While She Was Sleeping

by Diane Pershing

  “And I’m with a man I trust with my life. I feel safer with you than I would with seven bodyguards patrolling outside my jail cell. Twenty-four hours, that’s all I’m asking.”

  Don’t even consider it, his brain told him. Sling her over your shoulder, do what has to be done, but take her in and get the wheels rolling.

  Do as she’s asking, said his gut. She’s right—there’s no law that says she has to go in. Give it your best shot, give her one day.

  Welcome to the war zone, he thought bitterly, for a change. The woman always got to him, made him bend rules. Why would this moment be any different?

  “Twenty-four hours,” he agreed reluctantly. “But that’s it.” His mind was racing now. “Neil will look you over. I’ll do a little footwork, make a few calls and find out what the cops have right now. By tomorrow, we can bring you in with all kinds of ammunition.”

  She emitted a relieved sigh of gratitude. “Thank you.”

  He wasn’t through. “But, if I give you twenty-four hours, I need a promise from you. If you remember anything, I mean anything, I want to hear it right away.”

  She nodded. “I agree.”

  “And one more thing. I’m the professional here. I take over from now on. Whatever I say, goes.”

  She frowned a little, then said cautiously, “Within reason, I agree.”

  He had to pound it home, nothing halfway would do. “I need your trust, Carly, your total trust.”

  She met his gaze with equal directness. “And I need yours,” she answered quietly.

  As the full meaning of what she’d said hit him, he stared at her. No more doubting her sanity or her motives. No more second-guessing. Trust. A word that had slipped from his vocabulary, as far as women were concerned, a long time ago.

  The moment resonated with seriousness. Nick looked into Carly’s eyes and saw the openness he needed to see in them. He offered his hand and she took it. The skin of her palm was soft in his, her hand small, the bones fragile-seeming. But her handshake was firm, and so was his.

  “Ms. Terry, we have a deal.”

  Chapter 8

  “Dom!” Nick said into the receiver. “Hey, I found you.”

  “You found me fast asleep,” his friend mumbled. “Call back later.” He yawned loudly. “I was on a stakeout all night and I’m dead.”

  Nick was keyed-up. He might have been out of action for a while, but the rush of excitement he always felt on a new case was flooding through him. Phone to his ear, he paced from the refrigerator to the sink and back again, while Carly sat at the kitchen table, her eyes following his every move.

  “Yeah,” Nick said, “that’s what they said at your store, but I need a favor and it can’t wait.”

  After letting out another huge yawn, Dom said, “This better be good. What’s going on?”

  “I may or may not know something to do with the Demeter murder.”

  “Oh yeah? Demeter?” He sounded more awake now.

  “You assigned to that?”

  “No. It’s Carlusky and Ryan’s. What do you mean you may or may not know?”

  Nick glanced again at Carly. They’d returned to his place after breakfast so he could make phone calls and set everything in motion. Her hands were folded politely on the tabletop, and she seemed composed, but she was listening to every word with fierce concentration. There was tension emanating from her, but not fear. Not now that she’d let Nick in on the situation.

  It was up to him now. He had to play this conversation with Dom just right. He didn’t want to bring up Carly’s involvement in the incident yet, not if he could help it, but he also didn’t want to compromise his friendship with Dom. He’d have to do tightrope walking with words.

  “Here’s the thing, Dom. I was down at the marina, near my place, when they brought a floater out of the water. It may be connected to the Demeter murder, but I need to check out a couple of things before I get involved. Okay?”

  Dom didn’t answer right away. Finally, he said, “You’re being kind of mysterious, buddy.”

  “Just go with me on this, huh, Dom?”

  Again, there was silence on the other end of the phone. Then, “Okay...” But he didn’t sound enthused.

  Nick realized his pacing was making him sound agitated, so he leaned against the kitchen counter and expelled a breath. “Can you tell me what you guys have on Demeter so far? What you found at the crime scene, suspects, like that?”

  “You know Ryan—why don’t you ask him yourself?”

