Motive, Means... And Marriage?

by Hilary Byrnes

“I know. But if I wasn’t a murder suspect, it wouldn’t matter if we were or not.”

  Helen bit her lip. “So if we find Marty’s killer—”

  “Franklin would have to admit he was wrong to fire you.”

  “I told you before. He’ll never admit he’s wrong. He’s too concerned about how he looks on television to admit publicly that he made a mistake.”

  “We can make him admit it. If he knows he’ll look worse by holding back, we can make him.”

  Hope flared in her eyes. “Maybe...maybe you’re right.”

  Patrick let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. “We can do it. I know we can.”

  “I hope so.” Helen paused. “But I don’t have the faintest idea where to start.”

  He smiled at her. “You’ve already taken the first step. Deciding that your career is worth fighting for.”

  She tipped her head to one side, an answering smile curving her lips. “Thanks to you.”

  Her words sent a vicious punch of guilt to his gut. “I don’t deserve any thanks. If it wasn’t for me, you never would have lost your job to begin with.” He squeezed his mug tight, his knuckles whitening. “I owe you, Helen.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “No?”

  She looked away. “No.”

  Patrick frowned. Why wouldn’t she admit that he owed her? Surely she couldn’t think it was her own fault she’d lost her job. Or did she? Was that why she’d been out on the beach—because she blamed herself?

  He wanted to pull her into his arms and soothe her, to tell her it wasn’t her fault, but he knew he didn’t have that right. Especially after he’d promised not to touch her.

  Grimly, he forced his mind back to the case. If he was going to help her at all, he had to concentrate.

  He cleared his throat. “Helen, we need to come up with a plan. Decide on our next move.”

  “Do you have any ideas?”

  “I’ve been doing some thinking. Marty’s murder is definitely connected to Tammy’s. Most likely the killer paid Tammy to lie, then got nervous and killed her. But Marty’s murder is also connected to Jamie Lee’s. He was working on her case when he was killed, and the missing files prove something was up. The question is, how are the three cases connected?”

  Helen’s eyes widened. “Wait a minute. Didn’t you tell me that Jamie Lee was strangled?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “That’s how Tammy was murdered, too.”

  Patrick slapped his palm on the table. “It has to be the same guy who killed all three of them. It just has to be.”

  “Carmel?”

  “Carmel’s probably involved somehow, but I can’t see him as a killer. Like we said this morning, maybe whoever paid off Marty also paid off Carmel.”

  “If it isn’t Carmel, then who?”

  “That’s the question, But whoever it is, we’ll find him. He’s killed three times in less than a week. He must be getting worried. Probably careless.”

  “And more dangerous,” Helen said.

  Ice trickled down Patrick’s spine. She was right, of course. Looking at her, he couldn’t stop his chest from tightening with worry.

  He sucked in a deep breath. “Helen, you’re going to have to be very careful.”

  She looked into his eyes. “You, too.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  “I know.” She smiled faintly. “But that’s not going to keep me from worrying.”

  Something warm, something altogether too welcome, curled through Patrick’s stomach. So she was worried about him. That meant she cared...at least a little.

  He dragged his mind back to the case. “So, we’ve got three murders to choose from. Where do you want to start?”

  “I think we should try and find Marty’s informant. Somebody out there knows who the killer is, and I think we should try and find that somebody.”

  “The question is how. Marty didn’t tell me or Angel who it was, and I doubt he told anyone else.”

  She gazed at him thoughtfully. “Last night, you mentioned heading down to the strip. You think we might find the informant down there?”

  “Yeah. Marty was working the strip when the informant contacted him.”

  “So let’s head down to the strip tonight and see if we can find him.”

  “Not you.” The thought of Helen down there—possibly in danger—made Patrick clench his teeth. “I’ll go alone.”

  “If you’re going, I’m going.”

  “No way.” He spoke harshly. “It wouldn’t be safe for you.”

  She folded her arms across her chest “You were the one who wanted to work together. Together. You can’t back out on me now.”

