Dark and Deadly

by Jeanne Adams

  “I’ll follow my client’s wishes on that one, but yes, she has a case.”

  “There you go. Haul ’em into court, Ms. Hagen. You’re the victim here as far as I can see.” He closed his notebook and rose. “Nah, keep your seats. I’ll see myself out.” He was almost to the door when he paused, looked back. “Ms. Hagen, did Mister Pratt Jr. ever ask you out?”

  Everyone froze and looked at Torie. “Yes, he did. I was already dating Todd, so I declined.”

  “And later?”

  Torie hesitated, and for the first time looked to Paul for guidance. Damn. He nodded.

  “Yes, after Todd and I broke up, he asked me out several times.”

  “And?”

  “I wasn’t ready to date. I declined again.”

  “Interesting,” Tibbet muttered, and walked out the door. A faint, “Thanks for the coffee, Mister Pratt,” was his parting shot.

  The detective had been to see Torie again. It was insulting. How dare the man get so close? And he’d heard from his little sources that they’d arrested that woman from records, as well as someone from the computer division at Pratt. Wasn’t that an ass-kicker? The woman might—no, it wasn’t her. She was too malleable, her tits were bigger than her brain. Besides, he knew where she had been.

  But the other one. The techie. No wonder the files had dissolved into a puddle of nothingness. Between them, the morons had taken his careful tampering, his brilliant program, and turned it into a visible cancer, a blight.

  He snarled. They had to be dealt with. If they told the police they hadn’t tampered with the files, then his IPO might give him away. Someone might remember him.

  Not good.

  To add to that insult, Paul Jameson was still walking. His shot had missed, and he’d nearly been caught. His heart still raced at the thought of the shouts, the lights, as the police revealed their presence.

  He’d been watching so intently for the departure of the bodyguard, he’d missed the fucking cops.

  But Luck had saved him. She was finally on his side.

  He swung the gimbaled chair from side to side, listening to the air swish. It mesmerized him for a moment, breaking the spell the anger had built.

  He took a deep breath, let it out. He had to plan, shift his priorities. The two idiots who’d damaged the systems at Pratt needed to go.

  Then, he’d get back to Paul, and then, to Torie.

  Ah, Torie.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I’m not going.”

  “You are if I have to dope you and drop you off,” Pam insisted later when Torie told her of the new development.

  “I don’t think he meant it, Pammie. He’s a lonely old man.”

  “Oh, add influential, rich, and interesting.” She paused, fork buried in salad. “Please tell me he’s at least interesting.”

  “Of course, and he’s older than my father would have been.”

  “Not bad, really.”

  “It’s not a date, Pam.”

  Pam rolled her eyes. “The salad, you goose. It’s not bad, as in pretty good, which means you should eat the chicken in it, instead of tossing it around with your fork. Besides, you need the protein—we’ve got shopping to do.”

  Torie grinned at her enthusiasm, but resolved not to be steamrollered. She would not be going to the partner’s dinner as Mr. Pratt’s date.

  “Now, it’s already settled,” Pam continued. “You need to party, girlfriend. You need to get out, forget about all this mayhem stuff, and get drunk. You’ve got cab fare and a new hotel room, okay? All you need is a dress. That we can fix. Miss Pam, she has her ways.” Wiggling her eyebrows, she continued to eat. Before Torie could protest once again, she changed the subject. Typical Pam tactics.

  “So, let’s talk cars. Big or little?”

  “Medium”

  “SUV or sedan?”

  “SUV, I guess, or something like the small Jeep. What do they call it? The Liberty?”

  “Well, we are in the home of liberty, so that fits,” Pam joked. “Regular or hybrid?”

  “Hybrid, if we can get one that’s cool.”

  “Cool.”

  “Yeah, and big enough to handle the dogs.”

  “You sure you want to take on that mammoth masquerading as a dog?”

