Kiss Me Deadly

by Susan Kearney

  Zack regularly checked the side mirrors to watch for a tail, but he hadn’t mentioned seeing anything out of the ordinary. Her stomach growled, and she was too tired to care where Zack and she would spend the night. Hungry and exhausted. Not a terrific combination for good decision-making. She pulled onto the highway and stayed in the slow lane. “I need a break. How about dinner?”

  “We’ve a better shot at catching the pediatrician at home tonight than at the office tomorrow, where his patients will give him an excuse to avoid us.” Zack’s reference to the third case on which the three women had worked together made her realize he wanted to keep going. But it was difficult enough for her to believe the pediatrician’s wife’s accusation of child abuse, never mind that the doctor could have killed Lisa.

  Beside her Zack buried his eyes in the file. He obviously had more stamina than she did. And here her mom thought she was a workaholic. But his determination showed concern, didn’t it? That was a good sign. Not for her so much, but for Dana and their daughter.

  “My stomach’s growling at me, complaining that I only ate a half sandwich for lunch. I don’t think well with hunger pangs, and I need a ladies’ room.” Without saying more she pulled into a restaurant. If he wanted to work without food or sleep that was his prerogative. However, Mandy wasn’t out to prove that she could keep up with him.

  She knew better, recalling how he’d made love to her for hours. Zack had certainly known how to please her. His combination of playful and erotic sexiness had left her totally satisfied, until he’d gotten up and run on her treadmill the next morning. She’d watched him work out, admiring his tan chest dusted with a triangle of hair. Zack wasn’t built like a weight lifter, more like an Olympic swimmer with long, lean lines. He had a gorgeous body. His legs had pounded a steady rhythm and his cute butt had tempted her into drawing him back into bed.

  Two years passing had only served to hone his muscle tone. As he stepped in front of her to open the restaurant’s front door, she’d had to force her gaze from his butt. Grateful he hadn’t noticed her interest, she sniffed at the wafting scents. “Smells good.”

  He grinned. “I’d forgotten how much you like to eat.”

  She wondered what else he’d forgotten. Although they’d spent the day together, they’d spoken little about themselves, saying almost nothing about the past. She hadn’t felt the strain of being with him again for several hours—until just then, when he’d made a personal comment. She could have sworn he’d done it on purpose.

  Zack could change from all business to all personal with chameleon-like skill. When he ratcheted up his intimate side and boosted the charm that made her so aware of him as a man, it was with a suddenness that unsettled—that made her recall the shimmer in his eyes when he teased, the burn when he taunted.

  With just a sentence he’d brought back images of their night together. Damp skin, ragged breathing, lots of kissing. The best kisses ever. When she met his direct gaze, she saw fierce determination, as if he was bent on breaking down every barrier she’d attempted to raise. A sudden flush of heat warned that the banked embers connecting them could ignite at any time.

  He grabbed a booth. They ordered chicken quesadillas with guacamole and sour cream, and she excused herself to go to the restroom. He insisted on accompanying her, and while he stood outside the door, she ran the water and made a quick call to her mother. Gabby was fine, and both baby and grandmother were enjoying the beach as much as possible, considering the circumstances.

  To reassure her mother, Mandy told her she had a bodyguard, promised to be careful, then headed back to Zack. Their soft drinks had arrived with a basket of warm chips covered by a napkin. She plucked out a chip and dipped it into hot salsa.

  She had questions about this man that needed answers. There was only one way to get them. “So how long will the DEA let you stay here in Tampa?” She ventured farther into the realm of the personal before she lost her nerve.

  “That depends.” Zack leaned forward, his gaze on her lips causing her mouth to go dry.

  She sipped her cola to wash down the spicy chip and hot salsa. “Depends on what?”

  “On why you’re interested.”

  Mandy swallowed hard. She should have known Zack wouldn’t mince words, and scrambled for a plausible reason for her interest. She certainly didn’t want him thinking she intended to pick up where they’d left off two years ago.

