by Hugh Dutton
Art grunted and pushed. Brady heard a whistling squeal, dimly recognized it as his voice. His vision darkened. Art let up, and when the moment of near-blackout passed, Brady opened his eyes to see Frank peering at him with an expression of curiosity.
“Damn, that smarts, huh?” Frank said, nodding with satisfaction. “That’s why you don’t want us to come back. It gets worse. Believe it or not, when we turn you loose, you won’t feel much pain very long. Just some little aches that’ll get better. ’Cause it’s only our first visit.” He slapped Brady’s cheek gently with his free hand.
“We’re professionals, see, not dumbass Saturday night muscle,” Frank went on. He slowly brought Brady’s fingers back down, inch by inch. “Now, you might want to put some ice on that hand, keep the swelling down. The ribs, you just gotta be patient, they’ll heal.”
He grabbed Brady’s chin and pulled his face around, locking their eyes at less than a foot apart. Dark, cheerful brown eyes, without a glimmer of empathy in them. “Art’s gonna come off that door, and you just ease down, sit a bit ’til you get your breath good, and don’t make any moves toward him, me, or anywhere but down. Got it?”
Brady nodded, squelching an urge to thank the man. What kind of craziness was that?
Frank patted his shoulder again, giving it a little squeeze. “Good deal, Brady. You take care of that hand, and hopefully we won’t be seeing you. Come on, Art, I’m dying for a milk-shake.”
The abrupt release of pressure against the door was pure ecstasy. Brady slumped to a sitting position on the step plate while Frank the happy goon and his silent stooge clomped off to wherever crazies go. Brady did not even turn to watch; he was too busy savoring air, beautiful air. Though it hurt to breathe. Sure as hell didn’t feel like a little ache that would go away.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Brady swiveled gingerly toward the source of the voice and saw a woman bent over with her hands on her knees, staring at him. He struggled up onto his feet with the help of the very same door that had nearly killed him.
“Are you okay?” she repeated. Her brow was scrunched up in an expression of concern, though she had a wary look too, like he was a dog that might bite.
“I thi—” He cleared his throat, tried again. “No, but I think I’m going to be.” He did feel a bit better standing up. Ribs hurt less, anyway.
“Did you fall? Do you want me to call an ambulance?” She straightened and edged closer, eyes full of alarm. Guess he looked incapable of biting, after closer inspection.
Pretty eyes they were, too, he thought woozily. Bright gray, but hidden behind a haze of alcohol. And it would be a pretty face, with her short, curly blond hair and soft doll-like features, if not for the sagging skin and puffy eyelids of a habitual drinker. Which was what led him to recognize her. Maggie. He’d met her twice before, and both times she had been riding that edge of drunk but not yet bombed.
“No, really, I’ll be all right.” He tried for a deeper breath and made it. “Thanks for checking on me, Maggie.”
She lit up at her name. “Well, of course I would, Brady. You looked awful all crouched down there. I thought you fell or something. I saw these two men. . . .” She raised her hand to her mouth, eyes widening, the significance connecting behind the eighty-proof fog. “Did those two guys just mug you? They did, didn’t they?”
“Sort of,” Brady admitted, too exhausted to argue.
“Are you hurt? Should I call the police?”
He shook his head, wanting to make that determination himself, and she jabbered on. “I can’t believe, right here in Heron Point. What is happening to this place?”
“Just another day in paradise, eh?” he said, managing his first grin. He recalled thinking of that phrase when Frank was tearing his arm off, and realized he was glad she hadn’t shown in time to help. No telling what those two freaks might’ve done to her. And though he didn’t feel as flip as he probably sounded, damn it felt good just to be alive and not dismembered.
“But honestly, Brady, muggers?”
“No, no, not really muggers.” Trying to sound soothing, picturing the Heron Point grapevine cranking into high gear. “They were only here to see me, no one else is in any danger, so I’d appreciate it if you kept this to yourself.”
Her eyes narrowed now, sobering up. “You owe people money, Brady?”
