Courting Death

by Carol Stephenson

  Only thirty minutes? An eternity when trapped inside a dark box.

  “Who are you?” Mom stood next to me. Uncertainty thinned the once rich resonance of her voice.

  I reached over and touched her arm, absorbing the punch of pain when she shied away from me. Carling plastered on a bright smile. “Hey, Annette. Your daughter Nicole brought home a friend with her.”

  “Nicole?” Clarity sharpened in Mom’s eyes. “What on earth happened to you?”

  “I’m fine, but there was an accident.” This time when I touched her arm she didn’t shirk. “That’s why Detective Bowie is here.”

  When she was with us, Mom could still summon up the mega-watt smile that used to flash across billboards. “Why, Detective.” She held out her hand. “What a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise, Mrs. Sterling.” Sam took her hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed the back. Both Carling’s and my jaws dropped. When she glanced at me with a stunned expression, I shrugged.

  Who knew that the force’s most annoying bulldog had manners? Was this the same man who had once opened the door for me and promptly let it slap me on my butt because we’d been arguing about a case? We may have been on fire in bed, but we had never managed to separate our jobs from our relationship.

  It’s hard to work with someone you’ve seen in the buff.

  Sam…naked. Even the thought made my mouth water, beaten only by the memory of his kisses. Mind-blowing, tongue-touching-tonsils, pelvis-grinding kisses.

  Sam looked at me then, the intensity of his expression almost scorching my skin. I flushed as I realized he too was thinking about what we once had shared.

  Great, let’s just interject unrequited passion into your complicated life.

  I straightened my shoulders. “Detective. Thank you for escorting me home. I will call you later to check on the progress of the investigation.”

  The corner of Sam’s mouth quirked. “You do that, Red. Just be sure that cute butt of yours stays in a chair and Carling—” he turned his attention to my friend, “—the doctor says she has to be under observation for twenty-four hours. That was the condition of her release.”

  Carling nodded. “I’ll stay with her.”

  “Nicole.”

  I looked at Mom and saw the confusion clouding her eyes. Inwardly I sighed. The moments of coherency were getting shorter. “Yes?”

  “You are okay, dear?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She nodded and returned to her chair to resume staring out the window. Carling cleared her throat and we both stared at Sam. He threw up his hands. “I’m leaving.”

  I followed him to the front where he opened the door and paused outside on the portico. Sympathy flashed across his expression. “I’m sorry, Nicole,” he said in a low voice. “How long has your mother had Alzheimer’s?”

  I choked back a laugh. When had Mother begun to lose her identity? She’d always been careless in recalling names and losing things. Should I have known then? When she increasingly insisted on staying home?

  Would it have made a difference if I had recognized something was off and taken her in for evaluation earlier?

  The chains of guilt twisted tighter. Nineteen months ago, Mom hadn’t returned to the table from using the restaurant’s restroom. I had gone searching and found her standing outside in the parking lot with a befuddled look in her eyes that was to become the norm. A month later, after hearing the doctor’s diagnosis, I had blown a trial and then broken up with Sam. My life’s plate had overflowed and I’d gone into survivor mode.

  My legal training kicked in. Answer the question asked. Nothing more.

  “A year and a half.”

  A tendon ticked along his jaw. “Did you think I couldn’t handle her illness? That I would leave you? Is that why you broke things off?”

  I wrapped my arms around my middle. “Don’t you remember, Sam? We promised each other there would be no commitment. We would enjoy the sex and that was it.” When the panic attacks had begun, I’d been so desperate to reach out to him. But my need had scared the hell out of me.

  Hurt flashed in Sam’s eyes. “It wasn’t about the sex for me, but when I tried to suggest moving our relationship to another level, you shot it down. You never gave us a chance.” He turned and crossed the yard to where his car was parked.

  I shut the door and leaned against it. I would not second-guess breaking up with Sam. Alzheimer’s was not only sucking away my mother but also claiming my life. I had nothing left to give.

  I closed my eyes.

