Murder in the Clear Zone

by Lakes, Lynde

  She spun around and faced Bard. “Charlie wasn’t one to tell people his business. Admit it, this was just another ploy to scare me out of here.”

  “You’re not making sense. If shootings and what happened to your birds didn’t scare you off, why would the theft of a journal?”

  His logic shook her. She waited for him to say something more to sway her completely in his favor.

  “Let’s figure out what’s in there someone doesn’t want us to see,” he said in a deep, dangerously reasonable tone.

  She felt herself weakening and fought to hold her ground. “I’ll check it. After you leave.”

  He grabbed her by the shoulders. His fingers pressed into her flesh. “Don’t you realize that guy’ll be back? If he wants the journal he won’t stop until he gets it. Even if he has to kill you.”

  Bard’s verbal judo-chop turned her knees to jelly, but she’d be damned if she’d show her fear. “I’m armed and a good shot.”

  “Two men attacked your birds. Can you handle two armed men, three? How many? And the overextended police force, when they finally show up, can’t do much more than take a report.”

  The picture he painted revealed just how vulnerable she was. “What do you suggest?”

  “Let me take you to a safe place.”

  “I told you before, I won’t leave my birds.”

  “Then I’ll stay here with you.”

  “And keep tabs on me for the bad guys? No thanks.”

  He looked directly into her eyes. “If I were in with that thief or anyone else, I wouldn’t have bothered to wrestle the journal away. The easy thing would be to walk away and leave you here alone. You’d be a sitting duck.”

  His fervor sent a shiver down her spine. She didn’t know what to do. His reasoning made sense. He reached out his hand to her. She hesitated. Everything in her past had taught her to be cautious of the extended hand. It usually ended up either hitting her, around her throat, or in her pocket.

  She rubbed her aching head.

  Bard offered his hand again. “Trust me, Paula. You can. I swear it.”

  She wanted to believe the honesty she saw in his eyes, the earnestness she heard in his voice. She took a deep breath. Then, tentatively, she grasped his warm hand, and his fingers closed over hers.

  “Don’t disappoint me, Bard Nichols,” she said softly.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bard paced Paula’s living room. The police had come and gone, only taking a report and suggesting, because of the repeated incidents in the Clear Zone Project area and specifically on her property, that Paula install a good security alarm and get a big dog. While those things might help, Bard’s goal was to get Paula out of the area, and because of her birds, her goal was to stay. With such a strong motivation on her part, his chances of persuading her to vacate the clear zone before the Yucaipa property escrow closed were slim at best.

  He shook his head at Paula’s grit. Rather than collapsing at the weight of the series attacks, she seemed driven to demonstrate her physical strength and mental toughness. She was brave and could hold her own, but with bad guys determined to get rid of Paula her luck could run out.

  He couldn’t stop looking at her. She’d been reading Charlie’s journal for over an hour, without even an upward glance. Maybe something within those pages would help him come up with an idea to draw her away from the danger. “How about letting me take a look at that? Maybe I could latch onto something you’ve missed.”

  Paula raised her head, her eyes icy blue. “Thanks, but I’m very thorough and don’t need help.” Her tone implied that it was his help in particular that she didn’t need. She went back to her reading—and he went back to wearing a path in her carpet. After a few minutes, she glanced up at him, her eye contact, still frosty. “Sit down. Your pacing is driving me crazy.”

  He clamped his mouth shut, refusing to frown or show anger; an effective relocation agent keeps his emotions to himself. He plunked down on the floor in front of the overstuffed chair and watched Ivanhoe preening himself in his cage. Every time the parrot looked at him, he ruffled his feathers. Paula had brought the sharp-clawed beast into the living room to keep an eye on the pet and to keep the annoying creature from getting lonely. She had such a tender heart, but the damned parrot and her birds might be the death of her.

  In spite of his effort to hide his emotions, Bard frowned in Paula’s direction. She knew the danger of staying but showed no fear. She reclined on the couch; her slender and very shapely legs pulled up, knees crossed, slowly bobbing a dainty big toe as if keeping beat with her deliberations.