  Torie grinned, felt her heart lighten at the thought of Bear. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll change his name to Woolly Mammoth, or Woolly for short.”

  “Ha! That’s good. So, we’ll hit car shops and talk about the house, okay?”

  “About that…” Torie pulled out her notebook, flipped pages, and handed it to Pam.

  “Damn, girl,” was all Pam said as she began reading.

  They talked about the house as they finished lunch. Torie had decided it was time for a complete life change. She was going to fix her house, but the more she thought about the rental in Darby, the more she thought she might buy it.

  Once she fixed her current house, it would sell easily. Society Hill was a favorite of young married yuppies and professional singles alike. With two dogs, she needed a yard like the first one on Bodia.

  By six, she called a halt to the car shopping. They’d been to five dealerships, in between stopping to see Carlos and making a trip to the vet to visit the fast-recovering Pickle.

  “I surrender,” she said, pretending to wave a flag. “Pam, I’m dying here. I have to have food.”

  “Just one more. I wanna drive the Mercedes SUV. The shorter one.”

  “Who’s buying this car, you or me?”

  “You, but I’m the one having the fun here, I can tell,” Pam teased.

  Her phone rang and she jumped, snatching it up to look at the caller ID. Her face betrayed the answer. It wasn’t Dev.

  “Hey,” Pam answered with none of her usual bounce. “Got it, thanks!”

  “No word then?”

  “None.” Pam’s bright façade fell and Torie saw the hurt, worried woman underneath. “That was just a vendor.”

  “Hey,” she murmured. “He’s smart and strong. He’ll be back.”

  “Did you call his, I mean your, grandmother?”

  “Great-grandmother, but yeah. I called.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing. I got the machine.”

  “Oh.”

  Into the silence, Torie’s phone rang. She, too, looked at the caller ID, but not with Pam’s enthusiasm. “Paul.”

  “I’m right here for you, babe. Go for it.”

  “Hello, Paul.”

  She closed her eyes and listened as he asked where she was, when she’d be back, what she was doing. As if he really cared.

  “I’ll be back to pick up my things. Is eight o’clock convenient?”

  Pam snorted a laugh at her formal tone. Torie shushed her, trying to listen.

  “Torie, I don’t know how I can ever apologize enough. I’d…I’d like it if you continued to stay here. I want to know you’re safe. I’d be, well, devastated if something happened to you.”

  “Devastated? That’s interesting. Wow.” She put a note of derision in her answer. “Somehow I don’t feel welcome anymore, Paul. I’ll pick up my things. Pam’s booked me a room at the Marriott.”

  “Which one?”

  She told him and could hear him fumble for a pencil to jot it down. “I left a pen on the counter by the fridge.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  “Do you know the room number yet?”

  “No.”

  He sighed, and sounded sad, tired. “I’ll be here, Torie. Waiting for you. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  When she hung up, she didn’t know what to say.

  “That was long and involved.” Pam’s neutral comment puzzled her more. After all these years, she was far more used to Pam dishing dirt on Paul, and heaping coals on the fire of Torie’s peevishness with him. Instead, she was silent.

  “Yeah. He’s full of apologies.” It puzzled her.

  “You gonna forgive him?”

&n
bsp; Torie couldn’t believe her ears. “What? After what he said? Jeez, Pam, he practically called me a whore.”

  “But he didn’t, did he?”

  “No.”

  “Never mind,” Pam said in one of her lightning changes of subject. “Let’s go shopping.”

  “I’m not getting a dress.”

  “Yes, you are. If nothing else, you’ll need it for the Spring Fling for the Chamber, and you literally have nothing you can wear. So shut up and let’s shop.”

  By the time they got to Paul’s house, a little after eight, they’d found four dresses. Pam had insisted she buy all four, take them back to the hotel, and think about them.

  “All right, all right. I’ll do it,” she said, finally giving in.

  “Good. That black dress will be perfect with the shoes we bought.” She grinned at Torie. “I like being your personal shopper.”

