“Life in general.” He seemed to wrestle with his thoughts. He gazed past Pamela, as if unable to look directly at her. “I got Lizard without a fight, and your thug is in the slammer. It turns out you and I didn’t have to get hitched, after all.”
The thought hadn’t occurred to Pamela, yet she couldn’t deny it. The very issues that had compelled her and Joe to latch onto each other had resolved themselves. She and Joe wouldn’t have to pretend to be married any longer to satisfy judges and social workers. Pamela wouldn’t have to stay in Florida any longer to elude Mick Morrow. With the reasons for this marriage dissolved, the marriage itself could be dissolved as soon as she and Joe agreed to it.
His thoughts apparently paralleled hers. “So, what happens now?”
She peered up at him. He’d shifted his gaze back to her, and she understood what was lurking beneath his hesitant smile. Lizard was settled; now he wanted everything else settled.
Pamela wasn’t ready to settle things with Joe, not until she knew which way to settle them. She had made love with this man, weathered his moods, bonded with his niece. She’d temporarily abandoned her career—and ever since she’d crossed paths with Jonas Brenner she hadn’t given a thought to the strip-mall project she’d had to pass along to Richard Duffy when she left Seattle. That realization startled her. How could she have forgotten about the strip-mall? She’d been incensed about having to relinquish the project, hadn’t she?
She wished she could read Joe’s mind. He wasn’t asking her to stay. He wasn’t telling her to leave. If he did either, she wasn’t sure how she would respond. He wanted to know her plans, but for once in her life, she didn’t have any.
“I’d like to complete work on Birdie’s house,” she said. “I can’t very well leave it half-done.”
He continued to stare at her, inscrutable. She wished he would ask her to stay—and then she recoiled from the wish. How many times did she have to convince herself that theirs wasn’t a real marriage, and that her home and her life were at the other end of the country?
“I’ll help you finish it,” he offered. “The two of us working together, we ought to be able to do the job in a week.”
“Well, then there are the uneven floors. And I wanted to widen that front hall...” As long as she kept tinkering with Birdie’s house, she wouldn’t have to go home.
“Yeah. And didn’t Lizard want to put a tree house in the living room?”
Pamela’s laughter sounded hollow. Why did a stubborn voice inside her keep crying that she didn’t want to leave Joe and Lizard and Key West? This wasn’t her home. Joe wasn’t her type. The life she’d been living here wasn’t her style.
“Whatever you want,” Joe said, as if once again keying in on her thoughts. “You want to stick around, it’s no problem. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you want.”
That wasn’t what she longed to hear. She didn’t want to be welcome—she wanted to be needed. She wanted Joe to beg her to stay, because she was good for Lizard, because he liked having her around. Because he loved her.
Oh, God. She must be insane, yearning for something so inappropriate, so illogical.
“Well,” she said briskly, “let’s finish Birdie’s kitchen and then we’ll see.” Perhaps if she stuck around long enough to complete the construction job, Joe would decide he wanted her to stay, after all. Perhaps she could seduce him, and...
The hell with that. She wasn’t going to knock herself out trying to convince him that he needed her. She would finish Birdie’s kitchen because a professional didn’t walk away from a project until it was done.
But given Joe’s lackadaisical attitude, she concluded that he didn’t deserve a part of her future. She’d do her job at Birdie’s and leave.
And she wouldn’t let herself mourn over it, either. She would remain in control, her old, pre-Jonas self.
Joe seemed on the verge of speaking—although Pamela wasn’t sure she wanted to hear anything else he might have to say. Before he could utter a word, Kitty swung open the back door and announce, “The Liz Kid fell asleep.”
Joe laughed. “Impossible. How could she fall asleep when she’s got a captive audience?”
“Maybe she was tired. I think you better take her home, Joe—she’s sprawled out on the bar and we can’t work.”
“All right.” He checked his watch and gestured for Pamela to accompany him back inside. “Let’s get the monster home.”
