Killer Curves

by Christa Wick

  "What’s wrong?" I asked.

  "The killer was wearing my company jacket -- so who on my crew killed Ray?"

  Good question. I opened the folder and read the crime scene inventory. Ray had a company truck that had been parked outside the building. The keys had been found under his body -- had likely been in his hand when the axe blow fell. The police had impounded the truck, either it had been pretty empty or the police hadn’t recorded all the contents. Either way, the scene and truck inventories were missing any reference to a jacket, with or without the Serrano logo on it, or, even more telling, a cell phone.

  Nowadays, everyone over the age of twelve has a cell phone. The chance of a vic dying without it on them was slim to none. A missing cell phone invariably meant it had been stolen -- by the killer, a cop, or some witness on the scene -- or there was a second crime scene.

  Right now, there was no second crime scene and no indication of there being one. I needed to figure out if someone had taken the phone from Ray after he had died or where it had been misplaced.

  I glanced at Dante. "Ray had a jacket, right?"

  "Yeah."

  Dante was pressed up against me again, trying to read over my shoulder. His breath flowed warmly over my neck. I tried to shrug the sensation away before it could crawl lower and flush my skin. The way my body and emotions were seesawing back and forth in his presence, it was a miracle I had even the smallest portion of Ray's death figured out.

  "And a cell phone?" Even knowing the answer, I had to get confirmation.

  "Yeah, a Nextel. Company phone for guys calling in sick, vendor deliveries, that kind of thing."

  "Neither one is in the inventory. So, Ray came back to the site. He’s there to get the tools or the phone. Maybe he’s wearing the jacket or he forgot that, too."

  He probably forgot the jacket. It was unlikely the killer would have peeled the jacket from a dead body. Blood evidence on the floor suggested the body hadn't been disturbed. So Ray had gone searching for the phone and realized he’d left it in his jacket at the site. The phone alone would have been enough to bring him back to the building.

  I looked over my shoulder at Dante. He was too close, almost kissing close. I took a step away. "I’ll send Craig round to find out if Ray was wearing the jacket and make sure the cops didn’t just forget to add it to the list…"

  Seeing Dante shake his head, I trailed off before I could say anything about the coroner’s inventory.

  "Not to Claire," he said and shook his head harder. "You can’t send Craig over to grill her--"

  "Craig wouldn’t grill Mrs. Epps," I interrupted. I walked to my car, trying to ignore the fact that he followed.

  I wasn't going to argue with him about Craig paying a short, respectful visit to the Epps home. But not arguing meant leaving – now -- and not coming back at eight. I had enough information gathered for the day. I would send Craig back tomorrow night. And the next time I saw Dante, I would have a helluva lot more control over my emotions, and my hormones!

  "It’s twenty-five minutes from here." He glanced at his watch. "We could go and be back by eight."

  "We’re not coming back tonight." I unlocked the driver’s side door, annoyed that his hands rested on the car’s roof. "You’re giving Craig the key and he’s coming back tomorrow."

  "Fine, but Ray’s is on the way…"

  I stopped listening to him and looked around, realizing for the first time that I didn’t see anything that might be his vehicle. "Where’s your car?"

  "I had one of my crew drop me off--"

  Damn it! He had stayed behind knowing I would have to give him a ride home. The hell I would! Transportation of a betraying ex-lover wasn't part of the contract. Opening my door, I put my bag in the back seat while I glared at Dante over the roof. "And one of your crew can pick you up."

  "It’s getting dark, Liv."

  "You’re a big boy," I said, my memory choosing the wrong time to remind me just how very big he could be. Choking on the image, I gestured back at the building. "You can lock yourself inside until they get here."

  "I was more worried about you driving in the city at night." He grinned at me and I felt a hot rush of blood color my cheeks. "I know how you get lost at the drop of a hat, Livvy."

  Still trying to stare him down, I raised a finger and pointed at him. I wanted to tell him off -- wanted to think of the most cutting thing I could that would put him back in his place. I could. Even if he had dumped me and shown he didn't give a damn what I felt or thought, I could find something that would dig under his skin.

