Rebel Without A Clue

by Carolyn Scott

  So I had to make sure he didn't find out.

  I headed to the office, trying to concentrate on the road while checking my mirrors every two seconds. The car was nowhere to be seen. Coward.

  There were no parking spaces near the office when I arrived so I parked on the opposite side of the road and crossed at the pedestrian crossing. My mind kept churning through the potential suspects with Roberta topping the list because she drove a blue sedan. But why follow me when she'd employed me? Was she checking up on me? Did she—

  "Watch out!"

  Something slammed into me, knocking me on my ass and sending my handbag flying into the air and the path of an oncoming car. The car didn't slow down and my bag rolled off the hood and tumbled to the road several feet away. I stared after the car.

  A dark blue sedan.

  "Are you okay?" The object that had knocked me over was a man the size of a sumo wrestler. He reached out and took my hand, hauling me up.

  I stood, feeling numb of brain and sore of body.

  "Miss? You all right?"

  "Cat! Cat!" Gina's voice screeched across the road. She dodged the cars which had slowed to watch the sideshow and hugged me fiercely. "Are you okay?"

  I checked myself over. All limbs intact, with the only pain coming from the arm that took the full brunt of my man-mountain savior. "I could do with a drink."

  She heaved a huge sigh and hugged me again. When she let go, she gesticulated after the long-gone car. "Did you see that fucking asshole? He didn't even slow down. In fact, I'm sure he sped up as he approached the crossing."

  "He did," said an elderly woman, nodding. "I saw him."

  "That's true," said a middle-aged man. "He ran right through the crossing, didn't try to stop."

  A group of people had milled around, all nodding angrily and cursing the city council for not doing more about the dangerous crossing.

  "Did anyone get its number?" I said above the buzz of voices.

  They shook their heads.

  "A description of the driver?"

  "Tinted windows," the man who'd saved me said. He handed over my handbag and I clutched it to me like it contained gold.

  I thanked him and took Gina's hand. We crossed the road together and she escorted me into the office and sat me down on the brown couch in the foyer. Carl came in behind us, panting.

  "Christ, Cat, are you okay? I just heard what happened from Linda at the Bed Shed."

  I let out a long, ragged breath. "Yeah. Fine."

  "Then why are you shaking?"

  I looked down at my hands. Not only were they shaking uncontrollably but they were white.

  "I'll make you a cup of tea," said Gina. She disappeared into the kitchen.

  Carl sat beside me and put his arm around me. "Want me to call Will?"

  "He's not here?"

  "He had a meeting."

  "Good. I don't want him to know."

  "He's going to find out eventually if he talks to the neighbors."

  "He's too busy to talk to people."

  He squeezed my shoulder. "In that case, I won't say anything if you don't want me to."

  "I don't."

  "Okay, but I have to ask—is this something to do with Roberta's case?"

  "Maybe." I shrugged. "Probably." I hugged my arms to stem the chill running up them, and tried to ignore my thumping heart.

  "Christ, Cat, this is serious. You're a mess. You should tell Will. He'll want to know."

  "No!"

  He held up his hands. "Okay. Then I think you should tell me what's going on, if only to have someone on your side. Obviously you're getting into some dangerous shit here."

  "There's not much to tell," I said. "I was investigating a lead and someone followed me. The same car as last Saturday before the fire."

  He swore softly and rubbed my hand. It had a slightly calming effect. "Maybe you should tell the police."

  "No one got a license plate number." I shrugged one shoulder and winced at the stab of pain down my arm. "There's nothing they can do."

  He slumped back in the chair and blew out a breath. Gina returned holding a cup of tea and I took it gratefully. They sat with me until the shaking stopped and my color returned to normal.

  Gina left but Carl hovered until I shooed him away. To keep from thinking too much about the near accident, I ordered some new business cards with my name and sorted through the mail on my desk. Despite my attempts to be cool, I jumped when the door flew open.

