Amnesia

by Beverly Barton

  “What you say makes sense,” she told him. “But I have no reason to trust you. You could be using me, knowing that as the Vanderley family representative if I believe you didn’t kill Lulu, then the media and even the police might—”

  “Tell the damn police that you think I might be guilty. Call a press conference and tell the media you think I killed Lulu.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. None too gently. Fear raced through her at breakneck speed. “If that’s what you want to do, then do it.”

  He released her so quickly she almost lost her balance and just barely managed to keep herself from falling backward onto the chair.

  “I came here hoping—hell, I don’t know what I was hoping. I must have been out of my mind to think you’d give me a chance.” Quinn strode toward the door.

  Annabelle cried out his name silently, inside her mind. Quinn, don’t go. Stay. I want to believe you didn’t kill Lulu. I want to trust you.

  After opening the door, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. “You said you didn’t want to be my friend or my lover. That’s your loss, honey. I make a good friend. Ask any of my friends and they’ll tell you that I’m loyal to a fault. I stand by my friends and would do anything for them.” He narrowed his gaze, raking her with a contemptuous glance. “And if I ever became your lover, I’d satisfy you the way no man ever has.”

  Annabelle stood there, her eyes wide and her mouth agape as Quinn walked out of her apartment and disappeared down the hall.

  Chapter 8

  Quinn zipped his Porsche along the street, forcing himself to go no more than five miles over the speed limit. The last thing he needed was to be stopped by the police. He’d had his fill of the Memphis PD, especially Sergeant George. As he’d exited Annabelle’s apartment building, he caught a glimpse of the pretty boy cop heading for the elevator. They’d barely missed running into each other.

  So that was the company she’d been expecting. Even if Annabelle thought the sergeant’s visit pertained to nothing more than official police business, Quinn knew better. Nobody with eyes in his head could have missed the way Sergeant George had looked at Annabelle yesterday. As if she were a Christmas present he couldn’t wait to unwrap. But who could blame him? The lady projected a hands-off attitude that a man couldn’t help but take as a challenge.

  Was that why he’d gone to see her today? Maybe. Probably. What’s that old saying about a leopard not changing his spots? He’d been a ladies’ man since reaching puberty. Was it his fault that the opposite sex found him irresistible? It was that combination of Mexican and Irish genes that gave him his rugged good looks, just about the only good thing he’d inherited from his parents. Having been jerked up by the hair of his head instead of being raised properly had made him a bad boy. And women loved bad boys. Every damn one of them thought they’d be the woman to tame him.

  Quinn had some regrets, things he’d done that he wished he hadn’t. And a few things he hadn’t done that he wished he had. But for the most part, he didn’t look back. For years he’d looked to the future as he scratched and clawed his way out of the gutter. Money and power were his gods. Romancing the ladies was his hobby.

  If he was arrested for Lulu’s murder, everything he’d spent a lifetime building would be destroyed. He couldn’t let that happen. He’d do whatever it took to save himself. Hell, he was a survivor, wasn’t he? If he hadn’t been, he’d have never made it through childhood. Not with Sheila Quinn Cortez as his mother.

  Forget about trying to convince Annabelle Vanderley of your innocence. You don’t need her. Let her doubt you. Let her suspect you. As long as she doesn’t work against you, you can get out of this mess without her help.

  But not without Griffin Powell.

  No, not without the investigator coming up with at least one other viable suspect. Considering how many men Lulu had known—in the biblical sense—there had to be at least one angry, jealous ex-lover. It was just a matter of finding him.

  Quinn whipped his Porsche off the street and into Kendall’s driveway. At least here he was assured of a warm welcome. He’d be heading across town later this afternoon to the house Marcy had leased for their indefinite stay in Memphis. She and the guys had flown in earlier today and would have everything set up by tonight. But in the meantime, he was in need of a little ego soothing. Who better than Kendall? She was a willing woman, wasn’t she?

  She’s your lawyer. You’re a fool if you mix business with pleasure. It’s one of your cardinal rules. If you break it, you’ll regret it. Besides, they had come to an agreement, of sorts, this morning, hadn’t they?

