The Crush

by Sandra Brown

  Even so, he was taking no chances. He figured he was long overdue a relocation. He would start looking for another place. All he needed was space for his lounger, TV, and bed, and enough electricity to support his computer setup. When he moved he wouldn’t leave a forwarding address.

  In the meantime, a vacation to a tropical Mexican clime sounded good. Acapulco. Cancún. Someplace where he needed more sunscreen than pesos. He’d go out to DFW Airport and hop terminals until he found an available flight to a destination where he could enjoy peace and obscurity until things settled down.

  With unsteady hands he unlocked his front door. He tossed his keys onto his TV tray and entered his bedroom in a rush. He groped beneath his bed for his suitcase. It was covered by a thick layer of dust, but he set it on his bed, unlatched the top and raised it, then turned toward his narrow closet.

  He screamed in fright.

  “Hello, Weenie.” Lozada was leaning against the opposite wall, arms and ankles crossed, looking perfectly relaxed. And deadly. Noticing the stain on the front of Weenie’s trousers, he grinned. “Did I startle you?”

  “H-hi Lozada. How’s it going? I was just—”

  “About to pack.” He gestured toward the suitcase. “Going somewhere? But then you’ve already been somewhere, haven’t you, Weenie?”

  “Been somewhere? No.” He was trying very hard to keep his teeth from chattering.

  “I’ve been calling you for a day and a half.”

  “Oh, I was, uh… my phone’s out of order.”

  Indolently Lozada unfolded his arms and legs and crossed to the rickety table beside Weenie’s bed. He lifted the receiver of the telephone. The dial tone buzzed loudly.

  Weenie swallowed. “Son of a gun. They must’ve got it working again.”

  Lozada replaced the receiver and came to stand close to him. “I was getting worried about you, Weenie. You rarely leave this dump of yours. So where have you been?”

  Weenie had to crane his neck to look up into Lozada’s face. He didn’t like what he saw. “I-I’m sorry I wasn’t around. Did you need me for something?”

  Lozada ran his index finger along Weenie’s hairline. “You’re sweating, Weenie.”

  “Uh, listen, whatever you wanted me to do, I’ll do it for free. No charge. You know, because I wasn’t here when you—”

  “You’ve peed your pants, Weenie. What made you nervous enough to lose bladder control?”

  Lozada removed a switchblade from his pocket. With a flick of his wrist and a deadly click, he opened it inches from Weenie’s face. The small man whimpered in terror.

  “You’d better tell me what’s got you so shaken.” Lozada began to clean beneath his fingernails with the knife. “I’d hate to hear it from somebody else. If you withheld information from me, I’d be very disappointed in you.”

  Weenie considered his options, which were, basically, life or death. His life wasn’t much, but it beat the alternative. “Th-that Threadgill?”

  “What about him?”

  “He shot what’s-his-name. The black guy. Wesley.”

  Lozada’s eyes narrowed to slits of mistrust.

  Weenie’s head bobbed on his skinny neck. “He did. He shot him. I saw it. I was there.”

  “Where?”

  “At the police station in Fort Worth. The big one downtown. They hauled me in for questioning,” he lied. “But don’t worry. I didn’t tell them anything. Honest, Lozada. They tried several tactics to get me to talk, but—”

  “Skip that. What about Threadgill shooting Wesley? I don’t believe you.”

  “I swear,” Weenie said, his voice going shrill. “First he went for me. Nearly choked me to death and would have if Wesley hadn’t pulled him off. Then they got into an argument over that doctor.”

  He recounted their quarrel almost word for word. “Wesley said some things about her that didn’t sit well with Threadgill. He attacked Wesley. Wesley pulled his pistol and threatened to have Threadgill locked up until he cooled off. Threadgill was having none of it and went for Wesley again. They were in a struggle for the pistol when it went off.

  “Cops came running in, all trying to figure out what had happened. There’s blood all over Wesley. Threadgill’s going berserk, yelling, ‘No, no, Jesus, no!’ Stuff like that. He was trying to get to Wesley, but other cops were holding him back.” Weenie paused to push up his slipping eyeglasses.