  Will entered like a fierce storm, his eyes as black as thunder, his fists clenched, looking like he wanted to kill someone.

  "Will? You okay?"

  He slammed the door shut and stalked across the floor to where I sat. I'd never seen him so angry. Usually he was too busy to notice things that should make him angry. The overt show of fury was something new. I gripped the desk and tried to think of what I'd done wrong to warrant the ferocity. Because of course, it had to be my fault.

  But instead of giving me an earful he drew me into a tight hug and didn't let me go for a really long time.

  "You okay?" he whispered into my hair.

  I drew away. "Who told you?"

  "Gina. I saw her outside."

  Traitor.

  He stroked my cheek with his thumb then gave me the once over. "You've got a graze on your elbow."

  He took me by the affected elbow and marched me into the kitchen. There was no space for a chair, so he propped me against the bench while he dampened a cloth and pressed it to the wound. Neither of us spoke, but I knew what was going through his head and I knew what he wanted to say. His body vibrated with the effort of saying nothing.

  After a few looooong seconds, I couldn't stand the tension any longer. Whoever said silence is golden mustn't have been in a confined space with a man like Will. A man whose emotions filled that space to bursting point.

  "You want me to give up this case, don't you?" I said.

  "I didn't say that."

  "You didn't have to. It's written all over your face."

  "But I'd like to go on record as not having said it."

  I rolled my eyes. "Will, this is serious."

  He wadded up the cloth and slammed it into the sink. "Don't you think I fucking know that! Jesus, you nearly got killed today. And if you don't give up this damn case of yours, then I'll…" He threw his arms into the air as if looking for divine intervention.

  "You'll what? Take me off it?"

  "Will it make any difference if I do?" His face started to turn purple and a vein popped out on his forehead.

  Before his head exploded all over the kitchen, I gripped his arms and stared into his eyes. "None whatsoever." I turned and left, striding down the hall to my desk.

  My response was partly out of frustration and anger at being treated like the little secretary, but also partly because I'd lose all credibility if I stopped investigating. Not only with Will, Carl, Scarface and anyone else who knew I was working it, but also with myself. I had to do it. He just didn't get it.

  He also didn't get that forcing me to do something only sent me running in the opposite direction. Dad had never got that either.

  Will followed me and grabbed my arm. I jerked out of his grip and glared back at him. We faced off, neither saying a thing but neither wanting to back down from the staring match.

  Carl's head popped round his door. "What's going on?" He looked from me to Will and back again. "Um, I'll be in my office if anyone needs me." He pulled his head back in and closed his door.

  "It's five o'clock." I picked up my handbag. "I'm going."

  "No you're not, we're in the middle of a discussion." Will snatched my bag and smacked it down on my desk.

  I picked up the bag again and slung it over my shoulder. "It's not a discussion when you order someone around."

  "I'm not ordering you to do anything. But if you weren't so stubborn, you'd see that you're putting yourself in danger. And for what? Tell me, Cat, because I don't get it. Why do you want to do this?
"

  "Pride. Self-respect. I want to be in control of my life instead of having someone tell me what to do all the time. But that's not something I'd expect you to understand."

  "I don't tell you what to do."

  I dropped my head and looked up at him through my lashes. "You've got to be kidding. You're the king of being in control. You've got Carl and me scurrying around—"

  "That's because I'm your boss!" He threw his hands up and let them slap against his thighs. "If that's your problem, then yeah, I guess I am a control freak. So it won't come as a surprise that I'm ordering you to stop working for Roberta Scarletti."

  "No surprise." I brushed past him.

  "And if you're planning on continuing in your own time, I wouldn't bother. I'll be making sure Forde won't help you either."

  "Fine," I said as I opened the front door. "Because you're as bad as each other and I don't need either of you." I slammed the door shut and turned to see Gina glaring at me, arms crossed. "What are you looking at?" I strode past her.

  "Want help crossing the road?"

  "No!"

