Justice for All

by Wayne, Joanna

  “You can think it. So can the rest of the town. But we’re not.”

  “Well, not yet, but if you two start sleeping in the same house together, you will be soon. The kind of heat you two put out can’t be cooled down with a glass of wine or a dip in that pool of yours.”

  Callie tried to block the images that sneaked into her mind at Mikki’s words, but she wasn’t entirely successful. She felt a slow burn creep across her skin and knew she had to be blushing. For once, Mikki didn’t seem to notice.

  Mikki pushed up her sleeve and glanced at her animated Minnie Mouse watch, which her patients loved. “Gotta go. The screamers’ moms get restless if we run late.”

  Callie wrapped the rest of her sandwich in her paper napkin, tossed it into the trash can by her desk, then stood and walked to the door with Mikki. The warnings she ached to give formed a lump in her throat. “Take care,” she said.

  “You, too. Stay safe.” Mikki reached over and gave one of Callie’s hands an unexpected squeeze, as if she sensed Callie’s uneasiness. “And wear something sexy tonight. Like talcum powder and a smile.”

  Callie stood in the doorway as Mikki walked past the examining room to the exit. Apprehension and fantasy. Strange that they could coexist, yet both were careening around inside her right now. There was no way she could think of Max without feeling the tantalizing heat of desire. No way to think of the Avenger without experiencing the pangs of fear, for Mikki, for herself and for all of Courage Bay.

  MAX PICKED CALLIE UP from her hospital rounds at six-thirty, but explained that he’d been out of his office most of the afternoon and had to make a quick stop at police headquarters before they drove back to her house. It was Callie’s first time in Max’s office and she was intrigued by the room’s setup, especially the wall map dedicated to the actions of the Avenger.

  “Do the red pins indicate areas where the Avenger’s struck?” she asked, realizing it was the first time she’d seen a city map with this much detail.

  “Yeah. As you can see, there’s no real pattern as to location.”

  “I don’t suppose you have any more evidence on whether or not Dr. Yube was one of the Avenger’s victims.”

  “Not yet,” Max said. He walked away from the map and started gathering files from his desk and shoving them into a soft leather briefcase. “We did make progress today, though.”

  Callie forgot the map and hurriedly crossed the room. “What kind of progress?”

  “Henry Lalane’s fingerprints on the paper Marjorie Craven found.”

  Callie took a few steps backward and dropped into a chair, her legs suddenly too weak to support her. “Henry Lalane.” The information shifted around in her mind as if searching for a place to fit. There was none. “I know he’s an avid crusader to get guns and drugs off the street, but I can’t see him going around killing people. I doubt he even owns a gun.”

  Max turned and took her hands. His felt hot, which meant hers were probably icy cold.

  “Is there anyone you actually know that you do think capable of murder, Callie?”

  She swallowed hard and thought about the question as honestly as she could. “No. Do you think that’s why I’ve had such strong suspicions about Jerry Hawkins, because he’s the only guest at Mary’s party I don’t know well?”

  “It could be. You know what a difficult time Mary had believing Bernie Brusco was involved in drug trafficking.”

  “Yes, but she was thinking of marrying him.” Callie tried to think of Henry strangling Mary and tossing her into her pool. The image wouldn’t gel. Yet his prints were on the note. “Did you confront Henry?”

  “Yeah.”

  Max dropped her hands, then filled her in on his meeting with the district attorney. She wasn’t sure she was officially supposed to know all of this, but was glad Max trusted her enough to tell her.

  “Are you still flying to Sacramento tomorrow?” she asked. With the evidence against Henry, Callie figured he might be ready to forget Jerry Hawkins.

  “Thanks for mentioning that. I need to take the reservation info.” He shuffled through some more papers on his desk, then found what he was looking for.

  “Why don’t you let me handle those, Max?”

  “You got it.” He handed the reservation printouts to her, then crossed the room and turned off the light in his office.