  “Yeah. Well, you gotta help me the way you’re helping Carlos. Hopefully, I’ll be able to go back to work on Monday, which means I’ll have less time to get both houses up and running.”

  “I should start charging for this,” Pam said, joking. “Help people manage all this kind of stuff.”

  “Yeah, you should,” Torie said, totally serious. “You’d be perfect at it.”

  They rang the bell and Paul answered immediately, hurrying them inside.

  “You don’t want to be standing out on the porch when someone’s trying to shoot you.”

  “Oh. No. I guess not.” Now that she was with him again, in his house, she didn’t know what to do with herself. “I’ll get my things.”

  “Let me help you,” Paul offered.

  “That’s okay.”

  He followed her anyway, after telling Pam to make herself at home.

  “I know you need to do this, Torie. I don’t blame you.”

  “Blame me? I should hope not.” Torie struggled to find the anger and hurt she’d felt the night before. Instead, she found nothing. She smoothed the covers on the bed, thinking briefly about their incredible lovemaking.

  “Torie?”

  “I need to get out of here,” she mumbled.

  “You didn’t really get a chance to unpack.”

  She busied herself tossing the few things she’d set out into the suitcases, stacking the cases together to roll them out.

  “Please,” he said, blocking her path.

  When she looked up at him, his eyes were dark, unfathomable. “Please,” he repeated. “Don’t do this because I was stupid. I know sorry doesn’t cut it, as you said. I blew it. But don’t put yourself in the line of fire, Torie. Please.”

  Damn the man. Why did he have to sound so sincere? So worried about her. Not about his reputation, not about the police, but about her.

  If you’d have asked her a month ago who would stand by her, Tristan or Paul, she would have said Tristan. How wrong she’d have been.

  “I need to do this, Paul. I’ve been reeling since Todd was killed. I’ve let myself be blown from here to there by everything that’s happened. I have to find my center, find me again.” And why the hell was she explaining it to him?

  Because he’d stood by her.

  Because he’d apologized.

  Because he was so obviously miserable.

  She ignored the little voice in her head and put her hand on his outstretched arm, the one blocking the way.

  “I need to go.”

  He moved aside and let her roll the suitcases past.

  “Torie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Will you dance with me?”

  “He asked you to dance?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Pam demanded as they rolled her luggage to the room.

  “I guess it means he wants to dance with me at the partner’s dinner.”

  “Duh, yeah. But what else does it mean?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Pam, I have no idea. I mean, he’s all sexy and serious, and he’s asking me to save him a dance. How the hell…” She caught sight of Pam’s face. “What?”

  “You said he was sexy,” she said, sounding stunned.

  “So?” It took Torie three tries to get the door open.

  “So,” Pam said, shutting the door behind them, going to hang the dresses. “I’ve never heard you call him sexy before.”

  “Cripes, Pam, I slept with him.”

  “I know, but you didn’t say it was good. You didn’t call him sexy, you didn’t say anything about it.”

  “Well, it’s not like I go around detailing my love life.”

  “Ha!” Pam laughed. “Like you have one. So, I got a question for ya…”

  “Open those Cokes and pour me one before you start asking your probing questions.”

  “’kay.”

  “What’s the question?”

  “‘Do ya love him, Loretta?’”

  The movie line, from Moonstruck, had never failed to make her laugh. This time, however, it hit Torie like a fist to the solar plexus. She sat down on the coffee table, feeling as if the wind had escaped her and she couldn’t draw breath.

  “Torie? Torie?” Pam hurried over, crouched down. “What is it?”

  “Oh, my God, Pammie,” she managed. She felt like she’d been socked in the gut.

  When Paul’s phone rang, he ignored it the first time. Then thinking it might be Torie, he raced to get it. Sometime in the night, and throughout the day he’d realized the impossible. The improbable.

  Not only was he in love with Torie, he had been since his sophomore year in college.

  No wonder he had indigestion.