  “When I said we’d work together, I didn’t mean I wanted to drag you into dangerous situations.”

  “I’m a big girl. I can make my own decisions.”

  He shook his head. “Even if it was safe, you’d stick out like a sore thumb. You’d make it harder to get information out of people.”

  Helen glared at him. “I could blend in if I tried.”

  He almost laughed, but he caught it just in time. “No way,” he said. “You’re way too classy. You know the strip—it’s filled with drunks and prostitutes and bikers. One look at you and everyone would know you didn’t belong.”

  “I said, I could blend in.” Her voice was low and determined. “My career is at stake here. My life.”

  He dragged his hand through his hair. “Trust me. It’s better if you don’t come. Especially because of your career.”

  “Why?”

  “Because things have gone too far for me to play by the rules. When I go down there, anything could happen. And I don’t want to get you into any more trouble.”

  Helen stood up abruptly. “I’ve played by the rules all my life. All my life. And look where it’s gotten me. I’m ready to break a few rules myself.”

  “You don’t really mean that.”

  “No? My career is already history. What have I got to lose?” She stalked away from the table and disappeared behind the screens that surrounded his bed. He heard wood scrape on wood, and then a thud. He frowned as he heard the distinctive squeak of his second dresser drawer being opened.

  “What are you doing?” he called.

  “Borrowing a T-shirt and some sweatpants. My own clothes are ruined, and I have to go shopping to get ready for tonight.” She reappeared, wearing baggy sweatpants rolled up around the ankle, and one of his T-shirts. It was so big it hit her mid-thigh.

  She looked adorable. And determined.

  He could feel a headache already starting. Hell. He wanted to protect her, but Helen was one stubborn woman. Stubborn, and brave, and more determined than any woman he’d ever met.

  “Okay.” He shook his head in defeat. “Okay, I’ll let you come with me.”

  She tossed her head. “You’ll let me? It was never a question of what you would or wouldn’t let me do. The only question was whether we’re going to do it separately—or together.”

  Patrick glanced at the bathroom door for what had to be the tenth time that evening. Helen had been in there for half an hour, at least. He’d never been able to figure out why it took women so long to get ready to go out. What was she doing in there, anyway?

  That afternoon, they’d gone shopping at the big mall out on the interstate so Helen could buy what she needed. Clothes? Makeup? He wasn’t sure. He’d tried to peek into her bags, but she’d just laughed and snatched them away.

  Impatiently, he glanced at the bathroom door again—just as it opened and a woman walked out.

  His jaw dropped. “Helen?”

  It had to be her. She’d gone into the bathroom and locked the door half an hour ago, so unless some other woman had climbed in the window, it was her.

  But he never would have recognized her.

  This woman was wearing a sleek, bright red miniskirt and a low-necked black top that fit her like a second sk
in. Her hair was curled and a little mussed, as though she’d just gotten out of bed, and her mouth was fire-engine red. Long, long legs stretched out beneath the hem of her skirt, and her feet were encased in black spike heels.

  She looked tough. Dangerous. And unbelievably sexy. Just looking at her made him as hard as a rock. He wanted to fling her down on the bed right now and—

  Stifling a groan, he forced his mind away from that thought. But his body didn’t cooperate, and his tight jeans did nothing to hide it. Grabbing a pillow, he yanked it onto his lap.

  Helen stuck out her hip and splayed her fingers across it. “Hey there, big boy,” she said, her voice husky.

  “Helen.” Her name stuck in his throat. “I can’t believe it’s you,”

  She grinned. “Think I’ll fit in?”

  “Fit in?” He eyed her. No way she’d fit in anywhere, not looking like that. She’d stand out as the sexiest woman for blocks. And judging by his own reaction, she wouldn’t be the only thing standing out, either. He bit back another groan. “Hell, I’ll have to beat the men off with a stick.”

  “Don’t worry, Monaghan. I can take care of myself.”

  His gaze dipped down her body and back up again. “I’m starting to believe you can.”

  “At least they’ll never guess I’m a prosecutor.” Her face fell. “Or that I was a prosecutor.”

