Cold Target

by Potter, Patricia;

  “I’ll try,” she said.

  Meredith looked at her watch. “We had better go.”

  Nan rose, as did Janet. Janet, Meredith knew, had also been a victim of domestic violence. She had been the one who had urged Nan to come to Meredith.

  They reached the courtroom ten minutes before two. No one was loitering in the corridor. Rick Fuller must have gone inside.

  She didn’t see him in the courtroom. Only his attorney, who nodded to her. The rest of the room was empty except for a man sitting in the back.

  A lump settled in her stomach. Gage Gaynor. He had been a witness in several cases when she was an assistant district attorney, including one involving NOPD members. He had testified against fellow police officers, and the rumor was he’d been dirty as well. She didn’t know whether that was true. He had denied it when she’d prepped him for testimony, and the defense counsel had been unable to shake him.

  But in her few sessions with him, she’d had disquieting reactions to him. A physical attraction had flared between them, a response she most definitely hadn’t wanted and that had probably led her to be more distrustful and more hostile than required.

  Her suspicion had been met with his obvious lack of confidence in her abilities. He’d been defensive and curt. Still, he’d fascinated her in some elemental way.

  That had been years ago. Since then, she had encountered him in courtroom hallways, and she’d always felt an odd tug deep inside at the mere sight of him.

  It had never made sense to her. He was not a particularly good-looking man, at least not in the classical sense. His hair was a sandy color, straight and a little long, as if he missed haircuts on a regular basis. He had a crooked nose, obviously broken at some time, and a mouth that seldom smiled. But the rare times it did, the crooked left end of his lips moved upward in an intriguing way, and a small dimple transformed his face.

  Most striking, though, were his eyes. They were a cool green that could frost an opponent in the warmest of New Orleans days. She had been on the receiving end of that gaze and shivered now just at the memory.

  Still, she’d been drawn to him. He radiated a raw masculinity that he didn’t try to present as anything else. Perhaps it was his self-confidence, or the athletic grace in his every movement, or the world-weary skepticism in his eyes. Whatever it was made her wary of him even as his presence created an uncomfortable warmth inside.

  That kind of physical attraction was perilous to her well-being, and she had run the other way as fast as she could after the case ended.

  Nan caught a glimpse of him, too, and Meredith saw her flinch.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “He’s one of Rick’s friends,” Nan whispered. “He was over at the house for a cookout.”

  Meredith glanced back at him, hesitated, then left her client’s side to approach him. “Are you here for a reason?”

  He looked amused. “No hello?”

  She realized how rude she had sounded. But he had put her on the defensive before.

  She decided to be direct. “My client says you’re a friend of Rick Fuller. Are you here to testify for him?”

  “No, and no,” he said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “No, I’m not a friend. And no, I am not here to testify for him.”

  “Nan Fuller says you are a friend. That you attended a cookout.”

  He shrugged. “I attended with a friend who was invited.”

  “Then why—?”

  “Do you ask everyone in courtrooms why they’re there?”

  “Somehow I doubt that you’re a courtroom voyeur.”

  He stood with that loose-limbed grace she remembered to her deep discomfort. “I’m here on official business,” he said.

  She knew better than to ask what. He would merely counter with a nonanswer of his own. At least he did not plan to testify.

  She started to turn away before she allowed her temper to get the better of her.

  “Gone over to the dark side, Counselor?” he asked, causing her to turn back to him.

  “What do you mean?” She knew her cheeks were coloring with anger.

  “Defense attorney. I understand that you got a couple of lowlifes sprung a few days ago.”

  “Who?”

  “L. L. Jenkins for one. He needed more than a lecture.”

  “The judge didn’t think so. But I’m flattered that you’re following my career.”

  His mouth turned up on one side. “Hardly. It’s common knowledge. L.L. is well known in the police community. How does it feel to let criminals loose on the city? Of course the DA’s office does that on a regular basis as well, so I guess it’s not much of a change.”

  It was a well-aimed arrow. Though she believed in second chances, she’d seen far too much plea bargaining.

  “Prison wouldn’t help them.”

  “No? Neither will a slap on the wrist. It just tells them they can get away with it.”

  She suddenly recalled one of the facts she’d discovered about him when she was researching his background as a government witness. He had a younger brother in prison. Drugs. It had been something she’d honed in on because she knew the defense would try to embarrass him or destroy his credibility.

  “Is that what happened—?”

  Judge Evans’s bailiff entered the room, and she didn’t have a chance to finish the question before turning around and returning to her client at the table.

  In minutes, she had the protective order. It was not contested.

  Bewildered, Nan looked at her.

  Meredith turned around. Gaynor was gone.

  She went over to Rick’s attorney. “What happened to your client?”

  “He decided not to contest,” the attorney said.

  “Why?”

  “You’ll have to ask him.”

  “Maybe I will,” she said.

  The bailiff said she could obtain a copy of the order in the clerk’s office in the morning. Rick Fuller could not go within five hundred feet of his soon-to-be ex-wife and was not to contact her except through their respective attorneys. If he wanted to see the children, it would have to be under court supervision.

