She circled slowly. Nothing. She went around once more. In the far parking area over by the trees, she saw a gray Cadillac with dark tinted windows backed into the curb. Damn, she thought, Florida requires only one license plate, and it’s on the rear. She couldn’t see from where she was. She parked a row away, got out and slowly crept over to the Caddy approaching from the rear. From a distance, she could tell it was a Florida plate, but not close enough to read the county name. She moved gradually closer. There! It was a Dade County plate.
Suddenly, the driver-side door of the Caddy swung open. She froze. Leo leaned out, pointing a gun at her.
“Come closer. Don’t want you running away. Shooting you in the back would upset my whole day.” He clicked the slide back on the .45 automatic.
“Is that the gun you used to kill Charlene Faulk?”
“Never heard of her. Ask me about Sandy Reid, and what I have in mind for her.” He narrowed his nasty eyes. “You don’t seem all that nervous right now. You ever been threatened at gunpoint before?”
She nodded.
“Well, you’re good at it. Now where’s the money?”
“Julia wouldn’t give it to me. Says she’ll hand it over only to you. I came to tell you where she’s waiting.”
“Lying comes easy to you lawyers, doesn’t it? You weren’t looking for the money, you were looking for me. And you found me. I underestimated you. Big mistake you showing up like this without the money.” He motioned with the gun. “Get in the car, Babycakes. I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Getting me in your car won’t get you any closer to your money.”
“We’ll talk about the money after.” As he began to step out of the car, he started to shift the gun to his other hand.
She kicked the car door hard. Slamming it violently catching his arm. He let out a yelp. The gun clattered to the ground. Both jumped for it. She was closer, reached out and almost had it. He grabbed her ankle and yanked her back. She kicked and gave him a two-inch spiked heel across his nose. She shoved the gun farther away with her foot. He got to his feet. She kicked out and tripped him. Both lunged again for the gun. She was half his size and quicker. She got it! Still half-lying on the ground, she turned toward him. He froze. She had him at point blank range, one tiny flicker of her finger and he’s dead.
He struggled to back away, holding his hands out in front, blood streaming from his nose. “Put the gun down, you won’t shoot. Anyway, that gun won’t fire the way it is. Look the safety’s on, you have to take it off.”
He wanted her to shift her eyes down at the gun, but she’d fired similar automatics at the gun range and knew it was nonsense. “I saw you rack the slide. That means there’s one in the chamber all ready to go bang. Would you like me to test it on you, Babycakes?”
She was still lying on the ground, propped up on her elbows with both hands holding the gun pointed at him. “Get down flat on the ground or I shoot. I’ll do it for Charlene. A sweet girl who didn’t have a mean bone in her body. And died for no reason at all—unlike you, who deserves to die.”
“Now put the gun down. I never killed no one, at least not lately. Certainly wouldn’t have killed you. Want you alive.” He started moving back away from her haltingly. “You won’t shoot. We’re the same breed, two of a kind. A couple of hustlers from the streets. You’re aiming at one of your own. We don’t shoot each other—the fools get shot. You and me—we die last.” Blood from his broken nose was flowing freely, down his blue shirt and over his cheap jacket. He tried to wipe it with his sleeve. “You won’t shoot... you won’t shoot.”
She tightened her grip on the gun. “Get down!”
He kept moving slowly backward while staring at her. He reached the open car door, slid into the front seat and slammed the car door fast.
His life wasn’t worth living, but she couldn’t bring herself to kill him. The best she could do was wish him dead. She let out a sigh and lowered the gun.
He started the car. Just as it began to move, she rolled over, pressed the muzzle of the gun against the side of the rear tire and fired. The Cadillac squealed away, and she watched it melt into the traffic.
Seconds later Jaworski’s unmarked cruiser screeched to a stop. He yelled through the open window, “Which way did he go?”
“South on U.S. 1, but he won’t get far skidding on three tires.”
