Right now, about the last thing he felt like doing was sitting around drinking coffee. He went along with Louie because he didn't know what else to do. At the house, he'd been reluctant to leave. He just didn't think leaving the scene of a murder was a good idea. He still wasn't convinced, although he admitted Louie made a fairly good argument that waiting around for the police was a pretty bad idea. She was also true to her word, and called one of her friends on the police force not long after they left the house. At least it made him feel a little less like a criminal. Little being the operative word.
If running away before the police arrived wasn't bad enough, Paul had never seen a dead body before. His stomach still rolled when he thought about the pretty young girl and the dark, red blood around her body. It was nothing like television and movies portrayed it. To call it surreal was an understatement. He hoped he never encountered anything like it again and if he did, he hoped to be better armed than with his favorite hockey stick. The sight of Paul and his stick might make goalies quake in their skates, but he doubted he or the stick, would be very effective against, say, a nine-millimeter Smith and Wesson or perhaps a Colt 38.
He picked up the heavy brown mug and sipped scalding hot coffee. Terrible didn't begin to describe the taste and even worse, it burned his tongue. What he really needed was a beer or better yet, a nice stiff whiskey. Anything to dull the memory of that poor girl sprawled on the kitchen floor, surrounded by a bloody halo. Yeah, some big macho guy I am.
He looked up to see Louie studying him, her eyes narrowed and her mouth a thin line. "You haven't seen anything like that before, have you?" she asked.
Great, now she was reading his mind. There were a couple of options available as far as he could see. He could lie and try to sound tough. Or, he could 'fess up and be honest. Option two seemed better. Death wasn't his business and trying to pretend otherwise was stupid. Besides, he didn't feel the need to lie to her. There was something about Louie that made him want to trust her.
The truth was simple. "No."
A sad smile crossed her face and, as odd as it was given their circumstances, it occurred to him she was really quite beautiful. Auburn hair curled around her face, and her skin was pale and flawless. She didn't wear makeup or if she did, it was so light as to not show.
She was in a tough field where nerves of steel and unflinching determination weren't optional. The job could easily harden a person both physically and mentally. He didn't see it in her. She was a dichotomy: tough as nails on one side, gentle and understanding on the other, although he suspected she'd argue about the latter. Reputations after all, were everything—something he knew from personal experience.
Louie looked down at the coffee mug she held between her hands. "I'd like to say I haven't either except I have. It's never pretty and it's never easy to take. Anybody who tells you different is lying through their teeth. And if they're not, I'm telling you right now, be very, very afraid."
He didn't have a bit of trouble agreeing with the sentiment. Still, something nagged at him and refused to accept the comfort she offered. "We should have stayed."
No matter how long they sat there, no matter how he rationalized it, he couldn't get out of his mind it was wrong for them to have left. Responsible people didn't run away. People like Paul didn't run away. Granted, he'd never been a witness at a murder scene, but it still seemed like they should have stayed until the Spokane Police arrived.
She reached out and put her hands around his. They were warm.
"In a perfect world I'd agree with you. This unfortunately is far from a perfect world and I have no intention of spending the whole night in the police station being asked questions I don't have answers to. All I can do is speculate on what happened and that's the best you'd be able to do as well. I doubt the police would believe us any time in the next, oh, say twenty-four hours. We'd sit in interrogation rooms for hours and hours repeating the same thing over and over again."
Paul pulled his hands free and leaned back in the booth. He ran his hands through his hair, stopping to massage his temples. She was right, at least in some respects. They'd stumbled on a crime scene after the fact, and wouldn't be able to provide any helpful information. Wasting a night downtown in the bowels of the Public Safety Building wouldn't help the police or get them any closer to Jamie. In reality, all it would do would be to put them further behind. Jamie already had the jump and Paul didn't want to give him any more time. If there was one thing Jamie was good at, it was running.
Paul hedged only because he wasn't ready to jump on board a hundred percent. "You might be right," he grumbled.
"Your brother…"
"He didn't do this." As angry as he was with Jamie, Paul was quick to leap to his defense, and wondered why. Maybe it was a case of old habits dying hard. He'd been defending Jamie since they were little kids. It was okay for Paul to kick the crap out of his younger brother, but it wasn't all right for anyone else to do it.
"I didn't think he did," she told him, sounding matter-of-fact.
"Jamie might be stupid about some things … plenty of things really. He's a fuck-up of major proportions. Thing is, as screwy as he is, he'd never hurt someone he loved."
"I believe you." Her words were calm.
Her gaze met his and the sincerity he saw reassured him. It wasn't all he noticed; there was something else on her mind. Short as their time together had been thus far, he could still detect a hold-back when he saw it. He'd spent most of his life learning to read faces on the ice. Reading them off the ice really wasn't all that much different.
He leaned forward, put his hands on the table and called her on it. "You know who did."
"I don't know the name, but I have a pretty good idea. It has to be the people your brother was working for. Violence is a routine part of the drug trade."
His laugh was bitter. "Leave it to Jamie to get himself involved with murderers."
She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "Paul?"
