Wife? Candy-striper cutie? No way.
She materialized by his side. She only reached his armpit. “Bad mouthing me again, sweetheart?”
“Never.”
The look he gave her made me want to cry. No man had ever looked at me like that. No man probably ever would look at me like that. Add in the fact she looked back at him the same way made me feel like my life was complete shit.
Jesus Christ. Had they given me painkillers or hormones? I never had this overwhelming urge to weep. I certainly never gave into it when I did.
Maybe I did have brain damage.
After he’d left and they quit making goo-goo eyes at each other, I said, “Can you bring me the discharge papers so I can go home now?”
“I don’t know. You’re pretty banged up.”
“Is ‘banged up’ an official diagnosis, nurse?”
Her kind eyes hardened. “No. But my recommendation to the doctor is to keep you here overnight, and he listens to me even if you won’t.”
“But I can discharge myself, right?”
“Only if you’ve got someone who can sign you out and take you home.” She checked the bandage on my head. “Matrix driving maneuvers aside, this isn’t an injury to be taken lightly. No matter how tough you think are, your body will need time to recover.”
“I know. I’ll take it easy.”
She studied me. Knew I was lying through my teeth. “Is there someone you can call?”
And again, there was that temptation to bawl my eyes out.
No. And thanks for pointing out the sucky emptiness of my life.
I couldn’t call Kevin.
I refused to call my father.
Jimmer? Maybe.
Martinez? No. Wouldn’t want him to think I was stalking him after last night.
I picked Kim.
But what if she said no?
Then I’d toss a chair through the window and make my own escape. I couldn’t stand another fucking hour in this damn hospital.
I gave Nurse Tschetter a charming smile, though it stung like a son of a bitch. “Would you hand me the phone?”
Two hours later I held the discharge papers in my lap as I sat in Kim’s Volvo. I went comatose and didn’t stir until she woke me in my driveway.
“Come on, sugar. Even though your ass is skinny, I ain’t hauling it up the stairs. You gotta walk. That’s it. Slowly.”
I hurt everywhere. I barely made it to the couch before I collapsed.
“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this. You should be in the hospital, Jules.”
“I’m fine.”
She harrumphed and her footsteps faded. A minute later she said, “Lift your head,” and tucked a cool pillow beneath my neck.
I exhaled a bliss filled sigh.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“Painkillers. And tequila.”
“You wish.” She handed me two pills and a lukewarm glass of water to wash them down.
I closed my eyes and willed the damn drugs to kick in.
Kim pressed her soft hip on the couch beside mine. Didn’t say anything for a time. Her fingers gently pushed my matted hair away from the bandage.
“How many stitches they have to put in this hard head of yours?”
“Ten. Give or take.”
She sniffled and I opened my eyes.
“What?”
Tears dripped, leaving black smears down her cheeks. “I’m just happy you’re not dead.”
“Kim, I’m fine.”
“Oh shut up. Let me fuss over you a little, will you?”
I smiled. It didn’t hurt at all. “Okay.”
Then once again everything went gray.
I woke with a hellacious headache.
From a wild night?
No. From my wild ride yesterday.
The voices arguing in the kitchen added another layer to the constant throbbing. I listened but couldn’t decipher specifics. Hearing loss? Or that pesky brain damage issue again?
I struggled to sit up. Mouth dry, I grabbed the glass of water. After a tiny sip, I reached for the Excedrin, knocked the bottle over, and it crashed to the carpet.
The arguing stopped.
Kim scurried into the living room, Martinez hot on her purple heels.
Great.
Kim said something; Tony said something back.
No wonder I hadn’t understood. They’d been speaking Spanish.
“Julie, sugar, how do you feel?” Kim cooed.
“Like shit.”
Nasty, pregnant pause.
“You didn’t call me.” This from Martinez.
I took another drink.
“Don’t give me that bullshit about you not running to your clients for protection.”
Meaning: We’d gone beyond client relations. I glanced at Kim to see if she’d caught the gist.
But she was too busy snapping, “What part of ‘she had a head injury’ don’t you understand?”
He rattled off a phrase in Spanish.
She snarled one in return.
“English, please. Makes me paranoid that you’re talking about me.”
“Well, we are.”
I looked at Martinez.
Kim pleaded, “Tony. Wait. Please. Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I said.
He got right in my face.
I shuddered at the cold fury in his eyes.
“Don’t ask you why in the hell someone tried to kill you yesterday.”
CHAPTER 31
I SLURPED ANOTHER MOUTHFUL OF STALE WATER.
“Kill me? Jesus, Martinez. Paranoid much? My brakes failed. That’s it. No one tried to kill me except the damn Nissan Corporation and their cheap ass braking system.”
He leveled me with that, “I’d-like-to-strangle-you-with-your-own-intestines” look.
“Wrong. After I found out, from someone besides you, that your car had been totaled in Boulder Canyon, I sent a mechanic up to Sturgis this morning to check it out. Know what he found?”
He paused for effect.
“Someone had sawed through your back brake cable and snipped the hose to both of the front brakes. You didn’t have a chance.”
The liquid in my stomach churned.