  “I don’t think Threadgill meant to shoot him. It was an accident. But the other cops heard a heated argument before the gunshot, so they figured, you know, it was intentional. And Threadgill was a wildman. It took several men to handcuff him and haul him outta there.”

  “Wesley’s dead?”

  “I don’t know. I sneaked out before the ambulance got there, but somebody had a handkerchief stuffed into the wound and it looked bad. He was gut shot, I heard somebody say.”

  Lozada backed up a bit and Weenie relaxed considerably when he retracted the blade of the knife. But Lozada’s stare was still activating his sweat glands.

  “A shooting at police headquarters is big news, Weenie. How come I haven’t heard any bulletins?”

  “They talked about that. Even during all the hullabaloo, everybody kept saying, ‘This is contained, understand? Contained. It’s a department matter.’ They want a tight lid kept on it. Makes sense. A cop shooting a cop. They don’t want the public to know about it. They’ll probably tell the people at the hospital that Wesley’s gun accidentally fired while he was cleaning it. Or something.”

  Weenie nervously cracked his knuckles. He wondered about the departure time of the last plane to Mexico. Did you need a passport to enter Mexico or would a driver’s license do?

  “She kept my card?”

  “Huh?”

  Irritably Lozada snapped his fingers in front of Weenie’s face as though to wake him up, then repeated the question.

  “Oh yeah, a card you sent with some roses? Wesley thinks the lady has a thing for you. That’s what pissed off Threadgill. Wesley said she was playing him like a fiddle. Not in those words, but—”

  “Do you masturbate?”

  “Beg pardon?”

  Before Weenie could blink, his male parts were suspended over the razor-sharp blade of Lozada’s knife. “Do you—”

  “What are you talking about?” Weenie screeched.

  “You might not miss it for sex, but you’ll be pissing like a woman if you don’t tell me what you were doing in an interrogation room being questioned by Wesley and Threadgill.”

  Weenie was up on tiptoes, trying to maintain his balance. If he faltered, he’d be a eunuch and any chance he had of fulfilling his fantasies with an amiable señorita would be dashed. “I was afraid of getting into trouble.”

  “So you ratted me out.”

  “No, I swear. God as my witness.”

  “There is no God.” Lozada raised the knife blade another centimeter and Weenie squealed. “There is only Lozada and the laws of physics, one of which is the law of gravity. If I cut off your balls, Weenie, they’ll drop like marbles.”

  “I went there to see what kind of deal I could make,” he sobbed. “You know, in case they ever linked me to you. But then, Wesley got all worked up over some phone call you had made to Dr. Newton’s cell phone. They thought you were in Galveston.”

  “I was.”

  “Then he got word that her horses had been shot. Miles from Galveston. Confused the hell outta them all. Anyhow, Wesley slapped me in a holding cell and sorta forgot about me, I guess. Until this morning. He let me shower. Gave me breakfast. Put me in this room and told me to wait.

  “When he came back, Threadgill was with him. I told them I had changed my mind, that I wanted a lawyer. You know the rest. I swear I didn’t tell them anything.” He was crying now, blubbering like a baby, but he couldn’t help it.

  Lozada withdrew the knife. “The only reason I’m not killing you is because I don’t know how to destroy your computers and be certain I’m also destroying all th
e data they contain.”

  Weenie wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Huh?”

  “Get to it, Weenie,” Lozada said softly.

  Weenie swallowed convulsively. “You want me to destroy my computers?” Lozada might just as well have asked a mother to smother her child. Weenie had been prepared to take a vacation from his computers for a while, but to destroy them was beyond his imagining. He couldn’t do it.

  Lozada’s hand barely moved, but Weenie felt a slight tug at his crotch and a sudden draft. When he looked down he saw that his pants had been split open from inseam to waistband. The knife was poised just below his crotch. The blade gleamed wickedly.

  “Get to work, Weenie, or your foreskin is next.”

  Weenie had been circumcised, but, at the moment, that seemed a rather insignificant detail.

  * * *

  As soon as Rennie alighted from the elevator on the ground floor of the hospital, she heard her name.

