by Sheryl Lynn
He loosed a long breath. “When were you going to tell me?”
Now ashamed, both of her irresponsibility and for taking out her anger on him, she hung her head. “When I was sure.”
“I see.” He sounded hurt.
“It could be a false alarm. I’m under a lot of stress. I swear, Easy, I meant to tell you. I’ve been trying for days to work up the nerve.”
He nodded. His calm dismayed her, as did his shuttered expression and the way he half turned so he didn’t face her directly. “Days. You’ll never trust me, will you?”
His flat statement—flat truth—shamed her more than anything else. She saw herself through his eyes: a whiny, self-pitying baby who didn’t need anyone victimizing her, because she was too busy victimizing herself.
“All these years,” he said. “I never stopped loving you. In the back of my mind, I always hoped for a second chance. I knew I’d do things right the second time around. But it doesn’t matter what I do.”
“Easy, I…”
He waited for several moments, expectant, leaning forward in encouragement. Catherine found nothing to say.
Chapter Fifteen
Easy hurried down the stairs. Catherine’s bedroom door was closed. Despite his urgency, he hesitated about knocking. After blurting out the news about being pregnant, she’d gone to her room. She hadn’t been out since. He feared seeing her face. Feared the blame in her beautiful eyes. Feared the guilt. His wounds were still raw from yesterday.
He raised a fist to knock, but couldn’t make himself complete the act. Okay, he thought. She didn’t love him, she didn’t trust him, but that’s life. He couldn’t always get what he wanted. If she was pregnant, he’d be a grown-up about it and take full responsibility. Even if she couldn’t love him, he wouldn’t let his child suffer for it. Nor did he intend to make her suffer.
He knocked on the door.
She opened the door a few inches. Her eyes were swollen and red. Her face was pale. She looked as if she hadn’t gotten any sleep at all. “You’re still here,” she said.
Seeing her in pain roused all his protective instincts. He wanted to hold her and soothe her and assure her he’d never, ever stop loving her—no matter what. “The cops found Noreen.”
She flung the door wide. “She’ll testify? Jeffrey’s been arrested? Is—?”
“She’s dead.”
She pressed both hands to her mouth. Tears welled, hovering on her lower lids.
“They found her in a motel room. It looks like an overdose on sleeping pills and vodka.”
Shaking her head, Catherine backed away. She whispered, “No,” over and over. She reached the foot of the bed and sat down hard. The greyhounds rushed past Easy and jumped onto the bed beside her. They nuzzled her and whined.
“She left a suicide note. In it she claimed responsibility for the death of Charles Newland. She also said she can’t live with the lies she told about Livman. She said she blamed him for insurance fraud because he dumped her and she wanted to get even.”
Her continuing silence alarmed him. He went to her side and nudged Oscar out of the way. He draped an arm around her shoulders. She shivered.
“You were right Livman had the goods on her. Noreen lived with Charles Newland for several years. Newland slipped in the bathtub, knocked himself out and drowned. The death was ruled accidental. I’m betting it wasn’t, and Livman knows it.”
“He killed her,” Catherine whispered. “Jeffrey murdered Noreen to shut her up.”
“Looks like it. With any luck, the cops will prove he had something to do with her death.”
“If they don’t, then he gets away with it again.” She leaned forward, her face on her hands. Her shoulders trembled.
Easy searched for words to soothe her, but his own conscience screamed at him. He should have been more careful with Noreen. He should have made sure she was protected from the moment he contacted her.
Through her fingers, her voice firm and cold, she said, “We have to stop him, Easy.” She straightened and shifted on the mattress so she faced him. “He must feel like a god. He plays with people’s lives. He rains down destruction on a whim. We have to stop him.”
“We, Tink?” He searched her now-angry eyes, excited and dismayed by their sapphire fieriness.
“What I said yesterday…I was wrong. You’re not to blame for what Jeffrey has done. Please forgive me.”