  Kendall met him at the door. Smiling. And looking damn good, even if she wasn’t the blue-eyed blonde who’d given him a hard-on.

  “How did it go?” she asked.

  “Let’s just say I didn’t earn any brownie points with Ms. Vanderley.”

  Kendall looked into his eyes and he realized she knew what was going on with him. He reached for her then, right there in the open doorway. She didn’t hesitate. Not for a second. When he grasped the back of her neck and drew her to him, she threw her arms around him and pressed herself intimately against his erection.

  Kendall’s mouth was warm and wet and sweet. Her tongue darted out and into his mouth. He groaned deep in his throat. Images of another woman flashed through his mind. Her mouth would be sweeter, hungrier.

  Quinn shoved Kendall backward, into the foyer, then reached behind him and closed the door. While they kissed, he ran his hands inside her spandex slacks and panties, cupping her buttocks. Inserting her hands between their bodies, she worked his belt loose and unzipped his jeans.

  Lifting his head, he paused long enough to ask, “Are you sure about this?”

  She answered him by removing a condom from her pants pocket and handing it to him. Then she yanked off her slacks and panties.

  Quinn freed his sex, sheathed himself and lifted Kendall so that she straddled him. He braced her back against the foyer wall and rammed into her. With his eyes shut, he pretended he was fucking Annabelle Vanderley, taking her with brutal force and giving her what she so desperately needed. Kendall came first, crying out and raking her fingernails deep into the material of his brown leather jacket. His climax hit him hard, releasing the pent-up anger and sexual hunger his encounter with Annabelle had created.

  As he eased Kendall down and onto her feet, he opened his eyes and found her staring at him. “Thanks, honey. I needed that.” Realizing how impersonal his comment had sounded, he added, “I needed you.”

  Smiling sadly, she shook her head. “Don’t you think I know what that was all about? I knew you’d come back here frustrated. Why do you think I had a condom in my pocket?”

  “What are you—?”

  She placed her index finger over his lips. “Hush. Don’t lie to me.”

  “Kendall, I…”

  “You weren’t fucking me. You were fucking Annabelle Vanderley. I had a pretty good idea when you left here that you’d come back to me with your tail tucked between your legs.” Laughing, she shrugged. “That’s how much I wanted you—enough to let you use me.”

  “Honey, I’m sorry. I never meant to—”

  “I know. And I’m okay. Really. It’s not your fault that we women are such fools when it comes to you. You don’t make any promises. You’re honest up front. And yet we still give you whatever you want, knowing you’ll break our hearts.”

  “Kendall?”

  “This was a one-time-only thing.” Her gaze didn’t quite connect with his; it settled somewhere in the middle of his chest. “From here on out, I’m just your lawyer. It’s better for both of us that way. So, the next time you need a warm body—and you will—find somebody else.” She bent over and picked up her discarded clothing.

  When she walked away from him, he wanted to say something to soothe her hurt feelings, but what could he tell her that wouldn’t be a lie? Damn, he felt like the biggest heel of all time. What was it about him that made him hurt peopl
e? He never meant to hurt anybody, least of all a great gal like Kendall.

  Not for the first time, he thought there must be some horrible defect in him because not once in his life had he ever truly loved a woman.

  * * *

  Quinn’s in there right now screwing his lawyer. She’s as big a fool as all the others. How many have there been? Hundreds? Why were they all such stupid cunts? He doesn’t love her anymore than he loved any of the others. They mean nothing to him; they’re just willing sex partners.

  I can’t blame him, can I? What man wouldn’t take what was so freely offered? But how many lives has he destroyed? How many women have gone mad after they lost him? And who should know better than I do what it’s like for those poor foolish women? How they suffer. How they make others suffer.

  I can’t believe that he’s finally been caught in a trap of his own making. But it was inevitable. And with the police investigating Quinn and that private detective searching for another suspect, it’s only a matter of time before the truth comes out about those other women.

