Killing Her Softly

by Beverly Barton

  "I will. I promise." She reached out and grasped Chad's hand, then smiled appreciatively at him as she twined her fingers with his and squeezed. "Thank you."

  When Jim Norton arrived on the scene and saw Quinn Cortez sitting on the curb outside Kendall Well's house, a jolt of deja vu hit him.

  Jim nodded toward Quinn. "What's he doing here?" Jim asked freckle-faced Officer Vickers. "Don't tell me he found the body." Just the fact that Cortez's lawyer was dead, proba­bly murdered, was peculiar enough, but if Cortez had dis­covered the body, what were the odds anyone would believe he hadn't murdered her? After all, he was already a prime suspect in Lulu Vanderley's murder.

  "No sir, he's just a friend and client who showed up a few minutes ago," Officer Vickers said. "Ms. Wells's ex-husband, Dr. Jonathan Miles, is the one who discovered the body. He told us that he stopped by to see her occasionally, that their divorce, which isn't official yet, was an amicable one and they were still friends. When he arrived, he noticed the side door was wide open, so he went in and called out to Ms. Wells. When she didn't answer, he went through the house searching for her and found her in her bedroom."

  "How did she die?" Jim asked. "Was she shot, stabbed—"

  "No visible wounds of any kind, except. . ." Vickers swallowed. "Her right index finger had been cut off. And there was a pillow lying over her face, so we figured she'd been smothered."

  "Goddamn," Jim grumbled. "Is Udell White in there now?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "The guy over there sitting by the curb . . ." Jim indicated Quinn. "How much did you tell him about what happened here?"

  "Nothing. I swear. I didn't tell him anything."

  "He wasn't told that you suspect Ms. Wells was suffo­cated? Or that her index finger had been cut off?"

  Vickers shook his head. "No, sir. I'd never . . . I mean I know what to do and what not to do. I'm not exactly a rookie. I've been on the force for over a year now."

  Jim patted the guy on the back. "I'm sure you handled things just fine. It's just that the man over there on the curb is Quinn Cortez. He's a possible suspect in a recent murder and—"

  "That's Quinn Cortez, huh? I thought he looked familiar. Strange isn't it that his lawyer's dead now, only a few days after his girlfriend was murdered. You think there's a con­nection?"

  "It's possible. But since we don't have any of the facts in Kendall Wells's death yet, it's a little too soon for supposi­tions," Jim said, although he figured that with this killer's MO appearing to be identical to Lulu's killer's MO, it was more than coincidence. "I'm going inside to speak to the ME. When my partner shows up, let me know." Jim walked away, then paused and glanced back over his shoulder. "Keep an eye on Cortez, will you? I might want to question him later."

  Jim showed the officer inside Kendall Wells's house his ID, then glanced at the middle-aged man sitting at the kitchen table, tears streaming down his pale face. The ex-husband, Jim surmised, then headed up the hall. When he reached the bedroom, the door stood wide open. He surveyed the area and noted that nothing appeared to be out of place. The bed was still made, but the spread was wrinkled beneath the body as if Kendall Wells had wriggled around on it. Or had struggled against an attacker. She lay there perfectly still, a towel still partially wrapped around her head, a few tendrils of dark hair poking out against her forehead. The silk robe she wore was belted, but spread slightly apart so that one long, slender thigh showed plainly and the inner curve of each breast was visible.

  And her right hand rested at her side, the index ringer missing. A small spot of dark blood stained the spread be­neath her hand.

  "What can you tell me?" Jim asked when Udell White turned and looked right at him.

  "I'd say there's a good chance that either we've got a ser­ial killer on our hands or this is a copycat murder. She was probably smothered with the pillow." Udell indicated the large pillow lying at the foot of the bed. "It was over her face. There are signs of a minor struggle, as if she tried to fight her attacker, but he overpowered her. No outward signs of sexual assault. And as you can see, her killer removed her right index finger." Udell shook his head making a silent comment.

  "This seems very similar to the Lulu Vanderley murder," Jim said.

  Udell nodded. "Just like with the Vanderley woman, it's as if she knew her killer. There's no indication that she ran from him or fought him at all until he had her down on the bed."

  "Time of death?"