He wanted to rush in with acceptance of her apology. He wanted to kiss her and assure her that all was well and he’d forget it. Images of her anguished face as she blurted out the news of her pregnancy haunted him. She did not trust him. She did not love him. Common sense said that now was the time to walk away, to encase his feelings for her inside a shell and tuck them permanently away.
“Forget it,” he managed. He rose and shoved his hands in his pockets. He noticed the silver-framed photograph of Elizabeth’s stand-in was missing. That hurt, too, in ways he couldn’t quite define. “I have a meeting with Toni this afternoon. There might be something I can do.”
“What about me?”
“I’ll make sure Livman doesn’t hurt—”
“That isn’t what I mean! If not for me, Noreen would still be alive. Jeffrey has ruined my career. I stayed awake half the night trying to figure out what I can do to salvage the contract, and there is nothing.” She lowered her gaze. Her chin quivered. “Look what he’s done to us.” She swiped the back of her hand across her nose and snuffled loudly. Her breast heaved in agitated breaths. “What happened between us, that wasn’t your fault. Blaming you is cruel and stupid and I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself.”
He touched her chin with his fingertips, urging her to look at him.
“I wanted it, Easy. I wanted it as much as you did. When you showed up on my deck, I…I wanted you then. All those feelings, all those thoughts I imagined I’d outgrown, I haven’t. You are so very right in calling me chicken. I’m so scared by how much I feel. I’m scared of losing you again. I’m scared of being pregnant, of losing another child. I’m even more scared of not being pregnant. I want a baby so much. I want your baby!” She groaned, fraught with frustration. “I don’t know how you can stand being around me. I’m obviously insane.”
He slid his hand across her cheek, cupping her beloved face. She closed her eyes and leaned into his caress, sighing. He thought his chest might explode with the outpouring of affection and love he felt for her. He wanted to tell her he loved her and he understood. Except, he feared that tomorrow she might change her mind and take back her words. Tomorrow, she wouldn’t want his baby at all. He backed away.
“I have coffee made.” He hurried out of her bedroom and up the stairs.
She took the time to dress in shorts and a T-shirt before joining him in the kitchen. Easy caught himself several times staring at her flat belly. He handed her a cup of coffee.
“I meant what I said about going after Jeffrey.”
“There isn’t anything you.can do. I doubt there’s much I can do.”
“You’re going to quit? The man who always has a plan, is giving up?” She laughed. “I don’t believe it. You want Jeffrey to pay. I know you do.”
“He’s a killer. He’s dangerous. I can’t take the chance of him hurting you.”
“Ha!” She picked up an artist’s magazine, made a face at it, then tossed it across the counter. “He’s already hurt me. Even if I can salvage my career, the deal with Tabor is dead. And he isn’t finished with me. We can use that. Somehow.”
He eyed her warily. “When I talked to Torn this morning, she told me explicitly to turn over everything I’ve found to her office, and back off. She told John the same thing. All we can do is hurt the investigation.”
“Since when do you let anybody tell you what to do?” She arched her eyebrows in unmistakable challenge.
He crossed his arms over his chest and glared down his nose at her. She took a step closer, meeting his hea
t with her own.
“Only one thing rattles Jeffrey,” she said. “In all the time I knew him, nothing shook him. Except when I told him no. The cops can’t rattle him. Toni Johnson can’t rattle him. But you heard what happened in the Grape and Olive. You know what he’s like when he loses his temper. We can use that, Easy. You know we can.”
“He’s dangerous.”
“Right at this moment, so am I. I’m too angry to be scared of him. I want his hide nailed to my wall. Are you with me, or do I have to do this myself?”
He threw back his head and laughed. The laughter came straight from the belly—for the first time in days, he felt alive. He felt good.
“Are you laughing at me or with me?”
“With you, babe. I’m with you all the way.”
CATHERINE PROWLED like a tigress. Each time she passed the telephone she glared at it. “Why doesn’t he call?” she asked, for the umpteenth time. “He calls ten million times when I don’t want to talk to him, and now he won’t call. What’s wrong with him?”
