by Holmes, Dee
Ease her out gently, Booth. Gently.
“That’s not possible, Gladys.”
Kathleen’s heart sank.
Gladys drew herself up, mouth prim, chin lifted in haughtiness. Peering pointedly at Kathleen, the older woman made her feel as if she’d conspired with Booth to erase Angie’s memory.
“She ain’t been dead a year, Booth, and here you are out with some woman, letting her paw you and letting that poor child watch.”
“Now wait a minute,” he snapped.
“Does your mother know about her?”
Booth tried to guide Kathleen out of Gladys’s reach, but Kathleen balked and pulled away. Booth taking her side was only going to fuel the woman’s annoyance.
“Actually, Mrs. Hucklebee, I’m new in town. I live in the same building as Booth. Since we both had errands in the same direction, we decided to do them together.”
Gladys ignored her. “I know about women taking up with men and making them forget their wives. Angie was sweet, wonderful and loving. She wanted me to help with the baby. We had plans. Booth knew all about them. And when my poor Angie died, he broke Angie’s promise.”
“I’m sure he had no intention—”
“The hell I didn’t,” Booth muttered under his breath.
“How do you know?” Gladys asked suspiciously. “You said you’re new in town.”
“Gladys, that’s enough.”
“I wanted to baby-sit with my grandchild.”
“She’s not your grandchild, and you’re not going to baby-sit for her.”
He nudged Kathleen ahead, then wheeled the cart around, moving away from Gladys, but not before she gave a parting shot.
“If you had loved my Angie, you wouldn’t be whoring with another woman. You would be mourning and keeping her memory alive.”
“Dammit!”
“Booth, don’t,” Kathleen said hurriedly.
But Gladys was already ambling away, mumbling something that neither heard.
Once again Booth swore, this time dragging a hand through his hair and closing his eyes for a few seconds. He drew in a long breath, then put his arm around Kathleen and pulled her close. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”
“Was she really as close to Angie as she said?”
“Angie felt sorry for her. She lives alone in a house packed with forty years’ worth of junk, and she doesn’t have any friends. Gladys and her husband once owned a yam shop, but he took off with some stripper, leaving Gladys with the store, the bills and a very bitter anger against men. I was never particularly fond of her, but Angie had a soft spot for people not as fortunate as she.”
“I wish I’d known her. She sounds wonderful.”
“The best. Too damn good to Gladys, and this is what came of it.” Booth sighed. “Anyway, when Angie learned she was a reclusive neighbor, she recalled going to the yam shop with her mother when she was a little girl. Gladys had always given her gingerbread cookies, and Angie never forgot it. One afternoon, she went to see Gladys, reminded her about the visits and the cookies. Gladys began to invite Angie in to see all ‘her special things,’ as she called them. In time they became friends.”
“But surely Angie realized she was strange.”
Booth shrugged. “Angie always thought the best of people, and Gladys adored her. The old lady was lonely, and Angie made a vague promise that she could help out with the baby.”
“Where do you come in all this?”
“I didn’t like Angie going over there. The woman is weird. Maybe harmless, but she gossips and spreads rumors and in general is a royal pain.”
“Is she why you moved?”
“She was one reason. No way was I gonna let her take care of Lisa.”
Kathleen agreed wholeheartedly, but she also still reeled from the name-calling and suddenly being thrust into the role of the woman who was taking Angie’s place.
Now the teasing with Booth and the planned dinner together had taken on more serious implications. If Gladys was a gossip and she began to spread Kathleen’s name around, she could not only make Booth look bad in the eyes of all those who loved Angie, but she could draw attention to Kathleen in a far-too-public way.
As she went through the checkout, holding Lisa while Booth handled the bags of groceries, Kathleen decided she had to stay away from him. The tricky part would be giving him an explanation he would believe.
They loaded the groceries into the car, got Lisa strapped into her seat in the back, and Kathleen slid into the front
“You’re awfully quiet,” he said, starting the engine and the air conditioning. “Gladys get to you?”