He swallowed the laugh, figuring the ribs couldn’t handle it. Must be something broken in there. “Boy, do I. Lots of people. But not those people. It was something personal.”
She frowned. “You don’t seem like the kind of man who would have personal business with that kind of people.”
“I didn’t think I was either, Maggie.” He tried a tentative step. Everything worked. Maybe Frank hadn’t lied. “I’m just going up to the house and rest, okay? Thanks again.”
“Here, let me help you.”
She scooted over and slipped an arm around his waist, snuggling closer than he thought necessary for support. Exactly what he did not need right now, Nurse Erotica.
“No, I’m good,” he said, extricating himself gently. “It’s very nice of you, but I’m fine, okay?”
“Well, if you’re sure.” Her voice went up a half-octave. “I’d love a chance to help you.”
He turned at the disappointment in her tone and was startled to see a hurt look in her eyes. Where’d that come from, he barely knew her. And he wasn’t in the market for a chronically sloshed married woman. But his heart did pinch a little because of the shy wistful way her eyes talked to him. No prowling cougar here. “Hey, hey, look, you’re wonderful, you’re a lifesaver, all right? But I can handle it from here.”
He headed up the drive, then stopped and called back. “Between us, right?”
“Okay, Brady,” she said, all forlorn looking, standing there on the sidewalk with her hands in her pockets. Then she added with a grin, “I promise I’ll try, anyway.”
The obvious honesty of it made Brady smile back, and endeared her to him more than did her sympathy or whatever that other stuff was all about. Reminded him of his mother’s advice. Maybe Maggie, boozehound and all, was an honest person. He waved and wobbled on up the driveway, in search of ice for his hand, maybe a beer for his belly.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The house felt way too claustrophobic after being pinned in a car door. Brady wrapped his hand in a baggie full of ice and took the promised beer out onto the stoop, under the lengthening shadow of the umbrella trees. Try to enjoy the pending sunset and pretend life was normal. Should he file a police report, or was it all too ludicrous? The police would probably fall out of their chairs laughing. Scheme up some appropriate payback? But how, do what? Stuff like this just didn’t happen to harmless, taxpaying computer geeks.
A Jaguar convertible came zipping to a halt in front of him, breaking his trance. Lexy. Damn, he had forgotten about her coming to discuss the alibi. Move that to the back of the agenda now, first he wanted to know whether she had known about the goons. It didn’t seem like her style, but obviously somebody named Burgess arranged it. And boy, was her timing convenient.
“Hi, Brady.” She swung up and out of her car, smooth and graceful. Today’s decoration was a filmy white sleeveless deal, deep-necked and V-cut to her belly button, giving it the effect of two silk sashes crossing her chest instead of a blouse at all. More erotic than showing up naked, as was the black miniskirt that made the unbelievable legs seem to go up and up for miles. She was so beautiful, the fear that his decision would destroy his chances with her made his throat ache, despite his slow boil over the Frank and Art show.
He waved at her with the ice bag hand, finished his beer with the good one. Here we go.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” she said, tossing the long black hair behind her and sliding to a seat on the steps next to him. “Hey, what’s with the hand? Did you hurt yourself?”
“Well, I had a little help.” He studied her. She seemed genuinely casual, not put on. He told her the b
asics of it, went into detail describing Frank’s lecture about his memory. As he talked, her eyes grew wider and wider, with what looked like real concern filling them. But who could tell with an artist like Lexy? By the time he finished, the eyes glittered with anger, her lips compressed to a thin line.
“That asshole,” she said, biting off each syllable. She snatched her phone from her waist and jabbed at it three times, meaning a speed-dial call or a stored contact. “I am so sorry about this, Brady,” she said around the phone. Apparently no answer, since she punched it off without speaking and dropped her face into her hands.
“Who’s the asshole, Dad?” he asked the back of her neck. Soft little black hairs grew in tiny vees down the line of her vertebrae.
A muffled blurt of laughter came from the buried head and she raised her face back to him. “Don’t be silly.”