  Chapter 13

  Alcohol is supposed to deaden the senses. I beg to differ. After three martinis I was hearing things I normally wouldn't. Like the squeaking tires of a passing bicycle outside, the elderly couple humping next door, and a million creaks and groans as the old apartment building settled.

  On arriving back at Gina's place, I'd closed the curtains and sat on the couch with my glass and my thoughts, alone among the flowers. Contrary to popular belief, I kind of liked being alone. It gave me time to think.

  But sometimes thinking can be bad.

  Especially when your life is in danger, your friends are conspiring against you, and your love life is a car crash.

  Thank God the doorbell interrupted my contemplation before I really freaked myself out. The clock on the wall indicated it was too early to be Will apologizing for his high-handed attitude. And Gina had a key. So who the hell could it be?

  Too much alcohol can also send your imagination into overdrive. Mine didn't need much encouragement to picture all the gruesome ways I could die, and the doorbell didn't help. Hopefully it was only a Jehovah's Witness, out to bore me, not beat me senseless.

  Gina's apartment was located in a leafy, quiet suburb. The building was so old, it didn't have a buzzer on the ground floor and anyone could climb the two flights of stairs to her front door. Anyone.

  I peeped through the peep hole, my heart in my throat. But the person on the other side wasn't the one I expected. Then again, I'd expected to see Grimes, Mad Max or Roberta wielding something dangerous to my health. Boy was I glad to see Scarface. I opened the door and hugged him.

  Startled, he hesitated before hugging me back. "If I'd known you'd be this happy to see me, I'd have brought condoms."

  I squeezed him tighter. Not because of the condom comment—definitely not—but because he'd brought something much more valuable. A voice of reason. I was all out of that commodity after the three martinis.

  "You okay?" he asked, touching my hair.

  "No."

  He hugged me tighter. "You drunk?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Not good, Sweetheart. Alcohol dulls the senses not the fear."

  I drew away. "I'm not afraid of you right now."

  "Were you ever?"

  We stepped into the living room. He opened the curtains and light streamed in. I blanched, but not at the light. Guess the fear wasn't going away just because I had a macho cop with me.

  "I take it you heard about my little brush with death," I said.

  "Knight told me."

  I groaned. I'd assumed Will wouldn't follow through on his threat to tell Scarface to keep me in the dark, but apparently he was more controlling that I thought.

  "He's got a nerve butting in," I said.

  "It is his company. His case, technically."

  I waved my hand. "Semantics. So are you going to do as he says and not help me?"

  "I'm here, aren't I?" He rubbed my arms and drew me close. "You sure you're okay? Knight said you were pretty shaken up."

  "I was." And so was Will. The murderous look in his eyes would stay with me forever. "How did he sound when you spoke to him?"

  "Determined to keep you out of danger. He cares about you, you know."

  "If he really cared he'd know I can't walk away. I don't want to. Even after the accident."

  He nodded. "I know. But Knight can't see that."

  "Then he's blind."

  Scarface shrugged. "Maybe."

  I stepped closer to him and slipped my arms around his waist. It was a bold move considering we'd done nothing more than flirt but in my defense, the martinis made me do it.

  "But you can see, can't you? You understand me."

  "No man understands the female mind. But yeah." He rested his arms on my shoulders and played with my hair. "I know that telling you what to do will achieve zip. And I also know that Knight's a stupid man if he lets you slip through his fingers because of a mistake he made many years ago."

  I frowned up at him. "You think he's got unresolved issues about the shooting?"

  "How should I know? I barely see the man anymore."

  I moved away and paced the room. What if Scarface was right after all? Could that long-ago accident still be affecting Will? His decisions, his actions and motivations? It was possible. Obviously not so much that it made him vulnerable and weak, but rather cautious and protective.

  "He is a control freak," I said to myself.

  "So you tell me."

  "Especially where his work is concerned."

  A small sigh came from Scarface's direction, catching my attention.

  "I take it that touchy feely stuff back there was you feeling pissed at Knight."

