by Wendy Rosnau
"His daughter's up on a murder charge, Stud. Somehow that doesn't seem like enough. Especially since you think she's guilty."
"I'm just working with the facts, Jackson." Detective Williams glanced at Mac. "He a better partner than me or Tom? Guess maybe be can dodge bullets a little faster. That's a plus, right?"
Sunni saw Jackson's jaw jerk, but only slightly. He hooked his hip on her desk and fold his arms across his chest. He looked relaxed, and yet far from harmless. "So what brings you by, Stud? You finally collar the real killer?"
"Not yet." He glanced at Sunni. "I got evidence before the game ended that night with a bang. I've got Miss Blais's scarves with her prints on them, Jackson. She lives two stories above the crime scene. I got a desk clerk who says she was seen in the elevator three days prior with the deceased and they were arguing."
"You got a gun?"
"No."
"Then what you've got Stud, is circumstantial evidence." Jackson reached into his shut pocket and pulled a piece of paper out. "Here. This will get you started in the right direction."
"What's that?"
"I did some legwork for you. There's three suspects, all with solid motives."
For a long minute Detective Williams didn't move, then finally he accepted the paper. As he studied the list, Sunni studied him from over Jackson's left shoulder. The Chicago detective was good-looking, had broad shoulders, wore his blond hair in a crew cut and had Nordic blue eyes. He was clean and dressed in a suit jacket and tie over a white shirt and dark slacks. Sunni estimated him to be close to Jackson Ward's age.
After he'd scanned the list, he looked up and said, "I would have thought at least one Masado would have made your list. Why not?"
"Too obvious."
"And why should I check out Vincent D'Lano?"
"Milo stole the waterfront property out from under him. The lot where the Shedd sits and the one next to it."
"And how did you find that out?"
Jackson shrugged.
"Why should I believe you got the facts straight, and that you're not covering for her and trying to score points with your boss?"
"Because you're a fool if you think that, Stud, and you were never a fool. Just a little slow at the bar when it came to tipping jiggers."
Stud grinned, his gaze finally finding Sunni. "Sorry, Miss Blais. Didn't mean to ignore you. I've come to ask you a few more questions."
Jackson shook his head. "She's not answering anything, Stud. Not without her lawyer."
"If she's innocent, she won't mind answering a few. Isn't that right, Miss Blais?"
"Ask your questions, Detective."
Jackson turned and gave Sunni the evil eye. She gave it back.
Detective Williams pulled a notepad from his pocket. "Is it true Elizabeth Carpenter was an employee of yours?"
"Yes."
"And she worked for you for how long?"
"Two weeks."
"Was there a problem? Two weeks is a short time."
"The job was a few days a week. She wanted a full-time position."
"And she found it?"
"Yes, but she never said where." Sunni suddenly became worried. "What's this all about, Detective? Is something wrong with Elizabeth?"
"Her employer filed a missing-person report this morning."
Sunni sucked in her breath. "I don't understand."
Jackson asked, "Who's her employer, Stud?"
"The Shedd. She's been an exotic dancer there since last September. She was Milo's favorite. Her stage name was Libby."
* * *
It was after seven when Jackson returned to his apartment at the Wilchard. After leaving Silks that afternoon, he'd set out to find Elizabeth Carpenter. He'd turned over every rock and talked to everyone who knew her, but the twenty-two-year-old dancer who supported her drug habit on the runway at the Shedd was definitely missing.
Jackson entered the bedroom and went straight to the window. Gazing across the alley, he expected to see lights on in Sunni's apartment, but when he didn't, his eyebrows lifted. Before he'd left her office, he'd ordered her to go straight home. She'd agreed she would.
He lit up a cigarette and took a hard drag, then sent the smoke out the open window. Mac appeared at his side, and as he reached out and stroked the dog's head he recalled Mac's impressive performance in Joe's office, and then his crazy antics at Silks a few hours later.
