Mary flipped over, wanting so desperately to sleep. She sought a focal point, a boring little something to make her mind relax. Devon had stretched out on the sofa with a knitted multicolored blanket covering his legs. He held her sketchbook and would soon discover her holiday floral designs and a drawing of John. Why had she created it? John’s likeness would be a constant reminder that she wasn’t meant to be part of a couple. She’d always remain a single.
Her neck ached. The local must be wearing off. Should she request a pain reliever, or hope for the f’ing Sand Man to take her away from the horrible nightmare of her ex-boyfriend trying to kill her, and her counterfeit lover having saved her life?
She missed her friends, her house and to some extent, her grandfather. Think about anything but people. Snowflakes came to mind. She’d created a few simple metal webbed ornaments. Using Dane’s workshop, she’d crafted little jeweled webbed bits of lace to hang in the store window. Would she be able to take them in tomorrow? She’d call Tim and see if he’d pick her up instead of using the bicycle. Maybe he’d be willing to cut some of the vines from the grape arbor. A sliced throat was restricting and debilitating. Surely she could play the sick card.
* * * *
John tightened his belt. He’d lost weight in the past three weeks. Not because he’d intended to shed some pounds, rather he’d lost his appetite. He told himself not to worry; obviously Mary was a survivor.
The unwrinkled sheets on the bed reflected in the hotel room mirror as he secured his shoulder holster and gun into place. He wiggled his arm into his jacket. She’s a Maniac ring tone sounded from his phone. Debbie. Arm secure in the sleeve, he whipped the cell out of the holder.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t sound so pleasant. I’ve news,” she purred.
His stomach knotted and his heart raced. Mary had to be alive. “You found her?”
“I visited Peabody in his cell, and he told me where to find Waterman. The cops and I went to his hideout in South Carolina, but he’d vacated the premises.”
“Which means he’s going for Mary. Fuck. Peabody probably knows where Mary’s at and is playing both sides.” Their jewel thief was on the move. John had to determine the probability of Waterman’s destination, arrive before he did and apprehend the bastard.
“You mean if she survived,” Debbie said.
His heart jerked. “She did.”
“Not known at this time. However, one of her BFFs just took a piece of luggage and a large box from your girlfriend’s house. Looks like she going to be seeing someone special real soon. License plate Bushard Two.” Debbie made a kissing noise on the phone. “See you. I assume you’ll be following Phoenix Bushard. I’ll be tracking Waterman. Just keep in touch.”
Debbie clicked off the call before John could say thanks.
Not uncommon in an investigation, he changed his plans. He had limited information regarding Mary’s friends. Having arrived in South Carolina last night, he’d planned to visit with them today. As much as he wanted to track Bushard on his own, he needed help. Two beeps later, he’d connected with a colleague at the local police force. “Dan, I need a favor.”
As John explained the need to have a car follow Bushard’s vehicle, he clicked through documents on the computer, trying to determine any secondary houses or other associations where Mary could be stashed. Phoenix had one brother, living in Vermont.
“Thanks, Dan. I appreciate your help with this.”
“Not an issue. We’re here to help law abiding citizens in whatever capacity.” Dan’s voice was overridden by the blast of a piercing bell. A moment later, the alarm ceased. “Let me know if you need anything else.” He ended the call. John threw a shirt, jeans, boxers, a sweatshirt with his old police unit’s palm tree emblem, boots and necessities into a duffle. He quickly packed his computer and what he’d dubbed miscellaneous spy gear into a satchel and headed out the door.
Phoenix, driving a silver blue Ford hybrid, had just gotten onto Interstate 79 when John got behind her.
Several hours later when Phoenix drove north on 88, John confirmed her destination. Her GPS device must be on the fritz because she got lost twice and ran into construction zones a number of other times. Finally, she pulled off the current highway and onto Ninety-Second Street in New York, Upper East Side, and then into a Marriott Hotel parking lot. He found a parking spot in the garage and rushed into the hotel. Standing behind her at the registration desk, he blatantly eavesdropped until he discovered her room number. She pivoted, gave him a small smile, and walked to the elevators.