  “Dana’s been worried about you,” she said, latching onto the first reason that made sense. “After seeing you in California, I understood her concern. I wanted to know . . . how life’s been treating you.”

  She wanted to know if he had any room in his life. For Gabby.

  He eyed her with a gaze that saw too much, and the silence grew. Then he nodded and said simply, “I can stay as long as I’m on administrative leave.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “My last case had complications.” He bit into his chip, his thoughts apparently going inward. Then he added, “A child, a six-year-old boy, Todd, died.”

  “You were involved?” She tried not to sound shocked, didn’t think she’d managed it by the way his expression grew distant.

  “His mother sold drugs. It was my job to befriend her. She was a prostitute and a low-level snitch who led me up the drug supply chain.”

  The waitress returned to see if they needed a refill, and Zack fell silent. Mandy didn’t need to ask if talking about this was hard for him. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he avoided her gaze. She swirled a chip into the salsa and gave him time to continue if he wished.

  Finally he said, “Neither she nor Todd was supposed to be at the warehouse when the bust went down. But she was a junkie who needed a fix.”

  “I don’t understand.” What kind of mother would . . .

  “She’d towed Todd along with her at three in the morning to work the sympathy angle from a dealer known to have a soft heart for children.”

  Mandy put down the chip. She couldn’t eat. She wasn’t certain if she wanted to hear this story, but at the same time, she needed to. Who knew when she might see Zack again after they found Lisa’s killer?

  He stared at her, his face hard, almost painfully composed as if he could hide how much he cared. “Mother and son were in the warehouse when the DEA moved in. We cut the lights. Inside, everyone hit the deck. It was dark. Shots were exchanged. Todd had a metal toy, a robot I’d given him.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his face tight, his eyes full of regret. “In the confusion, one of the agents mistook the robot for a gun and shot Todd.”

  She heard the regret, the sorrow, the grief over his part in the operation, and she ached to comfort him. But she didn’t know what to say. It’s not your fault sounded trite. “And you blame yourself.”

  “If not for me, he wouldn’t have been in the warehouse that day. You see, earlier that morning, I’d tossed his mother’s drugs down the toilet—with the intent of protecting her from the bust that was coming—not for her sake, but the boy’s.”

  “You were protecting her?” Had he had feelings for this other woman? A junkie?

  “After the DEA nailed the dealers, we would have rounded her up during the mop-up operation. I didn’t want Todd to lose her. She was all he had. Todd looked after her as if he was the adult and she the child. He adored her. But she didn’t think about him. She needed her fix . . . went to her dealer. And Todd died.”

  She placed her hand on top of his, sad that he hurt so much, but a tiny part of her encouraged that he had wanted so much to protect the child. “Saying I’m sorry doesn’t seem adequate.”

  He didn’t appear to notice her touch. His voice was raw with emotion. “Administrative leave is standard procedure after a death. If they clear me, I’ll be called back to take on another case.”

  “Is that want you want?”

&
nbsp; “The DEA shrink said what happened is similar to falling off a horse. I have to climb back on—or the fear of falling, of getting someone else killed, will paralyze me.” His thumb rubbed the back of her hand.

  So he was aware of her touch, which gave her the courage to speak some of her thoughts. “And you are buying into that?”

  Zack jerked up his head. “What do you mean?”

  “Is this shrink on a DEA retainer?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Probably. So what?”

  “Did you ever think his job is to slap a bandage on your mental wound and send you back into battle? That he doesn’t give a damn if you heal or if the wound leaves scars?”

  Zack only shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter. I’m committed to my work, and I’m never having kids.”

  His out-of-the-blue statement took her off guard, knocked the breath out of her lungs. Her hands started shaking.

  Zack noticed. “After Todd died, his mother overdosed. She couldn’t take the pain or guilt or shame of living, of going on without him.”