  I shouldn’t stay here any longer. Someone might see me, might remember this car. No one must ever suspect that I keep close tabs on Quinn, that I know every move he makes.

  Chad George patted his chest, directly over the inside pocket of his sports coat. Finding Lulu Vanderley’s date book might turn out to be of no help to the investigation at all. On the other hand, if they could rule out the other men in Lulu’s life as suspects, then they could concentrate only on Quinn Cortez.

  His gut instincts told him Cortez was as guilty as sin.

  But they had one major problem—they had no real evidence against the guy. Not yet.

  Chad had made copies of the twenty pages in the date book and brought them with him to show Lulu’s cousin. He and Jim had read over the entries a couple of times yesterday and found little of interest. Except one guy’s name kept popping up. And it wasn’t Quinn Cortez. Randy. Randy who? Lulu had seen this Randy guy half a dozen times in the past couple of weeks or at least she’d written times and places in her date book that implied they had made plans. The people they’d questioned—friends, acquaintances and neighbors— had no idea who he was or if they did, weren’t telling. Other than Quinn’s name and Randy’s name, there were a few odd entries about somebody Lulu referred to only by a nickname— Broo. “Broo called and we talked for an hour,” had been written in the margins of the date book. “Called Broo and told him the big news,” was written down on the date for three days ago.

  Who was Randy? Who was Broo? Could either of them have killed Lulu and if so, why? He sure as hell didn’t want either of these people to be the person who’d killed Lulu. He wanted it to be Quinn Cortez. Yeah, he’d admit the truth to himself. Nailing a guy with Quinn Cortez’s prestigious reputation could make his career.

  Besides, he didn’t like Cortez.

  The elevator stopped on the fourth floor. Chad stepped out and headed down the corridor. As he passed a large decorative mirror, he paused to check his appearance. He knew he was handsome and women usually responded to his good looks by fawning over him. He’d never had a problem dating. He’d kept a steady girlfriend through high school and college, although not the same girl. He’d changed every six months or so, usually when his latest girlfriend found out he’d been cheating on her. He’d broken up with his most recent girlfriend about a month ago, after she’d stopped by his place unexpectedly and found him bonking Mary Lee Norton.

  Chad knew he’d have to get married in the next year or so. A man with his aspirations needed the right kind of woman at his side, a lady who would impress people. There were a couple of suitable candidates right here in Memphis, but he’d been biding his time before deciding which one to pursue. That of course had been before Annabelle Vanderley walked into his life yesterday morning. She had everything he wanted in a wife—and more. The fact that she was stinking rich was simply icing on the cake. Annabelle was attractive, intelligent and a real lady. Right now, he was nothing to her. Barely a bleep on her radar. But if he could draw her into the police investigation, that would give him a reason to see her often. The upcoming days were bound to be difficult for her. She’d need a shoulder to cry on, wouldn’t she? By the time he nailed her cousin’s killer and ingratiated himself to her and her family, she’d already think of him as a dear and trusted friend.

  Humming to himself silently, Chad smiled at his reflection in the mirror, then sauntered down the hall and straight to Annabelle’s door.

  Wythe Vanderley poured himself another drink. Scotch and soda. His third in the past hour. How many would it take for him to get stinking drunk? How many before the pain eased, before he could think about Lulu and not cry? His mind knew she was dead; his heart didn’t. He had loved Lulu more than anyone on earth and he’d hated her with equal passion. She had been many things to him over the years, giving him the greatest joy and the most agonizing pain. She’d toyed with people’s feelings as if she were a puppet master who enjoyed pulling the strings and controlling lives. At least he could take comfort in the fact that he wasn’t the only one who had danced to Lulu’s chosen tune. Their father had been as much her slave as he had been; and now the old goat was hanging on to life by a thin thread.

  Their father? When had Louis Vanderley ever been a real father to him? He had only vague memories of his dad during his childhood and even fewer after he’d been shipped off to military school at twelve, only months after his mother died. The old man had been running Vanderley, Inc. back then and was far too busy to waste his time on a child—even his own child. But by the time Lulu came along, things were different. From the moment she was born, their father had doted on her. As much as Wythe had loved his little half sister, he’d hated her because dear old dad had given her all the love, adoration and time he’d never given Wythe.