She stared straight ahead. “I can’t see you anymore, Booth.”
“What?”
She took a shaky breath. “Look, nothing has really started between us. And we’ve both admitted that whatever there is isn’t serious. I think it’s best if we just leave things here.”
He drummed his hand on the steering wheel. “You know, if I wasn’t a cop and if I didn’t have a daughter, I’d go and strangle that vindictive old lady.”
“It’s not just Gladys. Although, to be honest, any woman following Angie would get a tough time from people here in town. Just from the little I’ve heard, she was liked and respected by everyone. Gladys might be a bit rabid, but there are a lot of people who’d resent a new woman taking Angie’s place.”
“Has anyone else said anything to you?”
“No, but we haven’t really been seen together.”
He looked at her for a long time, saying nothing.
“I just think it’s best if we don’t start,” she said softly.
“It stinks to hell and back.”
He drove out of the parking lot, sliding his sunglasses over his eyes and never once glanced at her until they stopped in front of the apartment building.
He turned off the air conditioning and put all the windows down. Then, right in full view of Alfred, who was watering the rosebushes, and Mrs. Starkey, an across-the-street neighbor, Booth kissed her.
In fact he made it quite clear this wasn’t any light brush across the lips. The kiss was full and deep and lingering, causing her senses to reel, making her forget he was doing this for an audience. Then, before she could draw a deep breath, he did it all over again, this time sliding his hand into her hair.
When Kathleen opened her eyes, Alfred’s watering hose was drowning one of the bushes and Mrs. Starkey’s poodle had wrapped his leash around her legs. Both spectators were staring in obvious astonishment.
“They want something to gossip about, that should keep the buzz up to speed for at least a week.”
With that, he got out of the car, hauled the groceries into the building and returned for Lisa, while Kathleen sat in stunned silence, her mouth feeling bee-stung, her heart racing, her cheeks hot.
Oh, my God.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DAYS LATER, after managing to successfully avoid him, yet unable to forget his kiss, Kathleen found herself in an even more unexpected place—his apartment at nearly midnight. He looked disgruntled and edgy—and sexy.
“Well of course it’s ridiculous,” Kathleen said to Booth.
“How can you say that? She’s stopped fussing.”
“She’s too young to have a preference for one person over another.”
“Not one person, Kathleen. You.”
Despite her disbelief, Kathleen was flattered and touched by the compliment. “Who’s been staying with her?”
“My mother and my sister. My mother is exhausted and my sister told me to give her chocolate. Then again, her answer to any emergency is chocolate.”
“With all due respect to your sister, I don’t think Lisa is having chocolate withdrawal.”
“Hey, look, all I know is that for the first time in three days she’s not sobbing or fussing.”
Lisa was indeed quiet, breathing in a contented rhythm, snuggled in Kathleen’s arms. It gave Kathleen a whole new sense of rightness deep wi
thin, as if she’d finally come home. The baby made her feel wanted and needed and special.
It was Wednesday night, and just a half hour ago, she’d returned from a delightful dinner with Alfred, during which they’d discussed music and antiques and the highlight of his years in business—when he’d discovered a forgotten masterpiece in a boxed lot he’d bought from an estate.
She’d been about to undress and go to bed when Booth had called. Booth sounding desperate about anything struck her as odd, but there was no mistaking the edge of raw panic in his voice. She’d gone up to his apartment immediately.
Kathleen had noted his exhaustion and rumpled appearance the moment she walked in. Obviously he’d gotten very little sleep, and he looked as if he’d dressed in the dark. Jeans zipped but unsnapped. No shirt. No shoes. Beard-stubbled cheeks and uncombed hair. The look, although undoubtedly unintentional, sent a flurry of raw skips and jumps leaping through her tummy.
Clearly, from the irritated look on his face, he resented her outward calmness and control. It gave her a satisfied feeling that her avoidance of him had been the best decision, given the growing awareness between them.