  They walked out together, and she felt a strange bonding with him, different from the physical attraction she usually felt. This felt stronger in some way, as if they were a team, or a real couple. Now they were going home together. Only he’d sleep in one bed and she’d sleep in another.

  Their hands brushed as they left the building, and Callie felt the familiar warm tingle dance along her nerve endings, then grow hot in the sensitive area between her thighs.

  Mikki had predicted that if they spent too much time together, the heat of desire would consume them. Callie was already there.

  HE SAT IN HIS CAR, watching Callie Baker and Max Zirinsky walk out of police headquarters together. The chief of police was manipulating the brilliant doctor and she didn’t even know it. Too bad. Her naiveté was a fatal mistake.

  He didn’t want to kill her. But like Mary, Callie knew too much. She hadn’t put the pieces together yet, but now that she was hanging out with Max, it wouldn’t be long before she did.

  He’d kill Callie, then he’d kill the others, the ones whose names had not been typed on the list. The list with Henry’s fingerprints all over it.

  He hadn’t intended to frame Henry, but it was lucky that he’d typed the list on a piece of scrap paper he’d happened to pick up from Henry’s desk.

  At least now the suspicion was averted from him for the time being. Now he could focus on completing his mission.

  A man had to do something with his life before he died, something that made a difference. His mission would be his legacy, a way to right any wrongs he might have done. And he had to stop Callie before she sabotaged his work.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MAX HAD STOPPED at the neighborhood market on the way home. Callie had shopped at the same market hundreds of times before, yet tonight the grocery shopping seemed more like an intimate adventure than the routine chore it usually was. They’d walked the well-stocked aisles together. Chosen steaks for the grill, perused the produce department for salad makings and chosen a crusty bread flavored with herbs and sun-dried tomatoes. Max had thrown a six-pack of beer into the basket and a bag of pistachios. Callie had selected a couple of peaches and a ripe cantaloupe.

  They’d laughed and talked while they shopped, and it had struck Callie that they were at the same time both new and old. Familiar, yet unfamiliar. Comfortable, yet tense with sexual undertones and the omniscient hint of danger, reminding them of the reason for being together.

  At least it seemed that way to her. Max was impossible to read. He gave no indication that he was experiencing the kind of slow burn that she was.

  They’d finished dinner now and were sitting in the living area. She was sipping a glass of red wine. Max had had a beer, but he’d finished it quickly and was sitting forward in the overstuffed armchair, studying some files spread out on the hassock in front of him. Callie walked over and perched on the arm of his chair.

  “Why do you have a file on Leo Garapedian?” she asked, noting the name on the tab. “Is he in on the investigation?”

  “No.” Max scratched his chin and the stubble that now shadowed it. “He’s just one of the people I’ve had to consider when searching for suspects.”

  “But he was your chief of detectives.”

  “And a damn good one.”

  “Then how can you even imagine he might be guilty of vigilante crimes?”

  “I’m a cop. It’s not a matter of imagining. Unlike the judicial system, we think of everyone as a suspect until they’re proven innocent.”

  “You’re not a cop. You’re the chief of police.”

  “That’s only a title. Deep down I’m a cop. Always
will be.”

  “Wouldn’t the same be true of Leo Garapedian?”

  “I hope so. But even good cops sometimes become jaded. They bust their butts to get the criminals off the streets. Then some judge or jury says they asked a question the wrong way or stubbed their toe on somebody’s rights, and the perp goes free. But I don’t really suspect Leo. He’s quick to anger when someone walks on a technicality, but he wasn’t involved in the hostage situation at City Hall and I don’t have any information to place him in the area of the other murders.”

  “Did you question Leo about alibis?” she asked, certain that would have made Leo furious.

  “Not directly. But a good detective has other ways of finding out where a man was on any given day.”

  “Do you have any information that links the people involved in the hostage-taking situation with the other murders?”

  “Nothing, and timing is tricky on some of the deaths. For example with Deeb, the condition of the body after the mud slide made it impossible to get an exact time of death.” Max closed the file and leaned back in his chair. “I’m beginning to think you really are after my job.”

