by Joanna Wayne
“Why are you here, Dallas?” she asked him.
He pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit. When she did, he leaned his backside against the table so that he faced her. “Do you know a woman named Karen Tucker?”
Nicole narrowed her eyes. “This really is business?”
“Of course.”
“Police business?”
“Unfortunately. Do you know her?”
“No.”
“Think hard. It could be someone from the university, from politics, a friend of your dad’s before he died, maybe a friend of a friend.”
“Karen Tucker.” She repeated the name, as if saying it out loud could jar her memory. “Doesn’t sound familiar. Does she live in Shreveport?”
“She did. She was murdered last night.” He watched the change in Nicole’s expression, saw her brilliant eyes darken before she looked away. It was a typical reaction to that kind of news, even when a person didn’t know the victim.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I don’t know her. What would make you think that I did?”
“She had a piece of paper with your name and phone number on it. It was in the pocket of the slacks she was wearing when she was killed.”
Nicole shook her head. “What else was on the paper?”
“Nothing else, just your name and phone number.”
“How old was she?”
“Twenty-six.”
Nicole winced. “So young. Do you know who killed her?”
“Not yet, but I will before it’s over. That’s why I need your help.”
“She didn’t call. I’d remember if I’d talked to her.”
“Maybe Malcomb took the call.”
“I don’t recall his mentioning anyone named Karen.”
“And you don’t remember any unusual calls in the past few days?”
“Unusual? In what way?”
“I don’t know. I’m searching for anything right now.”
She stood and walked over to a cardboard box, picked it up and set it in the middle of the table. “Do you think I had something to do with the murder?”
“No, of course not. But the killer didn’t leave a lot of clues.” Actually, he’d left none. “I was hoping you might know Karen and be able to give me some information about her.”
“Doesn’t she have friends, family, co-workers?”
“I plan to talk to them, too.”
“But you came to me first?”
“It seemed as good a place as any to start.” Not to mention the fact that when he’d found Nicole’s name and number at the scene of a gruesome murder, it had hit him hard.
So far she’d told him what he wanted to hear—that she had no ties to the murdered woman, that she’d never even heard her name. But something had changed about her in the last few seconds. She seemed troubled, vulnerable. Was it something he’d said or just the subject that was getting to her?
“I wish I could help you, Dallas, but I don’t know a Karen Tucker.”
Nicole unbuttoned the smock. He stepped behind her and helped her shrug out of it. The nearness awakened a few unwelcome urges, and he let his hands linger at the task too long.
She took the smock from him, folded it and slipped it into a small canvas tote. “I need to go now.”
“Sure.” He needed to get out of here, too. Good detectives didn’t have feelings like the ones gnawing at his insides right now. He managed what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Can I give you a lift home?”
“I have my car.”
“Then let me walk you to it.”
“As a cop, or as an old friend? Or are the lines all blurred, Dallas?”
Blurred as hell, but that wasn’t the answer she needed. “As an old friend.”
“I’ll get my purse.”
He waited, a hundred unwelcome thoughts tramping through his mind. He had a dead body on his hands. Nothing new, but the facts surrounding the murder were. This murder had been similar to the other three, but not exactly the same. Not as clean as the first killings. This time the victim hadn’t been stripped of her clothes, or tortured. But the wound was similar and the woman fit the pattern. In her twenties. Brunette. Petite. Attractive.
But what was the victim’s tie to Nicole? And why the devil had Nicole become so uncomfortable when he’d asked her about unusual calls?
And what was he going to do about the desire that hit with the force of a boxer’s punch to the gut every time he came within twenty yards of the woman who’d just dropped into the middle of the crime spree of the decade?
“I’m ready, Dallas.”
Yeah. But was he?
NICOLE TRIED TO MAKE small talk as they walked to her car, but she doubted she could have done that with Dallas under the best of circumstances. This wasn’t the best. Murder was so foreign and frightening.
Karen Tucker. Yesterday the woman had been alive, probably going to work, having lunch with friends, maybe making plans for the rest of her life. Today she was dead, her body cold. Stone cold, like the chill that inundated Nicole.
Have you had any unusual phone calls?
Dallas’s question plagued her mind. The call to her house yesterday morning had been a prank call, nothing more. There was no reason at all to think it had been Karen Tucker.
So why hadn’t she mentioned it to Dallas? Nicole wondered. Why didn’t she mention it now, just say that a woman had called her house yesterday and accused Malcomb of being a liar and a cheat? She wrapped her arms about her chest, realized she was shivering.
Dallas took her arm and tugged her to a stop. “Are you okay?”
“Of course. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“For one thing, I came at you today without warning.”
“You were just doing your job.”
“Right. Now I’m being an old friend.”
She picked up her pace without bothering to respond. They both knew why he was here, and it had nothing to do with their past. He’d trashed that long ago.
“How’s Ronnie?”
“He’s fine.”