  “Right now, I’d like to keep this between you and me.” He waited, then added more quietly, “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, Dom.”

  Dom exhaled a breath. “Ah, why not. Sure. Give me a few minutes. You home?”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  Nick clicked the phone to Off and set it on the counter next to him. “He’s finding out and he’ll call me right back.”

  Carly nodded, her eyes bright. “But you don’t have to involve me?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Good.”

  He really couldn’t stand still, so he paced again, deep in thought. There were angles to be worked out, questions to consider. He wanted to be ready for whatever popped up. Carly had put her trust in him and he didn’t want to let her down.

  Carly. He stopped pacing and glanced over at her. “So, you holding up okay?”

  With a hint of a smile, she said, “Better than you are at the moment. Would you like me to make us some coffee?”

  “Nah. I’m too hyped.” He headed for the coffeemaker. “But I can make some for you.”

  “No. I think I’ll just sit here and watch you work off both our breakfasts.”

  Her tone made him stop in his tracks. He turned to her, nodded ruefully, then made himself lean back against the counter. “That bad, huh?”

  “Not really. You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I’m revved It’s been a while.”

  She gazed at him as though trying to understand, then said, “Tell me, why didn’t you call one of the people you work with instead of Dom? Didn’t you tell me he’s in a whole other department?”

  “Yeah, L.A. County Sheriffs. See, my precinct—Manhattan Beach P.D.—it’s too small to deal with anything really heavy-duty. We get the stuff like pickpockets and warrants for parking tickets. Once in a while, when we get an armed robbery or a murder, we call in the big guns—the county. I was working a holdup a few years back, when it turned into a drug-related thing that involved some local gangbangers. Dom was assigned to the case. That’s how I met him.” Nick chuckled. “Dominic D’Annunzio. Born and bred in Brooklyn, and he talks like something out of a gangster movie, but he’s okay.”

  “Is he a good friend? Can he be trusted?”

  “Absolutely.” He glanced at his watch. It was ten-fifty. They were supposed to be at the doctor’s office in ten minutes. Nick was debating whether or not to call Mishkin and say they’d be late when the phone rang again. He grabbed it. “Dom?”

  “No.” It was a high-pitched woman’s voice. “This is Carly’s friend Margie. Is she there?”

  He handed over the phone, then forced himself to sit down on the table’s other chair. To relieve the tightness in his neck, he rotated his head and shoulders while he listened in on Carly’s conversation.

  “Oh?... Thanks... Uh-huh. I see.” She nodded, closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “Yes.”

  This friend of hers, Margie, spoke quickly and at length; Nick heard the sounds of female babble without making out any of the words.

  “Yes,” Carly said again. “Well, thanks.” More rapid words, then Carly glanced at Nick, smiled sheepishly and listened some more. “Yes, it was... No.... Well, sometimes, but... Yes.... I promise.” She laughed and nodded again.

  Nick sure liked that laugh of hers, liked the way her eyes lit up and her cheeks grew rosy. He wondered how he’d ever thought her almost plain—had he? Sure, just yesterday morning when she’d greeted him in t
he kitchen in his robe, looking for all the world like a homeless war orphan. He’d been one hundred percent off base. As he came to know her better, with each passing moment, she became more and more beautiful.

  “All right,” Carly told her friend, nodding some more. “Yes, I’ll call you later. Now stop clucking at me. Bye.” She hung up. When Nick raised an inquiring eyebrow, she shrugged. “Margie means well, and she’s the best friend I’ve ever had, but she tends to take care of people a little too much.”

  “What did she say?”

  She seemed slightly embarrassed. “She wanted to know if you’re as gruff as you sounded, and I said sometimes.”

  “Yeah? Am I?”

  “Uh-huh. And she wanted to make very sure that you were treating me nicely. I assured her you were, but I had to swear it, or else I think she might have called out the militia.” She bit her bottom lip, as though trying to hold back nervous laughter. “Of course, doing that would be redundant, as you are the militia.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “Not quite, although I wouldn’t mind the backup. What else?”