  "A couple of hours, at the very most."

  Something didn't sit quite right with Jim about this whole thing. If Quinn Cortez killed Lulu Vanderley in a fit of rage because she was pregnant and demanding marriage, then who killed Kendall Wells and why? Even with a strong mo­tive, Cortez would have to be an idiot to kill a second time and in exactly the same manner. Either an idiot or a psy­chopath. He didn't think the man was either.

  Chad parked behind a line of other cars, cautioned Annabelle to stay put and then got out and spoke to the po­liceman standing outside the house. Annabelle had met Ken­dall Wells several times, always with her client, Quinn Cortez. It seemed odd to think that the woman was dead. Had she been murdered, as Lulu had been? It would be unbelievable if she'd been murdered, wouldn't it, considering her close connection to Quinn.

  Slightly uneasy, her mind filled with questions, Annabelle glanced out the windows, scanning the area in every direc­tion. This was a lovely neighborhood, upscale and modern. People were gathered in the streets. Neighbors, no doubt. Police vehicles, cars and SUVs lined the street and driveway. Was this what it had looked like at Lulu's house the night she was killed? A shiver tingled through Annabelle's body.

  Suddenly, her gaze paused on a lone man sitting by the curb, his head bowed, his hands resting on either side of his head. Illumination from a nearby streetlight shined directly on the man. Annabelle's heart skipped a beat. No, it couldn't be. What would he be doing here? But when the man dropped his hands down between his knees and turned his head to one side, Annabelle gasped.

  Quinn Cortez!

  What was he doing here? Had he discovered Kendall's body as he had Lulu's? Did the police believe he had killed his own lawyer? Surely, if the police suspected him of mur­dering Kendall Wells, they would have arrested him, not left him sitting alone on the curb. When Annabelle caught a glimpse of his face, she fought the tender sympathy that over­whelmed her. He looked like a lost soul, a man in mourning.

  Quinn was not a murderer. She felt it deep inside her, at a gut level. Of its own volition, her hand reached for the door handle and before she realized what she was doing, she stood outside Chad George's car. As if drawn to him by some unknown and overwhelming force, Annabelle moved past the car and walked up the street toward Quinn. Then without warning Chad came marching toward Quinn from the other direction. Annabelle stopped and held her breath.

  "Cortez!" Chad bellowed the name.

  Quinn glanced behind him, saw Chad and shot up off the ground. When Chad was within two feet of Quinn, he paused and the two men glared at each other.

  "Did you kill her?" Chad asked his voice loud but calm.

  "Sergeant George, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Jim Norton called from the open front door.

  Annabelle's gaze darted from Quinn and Chad to Lieutenant Norton, who came out of the house and headed toward the other two men.

  "Then she really is . . . dead" Quinn said a catch in his voice.

  "Yeah, she's dead" Chad replied. "Quite a coincidence, don't you think—first your latest lover and then your lawyer. Both women murdered. And Kendall Wells was one of your lovers, too, wasn't she?"

  "Damn," Jim Norton cursed under his breath as he ap­proached the two men. "Mr. Cortez, we'll probably have a few questions for you tomorrow, but for now, why don't you go on home. I'll contact you in the morning."

  Quinn nodded. "Was she—was Kendall murdered?"

  "You know damn well she was," Chad said. "What is it with you, Cortez? Do you get off on killing your lovers?"
/>   "That's enough!" Lieutenant Norton told Chad as he walked between the two men.

  Quinn snarled. Annabelle noted the rage in his black eyes, the way his nostrils flared and his jaw tightened. Acting on instinct, she ran toward them and when she reached Quinn's side, she put her arm through his. His muscles were so tight they felt like stone. "I need a ride back to the hotel," she said. "Would you mind driving me to the Peabody, Mr. Cortez?"

  "Annabelle, no—" Chad held out a restraining hand to­ward her.

  Jim Norton grabbed Chad's arm and said "We've got work to do. I don't know how Ms. Vanderley got here or why she's here, but I think it's a good idea for Mr. Cortez to take her home."

  "It's all right, Chad," she told him. "We'll talk later. To­morrow or whenever you're free." She turned to Quinn. "I'm ready to leave now, if you are."