“That’s good. I always liked him.”
True. Dallas had been one of the few outsiders who ever seemed to connect with Ronnie. Still, he’d dumped his friendship with Ronnie the same way he’d dumped her, and Nicole resented that he’d brought her brother into this conversation.
“Is he still in that group home off Kings Highway?”
“Yes.”
“Is that working out for him?”
“Most of the time. He’s still Ronnie, has good days and bad, but generally he seems happy. The routine agrees with him.”
“I’d like to see him again.”
“I doubt Ronnie would remember you.”
“But he might, especially if we went out for a banana split. He always loved those—with three cherries, one for each scoop.”
It was pure relief to reach the car. He opened the door for her and she climbed inside.
“If you remember something later, anything to do with Karen Tucker, I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call.” Dallas took a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “Use the cell phone number. That way you won’t have to go through channels.”
“Okay.”
“And I was serious about wanting to see Ronnie again.”
She hesitated, wishing Dallas would disappear in a puff of black smoke. He didn’t.
“The decision is yours, Nicole. If you don’t want me to see him, just say so.”
Sure. Be the bitch and punish Ronnie because Dallas had dumped her years ago. “If you want to visit Ronnie, just call the home. The supervisor will have to okay it and set up an appointment. Ask for Tilda.” Nicole pulled a slip of notepaper and a pen from her purse, jotted down the number of the group home and handed it to him.
“Thanks.” He closed the door for her but leaned against it. “If you want to talk to me about anything, Nicole, anything at all, leave me a message and I’ll get right back to you.”
>
The bitterness returned with a vengeance. They had been here before. A return phone call from him then would have meant the world to her.
“If I think of anything to do with Karen Tucker, I’ll call.”
He nodded and stepped away from the car as Nicole turned the key in the ignition and backed out of the parking space.
And that was that.
But his visit had changed her day. She no longer needed a nap, and was eager to see her husband. She’d drive to the hospital and surprise him. Take him to lunch.
Ask him if he knew Karen Tucker.
Chapter Four
“What a pleasant surprise.”
Nicole relaxed a little as Malcomb stepped from behind his desk and walked over to meet her. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and her apprehension eased, the doubts that had haunted her on the drive to the hospital disappearing in the illuminating glare of reality.
Despite the problems they had, there was no reason to think the phone call from yesterday had any connection to a dead woman or to Malcomb. The prank caller just had rotten timing.
“I thought you and Janice were spending the day at the Revel,” he said, hovering over her.
“No, only the morning.”
“How did the art activities with the youngsters go?”
“Fine, but a little hectic. Preschoolers abound with energy.”
“I’ll bet. You must be exhausted.”
“And hungry. I was hoping I could persuade you to take me to lunch.”
“Just my luck.” He frowned. “I told Jim Castle I’d grab a quick bite with him. He’s buying a new camera and wants my input. I could probably put him off if I can reach him before he leaves his office.”
“No, it was just a thought.” And like most of her intentions involving Malcomb, they never worked as planned.
He took her hands in his. “Is something wrong, sweetheart? You look upset.”
“I wanted to talk, but it can wait until you get home.”
“Nonsense. It’s Jim who can wait.” Malcomb put an arm around her shoulders and led her to a chair opposite his desk. “Now tell me what’s bothering you. Is it Ronnie? Was there some problem at the group home?”
“No.” She sat on the edge of the chair. Malcomb leaned against the edge of his desk, his gaze intent, as if he were hanging on her every word.
“If this is about last night, I don’t know what to say except that I’m sorry, Nicole. I try hard not to bring the stress from my practice home with me and let it affect our relationship, but sometimes I fail.”
“It’s not about last night.” She hesitated, as always unsure just how to proceed with Malcomb. “I had a visitor at the Revel this morning.”
“Who was it?”
“A detective with the Shreveport Police Department.”
Concern shadowed her husband’s slate-gray eyes. “What did he want?”
“To ask me if I knew a woman named Karen Tucker.”
“What was that about?”
“She was murdered last night and they found a slip of paper in her pocket with my name and phone number on it.”
His brows arched. “Did you know this woman?”
“No. I’ve never even met her, at least not that I remember. I told Dallas that.”
“Dallas?”
“Dallas Mitchell. The detective. He’s a friend, or at least he was. We worked on my father’s campaign a few years back.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Nine years. It was the summer before my sophomore year at Tulane.”
“So this old friend tracked you down at the Revel to question you?”
“He didn’t exactly track me down. I ran into him yesterday when I was registering at the university, and he overheard Matilda and me talking about my volunteering at the children’s art tent today.”
“How convenient.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Okay, so this detective just happened to be at LSU-S at the same time you were yesterday, and he made a trip to the Revel to see you today.”
“He’s trying to find out what he can about the victim.”
“The victim. You’re starting to sound like a cop yourself. At any rate, I don’t like the fact that this man popped in unannounced and got you all upset.”
