FINN CURSED himself all the way back to his hotel room. From the moment he’d seen Cowboy Bob’s hand sliding up and down Riley’s bare arm, his plan had gone to hell right along with his temper. Instead of calmly confronting her with what he knew and demanding that she tell him the truth under threat of arrest, which was the gist of what he’d intended to do when he’d left the hotel to pay her a visit, he’d gotten hung up on his dislike of the old guy touching her and the way she didn’t seem to have a problem with it. He’d lost his cool, and then, when he’d been stupid enough to let her pull him out onto the dance floor, lost his head entirely.
Difficult to interrogate a suspect when all you wanted to do was fuck her senseless.
Difficult to rationally evaluate anything she’d said when all you still wanted to do was fuck her senseless.
Every time he remembered the warm glide of her tongue along the outside of his ear, he got hard as a rock.
The easy solution—stop remembering—wasn’t as easy as it sounded.
He couldn’t seem to get it out of his head.
Any of it.
Her.
So much for saying good-bye. She was officially top of his hit parade again.
She knew something. Something big. No longer any doubt about it in his mind.
He’d been doing this too long not to have developed a nose for guilt.
And tonight she’d been throwing off guilt like skunk scent.
Even while she smelled of roses.
This time he’d recognized the scent. Same one she’d smelled of before, which he’d finally identified, although it had taken him a while to figure out exactly why some kind of flower seemed to be perfuming the air everywhere he went. Finally a lightbulb had gone off: it was his damned jacket, which had smelled like her all last night. This morning he’d dropped that particular suit off at the cleaners. He needed it to be minus any trace of Riley Cowan before he wore it again.
The better to put you out of my mind, my dear.
Thing was, it wasn’t looking like he was going to be able to do that anytime soon.
Other thing was, he wasn’t the only player in the game.
At least he wasn’t going to do her any physical harm.
She’d made a nice move by announcing on worldwide TV that she’d given Jeffy-boy’s phone to the FBI.
Smart girl.
He wasn’t sure it was enough.
His driving fear was that somebody else might start to wonder about what secrets she was keeping.
To that end, he’d made arrangements for a pair of undercover cops to be in the parking lot when she got off work at 2 a.m. Keeping discreetly out of sight, they would watch her walk from the door of the Palm Room to her car, then follow her home where the squad car was already in her driveway keeping tabs on everything that was happening in Margaret’s house.
The good news was, somebody placing a bomb in Riley’s car probably wasn’t going to happen. No point in killing the secret keeper until you knew the secret.
Letting himself into his hotel room—quietly so as not to disturb Bax next door—Finn headed straight for the bathroom, stripping his clothes off as he went.
What he needed was a long cold shower, followed by a few hours’ sleep.
* * *
AFTER SNAPPING at a customer who’d come up to her to complain that his drinks were watered (they weren’t), and being terse with a limo driver who tried to insist on parking right outside the front door as he waited for his VIP client, and threatening to call the police on a table of big drinkers who tried to sneak out without paying their tab, Riley was forced to face it: she was something less than her usual even-tempered self. And that would be because she was both worried sick and mad as hell at Finn. Ordinarily she would have fixed all those typical Friday night problems with her typical poise and finesse, but since she’d walked away from him on the dance floor and he’d subsequently (color her surprised) left the club, she’d been edgy and irritable and a whole lot quicker to jump than she normally would have been.
Fortunately, Don had left the club. Also fortunately, it was getting on toward one thirty. The club shut down at two. Closing up would keep her another half an hour after that, and then she would be free to go home.
Until ten o’clock Saturday morning, when she was due at her first job again.
At the thought, she barely swallowed a groan.
She hadn’t slept much last night, and she’d put in a full day’s work at the car dealership before coming in to the club tonight. She was bruised, thoroughly traumatized, and a little sore. The thought of calling in sick to both jobs had been tempting, but with the economy like it was, jobs were hard to come by. For her, with her baggage and especially with the fact that she’d been all over last night’s 11 p.m. news and, for all she knew, the news today, jobs were especially hard to come by. She hadn’t wanted to push it with either employer.