  Quinn didn't respond verbally; instead he nodded, and then led her down the street. When they reached his silver Porsche, he opened the passenger door. After she slid into the seat, he rounded the hood and got in on the driver's side. Once inside, he sat there for several minutes, staring at Kendall Wells's house.

  "Aren't you afraid to be alone with me?" he asked, bitter­ness in his voice.

  "Should I be?"

  He faced her then and something purely feminine and nurturing inside her reacted. She reached out and touched his cheek. "You cared about Ms. Wells. You're in pain right now, mourning her death."

  He stared deeply into her eyes and for a split second she thought he was going to open up to her, to share his sorrow. But he jerked away abruptly, as if her touch had burned him.

  "Why did you do that?" He inserted the key into the igni­tion and started the car.

  "Why did I do what?"

  "Come to Sergeant George's rescue. You knew I was on the verge of hitting him, didn't you?"

  "Yes, I sensed that you might do something foolish—like hit Chad."

  "Chad huh? You two have become very chummy. Did you come here with him tonight?"

  "Yes, I did. We were having dinner when he got the call about Ms. Wells."

  Quinn laughed the sound harsh. Anguished.

  "Why do you automatically assume that it was Chad I was trying to protect?" she asked.

  He cut his eyes in her direction, his gaze puzzled.

  "Maybe I came to your rescue. Did you ever think of that?" she asked. "If you'd hit a police officer, you'd have been in a great deal of trouble. Don't you think you have enough problems as it is?"

  "Are you saying you whisked me away from there to save me, not to protect Chad George?"

  "Would you believe me if I told you that I felt I needed to save you from yourself?"

  Chapter 13

  Jace Morgan met her at the door. "Where the hell have you been?"

  "What's it to you?" Marcy knocked into him as she shoved him aside to enter the house.

  "I came home a few minutes ago and nobody was here," Jace said. "Aaron's home now and he said he'd gone to the store because you forgot to pick him up some Cokes. I wish y'all had at least left a note so I wouldn't have been—-"

  "What's the problem, Jace—afraid of the dark?"

  "What's wrong with you all of a sudden? You're acting like you're mad at me. As a matter of fact, lately you've been acting like you're mad at the whole world."

  "Just leave me alone, will you? I've got a headache, I've had a rotten day and all of you are pissed at me because I rat­ted on Aaron." She stopped in the middle of the hallway and turned around to face Jace. "You'd have thought Quinn would be at least a little upset with Aaron, wouldn't you? The guy slept with Quinn's girlfriend and Quinn acted like it was no big deal."

  "It wasn't a big deal to Quinn. You know how he is with women. None of them mean anything to him."

  Marcy heaved a deep sigh. Yeah, Jace was right. In the ten years she'd worked for Quinn, women had come in and out of his life and he'd never been serious about any of them. She had fantasized that she'd be the woman who'd finally capture his heart, that one day he'd look at her and realize she was the only woman for him. But that hadn't happened and it never would. She'd been fooling herself to think she'd ever be more to Quinn than a friend and an employee. He'd told her numerous times how much he valued her as his as­sistant and as his friend. There had been a couple of times when, if she'd taken advantage of the moment, they might have become lovers, but she wanted to be more than Quinn's lover. She wanted to be the love of his life.

  But why should he want her, even as a temporary lover, when practically every woman he met fell at his feet? She hated all those other women, especially the ones who kept coming back into Quinn's life—ones like Lulu Vanderley and Kendall Wells. She had despised Lulu. The woman had treated her as if she were nothing more than a servant, some­one she could order around and then dismiss with a wave of her hand.

  "Earth to Marcy." Jace wiggled his fingers in front of her face.

  "Huh?"

  "Where'd you go?"

  "What? Where I've been is none of your business."

  "Jeez, you're really out of it. I wasn't asking where you'd been tonight. Why should I care? I just meant where'd your mind go. You were off in la-la land somewhere."

  Before she could thoroughly process Jace's question, Aaron came out of the kitchen, a Coke in one hand. "Don't you know that any time Marcy's daydreaming, she's thinking about the boss?"

  Whirling around, she shot Aaron with a deadly look. "Shut up. You don't know anything."