  Grace Wesley was entering the atrium lobby through the revolving doors. Rennie tried to catch the elevator and hold it for her, but the doors had closed and it had already begun its ascent.

  Grace rushed up to her. “Please don’t tell me he’s dead.”

  “No, he’s still with us.” Grace’s knees buckled and she might have collapsed had Rennie not been there to lend support. “He’s still listed as critical, but they think he’s going to make it.”

  Grace covered her mouth to stifle a sob of relief. “Thank God, thank God. You’re sure?”

  “I talked to the them just now as they were wheeling him out of surgery.”

  Grace blotted her eyes with a tissue. “I was so afraid that by the time I got here…” She was unable to speak aloud the horrible thought.

  Rennie reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly. “I heard you’d gone to Tennessee to see your daughters.”

  “A Nashville policewoman met my flight and told me what had happened. I never even left the airport. Took the next flight back. Oren’s supervisor met me at DFW and drove me straight here.” She paused. “You said ‘they.’ ”

  “What?”

  “You said ‘they’ think Oren’s going to make it.”

  “I was referring to the surgical team.”

  “I thought you—”

  “I wasn’t even allowed to observe, much less perform the surgery. Under the circumstances that would have been very awkward. But he had an excellent team working on him.”

  “I would have requested you.”

  “Thanks for that.” Moved to tears, Rennie turned away and punched the elevator button again.

  “Is it true, Rennie? Wick did this?”

  Sadly she lowered her head, nodding.

  Grace said, “That’s what I was told, but I thought there must be some mistake. I can’t believe it.”

  “Neither can I. It’s… incomprehensible. What could have driven him to do this? The two of them have been through so much together, been such good friends. Wick thinks the world of your husband.” Head still down, she rubbed her eyes. “Detective Wesley is in ICU and Wick’s in jail.”

  “He’s in love with you.”

  Rennie’s head came up quickly.

  “He is.” Grace held Rennie’s astonished stare until an elevator arrived and the doors slid open. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Yes. By all means.”

  Grace quickly boarded the elevator. Rennie waited until the doors had closed before she turned to go. Yesterday’s unseasonable rain was a memory. It was blistering hot on the doctors’ parking lot. She would never again traverse it without thinking of Lee Howell. His murder had been cataclysmic, but this tragic chain of events had really begun when she’d announced the jury’s verdict. “We find the defendant not guilty.”

  Her house was dark when she arrived. As always, she drove her Jeep into her garage and entered through the kitchen door. She went straight to the refrigerator and got a bottle of water. She stood at the kitchen sink until she had drunk all of it.

  She passed through her living room, went down the dark hallway and into her bedroom. She switched on the nightstand lamp and undressed. When she was down to her underwear, she went into the bathroom and turned on the tub faucets. She chose a scented gel and took a long shower.

  Wrapped in her favorite, most comfortable robe, she went back into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. She carried it with her into the living room and sat down in her favorite spot in the corner of the sofa.

  She sipped her wine and thought back to the night she’d fallen asleep here and later had been called to an emergency at the hospital. The patient had had a critical stab wound to the back.

  Wick. She had caused him so much pain. Wesley too. He and his whole family. And now… God, now.

  Her head fell back against the sofa cushions. She closed her eyes, but tears slid through her eyelids and rolled down her cheeks. They had all suffered because of her and that damned verdict.

  She sat there for a long while, with her head back and her eyes closed. That was how he found her.

  Or rather, that was how she was when she sat up, turned, and said, “Hello, Lozada.” He was standing behind the sofa, inches away, looking down at her. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  He smiled, pleased. “Have you, Rennie?”

  Hearing him say her name, seeing that reptilian smile, almost made her throw up the wine. Placing the glass on the coffee table, she stood up and came around the end of the sofa to face him. “I knew you’d come when you heard about what happened to Oren Wesley.”

  “Your boyfriend can’t control his temper. An unfortunate character trait. It was only a matter of time before he self-destructed. Wesley?” He shrugged. “His problem is choosing the wrong friends.”