  Her smile faded. “She called because she went by Richard’s place and he wasn’t there, then she checked at the dry cleaner’s and he hasn’t been seen since Friday morning.” A brief spasm of pain crossed her face. “I didn’t tell her the reason he’s not there. It didn’t seem the smart thing to do. Not yet.”

  “Good thinking.” The phone rang again. Both of them jumped, then looked at each other and smiled. Nick picked it up. “Yeah?”

  “Here’s what they got,” Dom said without preliminaries. “Demeter was shot twice in the head. With a 45-caliber. They got latents all over the place, most of them Demeter’s and his bodyguards’. A couple of other prints on some of the furniture, no ID on them yet.”

  “Do they have the gun?”

  “Nope. They got divers on it—probably thrown overboard.”

  “Okay, what else?”

  “Woman’s clothing, size ten, in the closet, belonging to the late wife. And some others, a size smaller, folded up in a pile in the head.” The sound of paper rustling let Nick know that Dom had taken notes and was reading them to him. “A blue silk suit, a white blouse, a printed scarf, silk. Bra, 34-B, panty hose, size small, heels, size six.”

  All of which corresponded with what Carly said she had worn to dinner with Richard. Her story matched the evidence in every particular, but Nick no longer needed to be convinced she’d told him the truth. “No purse, car keys, anything like that?”

  “Nope.”

  “How about eyewitnesses?”

  The paper rustled again as Dom read. “Only the guy who called it in. Old guy, almost eighty, but alert. He owns the neighboring yacht. Said he and the wife were sleeping, heard two gunshots, wife buried her head, he peeked out and saw what he thinks was a woman running away, but he’s not sure—the fog was kind of thick. He stayed below, didn’t want to get shot, and called 911. That’s it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Now, give.”

  Nick glanced quickly at Carly then told Dom, “The body they pulled up this morning?”

  “Yeah?”

  “His name is Richard—” He put his hand over the mouthpiece and asked, “What’s Richard’s last name?”

  “Fallows,” Carly said, her voice cracking slightly.

  “With an a?”

  She nodded. Lifting his hand, he relayed the information to Dom. “He’s from back East—Boston area. Can you pass it on? Say you received an anonymous tip.”

  “Why don’t you call it in?”

  “It’s not...the best move at the moment.”

  Dom digested his answer. “Okay,” he said slowly, “then how do you know who this guy is?”

  Nick paused. Again, he wanted to tell his friend the truth, but had to be careful not to give too much away. It struck him suddenly that this must be how Carly had felt all day yesterday and this morning, before she unloaded the whole story on him.

  He did his best. “Say he’s a friend of a friend and leave it at that.”

  The muttered expletive at the other end of the line told him just what Dom thought of the suggestion. Then he said, “Is that friend female?”

  “Dom, I’ll tell you all about it in a day or so, okay?”

  “Hey, you in trouble, Nick? Anything I can do?”

  Nick smiled, grateful for his friend’s concern. In Dom’s place, he wasn’t sure how trusting he’d be. “Not a thing. Thanks, Dom. I owe you a beer.”

  “Beer, hell. You owe me a six-pack.”

  “You got it. Talk at you later.”

  He clicked the phone to Off, then sat staring at it for a while longer, digesting what he’d learned.

  “Nick?” Carly said.

  “I’m thinking.” Drumming his fingers on the tabletop, he laid it out for himself. They had her fingerprints, her clothes, someone who saw a woman running away after gunshots. Not an innocent-looking scenario, for sure. Potentially, it was as incriminating as Carly had thought it might be. Potentially, she was in deep, deep trouble.

  Not to mention that now, he, too, was involved up to his eyebrows. In more ways than one.

  “Nick?” Carly sounded more upset now. “What did Dom say?”

  He jumped up, grabbed her hand and pulled her out of her seat. “Let’s go. I’ll tell you all about it on the way to the doctor.”