  He almost reached over and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, but at the last minute he stopped himself. If he touched her, he didn’t think he’d be responsible for his actions. Just being in the same room as her was driving him out of his mind.

  “You’ll be a prosecutor again.” His voice was hoarse—almost a rasp—but she seemed not to notice.

  “You really think so?”

  He managed what he hoped was a casual grin. “If it’s a matter of getting information out of a guy? You bet. No red-blooded American male under eighty is going to be able to resist you in that outfit.” Including himself.

  “I just hope we find Marty’s informant. We have to find him.” She sounded grim and determined—determined enough to take on a dozen crazed killers, if necessary.

  A fierce burst of protectiveness shot through him. Why the hell had he agreed to this, anyway?

  But it was too late to stop it now.

  Patrick stood. “I want you to be very careful.” His voice cracked suddenly. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Turning away so she wouldn’t see his face, he picked up his keys and grabbed the old leather motorcycle jacket he’d dug out of the back of his closet.

  Her heels tapped against the floor as she came up behind him. The light scent of her perfume filled his senses, and then she touched his shoulder. Heat raced through him as her fingers lightly brushed the skin of his neck:

  “You be careful, too, Patrick. I—” She paused, and her voice lowered. “Just be careful.”

  Music boomed from the speakers overhead, filling the smoky, crowded space with a relentless beat. Onstage, exotic dancers gyrated their hips, coming just close enough to the edge of the stage for men to slip folded bills into their sequined G-strings.

  It was the sixth or seventh bar they’d been to that evening—Helen had already lost count. They’d started at State and Third, working their way systematically down the strip. Somewhere out here in the sleazy mass of strip bars and cheap beer joints was Marty’s informant.

  So far, they hadn’t had any luck finding him, but maybe this bar would be the one. If they were lucky.

  Helen glanced at Patrick. He leaned one hip against a bar stool, talking to the man on his other side. In his black leather jacket and tight jeans, his jaw unshaven, Patrick looked as dangerous as any of the other patrons in the bar. Dangerous—and dangerously handsome. Just looking at him was enough to make her pulse speed up. Way, way up.

  Suddenly he half turned toward her. Their eyes met, and he grinned. For an instant she saw a flash of heat in his silver eyes. Low in her belly, she felt that slow, familiar curl of desire.

  She dragged her gaze away. Hadn’t she already gotten into enough trouble by letting her feelings for Patrick run wild? Well, no more. Okay, he’d been good to her that afternoon. Too good. But that didn’t mean she should stand around staring at him like a lovesick calf.

  They were partners. Working together to solve the case. And that was all.

  Leaning over, she tapped Patrick on the shoulder. “I’m going to the ladies’ room,” she shouted above the booming music.

  “You want me to come with you?”

  “No, I’ll be fine.” Resolutely, she turned away and struggled through the noisy, sweaty crowd. The washroom was a good place to strike up conversations with other women. Something about sinks and mirrors and the absence of men always seemed to encourage confidences. Besides, it would give her a few minutes away from Patrick—a chance to get her feelings firmly under control.

  She pushed open the door to the ladies’ room and walked inside. It was tiny, filthy, and very hot—the only window was nailed shut and covered with iron bars. The stench of cigarette smoke, vomit, and stale beer almost made her gag.

  Swiftly, she glanced around. The room was empty, but she didn’t want to go back out and face Patrick right away. Not until she was sure she was back in control. And she might as well fix her makeup while she was here.

  As she stepped over to the tiny, cracked mirror, a muffled sob drifted out from one of the stalls. Helen’s heart skipped. So she wasn’t alone after all.

  She walked over to the stall and tapped on the pitted wooden door, reminding herself to speak in the relaxed slang of her childhood. “Hey, you okay in there?”

  The only response was a strangled sob.

  “Hon?” Helen said. “Open the door, okay?”

  She heard the scrape of the lock, and then the door swung open. A young woman with a tangled mane of dark, permed hair sat on the toilet, her face stained with tears.

  She looked up at Helen through bleary eyes and snuffled. “Do I know you?”