  “How’d you find out? It hasn’t been on the news. Security was so tight at the hospital that only a handful of staff knew Wesley’s identity and the nature of his injury. You must have an informant in the FWPD. Who told you?”

  “A little birdy,” he whispered. “He’s a cowardly little birdy. I didn’t believe him at first, but I’ve checked out the sad tale, and, alas, it’s true.”

  He reached out to finger a strand of hair that lay against her chest. She forced herself not to recoil, but he must have sensed her revulsion because he smiled that smile again. “You look lovely tonight.”

  “I don’t look lovely at all. I’m tired. Weary, actually. Of everything.”

  “Your trip must’ve been exhausting.”

  “How’d you do it?”

  “Do what, my dear?”

  “How’d you get from Galveston to my ranch before daybreak?”

  “I told you before, Rennie, I don’t reveal trade secrets. If I did, I’d soon be out of business.”

  “It was quite a feat.”

  He laughed. “I don’t have wings, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  When her palm connected with his cheek, it made a sound as emphatic as an exploding firecracker.

  “That’s for killing my horses.”

  No longer laughing or smiling, he gripped her wrist so hard she cried out in pain. He whipped her around and thrust her hand up between her shoulder blades. His breath was hot against her ear. “I ought to kill you right now for doing that.”

  “You’re going to kill me anyway, aren’t you?”

  “How could I possibly let you live, Rennie? You have only yourself to blame. You should have allowed me to cherish you the way I wanted. Instead you chose to be manhandled by that crude cowboy ex-cop.” He drew her tighter against him and pushed her hand up higher. “After an insult like that, you leave me no choice but to kill you both. I’m only sorry he’s in jail so he won’t get to watch you die. But one can’t have everything.”

  The pain was considerable, but she didn’t struggle. She didn’t even whimper. “They should’ve locked you up years ago, Lozada. Not for being a killer, but for being insanely delusional. Don’t you get it? I wouldn’t have had you near me even if Wick
Threadgill didn’t exist. You’re a creep.”

  He clicked open the switchblade and placed it across her throat. “Before I finish with you, you’ll be begging me to spare your life.”

  “I’ll never beg you for a damn thing. I might have pleaded with you to spare my horses, but you didn’t give me a chance. When you killed them, you played your trump card as far as I’m concerned. I’m over you, Lozada. I’m over being afraid of you.”

  “Oh, I doubt that.” Lowering the knife, he patted the flat side of the blade against her nipple.

  Reflexively she sucked in a quick breath.

  “See?” he chuckled. “You’re very afraid, Rennie.”

  It was true. She was terrified, but still she refused to show it. “I won’t fight you, Lozada. For twenty years, every day of my life has been a bonus. I won’t beg you to let me live. If that’s what you’re waiting for, you’re only wasting your time.”

  “Such courage. And for that, I hate to kill you, Rennie, I really do. You’re a remarkable woman. I hope you understand how badly I feel about the way our affair must end.”

  “We never had an affair, Lozada. As for understanding, I understand that the only way you can get a woman’s attention is to terrorize her.”

  He drew her tighter against him and ground his crotch against her bottom. “Feel that? That’s what gets women’s attention. Plenty of women.”

  She remained silent.

  “Say pretty please, Rennie.” He slid his tongue down the length of her neck. “Say pretty please and I may let you suck it before I kill you.”

  “Oh, Lo-za-da.”

  At Wick’s singsong voice, Rennie felt him start.

  “Yeah, that’s right. That’s the barrel of my three-fifty-seven in your ear. Blink and you’re history.”

  “Please blink, Lozada. Pretty please,” Oren Wesley taunted from the connecting kitchen door. His handgun was aimed directly at Lozada’s head.

  “Drop the blade!” Wick ordered.

  Lozada chuckled and raised the razor edge back to Rennie’s throat. “Go ahead and pull the trigger, Threadgill. If you want to see her blood gush, shoot me.”

  “That’s just like you, you chicken-livered son of a bitch. Using a woman to save your ass. Attacking her from behind, too. Another of your—what you’d call it?—unfortunate character traits.