Lizard was, indeed, sprawled across the bar, one of her braids lying in a bowl of cocktail peanuts. The raucous voices and thumping music had no effect on her. Her slow, rhythmic exhalations caused the feather in her doll’s hair to quiver.
“Keep partying,” Joe urged his friends. “I’ve got to dispose of the body, and then I’ll be back.” He heaved the slumbering child into his arms and balanced her over his shoulder. Her arms dangled down his back; Pamela caught the doll as it dropped from Lizard’s limp fingers. He glanced at her over Lizard’s rump. “You want to stay?”
“No, I’ll go home with Lizard,” Pamela said, suddenly anxious to distance herself from Joe and all his friends. “I’ll stay with her, and you can party all night long if you want.” She pressed her lips together, repressing her anger. No matter how hurt she was by Joe’s failure to express any feelings for her, she didn’t want to interfere with his celebration.
Acknowledging the crowd with more smiles and nods, they made their clumsy way out of the bar and down the street to Joe’s car. Joe arranged Lizard across the back seat, somehow managing to get a seat belt around her, while Pamela took her place in front and struggled to keep her bitterness suppressed. Really, she shouldn’t resent Joe. He was offering her the escape he assumed she wanted; he probably thought he was doing her a favor. If she would rather stay in Key West, it was up to her to let him know.
And even if things had been perfect between her and Joe, she wasn’t sure she’d rather stay.
Joe cruised through the lively downtown boulevards to his quieter neighborhood. It was nearly ten o’clock. Anyone still awake at that hour was no doubt carousing in Old Town. The houses lining the residential streets were mostly dark and peaceful.
Reaching his house, he pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. “Why don’t I run ahead and open the front door?” Pamela suggested.
“Thanks.” Joe climbed out and opened the back door to attend to Lizard.
Pamela removed her copy of Joe’s key from her pocket and strode up the front walk. She had forgotten to leave on the porch light—not surprising, since when she and Lizard had left for the Shipwreck the sun had still been high above the horizon. She scaled the porch steps carefully in the dark, and tugged on the screen door latch.
A gloved hand reached out from the shadows and clapped over her mouth before she could scream. The cold barrel of a revolver jammed into the vulnerable skin beneath her chin. A rumbling voice rasped, “Greetings from Mick Morrow.”
***
ONE OF THE GREAT MYSTERIES of the world, as far as Joe was concerned, was why a kid weighed more asleep than awake. He hoisted Lizard over his shoulder, where she joggled and shifted like a forty-pound sack of potatoes. Her feet pounded against his ribs; her hair snagged in his stubble of beard. He couldn’t wait to dump her onto her bed—and then maybe talk to Pamela some more, away from the noisy activity of the bar.
One of the other great mysteries of the world was the way a woman’s mind worked—or didn’t work. As he lugged Lizard up the front walk, he reviewed the few minutes he’d spent with Pamela in the lot behind the bar. What did she want? Why couldn’t she tell him? Her eyes said she wanted to stay on in Key West, but her words implied the only reason she wanted to stay was to work on Birdie’s house.
And that wasn’t much of a reason.
As soon as he got rid of Lizard, they’d talk it out. Or make love. If the past was any indication, they’d understand each other just fine once they had their clothes off.
Why hadn’t she turned on any
lights? he wondered as he neared the house. The porch was black with shadows, and he worried about tripping on the steps and jostling Lizard. “Pam?” he called out—not too loudly, because he didn’t want to wake the kid up.
Pamela said nothing.
When he was just a few yards from the bottom step, his eyes adjusted to the gloom and he saw her—standing beside a goon wearing a ski mask and leather gloves, and holding a gun to her throat.
Joe froze. Above the gloved hand clamped over her mouth, Pamela’s eyes glistened with terror. She stood very still, locked inside the curve of the goon’s arm.
“Don’t move,” the goon ordered him.
“I’m not moving.” Joe’s voice came out a breathless croak.
“No need to get you and the little girl involved,” the goon explained. “Why don’t you go back to your car and clear out, and Miss Hayes and I will take care of business.”
