Unfortunately, Father Masella’s list concentrated on folks who had been adult members of the congregation. Most had moved on, many had died, none of their memories of that time were sharp any longer. That was the trouble with trying to investigate something that happened twenty-five years ago. But Amanda had to have found something worth getting killed over, but about whom?
Or maybe Pierce’s research had taken her in an entirely new direction. Maybe he was just too tired to puzzle it out. He hadn’t slept much since he’d gotten the case and in the past couple of nights he’d slept even less. He was anxious to get home to the reason for his lack of slumber, to find out if Dana was all right. Though she’d shown only concern for her brother and an unwillingness to involve Joanna in her situation, he knew she had to be scared for herself, too.
Even before he turned the key in his lock, he heard her. The faint sound of her singing along with the radio. She must be in the kitchen at the front of the apartment, since the aroma of something cooking reached his nose, too. His stomach rumbled its anticipation of anything home cooked by anyone’s hand but his.
He pushed open the door and spotted her immediately, standing by the sink washing something under the water. He let the door close behind him then turned the locks. By the time he turned back around, she’d shut off the water and was facing him.
She finished drying her hands on a dishtowel and tossed it on the counter. For a moment neither of them said anything. He was busy letting his gaze wander over her, from her tousled hair to her sweet face to the swell of her breasts beneath the thin covering of her T-shirt to the jeans that molded to her hips and thighs, before bringing his gaze back to her face.
She smiled at him, a lopsided grin. “Would it be inappropriate of me to say I am so glad you’re home?”
He chuckled. “No.” Not if she didn’t mind him admitting how glad he was to arrive home to find her whole, well and smiling at him with such obvious welcome. It was the sort of domestic scene he didn’t usually appreciate, but today it felt like coming in from the cold. “Missed me, did you?”
“Missed all human contact.”
He curled a finger urging her over. “Then come here.”
Her smile took on a teasing quality. “Why?”
She knew damn well what he wanted. He didn’t mind stating it plainly. “A little of that human contact you’ve been craving.”
She bit her lip as if contemplating a juicy meal. “Bring it on.”
He closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms. His mouth found hers for a stirring kiss. After a few moments he pulled away. It would be far too easy to lose himself in that kiss. He pulled away a little bit but still held onto her waist. “I didn’t expect you to cook.” He wasn’t complaining, but it hadn’t occurred to him before he got home that she would.
She shrugged. “We both have to eat. I hope you’re not trying to convince me Joanna didn’t teach you how to cook. You have food in the freezer.”
“I do all right, but Martha Stewart won’t be calling for any recipes any time soon. How long before dinner?”
“I was waiting for you to get home before putting the meat in the oven, so you’ve got a few minutes.”
“I’m going to go get cleaned up.”
“Okay. If you like your steak rare, don’t take too long.”
He kissed her forehead. “I won’t.”
A few minutes later he stepped into the warm spray of the water. He’d started the ritual of taking a shower when he got home the day he started working homicide. A couple of hikers had found a woman’s body down by the Bronx River. It was the end of summer, hot enough for the river to be almost dry. Whatever animals frequented the riverbed had discovered the body before the police had. The sight was so gruesome and the stench so rank that even hardened investigators resorted to gas masks modified for police use. All of it was made worse by the fact that the first officer responding was a rookie who lost his breakfast a couple of feet from the scene.
That day, he couldn’t wait to get home to get out of his clothes. He’d tossed the suit down the incinerator. No dry cleaner could have gotten the smell out. He’d spent a good half-hour in the shower before he’d felt anywhere near clean. Days like today, the shower was more a psychic than a physical cleansing, a means of putting the day to rest.
He got out of the shower and dressed as he usually did at home, in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. When he got out to the kitchen, Dana was taking the steaks out from under the broiler. His mouth watered, not only for the food but also from her rear view as she bent and then straightened.
“You’re right on time,” she said, casting him a smiling glance over her shoulder.
“What do you need me to help you with?”
“Nothing really. I figured we’d serve ourselves here then take it into the other room.”
He gestured for her to precede him. She filled her plate then slipped past him out of the kitchen. It wasn’t until then he noticed how much she’d cooked. Certainly more than the two of them could eat in one night. He filled his plate and stopped short once he left the kitchen. By the other room he thought she’d meant the living room where he normally ate, not the dining room he never used. He hadn’t noticed before that she’d actually set the table with wineglasses and a bottle of wine he’d forgotten he had.
“Surprised you, huh?”
“A little.”
“Civilization comes to 162nd Street. Don’t tell me I’m the only woman you’ve ever had here.”
No, he couldn’t say that, but for the most part he preferred to be somewhere he could get up and leave if the urge struck. He didn’t know if that comment of hers was simply a throwaway or if she were fishing for information about him. But the last thing he wanted to do was discuss his other women with her. He didn’t know how she’d feel knowing his track record or even how much, if anything, Joanna had told her about him. He only knew he didn’t want her to judge him harshly because of it.
He cut into his steak and brought a bite of it to his mouth. The meat was juicy and flavorful. “Not bad.”