“Then who, Nick?”
“No, what makes you say that?” she asked, totally straight-faced. Bingo.
“Duh. Two guys try to cripple me and tell me to improve my memory. Gee, I wonder what they were talking about?”
She grabbed his hand, thankfully not the left one. “I don’t blame you for suspecting us, but this has to be an awful misunderstanding. No one in my family would even know how to ‘order up thugs,’ as you put it.”
He laughed. That was way weak for Lexy. “You’re losing your grip, girl. You forget, you just made a phone call to whoever Asshole is, after I told you about it. If that’s the best you can do, I think I should call the police.”
She turned his hand over, palm up, and dragged her fingertip up his forearm. Cool nail tracing a line of fire. “You know, Brady, there are other things I can do to make you feel better.”
So there it was, the ultimate bribe. He watched her finger climb his arm, hating himself for liking it and feeling all rational thought fade as the greedy justifications crept in. Why not just help her out of the sash blouse and the little skirt? It wasn’t a bribe if he didn’t lie for her, right? She was a big girl who made her own decisions, he hadn’t promised her anything.
He jerked his eyes away to break the spell, and caught her watching him. Watching him with the same exact expression lions on those nature shows have just before they pounce on some luckless antelope. Her eyes changed to warm in a click, but Brady knew right then that he did not want to be an antelope.
“Look, Lexy.” He slid his arm away from her. “The reason I called you is to tell you that I can’t say I saw Nick. Maybe if you tell him that, he’ll leave me alone and I’ll just forget about today.” Unless I can come up with a way to hose him up but good.
She hugged her knees to her chest but kept her head turned toward him, the glossy hair swinging to the sunset side of her face and shimmering like black diamonds in the softening light. “Brady, I don’t blame you for being angry. I am, too. But please don’t make that decision now. Give it a few days. We’ll talk then.”
He sighed and averted his gaze, staring off in the direction of his thin slit of ocean view. Paradise. “I made my mind up before your two thugs made the scene, Lexy. I saw someone in your car, but I can’t say that it was Nick. I’m sorry.”
“Well, trust me then,” she said. She leaned further around to catch his eye. Hers were wide and guileless. Looking, anyway. “I’ll handle this other mess, I promise you. Don’t you believe me?”
“You know, I probably do, but it doesn’t matter. I still didn’t see him.” Whatever anger he’d felt toward her had dissipated; she was just stuck doing the dirty work for the whole family. He hadn’t imagined ever seeing her desperate, she’d always looked like she had the world in her palm.
“You’re not going to help me at all?” she pleaded, all hurt little girl sounding. Which was pretty tough to buy into.
He just shook his head, ready for her to go, ready to be alone.
She stood and brushed off the back of her skirt. “Well, I’m sorry, too. Like you said, I’m sure we’ll be all right without you, but it would have been nice to have your help.” She walked around her car and opened the door. “You look out for yourself, Brady.”
He watched her drive off, wondering if Advil would help the ribs and if her parting words were a warning.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Leo Burgess slammed both palms down on his desktop, the sound reverberating like a pistol shot in the closed room. “You are an absolute imbecile,” he roared.
Nick’s face immediately settled into the familiar defensive scowl. “What, Pops?” he whined.
“Don’t what me, you idiot. You know perfectly well I am referring to you assaulting one of my tenants, and right here on our property.”
Nick slouched back and crossed his legs in a show of nonchalance. “What are you talking about? I haven’t assaulted anybody.”
The sight of Nick’s smirk dumped gasoline on Leo’s fire. Snatching up the closest thing to his hand, a stack of mail, he hurled it at his son. “Shouldn’t you be asking, ‘Gee, who was assaulted’?”
“Okay, who?” Nick answered, dodging a magazine.
Leo counted to ten, listening to his heart pound. Maybe this would be it. He would fall over dead arguing with his brainless progeny. Perhaps Nick could be convicted of murder if the prosecutor could prove that the weapon was lethal stupidity. He inhaled slowly and tried patience. “This is not the way to do things. Never mind that it represents subhuman intellect and poor taste, it is illegal. Do you not realize that if Mr. Spain explains this to the authorities, we will be the only suspects?”