The file on Mac had claimed he was a Super Dog at one time. Jackson had found that hard to believe after living with the lazy mutt—if Mac wasn't sleeping, he was chewing up a T-shirt or the leg off a chair. But today he'd witnessed ninety-eight pounds of K-9 aggression come alive like a demon from hell. It was almost as if Mac had been running on empty, and then somewhere between the first and the thirty-ninth floor of Masado Towers someone had fed him a four-pack of Energizers.
He admitted he had a new respect for the dog after seeing him in action. He wondered if he was on a comeback and if that was true, what had caused it.
He checked his watch, then eyed Sunni's dark apartment. Suddenly anxious, he gave Mac a nudge with his knee. "Go check it out. See if she forgot to lock the slider again. See what you can find out."
As if Mac was just waiting for the go-ahead, he jumped through the open window and trotted down the fire escape, then leapt to the alley. Seconds later, he scaled the iron stairs up the side of the Crown Plaza and vaulted onto Sunni's terrace.
It had stated to rain, a cold fall rain that put a definite chill in the air. Jackson watched through the rain as Mac nudged at the slider, and sure enough, it opened.
As Mac disappeared inside, Jackson's cell phone rang. He considered ignoring it. What if it was Clide? He wasn't up to talking to his boss, especially when, at the moment, he couldn't tell him precisely where his daughter was. On the other hand, maybe it was one of his old contacts. Maybe they had found out something more on Elizabeth Carpenter's disappearance.
On the fifth ring, Jackson pulled his phone from his pocket. "Ward here."
"Jackson?"
"Sis?"
"Can you come get me? They won't let me leave unless—"
"Where are you?"
"I'm at Northwestern Memorial."
"The hospital? Why? What happened?"
"Just come. I'll explain when you get here. Hurry, can you?"
When the phone went dead, Jackson jammed it into his pocket, then went to the window and gave a shrill whistle. A few seconds later, Mac was back on Sunni's terrace. He motioned to the dog, and in minutes Mac was on the move, racing down the fire escape and heading back to the Wilchard.
* * *
Chapter 7
« ^ »
The bad news was that the cab driver was in surgery. The good news was Sunni had escaped the accident without any serious injuries.
She checked her watch and wondered how long it would take Jackson to get there. She'd had mixed emotions about calling him. But someone had just played Russian roulette with her life on the freeway and she would be a fool to dismiss the incident as just a freak accident.
She wrapped her arms around herself and watched the minutes on the clock slowly tick by. When the emergency door opened a little while later, she shot her head up, only to be disappointed when the man who stepped into the room was Detective Williams.
"You were luckier than the cab driver, Miss Blais."
"Yes, I was," she agreed "He's still in surgery."
"You told the officer at the scene of the accident that you believe the car deliberately sideswiped the cab. Is that true?"
"Yes."
He dug in his pocket for his notepad. "Can you fill me in on what happened?"
Sunni let out a tired sigh and regretted it. Even the slightest movement sent pain shooting throughout her entire body. She moaned inwardly and gripped the edge of the examining table she was sitting on. "Can't you talk to the officer I spoke with earlier? He wrote down what I said."
"Oh, you can bet I'll talk to him. But I want to hea
r it from you firsthand. If this was no accident then maybe I've been wrong about you, Miss Blais."
Glad to hear that, Sunni told the detective that she'd left Masado Towers at five-thirty like usual. She'd hailed a cab and was headed home when a black car suddenly appeared and swerved into them, forcing the cab into a concrete divider.
"Can you give a description of the driver?"
"No. The car windows were tinted black."
"You said the car swerved into the cab. Could the car have been changing lanes, and—"
"No. If it had been an accident, he wouldn't have fled the scene, would he?"
"People panic. It's a common reaction. You used the word 'he.' I thought you said you couldn't see who was driving."
"I couldn't."