Of course, if she’d known Finn was going to stop by the club, she would have called in sick in a heartbeat.
I was glad to see him. That was the really galling part.
I must be insane.
He was an FBI agent, an investigator. He wasn’t hanging around her because he was smitten with her big green-hazel eyes.
He was doing his fricking job.
He probably thought of making out with her as a nice perk, like dental insurance.
That thought made her mad all over again.
So get over him already.
He knew way too much about what she’d been doing. He was suspicious of her, nosing around, and she was as sure as it was possible to be of anything that he wasn’t going to just go away.
Unless he was psychic, though, she didn’t see any way he could find out about George’s notebook, or discover what she and Margaret had done.
Didn’t keep her from being scared to death anyway. Not of Finn, but of being found out.
To say nothing of whatever murderous characters might be lurking around as they hunted the money.
The knot her stomach had wrapped itself into after last night’s conversation with Margaret kept twisting tighter.
Cissy Barry, the head waitress from the Star Lounge, came hurrying up to Riley. Maybe thirty-five, with short blond hair, she was still able to rock the club’s body-baring uniform, which only the two female assistant managers and the hostesses were exempted from wearing. “The ice machine in the Star Lounge is on the fritz. I’ve scooped all the ice out, but it’s going to need to be fixed before tomorrow night.”
Riley nodded. “I’ll leave a note for Stephan”—the handyman who worked days to keep the club functional at night—“to check it out.” Maude Clemons, one of the hostesses, was beckoning to her as she finished speaking. With a quick smile for Cissy, Riley headed toward the hostess’ station, threading her way among a crowd of rowdy Astros fans (she could tell by their T-shirts) heading for the dance floor.
The hostess station was twenty feet back from the second set of doors that constituted the entry. Paneled in bronzed mirrors, with a carefully tended live palm tree in one corner and a black leather hostess stand as the central feature, it was where the club’s four hostesses took turns greeting guests and showing them to tables, among other duties.
Maude, a beautiful twenty-something brunette who worked days as a model, said, “Phone for you,” and nodded toward the landline on the credenza behind the podium. Riley waved her thanks as Maude stepped away to greet a pair of just-arriving businessmen.
Walking over to the credenza, she saw the flashing light that indicated a call on line one, picked up the receiver, and pushed the button.
“Riley Cowan,” she said into the phone.
“Can you come and get me?” It was Emma. Her voice sounded small and thin and shaky.
— CHAPTER —
SIXTEEN
Less than twenty minutes later, Riley drove through the dozen or so four-story brick buildings that made up the Heywood Plaza apartment complex, jittery with nerves, ta
king in the relatively late-model cars all lined up in the parking areas, the green space complete with playground and swimming pool between the buildings, the dim and yellowish, but present, security lighting that kept these wee hours of the morning from being overwhelmingly dark. The complex was not particularly upscale, but it didn’t scream danger, either. The area of town was decent, not too far from River Oaks.
The surroundings weren’t the reason she was feeling so anxious.
It was the fact that Emma might be out here alone at this time of night that was giving her a spasm. Coupled with the fact that she definitely was out here alone. After last night, to borrow a phrase from Disney’s The Little Mermaid, which Emma had watched so often years ago that the songs were permanently implanted in the family consciousness, Riley wanted to be where the people are. Although she thought (hoped) she’d headed off any more attacks on her by telling the world that she no longer had Jeff’s phone, she couldn’t be sure that she wouldn’t be attacked for some other reason. Or that Emma wouldn’t be attacked.
Simply speculating about the possibilities was enough to make her blood run cold.
That old adage about there being safety in numbers had never been more true.
Em, what were you thinking?