  I wanted to, needed it with the same intensity that had left me crazy-over-the-top in love with him so long ago. I shook my head.

  "You want to let me in on the conversation?"

  Damn, he sounded so sincere. He knew me too well, which made his leaving me so much harder to take. I loved him -- then. After all those childhood years of watching my father marry young couples, I had found Dante, the one man to whom I could stand in front of my father’s congregation and promise to submit. Even now, after more than two decades, I could hear the words in my mind, my father’s rich baritone reading them in rehearsal.

  Will you submit to him as the Church submits to Christ…forsaking all others remain united to him alone…

  I had made that vow to Dante in my mind, even if I never had a chance to make it in church before daddy and God.

  His hand stretched across the roof. Our fingers would have touched if I had only met him half way.

  "Liv, I know you’re sick of me today…"

  Apparently, I wasn’t sick enough. I should be looking at him in my rear view mirror by now. "I’m not taking you by Claire’s because it’s a bad idea. This isn’t about that…other thing."

  "You mean my running out two weeks before our wedding? Or is there some other other thing?"

  He had refused to have this conversation with me oh-so-long ago. I wouldn’t have it with him today. Reaching into my camera bag, I yanked my cell from the side pocket and tossed it in the cup holder.

  "Livvy…baby…"

  God, he did not just call me that! My head shot up. My heart pounded hard in my chest, pushing the blood up into my face where it seemed determined to stay.

  "I love my son too much to regret what I did." Dante paused, his soft expression doing nothing to ease my building pain. "But I will never forgive myself for hurting you."

  Slowly, I turned to the side and lowered my body into the driver’s seat. The blood that had felt like it was pooling in my head solidified. All over my body, I began to stiffen. This is what it’s like in the movies, I thought. When people turn to stone, this is what it’s like. And it was like that, most of all, in the center of my chest.

  Good! I slammed the car door shut. Let that turn to stone, too.

  Not that Dante couldn’t break my heart all over again. But he’d have to chip away longer, past the other layers of stone. I felt calm settle over me and I reached down, pushing the button to unlock the passenger side door.

  "Olivia--"

  Raising a hand, I cut him off. "I understand. No need to explain. You didn’t want him to be born a bastard, too." I glanced sideways at Dante to see if I had managed to scratch his exterior. From the tension around his eyes and mouth, I knew I had. I exhaled, my blood starting to flow again.

  "There’s no question you did good by the kid, Dante." I started the engine, put the car in drive. "So will I."

  ***

  Only, I didn’t. At least not that night. Pulling to a stop in front of Ray Epps' house and seeing his wife and son charging onto the lawn, I knew that I had just fucked up royally.

  The neighborhood was at the edge of Masonville's ghetto. The surrounding homes were a mix between those that looked well-cared and those on a quick slide into decay. Ray's place was immaculate. His wife was too -- tall, straight-backed and with every hair in place. His son wore dress pants and a pressed white shirt. As much as they looked like they were holding it together, the
combination of their grief and anger was like a beacon -- one that I was about to douse with kerosene.

  Dante exited the car before I could put it in park. Looking at him, I knew he wanted to comfort Claire. It was a natural desire. She was his friend’s wife, if not his friend in her own right, and he was certain Alex hadn’t killed Ray. Claire Epps seemed certain that the boy had. She and Dante were at more than an impasse.

  For Claire, at least, they were at war.

  "Get the hell off my lawn, Dante Serrano!"

  "Alex had nothing to do with this--"

  The man was an idiot when it came to talking with women today! I rounded the car and stepped between Dante and Claire just in time to catch the hard left-handed slap she intended for Dante.

  Staggering back, I bumped into Dante. He grabbed my shoulders, started to move me to the side and out of harm's way. I broke his hold and flung my arms out, forcing him to stay behind me.

  Claire, for the moment at least, seemed stunned into silence.