  Meredith followed Nan and Janet through the door. They paused outside. “I will bring the order over later,” Meredith said. “Call me if he tries to contact you, then call the police.”

  “They won’t do anything,” Nan whispered. “He’s one of them.”

  “They will now. They have to.”

  “Thank you.” Nan managed a slight smile.

  “You’re welcome.”

  She watched as Nan and her friend walked down the corridor. She still looked defeated and frightened. Meredith only hoped she was right, that Rick would obey the order.

  She looked at the clock. Only two-thirty. She had a great deal of work at the office, but nothing was more important now than her mother and the promise she’d just made to find her half sister. If, by some miracle, she could accomplish it quickly, her mother might have some peace before she died.

  It was a gift Meredith wanted to give her. Perhaps it could bring closure to her as well.

  She would go to the office, cancel as many appointments as possible for the next week, and get her legal assistant started on what little information she had on her half sister. Then she would return to the hospital.

  Half sister. The revelation was still sinking in. She’d always wanted a sibling. She’d even made up an imaginary sister as a child. But the imaginary friend had never quite salved her loneliness, her sense of being the ugly duckling daughter of a beautiful woman.

  She walked down the halls of the courthouse, finding herself looking for Detective Gaynor. That he occupied her thoughts at all was disturbing.

  Why had he appeared in the courtroom? What was his interest in the case? He hadn’t answered any of her questions, and he’d disappeared much too quickly.

  He’d been an enigma to her when they’d first met years ago. Every impression she’d
had of him was later contradicted. Because he was a witness in an important case, she’d investigated him thoroughly. He was regarded as a lone wolf. He was not well-liked by other officers. And he had a brother in prison. None of that had instilled confidence. But he had been one of the best witnesses she’d ever had, sure and confident.

  And now he showed up here. She didn’t like puzzles. And she didn’t like people who didn’t answer questions.

  Gage had forced himself to leave the courtroom once the order was granted.

  It would be his last—if unofficial—act as a member of the department’s Public Integrity Division. He would be back on homicide in the morning. It had taken the threat of resigning to get a transfer.

  He hated Public Integrity. He didn’t like being a cop investigating other cops. He already was one of the most despised cops in the department for testifying against fellow officers. He thought being assigned to the PID had been still another form of punishment, though his superiors denied it.

  He had served his time, though, as he’d said he would. Now he would do what he did best.

  Rick Fuller was his final case with PID. Gage had learned a petition for a protection order had been filed in civil court. A division investigator said the wife had refused to file a complaint, but had agreed to file for protection. There were photos and a statement from an emergency room doctor, enough to take the man’s badge even without a complaint from the wife.

  But Fuller had a superlative record in the department, and his captain wanted to keep him if possible. There had never been a citizen complaint filed against him. Apparently, he saved his violence for his wife.

  Gage had talked to Fuller at length. If he did not fight the protection order, stayed away from his wife and followed the court’s child custody orders, he would not lose his badge. But one call—one simple complaint—would end his career, and Gage would personally make sure he went to prison.

  Gage hadn’t liked the deal he’d made. He didn’t like men who hit women, especially those they had vowed to protect and cherish. But he knew domestic violence. If Fuller was fired, he would go after the wife. This solution might just save her life.

  He’d had no intention of telling Meredith Rawson that. He knew she thought he was dirty and for some odd reason, that bothered him. The defendants she had prosecuted had blackened his name to destroy his testimony. Rumors had been everywhere.

  Perhaps he had some guilt and that had made him defensive. Not that he was on the take. But he had looked the other way too many times. From the moment he’d joined, he’d recognized that minor corruption was department culture, and the department was all he had.

  Gage had accepted that culture until he discovered two fellow officers had committed a murder to cover up their sins. He’d overheard a drunken conversation about an unsolved murder. After talking with his superior, he’d found the evidence that convicted two fellow officers. He could ignore a lot, but not murder.

  Meredith Rawson had assisted in trying the case. She’d been new to the office, having received the appointment—according to courthouse gossip—because of her father, a prominent attorney and an influential political donor.

  She had been charged with doing preliminary investigation of all the witnesses, including the police officers involved in the case. She’d obviously thought the whole department was dirty, and her questions implied such. He certainly hadn’t intended on taking guff from a socialite who played at being an assistant district attorney.

  To his surprise, she had done a reasonably competent job on the case, but their reaction to each other had been immediate friction. The air had crackled with it. He had thought her too inexperienced to be involved in what had become “his” case. He’d placed his career, even his life, in jeopardy to pursue it.

  To be honest with himself, maybe it hadn’t been her inexperience that had made him edgy. Perhaps it had been the physical attraction he’d felt even though she was exactly the kind of woman he avoided. He did not trust debutante types who played at real life. Their depth of commitment was usually as thin as parchment.

  Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about her now as he cleaned out his desk. She’d looked particularly harried today. Distracted. Her short auburn hair had been disheveled and her eyes had had dark circles under them. Still, she’d looked great in the expensive dark blue suit she’d worn. Hell, he might as well admit it. With her tall, lithe body, she was the kind of woman who would look good in a potato sack.

  Damn, he was mooning over a woman who was pure poison for someone like him.

  He took one last look through the drawers, not wanting to miss anything. Then he lifted the scantily filled box. No photographs. Just some notebooks filled with sources he’d cultivated during the fifteen years he’d served in the department. Some personal stuff, like insurance papers, old pay stubs and his various certificates for law enforcement courses. An address book that was almost empty. A letter from Clint, his only surviving brother. The return address was the state prison. It reminded him that he needed to visit him this weekend.

  A familiar pang jolted through him. He hadn’t been able to save his brothers. Terry had died in a gang fight. Clint had gotten involved with drugs and gone to prison. In trying to make their lives better, he’d somehow lost them. The pain and guilt never entirely left him.

  He added to the box the numerous pencils and pens he’d collected in the past year and a couple of old candy bars.

  The lack of heft didn’t bother him. He had little doubt that his new desk would soon be bulging with files.

  Homicides were never scarce in New Orleans.

  two

  NEW ORLEANS

  A new private duty nurse greeted Meredith in her mother’s hospital room.

  “She didn’t wake up?” Meredith asked.

  “No. She’s slipped into a coma.”

  Meredith swallowed hard. She closed her eyes as a lump grew in her throat. Grief was a part of it. Need, another. She had thought she would have more time. Perhaps not much. But enough to get the information she needed, perhaps even find her sister before her mother …

  “Has my father been here?”

  “He came for a few moments.” The woman’s voice was chilly.

  Meredith wondered whether it was because her father had been curt with her, even rude, as he could be when in a hurry, or because her father had spent so little time with his dying wife.

  “He has an important case,” she said.

  The woman gave her a look that tore apart that defense.

  “You can take a break,” Meredith said. “I’ll stay with her.”

  The nurse rose. She left without a word and closed the door behind her as if she knew Meredith wished to be alone with her mother.

  Meredith sat down in the chair next to the bed and reached for her mother’s fragile hand. “Please wake up.”

  There was no response. She looked at her mother’s face, remembering the wedding photo of her mother and father. Marguerite Thibadeau had been truly beautiful, far prettier than Meredith had ever been. She’d always envied the cool elegance of her mother’s flawless bone structure, the symmetry of her features. Meredith had inherited her father’s firm jaw and wide mouth.

  She rested her head on her mother’s chest, something she couldn’t ever remember doing as a child. She heard the soft beat of her mother’s heart even as she felt her soul drawing away.

  “Don’t give me a task I can’t fulfill,” she whispered. But she knew she would try. She had never known her mother. Never known the agony she’d obviously carried so long. Never known she’d possessed the kind of reckless passion that produced a child out of wedlock.

  How she wanted to talk to her now.

  “I made you a promise. I’ll try to keep it,” she said, then continued in a conversational tone, “I won a small victory today. I’ve finally found something where I can make a real difference.”

  She sat there for another thirty minutes, talking about her life, reaching
out when it was too late to reach out. She held her mother’s hand and wished she could turn the clock back.

  She thought about her father, about the coolness, even hostility, that in some strange way bound her mother and father together.

  Should she talk to her father about her half sister?

  Her mother had nodded when she’d asked if he knew. Or had she? Had it simply been a reaction to pain? Should Meredith bring it up now? Or should she wait? Regardless, he would have to know. If he didn’t know already.

  She decided she had to talk to him about it. It would be difficult. They had never spoken of important things.

  She couldn’t quell the resentment she felt for his lack of support now, for his few visits to the hospital.

  She knew his current case was important. She also knew any other attorney would have requested—and been granted—a postponement. Any other husband would come to the hospital after court rather than interview witnesses himself. She wondered whether he was secretly glad to have an excuse to stay away from the hospital.

  She would remain here tonight and face him tomorrow at breakfast. She would have Sarah cancel all her appointments for the next ten days except for one court case, and if worse came to worst she would try to postpone it. She would stay here at night with her mother. During the day she would try to find her sister.

  That might be the one thing that could give her mother comfort. If she regained consciousness.

  She turned to the nurse, who had just returned. “Will she come out of the coma?”

  “You’ll have—”

  “I know. Talk to the doctor. I have. He wouldn’t commit himself. But you must have worked with comatose patients. Have you ever seen one wake?”

  “I’ve known it to happen,” the nurse said. “Nothing is impossible.”

  “I’ll stay with her tonight,” Meredith said.

  “But—”

  “I’ll take the responsibility. I would just like to spend some time with her.”

  The nurse nodded.

  After she was gone, Meredith leaned back and closed her eyes. Images went through her mind. The cool politeness between her mother and father. The causes her mother espoused. She’d been on every civic and charitable board in the city, including the symphony, opera and theater guilds.