  She hadn’t talked much, so he had to determine her thoughts and feelings by body language. According to the studies used in his negotiation classes, body language comprised 55% of the force of any response, whereas verbal response accounted for about 7% and intonation and pauses only about 38%. He studied her more closely. She chewed her lower lip, and two small worry lines creased the bridge of her nose. Poor kid. Reading Charlie’s private thoughts so soon after his death had to be rough. The strength in the determined set of her chin amazed him and some mysterious softness about her touched his heart. He’d like to snatch the journal and check it himself and save her from the pain, but she’d surely take such aggressiveness the wrong way. She already distrusted him.

  He grabbed the Morales file out of his open briefcase. He tapped his pencil on the cover, but rather than opening the file, he studied Paula.

  Lamplight cast a glow on her oval face. Behind the lens of her glasses twin fans of dark auburn eyelashes obscured her eyes. The white jagged scar that interrupted the line in her finely shaped eyebrow was barely visible above the frame. Had she gotten the scar defending herself? Even though she was handy with a gun, he couldn’t imagine her actually killing anyone.

  She rubbed her graceful jawline, looking puzzled. He fought an urge to go to her and trace where her fingers had touched. What would it be like to feather kisses down her cheekbones and capture her slender lips with his? He took a deep breath and let the air out slowly. His gaze strayed to her feminine curves. Her knit top rested loosely over shapely breasts and curved to a small waist. What would it be like to kiss her from the hollow between her breasts to her belly button? Damn, his thoughts were getting way out of control.

  If he wasn’t going home tonight, he should call Cory. Yeah, right. If he told Cory he was bunking out at Paula’s to protect her, he’d call him the biggest fool who ever lived. Maybe it was a personality quirk, but the more Cory bad-mouthed Paula and the more Gordon put pressure on him to get her out of the project, the more he wanted to watch over her. She was vulnerable, although she’d never admit it, and the world was ganging up on her. Confess it, Nichols, it goes beyond wanting to look after her; you want her. His urge to touch Paula became almost overpowering. He gripped his pencil so tightly it broke.

  She glanced at him. “Guess they don’t make pencils like they used to.” She smiled. Was Paula aware he’d been ogling her like some lovesick teenager? “There’s another one in the drawer if you need it,” she said, pointing.

  He found it, but what did he need it for? He sure as hell wasn’t working.

  Paula paused and looked up from the journal, and as though talking aloud to herself, she asked, “Why would Deeter offer Charlie a job?”

  In spite of the fact the musing probably wasn’t for his ears, Bard felt heartened that she’d given him something intriguing to chew on. “What kind of job?”

  “Doesn’t say. Just says he was suspicious when he found out what was involved and played along.”

  “Sounds like something illegal. Why would Deeter think Charlie would be interested?”

  She sent Bard a dirty look. “Played along means he feigned interest, wise guy.” She went back to reading, closing him out again.

  He pretended to immerse himself in his relocation paper work, but the words “played along” ate at the edges of his mind.

  He watched Paula turn a page and withdraw
a key taped to the sheet. Before he could ask any questions, she read Charlie’s note: “If something happens to me, go to our joint safe deposit box in San Diego and pick up the letter addressed to you.”

  “You have a box together?” Bard didn’t understand why she was telling him this. She brought him in and out of her confidence like a cat playing with a mouse. What was her game?

  She nodded. “Well, I’ve never seen it. Charlie brought a signature card to me on my sixteenth birthday and told me to sign it. That was eight years ago.”

  Bard could hardly believe it. She’d actually shared that with him. He searched for the right words to encourage that inkling of trust. Wait a minute…or was she setting him up for something?

  Suddenly, the house went dark. Ivanhoe squawked in protest. Bard stepped to the window and looked out. “The street lamps are still on,” he assured Paula. “And there’re lights on down the street in the Donley house.” He opened the drapes wider to take advantage of the moonlight. “Are there fuses in your electric box?”