Easy felt on edge himself. Catherine had left a message on Livman’s voice mail. Plaintive, pitiful and whipped, the message should have had him flying to her home. “Maybe he suspects a trick?”
She huffed her displeasure. Carrying a battered, well-chewed softball, Oscar followed Catherine around the room. He whined piteously. Except to let them out to relieve themselves, she hadn’t taken the dogs outside in days. Bent was acting like a greyhound rug, barely moving on the sofa. Oscar paced and prowled, never more than a few inches from Catherine’s heels. Easy sympathized with the dogs.
His cellular phone rang. Easy made a mental note. When Livman showed up, turn off the phone. He answered.
“Where are you?” Trish asked.
“I’m at Catherine’s place. What’s up?”
“What are you doing there?”
“I’ll fill you in later. I’m waiting for an important call.”
“Does this have to do with Jeffrey Livman?”
He wished his sister would spring for a decent cell phone; she sounded strange and the static made the connection almost painful. “I can barely hear you. Call me later when you’re on a real phone. Talk to you later. Bye.”
“Easy, don’t—”
He disconnected.
“Wish I had a sister,” Catherine said, her expression glum.
“I’ll give you Trish. Cheap.”
His telephone rang again. He answered with an exasperated, “Hello?”
“Easy Martel?” a woman asked.
He recognized the voice. “This is Easy. Toni?”
“It’s me.”
He flopped onto a chair and stretched out his legs. The day promised blistering heat. Despite open windows, the house was stuffy and warm. He wished he’d brought along a pair of shorts. “What’s up, Toni?”
“I thought you might want to hear some good news. We’ve picked up Lou Palmer in connection with Noreen Dawson’s death.”
“What?” He gestured wildly for Catherine.
“We found his prints all over Dawson’s car and inside the motel room. He isn’t talking, yet, but he will.”
“He didn’t do it alone, Toni. You know Livman is involved.”
“Oh, yes, indeed. When we searched Palmer’s car, we found a prescription bottle for tranquilizers made out to Jeffrey Livman. I’m issuing an arrest warrant.”
“You can make it stick?”
“You betcha. If the pills match what we found in Dawson’s blood, then we’re charging Palmer with first-degree murder. Trust me, he will not go down alone.”
“What about his buddy No-neck? Where one goes, the other follows.”
“We found some prints we can’t identify. If they turn out to belong to T. J. Whitehead, then we’ll pick him up too.”
“What about Livman’s prints?”
“Nothing in connection with Dawson. But get this, I went back to the case of Dawson’s dead boyfriend. The investigating officers had run some latent prints from the house, but the case was closed as accidental, so the file went nowhere. I ran the prints.”
“Livman.”
“A direct hit Our boy has a curious habit of being around when people die ‘accidentally.’ If this keeps up, I may end up solving every suspicious death from the past ten years.” Toni laughed at her own joke, then rang off.
Springing off the chair, Easy loosed a rebel yell. He grabbed Catherine around the waist and swung her about She demanded to know what Toni had said. “We did it!” he exclaimed. “Livman did himself in! He’s going down!”
Laughing, feeling a hundred pounds lighter, he told Catherine everything Toni had told him. Her smile appeared, at first tentative and strained, then it blossomed gloriously. She hugged him, squeezing his ribs. “When will they arrest him?”
“As soon as they get the warrant. By close of business today, he ought to be in an interrogation room, trying real hard to explain what happened.” He caught her shoulders, holding her fast. Where only moments ago, her face had been drawn and wan, she now sparkled, her color high. His elation shifted to a warmer, more tender emotion as he studied the curve of her cheek and the shape of her eyes. Life, he decided, was too short for shielding his heart. “I love you, Tink.”
Her smile faded, grew troubled.
“You love me, too. You know it and I know it. Why are we fighting it?”
“I don’t know.”
He rubbed her arms, up and down. “Let’s do what we should have done twelve years ago. Let’s get married.”
“Excuse me?” She dropped a hand protectively to her belly.