“I’m actually more concerned about the fact that my phone number was in the woman’s pocket. I was wondering if perhaps you knew her.”
“Did the detective suggest that I might?”
“No, I just thought that if she knew me, she might also know you.”
“What was the name again?”
“Karen Tucker.”
“The name doesn’t strike any chords.” He pushed up the sleeve of his white coat and glanced at his watch. “I really should be leaving if I’m going to meet Jim. Why don’t you go home and get some rest? I’ll make this a quick lunch and be home soon. We’ll talk again when I get there.”
“Okay.” She stood and started for the door. Malcomb put a hand to the small of her back and walked with her. “I’m sorry you had a bad morning. I’ll make it up to you tonight.”
“You don’t have to. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know, but I hate to see you upset.”
He kissed her on the back of the neck, a move that used to send desire slithering along her spine. Today it had no effect. “There is one other thing, Malcomb.”
“Can’t it wait?”
It could, but the timing seemed better now, while he was agreeable and affectionate. She turned to face him. “I had a call yesterday morning from some woman who wouldn’t identify herself.”
“Was that the prank call that you mentioned?”
“Yes. She said she just called to tell me that my husband was a liar and a cheat.”
“A liar and a cheat? Me?” He laughed and gave her a one-armed hug. “What did I do, charge her more than she thought I should for a consultation?”
“She didn’t say what you lied about or how you cheated.”
“Because she didn’t know what to say. You surely didn’t put any stock in her accusations?”
“No, but now, thinking back I wonder… I mean, do you think the caller could have been Karen Tucker? That would explain why my name and number were in her pocket.”
“Did you mention that to the detective?”
“No.”
“Good.” Malcomb took her in his arms and held her close. “Don’t worry about Karen Tucker, darling. Whatever happened to her has nothing to do with us. I’m sure your detective friend will quickly come to that same conclusion.”
“I guess.”
“Are you sure you’ll be all right? I can call the restaurant and cancel with Jim. I’m sure he’d understand.”
“No. I’ll be fine.”
She slipped her hand inside the pocket of her slacks and wrapped her fingers around the edges of Dallas’s card as she left Malcomb’s office and walked toward the elevator. Seeing Malcomb hadn’t helped at all. Questions still tumbled through her mind. Doubts seared into her conscience.
Why hadn’t she told Dallas about the prank call? Had she been afraid that he would drag her and Malcomb into the murder investigation? Or had she not wanted to admit to the guy who dumped her years ago that an anonymous caller had said her husband was a liar and a cheat?
Had making that phone call been the last thing the woman had done before a madman snuffed out her life?
Nicole was trembling by the time she reached her car. She slid behind the wheel, then took out her cell phone and punched in a familiar number. She had to talk to someone who’d listen and then call it the way she saw it—no holds barred. “Please be home,” she whispered as the phone started to ring.
JANICE FUMED as she strode through her town house, gathering the newspaper and magazines she’d left scattered in the living room, and picking up the shoes she’d shed the second she’d walked through the door. Nicole had sounded upset on the phone, and there was no doubt in Jan
ice’s mind that Dallas was the root of the problem.
Heartless, conniving, contemptible rat that he was, it was still hard to believe he’d have the nerve to chase after Nicole after all he’d put her through. But that was exactly what he was doing. Worse, there had definitely been a sizzle between Nicole and Dallas this morning.
Janice was thankful now that she’d taken the entire day off, instead of just the morning. She welcomed this opportunity to try to talk some sense into Nicole. A dose of straightforward, blunt truth was what her cousin needed, and that was what she was going to get. Dallas Mitchell was nothing but trouble.
CONDENSATION FORMED on the iced tea glass, wetting Nicole’s fingertips. She set the glass on the table in the breakfast nook, watching Janice’s expression change to what could best be described as a contemptible smirk. Nicole had told her everything—about running into Dallas at the university, the details of his visit this morning, even the message from the prank caller.
Janice propped her elbows on the table and leaned in closer. “I don’t buy it. It’s too coincidental.”
“That’s what I keep thinking. I should have mentioned the prank caller to Dallas so that he could follow up on it.”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t tell him anything about your private life. He’s the part of this I don’t buy. I wouldn’t put it past him to have concocted the whole thing just to get to you. He probably thinks the two of you can have some nice hot affair now that you’re married.”
“I’m sure he didn’t concoct a murder.”
“No, but he could have put someone up to calling you and telling you Malcomb was fooling around with another woman, to plant some doubt in your mind and make you more receptive to his advances.”
“That’s preposterous.”
“Is it? I can believe it of him. He had some woman call you, then tailed you to the university so you could have the chance meeting. It’s just the kind of thing a cad like him would come up with.”
“And I think I’m cynical.”
“You, cynical? You’re so trusting that if a bum on the street asked to hold your purse for you, you’d probably let him.”