“You know him?” Detective Genevieve Marks was staring at me critically, watching my reaction to the man who was claiming to be Richard. Her bushy brown hair was cut short, and her sharp gray eyes were taking in my every move.
“I don't know,” I said, looking down at my hands to avoid his piercing gaze. “I…I'll have to talk to him to be sure. I haven't seen him since I was seven.”
She whistled. “That's a long time. If it is him, too bad he had to show up under these circumstances.”
“I know.” I lowered my voice. “Look, Genevieve, give it to me straight—what are we talking about? Do you really think he killed Chulo?”
She shrugged. “Could go either way. On one hand, there were two witnesses, and they both pointed him out. On the other hand, they're both working girls, and at least one of 'em's a junkie. Your…uh, brother went into The Mirage for a drink after he left the alley where Chulo was found. The junkie followed him while the other waited for the paramedics.”
“So he didn't even leave the scene? He just went right next door for a drink?” I asked, incredulous. It was my job to poke holes in this sort of behavior, but no matter how you sliced it, that didn't seem like the act of a guilty man.
The detective winced. “I know, I know. Of course—there was the little matter of the blood on his mouth…”
“Oh, come on. You really think he ripped out Chulo's throat with his teeth?” I could scarcely believe I was arguing for the alleged criminal in this case, but the words rose naturally to my lips.
“Well,” Genevieve admitted, “he says it was hot sauce. Says he was having dinner at The Cactus Club right before, and he must have gotten some sauce on his chin. There was no trace of sauce or blood by the time I got to him.”
“Did the Cactus Club thing check out?” It was a local Tex-Mex restaurant, one of many in the long row of bars that lined the main strip at Ybor.
She frowned. “Well, yeah, it did. The waitress remembered him real well—she seemed to think he was cute. He didn't put up a fight or anything when I brought him in either. He's pretty polite—nice manners. I guess that's why I called you for him in the first place. And…” She gestured at my face. “He's got those eyes, same as you. I don't think I've ever seen eyes like that before. Uh, before I met you, anyway.” She looked away, her face coloring a little.
“Thanks, Genevieve,” I said gently. “Let me talk to him a few minutes, and I'll decide what to do. Okay?”
“Sure.” She nodded and then jerked her head in Charles's direction. “What about him?”
“Who, Charles? He can wait out here.” I lowered my voice. “I wanted him to wait in the car, but he insisted on coming in. You know how men are…”
“No, I don't,” she said, grinning at me a little. “And between you and me, Kemet, I'm not too interested to find out.”
“Probably a good choice.” I patted her on the shoulder, and she let me into the room.
* * *
“Rachel.” He rose as I came in the room and moved to embrace me.
“Wait a minute.” I stepped back, holding up a hand to stop him. “How do I know you're who you say you are?”
“Look at me,” he said simply, his palms held up in a gesture of supplication. I did. He was tall—still head and shoulders above me, just as he had been when we were kids. The black hair and pale green eyes hadn't changed much—he looked like an older version of the boy I'd known and the serious young graduate in the picture I'd found in my mother's things. He was wearing a nicely tailored black suit and a dark green shirt that brought out his eyes.
“If my looks don't convince you, there's always this.” He put his hand in his pocket and withdrew a small, green glass marble that matched the one I wore at my throat.
I swallowed hard. “It really is you.”
He nodded. “It really is. Look, I know it's been a long time—”
“Seventeen years,” I interrupted him.
He nodded gravely. “Seventeen years, three months, and five days.”
I looked at him, surprised.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “I remember like it was yesterday—coming home from school and finding you gone. When I found the note Mom left, I knew then I wouldn't be seeing you again for a long time.”
I put a hand to my throat, reliving that horrible day. “Never,” I whispered.
“What?” He came around the table to face me, still being careful not to touch.
I looked up at him. “Never. It's what she told me when I asked when I would see you again.” I felt the tears burning behind my eyelids and held them back with difficulty.
“Rache,” he said softly. “I thought of you every day and every night of those seventeen years.”
“Then why didn't you ever come for me?” I demanded, suddenly unreasonably angry. “All those years Mom and I moved around from town to town and house to house. I used to dream of you coming to rescue me, coming to save me and take me back home, to keep me safe forever…”
“Rache,” he said again, his voice almost pleading.
“I'm sorry.” I shook my head and swiped at my eyes with quick, angry motions. What was wrong with me, reverting back to childhood like this? “Here I am, acting like we're still kids,” I said, half-laughing though my tears.
“It's all right,” he said softly. “I missed you, too.”
And just like that, I was in his arms. He held me tight, fitting me to him like a missing piece of a puzzle finally falling into place. The top of my head fit under his chin just right, and I felt protected and warm and safe—just as I had when we were children. I took a deep breath, filling my senses with his scent, the same, rich base note that used to accompany my father everywhere—the scent of family and home. The scent of the Amon-kai, whispered a small voice in my head, but I pushed the half-submerged memory away.
“Richard,” I said, half laughing, half crying. It was as though seventeen years had melted away in a heartbeat, and we were children together again.
“Rachel,” he murmured into my hair. He pulled back after a moment and looked at me seriously. “You grew up beautiful. I knew you would.”