I dropped my head between my knees to fight off the dizziness, but the only thing that action did was drive a spear of pain further into my skull.
“Jesus, that fucking hurts,” I said, wincing.
“I can’t believe you told her like that! You are so heartless.”
Martinez knelt in front of me. Strong hands cradled my head and lifted my chin slightly so he could peer into my eyes. “You all right?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Kim stamped within my line of vision. “This is how you help? By making her feel like crap? I wouldn’t have let you in here if I had any idea you had such a lousy bedside manner.”
Martinez completely ignored her tirade. His thumbs glided back and forth across my cheekbones. His intent gaze searched my face, my swollen nose, flicked to the bandage on my head, then back to my eyes.
The distress in his rocked me to my core.
Kim had it wrong. He was ruthless, not heartless.
Big difference.
My thoughts flashed to my time in the hospital. How alone I’d felt. How I’d wanted someone to count on, someone to lean on, even for a little while.
He was here. He wanted to be here, apparently, no matter how hard I tried to push him away.
So, I caved.
He knew the nanosecond it happened.
“Leave us,” Martinez demanded.
“But—”
“It’s okay, Kim, I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be right in the kitchen if you need anything.”
“Bring us some coffee in a bit,” he suggested.
She spun on her heel and rattled off something in Spanish that made him smile.
With his left hand he tenderly brushed my hair back over my shoulder
. Twined a few pale strands around his dark fingers. His right hand slid carefully down my face. His palm was warm against my jaw. Solid. The pad of his thumb swept across my bottom lip in an erotic arc.
My breath caught.
In one smooth move he replaced his thumb with his mouth.
He tasted like sweet coffee. And he filled me with those sweet, sweet drugging kisses until I felt like my lungs might burst. I pulled back. But not too far back.
“Martinez—”
“Ssh,” he whispered against my lips. “Just let me.”
“This has to stop.”
“In a minute.” He kept the kisses gentle and comforting, never veering toward the demanding, hungry ones I’d remembered from the other night.
Finally, he broke the kiss and pressed his damp lips to my ear. “Not one word. But we will deal with this very soon, understand?”
I swallowed and nodded.
Martinez angled back. Stood. “Right now, we’re going to talk about the car accident. Start with when you left Fat Bob’s yesterday morning.”
Kim bobbled the tray of cups she carried when she heard that tidbit.
Annoyed, I rattled off everything, not caring that Kim soaked in every word.
“Where did you park yesterday when you were in Deadwood?”
“On the back side of Main Street by The Golden Boot.”
“Why? The parking garage is safer.”
“But it’s not free.”
“Didn’t I agree to pay your expenses?”
“You want to argue about money, Martinez?”
He hunkered down and said very softly, “You really don’t want to push me right now, blondie.”
Shit.
“You remember anybody hanging around in the alley yesterday?”
I glared at him. “Get real. It’d be too risky for someone to sneak under my car and tamper with the brakes in broad daylight.”
“Not necessarily. They’d just lie if someone caught them and claim they were fixing mechanical problems.”
Seemed like he had firsthand info on the best way to handle that specific situation. I didn’t want to know how. “Could someone have messed with it while it was parked overnight at Fat Bob’s? Or even at the Bear Butte Casino site? What about Linderman? Doesn’t he own a couple of car dealerships?”
“Yeah, he does. But the point is, why?” His eyes bored into me. “Is there something else going on with this case you haven’t told me about?”
I shook my head. Winced because it hurt.
“Enough,” Kim said. “She needs to rest.”
“I agree.” Martinez stood and headed toward the door. He turned back. “If anything else happens, I want to know. Immediately. From you. Is that clear?”
I stifled the urge to snap off a salute. “Crys-tal clear, sir.”
To Kim, he said, “Shove painkillers and sleeping pills down her throat, whatever the hell it takes, to make sure she stays put today and isn’t out gallivanting around.”
Kim nodded, face somber.
After Martinez had shut the door behind him, she burst into giggles.
“Gallivanting around? Oh my God. Where’d he come up with that phrase? It’s so … quaint for such a badass.”
“Beats me.”
I reached for my cigarettes. The first puff made me feel sick. The second did too. By the third, my body had quit protesting and gave in to the inevitable poisoning.
Kim had sprawled in the recliner, feet up, my Days of ‘76 mug in hand. “Does Kevin know?”
“What? About the accident?”
“No. That you’re sleeping with Tony Martinez.”
I choked when I exhaled.
“Don’t bother to deny it. The fact he came gallivanting in here, ready to rip off my limbs to get to you today was a dead giveaway.” She thoughtfully blew on her coffee. “But the hickey really clinched it.”
Automatically, my hand flew to my neck.
“Not that one. The one above your right breast.”
I froze.
“Didn’t know about that one, huh?”
“How did you know about it?”
“I helped you get undressed last night, remember?”
I shook my head. Dammit. I had to stop doing that. It hurt. “Last night was pretty much a blur.”
“So. How long has this been going on?”
My first inclination was to hedge. Except, I needed to talk to someone about this thing going on between Martinez and me. Was he another bad choice in a long line of my bad choices?