  Chapter Five

  A terrible silence filled the tomb. I was completely alone. Don’t panic. Above all, don’t panic. I tried to lift my hand but couldn’t. I opened my mouth and screamed for help yet no sound came out. I was buried alive with no one to save me. I had to get out. I had to live.

  I jerked awake and took a long shuddering breath. I was in my bedroom. I sat up and ran my fingers through damp, tangled waves of hair. The bitching headache I’d had earlier was only an annoying throb. Now I remembered. Carling had insisted that I lie down for awhile. I must have fallen asleep. I checked the clock on the bedside table. Four o’clock.

  Injury downtime was over; I had pressing questions about my client’s case that required answers. The Whitmans had apologized profusely for not telling me about their first baby’s death. Brian’s explanation was that they had been too distraught over Rebecca’s loss. I’d let the omission slide for now, but we did need a heart-to-heart conference.

  After heading into the bathroom, I tossed back another aspirin, pulled my hair into a loose ponytail and checked myself in the mirror.

  Still a little pale but with my redhead’s fair complexion, that state was chronic. And recently so were the dark shadows under my eyes. Because Mom had drilled me about public appearances since I was a small child, I applied mascara and blush before slicking on my favorite shade of peach lipstick.

  I studied the results and nodded. Better. At least I was presentable.

  “What are you doing?” Carling’s reflection appeared in the mirror. She folded her arms and glared.

  “Putting on some makeup so Mother won’t go ballistic.” I turned around and leaned against the counter. I kept my tone nonchalant. “You know how she is. Even when she doesn’t recognize me, she’ll rag me about wearing lipstick.”

  Carling grinned. “When I first arrived, she lectured me about not wearing a dress.”

  “A common complaint.” Mom had never accepted the more casual Floridian attire. Growing up she drove me to school decked out in a dress, hose and high heels while other mothers had been in T-shirts and shorts.

  Carling gave a nod toward the living room. “Sophie’s here.”

  Sophie was the most recent addition to my strained budget. I paid the good-natured Hispanic woman to watch my mother while I worked. She prepared meals and helped me with the cleaning. A godsend, Mom had taken to her despite her increasing paranoia about strangers.

  “How’s the movie going?” asked Carling.

  “Only a few more weeks left of taking her to the recording studio.” Mom had been approached by an old friend about voicing a minor character in an upcoming animated film. She’d been ecstatic. All her life she’d dreamed of being in the movies but had never been able to make the transition from stage to film.

  The gig sounded ideal. All she had to do was record her lines at a Miami studio. When the cast had been announced, Mom had been in the local media spotlight and she’d gloried in the attention.

  Then she’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. After speaking with the doctor, I discussed the situation with Mom’s friend. He’d agreed to let her go forward, but for Mom’s sake no word of her condition had been leaked to the press.

  “She’s amazing, Carling. The technicians think she’s cute when she messes up their names or forgets who they are entirely. However, the moment the recording begins, she nails her lines.”

  “You spend hours rehearsing with he
r.”

  I shrugged. “True, but it’s like deep down there’s a switch she turns on when it’s time to be Annette Hayes once more.”

  Hard rock music blared from Carling’s pocket and she dug out her cell phone. “Hey, Maria, what’s up?”

  Maria was the firm’s lead secretary so I watched Carling’s expressive face as she listened. Here and there I caught the secretary’s agitated voice. Something was up at the office. Good. This might be my chance to leave the house without a chaperon.

  Carling spoke, cutting off the other woman. “Look, we’ll have to tell him to get another attorney for his son.”

  I straightened. “What’s wrong?”

  “We had a referral call. The man’s son has been arrested for drug possession and the first appearance is in an hour. Kate’s still in court and you’re in no shape to be left alone—”

  “Hold it right there,” I interrupted. “Take the case. I’m fine now that I’ve slept. I’ll just curl up with my laptop and work from home. The hearing will take you a couple of hours, max. If you’re worried about me, you can swing by afterward.”

