“Yeah.” Fabric rustled, sofa springs creaked.
In the dim light I watched as he tried to orient himself. It was an odd sight. Kevin, Mr. Meticulous, shoeless, sockless, prone on the couch with his hair sticking up like Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes, and a fleece blanket ruched around his waist.
I crossed to him, perching on the middle cushion so my hip touched his. Heavy stubble covered his jaw. Instinctively, I ran my hand across his face, taming his hair. His eyes remained closed.
“Your hand is cold,” he said.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He sniffed. “And you smell good.”
He hadn’t flinched at my touch or pushed me away, which was a novelty of late. I kept my hand in place. “Do I usually smell bad?”
“You usually smell like cigarettes.”
“Damn. I knew there was something I’d forgotten.”
“You haven’t even sucked down one death stick yet this morning?”
“Nope.”
“You sick or something?”
“Ha ha.”
“Then granola boy is influencing you. Maybe he’ll convince you to quit smoking.”
“Don’t bet on it.”
He opened his eyes.
God. My stomach knotted. Exhausted didn’t begin to describe his change in appearance over the past month. His skin had lost the golden glow of summer, his dark hair lacked the usual sheen, his green eyes were pale, as if caring for Lilly in her last days on this earth had sucked the life and the color right out of him.
“How is Kell, by the way?” Kevin asked. “Still making bean cakes and writing angst-ridden folk tunes?”
I whapped him on the arm, which earned me a rare grin.
“I don’t know. He didn’t grace me with his presence after his gig last night. Besides, I’m not his keeper.”
His grin faded. “Consider yourself lucky.”
My hand stilled at the bitterness in his tone. I could say something flip, or I could buck up and ask the question we usually avoided. “How is Lilly?”
“The same.” Pause. “Actually, that’s not true. She gets worse every day.”
“Kev, I’m so—”
“Don’t say it. If another person tells me how fucking sorry they are, I swear to God I’ll snap.” He struggled to get up.
I pushed him back down. “Fine. Then I’ll ask why the hell you’ve been sleeping in your office for the last week.”
“Shit. How’d you know?”
“Wouldn’t be much of an investigator if I couldn’t figure that out, now would I?”
“You learned from the best.”
“Damn straight.”
He grabbed my hand and held my gaze for the longest time. “I’ve missed you.”
“Yeah? Well, you know what they say. A day without Julie is like a day without—”
“Hemorrhoids,” we finished together.
I smiled. Our inside jokes didn’t seem forced, even when we’d had sixteen years of them. I brushed my lips across his forehead.
The moment lingered; a connection we hadn’t allowed ourselves for months. Reluctantly, I sat up. “Come on. Over bagels you can tell me why you’re crashing on this crappy couch. And I’ll bring you up to speed on the latest case.”
His eyes lit with interest. “You brought bagels? If I weren’t already overpaying you, I’d give you a raise.”
I stood.
Kevin deposited his feet on the floor and attempted to put himself back together, slowly, clumsily.
Weird, seeing him befuddled.
“Well, my liege, while you do something with your hair, I’ll be in the reception area.”
No smart-ass comeback. Just a muttered, “Thanks.”
I set out the bagel stuff and snuck into my office for a smoke.
Ah. Nothing in the world like that first hit of nicotine. While I smoked, I opened Martinez’s file. Not much in there: copy of the contract, copy of the check, and my scant notes. Didn’t feel like writing down the horrific details from last night.
In the doorway separating my office from the reception area, I watched Kevin.
A chunk of bagel liberally smeared with hummus and cream cheese disappeared in his mouth, the other half was already gone. Was he starving as well as sleep deprived?
I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat across from him.
“Aren’t you having one?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Too early.”
He shrugged and snagged the other bagel, neatly slicing it in half. “Why are you here so early?”
“Because I wanted to catch you.” I blew on my coffee, staring at him over the steam but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Kev, are you avoiding me?”