The crash itself wasn’t that loud, but the explosion shook the neighborhood and blew shrapnel against nearby houses on the block. Looking south, they could see the shoots of fire, flames and dark smoke rising in the air above the tall palm trees.
Eddy said, “Looks like the world is through with that guy.”
“He can smoke all he wants now,” she said, “everybody smokes in hell.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Martin had gone to the police department to be with Sandy as she finished giving her statement about the confrontation and death of Leo. While waiting, he called Nigel and briefly gave him the news—thanks to Nigel’s investigation, she had successfully gone up against Leo who consequently died in a car wreck. Nigel said he was eagerly waiting to hear all the details. Late-afternoon they were able to get to the office.
Nigel was waiting at the door. “Martin told me you confronted Leo? What the devil does that mean?”
Martin answered, “She stalked him, fought with him, wrestled the gun away from him and shot out his tire. He died in a fiery car crash trying to escape her.”
“Nothing like a bit of mayhem to cheer up Sandy,” Nigel quipped. “But then, I suppose well-behaved women rarely make history.”
“Next she’ll be leaping tall buildings with a single bound,” Martin added.
“Amazing, and she looks as if she simply stepped out for coffee.” Nigel said.
“Perhaps her cape is covering her injuries,” Martin offered.
“No, I just clean up well.”
They followed her into her office. “Sandy, you must tell me the entire story,” Nigel said. “You gave the bastard quick justice for shooting Charlene, I trust he didn’t die too swiftly.”
“You’re the one who saved the day,” she said. “You’ve earned an increase in salary.”
“I suppose,” he said meekly.
“No, seriously. You’ve proven you know how to play with the big boys, and we don’t want to lose you, right Martin?”
Through a huge grin, Nigel asked, “What about Julia Bardner?”
“Julia’s a bad girl. As I told Martin on the phone, she’s had the money all along. Somehow, she got it away from Coleman, who came to town looking for real estate. My next step with Julia is to find out what sort of real estate deal she and Coleman were in, that got him killed. She’ll be discharged as soon as the hospital drops the suicide watch,” Sandy said. “Eventually she’ll be charged with conspiracy to kill Coleman, I would think.” In her mind, Sandy still had the unanswered question of why Charlene was in Julia’s office.
Martin said, “We know Lester didn’t kill for money, he killed out of jealousy and in desperation for losing everything. But we don’t know what went on between Julia and Coleman.”
“Lester is loosening up, more cooperation, more honesty,” she said. “He claims Coleman was holding a gun when shot, which is consistent with your video enhancement.” She leaned back on her desk chair. “So bring me up to date with what’s happening in the office.”
“First, we celebrate,” Martin said. “With Leo out of the picture, we can relax for a while, since no one’s life is being threatened. The calm around here seems almost exhilarating, not as good as a martini, however.” He smiled and looked over at her. “Let’s all walk over to the Windward Bar.”
She said, “Oh Martin, as great as that sounds I’m simply not up to it. Can we celebrate tomorrow? I’m going home, take a shower and crash.”
Nigel walked to his desk to answer the phone. He soon came back and announced, “That fellow from out of town is on the line.”
“What fell
ow?”
“The one you seem unwilling to brush off.”
She laughed. “Mind your own business, Laddie. He’s just an old friend.”
Martin hastily left her office and walked up front with Nigel.
She picked up the phone. “Kyle, I’m sorry. I realize I promised you a dinner date, but you’ve no idea what I’ve been through today. I’m still hearing bombs go off.” She listened to his mild protest and with each of his words, she felt guiltier. She swiveled her back to the door and whispered, “Okay, come on over to my house. But I’m not getting all dressed up and going out. Maybe we can order something delivered. Just don’t expect me to be very good company this evening.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Two hours later, after a glorious, refreshing shower, and after throwing on a black, scoop-neck tee and jeans, Sandy opened her door to Kyle. He stood there with a bottle of wine in one hand, a sack of Chinese takeout in the other and a grin on his face. “Your favorite, shrimp fried rice and egg rolls,” he announced proudly.
