“No.” She sat up and squared her shoulders, trying to come off as a person with strong character. Of course, that was hard to do when you wore a backless hospital gown and held a Pepto-Bismol–colored, hospital-regulation barf tub in your lap.
His arched brow said he didn’t believe her.
What could she say to convince him? Or maybe she shouldn’t say anything. She considered asking for a lawyer, but decided to just puke instead.
Or she should say, she decided to go through the motions of puking.
When the dry heaves passed, he handed her a damp cloth. She raised her eyes to his dark brown gaze, hoping the suspicion had vanished. Nope. Obviously, the detective could be nice to people he considered murderers.
“Why would I put him in my trunk?” she blurted out and used the cloth to wipe her face in case she had any residual drool from her newly acquired pastime.
His gaze grew colder. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“Why don’t you leave the room for a minute?” The nurse, a full-figured African-American woman, walked into the room. “I need to get some blood.” The nurse shot the detective a cutting look and he left.
Nikki looked at the nurse. “I didn’t kill my ex.”
“Honey, the way I see it, if your ex was anywhere near as bad as mine, or as rude as that cop was to me when he brought you in here, you did the world a favor.”
Watching the blood fill the vial, Nikki remembered Jack’s shirt and fought another wave of nausea.
When the nurse left, Nikki leaned back and closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she heard someone clear his throat. She opened her eyes and was hit again by the accusation in the detective’s eyes.
“I think you were about to explain how your ex-husband’s body got into your trunk.”
“No, I wasn’t about to explain that. Because I didn’t put Jack in my trunk. I didn’t shoot him. I don’t own a gun. Don’t even know how to shoot one.” She looked at her hands. “Shouldn’t you be doing one of those powder tests on my hands?”
He cocked his head to the side and studied her. Hard. He looked as if he was about to say something profound, something important. She held her breath and waited.
And waited.
When he didn’t speak, she dropped back against the pillow. Who knew puking took so much energy?
He pulled a notepad from his pocket, jotted something down, and then raised his eyes again. “You know the grocery store cashier said you were talking to her about killing your ex?”
“I wasn’t talking to her, I was talking to myself. She just assumed I was speaking to her. I mutter when I’m upset.”
“Were you upset enough to kill him?”
“He stuck me with the bill at Venny’s. Do you know how expensive that is? So, yeah, I was furious. Furious enough to say I wanted to kill him, but… but I’m not a killer. I even use catch-and-release mouse traps.”
The crinkle in his brow confused her. Did he believe her or not?
He scratched his head. “What do you do when you catch them? Put them in your trunk?”
She blinked. “No. I take them outside and let them go.”
“Oh.” He continued to look at her. “Don’t they just come back inside?”
She recalled Nana and Ellen asking her the same thing. “Probably, but my point is I don’t kill them. Because I’m not a killer.”
He didn’t seem impressed. Obviously, using live traps wasn’t considered evidence. Glancing back at his pad, he asked, “What were you and your ex arguing about at the restaurant?”
“We weren’t arguing. He wasn’t thrilled when I used my fingers to fish out the shrimp in his gumbo, but we didn’t argue.”
“Then why did he leave and stick you with the bill?”
“I don’t know. He was on the phone when I got there. He left, then came back and told me he was in some kind of trouble. I asked what was going on, but his phone rang again and he said he had to take it. He asked me to order and walked away.”
“She’s telling the truth,” a deep, male voice said from directly behind Detective O’Connor.
Nikki had to lean a good five inches to the right to look at the face of her much-needed, much-appreciated, supporter. Not that looks mattered. If she wasn’t in desperate need of a breath mint, she would have kissed him. She really needed someone in her corner right now.
The moment her gaze met his blue eyes, her focus shifted downward to the dusty blue T-shirt stretched across his wide chest. Thank goodness he’d changed his shirt.
Detective O’Connor swung around and faced the newcomer. “Why are you here?”