He picked at the poppy and sesame seeds on the top of the bagel before he admitted, “Yeah, I’m avoiding you.”
Animosity surfaced; I managed to gulp it down with a swig of coffee. I waited for an explanation, or a clarification, hell, anything, but he silently, meticulously destroyed his breakfast seed by seed.
“As your partner I deserve to know why.”
More silence.
I chanced it and put my hand over his, hoping he wouldn’t rebuff me. “As your best friend I demand you tell me why I’ve suddenly developed the plague, or else I’ll kick your ass.”
Kevin looked up at me, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Try it, tough girl. I’m spoiling for a good fight.” Lines around his mouth drew taut. “Truth is, I’ve been avoiding everyone, not just you.”
“And here I thought I was special,” I murmured. He pulled his hand away, pulled back into his shell. “That doesn’t tell me why.”
“Because I don’t want to talk about it.”
“It” being Lilly’s cancer, her imminent death.
Death had made a habit of knocking on my door every few years just to make sure I knew nothing was sacred, no one was safe. But in my case, those losses had been instantaneous, the grief immediate. I’d never had to watch death destroy someone I loved, slowly, piece by piece. Helpless. Waiting. Wondering. Hoping either for a quick end or a miraculous recovery.
Neither was an option for Lilly.
Where was Kevin at now, three months after her terminal diagnosis? Since Lilly had opted not to repeat chemotherapy, for the first month they’d traveled: Greece, Spain, Italy. When she’d gotten too sick to continue, Kevin had brought her home.
Between Lilly’s parents, her sister, the hospice workers, and Kevin, Lilly had round the clock care. He’d never given me details on what that care entailed. In hindsight, maybe I should’ve asked.
“See,” Kevin continued, as if there hadn’t been a lull in our conversation, “whenever I go somewhere and run into someone I know, they ask how Lilly is doing. How am I supposed to respond to that? If I said, ‘Just great, she’s dying but her spirits are up,’ people would think I’d lost it, which, sadly, isn’t too far from the truth.”
He draped his forearms on his thighs and talked to the carpet. “Some asshole actually had the balls to ask how much time she’s got left. Like I’d know. Like if I did I’d tell him.” He dry-washed his face. “God, Jules, this is so fucked up.”
Tears burned behind my lids. It was so unfair. I sucked them up because Kevin would know they weren’t for Lilly, but for him, and I doubted he’d appreciate them.
“So, to answer your question, the reason I’m sleeping here is I can’t stand to be in Lilly’s house twenty-four hours a day. Even though I know every time I leave she might die and I won’t be there for her.” His feeble laugh curdled the coffee in my stomach. “That makes me the biggest bastard on the planet, doesn’t it?”
“No. It makes you human.”
“Her parents don’t understand why I can’t sit at her side, hour after hour, just holding her hand. I know they think if I loved her—”
“You do,” I said, overlooking the ripping sensation in my heart. “Just not in the same way they do. They can’t expect you to stop living because she’s dy
ing. The only person’s expectations you have to live up to are your own.”
“Easier said than done.” He slapped his hands on his legs. “Enough. Let’s talk about this new case.”
Kevin focused his attention on me. Completely. Totally. Like a guided missile that’d found the target.
“Why the hell are we working for Tony Martinez?”
CHAPTER 7
“THE INFORMATION IS IN MY OFFICE.” SO WERE MY cigarettes. Yeah, pretty pathetic I’d need a crutch to get through this conversation.
Kevin followed me and eased into the chair across the desk.
I lit up and opened the file.
“Martinez hired me to find Harvey’s niece. I laid out the company rules up front and he still gave us a big retainer, so I figured what the hell?” I passed over the copy of the check. “It started out as the basic child custody situation: father snatches kid, mom wants kid back.”
“Started out?” he asked, frowning at the paper in his hand.
“Things got complicated big time last night.”
Kevin’s gaze snapped to mine. Sharpened. “Explain complicated.”
There was the Kevin I knew: shrewd, focused. Ready to chew my ass. I’d gladly welcome it if it would chase the shadows from his face.