John requested a room as close to her as possible. The acne riddled, sun-damaged clerk gave him a sly smile. He could think whatever thoughts he wanted. John simply planned to find out where the girl was going.
The suite was next door to hers and outrageously overpriced, but he settled in for the night. His empty stomach gurgled with renewed hunger pangs. For the past three weeks he hadn’t an appetite, yet suddenly he was famished. Excitement created hunger in him. He was on the right path to find Mary.
He considered opening the room service menu to evaluate the choices, when a quiet murmur came from the other side of the wall. She talked softly. He dug through his spy gear and drew out an audio amplifier, hoping the battery was charged. The superpower microphone adhered to the wall. John plopped the earphones in place and flipped on the device.
“Dane, I’m sorry. I’m glad you found another woman to be your eighth. I’m tired and shaky. The drive wasn’t easy, lots of construction.” Her tone grew weaker. “I’ll look forward to meeting the plastic surgeon later in the week.”
John shifted three feet and placed the microphone to the plasterboard.
“I’ll be there first thing in the morning, I promise.” A pause. “I’m going downstairs to get a drink and sandwich and then off to bed.” She murmured, “I love you, too.”
John turned off the amplifier, tucked it into the bag and threw on his jacket. He strode from the room. Avoiding the click of the latch, he inched the exit open enough to slide through and descended the staircase.
He was on a bar stool, with a dark beer in front of him when she arrived. Her light brown hair had been secured in a clip and a frown had replaced the smile she’d shared earlier. She took the first seat closest to the door, spoke softly to the bartender, and drew her cell out of the large square leather bag.
The scent of stale beer and fried foods took him back to his college days at the village bar, pleasant memories of uncomplicated times. While sneaking peeks at Bushard, he reviewed the faux leather encased menu and tapped the condensation on the drinking glass setting in front of him.
“Are you ready to order?” The waitress-slash-bartender’s ponytail bounced against her shoulders as she jerked to a stop. In contrast to her unlined youthful face, her voice was gruff and no-nonsense, as if she intended to complete the order and be done with him for a few minutes.
Without glancing at her, he gave his order. “Salad, grilled chicken and a glass of water, please.”
Bushard texted, talked, and finally stowed the device in her bag. She had an appetite to match any guy. Their food arrived at the same time, and her burger and fries disappeared in seconds. Bartender Tedette, according to her badge, served her another clear beverage.
John flagged Tedette, circled with his finger and after her nod, moved to the seat next to his quarry. “Hi, I’m John.”
Without looking at him, Bushard withdrew her wallet, threw down two bills and stood. “I’m not interested.”
“Here you are, dark beer and a gin and tonic.” The gruff-voiced Tedette plopped the glasses on the table top.
Bushard strutted out of the bar.
“I’ll take my bill.” John nodded to his half-eaten dinner.
Tedette returned a few seconds later and handed him a slip of paper. A by-your-glance at the total, and he gave her two twenties. “Keep the change.”
Chapter 14
“Who the hell are you?” The s
creech brought Mary upright.
Bone hit wood. “Damn.” Devon cursed.
She jerked the quilt off the bed and ran to the threshold, holding the material to her chest. Phoenix stood in front of the open guest house door, staring daggers at Devon.
He hopped on one foot. His blood-stained white shirt bunched on the end of the sofa stood out, pearl against the dark blue. “Dr. Devon Buckley, and you are?”
“My best friend,” Mary whispered, trying to get her sore throat to work.
“Phoenix Bushard.”
“Really? Dane’s sister?” he growled. Sweeping north to south, he evaluated Phoenix with a skeptical look. He put his foot on the floor and limped into the kitchen. Mary had known Devon for three weeks and never once had she heard him raise his voice. Not even when Tim had dropped the Austrian Pine on Devon’s left shin.
“Yes. Where are you going?” Phoenix’s no-nonsense tone should have brought Devon around. Instead, he opened the refrigerator door. The early morning sun made his silver and white hair sparkle. Sometime during the night, Devon had removed his pants. His thighs were well muscled and his rear was underwear model perfect. No shirt, no trousers and a hot body should have brought Phoenix to her knees. Instead she glared.