“I just got back from Venny’s Restaurant, spoke to the waiter.” His blue-eyed gaze met hers again and he nodded.
“Damn it, Dallas,” the detective said. “You’re not a cop.”
Not a cop. Dallas. Taking in the information, she watched the two men face each other.
Dallas stuffed both his hands into his jeans and frowned. “But I am a PI.”
So not-a-cop Dallas was a PI. What was a private investigator doing here?
“This isn’t your problem,” Detective O’Connor insisted. “Don’t you even start messing with my case.”
“You mean helping, right? Because I just gave your boys the heads up on the real crime scene in back of the restaurant. I’m betting Ms. Hunt was parked back there.” Dallas looked at her. “Right?”
Nikki nodded.
“Blood?” Detective O’Connor asked.
“Yup. There was also a set of keys, which I pointed out to your guys. I’ll bet you’ll find they belong to her ex. And if my hunch is right, you’ll find he had a key to her car.”
Both men looked at her to confirm. “He used to have one,” she said, trying to understand what this meant. “You think he was stealing my car?”
“Not necessarily,” Dallas said. “But it would explain how he got inside your trunk.”
“Fine,” Detective O’Connor snapped. “So you’ve managed to show up my men by getting to the restaurant first.”
“Actually, they were there first. They just didn’t check the parking lot in the back.”
“Just get the hell away from my case.” Detective O’Connor’s grimace deepened.
The intimidating scowl didn’t seem to affect Dallas. “Just trying to get to the truth.”
“We’ll get to the truth,” the detective said.
“Oh, like the system doesn’t make mistakes.” Now, Dallas looked mad.
Detective O’Connor didn’t back down. “This isn’t the system, it’s me. I don’t make mistakes.”
Ignoring the last statement, Dallas looked back at her. He seemed to focus on the Pepto-Bismol–pink tub in her lap. “Considering what else I found in the parking lot, it appears as if the vic was also sick. I’m thinking someone slipped something into their dinner.”
“Someone poisoned me?” Nikki asked.
“She’s not your client,” the detective snapped, ignoring Nikki.
Dallas glanced at her. “She could be.”
“Someone poisoned me?” she repeated.
Her question remained unanswered while the two men continued arguing. While she hated to be a pest, her question seemed kind of important. Didn’t the doctors and nurses need to know if she’d been poisoned?
“Are you trying to piss me off?” Detective O’Connor demanded.
“No. I’m trying to help Ms. Hunt,” Dallas said.
“Hey,” Ms. Hunt said, her mind still on the possibility of being poisoned. “Was I—”
“You don’t even know her,” Detective O’Connor accused.
The PI smiled at her. “We bonded.”
“Did someone really poison me?” she repeated again.
“Was that before or after she puked on you?” Detective O’Connor asked and the PI looked back at him.
“I think it was during.” Dallas turned his grin toward her again.
“Bonded my ass. She puked on you. Next yo
u’ll tell me you consider that your retainer.”
Dallas shifted his attention back to the cop. “Hey, that works.”
“I asked a question.” Nikki’s stomach cramped and she put a hand on her middle. She felt sick, but how sick? What kind of poison had she ingested? Was it lethal? Was she bleeding to death on the inside while these two stood by arguing about God only knew what?
A cell phone rang. Detective O’Connor grabbed the phone from his belt loop, scowled at the PI then took the call. “Hello. You’re breaking up. We have a bad…” He paused. “I know, Dallas just informed me. Get CSU down there. Hey… you’re fading out again. Let me call you back.” Detective O’Connor pointed a finger at Dallas and said, “Don’t do this to me.” Then he walked out of the curtained cubicle.
Nikki, hand still placed over her roiling stomach, watched the detective leave then refocused on the blue-eyed private investigator. “Did someone poison me?”
CHAPTER FOUR
TONY COULDN’T FRIGGIN’ believe his brother would start this shit with him. Frustrated, he dialed Clark’s number. Cell phone pressed to his ear, Tony walked down the hall until he got to the nurse’s station. Clark answered.
