Cold Target

by Potter, Patricia;

  “Meredith Rawson. Her house was broken into, and she was attacked a few nights ago.”

  “I heard. It’s not your case.”

  “We were working together on something else.”

  “She’s the legendary ice queen,” Wagner said. “Or so rumors go.”

  “Right now, she’s a lady in trouble,” Gage retorted. “Nothing more.”

  “Okay. Just a friendly warning.”

  “Let’s get back to work,” Gage said.

  “It’s your life, pal.”

  “Exactly.”

  Meredith held the receiver for a moment. The invitation had been as unexpected as her reply.

  She didn’t date cops.

  She never had. It wasn’t snobbery. She respected the dangerous job they did. Perhaps she understood too much. She knew the pressures on them, on their wives and children.

  She didn’t have time for relationships. Occasionally she went to the opera or symphony with a male friend, but she had not been involved in a relationship for a long time. Her practice was her life right now.

  Truth was, she wanted to avoid entanglements. If she was attracted to a man, she usually ran in the other direction, and as fast as possible. Her parents’ marriage of icy courtesy was something she never wanted.

  She admitted she was attracted to Gage Gaynor. She’d never believed in the looks-across-a-crowded-room type of attraction, but she’d felt a connection the first time she met him. Perhaps that was why she had given him a really bad time.

  He obviously didn’t hold grudges. He had tried to help her, and she had practically shoved his help in his face. At the very least, she owed him an apology.

  And she did want to talk about Fuller. She wanted to know if he might be her attacker. She wanted Nan safe and free from fear.

  Excuses. She wanted to see him.

  She felt safe with him. She liked his easy confidence. And she wanted to know …

  Know what that kiss might have led to.

  Just remembering it made her nerves react with anticipation.

  She would run a brush through her short hair. Add some lipstick. Nothing else. It was a business engagement.

  Yes. A business engagement.

  Gage figured he had enough time before dinner to drop by Dom Cross’s shelter for teenagers.

  The shelter was located in one of New Orleans’s less desirable business communities. The rent was cheaper there but the shelter was still accessible to the runaways who had escaped wretched home lives to come to New Orleans and found only more misery.

  Dom was an ex-con himself. He’d been convicted as a teenager of car theft and served time in Angola. He’d been befriended by a priest and had been recruited by him upon his release to help at his shelter. When Father Murphy had died, Dom had taken over.

  Because of his record, some police officers were wary of the man, but Gage had met him through Clint. Someone had suggested Dom Cross might be able to help Clint when Gage had found him high on drugs. It had been too late.

  Though the two had met and Dom had tried to get Clint involved in the center, Clint’s friends—and their drugs—were far more tempting to a rebellious young man than what Clint called a “do-gooder.”

  Yet after Clint’s arrest, Dom had visited him in jail and the two had connected in some way. Perhaps because Dom had been there himself.

  Dom was playing basketball in the gym with some of the kids. The Cajun influence in his family tree was obvious. He was not as tall as Gage and carried more weight. But though his black hair was graying, he moved with an agile grace as he dunked a ball in the basket.

  Then he apparently saw Gage, and a broad grin spread over his face as he said something to one of the boys and left the floor.

  He held out his hand to Gage, then pulled him to him in a bear hug. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  “Maybe not when I tell you what I want.”

  Dom immediately sobered. “Should we go into my office?”

  Gage nodded and walked alongside the man whom he respected as much as anyone he knew.

  When they were seated in the small cubbyhole Dom called an office, Gage studied him. “You look well.”

  “I feel well. Just got a new grant. It means we can finally expand. One of my boys also offered to give us that new roofing we need.”

  One of his “boys” meant a New Orleans businessman who had gone through Dom’s center.

  “Let me know if I can help.” Roofing had been one of Gage’s various jobs as a teenager.

  “I would rather you spend time with the boys.”

  “Work …”

  “I know. I didn’t mean to lay a guilt trip on you. God knows we need as many honest—and understanding—cops as we can get. Now what can I do for you? It’s none of my boys, is it?”

  “My brother. Clint thinks he has a good chance for parole, but he needs a job. I know you’re miraculous at finding them.”

  “Now that is good news. I’ll see what I can do. Where is he going to stay?”

  “Probably with me for a while.”

  “I’ll go up and talk to him.”

  “He’s into computers now.”

  “Good. That should help.” He studied Gage for a moment. “Something else going on?”

  “Do you know anything about the Rawson family?”

  Dom didn’t move, but a muscle throbbed in his throat. Then, “I know of them, of course.”

  That casual answer contradicted the sudden tenseness of his body.

  Gage tried not to show his surprise. Dom was one of the most open men he knew. Yet it was obvious that he was keeping something to himself.

  He decided to probe. “I think the daughter, Meredith Rawson, might be in danger. She was nearly run down at a hospital and her home has been trashed. She’s also received threatening phone calls.”

  Dom didn’t say anything.

  “Her father’s name also came up in connection with an old murder. A man named Prescott.”

  Dom sighed heavily.