  Surprise and anger pushed away her shock. “So you feel so awful about the boy’s death that you don’t want to have children of your own?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You are so wrong.” She wanted to take away his pain. She wanted to shake him. Instead she used the best line of reasoning she could muster, her determination to change his mind surging as high and furious as a hurricane’s high tide. “So you shouldn’t date because you might fall in love, marry, and get divorced?”

  “Been there, done that.”

  “It’s like saying you shouldn’t make friends because they might disappoint and hurt you. It’s as if you’re unwilling to feel anything because some feelings might be bad.”

  For a moment fury flashed across Zack’s face. She watched a war waging until he finally shook his head. “You weren’t there, Mandy. That little boy died in my arms.”

  No doubt seeing Todd die and the mother’s overdose had brought back all the agony of losing his brother. At the sight of the pain in his eyes, the twist of his lips, the muscle tensing in his jaw, Mandy recognized a bigger obstacle than work to his becoming a father. Zack had never healed his grief. Now Todd’s death had only reopened the wound. No wonder he looked so drawn, so tense. He might act like his usual charming self, but he was forcing his smiles and laughter. Dana had known.

  “I am sorry,” she said.

  Zack downed half his drink in one long swallow, then carefully set the glass back on the table. Mandy ached to tell him to stay here and to take up a less dangerous line of work so he could heal his wounds and she could tell him about their daughter. But he was hurting too much now to throw that at him. As much as it hurt her, knowledge of their sweet daughter would only feel like a burden to him.

  As a family law attorney, she of all people knew that fathers had legal rights. Keeping Zack from his daughter would have a bearing in any custody case, and if Zack ever took her to court, he could use her actions against her. Yet, he’d just told her he didn’t want a child.

  But she knew Zack wasn’t dead inside. Shocked, grieving? Yes. But he had too much fire in him to remain indifferent, too much courage to close himself off. He was no longer the same idealistic young man she’d met, but she wasn’t the same light-hearted woman, either. Two years had changed her from a breezy girl to a dedicated mother. Those same years had given him a maturity that went beyond twenty-four months of normal living. He’d been through . . . hell.

  She hated keeping Gabby from him. A father had the right to know he had a child. The baby had a right to meet her father. Keeping the secret weighed on her. Especially since Mandy’s own life might be in danger. Perhaps if she told Zack about Gabby, perhaps if he met his daughter, he’d change his mind.

  “After I’m cleared, I’ll return to work. I’ll be fine.”

  “Is that what you still want?” She pushed the chips and salsa toward him.

  Her cell phone rang, and he never got a chance to answer. He looked relieved.

  She dug out her cell and answered. “Hello.”

  “It’s me, Dana. Lisa’s funeral’s at 10 A.M. tomorrow.”

  “How’s your head?” Mandy asked.

  “Good. But, it doesn’t seem right for me to be so happy when poor Lisa . . .”

  “We could all use some good news. What’s happened?” Mandy wondered from the upbeat lilt in Dana’s tone if the police had found the lottery ticket. With all that had happened—the assault, Lisa’s death, and dealing with Zack—she hadn’t had time to grieve over the loss of the ticket, of what it meant to her future as well as the other winners.

  “Sam’s agreed to sign the adoption application.”

  “That’s wonderful.” As much as Mandy would like to have heard the cops had caught their attacker and/or Lisa’s murderer, or even good news about recovering the ticket, she still was happy for her friend. She wanted to hand her phone to Zack so he could hear his sister’s good news. But recalling their conversation, she thought better of it. “I’ll tell Zack.”

  “Thanks. Bye.”

  “You’ll tell Zack what?” he asked, eyes burning into her.

  “Sam’s agreed to adopt.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah. There’s an awesome concept.”

  “Don’t spoil it for her, Zack. A baby is what Dana wants. Children mean the world to Sam. At least pretend to be happy. Please?”

