by Mary Burton
“What kind of research?”
“This and that.”
He frowned but sensed he’d not get any more from her. “No. Ain’t heard of Sugar.”
She patted her purse. “Okay. Thanks for the tape.” Without another word, he brushed past her knocking her sore shoulder. She cringed, hesitated as the pain rolled over her. She drew in a deep breath. Anxious to watch the tape, she sent a text to Colleen telling her she was leaving and headed out the front door to catch a cab.
“Looking for a ride?” Oscar McMillian stood feet away jangling his keys.
“No, thanks.”
The keys clinked as he tossed them up and caught them. “So this formal relationship we have means that I can’t give you a ride?”
“I’m afraid it does.” She gripped the handle of her satchel tighter.
He offered a smile designed to charm and influence. “I’m not a bad guy, Ms. Wainwright. I’m offering a ride.”
“Thanks. But, no. I’ll call you as soon as I have details of your case.”
“You’re being sensitive. Fussy. Like an old lady.”
Rachel glanced toward a yellow cab parked across the street, raised her hand and held it up. “Why are you pushing this?”
The slow shake of his head added to his amused look. “I’m not. You are a prude.”
“Don’t pretend to know me, Mr. McMillian.”
The smile faded. “You ashamed to be seen with me?”
The shift in his tone had her wishing they weren’t alone. “Good night, Mr. McMillian.”
McMillian advanced a step and then stopped.
Deke Morgan stepped out of the shadows. “There a problem?”
The cab stopped short of her by a block, nabbed by a pretty girl with auburn hair and a short skirt. Rachel cursed. “No. I was catching a cab.”
McMillian eyed Morgan. “I offered her a ride.”
“Which I’ve refused,” Rachel added quickly. “I’m fine as soon as I can get a cab.”
Deke whistled to a cab on the other corner, held up his badge and motioned him forward. The cab did a U-turn and in seconds was parked in front of her. “There you go.”
McMillian grinned and saluted. “Problem solved. See you in court, Ms. Wainwright.” He grinned at Deke. “Detective.”
Deke remained silent as McMillian strolled around a corner. “That guy is trouble.”
Whispered warnings agreed. “He’s a client. We shouldn’t be talking about him.”
“Don’t be fooled by his smile.”
Oddly shaken, she hid behind legal reasoning. “It takes more than a fake smile to convict a man of murder.”
“There’s plenty of evidence. And when you dig through his files you’ll see.”
“I will dig through the files and then find a way to discount it all. That’s my job.”
His smile was feral. “I’ve no doubt. Lawyers have a talent for twisting facts. You have a knack for it.”
Anger jabbed. The cab driver honked his horn. She opened the door. “Nice shot, Detective. We’ll see who manipulated the facts.”
When she reached for the door handle, he brushed her hand aside and took hold of the door. He hesitated, his body inches from hers. “Why did you go in the back room with Rudy?”
The question threw her off balance. She didn’t think anyone had noticed. “You were watching me?”
“Happened to glance over.”
He didn’t happen to do anything. “I didn’t realize I was accountable to you.”
He worked his jaw. “So you won’t answer me?”
“Nope.”
“Do you lie or hold back the truth with everyone?”
Bitter laughter rumbled in her chest. “The truth does not set you free, Detective. I learned that lesson the hard way.”
He leaned toward her. “We all have to trust someone.”
She remained steady, resisting the urge to plaster her back to the cab. “Do we? I’m not so sure.”
He pressed his finger against the hollow of her throat. “You are on a lonely path.”
Her heart rattled. “Is that experience talking? That the reason for the two divorces?”
A slight narrowing of his eyelids sharpened icy eyes, warning she’d hit a nerve. “Have a nice night, Rachel.”
The emphasis on her name roughened it in ways she didn’t like. “Thanks for the cab.”
“Any time. Be safe.”
She slid into the cab and he slammed the door closed. As the cab pulled away she felt his gaze on her. Her cheeks flushed. “Take me across town.” She gave her address.