If he was completely wrong for me, why didn’t it feel wrong?
“Jules?”
“Umm. Only one time.”
Kim rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”
I admitted, “Okay, more than one time, but it was only one night.”
“When?”
“The night before last. After Harvey …” I ground out my smoke. “I’d never seen Tony like that. We were both pretty screwed up by it. This whole thing is screwed up. I’m screwed up.”
“Are you going to tell Kevin?”
“That I screwed up? He already knows. Will I tell him about Martinez? I don’t know.” I groaned. “Who am I kidding? I won’t have to tell him; he’ll find out and then we’ll have another big goddamn fight.”
“Another fight?”
I didn’t respond. With all the crap that had transpired in the last thirty-six hours, I’d hardly thought about Kevin at all.
Where was my guilt? Used up because we’d fought and I was mad at him even though I knew he’d been right?
Kim’s cell phone chirped.
I popped a painkiller, chased it down with cold coffee.
Her brief conversation ended.
“What’s up?”
“The hair dryers blew a fuse again. Jenny is freaking out. She’s such a ditz, she can’t even change a light bulb let alone find the fuse box.” Worry creased her perfectly plucked brows. “Sorry, but I should check it out before she burns the damn shop down.”
“Go. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
I swung my feet up and snuggled into the couch. “I’m tired. I’ll be out in about two minutes and won’t know if you’re here or not anyway.”
“Glad to be appreciated.”
Say thank you, Julie Ann, a voice strangely like my mother’s prompted.
“Uh, so thanks for coming up and rescuing me last night, and for, umm, staying with me. You’re a real North Carolina peach.”
She blinked, startled by my gratitude. “You’re welcome.”
Before the door closed I’d fallen asleep.
My head was pounding. I sat up too fast and grabbed the coffee table to keep myself from passing out.
The pounding continued. Not only in my head. Someone was beating on the front door.
I wrapped the quilt around my shoulders and shuffled to the foyer. Throwing out a welcome mat without knowing the identity of my guest? Maybe that wasn’t the smartest option.
“Who’s there?”
“Don Anderson.”
What? Why was he here?
I’d barely cracked the door when he pushed it open and bolted inside.
“Whoa. Don. What’s going on?”
“I, ah … need to talk to you.”
He tossed an apprehensive glance over his shoulder. I suspected he wanted to peek out my curtains before he jerked them shut.
“Let me guess: You don’t want anyone to know you’re here talking to me, right?”
“Right.” His milky gaze took in my less than stellar appearance. “You look terrible. You okay?”
“Car accident. I’m fine now.”
“Does your daddy know?”
“No. And let’s keep it that way, shall we?” I motioned for him to take the recliner in the living room while I sank into the couch. “So, Don, tell me what’s on your mind.”
Arthritic hands crushed the bill of the vintage Zip Feed cap; he aimed his eyes at the pointed tips of his cowboy bo
ots. “Doug said he tried to hire you to find who killed Red Granger.”
“I’m hoping he also told you I can’t do that because of the legal restrictions.”
“That’s a pretty smart rule. But you can follow somebody, right?”
“Usually. Mostly it depends on the situation. Why?”
Don glanced up. “Does it cost a lot?”
I kept my impatience in check. “Again, it depends. Who do you want followed, Don?”
He didn’t answer straight off.
A strange thought struck me. “Is it my dad? Did he do something wrong?”
“No! He’d never do anything like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like, mebbe killin’ someone.”
My headache roared back with a vengeance. “Stop beating around the bush and tell my why you’re here or leave.”
He blurted, “I think Dale Pendergrast might’ve killed Red Granger.”
“What?”
Don slumped back in the chair. “You heard me. I think Dale might’ve killed Red and I want to hire you to follow him and see what he’s been up to. I’m worried ’bout him.”
This was beyond bizarre. “Okay. Why don’t we start with why you think Dale is responsible for killing Red?”
“Ever since they started building that casino, Dale and Maurice have been actin’ mighty strange. Both been complainin’ that Red isn’t doing his job, and if he was, accordin’ to them, that ‘abomination’ wouldn’t be there.”
“Dale might’ve killed Red because he thought he was a crappy politician? Seems a pretty slim motive for murder.”
“Not when you consider a coupla things. Dale is a real boot-licker when it comes to Maurice. And Maurice ain’t made no bones ’bout the fact if he was on the county commission, he’d see to it that casino would be gone. With all the hullabaloo going on, I’m afraid Dale decided if he shot Red, it’d get blamed on one of them other groups.”
He slid me a sly glance. “Didn’t you tell us that Indian fella got shot? Think it’s a coincidence Red got shot right after that? I’m bettin’ that might’ve been what gave Dale the idea. Red wouldn’t think nothin’ of it if Dale pulled up while he was fixin’ fence. And boom. Right in the ticker.”
I opened my mouth, but now that Don was on a roll he’d forgotten I was in the room.
“With Red outta the picture, Maurice could get that seat on the commission he’s been eyein’ for the last few years.”
Hallowed Ground (Julie Collins Series #2) Page 29