  “No, you can have your killers. Diseases can be just as deadly, but most are far more predictable.” She twisted the gold and ruby ring on her right hand, her mind still toying with the facts even though Max had closed the file.

  “I keep thinking about Lorna Sinke’s murder. If she wasn’t killed by the Avenger, wouldn’t that make the list some silly hoax as well?”

  “But we don’t know for sure that Lorna wasn’t another Avenger victim.”

  “And then there’s Henry Lalane,” she said, still shocked that he was now a suspect. “If he’s telling the truth about not writing the note, how can his fingerprints be on it?”

  Max shoved a wayward lock of hair back from his forehead, then rubbed his neck as if he were trying to loosen kinks. “Another of the questions I don’t have an answer for.”

  Max moved one foot to the corner of the hassock. The jarring movement caused a slip of paper to fall to the floor. Callie reached and picked it up. It was a copy of the list with Callie’s name scribbled across the bottom. The letters seemed to jump from the page and the danger seemed all the more real. She let the paper drop through her fingers and float back to the carpet, but she couldn’t stop the shudder that rocked though her.

  “Don’t let it get to you,” Max said.

  “Easier said than done.” She stood and walked to the window, staring out into the darkness. Max’s footfalls fell silently on the thick carpet, but Callie sensed his movement toward her and felt an almost imperceptible quickening of her pulse.

  “You’re safe, Callie, no matter who put your name on that list.”

  “I know, but when I look at that note, it’s as if I feel his hate.”

  “It’s not your doing. It’s his own sickness that’s festering inside him.”

  She swallowed hard, now keenly aware of Max’s nearness. He was standing so close she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. Close, but not touching.

  Finally she turned and slowly lifted her gaze, afraid that if he saw her need, he’d back away. His own gaze was intense, his deep green eyes so piercing she felt as if he were looking straight through her, that he could see her thoughts and feelings.

  “Oh, Callie.” Her name sounded ragged on his tongue. Almost pleading. He leaned in closer, his mouth inches from hers, his musky scent filling her senses like an aphrodisiac.

  He was going to kiss her. Oh, please let him do it before she threw herself at him. Her heart drummed inside her chest, then seemed to stop beating altogether when his lips touched hers.

  The kiss was hunger and desire and emotional release. The kiss was Max. Fierce. Unbridled. Primal. She didn’t know or care what it meant other than that Max was as hungry for her as she was for him.

  And then it was over.

  Max backed away without a word, but she could see the flexed muscles in his arms and the white knuckles of his clenched fists before he released them and shoved his hands into his pockets.

  He walked into the kitchen, opened his second beer of the evening and returned to his chair and his notes as if nothing had happened between them. Only the kiss had happened, and the air between them was as charged as a lighted stick of dynamite.

  They were adults. They couldn’t go on like this. She couldn’t go on like this.

  Pushed to her emotional limits, Callie crossed the room, scooped up his files and dropped them to the floor. He merely stared as she slid onto the hassock, her feet resting between it and his chair, her legs sliding between his.

  “Are you going to do this every eight years, Max?”

  He stared at her for long moments, his expression unreadable except for the smoky desire that haunted his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The kiss, Max. I’m talking about the kiss.”

  He shrugged his shoulders but looked away. “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

  “But you did. Kissed me senseless the same way you did eight years ago. You walked away then, too, but this time it can’t be about Tony.”

  Placing his hands on her shoulders, he let his thumbs ride the tight lines of her neck before finally meeting her gaze. “It was never about Tony, Callie.”

  “Then what?”

  He hesitated, as if searching for the right response. “Timing.”

  Timing. That might be an answer for him, but it meant nothing to her. “What kind of timing are you looking for, Max? I didn’t plan to find out my husband was cheating on me, and I damn sure didn’t plan to have a killer make me one of his targets. So just what kind of timing do you want?”