“Hey, it’s me again,” Tony said. “Just get CSU there. Make sure…”
Damn! His phone started fading out again. Looking up at the glaring nurse, he snapped his phone shut and focused on her. “You need to run a tox screen on Ms. Hunt. There’s a chance she might have been given something against her will.”
“The other cop, the one with manners, already told me,” the nurse said crisply.
Tony frowned. What had he done to piss her off? He recalled getting pushy to get the blonde brought back in the ER right away. Hell, she’d already puked all over his brother, and Tony hadn’t wanted to be her next victim.
Staring at the nurse, he realized the nicer cop she alluded to had to be Dallas. Tony didn’t bother correcting her. Instead, he started down the hall to find a place where he could call Clark back. He went the way he thought would have an exit, but didn’t find it. He looked at his phone, found it had all the bars, then he spotted the visitor’s room. He had one foot inside when he heard a familiar sound.
He stopped, thinking he’d imagined it. But the lighthearted, warm-the-soul kind of laugh sounded again. LeAnn.
Swinging around, he spotted his wife standing at the nurses’ station, her back to him. He hadn’t known she’d switched hospitals. His chest grew heavy and light at the same time. Damn, he’d missed her. He ran a hand through his hair, and took a step toward her.
Her hair hung longer. The soft brown strands bounced against her shoulders, and Tony’s hands itched to touch them. He’d loved her hair long and begged her not to cut it. But she’d insisted that short hair would be less time consuming.
Had it really been nine months since he’d seen her? Not that he hadn’t tried. He left messages on her phone once a week, telling her the same thing. He wanted to talk. He could understand why she was mad. But he was so damn sorry.
She had yet to call him back. He kept telling himself she would eventually give in—that the time away was his punishment for walking away from her when she’d needed him the most. Funny how back then he’d thought time away would help things. Now, he saw it for the mistake it was. He’d fucked up but, damn it, didn’t he deserve a chance to fix it?
He almost got to the nurses’ station when he realized she wasn’t alone. A man, a doctor-looking sort, stood beside her. He stood too damn close, too. And the way he looked at LeAnn left little doubt of his intentions. Tony held himself in check. Or he did until the white-coated man touched his wife’s cheek.
Tightening his fist, Tony hurried his last steps. Thankfully, LeAnn stepped back and the man dropped his hand.
Obviously hearing his footsteps, LeAnn turned. “Can I help…” Her bright green eyes widened. “Tony.”
“LeAnn.” He forced himself to unclench his fist and smile. Though he wasn’t sure the smile came off real. At best it was probably rusty. He hadn’t had a lot of reasons to smile lately.
The doctor said something under his breath. Tony met his eyes briefly and hoped like hell the man could read his mind. Stay the fuck away from her. As if he had picked up on Tony’s thoughts—or maybe it was the murder in his eyes—the man left.
“Is everything okay?” LeAnn asked.
“It is now,” he said, pushing his frustration back and hoping to make the most of this unexpected gift. “You look… fantastic.” When she didn’t reply, he continued. “When did you start working here?”
“Yesterday. I… I needed a change.”
He nodded and, damn it, but he wanted to touch her so bad he had to stuff his hands in his pockets to fight temptation. “Dallas said you had car trouble last week.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“No. I’m here on a case.”
“I thought you worked homicide now.”
So she’d cared enough to be curious about what he was doing. Did she also know he lived and breathed for the moment they could get back together? “I am. I have a possible suspect, but she’s sick. We found her ex-husband dead in her trunk.”
“That’s terrible,” she said, though Tony wasn’t sure if she was really interested or just needed something to say. “Do you think she killed him?”
“I don’t know yet.” He studied his wife and opened his mouth to say something about the case. Instead the words, “I miss you so damn much,” came out.
She looked away, but not before he saw frustration hit her eyes.