Mary glanced at the clock. Not early morning. Rather late, past noon. “Relax, Phoenix. Doesn’t he resemble Tom Cruise with boxers and socks? Hand the man a microphone and we’ll get a show.” Both of them gave her dirty looks. She wanted to return to bed and roll underneath the covers. “Shut the door. It’s cold.”
“Where’s the coffee?” Devon asked.
“I don’t drink the stuff.” Apparently the show wouldn’t continue, so Mary tumbled onto the bed and burrowed beneath the quilt. Her neck really hurt.
The fridge door squeaked shut. Phoenix must have closed the front door, as the chilled air didn’t fly around the room anymore.
Fingers touched the top of her head. “Mary?”
She folded the quilt and looked at Devon. He’d put on a t-shirt. “My throat hurts.”
“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Phoenix rushed to the bed, booting Devon away. “My God, Mary, what has happened?”
Mary swallowed, tears threatening to spill. Her stomach gnawed, grinding against her muscles, her heart hurt, and she wanted a pain reliever. On a sob she said, “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Phoenix reached for the bandage.
With gentleness, Devon pulled Phoenix’s hand back. “Her ex-boyfriend cut her.”
Phoenix sucked air, the noise hissing through the small space. “Conrad. That monster, I’m going to…”
Tears pricked Mary’s eyes at the reminder of how much her friends cared and what an idiot she’d been to trust a man. Mary moved her arm to her stomach and bit her lip to hold the sobs at bay.
“Look, you’re getting her upset.” Devon scooted Phoenix to the side and touched Mary’s forehead. “Mary, do you need something for pain?”
She nodded. Her stomach growled loudly in the silence.
“And something to eat?”
She nodded.
“Good. Phoenix and I will run to a restaurant and bring you something hot. First, I want to take a look at the incision.” Devon used his hip to push Phoenix farther away and turned on the bedside lamp.
Phoenix frowned. Her mouth opened. A refusal would be forthcoming. Mary could feel it, along with her skin being pulled as Devon tugged the bandage, increasing the pain. He probed the area and then walked away, carrying a blood spotted scrap of white.
“Thank you. I appreciate your care. Phoenix knows what I like.” Mary glanced at her friend, who stood, horror struck. The wound must be frightening. “I need to use the restroom. Are you guys leaving?”
Phoenix’s hands shook as she crossed her arms, folding her coat closer. Red lining underneath the dark blue poked out. The scent of outdoor cold had been agitated by the movement and filtered into the space.
Cripes. She had to see the cut.
Devon returned with bag in hand. “Yes. First, I’m going to clean this a little. We’ll let the wound get some air while I’m gone. Don’t let it get wet.” He touched a cold cotton swab to the injury. Spots of blood were all over the material when he lifted it.
She closed her eyes and more drops of tears fell from the edges. Wood squeaked as feet shifted. Phoenix’s vanilla raspberry scent filtered into her nostrils as the mattress tilted and a soft hand touched her face. “You’re hot.”
Mary looked at her. Tears were in Phoenix’s eyes.
She took her friend’s hand, trying to keep a positive spin. “I’m sure it looks bad, but at least I had an out-clause.”
“Dane never told me you were hurt,” Phoenix whispered. She dropped Mary’s hand, rose from the bed, and turned away. “We thought it wouldn’t draw attention if I came to visit my brother.” She used the back of her hand to wipe her face. “I brought some of your things.”
“Phoenix,” Devon said. He had wistfulness to his voice, and shifted on the bed, turning away, facing Phoenix.
Her mother hen hurried into the bathroom. Water ran, making Mary’s already full bladder beg for release.
An odor, much like the iodine her mother had used on childhood injuries like scraped knees, became stronger. “Mary, this is going to sting a little, but it’ll clean the area and make sure we’ve gotten all of the bacteria removed,” Devon said.
“All right.”
She didn’t close her eyes, instead watched him wipe the wound and apply the topical antibiotic. At least it wasn’t the old dead pumpkin color. She didn’t feel the skin ripping pain she’d expected, only the cold wetness of the ointment. Probably because her bladder and empty stomach were waging war inside, taking her attention away from the immediate threat.
He removed the swab and leaned back.