  Carling narrowed her eyes as she tapped the phone against the palm of her hand. “No double or blurred vision?”

  “None. No dizziness or nausea.” At least none that a swig of antacid wouldn’t cure, I told myself as my stomach twisted. I pointed at the phone. “Tell Maria you’re on the way.”

  “A blow to the head is nothing to monkey with.”

  If anyone knew how nasty head injuries could be, it was Carling. She’d been grazed by a bullet when a client was shot and killed then suffered a concussion in a car accident.

  I made a cross over my chest and raised my hand. “I promise I’ll call if I start having any symptoms.”

  Focus on the goal at hand. I smiled. “Besides, Sophie’s here.”

  “If you’re sure…” At my nod, Carling raised her phone. “Maria, I’m clear to handle the hearing. I’m on my way. Call and set up a client meet at the jail.”

  After a few more directives, she closed the phone and gave me a fierce hug. “You behave and I’ll swing by when I’m done.” She whirled and left the bathroom. I followed, opened the door and groaned. All thought of sneaking out after Carling left fled.

  My worst fantasy stood on the front stoop.

  “Evenin’, Red.” Sam’s bemused gaze raked me and his dark eyebrow shot up. “Going somewhere?”

  I bit back a sigh. “Of course not. What are you doing here?”

  He held up two greasy white bags. “I was in the neighborhood for some burgers and thought I’d drop in.” Before I could stop him, Sam ambled past me and Carling into the living room.

  She grinned and gave me a quick salute. “You’re in good hands. I’ll check in after the hearing.” She dashed to her car. I closed the door and went into the living room only to catch a glimpse of Sam escorting Mom into the kitchen.

  “Miss Nicole.” Sophie approached me.

  “Yes?” My stomach growled at the lingering aroma of grilled meat and onions.

  “I was wondering if I could leave early now that you have company. My nephew gets his blue belt in karate tonight.”

  I dragged my gaze from the kitchen entry and smiled. “Of course. I’m grounded for the night so go watch Miguel.”

  “Gracias. I will see you tomorrow.” She tilted her head toward the next room. “Your man…muy guapo.”

  I shook my head. “Not my man.”

  “No?” The other woman’s brown eyes twinkled. “He acts like he is.”

  I made my way into the kitchen and caught my breath. In companionable silence Mom sat next to Sam, wolfing down a burger. Sam glanced over at me and held up an unwrapped sandwich. “Been waiting on you, Red.”

  I had my pride, but it wimped out under the strident demand of my long ignored stomach. I grabbed the proffered burger and bit into it. Stopping midchew, I watched as Sam casually held out a fry to my mother, which she grabbed.

  I sighed. How did he do it? Mom never trusted strangers and here he was practically hand-feeding her.

  Companionable silence prevailed until the last greasy fry was fought over and made its way victoriously into my mouth. Mom rose and gifted Sam with one of her rare smiles. “Thank you for dinner. If you all will excuse me, I think I will head to bed.”

  I kissed her on the cheek. “Good night, Mom.” I remained standing, watching, until she walked through the living room, past the outer door, into the hall leading to the bedrooms. Moments later I heard a door close. Good. There wasn’t an exit to the outside on that wing of the house. She was safe for now. I sat down again.

  Sam leaned back and studied me. “Your mama’s a real charmer. Guess you must take after your father.”

  I looked up with a quick retort on my lips but the words stuck in my throat. The sight of Sam lounging in the kitchen chair triggered a sharp pang of a different type of hunger. My fingers itched to stroke the rough five o’clock stubble on his jaw, to muss his finger-raked hair. To straddle his lap and unbutton his shirt, revealing more of the crisp black chest hair peeking over the V.

  Business, talk about business. My safe harbor.

  “Don’t you have a suspect to beat up or somewhere else to be? Lovely a visit as this has been, I have work to do.”

  The physical pang receded, leaving me drained. I lowered my aching head until I could prop it up with my hands.

  Sam’s chair scraped against the tile floor, but I continued to hide my face. The press of his warm fingers along my neck brought me upright.