  “It’s on a master switch,” Paula said. “The box is only about a year old.”

  “That could mean we’ve got more trouble. Got a flashlight?”

  “Kitchen drawer. I’ll get it.”

  “Better get your .38, too.” Bard felt inside the back folder of his briefcase for his gun. His fingers closed over it. His palms grew moist. Relocation agents seldom carried guns and the practice wasn’t encouraged by the County or The Corps, but since the clear zone had turned into a war zone he started carrying his. It was properly licensed, and he practiced twice a month at the gun club, enough to know how to aim and hit what he was aiming for.

  Paula handed him the flashlight. He shoved it into the waistband of his pants.

  “I’ll call 911,” she said.

  “Good. I’ll check the electric box.”

  Paula gripped his arm. “Wait. The guy who was here earlier had a gun. What if he’s out there waiting to jump you? And what if he’s not alone? You can’t just walk into an ambush.” The concern in her voice made it easy for him to shake off his doubts about her.

  “I have to do something. I’m not good at playing sitting duck, and considering the cops’ response time lately, I think we’re on our own.” He lifted her hand from his forearm and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll be careful.”

  Bard went to the back door, pulled the lacy curtain aside and peered out. Moonlight lit the yard, but thick foliage and deep shadows provided many hiding places. He could hear Paula asking the 911 dispatcher for help, giving her address.

  He eased the door open and slipped out, alert to every cracking twig, every rustling leaf. The sweat on his fingers hampered his grip on the gun.

  The electric box door hung wide open. His neck muscles tensed. Someone had tampered with the power. Before he turned it back on, he’d better find the culprit, or culprits, skulking around in the shadows waiting to jump him. He slipped along the width of the house, using bushes as cover. A metallic taste permeated his saliva.

  Paula screamed. Ivanhoe squawked. A shot rang out. Then another.

  With his heartbeat thundering in his ears, he rushed through the dark house and into the living room. The front door hung partly off its hinges. “Paula!”

  “Out here,” she called.

  Bard ran toward the sound of her voice. Wings flapped. He flashed the light toward the sound. Ivanhoe zoomed at him. Bard ducked. “Get away, dammit, I’m not the enemy!” The parrot lit on a chair next to his open cage and eyed him warily. Bard eyed him back and eased out the front door. Then he saw her in the shadows of the front porch. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the house, reassured by the feel of her warm skin against his palms. “What happened?”

  “A man broke through the door and headed for the journal. Ivanhoe attacked him before he could get it. I fired twice over the guy’s head to scare him off.”

  “Which way did he go?”

  She shook her head. “By the time I ran out here he’d disappeared.”

  “He must’ve been watching you through the open drapes before the lights went out.”

  She pulled away from his hold. “Unless you told him where the journal was. You were out in the backyard a long time.”

  “Short lived trust, Mrs. Lord.”

  “I say what’s on my mind, Mr. Nichols. Tell me how these guys know everything that goes on here?”

  “I can’t explain it. But if you don’t start trusting me, we haven’t a snowball’s chance in hell to get whoever’s doing this.”

  “I just know that twice someone’s tried to take a journal from me that no one but you knows exists.”

  “Obviously I’m not the only one,” he said in as reasonable tone as possible with someone glaring at you. “Did you forget I was the one who saved the journal the first time? The one who told you to arm yourself while I went outside? Those aren’t the actions of a conspirator.”

  She trembled. So that was it, her anger was a defense mechanism to hide her fear. “Okay,” she said, “if I’m wrong, I apologize. It’s just that this trusting thing is new to me.”

  “Keep trying, it’ll get easier,” he said, hoping it was true for himself as well, then he grabbed for a grain of humor to get them through this. “I grow on people.”

  “Like fungus?” she said shakily, joining the ribbing like a trooper.

  “More like the bark that provides warmth and protection to a tree.” He grinned. Maybe he had a tad of romance in him after all. He slipped his arm around her waist.

  Ivanhoe squawked in protest.

  “How about telling him I’m a friend?”