She pulled the tape from her purse, wondering what Deke would have said if he’d known she had the tape of Annie.
At her house, she scrounged twenty bucks from her purse and paid the cab driver. She considered returning to work but the videotape weighed heavily in her purse. She fished her keys from a side pocket and got into her car. Thirty minutes later she’d bought a dozen glazed chocolate donuts, driven across the Cumberland River and stood in front of a small one-story house. The windows were barred and the front door well lit by a halogen and monitored with a camera. She dialed a number on her cell.
It rang once. “Better be good.”
“Chocolate glazed donuts.” She held the box up toward a security camera.
“How many?”
“A dozen.”
“You may enter.”
The door lock clicked open and she entered the dark house. Sid Danvers was in his early twenties and though he’d never graduated from any school he was brilliant with all electronics. She and Sid had met a year ago when she’d helped with a legal matter regarding an alleged hacking incident. She’d gotten him acquitted and he’d promised his future help in exchange for donuts.
Out of the shadows stepped a tall, thin man with long hair tied at the nape of his neck. He wore grungy jeans and a shirt embossed with Bogart’s image. He studied her. “Attorney Wainwright.”
She nodded. “Sid. Keeping your nose out of other people’s operating systems?”
“Of course.”
She knew enough not to push. She held up the box, “I need a favor.”
He took the donuts. “I did promise you one favor in exchange for donuts.”
She reached in her satchel and pulled out the VHS tape. “I want to watch this tape but don’t have the equipment.”
“That’s it?”
“Not much of a challenge, I will agree.”
“No. I’d have figured you wanted me to hack into Nashville PD computers and see what they are saying about your case. Or that reporter’s computer. That would no doubt be amusing.”
“No. This is totally legal.” Her grip on the satchel tightened. “Tell me you haven’t done that.”
A smile twitched the edge of his lips. “I have not.”
Again, better not to press. “Just the tape.”
“Do you want it transferred to a CD?”
“That would be great.” She scanned the piles of dusty, haphazardly arranged electronics. “Could we watch the tape now?”
He opened the box of donuts. “They’re still warm.”
“Out of the oven fifteen minutes ago.”
He held a donut up to his nose and closed his eyes. “We’ll watch the tape now.”
“Thanks.” Dragging in a breath, she entered the house. The main room, originally designated as a living room, was now his office and crammed full of hundreds of electronic devices. There were old projectors, computers, copiers, and a bellows camera. The stack of electronics left little floor space to maneuver, so she followed him along a narrow path to a long desk sporting four computer screens. One played a movie, the other news, the other a series of numbers, and the last satellite images.
He bit into the donut and chewed slowly. “So what do you have for me?”
She pulled the cassette from her purse. “It’s a recording of a singer performing at Rudy Creed’s thirty years ago. The singer is supposed to be Annie Rivers.”
Nodding, he gobbled the donut in two bites and then turned to his pile of electronics. He studied the collection, as a surgeon would his tools. He set several aside so he could reach an older dusty model. Chunky and thick, the machine looked awkward and clumsy.
“State of the art in 1981. Should do the trick if your tape is intact.” He settled the player on a lonely bare spot on his desk and using a mismatch of cords attached it to a power source.
She handed it over. “Here’s hoping.”
He took the tape, inspected it, and then pushed it into the machine. The image on the right computer screen turned grainy. Sid grabbed another donut and sat on a swivel chair in front of the computer. “Not looking good.”
She pulled up a small stool and watched, tapping her foot. “Could it be your machine?”
A thick brow arched at the imagined insult. “My machines work. It’s your tape.”
“I was told the tape worked.”
He shot her a glance. “If these donuts weren’t awesome I’d toss you out for questioning me.”
She grinned. “I actually waited until the donuts came out of the oven. The clerk tried to sell me donuts made an hour ago but I refused.”