  "Huh? Oh. Sorry."

  "Yeah. Me too." He sat on the couch and stretched out his long legs. I got him a beer and poured myself another martini. Mixing alcohol with a hunk could be dangerous but I was willing to risk it. Will wasn't exactly my favorite person at that moment, so guilt wouldn't be a problem.

  And Scarface was sexy with a capital S E X. His lean, muscular frame molded to the couch but he didn't look as relaxed as usual. Energy zinged off him like he was made of electricity. I could feel it. His gaze darted around the room, his fingers tapped against his knee, and his body tensed at every creak and groan of the old building.

  "Want to check the place out for bugs?" I asked. "Or maybe bombs?"

  His gaze cut to me. "Your friend should upgrade her security. The front door isn't dead bolted, and the locks on the windows are so rotten, a strong breeze could open them. I know some security specialists."

  "This is her home, not a prison."

  He shrugged. "Just making a suggestion."

  "Fucking cops," I muttered under my breath. He was little better than Will and Dad when it came to wanting to be in control.

  "You say something?" he asked.

  "So what else is wrong? Your tension isn't just from this apartment's lack of security."

  "Not a good day at the office, Sweetheart. Hearing about your fight with the car just topped it off. Get an ID?"

  "Sedan. Dark blue."

  He rolled his eyes. "I hope you're a better investigator than you are a witness."

  "Hey, you try reading a license plate number when you're flat on your back with a fat guy on top of you."

  He raised one brow. "Sorry." His tapping fingers increased their rhythm against his knee. "Can I smoke in here?"

  "I don't think Gina would like it." When the tapping turned to drumming on the side of the beer bottle, I couldn't stand it any longer. "You can use the balcony."

  Outside, he couldn't remove a cigarette from its packet quick enough. He lit it with a Zippo and sucked hard, eyes closed, dragging the smoke into his soul. He savored it like a fine wine before exhaling slowly. He instantly looked more relaxed. If smoking could calm him like that, maybe I should take it up.

  "Ca
n I try?"

  He paused, the cigarette half way to his mouth, and looked at me. Then he laughed. "Knight would shoot me if you got a habit."

  "No he won't. It'll be my choice."

  "He won't see it that way. Anyway, why do you suddenly want to smoke? Think it looks sexy?" he asked with that know-it-all grin.

  "No! It's just that smoking seems to relax you, like a release for all your troubles."

  "Like I said, it's been a bad day." He rested his forearms on the railing. The cigarette dangled from his fingers into space. The sun had slipped behind the trees and the air had cooled without the sunshine.

  I leaned against the rail too, facing him, my elbow on the metal bar. "Anything to do with Lou's murder?" I sipped the martini. Surprisingly, I felt more sober than I had when he'd arrived.

  "Maybe."

  "Want to talk about it? Since I'm involved, you might as well. I won't tell a soul."

  His sighed heavily. "You're going to badger me until I do, aren't you?"

  "Yep."

  He took another drag and turned round, resting his back against the rail. "I suppose it's okay to tell you. Do you remember the laptop computer at Scarletti's?"

  "The one in the closet?"

  He nodded. "It's gone."

  "From the closet?"

  "From the evidence room."

  Holy shit! "But, but, that's not possible. Aren't those things under lock and key or something?"

  "They are."

  "Did you get a look at it first?"

  "The computer guys made a copy of the hard drive. None of the evidence is lost."

  I breathed a sigh. "Lucky."

  Scarface didn't seem to think so. He looked pissed off. Big time.

  And it just occurred to me why it was such a huge deal. "Only a cop could steal it from the evidence room."

  His nod was barely perceptible.

  Which meant Lou's murderer was a cop. Or he had an accomplice on the force. Christ.

  "So what was on the computer?"

  He shrugged. "Actually, nothing much. Or so we thought. Now we have to check it out again. Or the copy. Something must have been on it for the killer to go to such lengths to steal it."