  When he checked the caller ID, it was Tibbet.

  “Hey, you called?”

  “Yeah. We’re watching your house. Thought you should know.”

  “Thanks. Torie’s not here.”

  “What? Where is she?”

  Paul hesitated. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll text that to you. Try and keep it private. There’s someone on watch for her, too.”

  Tibbet grunted. “Yeah. I get it.”

  “So, what now?”

  “Nothing. Go on to bed, get up, go to work, just like the rest of us slobs,” he said, and Paul could hear the ironic twist in his voice. “But if you hear anything, don’t be a hero, okay? Call nine-one-one. Call me. You got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Hey.”

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s up with you and Pratt Jr.?”

  “We’ve never liked each other. Even in college. We used to call him Weaselboy because he always acted like one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Off the record?”

  “Off.”

  “He was a slinky, sneaky, slimy snitch.”

  “Tell me how you really feel,” Tibbet drawled, making Paul laugh. “He’s got Pratt Sr. fooled.”

  “I don’t think so. Senior’s not easily fooled, even by his kith and kin. Melvin’s not that sly as to fool the old man.”

  “You’d be surprised how blind a father can be,” Tibbet said, adding, “especially when it comes to the eldest son.”

  “Only son, at that.”

  “All the more reason.”

  “So how’d you end up in his good book so much that he pimped you and your buddy to his daddy’s firm?”

  “No idea, and that still puzzles me. Neither Todd nor I saw that coming, I can tell you. We took Melvin out, thanked him with a nice dinner and all, but it was never comfortable. I think the bottle of Scotch Todd bought him is still sitting in his office on the credenza.”

  “Really?” He could hear Tibbet scratching notes. “Waste of good Scotch.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. I gotta get home. Remember, call. I don’t care if you think it’s only a mouse farting, if it’s out of place, lock the damn bedroom door and call.”

  “Got it, loud and clear.”

  He would call because he had something for which to live. He had Torie. He was going to do whatever it
took to find her forgiveness.

  For the first time, he understood Todd’s obsession with making it up to Torie. The difference was, Todd had felt that he’d somehow let a friend down, embarrassed her.

  From the vantage point of love—dear God, that was hard to admit, even to himself—he could see that Todd wanted to ease a friend’s pain. On the other hand, Paul wanted to win her back, and he didn’t give a damn about the short term. He wanted forever. He wanted a chance to be with her, hear her laugh. Have another dinner out. Or in.

  It wouldn’t matter if it was burgers and fries, or the finest steak and wine. He just wanted it to be with her.

  “Christ Almighty, I’m getting sappy talking to myself,” he complained aloud.

  It was true, though.

  Tomorrow he would plan. He would figure out a way.

  He’d loved her too long to let her go without a fight.

  He turned off the lights in the living room, but sat down at the kitchen table with his laptop. There was one thing he could do now.

  Within minutes, he’d ordered the flowers to be sent. They would be delivered to Torie’s room first thing in the morning. The card would have only four words.

  “Save me a dance.”

  That done, he shut down the laptop and turned out the lights. He turned off the porch light, but the other light, the one in his bedroom, he turned on.

  That was nearly his death sentence.

  He was walking to shut the drapes when he saw a glint of something directly across the street, where the neighborhood kids’ playground was located. Someone moving.

  Something different, Tibbet said.

  As he dove for the phone, the glass shattered.

  A whoop of a siren made him wince, and he heard engines revving outside as they tore off toward the park.

  He dialed Tibbet.

  “What?”

  “Your guys hit the sirens.” He couldn’t help the shake in his voice. “Someone just put a shot through my bedroom window.”

  “Damn, I was right. Marsden owes me twenty bucks.” Paul heard the sound of rustling clothes. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Sit tight.”

  “Okay if I do that on the floor?”

  Tibbet laughed and cut off the call. Paul heard the doorbell, and shakily got to his feet to answer it.