By the time I’d finished explaining, his mouth hung open.
“For Christ’s sake, Julie, someone shot at you?”
I attempted to defend myself but he beat me to the punch.
“Then you waltzed into Fat Bob’s and threatened Harvey with a stun gun? What the hell were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking. Between Donovan getting shot and bleeding all over me, dealing with Sheriff Richards, and the fact this all went down at Bear Butte.”
The “Enrich Your Word Power” calendar on the corner of my desk caught my eye. Yesterday’s word, imprudent, seemed particularly apt for the way I’d handled things.
“The bottom line is I don’t know if I’m still on the case. If Rondelle is working for the Carluccis, I doubt Martinez will help her.”
“When will you know for sure?”
“He’s supposed to call me today. Either way, we’ll probably get to keep the retainer.”
“I don’t give a crap about the money.”
I whipped my head around to look over my shoulder, then craned my neck to look beyond him.
“What?”
“Just wondering what the hell you did with my partner.”
He scowled. “Funny.”
“Not really.” I snatched the paper from his hands, waving it in his face. “I know the drill. We’re in the business to make money, not self-fund lost causes.”
“Is this a lost cause?”
I gaped at him. Who was this man? Where were recriminations? The lecture on maintaining the company’s reputation? I knew I’d fucked up. He knew I’d fucked up. Why didn’t he point it out?
“Julie?”
“What?”
“God. Don’t bite my head off.”
“Why aren’t you mad?” I demanded. “I thought you’d come in here and tell me to drop this case, no matter what Martinez decides.”
Kevin’s back conformed to the chair as he considered his response.
Finally, he said, “I left you in charge of the agency. That means you make the day-to-day decisions regarding clients, not me. I won’t second-guess those decisions because strangely enough, I do trust your judgment where the business is concerned. You wouldn’t have taken on this case if you didn’t believe it had merit.” He paused. “After what you went through last night, do you want to continue searching for Chloe Black Dog if Martinez gives you the all-clear?”
Despite my misgivings on whether that’d actually happen, I answered, “Yes.”
“Then keep me posted.” Kevin stood slowly; his gaze swept the room, landing anywhere but on me. “Look. I’ve got to go.”
He waited until he’d reached the door to turn around. “Thanks. For the breakfast, for …” He rested his forehead against the doorframe, the picture of weariness. “For making me feel human for a little while.”
Didn’t he know, didn’t Lilly tell him he was the epitome of humanity every damn minute he sat by her bedside and watched her die?
“You’ll keep in touch?”
“I’ll try.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
Those green eyes focused on me with an intensity that made me squirm. “Actually, there is one thing you can do.”
“What?”
“Keep Tony Martinez out of your bed. I trust you, but he’s a different story.”
He shut the door softly behind him.
I smoked and stared at the fake wood grain pattern for a long, long time.
Martinez called and set up a meeting. When I asked questions, he cut me off. His phone manners left something to be desired.
Hoo-ray. I’d be hanging out in Fat Bob’s again. As I’d suspected, I wouldn’t be allowed in the front entrance. Back door all the way for a bad girl like me.
I closed the agency and popped in to say howdy to Kim. Saturday in a beauty shop is crazy, so my suggestion we hook up later and drink ourselves into a stupor met with little more than a half-hearted grunt.
No sign of Kell at my house. He’d left a message on my machine telling me to come to Jasper’s Bar for the last set. The next message was from Sheriff Richards updating me on Donovan’s condition. Critical. Not critical, but stable, just plain critical. Well, at least he was still alive.
Hearing the last call, from my father, made me wish I’d forgotten to check my messages. He and Martinez were in a dead-heat for shitty phone etiquette. In his usual terse manner, he said he’d expect me for dinner Sunday at 1:00.
Just what I didn’t need on my day off. When I absolutely, positively couldn’t get out of a family dinner, I dragged Kevin along. Not an option for tomorrow and I couldn’t take Kell. Cattle ranchers and card carrying PETA members were not a good mix.