Damn it, he’d screwed up by moving too fast. Then he decided to go for broke. “I call and leave messages and you never call me back.”
She continued to stare down at the desk. “I know.” Opening one of the files, she studied it. “I’m not ready to deal with this yet, Tony.”
“It’s been nine months.”
She raised her gaze and when he saw her eyes wet with emotion, pain ripped at his chest.
“You promised you wouldn’t pressure me,” she said.
“And you promised me if I moved out we’d see a marriage counselor.”
“Why do we need go through this? Can’t we just let it go?”
“Not if it means letting go of us!” he said. “That’s the only reason I agreed to this separation, LeAnn, because you promised we would talk. I know I screwed up. When I took the job, I wasn’t thinking. It wasn’t supposed to last but a week, I thought a few days apart would—”
“Stop.” She held out a hand. “I don’t blame you for taking the job, okay? I could hardly stand being with myself.”
Her words hit like an eighteen-wheeler without brakes. “Damn it, LeAnn, I didn’t leave because of you. I left because…” Two more nurses walked up to the station.
“Later, okay?” There was a pleading in her eyes.
He leaned across the counter and said in lower voice, “When?”
“Soon,” she said under her breath.
Unable to resist, and realizing the nurses had their backs to them, he reached across the counter and ran the back of his hand across her cheek. “I’m off Sunday,” he whispered. “I’ll be over around ten a.m.”
The word “no” formed on her lips. He didn’t give her a chance to say it. Swinging around, he left. His heart pounded in his chest. He looked at his watch, counting the days, and hours until Sunday. He knew he’d been pushy and yet, damn, he’d been patient for nine months. He wanted his wife back and maybe it was time for him to stop being patient and go get her.
He was almost back to the ER when his phone rang. Frowning, he stopped to see who was calling. It was Juan Bata. What did Juan want?
Tony answered the call. “What’s up, Juan?” If the guy had just called to gab, he didn’t have time.
“Something strange is going on,” Juan said. “I think it’s connected.”
“What’s connected?”
“Remember the barfer?” He chuckled.
“What a
bout her?”
“Well… her place…” Static followed.
“Her place… what? Juan? You’re breaking up. I’ll call you right back.” Tony ran off to find a place where he could get reception.
Nikki stared at the PI and waited for him to answer her question. “Was I poisoned?”
“It’s a possibility,” he said. “Did you two share any of the same food?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “He didn’t even eat. Wait—the gumbo. But I only had a bite.”
“You’re small.” His gaze slid down her front as if measuring her. “It wouldn’t take much.”
Nikki instantly became aware of the thinness of the gown, of how little she had on beneath the cotton. Little as in nothing. Her stomach cramped and she remembered she might have been poisoned. She started looking around for a nurse’s call button.
“You need something?” he asked.
“A nurse or a doctor,” she said. “I think they should know that I might have been poisoned.”
“I already mentioned it to one of the nurses.”
“Oh.” She settled back. He kept studying her and she kept checking to make sure the gown hadn’t slipped off her shoulder. He made her nervous, jumpy, and aware of how terrible she looked. She ran a hand through her hair. Not that her appearance should be high on her list of concerns. Face it, puking on a man didn’t tend to leave a great impression. And with her official barf bucket still in her lap, she doubted her second impression was much better. “I… I should apologize for throwing up on you.”
He grinned. “I’ll admit it’s not the reaction I usually get from women.”
She stared at his smile, at the way his mouth tilted a bit higher on the right than the left. She could guess what kind of reaction he normally got from women. The man oozed charm. The kind of charm that got a girl in trouble. The kind of charm Jack has.
Had.
Jack is dead.
She pushed that thought aside to deal with later. Right now, she needed to find out why the PI was here. Then again, it could only be one thing: money. He wanted her to hire him. Good luck with that. She was probably going to have to lay off her best friend, Ellen, from the gallery, and hiring someone else was out of the question. A pity he’d gotten barfed on for no good reason.
Don't Mess with Texas Page 4