff’s office admitted to sweeping a fatal shooting under the rug?”

  “No. Their reports were brief, but official. There was no evidence to support anything other than an accident. But I tracked down the former cop who was first on the scene.”

  “Former?”

  “He left law enforcement to install satellite dishes. But he remembered driving out to the Newtons’ house that day in response to the summons. He said it was the weirdest thing.”

  “What?”

  “Their behavior. Whether it was accidental or intentional, if you’d just shot somebody stone dead, wouldn’t you be upset? A little rattled? Shed a few tears? Show some remorse? At the very least do a little nervous hand-wringing?

  “He said Rennie Newton sat there cool as a cucumber. Those big green eyes of hers stayed dry. And she’s sixteen, remember? Kids that age are usually excitable. He said she never faltered as she talked him through what had happened.

  “T. Dan and Mrs. Newton sat on either side of her. T. Dan lambasted Collier for attempting to rape his daughter. Just went to show, he said, how you never really knew someone as well as you thought you did. The mother cried softly into a hanky. She had heard nothing, seen nothing, knew nothing, and would the officers care for something to drink. The ex-cop said it was downright spooky, like being in an episode of The Twilight Zone.”

  Wick tried to imagine a sixteen-year-old Rennie giving a calm account of killing a man, even accidentally. He couldn’t. He couldn’t imagine the incorrigible teen Crystal had described either, or the nymphet who had enticed a married man. Nothing he had heard about her past life coincided with her present one.

  Oren said, “I’d better be shoving off. Let you catch a nap. Can I get you anything before I go?”

  Wick shook his head.

  “I don’t mind going down to the magazine shop and—”

  “No thanks.”

  “Okay then. I’ll come back with Grace tonight. Sometime after supper. Think you’re up to a visit from the girls?”

  “Sure, that’d be great.”

  “They’ve been bugging us to bring them to see you. I promise we won’t stay long.”

  Wick forced a smile. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Oren nodded and headed for the door, but he paused with his hand on the handle. “No bullshit now, Wick. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Man to man, not partner to partner.”

  Wick frowned with impatience. “What is it?”

  “You’ve got it bad for her, don’t you?”

  Wick turned his head toward the window and the familiar view. “I don’t know.”

  Oren swore softly.

  “Just go, why don’t you?” Wick said. Suddenly he was very weary. “You’ve said what you came to say.”

  “Almost. I have a couple more things to say.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Rennie Newton saved your life. No two ways about it. And I’ll always be grateful to her for that.”

  Wick turned back to him. “What’s the ‘but’?”

  “That ex-cop in Dalton? He said he couldn’t believe that anybody could take a life, even the life of a bitter enemy, and be so emotionally detached from the act. She was so cold, he said, it still gives him chills to think about it.”

  Chapter 21

  Wick glared at the man with the white lab coat and white smile who breezed into his hospital room like he owned the place. “Who’re you?”

  “I’m Dr. Sugarman. How are you feeling this evening, Mr. Threadgill?”

  “Where’s Dr. Newton?”

  “I’m making her rounds tonight.”

  “How come?”

  “I understand the catheter came out today. How was that?”

  “Oh, it was great. I hope I get to do it again tomorrow.”

  The doctor flashed another white smile. “Everything okay now?”

  “I could out-pee you. Where’s my regular doctor?”

  “I’m a regular doctor.”

  And a comedian too, Wick thought sourly.

  Dr. Sugarman nodded his approval over whatever he read on Wick’s chart, then closed the cover. “I’m glad I’m finally getting to meet the hospital’s celebrity patient. Saw you on TV. You had it rough there for a while, but you’re making excellent progress.”

  “Glad to hear it. When can I get out of here?”

  “Anxious to be leaving us?”

  What kind of sappy question was that? Wick could have throttled him. He didn’t like him or his big white smile. And where was Rennie? Why wasn’t she making her rounds? She deserved a night off like everyone else, but why hadn’t she mentioned to him that she wouldn’t be here tonight? Did she not want him to know?

  Lozada is released from jail and Rennie takes the night off. It was an unpleasant thought and he hated himself for thinking it.

  His dark expression must have conveyed to Dr. Sugarman that he should practice his bedside manner on a more agreeable and appreciative patient. His Colgate smile faltered. “Dr. Newton will make the final decision on your release, but i
t shouldn’t be more than a couple more days. Barring any unforeseen complications.” The doctor shook hands with him and left.

  “What a turkey,” Wick muttered.