  In the car, Nick gave it to her straight, with no sugarcoating, and Carly made herself listen to every detail. None of what he said was a surprise, she thought with a sinking heart, but now it was reality. Everything she had worried about was true. They might not know her name yet, but she was probably, even now, wanted for questioning, if not yet murder.

  She felt a hint of incipient panic at the realization, but it was eased somewhat by Nick’s taking her hand and squeezing it She was not alone, she reminded herself. Nick was there. It wasn’t quite time to take it to the worst possible place her imagination could come up with.

  “Thanks for being honest with me,” she told him.

  He squeezed her hand again, then released it, peering quickly into the rear- and side-view mirrors, as he’d been doing since they’d been in the car. Looking out for a tail, he’d explained. But, he’d added, he was pretty sure no one was following them.

  They sped along the marina north, toward Venice. Carly gazed out the passenger window, needing some respite from her troubles. The sky was slightly overcast, but the sun was struggling to peek out through the gray clouds. They passed tall white apartment buildings and parking lots with ocean views. There were so many joggers, Carly observed, and in the middle of a workday. She knew that people in California were health-conscious, but they seemed to have such odd hours. And they were all dressed in the latest workout clothing—spandex and bright colors—instead of the old high-school sweatpants and shirts most of the people back home wore for exercise.

  Her musings were interrupted by Nick’s no-nonsense tone. “How do you feel about laying it out, everything we know so far. You game?”

  “Yes, I am,” she said emphatically, grateful for his positive energy.

  Nodding, he held up a thumb. “Number one, Richard was in debt and wanted to use you as payback. Question—Who was the contact, the debt collector?”

  “I wish I could help. I never knew who Richard owed money to. He never mentioned it and I didn’t try to find out.” Another example of hiding instead of facing a hard truth—how blind she’d kept herself during her marriage.

  “All right. Two—You were to look like Demeter’s late wife, Amanda—who was really your sister, Nina. Question—Did Demeter know about the setup? Did he arrange it? Or did someone else arrange it, someone in his circle or a rival’s?”

  “Also,” Carly added, “how did someone find out about my existence and how much Nina and I looked alike?”

  Nick nodded. “Good. That’s three. How would they know?”

  She took a moment to consider. “Through Nina...or Rich
ard. I can’t think of any other way.”

  “Yeah, makes sense.” A quick perusal of the mirrors again, then eyes back on the road.

  He was looking out for her, Carly thought, and she had to swallow a sudden lump that formed in her throat. She was so emotional today, she thought helplessly—well. the last two days. The fact that someone wanted to look out for her, was on her side, made her want to weep.

  “Okay, four—”

  Again, Nick’s voice brought her back to the present moment. She swallowed again, determined to stay there.

  “You were given a drug, probably by Richard, that caused a twenty-four-hour blackout. During that time, in no particular order, your hair was done up like Amanda’s, you were dressed in Amanda’s clothing, transported to Los Angeles—how. we have no idea—and onto Demeter’s yacht.”

  She shook her head with disbelief. “Doesn’t the whole thing sound surrealistic?”

  His chuckle lacked humor. “I’ll tell you some stories sometime that make this one sound like a fairy tale. Okay, we know the creep who came after you at the airport was involved, at least somewhere during your blackout, and we know that Richard, and at least one other person, was there on the yacht when you regained consciousness.”

  He frowned momentarily, then shrugged. “Maybe those are all the players, actively involved, at least. You, Demeter, Richard, this other person, the airport guy. The last two might be the same person. All right, next. Five—Demeter got knocked off. Question—Was that the purpose of the whole scheme, or did it happen without being planned? And if so, why were you there?”

  Carly was remembering her first waking moments on the yacht. “He kept kissing my foot and crying.”

  “Demeter?”

  “Yes. It was like I was being worshiped, like he honestly believed he was seeing Amanda.” She turned and faced Nick. “Would he have set that up himself? Doesn’t it seem more likely that someone else did it and surprised him with my appearance?”

  He made a maybe-yes, maybe-no gesture with his hand. “It’s been done. You’ve heard about kinky-sex stuff—” He lifted an eyebrow. “Or have you?”