That distance had been easier to keep since she’d begun hunting for a place of her own. Gail had called on Monday to say she’d be bringing her sister back for a visit. Since the apartment had only two bedrooms, an extra guest would make for tight living. In addition, Kathleen had had her work at the restaurant and the youth center. Consequently, she hadn’t been home very much, which was fortunate. After the grocery-store debacle and Booth’s public kiss, she felt exposed and frighteningly aware of how tenuous staying out of the limelight could be.
But tonight she felt invincible. For the first time since she’d met Booth, she felt more than equipped for anything he might toss her way. A sense of female power blossomed within her. It was indeed a heady feeling, knowing that Booth needed her.
“I’ve been calling you all evening.”
“I was out,” she replied, amused by his disgruntlement.
“Yeah, I figured that.” His gaze swept down her dress all the way to her heeled sandals.
The baby’s warm head pressed into her neck, her scent sweet and comforting. “I thought Wednesday was your night off.”
“It was, and I planned to catch up on my sleep. Unfortunately Lisa wasn’t cooperating.”
“She is now. Shh. Let me put her down.”
Kathleen carried her into the bedroom and slowly lowered her into the crib. The baby stirred, then settled. Kathleen put Lisa’s jungle quilt over her, stroked her cheek and smoothed back her curls until she heard the even breathing of deep sleep.
When she returned to the living room, Booth had sprawled in an easy chair, a bottle of beer dangling from one hand, his expression grumpy. She resisted going to him, brushing her hand across his hair and whispering sympathy. He looked exhausted, but he seemed agonized, too. Lisa was growing and becoming a handful. No doubt that increased his feeling of loss for Angie. His daughter needed a full-time mother, rather than a long line of well-intentioned friends and relatives. Kathleen’s erratic role—and she had no idea what that was beyond being a downstairs neighbor—had apparently been embraced by Lisa. She couldn’t deny that she was deeply and profoundly moved by the baby’s trust.
“So where were you?” Booth asked, raising the bottle and drinking. “It’s close to midnight.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
She touched a finger to her chin and tapped. “Let me see if I have this straight. You live up here and I’m a temporary guest in a downstairs apartment. I don’t date you. You’re not my father, my husband, my keeper or my conscience. Therefore it escapes me why you have the right to ask where I was.”
“Humor me.”
He was serious. He really expected her to account to him for her activities. “No.”
He took a long swallow of beer. “So what’s he have that I don’t? A better line or was the chemistry just too strong to resist?”
Kathleen folded her arms and tilted one hip. “You have a hell of a nerve.”
“Apparently I don’t have much else when it comes to you. Tell me, has this guy, whoever he is, been on the side all along? Is that why you’ve been so determined to avoid me? You could have explained. I don’t cruise in private waters, babe, and being told the truth doesn’t send me over the edge.”
She pressed her lips together to keep the smile back. The mental image of intimacy with Alfred, as delightfully warm and sweet as he was, struck her as ludicrous in the extreme. She had little use for jealousy in men, but Booth’s reaction was transparent and endearingly cranky. “Just because you can’t get in touch with me whenever you want, you assume I’m sleeping with some guy?”
“If he’s sleeping, he’s dead.”
“I think that was a compliment.”
He shook his head, obviously aware he wasn’t going to rattle her or get any answers. He scowled, waving the bottle to indicate the door. “My apologies for being such a bastard. Blame it on exhaustion and confusion. Thanks for coming up. It hasn’t been this quiet in days.”
Kathleen debated the course of action that floated through her mind. She weighed the potential consequences, reminded herself that she was too attracted to him to risk it. These weeks of ordinary living with kind people had too often made her past fade like an old photo in the sun. But that didn’t change the fact that she was still in danger, and that Booth, because he was a cop, was the last man she should become involved with.
Yet her denials were weakening, her resolve lessening. Even the fear and panic of those early weeks had diminished. At the same time, this suddenly revisited decision felt right. More than that, she wanted to do it.