He plucked another from the box. As he bit into the soft dough the screen’s static cleared to a faded color image of Rudy’s stage. It hadn’t changed in three decades and could have been filmed today. Same scarred floor covered with a small red rug. Same stool. Same collection of images in the background. The telltale giveaways were the large and unwieldy microphone and the curly or winged hairstyles of the women in the audience.
The crowds to the side and front of the stage cheered as two guitar players and a fiddler assembled on stage. Young guys dressed in jeans, they all sported long hair and thick beards. The musicians were laughing, finishing off the last of their cigarettes, as they started to play a lively tune.
A guitar player, which she realized was a younger leaner Rudy, leaned forward and stroked his beard as he smiled. “I guess ya’ll heard that Annie is here tonight.”
The crowd whooped and hollered with enthusiasm. Several started to chant, “Annie.”
Rachel scooted to the front of her seat. Seeing stills of the woman didn’t compare to seeing and hearing her on tape. Though age had yellowed the image and diminished some of its original color, her anticipation didn’t wane.
Finally a woman emerged, her head turned toward the band, the thick blond curtain of her hair hiding her features. She wore a blue cowgirl outfit cinched at a narrow waist, a silver concho belt, and blue boots.
She spoke to the band, tapping her foot as the crowd shouted her name. With a showman’s panache, she slowly lowered her head and grabbed the microphone. The crowd cheered. She waited a beat, raised her hand in the air, and then looked directly into the camera. A wide grin accentuated full red lips, enhanced a high slash of cheekbones and brightened blue eyes. She possessed a charisma, a glow that drew Rachel into the screen.
“Damn,” Sid said. “Hot as hell.”
“Her photos don’t do her justice.”
“I’m glad you all could come out here tonight,” Annie said. “Always does my heart proud to see so many happy faces.” She tapped a long index finger on the mike as she looked into the camera, a sly seductive grin warming her face. “Sugar, this one is for you.”
Rachel drew in a breath. Sugar. Annie’s Sugar. The man Rudy didn’t recognize.
The camera picked up the sounds of the hollering crowd and Rachel hoped the cameraman might pan to the crowd for a second. But he kept his lens on Annie who turned to the band and after exchanging words they started playing. Annie nestled the microphone closer to her mouth, offered a sly secretive smile and led with a fast-paced song that immediately had the crowd cheering. Her smile widened and she sang louder.
Both Rachel and Sid sat in silence watching the thirty-minute tape. Both remained mesmerized.
Sid ate a third donut. “I’m a little hot for her.”
“She died thirty years ago.”
“You’re talking to the big head when the little one doesn’t care.”
She shot Sid a quick glance as she leaned closer to watch Annie who had a familiarity Rachel could not define. Was it her showman’s allure? Did Annie have a way of making everyone feel as if she was friend to all?
Annie began to sing and Rachel and Sid fell under her spell, sitting in silence listening and absorbing. The aging audio did not diminish the clarity of her voice nor stop the chills from prickling Rachel’s skin.
By the time Annie had finished the crowd cheered. “God bless,” she said as she hurried off the stage.
Rachel now understood Jeb’s obsession with Annie, her roommate’s jealousy and the city’s demand for justice when she’d died.
Sid stopped the tape and rewound it. The machine hesitated and then whirred as the tape rewound. “And you are defending the guy that killed her?”
“Yes.”
Sid puffed his cheeks and blew out a breath. “It’s a wonder the town didn’t lynch him.”
It was a wonder. “He swears he didn’t do it.”
Sid folded his arms. “Don’t they all?”
She clung to her beliefs with an ever-tightening grip. “He deserves to have his DNA tested.”
Sid shook his head. “If you say so.”
As tempted as she was to argue, she didn’t. “How soon can you convert this to a CD?”
“I can have it ready for you in the morning.”
She scooted to the edge of her seat and laid her hand on his arm.
He stilled, looked at her as if he didn’t know how to handle the contact.
“Sid, there is someone out there that doesn’t like my poking around in Annie’s life. I left letters with a friend and she was killed.”
