When she reached her apartment house, she found Lt. Salgado waiting for her. She greeted him, but all he gave her in return was a grunt and a scowl. Fine, she could play that game too. They climbed the stairs to her second floor apartment in silence.
Once inside, he pointed to a chair. “Sit.”
Ignoring his high-handed command, she hung her coat in the closet and asked him if he'd eaten dinner. He said he had, so she made coffee and heated chicken broth for herself. When she had everything prepared, she sat down opposite him. “Anything new on Dr. Tambor's murder?”
He lifted sagging shoulders and let out a gusty breath. “The man died of a blow to the back of the head sustained while he sat on the couch in his office.”
She nibbled a cracker. “So his murderer had to be someone he knew and trusted.”
He straightened and eyed her suspiciously. “How do you figure that?”
“It was night time and the building was deserted. Do you think he'd be stupid enough to let a stranger get behind him.” She paused to let her words sink in. “And he'd be a downright idiot if he didn't keep his guard up in the presence of his lover's fiance.” She ignored his stare. “Especially when he's carrying a baseball bat.”
“Cute. Real cute, doctor. But sarcasm won't alter the case against your cousin.”
“Has the M.E. fitted the weapon to the skull depression?”
“He's working on it.”
“Did you find Oren's fingerprints on anything else except the bat?”
“Well, no.” He picked at a pulled thread in the knee of his blue polyester pants. “But the forensic crew's still going over the clinic.”
“I see.” She blew on a spoonful of soup and swallowed it. “So, the bat is actually all you have.”
“Yea gods, the doctor stole his woman. That's motive. Whether or not Oren killed his fiancée is not our concern at the moment. However, if he didn't"—he pointed a finger at her—"your father says you think Tambor killed the Dorset woman and framed Oren. That alone would be sufficient to make Oren want revenge.”
She lay her spoon on the coffee table. “Maybe, but this isn't a straightforward case either. You'll soon learn none of the evidence you find is quite what it appears to be.”
She took another sip of her soup. “For instance, you know that a man by the name of Roger Norman bought Elise's Mazda RX-7. Right?” At his nod, she went on. “Are you also aware a car of similar make and color ran down my dad?”
“Uh huh, and I won't bother to ask how you got the information.”
“Did Simon tell you Norman was an orderly at Marchmont Hospital in Montana where Elise Dorset worked until three years ago?”
“Yes, and all the rest of the stuff he's dug up.”
She pressed sweaty palms together. “What I'm about to tell you could put a woman's life in jeopardy. So you must promise you won't repeat the information, or act upon it.”
His features hardened. “Depends.”
“One of Marchmont's mental patients called me. She claims Elise died at the hospital four years ago during an abortion performed by the hospital's director.”
His eyes went wide. “Madre de Dios!” He shot to his feet, leaned over and shook his finger in her face. “I told you not to keep things from me. You're going to be in deep trouble if it happens again.”
His angry breathing slowed and he slumped into his chair. “Okay, I'll hold off for now.” He searched his pockets for a notebook and pen. “Let's hear about this guy you've been tailing.” He flung a stern glance in her direction. “Start at the beginning, and don't leave anything out.” He took down everything, including a detailed description of Darryl, the pet shop clerk.
When they reached her lab report, she gave him the note she'd found on Cleo, the scratch paper she'd gotten at Rasmussen's Pet Shop, the graph she'd made, and her written report.
He lined up the print of the note's torn edge with the blank sheet and gave a low whistle. “Holy Jesus.” His eyes met hers. “Not a bad day's work, doctor.”
She offered a tentative smile. “I'd rather you called me, Amy.”
He pursed his lips. “You gonna stop messing around in my investigation?”
“Guess I'll have to. I don't have any more leads.” She assumed a disinterested expression. “Do you?”
He ignored the question and returned his pen to an inside pocket of his gray suit coat. “The character you're dealing with is either desperate or off his nut.” He cocked his head. “Any gut reaction to this Darryl person?”