  The Wesleys arrived. As promised, Oren limited the visit to fifteen minutes, but there was no limit to the girls’ energy and exuberance.

  They brought him chocolate-chip cookies that they had baked themselves and weren’t satisfied until he ate two. Grace had arrived with a shopping bag. “Pajamas. I don’t know if they’ll let you wear them yet, but you’ll have them just in case. I got slippers, too.”

  He grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. “Marry me?”

  Her daughters squealed with laughter and had to be admonished to settle down. They chattered nonstop, and they were wonderful, but they wore him out. He was ashamed for being relieved when they gave him hugs and said their good-byes.

  Oren didn’t talk business until after his family had moved into the hallway, out of earshot. He told Wick that Lozada was again free. “Sarge wouldn’t authorize surveillance on him. And after tonight he’s pulling the guards from the hospital.”

  “You’re putting me on alert.”

  Oren nodded solemnly. “Watch your back. After tonight you won’t be protected by the FWPD.”

  That was fine and dandy with Wick. He didn’t want police protection, because in exchange for it he would have to give up his freedom. After hearing the DA’s decision today, he had concluded that the authorities were no contest for Lozada. Jurisprudence was carried out within moral boundaries, and Lozada operated under no such restraints.

  If Wick wanted Lozada he would have to go after him alone. To level the playing field, he must go after him ruthlessly, with a mind-set like Lozada’s. He couldn’t do that if he were constantly monitored and guarded.

  He asked about his pickup truck.

  Oren’s brow lowered suspiciously. “What about it?”

  “I’d like to know where it is.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s my truck,” Wick replied testily.

  Reluctantly, Oren told him that it was at his house. “I took the liberty of checking you out of the motel. Once the CSU guys were finished with your room, I packed up everything and took it outta there.”

  Wick wanted to ask specifically about his pistol, but didn’t. No sense in giving Oren more to worry about. “Thanks. I wasn’t looking forward to going back into that room.”

  “I figured. All your stuff’s locked up in your truck. It’s parked in my driveway.”

  “Keys?”

  “I’ve got them and your wallet in a safe place inside the house.”

  Safe from whom? Wick wondered. Safe from him? Again he didn’t ask. “Thanks, partner.” Oren didn’t return Wick’s guileless smile, probably guessing that it was disingenuous.

  After that, Wick impatiently endured the long, boring evening hours. Eventually the traffic in the corridor outside his room subsided. Dinner trays were collected and placed on trolleys that were shuttled back to the kitchen. Doctors completed their rounds and left for home. Visitors departed. Personnel went through a shift change. The hospital settled down for the night.

  At eleven o’clock a nurse came in to give him a pain pill. “You want your blinds drawn?”

  “Please. Sun comes in through there in the morning.”

  As she moved to the window, he remarked offhandedly, “Too bad about Dr. Newton.”

  The nurse laughed. “Too bad? I wish I could take vacation at the drop of a hat.”

  “Vacation? Oh, I thought Dr. Sugarman said she was under the weather.”

  “No, she’s taking some vacation days, that’s all.”

  He twirled his finger near his temple. “This medication makes me goofy.”

  “It can do that.”

  “When will Dr. Newton be coming back?”

  “She didn’t clear her schedule with me,” the nurse said around a wide grin. “But don’t worry. Dr. Sugarman is a sweetheart.”

  While she fiddled with the blinds, Wick pretended to swallow the pill. He set the empty drinking cup on his bed tray and she rolled it away.

  Readjusting his head on the pillow, he yawned. “Nighty-night.”

  “Good night, Mr. Threadgill. Rest well.”

  * * *

  Darkness had fallen by the time Lozada let himself into his condo. He was pleased to see that his instructions had been carried out. His home was as quiet and serene as a church.

  Upon hearing from his lawyer that it had been searched, he had known what to expect. He’d had residences searched before, as early as high school when narcs came into his house one night with a search warrant, hoping to find drugs. They had succeeded only in looking like fools and terrorizing his parents and idiot brother. Since then, he’d had other houses searched with the same storm-trooper enthusiasm.

  So he had made arrangements from his jail cell through his lawyer for a cleaning service to put his condo back together, then to sanitize it against police contamination. He had also arranged to have it swept for electronic surveillance devices.

  “It’s clean,” his lawyer had reported as they celebrated his release over drinks at the City Club. “In every sense of the word.”

  The attorney never inquired as to Lozada’s guilt or innocence. Lozada paid him an exorbitant annual retainer, which enabled him to represent Lozada exclusively and play a lot of golf. He could also afford to live the lifestyle of a rich playboy. Lozada’s culpability was last on his list of priorities.