She started to comment on his remembering what she liked, but didn’t want to start off the conversation with sentimentality. “Very nice, I’m starving, let’s go in the kitchen.”
Glancing around, he followed her, “Nice place. You’re doing fine, Sandy.” Then he stood still while his eyes circled the living room. “Wait a minute, how about these furnishings? Where did you get all this? Do you realize what you have here?”
She came into the room beside him. “Yes, I realize what I have. Oh, that’s right, you work for an interior design firm. Well, I didn’t pick it all out myself, but I sure paid for it.”
“Well, I bet you certainly did. I don’t understand… I mean this stuff is good.”
“We’ve had a couple profitable years at the law office. Martin helped me decorate. We had some disagreements, but I love it.”
“This Martin Bronner guy, your partner, I’d like to meet him.” Kyle continued to gaze around. “That striking hot-red wall in the dining room—his idea?”
“I wouldn’t have had the nerve for it.”
“Yes,” he said, quickly brushing the subject aside. “Look, I’m sorry I’ve crashed back into your life. Should have known you’d be close with someone. So you two are—.”
“Friends.”
He had walked to the far wall to admire the huge watercolors. “Friends, or just friends?” he said, casually.
“I’d like to be friendlier with him, but that’s not your concern.”
“I understand. Sorry, if he’s gay. I mean—.” He swept his hand around as though it explained all the thoughtful decorating.
“He’s not gay, merely knowledgeable.”
“Is he rich?”
“Yes.”
“Handsome?”
“Yes.”
“Does he have a sister?”
She gestured toward the kitchen. “You going to open the wine, or not?”
His smile faded. “Am I screwing up something by being down here? I’m sure I seemed presumptuous, but I didn’t really expect you to drop everything and spend your time on my vacation.”
“To tell the truth, I’m beginning to feel more relaxed with only you around and no one to remind me of all the office problems I’ve been going through,” she admitted. “We’ll have a couple of hours this evening. I wish it could be more, but I simply must make an early evening of it.”
He set the packages on the kitchen counter and took out the wine. “You still like Chenin Blanc?”
She nodded. “I have a cold one open in the fridge. I’ll save yours, thank you.”
He took the white food cartons out of the bag. “They gave me three dozen little packets of hot sauce here, but only one soy sauce. Why do they always do that?”
She took the wine from the refrigerator and handed it to him. She put place mats and plates on the kitchen table and took down wine glasses. “Let’s take the wine into the other room. The Chinese can wait for a couple minutes.”
He poured the wine and handed her a glass. They clinked and sipped, then carried their glasses into the living room. Both leaned back on the couch.
“I’ve been pushing you around, Kyle, I’m sorry. I went through all the closure-with-Kyle emotions four years ago. Much has happened since I last saw you. Now, I’m having trouble reconnecting with you again. Don’t know why I’ve treated an old trusted friend like that. It’ll be fun to talk with you again. When you showed up at the office, we talked about the old times for a minute and it was fun although I was distracted. I’ve been preoccupied trying to sort out some professional happenings.”
“You seem to have it made down here in Florida. You must be brushing off men right and left. Don’t tell me you’ve never been serious with some hunk during the last four years.”
“His name was Chip Goddard.” She set her wine down on the glass-topped coffee table.
“You just said his name as though he was the worst thing that ever happened to you.”
She grinned. “He was the best—his death was the worst.”
“Oh, sorry about that.”
“He was a detective here in Park Beach, ex-Marine, one of the good guys.”
“What happened?”
“A little over a year ago. One weekend he was assigned to this joint FBI task force. Chip saw some druggie bad guy sneaking up behind an FBI agent. He yelled a warning. The druggie swung his aim over at Chip, and they exchanged shots. Both went down. The druggie died at the scene. Chip saved the agent’s life… and died in the hospital.”
“No wonder you seem at loose ends romance wise. I’m barging in here being flip, and you’re still in mourning.”