"Yeah?" He liked the way she said his name. Liked even more the feel of her hand on his.
"We have to start thinking. If they're this quick to violence, then your brother is far from safe. Whatever he got himself mixed up in, I think it's beyond the dope the feds confiscated."
"The thought already crossed my mind." In fact, it had been on his mind since the phone call came in telling him Jamie failed to show up for his hearing. He just hadn't wanted to verbalize it. Somehow to say it out loud made it a little too real.
"Good, then we're on the same sheet of music here. We're not going to have much time. We have to find your brother and fast."
He was about to agree with her when a sudden, horrible thought occurred to him. "What about my parents?"
Chapter Four
Paul McDonald was the real thing: a genuine, good old-fashioned nice guy, a stark contrast to the person portrayed in the newspaper articles Louie'd pulled up on him. He was incredible on skates, a pro player with throngs of hopeful women waiting outside the locker room doors, and legions of fans with his jersey on their backs. He was the it guy until an injury pulled the plug on his career. Or at least his career as a player. He seemed to have made the transition from player to coach with the smoothness of a seasoned professional. Bottom line, Paul McDonald loved the game of hockey and found a way to stay in it even when he couldn't be a player.
Now, he sat in the cold light of the all-night restaurant, his face a pale testament to his discomfort with violent death. His look, one that couldn't be faked, went a long way toward easing her mind. She'd walked away from his office earlier not completely convinced he was on the up and up with her. He may have been truthful with her, but there was always the omission factor. What was it he didn't tell her? He came across sincere enough and yet, who could blame him if he tried to protect his little brother? Blood was thicker than water. She wouldn't blame him for protecting his brother; she'd be a hypocrite if she did.
Her fingers wrapped around his, and she
stroked the cool skin on the back of his hand with her thumb. Though he tensed when she first touched him, he didn't pull away. She found that somehow comforting and even a little exciting. She didn't typically touch a client's family members. Not exactly professional, and it was always wise to keep things professional. Or not.
She continued to hold his hand.
"Come on." She finally, reluctantly, let go and slid out of the booth to stand. "Let's check on your parents."
"I've got my cell." He started to dig in his pocket.
She shook her head. "Not in here. Too many people."
"Yeah, maybe you're right." He followed her to the door.
Outside the night had become dark and the air cold. Fall was coming. Each day grew a little shorter and a bit cooler. Louie took a deep breath. She treasured this time of year. Loved the way the breeze kissed her skin and the air smelled clean and fresh. Not far in the distance, was the splash of ducks as they paddled in the nearby Spokane River. She felt alive and peaceful. Or, as peaceful as she ever got anyway.
Over by the SUV, Paul leaned on the rear door and flipped open his cell phone. Worry lines creased his forehead beneath locks of wavy red hair. As he talked, the fingers of his free hand rubbed at one temple as if he was trying to massage away a migraine. She had the strangest urge to go to him, slide her hands along his cheeks where just the hint of stubble darkened his skin, and try to smooth away the concern. Probably not an urge she'd act on. The man already thought her capable of murder; she didn't want him thinking she was a nut-bag as well.
His conversation was brief. When he put the phone back into his pocket, the worry lines were gone. She walked over to him and, despite her best intentions to keep her hands to herself, put one on his arm. Warm, strong muscles tensed beneath her touch.
"Are they all right?"
"Yeah. Everything's quiet in Surrey. They haven't seen Jamie or anyone else, thank God. I told them to call me the second they set eyes on little brother. If they do. I also told them they needed to leave the house and why."
"Are they going?" She hoped so. Some failed to really grasp the danger they could be in when one of their family members played with the devil, like James McDonald had managed to do. Bad things could and did happen to people whose only crime was to be related to a screw-up.
He nodded. "It surprised me Mom didn't put up more of a fight. I guess the word murder did the trick. They're heading up to the cabin. It's remote enough no one will find them, without some experienced help anyway. I'm fairly confident they'll be safe there."
"Excellent." She liked the sound of "remote cabin." It wasn't a guarantee, but the folks pursuing James might not want to work that hard to get to the family.
He shifted from foot to foot, his intent gaze on her face. "Now what?"
Good question. She wanted to know more about the dead girlfriend, but there was little chance she'd get anything tonight unless she wanted to tell the police about her pre-911 visit. She didn't, which left her not much in the way of choices. She might still have friends on the job, but if they knew she'd been at a murder scene and left, it wouldn't go over well. Even friendship had limits when murder entered into the mix. The best choice, the only choice, was to go home, get some sleep, and hit it hard tomorrow.
"We go home," she told him with a shrug as she let her hand fall away from his arm.
The expression on his face could only be described as horror. "How can we do that? I mean, look what happened to that poor girl. If they're so quick to put a bullet in her, what's going to stop them from killing Jamie?"
She could sugar coat it, but why? Louie gave it to him straight. "Nothing."
"Then we've got to keep looking." He reached for the handle of the driver's door.
She put a hand on his arm again. "Not tonight. Right now, we're working blind and that's not good considering the stakes have gone up way beyond the bond money."