  Need. Hurt. Anger. Frustration. Dread. The emotions were so tangled inside her she couldn’t separate them.

  Max dropped his hands from her shoulders and let them slide down her arms. “I don’t want to hurt you, Callie. Believe me, that’s the last thing I want to do. But you’re vulnerable now, the same as you were the night you ended the marriage with Tony. It’s natural for you to reach out to me, but…” He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I’m here to protect you, not to take advantage of you.”

  “And you think that’s all there is to my feelings for you? You think I could kiss any man who stepped into my life and offered me protection the way I kissed you?”

  “No. Of course not. I didn’t meant that.” He stood up and paced the room before finally dropping to the hassock beside her. “I want to make love to you, Callie Baker. I want it so badly that I can barely think straight. That’s the problem. If I give into the desire, I’ll never be able to keep a clear head. And right now I have to make your safety and stopping the Avenger before he kills again my top priority.”

  She had no argument for that. Making love wouldn’t be the end all. She knew that. Breathtaking sex never satisfied as much as it whet the appetite for more. Still, she’d never wanted a man more than she wanted Max right now. And she was certain it had nothing to do with her vulnerability.

  “I can live with that,” she said, “but I have one request, Max.”

  “Anything.”

  “When this is over, I want to make love with you. No holds barred. Then we’ll either get it out of our system once and for all or find out that we can’t.”

  He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, so he closed it again.

  She took that for a yes.

  MAX’S BODY WAS ROCK HARD as he watched Callie walk up the stairs to her bedroom. He was still hiding inside the tough cop exterior, but the tightly coiled sexual drive he felt scared him half to death.

  He hadn’t exactly lied to Callie, but he hadn’t told the full truth, either. He was not even certain he knew what the truth was. He’d loved her for so long now, it seemed like part of his existence—like eating, or sleeping, or breathing. But he’d also come to accept that they’d never be together.

  They’d make love when this was over, if that
was still what Callie wanted. They might even try to mesh their lives together. But the pieces would never fit. His edges were jagged and rough; hers were smooth and polished. He didn’t make small talk, didn’t understand the opera or get excited over some guy in tights bouncing across a stage. He’d as soon wear a straitjacket as get dressed up in a tux with tails. Any way you tied it up and let it dangle, he simply wouldn’t fit in her life.

  She’d realize that and walk away. He’d eat and sleep alone again. But he’d remember how she’d looked in the morning all sleepy-eyed and disheveled, remember how her hair smelled and the scent of perfume she wore, remember how she tasted and how she felt lying naked next to him in the bed they’d shared.

  He’d remember it and ache for her every day for the rest of his life.

  MIKKI RAN HER TONGUE over her top lip, picking up the dab of sweet cream that had missed her mouth. “Don’t be so stingy,” she said. “I like a mouthful.”

  “Gluttony is not ladylike,” Jerry announced in a scolding tone even as he scooped up extra hot fudge sauce from the sundae they were sharing. He poked the spoon between her open lips and she closed her mouth over the creamy concoction of ice cream, fudge syrup, nuts and whipped cream.

  “Now you’re drooling,” he admonished. He leaned in closer and kissed the smeared chocolate from her lips. “What nasty habit will you demonstrate next?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She took the spoon from him and fed him a bite.

  “Mmm. That’s almost as good as…”

  He let the sentence die on his lips, though his seductive smile said it all. She set the dish of ice cream on the coffee table and scooted closer. “As good as this?” She gave him a playful kiss, teasing with her tongue, then pulling away.

  “Not nearly as good as that.”

  They were making out like teenagers in heat, and Mikki was loving every second of it. Not just because of the teasing. She was used to that. Teasing and playful flirting were her trademarks.

  But it was different with Jerry. He didn’t just make her laugh. He made her heart race and made her feel as if she were glowing inside. Part of it was that he was so damn sexy with his bronzed skin, manly physique and boyish smile that tilted up on one side and sort of puckered on the other. Mostly it was some abstract quality she couldn’t begin to describe.