She shot him a knowing look. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”
So, she had been looking for information. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
“Okay, change of subject. What did you find out today?”
“Nothing much. If I’d been much more productive I might as well have stayed home in bed.”
“Well then, tell me everything. I know you suspect that Amanda Pierce was killed by whoever I saw picking her up that day, but why?”
“That’s what I’d like to know, too. We believe her murder was tied up in what she was working on—researching her uncle’s death twenty-five years ago.”
“Who’s her uncle?”
“Father Brendan Malone.”
“I’ve heard of him. He’s the one who built Trinity Houses. Aside from the religious implication, wasn’t it called that because the people involved came from three fields, the church, the government, and private enterprise? Why was she researching her own uncle?”
“First, he died in a mysterious fire in his church. I pulled the file on the old case, but most of the information that should have been there was either gutted or lost over the years. At the time it was deemed an accident. Second, while he was alive, it was rumored that he and some of his cronies were skimming money from the building fund. As far as I can determine, that isn’t true. I have a meeting tomorrow with one of the other partners in the building deal. We’ll see what he says.”
She nodded. “So you think Pierce poking around in the past is what got her killed? Most of the people involved must be senior citizens by now.”
“Grandpas can’t carry guns?”
“I don’t say that, but they don’t roll up in a gangsta car and shoot you either.”
She had a point there. He didn’t know how Pee Wee’s crew fit into this, but he intended to be there when someone found out.
Fifteen
Dana dran
k the last sip of her wine and set her glass on the table. “That wasn’t bad,” she said, echoing his earlier words. “If I do say so myself.”
He smiled. “Immodesty becomes you. And since you did the honors of cooking, I’ll take care of the dishes and make some coffee. Do you want to see if there’s anything on the tube?”
“Sure.” She didn’t suppose he had that huge TV for nothing. She tossed her napkin onto the table beside her plate. “You’re sure you don’t need some help?”
“Joanna taught me how to clean up after myself, too.”
“Fine.” She pushed back her chair and went into the living room, settling in the nearest corner of the couch. She tucked her feet under her and used the remote to turn on the set. She wasn’t much of a TV watcher herself and had no idea what was on at this time on what station. She flicked around until she found a rerun of a show she thought he might appreciate. By the time he joined her in the living room, she’d gotten fairly engrossed in the show herself.
He stepped past her to set a tray laden with two cups of coffee, cream, sugar and spoons on the coffee table before sitting beside her. “NYPD Blue? I’m shocked.”
She glanced up at his smiling face. “I don’t mind watching cop shows on TV. It’s fantasy.”
She leaned down to add cream and sugar to her coffee. As she sipped from her cup he picked up his own and sampled it.
“Let me ask you something. What started this cop thing of yours? Was it the incident you told me about?” he said.
“It’s not a cop thing and what incident?”
“Last night you said that when you pass some cop beating on a kid in the hallway you walk by. I assumed you were talking about something real.”
She sipped from her cup. “I was.”
“What happened?”
She set her cup on the table. “The usual. I was coming up the stairs in one of the buildings and on one of the landings this cop was giving it to some kid. What I found unnerving was the way the cop looked at me, like he knew what he was doing was wrong, but if I challenged him I’d probably be next.” She shuddered remembering the malevolence of his glance. “Some people simply shouldn’t be given that much power over others.”
“There are some good guys out there, too.”
She had never denied that, but it struck her that he was pleading his case to her, that it mattered to him that she didn’t lump him in with those others she found wanting. She did in the beginning, but that was after knowing him for years in only a cursory manner and after he’d broken her confidence by tracking her down. She still didn’t presume to know what made him tick, but she understood that what she’d originally taken as standoffishness or arrogance was a quietness of character that she found compelling. Most men she knew were so busy talking themselves up that you had to sift what they were from what they said they were. He had never tried to impress her with anything except with her own need for protection. Not until now.
For a moment, her gaze met his. Then something beyond him at the window caught her attention. A movement. Then a face appeared looking misshapen through the glass. For an instant all heat seemed to drain out of her body and her nervous system went on alert.
“Dana, what is it?”
“We’re not alone.”
Whoever it was rapped on the window. “Hey, Jay. You home?”
Dana let out her breath in a rapid gush. Obviously, whoever it was, Jonathan knew him. He confirmed her conclusion a second later, by cradling her nape in his palm to bring her face closer to his.
“It’s all right, sweetheart.” He placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “He’s with me.”
She nodded her understanding, not trusting her voice. Although the fright had been momentary, her nerves still jangled.
He kissed her temple. “Are you okay?”
She nodded again. “Maybe you better find out what he wants.”
He muttered something she didn’t catch as he got up from the sofa and went to the window. He lifted the pane. “What’s up, Tyree?”
“Just wanted to hang.”
She could hear the anger in Jonathan’s voice and the resulting uncertainty in the other. Though Jonathan stood in a way to block her view, the youthfulness in the voice told her his visitor was a kid. She leaned her elbow against the back of the sofa. “Why don’t you ask your friend to come in?”
“Sorry man, I didn’t know you had company.”
