Cold Blooded

by Toni Anderson

  “I knew Cindy for over a decade, and I never once saw her do anything as stupid as take drugs. They either made a mistake or they missed something.”

  “Cindy also had a wild side.” Adrian seemed to be cautioning her.

  “I am well aware.”

  “And no one could ever force her to do anything she didn’t want to do.”

  Cindy had been just as stubborn as Pip.

  “Would drugs be so completely out of the realms of possibility?” Adrian asked softly.

  Pip thought about the crazy stuff they’d done together over the years. Reluctantly she shook her head, though she didn’t really believe it. Being wild was one thing. Being reckless was something else entirely. But maybe Cindy had blurred the edges after months and years of hard work. Maybe the death of her family and rift with her best friend had tipped her over the edge of one bad decision. She still didn’t believe it though.

  Slowly he released her hand and gave her a pat. “I do remember Cindy having a low opinion of people who did stupid things.” A wrinkle marred his perfect brow. “Which is why she dumped that boyfriend of hers.”

  “Dane?” Pip didn’t know Dane at all. He ran with a different crowd from Cindy’s other friends.

  “I meant the other one. Dickster?” There was a hard glint in Lightfoot’s blue eyes.

  “Ah, a different stupid thing.” She laughed. “But yes. She didn’t tolerate fools or betrayal.”

  Adrian Lightfoot scratched his head. “He kept asking Cindy to invest in his firm but I advised her against it. Not that it was my place, but with her father gone, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to give her a little fatherly advice about men who were only after her money.”

  Adrian wasn’t that old and was seriously handsome. Pip doubted Cindy had considered him a father figure.

  Had Cindy ever tried to seduce him? Pip wouldn’t put it past her. Cindy liked men and since her breakup with Pete had had a string of one-night stands. It was one of the things Pip had tried to caution her against.

  And now she was dead and Pip wished she’d never mentioned it.

  “I’d be happy to advise you professionally once probate is settled, but I’ll understand if you already have an attorney or want someone different. I knew the Resnicks my whole life. I might be a painful reminder…”

  Pip hunched her shoulders and the cold rush from of the hotel’s A/C gave her goosebumps. She wanted that connection. She wanted that reminder. The last thing she desired was to forget them. “I don’t have a personal lawyer. I’ve never needed one before.” And wouldn’t have been able to afford one even if she had. She frowned. “I’m happy for you to advise me, but the only thing I want to do right now is give Cindy a decent burial.”

  He nodded. “We can do that. You were a good friend. I know she appreciated and valued you. She spoke about you often.”

  That stupid argument weighed on Pip’s soul. The fact she’d criticized Cindy’s choices. She’d only done it because she worried, but she’d been way out of line.

  “I need to do what’s right by her. I need to figure out what happened. I owe her that.” She hesitated, then admitted, “I’m not sure I can afford to do everything I need to. How much does an autopsy cost? How much is a decent burial?”

  Adrian looked startled. “Inheritance tax is going to take a big chunk out of Cindy’s money, but—”

  “I’ll use every penny if necessary.” She clenched her fists. “And I can get more. I was offered a good job in Denver…”

  Adrian held up his hand, shaking his head. “I don’t think you quite understand the extent of Cindy’s assets. Her father’s patents alone generate hundreds of thousands of dollars annually.” Cindy’s dad had worked in the pharmaceutical industry and done very well for himself at a young age with a series of patents for drugs used to treat hypertension. “And Cindy filed her own patent that might also be worth a lot of money in the not too distant future.”

  Pip had forgotten about that.

  “You might have to mortgage one of the properties or liquidate some stocks to pay the inheritance tax in the short-term, but there is still a considerable amount of money left over. You don’t have to take the job in Denver unless you want to.” He leaned closer to her so his voice wouldn’t carry. “I don’t know what your aspirations are, but you never need to work again.”

  “What?” Pain creased her stomach. Pip hadn’t realized grief could physically hurt so much. Cindy had made her a wealthy woman, but all she really wanted was her best friend back.

  She heard the leather creak as Adrian came and sat next to her, then he hugged her gently, rocking her as tears began to flow.

  “Come on. Let’s go somewhere more private,” he urged.

  She grabbed her bag. He picked up his briefcase and together they shuffled to the elevator, abandoning the coffee and the empty champagne bottle to the wait staff. In the elevator he pressed her cheek to his chest as she started sobbing so hard she couldn’t see. On her floor, he led her to her door and stood aside as she fumbled for the keycard.