  What did it matter now? Lulu was dead.

  Wythe lifted his glass tumbler in a salute. “Here’s to you, Lulu, my love. You finally got what you deserved.”

  Emotion tightened in Wythe’s chest, making it difficult for him to breathe. Tears swam in his eyes and trickled down his cheeks. As he took a hefty swig of the Scotch and soda, salty tears dripped into his mouth.

  A mournful keening sound rose from inside him and erupted in an agonized cry. He threw the tumbler across the room. When the glass hit the wall, it shattered into several large chunks and numerous tiny shards. Wythe dropped to his knees and wept.

  “I tried to warn you, didn’t I? I told you to be careful. But you liked playing with fire. None of them loved you the way I did. Didn’t I tell you that I was the only one you could count on, that I was the one who’d never leave you?”

  Wythe sucked in deep gulps of air and forced his emotions under control. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart. He had to show the old man that he could count on him just as much as he counted on Annabelle. Dear cousin Annabelle. Blessed Saint Annabelle.

  He should be the one in Memphis representing the Vanderley family. After all, Lulu was his sister. If he was there instead of Annabelle, he’d be the one who could tell his father when Lulu’s killer was caught and brought to justice.

  It’s not too late, he thought. I can still go to Memphis. I have every right to be there.

  Wythe came up off his knees, stood shakily on his feet and went straight to the telephone on the nightstand beside his bed. Earlier today, he had memorized the number for the Vanderley apartment in Memphis, intending to call Annabelle to check on the investigation into Lulu’s murder. He sat on the edge of the bed, lifted the receiver and dialed the number.

  Annabelle answered on the second ring. “Hello.”

  “I assume you don’t have any news I can relay to Father,” Wythe said.

  “No, Wythe, I don’t. If I had news, I would have called Uncle Louis.”

  “Don’t the police know anything more than they did yesterday?”

  “Wythe, have you been drinking? You sound odd. If you’re drunk, whatever you do, don’t
go in to see Uncle Louis until you’ve sobered up. The last thing he needs is—”

  “You always know what everyone needs, don’t you, Anna-belle? Well, you sure as hell didn’t know that Lulu needed protection, did you? You didn’t see that one coming, did you?”

  “Please, don’t drink anything else. Have Hiram prepare you some coffee and—”

  “I’m coming to Memphis.”

  “What?”

  “She was my sister. I loved her. I’m the one who should be there overseeing things, not you.”

  “Wythe, do not come to Memphis.”

  “I’m coming. And you can’t stop me.”

  Annabelle sighed. Wythe hated her little exasperated sighs, those disgruntled utterances that let him know how displeased she was with him.

  “If you’re determined to come to Memphis, at least wait until you’ve sobered up.”

  “I’ll leave first thing in the morning,” he said. “I’ll stay there with you, of course.”

  “No, you won’t. Get a suite at the Peabody.”

  Wythe laughed. Damn the high-and-mighty bitch. “You get a suite at the Peabody if you don’t want to share the family digs there in Memphis. I have as much right to stay there as you do.” Before she could say anything else, utter one more word of protest, he hung up on her.

  Somebody needed to take dear cousin Annabelle down a peg or two. She was much too sure of herself and he was sick and tired of her thinking she was superior to him. They were both Vanderleys, weren’t they? What gave her the right to treat him as if he were dirt under her feet?

  “You’d better start treating me good, Annabelle, ’cause if you don’t, you’ll be sorry. I’ll bet Lulu’s sorry that she was so mean to me the last time I saw her.”

  As the dial tone hummed in Annabelle’s ears, she suddenly realized that someone was at the door. Taking a minute to compose herself after her less than pleasant conversation with Wythe, she replaced the receiver, squared her shoulders and tilted her chin. That’s probably Sergeant George, she thought, then sighed. At least with the young policeman, she’d be safe from confrontation. She’d had enough of that for one day, first with Quinn Cortez and then with Wythe.