“Why don’t you come in,” Jonathan echoed, this time with more annoyance than hostility.
After a few moments in which she couldn’t catch what was said, Tyree came in through the window. As Jonathan shut it behind him, Tyree came to stand beside the sofa. For a moment they sized each other up. He was tall and long limbed, handsome in a future heartbreaker sort of way. She’d put his age at fourteen or fifteen. He looked at her with interest, so she assumed he approved.
Jonathan said, “Dana this is Tyree. Tyree, why don’t you have a seat?” When Tyree moved to take his place on the sofa, Jonathan added, “Over there.” He pointed to the adjacent chair.
Dana hid a smile as Tyree slunk to the chair Jonathan indicated and slumped into it. Jonathan sat down, his eyes on Tyree. Whatever kind of look he gave the boy made him sit straighter in his seat.
For a moment, nobody said anything, though it was obvious to Dana the boy had sought out Jonathan because he wanted to talk to him. She searched for an excuse to get out of the room long enough for that to be accomplished. “Have you eaten, yet?” she asked Tyree.
“Nah.” Another look from Jonathan and the boy amended himself. “I mean, no.”
“I can fix you a plate if you like.”
She saw the avidness in the boy’s face at the prospect of decent food, but before he could answer Jonathan patted her thigh. “I’ll take care of it.”
He was on his feet before she had time to protest, not that she was sure she would have. But she wondered why he’d left her alone with this kid who had business with him, not her.
“Hey, I know who you are,” Tyree said, drawing her attention. “You’re that nurse.”
Is that what everyone called her? That nurse? “Guilty as charged.”
“I heard what happened to you and that kid. You okay now?”
“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”
The kid flushed, probably unused to the simple courtesies of please and thank you. She hadn’t sought to embarrass him though. “Do you live near here?”
“Me and my moms live upstairs.”
There was something about the way he said that, that made her curious, something that seemed off. Maybe his mother disapproved of his friendship with Jon. “Does your mom know you’re down here?”
“My mom’s asleep.” He paused, looking down at his hands. “She got out of the hospital a few days ago.”
“How’s she doing?”
The boy shrugged. “She’s okay, I guess. She had a pretty bad accident.”
He didn’t look at her when he said that, leading her to believe that the only accident she’d encountered was walking into some man’s fist. “Do you want me to look in on her tomorrow when she’s awake?”
She could see in the boy’s eyes that he wanted to say yes, but also that something held him back. The boy’s gaze shifted from her to something beyond her shoulder. She turned to see Jonathan coming into the room. Maybe Tyree was afraid to say yes without Jonathan’s okay.
Jonathan set the plate he carried on the coffee table in front of Tyree. Tyree leaned forward and shoveled a few forkfuls into his mouth. Then, as if he caught himself, he started to eat at a more sedate pace.
She glanced at Jonathan, full of questions. How did he know this boy? What happened to his mother? And, most important, why had he left the two of them alone together?
He rubbed his hand along her thigh and mouthed two words: “Long story.”
She’d already figured that much. She was content to wait to hear it. But her lack of sleep was finally catching up with her. She
hid a yawn behind her hand.
She thought her show of sleepiness went unnoticed until Jonathan’s arm slid around her, drawing her near enough to rest her cheek on his shoulder. “Hang on a little longer, okay?” he whispered against her ear.
She nodded, not knowing why her presence might matter. But since he wanted her there, she sat up and downed the remainder of her coffee. The liquid was tepid, but the caffeine would work whether it was cold or hot.
Having finished his meal, Tyree sat back. “Thanks. That was good.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
Another awkward silence ensued. Tyree seemed restless, as though he were ready to bolt. “How’s school?” she asked him, more to prevent his leaving than any other reason.
“Makes me glad today’s Saturday.”
She laughed. “You sound like my brother at your age.”
“Yeah?”
She told him about her brother and how he’d managed to turn himself around with a little help. That got him talking about his school, his friends, and even a little bit about his mother. While they spoke, she felt Jonathan’s hand move on her waist, a gentle strumming that had nothing to do with sex, but with a simple affection she found stirring nonetheless.
But the short-lived effects of the caffeine were beginning to wear off. She was back to yawning again. She hoped she’d accomplished Jonathan’s goal in getting the kid to open up. Now it was time for her to hit the hay.
“If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m going to go to bed.” She stood, not waiting for a response from either of them. “It was nice meeting you, Tyree, and I will stop in on your mom tomorrow.”
She didn’t know what to say to Jonathan, so she said nothing. But in that one split second before she turned to leave she saw the question in Jonathan’s eyes—exactly which bed did she plan to get into?
Had anything she’d said or done left that much doubt in his mind? Maybe he didn’t want to presume to know what she wanted. That was okay. She planned to show him.
She stripped off her clothes, intending to put on the one slinky nightgown she’d packed then decided to forego even that. If she were going to send him a signal, it might as well be a clear one. You couldn’t get much clearer than appearing nude in a man’s bed. Leaving on only the lamp on the nightstand, she settled under the covers. Now all she had to do was wait.
Body Of Truth Page 19