  She went inside the large suite he’d booked and curled up on one of the comfy chairs, wiping her eyes. Grief was a sledgehammer that kept hitting her over and over out of nowhere. One minute she was dealing with it, the next she dissolved into ashes.

  Adrian stood uncertainly near the door. “Can I come in for a moment?”

  “Sure.” Dammit. She hated weakness. So much for no more tears. May as well tell the waves not to lap the shore. “I’m not sure I’m up to dealing with anything important though.”

  He pulled a sheaf of papers from his case. “Just read and sign this top page and I can start the process and you can start organizing the funeral and I’ll request a second autopsy with the best private medical examiner in the city. The sooner the legalities are finalized the better. Cindy was a big believer in getting things done.”

  Pip huffed out a soft laugh. It was true. Cindy hadn’t liked to waste time. Pip scanned the letter quickly and signed. The feeling she was betraying Cindy wouldn’t go away.

  “We had a fight,” she admitted, needing a confessor. “I said some things I regretted and I never got the chance to properly say I was sorry.” She swallowed noisily. “She might not have wanted me to have her money after that.”

  Adrian’s lips formed a sad smile that didn’t go near his eyes. “Cindy loved you like family. And family’s fight. There’s no one else in the world she’d rather have inherit her things or take care of her funeral arrangements than you. I hope you’ll let me help.”

  He took the signed paper from her hand and pulled her against his chest for one more hug.

  “Get some sleep, Pippa. I’ll get started on the paperwork. You concentrate on the funeral arrangements and think about where you want to live. The FBI released the house in town—”

  “The FBI searched Cindy’s home?”

  Adrian nodded and put the papers back in his briefcase. “Making sure there were no signs of anthrax.”

  She frowned. “Isn’t that a little odd?”

  “Claimed it was standard procedure for researchers working on nasty diseases.”

  “Did you believe them?” she asked.

  He ran his hand over the back of a chair. “I did. It made sense. Also, it felt reassuring once they raised the possibility of something like anthrax being on the premises. The fact they didn’t find any will make resale easier.”

  His attempt at humor fell flat for both of them.

  “I’d like to visit the house. Go through some photographs, sort some clothes…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Sort some clothes for Cindy to be buried in. The idea was too final. Too…wrong. She stared at the carpet.

  “Of course. You have keys?”

  She nodded.

  Adrian asked softly, “Will you be all right?”

  She looked up and gave him a sad smile. Of course, she wouldn’t be all right. But what choice did she have except to go on?

  The moment he left she clo
sed her eyes and wanted to sink into the bed and hide from the world. Instead she pulled out her cellphone and started looking for a drug dealer named Hanzo.

  Chapter Ten

  He saw the girl standing in the rain desperately searching for a gap in the traffic so she could sprint across the road and catch her bus. He tapped the car horn insistently and snagged her attention. She took a step back from the curb and eyed the vehicle warily as he pulled up alongside and rolled down the tinted window.

  “Oh, hey. I didn’t recognize the vehicle.” She laughed nervously, color high in her cheeks.

  Even from this distance he could smell the alcohol on her breath. Perfect. “I saw you standing in the rain and thought it would be cruel not to offer you a ride. Get in.”

  Rain drenched her hair and dripped off the end of her nose. She raised her laptop bag and laughed. “That would be great, saves me from getting my computer wet. Thanks.”

  Sally-Anne Wilton climbed inside and pulled on her seatbelt.

  “You hear the terrible news about Cindy?” he asked, knowing it was easier if he brought it up.

  “Yeah. It’s awful. The cops think she ODed.” Sally-Anne huddled into her damp fleece.

  “I still can’t believe it.” It wasn’t the police he was worried about. Why were the FBI asking questions?

  She nodded. “I spoke to her friend earlier. You know, the journalist.”

  He pulled out into traffic in the direction of Sally-Anne’s apartment. “I remember her.”

  Hard to forget the small, dark-haired woman with her hourglass figure and inquisitive eyes.

  “She’s organizing the funeral.” Sadness was written in Sally-Anne’s anguished eyes and pale lips. “Wanted to know if anyone at the department took drugs.”

  “What did you tell her?” he asked.