  “Relax, Red. You look like you could use a good neck rub.” His fingers gently dug into the tense muscles. I bit back a groan.

  Sam’s fingers worked magic from the base of my skull to my shoulders. There, they hesitated before continuing their ministrations down between my shoulder blades. Every inch of flesh left in their wake tingled, burned.

  Hunger pains, nothing. I was on fire now. I drew in a choppy breath and exhaled it raggedly as Sam’s downward progress reached the back of my bra. His thumbs anchored over the back fastening. The sweep of his fingers brushed the sides of my breasts. My nipples hardened as aching heat pooled between my legs.

  I clutched my knees together to still their trembling. If I leaned back against Sam’s body, I knew with absolute certainty I’d find his hard arousal.

  I leaned forward.

  “Thanks.” I heard the husky strain in my voice and swallowed. “That was great.”

  His hands broke contact. My body cried foul at my head’s choice. Sam’s raspy breath gradually calmed, but his voice mocked me. “The pleasure was all mine.”

  I watched him warily as he walked around the table and returned to his chair. With a lithe movement that would put a Florida panther to shame, Sam stretched out and clasped his hands on his stomach.

  I willed my hormones to chill. Here I was a quivering mass of electrified nerve endings while Sam stared coolly at me.

  Not one muscle betrayed any sexual tension, or frustration…except for the betraying bulge in his jeans. So he had been affected. His kicked-back attitude was a sham. “Why didn’t you tell me your mother had Alzheimer’s?”

  So much for seduction. My emotions were now somewhere whimpering around my unpolished toenails. It was back to drawing the line between us. Wasn’t that what I wanted? I stifled the “hell, no” protest from my body. Control was everything.

  When I spoke, I was crisply professional, distant. “I didn’t tell you initially because it’s not a simple diagnosis. Mom has struggled with bouts of depression in the past.”

  Like the five-year-long one after my father moved on to a younger wife. Initially, there had been no contact between our families. Then Dad’s second wife started including me in their holidays to get to know my half brother and sister. Despite how painfully awkward the occasions were, I’d gone. It was the only way I ever saw my father.

  “By the time it looked like the doctors were right—” I shrugged, “—we weren’
t even on the same side of the law anymore let alone in a relationship. Mom’s condition isn’t public knowledge.”

  I had to give Sam credit for being quick. “She’s got an acting job?”

  “Yes and no. She’s doing voiceover work for an animated film. She’ll be finished in another month after which her publicist will plant a tactful notice that, this time, her retirement will be permanent.”

  When Sam didn’t comment, I glanced at him. He scowled at the tips of his boots before looking up, his dark eyes sharp with accusation. “It still burns me that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me your mother was sick.”

  He was the last one who should be bitching about trust. I lashed back, “Hey, don’t lay that particular guilt trip on me. You didn’t tell me you’d discovered the murder weapon in the Gordon Archer case was tainted due to a police screw-up. As a result a killer walked, Sam, and slaughtered a whole family.”

  “Dammit, Nicole. So the Archer prosecution went south on you. Shit happens. Cases are never perfect. You did the best you could with the remaining crumbs of evidence and even managed to get a hung jury. A jury in the hands of a less-skilled prosecutor probably would have given him a free pass in five minutes.”

  A better attorney might have been able to re-piece the evidence to get a conviction on a lesser crime. I’d been so damn confident I had a slam dunk case that I indicted only on one count of murder with intent to kill. A mistake I would always live with. Pressure built in me.

  I shoved back the chair as I stood and gripped the table’s edge to steady myself. “Let’s get this straight. That doesn’t absolve my failure. I panicked, okay? I blanked out and didn’t know what to do next.” What I couldn’t confess to him was my dark secret that the paralysis had recurred. “I couldn’t handle the job so I quit.”

  I snatched the crumpled bags and rammed them into the garbage pail. “I’m sorry if I hurt you or you can’t understand, but that’s the way it had to be.”