  “If you know anything …”

  “Why would I know something?”

  “Your reaction a few seconds ago.”

  Dom leaned back in his chair. “Prescott was the reason I went to prison,” he said. “I was still there when he was killed.”

  “I’ve never known exactly what happened.”

  “He loaned me his car. He later said I stole it.”

  “And you spent how long in prison for that?”

  Dom smiled slowly. “A long time.”

  “Why would Prescott do that?”

  Dom shrugged. “A friend of his wanted something I had.”

  “What?”

  “Now that, my friend, is between God and me.”

  “Maybe it was connected with Prescott’s death.”

  “Not many people liked Prescott. He was a liar and a cheat,” Dom said in a calm voice that belied his words. “Now tell me more about your brother.”

  It was obvious Dom wasn’t going to say more.

  They talked about several of Dom’s boys for a few moments, then Gage rose. “Thanks for looking into a job for my brother.”

  “Any time. You know I always liked him.”

  Preoccupied, Gage left the center. He had another item on his agenda now: a search back through the police files concerning Dom.

  thirteen

  NEW ORLEANS

  Meredith tried to work as she waited for Gage Gaynor. She had been hungry earlier, but now her stomach was full of butterflies.

  She’d been an awkward child, more comfortable with books than with people, and she’d never been popular as a teenager. Her stomach always churned when she had to confront people or when attention centered on her. It had taken her years on a debate team to conquer her fear of speaking, and she was never entirely at ease in social situations.

  She’d always known she wasn’t the beauty that her mother had been. Not even close to it. She was tall and awkward. Her face was lean and sharp like her fat
her’s, not oval and symmetric like her mother’s.

  The comparison had always wounded her. She would see a visitor’s double take when she was introduced. She had refused to participate in the Krewe parades, feeling as if she would stand out as the ugly duckling.

  She’d grown out of that feeling of inferiority. Her face had filled out a little and she’d learned how to dress to suit her figure. Confidence had been hard-earned.

  But now she felt like that schoolgirl again. She hated that feeling. Another strike against Gage Gaynor for bringing all that insecurity back. She needed to feel secure and confident now. She needed to control her own life. She did not need the anticipation bubbling inside despite her best efforts to quench it.

  Meredith glanced back at the computer. Between calls to Lulu Starnes, she’d tried researching the woman on the Internet, using some sources she shouldn’t. She could find nothing. Lulu Starnes must be the most law-abiding citizen in Louisiana. Meredith couldn’t find so much as a parking ticket.

  The woman certainly wasn’t social as Meredith’s mother had been or Meredith knew she would have seen the name. That was unusual behavior for a graduate of the school she’d attended. Most of the students were the daughters of the New Orleans elite and then became the New Orleans elite.

  From the address Meredith had, it appeared that though Lulu had attended St. Agnes, she’d not gone on to marry among the city’s elite. The address was in a working-class neighborhood of fifty-year-old bungalows.

  She tried the number she had again. No answer. Frustrated, she decided to run home and change clothes. Once there, she slipped into a new pair of slacks, then tried to call again.

  This time a woman answered.

  “Mrs. Starnes?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Meredith Rawson. My mother is Marguerite Thibadeau.”

  “Maggie?”

  Meredith had never heard her mother referred to as Maggie. “Yes, I think so.”

  “How is she?”

  “She’s ill.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “She asked me to do something for her. I need some help. Could you possibly see me?”

  “Anything for Maggie. I haven’t seen her for years but I owe her a lot.”

  “Why?” Meredith asked. “If you don’t mind my asking. If you do, just tell me it’s not my business.”

  “She didn’t tell you?”

  “She’s in a coma. I got your name from her yearbook.”

  “Oh, God,” Lulu Starnes said. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t seen her in thirty years, but she was my friend then. Probably the only one I had at school.”

  Meredith was silent, allowing the silence to ask questions for her.

  “I was a scholarship student,” Lulu said. “Maggie befriended me, insisted I was invited to parties, made me one of her crowd. Then she dropped out. I didn’t see her again. But I’ll never forget her.”

  “I wonder if we can meet tomorrow. I would like to hear more about her then.”

  “I teach at a high school. I’ll be home at five. I had a meeting this afternoon.”

  “Would six be all right? That will give you some time unless it’s your supper hour.”

  “It’s just me and Nicky, my dog. My husband died a year ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. I would like to hear about Maggie.”

  “At six then,” Meredith said.

  “I’ll be there. Do you need directions?” She went on to give detailed directions.

  Meredith finished dressing, wishing she didn’t care so much about tonight, then left for the office.

  Lulu Starnes had given her a completely new perspective on her mother. Maggie. Someone who took an outsider under her wing and obviously protected her.

  Where had Maggie gone? When had Marguerite taken over?

  She looked at her watch as she arrived at her office. Ten to seven. Sarah had gone home early to attend a junior high basketball game. Becky had left an hour ago.