She pressed her hand to her mouth to cover her yawn, but also to give him the sense that what she was about to say was not a major reversal, merely a favor. “If you’d like, I’ll take care of Lisa tomorrow so you can get some rest.”
He stared at her as if he’d misunderstood. “Serious?”
“Yes.”
“God, that sounds better than taking you to bed. I must be in a bad way.”
She laughed. Then he grinned. She walked to the door. “What time?”
“About eight? Is that too early?”
“I’ll be here at eight.”
Later, as she crawled into bed and listened to the soft hum of the ceiling fan, Kathleen realized she could hardly wait for morning. She’d missed Lisa.
And she’d missed the volatile tension between her and Booth, too.
AT THE ROADKILL Café in Wyoming, the Rainmaker settled into the same booth he’d occupied the last time he’d met Pony here. Since then, there had been two weeks of frustration and dead ends. From the enthusiastic phone call from Pony, he assumed he’d finally made some progress. At the very least, Pony had better have located the woman.
Protecting his business and its cash flow was paramount. With cops all over the state looking for Kathleen Hanes, he’d had to sharply curtail the drug shipments coming in by air. The abandoned landing strip had already provoked some phone calls about unidentified lights; to continue his import activity now would heighten curiosity and get other cops nosing around. That he didn’t need. Since the real killer was part of his very successful enterprise, the sooner an arrest was made, the sooner the heat of an investigation would cool and the Rainmaker could resume full operations. The bottom line was that as long as Kathleen Hanes was a fugitive, the investigation into Hanes’s death would remain open and in the news. And the Rainmaker would be hampered from doing business.
The plan to pin this on the woman had been the Rainmaker’s—she fit the mold of the desperate wife who would do anything to escape the next beating. Her general isolation from the townsfolk and her sudden and unexpected departure with a drunken Hanes waving a gun had been exquisitely fortuitous. She’d run, having no clue that what she was doing to keep herself safe was in fact making her look very guilty. It couldn’t have
gone more perfectly if he’d scripted events himself.
Using powerful binoculars, the Rainmaker had watched the twist in his own scenario unfold that dusty June afternoon from a hidden area a few hundred yards away. He’d been watching the daily routine of the Hanes household for over a week, assessing the right time for a permanent resolution to the problem of the deputy sheriff. The Rainmaker had never been particularly impressed by Hanes. The man’s inability to control his drinking and his temper had posed risks from the get-go, but within the loop of cops willing to look the other way, Hanes had friends, thereby making an outright erasure tricky.
The Rainmaker had exercised patience until Hanes had shot off his mouth in a local saloon to a stranger who had turned out to be a retired DEA agent. The Rainmaker had had no choice then; the agent had to be taken down, and the arranged car accident had to be clean, swift and untraceable.
He’d blamed Hanes for the necessity of the agent’s death, and the event had signaled Hanes’s own elimination. The Rainmaker had the man to do the job—one who liked power trips and needed cash in a major way for his escalating gambling debts. The biggest hindrance was Hanes’s wife.
Getting her away from the house would have been ideal, but she rarely left, and forcing her away would have created a whole new set of problems. The next best plan was to render her unconscious and deal with Hanes; then, when she awakened, she’d find him dead. Naturally, she’d be hysterical, call the cops and when they arrived, she’d have no alibi. Given her abusive history with Hanes, the killing would look as if she’d finally retaliated. She had few friends, was estranged from her family and had no money—all complications that would tie her up with a public defender for God knew how long. Her conviction wouldn’t have been a sure thing, but it would stop any ongoing search for Steve’s real killer.
But the lady had convicted herself and played unwittingly into the Rainmaker’s hands when she fled the house with her cheap suitcase in her old car. All he would have to do was wait until she was arrested as a killer on the run. He’d been positively blissful about the entire operation, certain that an arrest would be made within hours.