Devon was gentle, kind, and had had a significant loss in the past. Her only single friend, Phoenix, would be a good mate for him. Did he purchase flowers each week in memory of his wife? Was he still grieving? She could help Devon overcome the grief and needed to be loved by a good man. Could they be matched?
“That should do it for now.”
The bathroom door opened. Mary had a strong urge to crane her neck and look at Phoenix. Was she red-eyed? Had Mary caused her to cry?
“You okay?” Devon asked.
His focus was on Phoenix. She must have nodded, as he relaxed his tight shoulders.
“I need to use the facilities.” Mary nodded to the powder room.
“I’ll help her,” Phoenix insisted.
“I can get myself to the bathroom. I’m fine.” Mary slid her legs off the side of the bed.
“Any dizziness?” he asked.
“No, I’m good.” Mary slowly rose. “I’m hungry, though. That broth during the night wasn’t filling.”
“Mary, let me help you.” Phoenix’s fruity scent came near. She knelt at the side of the bed. “Are you really all right?”
“Yep. Right as rain. Please go. I don’t want grits and sorghum. Nasty tasting fake syrup.” She waved them away. “Go. I’ll be fine. Just a little nip and tuck. Devon, I might be back in ten years to have a little more work done.”
Phoenix rose, like the mythological bird changed from sad ashes into a glorious radiance, becoming a strong woman. “I’ll help you get there. If you’re okay, then we’ll leave.”
They shuffled to the powder room. “Phoenix, I’m fine. Go, get me something to eat.”
“I should stay.”
“It’s just a little scratch. Go.”
“Green tea and milk too, please, I’m out.” Mary stood in front of the mirror, white knuckles gripping the sink.
Devon had dressed, sans bloodied shirt, and stood waiting at the door. He’d buttoned his cashmere overcoat so only a piece of white undershirt showed beneath.
“See you in a few. Do I need to remind you to get into the bed and stay?” He tugged the knob of the entrance. Phoenix pulled in her plumes and strutted
through the opening.
“Nope. Understood.” Mary breathed a little easier as she heard them bickering on their way down the path. After satisfying her bladder, she glanced in the mirror to evaluate her wound while she washed her hands. The reflection had never lied to her. When she’d been a teen wanting to see boobs, they’d appeared.
She’d begged for her deceased mother to be in the reflection with her, but she hadn’t appeared. Now, standing in front of the glass, she saw the knife cut. Devon was a miracle worker. Instead of jagged edges and a bump, she had a smooth, red, surface with tiny, perfect stitches. Without a doubt, in a few weeks only a small white line would appear.
She sighed. He had helped her. Until now, each time she’d looked into the mirror she hadn’t seen an injury, but a murder attempt from a man she’d thought she loved. Due to the old bumpy scar she never forgot the pain of betrayal, and now that it was minute, almost disappearing along with her past, she could move forward.
Mary ran a comb through her hair, trying to unknot the strands that he’d cleaned. She changed out of the bra and removed her panties. Back in the bedroom, she searched through the drawers and found a pink tank top and matching boxers. The refrigerator beckoned–she’d have a snack, or maybe start some hot chocolate. She grasped the handle and tugged. The vial of crimson stared at her. In perfect print, Mary’s was written on it and nothing else. Despite the urge to grab the cheese and fruit platter, she shut the door.
Pregnancy was a possibility, and in consideration she had to feed her stomach. She removed a packet of hot chocolate from the canister, rinsed the tea kettle, filled it with water and lit the gas burner. While the water heated, she removed a banana from the tiny wooden tree on the countertop.
She glanced around the cottage as she peeled back the skin of the fruit. Taking a bite from the top the banana, she waited for the water to boil. The layout of the house was perfect. A small foyer marked by bricks, then an eight-by-eight foot living area opened into the kitchen. Granite counter tops had two stools, in compensation for a table. The bedroom was sectioned off by two interior walls. A dwarf-sized door shielded the space from prying eyes. A guest could lie in bed, and if the television was positioned correctly, watch TV. Queen sized, the mattress took most of the space, but an upholstered dark blue chair held residence in the corner. One side table and a chifferobe stood along the long wall. The entire house was done in earth tones: browns, gold, oranges and blues.
Jewel Hiest Page 12