The complex was laid out in a square with a single entrance off Willowick Road. Despite the lateness of the hour, a few people were outside—heading to or from their cars, walking leashed dogs, carrying out trash—but there was no sign of Emma. As Riley scanned the shadowy sidewalks and parking lots and front-yard space and vestibules, the ever-present knot in her stomach was joined by a tightness in her chest.
Emma hadn’t said much over the phone, just “come and get me” and the address, after which Riley had asked Cissy Barry to close for her and flown out the back door so no one but Cissy would realize she was leaving early. It had been obvious from Emma’s voice that she was near tears. Last time Riley had seen Emma was around seven thirty, when, after grabbing dinner and changing clothes to go to work at the club, Riley had headed out. Emma and Margaret had, she thought, been settling down for a night of TV.
Apparently not.
What she’d said to Emma, along with I’m coming right now, was Stay inside until I get there. I’ll text you.
But knowing Emma, and knowing that she was upset over everything that had happened, and considering that even driving like a maniac it had taken Riley almost fifteen minutes to get there, she wouldn’t be surprised at all to find Emma walking down a sidewalk or huddled in a vestibule.
The particulars of what Emma was doing at an apartment complex in the middle of the night could wait until Riley had her safe.
Craning her neck to look for addresses on the buildings as she drove, Riley found 2004, then 2006—she was looking for 2010—and then spotted Emma. Even as relief washed over Riley, some things, if not everything, became clear.
Emma was standing in the tiny patch of front-yard grass in front of 2010 talking to Brent. Brent was a cute kid, tall, black-haired, boyishly lean, but with some muscles from his position on the football team. Emma, her long blond hair tucked behind her ears and shining like moonbeams in the glow of a nearby security light, wearing a pretty blue romper that left most of her long legs bare, was nodding and smiling at something he was saying to her.
Riley hoped that she was the only one who appreciated what a good performance Emma was putting on. Brent had an arm around petite brunette Julie, who was nestled right up against him like she belonged there. Surrounding them, drinking it all in like vultures, was the mean girl triumvirate of Monica, Natalie, and Tori, along with a couple of Brent’s friends whose names Riley didn’t know.
Except for Emma, they were all wearing swimsuits: teeny bikini tops with towels for sarongs for the girls, surfer shorts for the boys. Brent’s towel was slung around his neck. Riley assumed they were heading toward the complex’s pool. Given that Emma wasn’t wearing a swimsuit and had called her to get picked up, Riley also assumed that she wasn’t planning to participate in the 2 a.m. swim.
And she knew Emma must be dying inside.
She didn’t know whether to honk, park, or circle. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass Emma.
Compromising, she drove around the corner, pulled into a parking spot out of sight, and texted Emma where she was.
A moment later, Emma came running around the corner. Hesitating, she looked around, saw the car, ran toward it, and threw herself inside.
“Go.” Emma dropped her bag in the footwell, grabbed her seat belt, and pulled it on even as Riley obediently started the car and backed out of the space. “I don’t want anybody to see you.”
“Why?” Putting the car in drive, Riley headed out of the complex.
“I told them a hot football player from Pearland was picking me up.”
Considering that Emma did not as yet know any football players from Pearland, much less any hot ones, Riley recognized the lie for what it was—an attempt to save face with Brent and the others—and made a sympathetic face at Emma in acknowledgment. As Riley pulled out onto Willowick, Emma lifted her hair away from her face and with quick, jerky movements twisted it into a knot at her nape. Then she blew out a sound that was part groan, part sigh.
Braking for a red light, Riley caught the scent of booze. “Have you been drinking?”
“Don’t start. I had like half a beer. It was a party.” She leaned her head back against the top of the seat and stared at the ceiling. “I hate my life so much.”
“How did you even get there?” Riley pulled out through the intersection, heading for the freeway. Traffic was almost nonexistent—she could see the lights of maybe three other vehicles, none of them close. They were out of the residential area now, and commercial establishments, most of them closed, lined the road on both sides. It was too dark inside the car to allow her to see Emma’s expression, but she could hear the unhappiness in her voice.