Joe shifted his gaze to Pamela again. Besides terror, he saw resignation in her eyes, and resolution. “Pam—”
She moved her jaw and mumbled something. The goon lowered his hand to permit her to speak. “Just go,” she whispered. “If you stay he’ll hurt Lizard.”
“Pam—”
“This is between the lady and me,” the goon said reasonably. “Actually, it’s between the lady and a friend of mine. You and the little girl have nothing to do with it. Why don’t you get going, so I don’t have to hurt you.”
“Take Lizard and go,” Pamela pleaded. “Just do as he says, Jonas. I don’t want anything to happen to Lizard.”
Deep in Joe’s gut, something began to churn. Pain, rage, dread, and a hefty dose of self-loathing at the possibility that his phone call to the Seattle police—his distrust of Pamela—had brought this creep to his doorstep. But he kept his tone calm and even as he said, “Okay, we’re outta here.”
It agonized him to turn from Pamela, to tear himself from her fearful gaze. What would she think of him, turning his back on her? What would she think of him, walking away?
He had to consider Lizard. He couldn’t do anything as long as he had his niece slumped over his shoulder. Lizard’s safety was the most important thing. Joe was sure Pamela would agree.
He strode back to the car in quick but measured steps. His brain raced ahead at breakneck speed, considering strategies, discarding them, wondering how in God’s name he could save the woman in his life without jeopardizing the girl in his life. Behind him he heard nothing more than the shrieks of crickets. Usually he liked their song, but tonight it sounded mocking.
He lowered Lizard gently onto the back seat and closed the door. Glancing toward the porch, he saw the gunman ushering Pamela down the steps. The two of them moved awkwardly, since the gunman kept her pinned to his side with one huge gloved hand, and pressed the gun into her neck with the other.
Joe slipped in behind the wheel and started the engine. Pamela sent him a searing look, and he knew in that instant that she despised him for abandoning her. He wanted to roll down the window and remind her that he couldn’t have dropped Lizard on the lawn and taken on an armed killer with his bare fists. He wanted to beg her not to give up. He wanted to explain, as rationally as the gunman had, that if anything happened to her he would die.
Instead, he jammed his foot down on the gas pedal, jerked the steering wheel to the left, and careened across the front lawn, aiming straight at Pamela and the gunman and praying that Pamela would be able to get out of his way in time.
The sudden swerving of the car tossed Lizard onto the floor. She awakened with a howl, then sprang to her feet. “We’re driving on the grass!” she yelled.
“Hush.” Joe forced his concentration on the thug who held Pamela hostage. Instead of releasing her, he was trying to drag her across the yard toward the rhododendrons abutting the porch. Joe yanked the steering wheel the other way, chasing the masked man. The car’s headlights offered perplexing glimpses of trees and flowers. The tires bumped and skidded on the grass.
The thug still had the gun, although he no longer held it to Pamela’s neck. His long fingers circled her upper arm as he dragged her away from the porch, toward the street. Joe noticed the unfamiliar car parked at the curb.
He also noticed a few other cars on the street. Some of his neighbors must be home. Joe slammed his fist against his car horn, figuring it couldn’t hurt to rouse some attention.
The sudden bleat of the horn startled the gunman. He flinched, and Pamela at last wriggled free of his grasp. Joe assumed she would flee, but he didn’t stop to follow her progress. His attention was on the thug.
Lizard remained on her feet, clutching the back of the front seat. “Blast the horn again, Uncle Joe! Hit the guy! This is fun! Kill the sucker!”
“You’re a blood-thirsty little brat,” Joe muttered, although he shared her vindictiveness a hundred percent. His fondest wish at that moment was to kill the sucker.
The thug lunged toward his car. Joe dug his heel into the gas pedal, gunning the engine and heading straight toward the thug’s car. Frantic, the thug tried to climb up the side of his car, but Joe plunged forward, closing his eyes an instant before impact. Sure, he wanted to kill the sucker. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to watch himself do it.
His car hit the thug’s with a loud crunch of metal that flung Joe against the steering wheel, causing the airbag to explode into his chest and the horn to blare into the night. “Lizard?” he wheezed, wrestling with his breath. “Lizard, are you all right?”