  “I don’t think so. My name’s, uh, Tiffany.”

  “I’m Sue.” The young woman offered her a shaky smile. “I probably look like hell, don’t I?”

  “Yeah, you do.” Helen gave her a wry smile. “You want to talk about it, hon? Probably some guy, right?”

  Sue shook her head, fresh tears spilling over her cheeks. “M-my best friend was murdered a couple days ago.”

  Excitement shot through Helen’s body, but she kept her face neutral. “You mean, Jamie Lee?”

  Sue looked up. “Yeah, that’s right. Did you know her?”

  “Knew her a couple years back, down in Seattle,” Helen lied.

  “Seattle? She was glad to get outta there. Candy—you know her sister?—she stayed down there, but Jamie thought it was safer workin’ up here.” Her face crumpled. “But it wasn’t.”

  “Cops haven’t caught the guy, have they?”

  “No way. They sent some fat pig down here. The guy was a loser. I told him I saw Jamie take off with some guy, but he didn’t even listen to me.”

  Helen’s eyes widened. “You saw Jamie the night she was killed?’

  “Yeah. Saw her gettin’ into a brown car in the alley out back.”

  Helen’s heart banged against her ribs. A brown car—it had to be the killer. “Did you get a look at the guy?”

  “Nah, it was too dark back there.” Sue looked at her curiously. “Why?”

  Helen shrugged. “Can’t be too careful. If there’s some guy out there killin’ girls, I want to know who it is.”

  “For sure.” Sue grimaced. “I didn’t see him, but I think it was one of Jamie Lee’s regulars. She said somethin’ earlier about meeting him at midnight.”

  “She had regulars?”

  Sue nodded. “Couple older guys.”

  “Did you know who they were?”

  “No way. She said they’d kill her if she told anyone. Guess they were real scared of havin’ it get around.”

  “Is there
anyone else who might know?”

  Sue shrugged. “Maybe Candy, Jamie’s sister. She was closer to Jamie than anyone.”

  “She still living in Seattle?”

  “Yeah. She don’t hook no more, though. She dances at some club down on Second.” Sue bit her lip and pushed herself off the toilet. “Speaking of dancin‘, I’d better get going. I’m on in a couple minutes.”

  “Hey, be careful out there,” Helen said.

  “Yeah.” Sue flashed her a smile. “You, too.”

  Helen waited until she was sure the other woman was gone, and then she grabbed her purse and hurried back into the bar to find Patrick. She stopped short.

  He wasn’t there.

  The bar stool where he’d been sitting was empty, and she couldn’t see him at any of the other tables. Helen’s mouth went dry. Where was he? Had something happened to him? He wouldn’t have just gone off and left her, she was sure of it....

  A touch of panic spun through her body, but she clamped down on it. She would find him. She had to.

  Dragging in a breath, she flagged the bartender, a tough-looking woman with shaggy hair and big, blunt-nailed hands.

  “What can I get ya?” the bartender asked.

  “I’m looking for a man.”

  The woman threw back her head and let out a throaty laugh. “Ain’t we all?”

  “No, I mean I’m looking for a particular man. He was standing right here about ten minutes ago. Tall. Dark hair. Black leather jacket.”

  “Look around ya, babe. I got too many customers to keep tabs on ‘em all.”

  Helen dug into her purse for a twenty-dollar bill. She put it on the counter. “This help you remember?”

  The bartender smiled, revealing a gold tooth. “Yeah, maybe. Cute guy, right? Great shoulders.”

  “Where’d he go?”

  “You wanna know? You better be a bit more generous.”

  Helen gritted her teeth and fished out another twenty. “Here. Now where did he go?”

  “He left with another guy. They went out through the fire exit.” The bartender nodded at a door to one side of the stage.

  Helen spun on her heel. Her heart thumped as she pushed her way through the crowd to the door. Why had Patrick left? It must have been something important—he wouldn’t have left without telling her unless he’d had to. Had the other man had information, something he’d wanted to say in private? Or was Patrick in trouble?