  She laughed.

  “You think this is funny, don’t you?” he said, laughing with her, relieved she could find a granule of humor after all she’d been through. He swung her around to face him. Moonlight shining through the picture window glistened in her wide-set eyes. “You’d better tell your parrot, Paula. Or we’ll have an early Thanksgiving, and we won’t be serving turkey.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said. “I’ll tell him, but it wasn’t Ivanhoe’s fault. He was confused about whether you were friend or foe.”

  Bard shook his head. “You both suffer the same affliction, don’t you?” He had his own doubts from time to time about her, but he wasn’t about to muddy the waters with that confession.

  She smiled. “It’s curable.”

  “I’ll count on that. Now, I’ll get the lights back on and fix the door,” he said, pointing at the gaping, unhinged slab of wood.

  Paula picked up the parrot. “My hero,” she murmured into his feathers as she kissed him on the head.

  For an instant, Bard felt a prick of jealousy needle into his gut then he laughed. It was ridiculous to be jealous of a parrot. Deep down he was glad she had the feathered watch dog.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Just how very clever Ivanhoe is. Remarkable bird.”

  She smiled as she put Ivanhoe back into the cage. “I knew you two would learn to like each other.” She stooped and picked up the stick. It gave Bard pleasure to see her shove it firmly into the latch.

  Bard glanced at his watch. “Good thing we didn’t count on the police.” They would get here eventually, but too late to do any good.

  While Bard took care of the lights and the door, he planned their next step. The new information revealing the existence of a safe deposit box and a mysterious letter was just the motivating force he’d needed to entice Paula to leave the clear zone.

  After he’d restored electricity to the house, he said, “Go pack your bag. We’re going to San Diego.”

  Paula didn’t budge in spite of his gentle shove. “I told you, I can’t leave the birds.”

  Dammit, here we go again. Didn’t she get it? Her life was hanging in the balance. She wasn’t this invincible bird protector who had to stay at all costs. “Look, I’ll hire a another security guard and a retired neighbor of mine to take care of the birds while we’re gone.” Bard called Pacific Se
curity and his neighbor and made the arrangements. When he finished, he said, “It’s all set. Come on, let’s get hustling.”

  Paula came slowly toward him, her slender form bathed in defused lamplight. “I don’t know about this.”

  His heart thudded rapidly against his chest. “It’ll be okay,” he said hoarsely. “I promise. Write out the bird and parrot care instructions. I want to leave tonight.”

  “Why?” she asked with a hint of exasperation. “We can’t get into the safe deposit box until morning.”

  “There was a tail on us the last time we went somewhere together. It’ll be easier to slip away at night.” He hoped she’d buy the excuse. If he stressed the danger of staying, she’d never leave the birds. He turned her by the shoulders, placed his hand in the small of her back, and gave her a gentle shove toward the bedroom. “Move it, angel.”

  She laughed and paused in the doorway. “Angel?”

  He shrugged. It had just slipped out. In his mind, he’d called her angel since he’d met her. Heat crawled up his jaw. “You know…you like birds and birds have wings and—” Abruptly he cleared his throat and, before making a complete idiot of himself, he snapped, “Just get packed. Okay?”

  “Exactly what do you hope to find in the letter?”

  Bard was convinced Charlie’s murderer and the individual behind all the problems in the project were the same person. But they needed proof, and the S.O.B.’S name. “The name of Charlie’s killer.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Janus completed scribbling the outline of his revised looting plan then put the clipboard and pencil down on the kitchen counter by the lantern. Where the hell was Deeter? Janus had the gnawing feeling that he was losing control of the big ape. He paced. He wouldn’t let this deal fall apart, no matter who had to go down. He had put a lot of work and thought into this operation, picking street toughs smart enough to do the job but dumb enough not to ask too many questions. But to make this sweet set up work and to sidestep trouble, the details had to flow like the tide of wetbacks crossing the borders. Fortunately, meticulous planning and attention to details were his alter ego’s specialties; Janus had a reputation for being the best detail man east of LA.