He shook his head. "No, I can't just go home. You do whatever you want. I'll keep looking."
She took both of his hands in hers. They were cold. "Paul. Go home. Get some sleep and I'll call you in the morning."
"I can't."
"Please."
He let out a big sigh, his green eyes intent on her face. "It just doesn't feel right. I need to be doing something."
She did understand. She also understood how futile the effort would be right at the moment. "I promise to call you first thing. We'll find him together."
Crap! Why had she said that? She worked alone. It was one of the beautiful things about her kind of work. She not only worked alone, she reported to no one. Not like when she was on the job where there were partners, superiors, and lest she forget, the politicians. For the last five years, she'd worked beautifully. Alone. Now all of a sudden one look into the fabulous green eyes of tall, red-haired, and handsome, and she made him a partner. So what if he was all those things and made her body buzz the second she touched him? Didn't mean she needed to invite him to hang around all the time. It was wrong on so many levels.
"You promise?" The hope in both his voice and his eyes made any thought of backing out impossible.
Louie sighed, let go of his hands and pulled her cell phone out of her jacket pocket. She flipped it open and looked up at him. "What's your home number?"
He told her and she programmed it in. "There." She showed him the display on her phone. "Now all I have to do is hit speed-dial and voila, we'll be connected in seconds."
He nodded. "All right, I'll go home. I expect to hear from you bright and early."
"It's a deal."
She opened the car door for him and he slipped in behind the wheel. Almost without conscious thought, she reached over and touched him on the shoulder. "I'll call you in the morning."
She watched him drive away. She'd have expected him to own a flashy car, a Jag perhaps or maybe a BMW. Instead he drove what she'd describe as a soccer-mom vehicle: a late model SUV. It made her smile. She liked this guy better by the minute.
No soccer-mom rig for her either. She opened the door to her 1970 Chevelle convertible and slid in. Before long she'd have to put the muscle car into storage for the winter. For now, she was enjoying the last vestiges of good weather. The raw horsepower of the machine and the way men drooled over the Black Cherry American muscle was hard to resist. Soon enough, she'd be in her foul weather ride, a four-by-four extended cab pickup, but until then, it was speed and power all the way home.
She had one more stop before she headed home. She pulled the car into the long driveway that curved between tall evergreens before it opened into an ample parking area. She stopped the Chevelle in the far corner, as far away from any other vehicles as possible. Door dings were not an option. The cost to repair those nasty little dents was outrageously expensive and something she went to great lengths to avoid.
Inside the big brick building located on the other end of the lot, Louie waved hello at the guard seated just inside the double doors. Low, sweet music played overhead. A subtle antiseptic smell pervaded the interior. At first it had bothered her. Now, it was strangely comforting.
"Hey Joe, how's life treating you?"
"Doing fine, Lou, and you?" Six-feet-six in his socks, Joe was a fixture in her world these days. She looked forward to seeing him and cherished his warm sense of humor. He could always make her smile and there were days when a simple smile made all the difference.
"Great. How's Abby?"
"Good as gold. Says to tell you hey and wondering when you're going to settle down with some fine man. You know have a kid or three." He was grinning as he said it.
Louie laughed. "Soon. Tell her real soon." Good thing Joe didn't see the way she had her hands all over Paul McDonald. It'd be all the ammunition he'd need to start making wedding plans for her.
"I'll give you away, ya know."
"I'm sure you will." She tapped the counter as she walked by laughing.
His laughter followed her most of the way down the first long hallway. Still s
miling, she made a right at the T and kept walking. A few feet down this hallway and she could no longer hear Joe or the soft music. Instead, it was quiet except for a low mechanical hum. Like the smell of the place, the hum had also become a comfort to Louie.
The door she stopped at was second to the last. Here the hum was louder. Before she went in, she tapped her fingers twice on the door. She didn't really know why except she did the same thing each time she came here. Part ritual, part prayer. In the back of her mind, she hoped one day when she tapped twice on the door, Chris would tell her to come in. Tonight wasn't that night.
She pushed open the door and stepped inside. The lights were on near the bed positioned parallel to the large picture window. One of the efficient attendants had been in to draw the blinds shut against the darkness of the evening. She grabbed a chair from the corner and pulled it next to the bed.
"Hi, Bro." She took his pale, motionless hand in hers and brought it to her lips. She kissed Christopher's hand and then put it gently down on the sheet. He was thin and pale, his short dark hair a sharp contrast to his paper-white skin. His eyes were closed, as they were most of the time. Louie was torn between wanting him to open his eyes and fear of the emptiness in them if he did. Every day of the last five years she waited for Christopher to open his eyes, sit up and ask, "What've I missed?"
It hadn't happened yet and it didn't happen now. Instead, he lay unmoving in the bed as she spent the next hour telling him about James and Paul McDonald. She talked to him of her own thoughts and concerns as if he could hear and understand every word. Deep in her heart she hoped he did, and one day they'd look back on these days with a smile about the conversations held in the light of the lamp, alone in a room at the end of the long hallway.
Dirty Deeds Page 5