  He lifted his glass in a salute, his voice deadpan. “It’ll be a stretch.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  AFTER DINNER, Mandy had called Liam Seegar, the attorney of Dr. Brad Meriman, the pediatrician accused of bruising his baby. Lisa, Dana and Mandy had all worked on the doctor’s wife’s divorce case. Since their client had accused him of abuse, he fit into the possibly violent category. Luckily, she’d worked with Liam before and had found him to be reasonable and open to mediation.

  Mandy had been up-front with the other attorney. “I’m trying to protect our clients and their spouses and keep this divorce situation private. If Dr. Meriman could answer a few preliminary questions for us this evening, I’d appreciate it.”

  The pediatrician’s attorney had agreed to join them at his client’s house that evening, and by the time Mandy and Zack arrived in Apollo Beach, a waterfront community south of Tampa where the residents lived a relaxed Florida lifestyle, she could see by the car parked in the driveway that Liam had already arrived.

  The pediatrician opened the front door to his spacious two-story home on a canal and escorted them into his home office, where he had coffee brewing along with a plate of fresh-baked sugar cookies. Mid-thirties, with spiked blond hair and blue eyes, he stood about five and a half feet tall and seemed harmless enough. Mandy couldn’t decide if he was trying to manipulate them into believing he was a genuinely nice man who’d never hurt a baby, as his wife accused, or if he was exactly what he seemed, a professional saddened by divorce and the terrible accusations against him.

  Liam Seegar, a heavyset blond wearing a khaki pinstripe suit and a soft green shirt, but no tie, shook her hand and Zack’s. “This is highly unusual.”

  “I know. Thanks for coming. I really appreciate it,” Mandy spoke with sincerity.

  “I wouldn’t have agreed, but . . .” Obviously he didn’t want to say more about the murders.

  “Thanks for helping us out,” Zack added.

  Liam seated himself by the window. The doctor sagged into a brown lounge chair, and Mandy and Zack sat opposite him on a plush leather couch. A cat curled up on an upholstered piano stool. Dr. Meriman pulled a Yorkshire terrier into his lap, sharing his cookies with the dog. She noted that Zack casually but carefully checked out the room, almost as if expecting an ambush. She’d seen nothing to disturb her, only the usual framed degrees on the wall, pictures of his soon-
to-be-ex-wife and baby, and a library of leather books. Nothing odd—nothing to suggest this man was capable of hurting his own son. Or of killing Lisa in a murderous frenzy. Or of hiring men to attack Dana and Mandy—no matter what kind of papers she’d filed on his wife’s behalf against him.

  “Doctor, can you tell me where you were this morning between 5 and 7 A.M.?” Mandy asked.

  He didn’t look at his attorney to see if he should answer. He didn’t hesitate. “I was at Brandon Hospital until 3 A.M. last night, and I came directly home and went to bed.”

  “Can anyone else confirm that?” Zack spoke in a businesslike tone.

  Dr. Meriman sipped his coffee. “After the late night, I slept longer than usual this morning and was walking out the door when my housekeeper arrived at eight. But except for Brutus,” he patted his dog, “no one was home while I slept.” He put down his coffee cup and leaned forward. “My son . . . he’s . . .”

  “Fine,” Mandy assured the man. With the pending child abuse charges against him, she supposed it was natural for him to think something might have happened to his baby and wondered why he hadn’t immediately asked about the safety of the son the state had taken away from him and his wife. Still, she sought to reassure him. “This has nothing to do with your baby.”

  The doctor’s eyes filled with pain. “Do you know how difficult it is for me to be separated from him? I can’t sleep without taking a pill. Every time I close my eyes I fear he’ll end up a statistic.”

  The man sounded genuinely distressed. Could his pain have turned to violence? She sensed nothing threatening in his tone, demeanor, or conversation. Nevertheless, for the baby’s sake, she followed the law and established procedure. “The court must decide what’s in the best interest of the child.”

  “Why can’t I have supervised visits with my son?” he asked.