“Jen Combs and Sara Loomis picked me up. It’s Neely Shafer’s birthday. Her sister has an apartment there, so she was able to use the party room, and everybody was invited to spend the night.”
“Did you say anything about this earlier?” Because if so, Riley had missed it.
“I didn’t know about it until Jen called and asked if I was going. I mean, I knew it was Neely’s birthday, but I didn’t know about the party.” Turning her head, she looked at Riley. There was a despairing note to her voice. “I wasn’t even invited. I just—when Jen called I just—I’m so sick of staying home and not being a part of things anymore and . . .”
Her voice trailed off.
“And you thought it would give you a chance to see Brent,” Riley finished for her. Reaching the expressway entrance, Riley discovered to her annoyance that it was blocked off: damned road construction. She drove on, into the uber-darkness beneath the overpass, heading for the next on-ramp, which was about three miles away.
“Yeah,” Emma admitted.
“Didn’t work out so well, huh?” There was sympathy in Riley’s voice, and in the glance she shot Emma, who shook her head dispiritedly.
“It was awful. Everybody’s just different with me now, like I have a fatal disease or something. They’re either way too nice, or they kind of stay away and look at me. Neely even came up to me and said this thing like, ‘I’m so sorry I forgot to invite you, there’s plenty of room, please stay the night,’ which was so humiliating.” Emma took a deep, shuddering breath. “And the only thing Brent said to me all night was hi like he barely even knew me, until right there at the end when I was outside waiting for you and they all came out. When he saw me standing there he said, ‘Hey, we’re going swimming, should be a blast, you ought to stay,’ like he pitied me. And he had his hands all over Julie just like he’d had them all over her all night and when I ran into her in the bathroom right before I called you she told me they’re going out.” That last bit that came out in a rush told Riley how painful even talking about it was. As she finished, Emma folded he
r arms over her chest like she was cold. Riley knew that wasn’t it, but still she automatically reached out to turn down the air-conditioning. “Jen and Sara couldn’t give me a ride home because they were spending the night and I didn’t want to go around asking everybody if they were ready to leave and I—I just couldn’t stay.”
Riley hurt for her. “I’m sorry, Em.”
“I know.” Emma slumped in her seat. “Thanks for coming to get me, by the way.”
“Any time.” Riley glanced at her and asked, “Did you tell your mother you were going out?”
A negative shake of her head. “She was in bed.”
“Emma—” Riley started to remonstrate, but Emma looked so woebegone that she changed what she had been going to say to “There really will be hunky football players at East Pearland, you know. I’ll bet you a mani-pedi at Timothy’s that you’ll be all like, ‘Brent who?’ two weeks after you start.”
Emma made a skeptical face. “Yeah, but they’ll all know about Dad, too. Everybody knows. It’s like I’m branded or something.”
“Anybody that makes a difference to is somebody you don’t want in your life anyway.” Riley braked for another red light. They were close to the expressway on-ramp in an area lined with warehouses that appeared deserted at that hour. The long, corrugated metal buildings were enclosed by a succession of tall, chain-link fences. A few security lights glowed close to the warehouses and thus far away from the road, but other than that and the headlights of a van that had passed them a few minutes ago and was already stopped at the light, and their own headlights, which basically illuminated the back of the van, this part of the four-lane road was dark as a cave.
Emma said, “Yeah, right.”
“It’s—” Riley began, but never finished. A blur of movement outside Emma’s window made her look sharply toward it. Riley’s breath caught: there was a kind of dense shadow right beside the car—
Crash.
Emma’s window caved in, shattering faster than Riley could process what was happening. Heart lurching, scream tearing out of her throat, Riley jumped what felt like it should have been a foot in the air only to be restrained by her seat belt. Emma screamed, too, surging toward Riley, doing her best to get out of the way of the exploding window but held in place by her seat belt as pebbles of glass rained in on her. Riley’s gaze riveted on a black-clad arm as it shot through the now-missing window to grab at Emma’s door handle.
Hush Page 17