  The building was nearly vacant and had that lonely feel that buildings often did after their occupants disappeared into their other lives. Meredith’s world had changed in the past few days. She once would never have had a second thought about walking down the hall alone. But now a flicker of apprehension ran down her spine.

  I’m not going to live in fear. She kept reminding herself of that as she said hello to Reggie, then walked to the rest room before heading to her office. As she emerged, she saw Gaynor strolling toward her.

  He was early. Not much. Just a few moments. She appreciated people who were on time. She was the next thing to obsessive about being on time herself.

  “Hi,” he said.

  He looked terrific. He wore a sports jacket over a light blue shirt that was unbuttoned at the neck. His sandy hair had been tamed and his eyes held a hint of a smile.

  “Hello. You’re early.” She meant it as a pleasantry but it came out more as an accusation.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “Don’t be. I was …” She started to say apprehensive, but she didn’t want to show weakness. That was a no-no in her world. “I was just putting on some lipstick.”

  His lips parted into a smile that was seductive and teasing. “You never do what you’re told, do you?”

  She gave him a questioning look.

  “You’re alone here.”

  “Just for a few moments. My paralegal left not too long ago and there’s a guard downstairs. I also have my revolver with me.”

  “What is it?”

  “A Smith and Wesson Titanium .38 Chief’s Special.”

  He nodded. “Do you know how to use it?”

  “Yes. Cliff Morris checked me out, in fact.”

  “Good. Ready to go?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you have your car here?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’ll eat near here. I can bring you back and follow you home.”

  “That’s not necessary,” she protested. She remembered what had happened the last time he’d followed her home. She was resolved that it would not happen again.

  “Yes, it is.”

  He placed a hand at the small of her back as they entered the elevator, a small courtesy that sent electricity through her system. The elevator seemed smaller than usual when the doors closed. Warmer.

  His hand stayed at the small of her back. The electricity between them sparkled little internal blazes. Three floors later, the doors opened too slowly. Or too quickly.

  Dammit. She never reacted like this. Never.

  Nonetheless he guided her out, his hand still protectively on her. She nodded at Archie.

  “Are you gone for the evening, Ms. Rawson?”

  “Yes. Thanks for looking out for me,” she said.

  “Any time.”

  She turned toward Gage. “Archie takes very good care of me. Archie, this is Detective Gaynor from the NOPD.”

  Archie held out his hand. “Ms. Rawson is one of my favorite tenants.”

  “I’ll take good care of her, too,” Gage said.

  As they walked out of the door, Meredith basked in the protectiveness. She had never asked for it or even wanted it before. She had always taken care of herself. She took great pride in that fact. But her world had been turned upside down these past few days. For the first time in several days, she didn’t feel she had to have eyes in the back of her head. She didn’t have to keep touching her purse to reassure herself that the revolver was still there.

  “Any place special you would like to eat?” he asked.

  The question startled her. She had no idea what he liked. She really had no idea as to who he was. The only time they had eaten together was when she had suggested muffalettas. She had no idea of his budget or even whether she should split the bill with him.

  “You choose,” she said.

  “Do you like Cajun or American?”

  “Both.”

  He turned and gave her
a wry look. “Neither of us are being much help, are we?”

  She had to smile at that. They were like two people on a first date, which couldn’t be further from the truth. This was a business meal. Hadn’t she spent the last few hours convincing herself of that?

  “What about Deanie’s, if it’s not too crowded?” she suggested. The restaurant was a moderately priced neighborhood eatery on Lake Pontchartrain and famous for its seafood. It was light and airy, not particularly romantic.

  He nodded his approval. “Good.”

  He led her to a plain blue sedan with a rack on its roof and opened the door for her. She was used to the courtesy and yet there was something extraordinarily sensual in the way he offered his hand to help her into the seat. The touch was electric. For a second her legs felt boneless as a warm longing spread inside her. She froze, afraid he might feel her reaction, hear the increased tempo of her heart, of her breathing.

  His hand lingered, his fingers splaying against her skin.

  She breathed deeply, forcing air from her lungs. She sat down abruptly, jerking her hand away from his.

  He looked at her with veiled eyes and a small twist of his lips as he shut the door and strolled to the driver’s side. Once inside, he started the car, all his attention on backing up and driving out of the lot. She saw his quick glances to the left and right and to the rearview window.

  The glances reminded her too much of the last few days, of the terror and the fear. She turned her thoughts, instead, to the car. The interior was clean and neat. She’d noticed a briefcase in the back as she’d stepped in.

  He reached over and turned on the CD player, and the low, soft sound of plaintive blues filled the interior.

  The sultry music flowed through the car, increasing the intimacy levels substantially.

  She didn’t need more intimacy. His proximity was intimate enough. His large frame dominated the vehicle as did his sure, confident control of the straight shift. A tangy scent told her he had recently shaved. Darn, but it was enticing.

  She sat closer to the door than to him. The better to observe him, she told herself. But really it was cowardice. She didn’t want that electricity to grow any stronger.

  She looked outside. Dusk was settling around the city and traffic was moving steadily. She checked behind them.