Recently I’d seen a bumper sticker that read:
“VEGETARIAN: LAKOTA WORD FOR BAD HUNTER.”
Ben would’ve gotten a huge kick out of it. Kell didn’t find it funny. My father has no sense of humor, either. Hey, maybe they did have something in common.
Several blissful months had elapsed since I’d been forced to pass the potatoes and the pleasantries with dad, his wife and their two kids. I had no excuse not to go. I’d worry about it tomorrow since I had plenty of other things to worry about tonight.
Sipping a Coors, I listened to Marilyn Manson’s “Beautiful People” while I chose an ensemble. Hmm. Saturday night in a biker bar, what to wear? Leather? Lace? Chains? Technically, I wouldn’t be in the bar so it really didn’t matter.
I slipped on a pair of Cruel Girl black denim jeans, a black camisole under a royal blue long-sleeved silk shirt, buttoned just enough to cover my bruises and scratches. Black satin stiletto mules made the outfit professional and sexy. I was ready to rock and roll.
Watery early evening sun cut through the dirt devils when I arrived at Fat Bob’s. Even though serious partiers came out after dark, I got a few catcalls as I skirted the beer garden to the steel door.
I knocked. It opened immediately.
I didn’t recognize the guy who’d let me in. A swarthy, no-necked bruiser wearing an Hombres leather vest and a big pistol.
His mistrust was apparent. “You come alone?”
“Yes.”
“Got any weapons?” He motioned me in, I followed.
“Just my charm.”
No response. He slammed the door and locked it. “This way. Mr. Martinez is waiting.”
Did I detect a note of reproach? Five minutes didn’t count as late in my book. And what was up with the “Mr. Martinez” stuff? Then again, I hadn’t seen Tony in action as president of the Hombres. Maybe he did have a throne and scepter.
No-neck led me to the same office suite I’d been in last night. He knocked. Locks tumbled and the door swung
open.
Another goon blocked the doorway. I mean completely blocked it.
The increase in security gave me the creeps.
“That her?” goon #2 asked.
“Yep,” No-neck answered.
“You check her ID?”
No-neck opened his mouth, but I’d tired of the game. “For Christsake, if I wanted Martinez dead I’d have strangled him with my pantyhose last night when we were alone.”
Neither man budged.
Martinez laughed from inside the room. “It’s her.”
I batted my lashes at both men.
Goon #2 stepped aside. I sauntered in.
Two different guys, also sporting Hombres jackets, and mean-eyed distrust, were congregated in front of the desk, pouring over file folders. They gave me a cursory glance, then resumed shuffling papers.
Martinez’s once-over wasn’t as casual. “You look better than you did last night.”
“Thanks.”
“How do you feel?”
“Better than Donovan does, I’m sure.”
“Any news on his condition?”
“No change.”
“Pity. Can I get you something to drink?”
“A Coors.”
“Light?”
I shuddered. “God no.”
With his warm palm in the small of my back, he steered me toward the conversation area. Didn’t introduce the other men. To goon #2 he said, “Have Big Mike fetch Ms. Collins a Coors.” Martinez asked, “On tap?”
Not falling for that old trick. Too easy to slip something hinky in a frosty mug. “Bring me a bottle.”
He grinned. “You have trust issues, blondie.”
“Oh that’s rich, coming from the man with a bodyguard.”
“Two actually. One is on break.”
Was he serious? I angled my chin toward the guys in the corner with their heads bent close. “And them?”
“They’re in my marketing and distribution division.”
The type of things the Hombres were purported to control in this area weren’t the type of things a normal marketing executive handled or brought up at the monthly board meeting.
Don’t ask, Julie, just keep your damn mouth shut for a change.
Martinez offered, “Hard for you not to comment on my business practices, isn’t it?”
I gave him a gimlet stare.
Hallowed Ground (Julie Collins Series #2) Page 7