“You didn’t know. I’m fine. Great guy, great love affair. I’m over the mourning, but not over the memories. That’s what happens, isn’t it? He left this house to me.”
“You were living here with him?”
“No, and I didn’t have a clue about his intention to leave me the house. He had no family and figured that we’d be engaged, if not already married, before I ever learned what was in his will. It’s an older house and has good memories. Martin convinced me to keep it, and he helped me with the remodeling and decorating suggestions.”
“If you were that close, why didn’t you move in with Chip?”
“I still had a strong independent streak in me—the liberated woman. I wanted to get my law practice going, so I’d be independently successful. Wanted to be able to run and take refuge in my own place. A lovely dilemma. I loved him and didn’t want to lose him, but I certainly wasn’t ready for marriage. Although I had almost decided to go ahead with an engagement.” She drew a long breath. “Then for a while after his death, I couldn’t imagine myself getting physical with someone.” She took another sip. “How’s your love life, Kyle, since we’re asking each other impertinent questions?”
“Nothing much romance-wise after you left.”
“We didn’t have a romance, remember?”
“No romance?”
“That’s the way I remember it, and I was watching all the time.”
“Of course—crazy passion and heat, but no romance. Why is it you refuse to acknowledge our past relationship? You deny the closeness, you deny the kisses, you even began by denying the sex. I guess you were so busy up there focusing on finishing law school you didn’t have time to admit we were having a romance.”
She wanted the subject changed. “You started telling me about your love life.”
“Since you left, now and then, here and there, I’d fall into something worthwhile.”
“You good-lookers don’t have to sweat it much, do you?”
“The game has changed. These days, it’s easy for all the guys no matter their looks. In the old days, you’d get slapped if you asked for it—now, you’d just get either a smile or a frown. You dislike some for being too easy and some for being untouchable. Who would have thought finding someone special in between could be so tricky?”
“You don’
t look very needy to me.”
“To tell the truth, I’m pleased you have your life all together down here. You deserve it. Philly must seem far away.” He watched her face for a reaction, but she was staring down at her drink. “If you had explained your need to leave, I could have given you a proper farewell.”
“You mean Goodbye-Sex. I couldn’t have handled that,” she said without looking up.
“Why?”
She was quiet for moment, aware he was waiting for an answer. “Just couldn’t have, let’s drop it.” After packing her car that night, she had gone back up to his apartment to wait for him. And then realized she couldn’t endure looking at him while saying goodbye, let alone the final kiss, the final hug. She had begun a note for him, but it started getting sappy and sentimental—she tore it up and left.
He had a far-away look in his eyes when he said quietly, “They say old lovers never completely go away. Even when you get them out of your heart, they’re still in your mind.”
“Kyle, don’t play the love card. We weren’t lovers. We never spoke the three magic words to each other.”
“Remember the time I said I was going to drive down to the Jersey shore, and you asked to go with me?”
“Is that the way it happened? I remember we drove down together.”
“And that night, we stumbled on to that little club a block from the beach, Margate wasn’t it?”
“No, Brigantine. Yeah, a crowded bar with pitcher beer and a great combo.”
“And we danced... and we kissed.”
“You’re right, Kyle, we did kiss.” She smiled even wider. “Remember what happened next? You got turned on talking to some redhead.”
“That is so wrong. Is that the way you remember it? It was you, Sandy. The only woman I remember in that place was you. You looked stunning. It was getting late, and we were sitting at the bar. You seemed enchanted by that beach hunk—my worst nightmare—sitting on the stool next to you. He swiveled to start talking to you, and you swiveled to face him. He had on some macho tank top and rinky-dink cutoffs. So his half-naked, suntanned body was right in front of you. The bar was noisy, I couldn’t hear what you two were saying and I suspected the worst. I was going crazy expecting him to whisper something in your ear. Expecting you to swivel around and tell me I’d be driving back to Philly alone, not to expect you back at the apartment. As soon as I realized what was happening, I quickly asked you to dance.”
Into The Heat (Sandy Reid Mystery Series Book 6) Page 19