She frowned. “There's something"—she gnawed her lip—"something that's off key, only I can't put my finger on it.”
He got to his feet. “Let me know if it comes to you, okay? Meanwhile, you'd better watch it, Amy. This guy's playing for keeps.” He walked to the door, but stopped with his hand on the knob. “Late this afternoon, the lab crew found a print inside a rubber glove we found beside Dr. Tambor's body in the elevator shaft. It doesn't match up with Tambor or anyone else in his office.” He shifted his feet. “This could clinch the case against Oren,” he said and closed the door behind him.
Had all of her efforts been in vain? For a few seconds, she could scarcely think. Gradually, her mind cleared and she realized his facts didn't jibe.
She dialed her father and brought him up-to-date. After they'd discussed everything else at length, she told him about Simon's food being poisoned.
“Holy hell, Amy,” B.J. said. “Get him out of that place.”
“Cam Nguyen says he'll discharge him tomorrow if—” She hesitated, not sure of her father's reaction to the rest of her announcement. “If I'll agree to look after him for a few days.” She cleared her throat. “Give him his shots, eye drops, and ... and make sure he gets his rest.”
“Now, that's uh ... uh a fine idea. A ... mighty fine idea. Simon's too blamed active for his own good. Won't hurt you to let-up either. You plan on staying at your place or his?”
She relaxed. “His condo will be safer. And there's a chance whoever's after us won't know where he lives.” She gave him Simon's home phone.
“I'll call you Monday after my replacement finishes work on the blood stains,” he said, and bid her good night.
Sunday, November 6
Next morning, she rose early so she'd have time to wash and curl her hair before going to the hospital. She jeered at herself in the mirror. In his present mood, Simon wouldn't even notice. Nevertheless, she put in her contacts, applied make-up with extra care and donned a matching sage green skirt and blouse.
After surveying herself with a critical eye, she added a dab of expensive perfume. Satisfied at last, she tossed the clothes she thought she'd need in an overnight bag and rushed downstairs. An icy wind caught her hair and undid all her efforts. Disgusted, she finger-combed it and took off for the hospital.
She found Simon ready to go. As they waited for him to be discharged, she caught him eyeing her several times, but each time he quickly looked away. When all was ready, an orderly insisted on wheeling him to the car. Simon being Simon protested loudly before subsiding with a scowl.
Neither of them spoke as she put the car in gear and got under way. When she turned onto James Street and started down the hill, Simon stopped dwelling on the passing scene.
“B.J. phoned.”
“Oh? ... I wonder if he tried to get me?”
“I guess you'd already left.” His gaze met hers for an instant, then fell away. “That Billings, Montana medical examiner friend of his called this morning.”
“Has he learned anything new?”
“From what B.J. said, the man's been busy. Among other things, he contacted Dr. Yates in White Bird and persuaded him to go to the Attorney General. Evidently, they'd heard rumors about the hospital only didn't have enough facts to warrant an investigation.”
Amy caught her breath. “What about Francine? If Wade Marchmont learns she turned him in, God knows what he'll do to her.”
“They got her out.” He let out a sigh.
“Wasn't difficult. She's dying of lung cancer.”
“Poor woman. Nobody deserves that kind of rotten luck.”
They fell silent and she concentrated on her driving. As usual the streets near Elliott Bay and Pike Place Market were congested. She inched the station wagon through a throng of wind-buffeted sightseers on Western Avenue.
“Look at that, would you?” Simon pointed to a limousine stretched across his condo's garage entrance. “Never fails.”
“No problem.” Ahead a car pulled away from the curb and she slid into the spot he'd vacated. “I'll move the car later.”
On the way up in the elevator, she returned to their conversation about Marchmont. “Did Francine tell them what she told me?”
He laughed a harsh laugh that didn't hold a shred of humor. “Yeah, and then some. Francine had a friend with her when she witnessed Elise Dorset's death. A patient by the name of Mona Sanders.”
“Mona Sanders! Oh, my Lord, Francine did say, ‘Mona and me climbed into the ventilator tube and watched it all.’ Her story about Elise shocked me so, the name didn't register.”