“It doesn’t matter if you’re pregnant or not. If you are, fine, we’ll have a baby. If you’re not, fine, too. We’ll get to work on making one. You need me, I need you, we’re in love. Let’s do it.”
“Good grief,” she whispered. “You actually mean it.”
“Hell, yes, I mean it. So what do you say? The weather’s great. Let’s hop on the bike and ride to Vegas. We’ll get married, play a few slot machines, make love until our legs fall off, then live happily ever after. It’s a great plan.”
“I-I-I don’t want a shotgun wedding.”
His thoughts raced, whirling, seeking arguments and solutions. “Okay! Let’s get married, wait a week, then do a pregnancy test. Positive or negative, we’ll never know for certain if we had to get married or not.”
She chuckled. The chuckle turned into a laugh. Suddenly she hugged him again. “You’re crazy, Easy Martel. Out of your mind.”
Bent hopped off the sofa. Oscar trotted to the door and stood on his hind legs to look outside.
“Somebody’s coming.” Catherine pushed away from his embrace. “What if it’s Jeffrey?”
Easy and Catherine went to the door. Catherine pushed the greyhounds out of the way. Easy recognized the red Mustang coming up the driveway. “It’s Trish. What the hell is she doing?” A sick feeling gripped him. Trish had been obsessing about Elizabeth. He wondered if she’d traced the adoption without him. She’d aided him often enough in running computer database searches, she knew the procedure. She also knew enough to contact private investigators in Arizona for help.
He pulled Catherine away from the door. “I know why she’s here.” He lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “She must have found Elizabeth.”
She shoved his hand off her arm. “How? Why?”
“Because she’s Trish! I didn’t ask her to do it. I told her it was none of her business and she should leave it alone. I don’t want this. Believe me.”
The Mustang’s horn honked.
“I swear, Tink. I didn’t have anything to do with it. Even if she’s found Elizabeth, it doesn’t matter. I won’t use the information. I promise. I’ll let everything be. Say you believe me.”
An odd, tightness blanked her expression. “You better go see what Trish wants.”
“I swear, I haven’t been trying to find Elizabeth. I won’t disrupt her life. I promise.”
The
honking turned frantic. Assuring himself that Catherine understood, even if she were too shocked for speech, he hurried outside. “I’m going to kill you, Trish,” he muttered.
His sister sat in the car, with both hands on the wheel. She watched his approach from the corner of her eye. He’d almost reached the car before her sallow complexion, tight mouth and sweat-shiny cheeks made an impact on his brain. He skidded to a stop. “Trish?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. A single tear tracked her cheek.
Jeffrey Livman sat upright on the passenger seat. Smiling, he pressed the business end of a pistol against Trish’s neck. “Greetings, Mr. Martel. Your sister is such a charming girl. I’d hate to blow her head off.”
CATHERINE WATCHED Jeffrey leave the Mustang. Hands in the air, Easy marched around to the passenger side and slid in. Jeffrey handed him something shiny, but Catherine couldn’t see what Trish or Easy did inside the car. Her fear deepened when Jeffrey herded Trish out of the car and made her climb into the trunk. He slammed the trunk shut. Jeffrey hoisted Easy’s cellular telephone, then spun about and threw it with all his might. It sailed over the grass and landed with a puff of dust.
Catherine threw the dead bolt and ran to the telephone. Excited by her agitation, the dogs jumped on and off the sofa and ran around the studio.
Praying Jeffrey didn’t start shooting, she pressed 911. Nothing. Not a ring, not a sound. Her heart began pounding. Her stomach clenched. She tried the telephone several times before the realization came home—the phone was dead.
“Catherine?” Jeffrey knocked on the door.
She ran into the kitchen. Peering around the corner of the doorway, she watched his shadow appear at the window. He tore off the screen and shoved aside the curtains. “Hello, darling, I’m home.”
“I called the police! They’re on the way!”
“Liar. I cut the telephone line. Now come unlock the door. You don’t want a nasty old hole in lover boy’s belly, do you? Don’t make me hop through the window. It’s undignified.”