He laid his hand over hers. “I heard about that. Lexis, right?”
“Yeah.”
He gave her hand a quick squeeze, pulled it free and reached under his desk to remove a .45. “I’ll be fine.”
His confidence reminded her of Lexis the last time they’d spoken. “Sid, I don’t want anyone else hurt. Lexis was nobody’s fool.”
“There are less trusting souls than me. Fact, you are the first person I’ve let in here in six months.”
“But you go out.”
“Nope. An assistant brings me what I need and leaves the goods in a utility room off the back. When he’s gone, I retrieve my stuff.”
“I know you are careful, but—”
“No worries, Rachel. This is a fortress. I should be finished by morning.”
“I’ll come by and pick the CD up early.”
“My assistant will deliver it.”
“Thanks.”
She rose, absently replaying the tape in her head. It struck a chord in her subconscious, but this single viewing couldn’t solidify a peculiar feeling.
Rebecca Saunders arrived at the hotel room to find everything as she liked it. Wine chilling in a bucket, white coverlet on the bed, and rose soap waiting for her in the bath. She shimmied out of her slim skirt, slipped off her silk shirt, bra, and panties and left them in a trail that led from the bedroom to the bath.
A glass of wine in hand she drew a bath and slipped into the hot water. The warm water soothed her skin. It had been a long exhausting day at the office and though she’d not expected to see him tonight, his text, all but begging her to come to their hotel room, was welcome. She liked it when he begged.
When she heard the room door open she hesitated. He had gotten adept at entering the room without being heard. That’s what she’d told him to do and clearly he’d gotten sloppy. He must have been looking for reasons to be punished. Eyes narrowing, she sipped her wine.
She listed as he moved into the room. Sloppy. Terrible. She thought about all the ways she’d make him suffer for being foolish.
Knowing he’d be impatient, she lingered in the bath. That would make him anxious. He had precious little time to give her.
&nbs
p; Finally, she rose from the tub, set her glass down and then slowly toweled off. She donned the fluffy white robe hanging on the back of the door and tied it at her waist. She checked her makeup in the mirror and then, wineglass in hand, sauntered into the room.
She found him facing the window, wearing a hoodie, hands clasped in front. This was different. Not their usual scenario. But she was adaptable and would play along because it suited her. “What’s this about? Who the hell are you?”
He didn’t turn, lunge, or grab her. Another break with their routine. She could be a little adaptable but she set the script for their encounters. Not him.
Annoyed, she advanced a step. “I asked you a question.”
Slowly, he shifted his weight and then he turned. When she looked up she blinked, her shock fast and acute. He was wearing a white hockey mask. The eyes that stared back at her though had a startling, intense quality she’d never seen before. “Is this some kind of game? I don’t get passed around.”
He shifted and she realized that this man gripped a tire iron. The first flicker of fear ignited inside her.
She took a step back. “I don’t like this game.”
Eyes sparkled with amusement. “I do.”
Before she could react, he closed the gap between them and swung the tire iron high. It cut through the air and struck her on the side of her head. The blow sent her wineglass spilling to the carpeted floor and her eyes rolling back in her head. She dropped to her knees and fell face first on the carpet. Warm blood rushed from the gash in her temple to pool on the carpet by her head.
Agony cut through Rebecca’s head as she struggled to gather her shattered thoughts. She clawed at the carpet, hoping to crawl to safety. The simplest movement stoked fire in her skull.
“You won’t get away.”
A strong arm grabbed Rebecca’s shoulder and shoved her on her back. Through blurred vision, she stared up at her attacker. Words scrambled in her head but they wouldn’t form into sentences.
As blood seeped down her cheeks, she whispered, “Why?”
Bright, dark eyes blazed from the mask. “You should have stayed away from him. He’s not yours.”
The voice held a menace that terrified her as much as the pain. “Who are you?”
Her attacker loomed and raised the tire iron. “Say good-bye, Rebecca.”