Simon ran his hand over his face. “Seems Mona was very resourceful. She knew Marchmont would have to cover-up Elise's death, so she stole her I.D. and rifled her personnel file. Then she seduced an orderly named Roger Norman, and talked him into helping her escape.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “This sounds like a damned soap opera.” He inhaled and went on. “She threatened Wade Marchmont. Told him she'd expose his shady activities.”
“Did he toss her in that cage Francine was so scared of?”
He shook his head. “Mona convinced him she'd gotten a letter out to a friend. And if she didn't show up at a certain time, the letter would go to the Attorney General's office.” Simon blew out his breath. “So he brought her the money she demanded.”
Amy shuddered. “Then he probably sent his goons after her like he did us.”
“She outsmarted him. She and the orderly tied him up and took him with them. Later, they dumped him alongside the road and kept his car.” He massaged his temples. “I can't believe I lived with a woman like that.”
Amy's mouth twisted. “It can happen to anybody. You should've known my ex-husband.”
He winced as if her remark had struck a raw nerve. “Doesn't compare, Amy. Mona landed in Marchmont because she stabbed a guy six times with a pair of scissors. She pleaded insanity.”
“Dear Lord.” Amy sagged against the elevator wall. “Oren was lucky someone killed Elise—I mean Mona.” She stopped and put her hand over her mouth. “What a terrible thing to say.”
The elevator stopped on the sixth floor and they got out. “Unfortunately, it's true ... and both he and I know it.” He unlocked the door and swung it wide.
She gaped at the marked change his decorators had created. The night they'd brought the doctor's trash bags here, the room had been stripped clean. Now, a Navaho rug softened a stark white wall. The furniture and carpet picked up the rug's colors of muted rose, terra cotta, burnt almond, and turquoise.
She felt him watching her. “You like it?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. Very much.” She set down the overnight bag she carried and circled the room. She touched a bronze figurine, studied a picture and tried a chair. “Nice, real nice.”
Now they were alone, really alone, she began to doubt Cam's judgment. Simon would surely guess she had an ulterior motive for coming. She gripped the packette of medications she'd picked up at the nurse's station and frantically searched for something more to say. Her mind struck a total blank. She flushed and hurried into the kitchen.
Simon followed her. “You hungry? I have a freezer full of TV dinners.”
His presence made the kitchen seem too small. “No,” she managed to squeak. “I had a late breakfast.” She took in a gulp of air. “Maybe, you should rest a bit before lunch.”
He stared at her for a moment. “Perhaps.” He started pulling out drawers. “First I'm going to take a real shower.” He found a plastic bag that'd fit over his cast. “They tell me if I'll keep the damned thing dry, it won't smell so rank.”
She nodded. “I suspect they're right.” She accompanied him into the living room. “Call me when ... when you get in bed.” She steadied her voice. “I'll come put some drops in your eyes.”
He stiffened. “Don't push it, Amy.”
“Cam said...” she began.
“I don't give a bloody damn what he said.” He stalked into the bedroom.
She sighed. If she got through three days of this, it'd be a miracle. She hung her coat in the closet and put her holstered gun on the shelf above. She sat down and leafed through magazines without absorbing a word.
Twenty minutes later, when he shouted he was ready, her insides started to quiver. She retrieved the bottle of eye drops from the kitchen and walked down the hall.
Be brisk and efficient, she told herself—complete the task and get out. That was the only way to handle a volatile situation like this.
His bedroom had been redone in burnished gold, green, and cinnamon. She remembered the night she'd seen it last. The black satin spread strewn with pictures of Simon's dead wife and in each snapshot Julie's head had been torn off. She shuddered and stepped inside.
Simon lay in a king-size brass bed with the blanket pulled up to his middle. She kept her head slightly averted until she sat down on the edge of the mattress. Then, her gaze started at his naval and traveled upward, stopping where auburn hair curled damply on his broad chest.