  "I know you've had the hots for Quinn as long as I've been working for him." Aaron put the canned cola to his mouth and downed a hefty swig.

  "I said shut up!" Get hold of yourself. Stop overreacting. Aaron knows how to push all your buttons. He likes getting a reaction out of you.

  "Ah, leave her alone, will you? The boss wants us to lay off her." Jace frowned at Aaron. "Besides, it's not like she can help herself. What woman could resist Quinn?"

  "You know, Jace, old buddy, this hero-worship act of yours is wearing a little thin," Aaron said. "We all like Quinn. We're all grateful to him for helping us, for being a great boss and a real friend. But he doesn't expect you to bow and scrape and he's the last one who'd want you putting him up on a pedestal."

  Behind his wire-framed lenses, Jace's eyes widened with concern. "Has Quinn said something to you about—"

  "Nah, man, that's just me talking." Aaron swigged on his cola as he headed toward the living room. After sitting on the sofa and picking up the TV remote, he said "Where have you two been? I was going to order pizza, but I waited for y'all to get back."

  "I just rode around" Jace said. "Kind of took in Memphis. I drove downtown, checked out Beale Street."

  Think fast, Marcy, she told herself. It's none of their busi­ness where you've been or what you've done. It's not as if Aaron actually cares. He's just making conversation. You can tell him a half-truth. That should satisfy him.

  "I called the car rental place and had them pick me up so I could rent an SUV for myself," she said. "That way we don't have to share a vehicle and Quinn did give me the okay to do it."

  "Want me to order that pizza?" Jace asked apparently hoping his question would diffuse the tension in the air.

  "Sure, kid go ahead" Aaron said. "Order enough for Quinn, too, just in case he comes home tonight. Remember, he likes extra pepperoni."

  "I can finish up the sauce and boil some pasta if y'all would rather have spaghetti instead." Marcy glanced from Jace to Aaron.

  "Don't bother," Aaron said. "Save it for tomorrow. We'd rather have pizza."

  Grinning, Jace nodded and headed for the kitchen. The minute they were alone in the living room, Marcy walked over and blocked Aaron's view of the TV He had the sound muted but his gaze was focused on the screen.

  Aaron glanced up at her. "Want something?"

  "I want you to stop ribbing Jace. He's just a kid not even twenty. He looks up to Quinn, sees him as a role model."

  "Jace knows I don't mean anything by what I say, b
ut if you really think my kidding is getting to him, I can cool it."

  "I'd appreciate that."

  When she kept standing in front of him, Aaron hardened his gaze. "Is there something else?"

  "You do realize that Jace isn't the only one who sees Quinn as a role model, don't you? In your own way, you ad­mire him as much as Jace does. You'd like to be just like Quinn and that's the reason you slept with Lulu Vanderley."

  Aaron shrugged. "Are you psychoanalyzing me? You think you've got me all figured out. Is that it?"

  Aaron surprised her by shooting up off the sofa and get­ting right in her face, which meant him looking down at her since he was so much taller. Marcy's heartbeat accelerated as Aaron reached out and grabbed her shoulders. Gasping at his unexpected move, her gaze clashed with his.

  "Have you ever thought maybe there's only one of Quinn's women I really want? The one he's never had?"

  Marcy couldn't breathe. Aaron was too close. And he was confusing her by the way he acted and by what he said. Surely he didn't mean he wanted her. They'd been buddies, of a sort, ever since Aaron came to work for Quinn nearly six years ago, but there had never been any sexual chemistry be­tween them. At least not on her part. But then again, she'd been so nuts about Quinn for such a long time she barely no­ticed other men.

  Marcy gulped. "I—I don't know what to say."

  Loosening his tight grip on her shoulders, Aaron eased one hand down to clasp her waist and the other up to cup the back of her neck. "Say that you suddenly realized you'd rather have me than Quinn."

  Marcy's heart fluttered maddeningly. "I'm confused. You've never acted like . . . sometimes you treat me as if I irritate the hell out of you."

  "You do irritate the hell out of me, especially when you're mooning over Quinn."

  Aaron looked at her as if she was the most important thing in the world to him. All she had to do was stand on tip­toe and lift her face to him and he'd kiss her. But did she want that? Did she want Aaron to—?