"Then using he is speculation, Ms. Blais. It suggests you saw the driver." He looked up from scribbling something down on his pad. "But you say you didn't see the driver."
"No."
"I suppose you didn't get the license plate number?"
"No."
"This isn't much to go on. Let's hope the cab driver pulls through and has something to add."
Sunni felt dizzy. She closed her eyes, trying to think rationally. She heard the door, and she blinked her eyes open, relieved to see Jackson with Mac beside him.
She was sitting on the examination table with her feet dangling two feet off the floor. Her gray silk skirt was blood-stained from trying to help the cab driver before the ambulance had arrived. She'd lost her white silk scarf and the end result was too much cleavage. Only that didn't matter, all that mattered was that Jackson had come to take her home.
His eyes met hers, and then he was crossing the room, planting himself directly in front of her. It was so strange to feel such utter relief, but that's exactly what she felt as his big hands brushed her hair away from her face. "You hurt?"
"No. Just a few bruises."
The heat from his hand on her face as he examined the bruise on her forehead was shockingly soothing. His hip leaned into her thigh, and that, too, was comforting.
"What do you got, Stud?" he asked, not turning around.
"Hit and run, or attempted murder. Can't say just yet."
Mac decided he'd been ignored too long, and he leapt up on the table and sat next to her. "Hi, Mac," Sunni whispered, then leaned into the dog's shoulder. He leaned back—his sturdy body supporting her—and bent his head to nuzzle her ear.
His fur was wet. She asked, "Is it raining?"
"Started about an hour ago." Finally Jackson turned to Detective Williams. "Got a lead on the car yet? A license plate number?"
"Miss Blais didn't get the plate number. We're going to have to wait until the cab driver comes around. Right now we don't have much. Maybe you were right. Maybe there's more to this than we first thought."
"We?" Jackson shook his head. "You mean, you first thought."
"Okay. Have it your way. You always did when we were working together. Why should anything change now?"
"So we're sharing information. Is that it?"
"Makes sense."
"Take down my cell number so you can reach me day or night."
Jackson recited the phone number while Detective Williams wrote it down. Then Stud said, "Here's mine. If Miss Blais remembers something, I'd appreciate hearing about it. Need a lift home?"
"No. We'll catch a cab," Jackson said.
When Detective Williams walked out and closed the door, Sunni sighed. "Can I go home now?"
"Not a problem, Sis. Put your arms around my neck, and we're out of here." As she raised her arms, he scooped her up and drew her against his broad chest. Then they were on the move, heading out of the emergency room with Mac trotting to keep up with Jackson's long stride.
* * *
Jackson unlocked the apartment after setting Sunni on her feet. He pocketed the key, shoved the door open, then once more lifted her. "Arms around my neck," he instructed again.
"Wait. No, you don't have to… Really I'm fine."
"You're not fine. Besides, why walk when you can ride?"
He swept her through the door and kicked it shut behind him. He was about to flick on the light when he remembered the busted lamp that used to sit behind one of the sofas. Tomorrow would be soon enough to explain about the lamp, he decided, then started down the dark hall to her bedroom.
She had scared the hell out of him when she'd called from the hospital. He'd worried all the way over in the cab. And he'd nearly taken off the receptionist's head at the front desk when she'd directed him to the emergency department.
"I can walk now," she whispered against his cheek. Her fingers were laced around his neck, her touch doing crazy things to his insides.
"You don't need to spend the energy. I'll be your legs tonight."
Relying on the small security light on the terrace, Jackson walked into her bedroom without mishap and made his way to her bed in the center of the room. He laid her down, and on hearing her moan, said, "Sorry, Sis."
"Don't be. This wasn't your fault."
"Wasn't it?" Jackson jaw jerked as he sat down beside her.
"Don't do the guilt thing, okay? You're suppose to be a snake with no morals, remember?"
"I shouldn't have left you alone."
"You can't be with me every minute."