“You're not half bad yourself,” I said, laughing. “And so tall. What are you? Six-four?”
“Six-three,” he said modestly. He touched the green marble nestled in the hollow of my throat. “You kept it, just like you promised.”
“Of course.” I could feel my eyes filling up, and I blinked rapidly, trying to keep from bawling again. Richard tilted my chin up with one finger and kissed my eyes gently—kissing away the tears. His mouth moved lower, cool and comforting on the flushed skin of my cheeks, and for a moment I gave myself up utterly to the longed-for sensation of being completely cared for and loved.
“Uh, is everything all right in here?” Charles's nasal tone interrupted the moment, and I jumped away from Richard hastily.
“Everything is fine,” Richard said, giving Charles an unfriendly once-over. “Who are you?” he asked pointedly.
Charles harrumphed indignantly. “I might ask you the same thing. I am Charles Rivera the Third. Her fiancé,” he emphasized pointedly.
“Fiancé ?” Richard raised an eyebrow at me, and I blushed and nodded.
“Uh, yes. Charles, meet Richard, my big brother.” I smiled at him affectionately. “And Richard, meet Charles; we've been dating for the past two years—”
“Two years, four months, and one week,” Charles interrupted in an imitation of Richard, letting me know he'd been listening to my reunion with my brother. I felt a flare of anger at his violation of my privacy but suppressed it almost at once.
Charles held out a hand to Richard, who took it and shook firmly. I wondered if my fiancé was going to give him the “grip of death.” Charles had very strong hands and found it amusing to try and out-squeeze other men when he shook with them—a juvenile game I kept hoping he'd outgrow. I watched carefully and saw the sinews in his wrist stand out when he took Richard's hand—that was the grip all right.
There was no change in Richard's dark face, but after a moment, Charles got red and withdrew his hand suddenly.
“That's a remarkable handshake you have there, my friend,” he said, eyeing my brother with a slight frown.
“Thanks,” Richard said simply, smiling. He looked pointedly at the too-large diamond on my left hand. “So when's the big event?”
“We're going to be married in a month,” I told him.
“Really?” He made an obvious effort to look pleased. “And here I was hoping to have you all to myself.”
It seemed like an odd statement on the surface, but I understood that he meant he wanted to spend time with me, catching up. At least that was what I told myself.
“We'll have plenty of time together,” I promised him. “I just need to clear up this mess first.” I looked pointedly at Charles. “I need to be alone with Richard to talk about his case,” I said, motioning him out the door with my eyes.
“Fine. I'll be just outside if you need me, then.” He left with poor grace, throwing Richard a distrustful stare as he closed the door of the interrogation room. I looked at the one-way glass that reflected our images and made a rolling motion with my finger, gesturing to Genevieve to turn off the intercom and give us some privacy. Charles wouldn't like that, but he would just have to damn well deal with it. If anyone ought to understand attorney/client privilege, he should, being an attorney himself.
“Now.” I settled in the chair on one side of the rickety wooden table and motioned for Richard to sit in the other. “I'm not the right kind of lawyer for this—I'm actually a prosecutor.”
“My little sister—all grown up and practicing law.” He gave me a proud grin. “Aren't you kind of young to have your license?”
I blushed. “Well, I was in accelerated classes in high school, so I graduated early and I went right into pre-law. After that, law school.” I shrugged. “Some of the other attorneys liked to make jokes about my age and inexperience—until I proved them wrong.”
He grinned. “That's my Rache—go for the throat, right?”
I shifted in my seat, somehow uncomfortable with his metaphor. “I guess so. Look, Richard, just tell me what happened, and I'll see if I can clear this mess up.”
“Thanks, Rache.” He smiled at me, that same white charming grin I remembered so vividly from childhood, but this time it caused a small flutter around my heart. He had grown up so handsome. It was hard to believe I was seeing him again after all these years.
“So.” I opened my notepad and got a pen, trying to appear all business. “Tell me in your own words what happened.”
“Let's see.” Richard reclined in his chair, crossing his long legs to one side of the table, and I noticed he was wearing expensive Italian leather shoes. Well, whatever he did, he was obviously doing very well for himself. I put that question to the back of my mind—there would be time for catching up later. Right now I had to get him out of this mess. It never crossed my mind to think that he might have actually done what they were holding him for. The thought of him killing anyone, let alone ripping out their throat with his teeth, was absolutely ludicrous.
“I came to Tampa searching for you and also to conduct a little business,” Richard recounted. “I'm a freelance consultant, and one of my biggest clients is located here.”
“What kind of consultant?” I asked.
“Computers, communications systems.” He shrugged. “You name it, I do it.”
“Judging from your clothes you do it well,” I said.
He gave me a lazy grin. “I do all right for myself—could do better if I settled down with one company. One reason I freelance is for the travel—I've been trying to track you for years, hired a private detective and everything, you know.” He sighed. “But Mom covered her tracks really well. Everyplace I went I looked for you, hoping to get lucky.” He spread his hands and smiled at me. “Imagine my surprise when I actually did.”