Such a beautiful body. Her stomach swooped. Did he always sleep in the buff?
She swallowed into a dry throat, filled the dropper, and leaned toward him, then drew back in surprise. Desire smoldered in his eyes, softening the lines of his face, and bringing a tantalizing fullness to his lips.
The air became too thin for her to fill her lungs. Why was he doing this? He went back and forth like a yo-yo. She mustn't be attracted by his sensuality. She had to have more than that.
She glanced away and when she looked again, the coldness had returned. Why, oh why, did he insist on everything being on his terms?
He reached above his head and grasped a brass support in the bedstead. “Hold still,” she said. Her hand shook as the filled dropper neared him and some of the medication fell on his cheek. “Sorry.” She snatched a tissue from a box on his night stand to blot the liquid. Her fingers brushed his skin and her heart felt as if it might leap from her chest. She'd never get through these next few days ... never.
His grip tightened on the brass rod and he squinched his eyes tight shut. “Get it over with. I can't stand someone messing with my eyes.”
She eased a drop into the corner of each eye, recapped the bottle and started to rise. He grabbed her arm. “You could have told me you and Nguyen were lovers. You didn't have to go on letting me think we could—”
She wrenched loose and sprang to her feet. “Lovers! We're not lovers. He's a friend. A good friend. So is his wife.”
Simon jerked himself upright. “Don't lie to me. I saw the two of you together.”
She backed away from his anger. “You'd like that wouldn't you? Then you'd have an excuse. That's what you're really looking for, isn't it? Some reason to convince yourself I'm not worth the bother.” She started out of the room, then turned on her heel and came back. “You don't know what you want, do you?”
“Not know!” He bounded out of bed.
The air whooshed out of her lungs. He wore only a bikini brief. She couldn't help but notice how brief it was.
He grabbed her shoulders. “I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't work.” He shook her. “I can't do one single damned thing except think of you.” His mouth came down on hers in a hard kiss.
When he drew away, she lay her palm against his cheek. “I didn't mean to cause you pain.” She stroked the back of his neck until he took a great gulping breath that shook his whole body.
He put his arms around her and pressed his
cheek to her hair. “You're sweet and patient and ... and wonderful. How could you possibly care about me?”
She smiled up at him. “Male porcupines attract female porcupines.”
“Oh, Amy.” He kissed her eyes, cheeks, throat, and finally her lips. His passionate caresses melted her constraint and soon neither of them could bear for their lips to be separated for even an instant.
He got her blouse and skirt off without too much difficulty. But when he started on her panty hose, he and Amy became entangled and tumbled onto the carpet. Struck by their ludicrous position, she began to giggle.
His laughter joined hers and each time they looked at each other, the volume grew. He rolled over on his stomach and gazed down at her. “I love you, Amy.”
She waited for a sense of joy to engulf her. She'd wanted him to love her, only now that he'd declared himself, something still seemed to be lacking.
Could Simon fill the dark, unexplainable void that had lain inside her chest for years? He had so many problems of his own, how could he make room for hers? A cold lump of loneliness gathered in her chest. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back. What was she searching for? Would she recognize it if it did come along?
She'd been silent too long. His announcement deserved some sort of response, only in her confused state of mind she couldn't be sure what hers was. To make matters worse, she didn't know whether she wanted to continue playing the lover's game they'd begun.
Simon raised himself on one elbow, kissed the corner of her mouth, and stared down at her. “Do you need me, Amy? Really need me, like I need you?”
Did she? There had to be more to love than mere need?
When she didn't answer immediately, a hurt expression tugged at his lips. She couldn't have that. Silencing the cautioning voice inside her head, she lifted her chin. Simon's emotions were fragile—too fragile—she couldn't turn him away.
She hugged him to her and kissed his cheek. “I need you too, Simon.” Stifling a sigh, she stood up and began to remove her stockings.
With a beaming smile wreathing his face, Simon settled himself in the middle of the bed and watched her every move. Perspiration gathered on her forehead. She wasn't good at seduction, never had been, never would be.
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