Her answer was a giggle of delight. “That was awesome! Let’s do it again!”
Joe coughed a few times. “Not a chance, toots. Let’s get out and check the damage, and see if I’m gonna get charged with vehicular homicide.”
“What’s vick-you-ler home-side?” Lizard said, eagerly scrambling out of the car.
“You don’t want to know.” Joe moved more slowly, mentally inspecting each limb and joint to make sure he hadn’t done any serious harm to himself in the collision. He was only slightly disappointed to discover, as he emerged from his battered car, that the thug was alive, trapped within the mangled chassis of his car and Joe’s. He was moaning, though, and cursing a blue streak. His ski-mask was askew, revealing the lower half of his face. A trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. Joe took pride in that gruesome achievement.
“What the hell is going on?” An irate male voice reached Joe from the street. Straightening up, he noticed several neighbors swarming down the block to witness the excitement.
“Would somebody call the police?” Joe asked, still sounding a bit breathless.
“I already did,” Birdie squawked. “This is how you celebrate?”
Lizard took Birdie’s question at face value. “This was better than the party,” she squealed in delight. “Isn’t it awesome?”
Joe heard the whine of a siren in the distance. Assured that the thug wasn’t going to get away, he staggered across the lawn in search of Pamela. He found her seated on the porch steps, her head propped in her hands and her cheeks stained with tears.
He dropped onto the step next to her, arched his arm around her and drew her against him. A tremor of panic seized him, then vanished. She was alive. He hadn’t lost her.
“You okay?” he whispered into her silky blond hair.
She sighed. “I threw up.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“I thought...” A low sob tore from her, and she covered her eyes with her hands as if she didn’t want him to see her weep. “I thought you were really going to go away and leave me.”
Joe tightened his hold on her. “Just because that was what you told me to do? Since when do you think I’d actually listen to you?”
She issued a soggy laugh. “I told you to leave because I was afraid for Lizard. There was no reason for her to die just because I was going to die.”
“Well, if anyone came close to killing her, it was me, not him. Looks like I did some major damage to the lawn.”
“The lawn l
ooks beautiful.” Pamela nestled closer to him. “And Lizard’s pretty tough. Tougher than me, for sure.”
“You’re the toughest woman I’ve ever known,” Joe told her, closing both arms around her and feeling her shiver in his embrace.
Bright red light pulsed across the front yard as a police cruiser pulled to a siren-blaring halt behind the two mangled cars. A police officer stalked up the front walk, and Joe knew he was going to spend the next several hours answering questions. The authorities would need to know what happened, who the gunman was, who had sent him and why.
But the questions could wait for a few minutes. Right now, Joe couldn’t imagine anything more essential than holding his wife.
Chapter Sixteen
PAMELA SAT ON THE LEATHER couch in her living room, weary after having given a full day of testimony in court. Her feet hurt from the high heels she’d worn. Back in Key West, she’d lived in sandals.
Forget about back in Key West, she ordered herself. She was in Seattle, now. Home. Because the District Attorney’s office had ghastly proof that Pamela’s life was in danger, he’d insisted that the court schedule Mick Morrow’s new trial immediately, and Pamela had returned to testify. She supposed she would have to fly back to Florida to testify against the hit man Mick had hired to get her, but she couldn’t think that far ahead.
She would have to. Decisions had to be made. She had to get her life under control.
Not tonight, though. Tonight, after having seen her foe in court, having spoken out against him, having spent too much time wondering whether her life would have been better if she’d never opened her mouth in the first place... She wasn’t going to do anything but rest.
Mozart’s “Jupiter” Symphony swelled into the room from the speakers of her sound system. The glass of milk she sipped made her stomach churn. The glass-topped tables gleamed from their recent cleaning; her knickknacks bespoke taste and class, and as soon as her parents had heard she was returning to Seattle, they’d gone to the condominium and replaced all her dead plants with live ones.
CRY UNCLE Page 25