  "In the car." I spoke the words in Dante’s direction, my teeth grinding together to hold back the tears. Claire Epps didn’t hit like a girl by any stretch of the imagination. I felt a trickle of fluid down my cheek. I had seen the flash of Claire's diamond wedding ring, the stone turned to the palm side, wink at me right before contact. Hopefully the fluid I could feel was sweat and not blood

  Keeping my eyes locked on Claire, I ordered Dante back into the car a second time. "Do it now or find someone else to work the case."

  Claire’s gaze narrowed at that. Her mouth got hard. A brittle, predatory smile surfaced. "I heard about you already today."

  She looked to her son for confirmation. He nodded. The young man gripped his mother's shoulders as if he trying to hold her back. She didn’t seem to notice, just kept staring at me.

  "Honey, if you thought they were going to write you up in the papers again for this, you’re damn right!"

  Hearing my car door open, I relaxed a little. Dante may not have gotten into the car -- and I sure as hell wasn’t going to risk another hit by Claire just to take a look -- but he’d at least retreated a short distance to let me handle this. It was more than I had expected.

  Glancing from mother and son on the lawn up to the front door, I saw a young black woman. Vivian. The girl was every bit as beautiful as Alex had described her. Riding circuit with my father on summers like this, I had seen pictures of black Madonnas -- serene, exotic beauties. That was Vivian, even with her face swollen and wet from crying.

  My gaze returned to Claire. No signs of crying. The woman hadn’t cracked yet, hadn’t allowed her grief the wet luxury of tears.

  Ray’s son looked back at the porch. "I hope that’s Daddy you’re crying for."

  His voice was strong, harsh and angry.

  "I’m sorry, Mrs. Epps." I searched through my memory for the son’s name. "Lee, I’m sorry. It was a mistake -- my mistake -- to intrude."

  Realizing I had started to shake, I drew a deep breath in. "I can see the unimaginable grief…"

  It was true. Claire's body was set so hard, I was certain she would break any second. I had thought I understood grief and loss -- back in the car or twenty years ago when Dante had left me or the dozens of times in one court room or another as parents of both the victims and the defendants wept. But I had never seen it so eloquently expressed as it was in the face of this woman who refused to yield to her own pain.

  If she broke, if Claire Epps broke right now, it would be on my head. I knew better than to bring the defendant or anyone associated with him near the victim’s family. Craig could have come by tomorrow and they probably would have thought him a plainclothes cop. They would have answered his every question. But I had been pissed at Dante and hurt.

  And so I had fucked up.

  I almost said it, thought better about saying anything at all and turned back to my car. I motioned Dante the rest of the way into the vehicle.

  Back in the driver’s seat, I started the car and locked the doors, my gaze taking in the families on the neighboring porches and lawns that had come out to watch. I counted three baseball bats, two of them held by women. The neighborhood was damned tired of losing its men.

  I didn't blame them.

  I closed my eyes for a second before pulling onto the street. Hearing the thunk of a rock hit the back bumper, I looked into the rearview mirror. A teenaged male stood in the middle of the street, his arm cocked back with another rock in his hand.

  I prayed then, for the first time in a very long time. I prayed that I wouldn’t make any more mistakes. I asked to find Ray Epps' killer -- for the sake of his family's sanity and his neighborhood's peace. And if I couldn't have that, I asked to find at least enough evidence to convince the prosecutor there was too much reasonable doubt to win a conviction against Dante's son.

  Alex sure as hell couldn’t afford for the case to go to trial in Masonville.

  Chapter Four

  Finally out of the neighborhood and onto a main street, I accelerated, my sedan's speedometer quickly passing the posted speed limit. I kept my eyes locked on the road, my voice terse. "Where do I drop you?"

  "Liv..." Dante pulled the blue bandana from his pocket and wiped my cheek.

  I hadn't looked in the mirror again, but I could see red on the cloth. I jerked my head to the side and pushed his hand away. "Where do I drop you?"

  "I know I shouldn't have pressed you to go to Ray's. You were right--"

  "Where?" I looked in the mirror, saw a new bead of blood forming and a quarter size bruise surrounding it. I snorted, furious at my stupidity. I deserved a bigger bruise and more blood for what I had just done to the Epps family. And I had done it because I couldn't control my feelings for Dante Serrano.