  “But it’s clean only for the time being,” he warned. “Be careful who goes in and out of your place from now on.”

  Lozada didn’t need to be cautioned about that. Already he had notified the building’s concierge that he would no longer be availing himself of the housekeeping services it provided. He had hired his own housekeeper, who came highly recommended by one of his former—and very satisfied—clients. He was assured that the young man brought excellent skills to the position and could be trusted implicitly.

  Nor would he entertain women at home—except for Rennie, of course. He had used that stupid girl, that Sally Horton, because she was convenient, a careless indulgence, as it turned out. He would go out for sex until he had Rennie here with him.

  He had been making such good progress with her until Wesley had come charging in, gun drawn like the main character in a silly detective show. What a laugh. Hadn’t he realized how ridiculous he looked?

  Rennie hadn’t been amused. She had seemed mortified to have a group of clumsy cops invading her home, spoiling the surprise he had staged for her. No, she hadn’t looked at all happy about the unannounced arrival of Wesley and company.

  After spending a half hour of quality time with his scorpions, he took a long shower to wash away all remnants of jail. He shaved carefully, since he hadn’t trusted his skin to the dull razor the county provided, then went through the ritual of cleaning out the drain and disposing of the towels.

  He enjoyed a couple of tequilas and ate the dinner he ordered from his favorite restaurant. Delivery service wasn’t extended to any other patrons, but it was included in Lozada’s VIP treatment.

  Over a nightcap, he dialed Rennie’s number. Eventually her voice mail answered. “This is Dr. Newton. Please leave your name and number. If this is an emergency—”

  He hung up. He wanted to see her urgently, but she might not think his desire qualified as an emergency. As he sipped his drink, he tried twice more to reach her, at the hospital and at home, with no success.

  Ah well, he thought, tomorrow was soon enough. He would invite her to dinner. It would be their first official date. He smiled at the thought of walking into a fine restaurant with her. He would take her to Dallas. Someplace very upscale, elite. He would buy a sexy black dress for her tomorrow and surprise her with it. He would help her dress, from the skin out, so that everything would be perfect and to his liking. She would be gorgeous, breathtaking. He would wear his new suit. They would turn heads. Everyone
would see what Lozada had done for himself.

  After spending three nights on a cot with an odorous mattress, he looked forward to sleeping in his own wide bed. Naked, he slid between the silky sheets and luxuriated in their cool caress against his hairless skin. He fell asleep rubbing himself, thinking of the stirring sound Rennie had made when she felt the strength of his erection.

  He slept like a baby until he was awakened by the insistent ringing of his doorbell.

  * * *

  Sneaking out of the hospital was much easier than Wick would have thought.

  The hardest part was getting into the new pajamas Grace had brought him. By the time he got the damn things on, he was damp with perspiration and so weak he was trembling. He resisted the temptation to lie down and rest for a few minutes, afraid that if he did he wouldn’t get up again.

  The nurses were too busy performing clerical duties at the central desk to notice when he crept from his room. During his walk down the hall earlier, he had noted the location of the fire exit. Fortunately, it wasn’t too far from his room. He made it into the stairwell undetected. Gripping the metal railing every step of the way, he walked down four flights. His knees were rubbery by the time he reached the ground floor.

  No one accosted him. The cops posted as guards would have easily recognized him, but he slipped past them unseen. One was flirting with the nurses at the emergency-room admitting desk and the other was napping in his chair.

  So much for security.

  The nearest commercial area was two blocks from the hospital. He started walking but hadn’t gone far when he realized that the two blocks might just as well have been the distance of a marathon. It was as difficult for him to cover that distance as it would have been for him to go twenty-six miles. He was wobbly and faint, and his back throbbed in protest of each step, but he pushed on.

  When he entered the 7-Eleven, the turbaned man working the counter regarded him with unconcealed fright.

  “I know I look ridiculous,” Wick said quickly. “Can you believe it? The wife’s pregnant. Got a craving for a Butterfinger fifteen minutes after I fell asleep. So I’m driving here in my PJs to get her a damned Butterfinger—I mean, hell, we have Snickers in the pantry, but, no, it had to be a Butterfinger. Anyhow, I ran out of gas up there on the freeway about fifty yards from the exit ramp. Had to walk down, and it’s hotter than hell outside even at this time of night.” Sweat had stuck the pajama jacket to his chest. He pulled it away from his skin and fanned himself. “Can I please use your Yellow Pages? I need to call a taxi.”