That was where she was wrong. But Jackson kept his thoughts to himself as he reached for the light next to the bed and turned it on. As he glanced around the room, the first thing he noticed was the massive iron canopy overhead and the sheer curtains at each corner, then how beautiful and sexy Sunni Blais looked lying on the pale green comforter.
The walls had been washed with a textured colorless paint. The main color in the room was a pale green. White roses in a tall vase were reflected in the mirror on the vanity. The carpet was as pale as the walls and the painted iron bed. A paneled mirror along an entire wall doubled as doors to what must be her closet. Like the one that encompassed the ceiling inside her shower in the bathroom, this mirror captured the bed like a wide-angle camera lens.
Jackson had never been so aware or so affected by a woman, or her sexuality, before he'd met Sunni Blais. The truth was his senses had sharpened in all directions where she was concerned. And everything about her turned him on—her body, the smell of her skin, her husky voice, her slippery clothes, her home full of mirrors.
He stood and removed her silver shoes. "You missed dinner, right?"
"No. I had a sandwich brought into my office around five. I don't usually do that but… Well, I just felt hungry. But not now."
"I'm going to have to call your father."
"I wish you wouldn't. He's supposed to leave the hospital in a few days. This could set him back."
"Keeping secrets isn't a good idea, Sis."
"Sometimes it's better than the truth. In this case, I know I'm right." She winced as she tried to sit up.
"Don't move. You don't have a reason to get up. I'm your legs tonight, remember? What do you need?"
"I need to call Mary." She sank back against the pillows and closed her eyes. "I want to tell her I won't be in to work tomorrow until afternoon."
"I'll call." Jackson rounded the bed. "But I'll tell her you're not coming in for at least two days. Maybe three."
Her pretty gray eyes popped open. "I have to work."
"Mary's more than capable of running the store. I'll keep an eye on her for you. Here, let me help you out of your clothes."
He reached out to slip open the top button on her jacket, but she stopped him by grabbing his hand. "I can manage."
"Come on, Sis. I've seen you before, remember?"
She pushed his hand away, her own floating upward to cover her cleavage. "We're strangers, Jackson, I—"
"A stranger couldn't automatically find a frying pan in your kitchen, or a towel in the bathroom without a search. I can. A stranger wouldn't be aware of your little problem, either."
"My problem…"
Jackson pointed t
o her hand, which she was using to shield her breasts from his eyes. "The twins. You don't like drawing attention to them."
"The twins? You've named my—"
"They're twins, right? One isn't weird or a pound or two larger or smaller." Jackson shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it to the floor.
"A pound or two larger or smaller?"
"Yeah. I knew this girl once who… Well, never mind. Where's that robe you were wearing this morning? Do you hang something like that or drawer it?"
"Hang. But—"
He found the small knob that buckled the mirrored closet doors and folded them accordion style out of the way. When he spied the blue robe he remembered from that morning, he reached for it. The minute his fingers wrapped around it, he was reminded of how super-soft and sexy all of Sunni's clothes were.
"Can't you find it?"
"I found it. You like silk, I take it?" He closed the closet doors, and when he turned, Sunni was sitting up.
"Silk is my business. It reminds me of the petals on a rose." She paused, gazed at his hand holding her robe. "Just lay it on the bed. I'll take it from here."
"First, prove to me you can stand up."
"Of course I can stand."
Jackson offered her a doubtful raised eyebrow, then tossed the robe over his shoulder. Hands on his hips, he said, "Show me."
"I'm not helpless."
"Show me."
She inched herself off the bed, her toes reaching for the floor. As they made contact with the carpet, Jackson knew her legs weren't going to hold her up. He saw her left knee buckle just as he reached out to her and she reached out to him. He heard her swear softly as he caught her around the waist and dragged her up his body and held her close.
"Don't you dare say anything," she muttered against his chest.
"I wasn't going to."
She kept her face tight against his chest, her hands gripping his forearms. "This is embarrassing."