Nick sneered. “Oh, so it’s that Spain guy, huh? What, he got beat up and you think I did it?”
“No, I know beyond any doubt that you did,” Leo shouted. “No one else would concoct such a witless strategy.” He took another deep breath. Patience, remember. How could his son be so fatuous?
“Well, if I did, and I’m not saying I did, it would’ve been done by somebody else with no connection to us.” Nick straightened his legs and crossed his ankles and then his arms, sinking deeper in the chair. “And if I did, Spain wouldn’t go to the cops, ’cause he’d know he’d get another dose,” he added smugly.
Leo lunged across the desk and raised his hand as if to slap his son. Though aware he could not reach far enough, he wanted to make the boy cringe and lose his smirk. Screw patience. “I cannot believe how simple you are. Number one, the police will assume you hired it done. They will find your hooligans, who will surely turn on you. Or they may arrest you without that, because they don’t even need it. You—have—the—only—motive.” He slapped the desk between each word. “Has that penetrated yet? You have committed a colossal blunder. So listen.
“Number two, you have no idea what kind of man Brady Spain is. Nor do I. Some men do not scare. They become tougher. It is always foolish to embark on a course of action before you know your man. And his weak spot.”
Leo paused, hoping for an acknowledgment that any of this had found its way through his son’s thick skull. But no, Nick remained sprawled insouciantly in his chair, gazing out the window as if deaf. Lord, help me, thought Leo. Perhaps I have not yet made myself clear. Perhaps it is time for this boy-man to risk something more than his father’s wrath.
“Pay attention, Nicolas. I am going to say this once.” He held up a sausage-sized finger at arm’s length in a manner he knew to be intimidating. “If the police investigate you for this assault, they will also take time to investigate you for rape. And for stalking.” He paused again, seeing the boy’s eyes begin to flicker from window to Leo, window to Leo. The gears grinding at last. “What we want from Mr. Spain is to help us avoid that investigation. Your reckless actions may very well achieve the opposite. That is why you do not interfere with the processes I put into place. I handle these things. You do not. Because you are not capable.
“Furthermore, if the police do investigate this family because of the calamity you have created, I will not, as you would say, take the rap. Nor will I allow your mother or your sister to become s
uspects in a criminal investigation. In short, I will give you up. Do you understand?”
He watched his son’s eyes fill and his mouth open, but Leo cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Having said that, I will continue to attempt to reason with Mr. Spain. I will even accelerate my schedule of doing so, in the hopes that we can come to an agreement before you bring scandal to this family. On one condition: you will do nothing further in this matter whatsoever, and I mean nothing. If you do, not only will I let the police have you, I will wash my hands of you. Have I made myself clear?”
He stopped there, remembering that his walls had ears, and cognizant that even he had no guess as to what lengths Anna might go in order to protect her only son.
Nick stood, rubbing his hands up and down his pants legs like a little boy caught playing in the mud. “Just like that, Pops?”
Leo turned away from him and stared out the window, unable to look into the face of the man who was the child he’d brought into the world thirty years ago. He waved a hand of dismissal and listened for the door to close, feeling as if his heart was being ripped from his chest.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
After twenty years in law enforcement and five more as a private investigator, Gerry Terence no longer fell into the trap of premature back-patting when good methodical detective work began yielding results. He’d seen too many convincing leads fizzle to consider anything short of arrest and conviction as true progress. But he couldn’t deny a feeling of cautious satisfaction when things started clicking together and pointing a case in a specific direction.
Which is what he was feeling about the Heron Point case, both aspects of it. Not only had the window peeping ceased since he started patrolling, which met Leo’s minimum description of success, Gerry had developed a suspect. Now he needed to figure a way to nail his guy down with some hard evidence. Nothing but catching it on film would do because of who it was.