  He started to open his mouth again and I cut him off, my voice half a decibel from yelling. "Where, Dante?"

  "Fuck it, Liv, here. Drop me off here."

  I looked to where he was pointing. The Jackson House was Masonville's oldest, most expensive, hotel. I cut a glance in his direction before jerking the car into the drive. "You live at the Jackson House?"

  He lifted a hand, signaling the valet to wait, and turned to me. "No, but they'll call a cab and I can sit inside until it gets here."

  Feeling his gaze on me, I chewed at the inside of my lip, my anger dissolving. That wasn't what I wanted. I knew I would give in and agree to take him home if I so much as opened my mouth again. And I really didn't want to know where he lived. I didn't want to pull up in front of his home and see the place where he slept.

  Hell, even though he had tried to seduce me in my office that morning, I didn't know if he had remarried after divorcing Alex's mom. He hadn't mentioned a wife -- neither had he mentioned a two-months pregnant girlfriend when we were engaged.

  Dante put his hand on my arm. I yanked it to my side. When his hand dropped to my thigh, I froze.

  "I know you're pissed and you've got every right to be -- and for a damn sight more than today. But we are going to talk. Not now. I understand that. You need your space to work, to make the best decisions for Alex, and I fucked that up tonight."

  He squeezed my leg. His grip was light but it made me want to cry out. He had to stop touching me. I couldn't deal with the emotions it evoked -- or the needs. My body remembered his down to a molecular level. Every brush of flesh produced a memory, the slide of skin over skin, his arms around me, his sweet but firm mouth sampling mine, the soft whisper of his voice in my ear, telling me how much he loved me, how he couldn't wait until we were married.

  I shook my head, the motion so violent a drop of blood spun from my cheek.

  "You said you'd give me a week," he pressed. "Look at what you've accomplished in one day. You can't deny that kind of progress, Liv."

  I gave no response, my throat too tight to argue. He sighed and moved closer. His scent wrapped around me. I wanted to breathe in deeply, to turn, knowing that he was so close our lips would brush. Instead, I reached to my left and un
locked the passenger door.

  "Fine, I'm going," he whispered and I could feel his breath warm on my neck and jaw line. "But I'm not going to let you just shut down on me. You are going to talk to me about the case and, when the time is right..."

  I took a ragged breath in, the beginning of a sob.

  Dante abruptly pulled back. "Liv, love--"

  No. Absolutely not. He could not call me that!

  "Go, now, or I don't know if I can hold up my end of the contract." I glared at him, felt the slide of a tear down my cheek and the sharp sting of saline hitting the cut.

  "The contract…Right, this is all about the contract." His door clicked open and Dante put one booted foot on the ground. "Goodnight, Olivia."

  Silent, I wrapped both hands around the wheel, gripping it until my knuckles went white waiting for him to get the rest of the way out. As soon as the door shut, I pressed the lock button. I hit the accelerator too hard. The car jerked forward then crawled toward the end of the drive.

  Chapter Five

  Dressed for the bail hearing that morning, I shuffled into momma's kitchen and poured a cup of dark roast coffee, taking it black with no sugar. Momma was already up, dressed in a fresh dressing gown, a hint of rouge on her pale cheeks and her hair pulled back in a tight bun. On the table around her were the remains of that morning's edition of the Masonville Times.

  I bent down as I approached the table and gave my seventy-two-year-old mother a light kiss on the cheek. As she looked up, I caught myself holding my breath. I didn't want her to notice the faint bruise on my cheek hiding beneath a light layer of makeup.

  Momma just smiled and I breathed out with relief.

  "Morning, momma." I sorted through those sections of the paper she wasn't holding onto and then pushed it away. I was in no mood for economic reports or crime statistics -- not this morning. I wanted something light. "You have the community section?"

  She looked at the paper in her hands, doubtful for a second, and then nodded. "The Times have just gone to h-e-double-l." Her voice dropped to a whisper at the end, as if the devil himself might be listening for an invitation into the Miller household.