“So you found out I lived in Tampa before or after this, uh, alleged crime happened?” I asked.
“Before. I was actually having some chips and salsa at that Mexican restaurant and trying to think what I should do.” He lowered his voice and looked down at his hands. “I wasn't sure if you'd want to see me again after all these years. I thought, you know, that you'd probably have a husband, maybe some kids…” He shook his head, and I remembered saying the exact same thing to Charles earlier that night.
“Richard…” I reached across the table to cover one of his large hands with my own. “Of course I wanted to see you again. I'm just ashamed that I didn't come looking for you the way you were looking for me. I wanted to so many times, but Mom—” I broke off, shaking my head.
“I know,” he said in a low voice. “She didn't want you to see me.”
“It doesn't make any sense,” I said, feeling the anger and pain rise up in me again. That old splinter of loss still buried in my heart after all these years.
“Doesn't it?” He raised an eyebrow at me quizzically.
“Well, no. I mean, you're my brother. Why would she want to split us apart that way?” I shook my head again.
Richard took my hand in his larger, warmer one. “You know, Rachel, I love you so much, and I've spent literally years looking for you. But the fact is that there isn't any real blood tie between us, other than being of the same race of people. You do remember that, don't you?”
“Uh…sure,” I said. It seemed strange that he should remind me so emphatically that we weren't really related by blood. Why should that matter to me when I still loved him like the big brother I'd always considered him, even if he was adopted instead of my actual blood relation?
I cleared my throat and made an effort to continue. “We'd better get back to business or we're going to be here all night. So you came out of The Cactus Club and then…”
Richard sat back and continued smoothly. “Then I realized I'd had a little too much tequila.” He grinned self-consciously. “So I stepped into a nearby alley to, ah, relieve myself.” He shrugged. “The police told me when they took me in that there was a dead body back there, but I honestly didn't see anything—it was dark, you know?”
Something about this statement bothered me, but I let it go. “Okay.” I motioned for him to go on.
He sighed. “Anyway, I left the alley, and the next thing I know there are two very scantily clad women shouting at me and pointing back down the alley. I assumed they were drunk and ignored them. I was preoccupied—still trying to get up the nerve to call you. So I went to the bar next door and had a beer. Then I went to the bathroom and realized I had salsa on my chin—must have looked like a real idiot, walking around like that.” He laughed self-consciously. “I cleaned myself up, and when I came out, your friend the detective was waiting to take me in.”
“You didn't protest?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I figured it was all just a big mistake, and the fastest way to go about clearing it up would be to go with them. I let them search me and everything. But now I've been here for hours and well…” He ran a hand through his thick black hair. “I'm sorry about having to call you, Rache. I wasn't sure what else I could do.”
“You did the right thing,” I assured him. “And there's no way they should have been able to hold you this long with nothing but circumstantial evidence. I mean, these two witnesses say they saw you leaving the alley and then they found the body. But they didn't see you actually doing anything…” I looked at him sharply. “Did they?”
He shrugged. “I don't see how they could've. I didn't do anything but take a leak.”
“Well, there you go,” I said, satisfied. “It's not your fault you chose the wrong alley to go in.” I grinned at him. “But you're up to your old tricks, I see. Do you remember how mad Mom used to get at you for watering the great outdoors?”
He laughed, a deep, rich sound that rolled through me. “How could I forget? She nearly beat me within an inch of my life when she caught me writing my name in the snow that one
winter. And then you—”
“I wanted to know why I couldn't do the same thing.” I laughed again. “That's why she was so mad, you know. She had to explain that girls and boys have different equipment, and then that led to the birds and the bees talk…”
Richard roared, slapping the table with one hand. “No wonder she was so upset.”
“Yeah, well…” I shook my finger at him. “Let this be a lesson to you. If you have to go, find an indoor bathroom.”
“I'll try to keep that in mind for future reference.” He smiled.
“Okay.” I stood and gathered my notes together. “So let me just talk to Detective Marks and see if we can't spring you from here.”
“Rachel.” He rose and put a hand on my wrist to stop me as I turned to go. I felt my pulse jump for some reason.
“Yes?” I said.
“I just hope—well, I want to spend some time with you now that I've finally found you. We have so much catching up to do, but I know you have a busy schedule…”
I smiled at him. “I feel the same way. Don't worry, there's nothing on my schedule I can't work around.”
He broke into a grin. “I'm so glad you feel that way. Come here.” He pulled me in for another hug and then bent to kiss me lightly on the lips. It was strictly a brotherly gesture, but I felt my cheeks heat, and my heart rate quickened as his mouth made contact with mine.
I pulled back and smoothed my hair, which was hanging loose down my back instead of confined to its usual tight and professional bun. I wished that I had taken the time to put it up before I came down to the PD. Having it around my face made me feel younger somehow—more vulnerable.
“Beautiful,” Richard murmured, stroking the long fall of my pale blonde hair. His hand felt warm on my back.
“I'd, uh, better go,” I said, pulling away from him. “We'll save the reunion for later.”
“I'm looking forward to it.” I could feel his gaze on my back as I stepped hurriedly out of the room and shut the door behind me.
Eyes Like a Wolf Page 5