  She gave a defensive little shrug. “That a few of us had tried it at parties, but we weren’t stupid or addicted.”

  Cindy’s death was supposed to have been treated like a regular drug overdose but instead the Feds were all over it. So was the nosy journalist. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he maneuvered through the rain-drenched streets.

  Since the arms broker had disappeared off the face of the earth a week ago, he’d been in clean up mode. Nothing could lead back to Atlanta. He hadn’t spent this many years working his balls off to lose everything now.

  All communication had occurred via the dark web with cloaked identities. Untraceable.

  It had been a calculated risk, selling that anthrax and the vaccine on the black market. One designed to induce panic and stir up interest. Unfortunately, it had backfired and now he had to get rid of loose ends and throw the authorities off the scent.

  It didn’t take long to get to Sally-Anne’s apartment. She lived in a cramped one-bedroom dump. The main advantage was she lived alone.

  “Thanks for the ride.” She undid her seatbelt and prepared to climb out of the SUV he’d borrowed from a friend.

  “Can I come in for a drink?” he asked. “I don’t want to be alone just yet.”

  She looked reluctant but her expression softened. “I can feed you some frozen pizza if that’ll help? But I have an early start tomorrow.”

  “That would be great. Thanks.”

  She led the way and he followed her through the main entrance that had a security door, but no cameras. He kept his head bowed anyway, just in case. He was careful not to touch anything.

  They walked up the stairs to the third floor. The carpet was dirt brown but stains were still visible.

  Sally-Anne unlocked her front door, dumped her coat and bags on the nearest chair and turned on a lamp rather than the main light. Piles of text books and photocopies of papers were stacked on the coffee table.

  “Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t planning on having anyone over.” She started to clean up.

  “Don’t bother on my account.”

  She looked unsure, then shrugged. “Find a spot on the couch. Beer or wine? Full disclosure…I opened the wine yesterday but hopefully it’s still good.”

  “A beer sounds good.”

  She retrieved two bottles and set them on the coffee table. She started to clear away the text books.

  “I’ll move them. You get the pizza.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “Thanks. I’ll put the oven on. It still hasn’t sunk in, you know?”

  She meant Cindy’s death.

  But she was wrong. Cindy’s death had sunk in. The ramifications of the investigation into her death was why he was here.

  He watched Sally-Anne go back into the kitchen and turn on the oven, throwing in a frozen pizza. He took a plastic vial from his pocket, flipped the cap and poured the white powder into her beer bottle when she wasn’t looking. He wiped the lip of the bottle with his thumb, mentally noting to wipe it clean later.

  When she came back she curled her feet underneath her on the couch and raised her bottle high. “Here’s to Cindy.”

  “Cheers.” They tapped bottles and both took a healthy swallow.

  “I’ve already drunk too much.” She cradled her skull. “I’m going to be the TA from hell tomorrow.”

  “Cindy could drink like a fish and never get drunk.”

  Sally-Anne gave a soft groan. “I can’t believe she died right before she submitted. I mean, she worked so hard. It just seems wrong.”

  “It’s the definition of irony.”

  “A good reason to get my thesis finished, STAT.” She laughed louder this time.

  He leaned back in the sagging couch. “Maybe it’s a sign never to put off those things in life we want to try.”

  “Like?”

  Was this wrong? To bait her? “I don’t know. Bungee jumping? Seeing the Grand Canyon? Diving the Great Barrier Reef while it still exists? Sex against a hotel window. Bucket list items. What’s on your bucket list?” He watched her take another long swallow. Her cheeks were flushed now though the apartment was cold.

  “Walking the Great Wall of China. Seeing the Amazon.” Sally-Anne pressed her lips together and grinned. “Going down on someone in a darkened movie theater?” She blushed. “You asked.”

  “Do it. Cindy’s dead, Sally-Anne. You might be run over by a fucking bus tomorrow.”

  Her eyes were unfocused. Mouth a little slack. She wasn’t used to hearing him curse but he was under a lot of stress.

  “Want another beer?” he asked, climbing to his feet.

  “Why not? I’m already drunk. One more won’t make me more drunk.”

  He used his sleeve to cover his hand when opening the fridge and wielding the bottle opener. He slipped a second vial of powder into her drink.

  He brought the bottle back and handed it to her.

  Her eyes held his and there was a gleam in them that told him she was aroused. Whereas before she’d looked tired, now she looked wired.

  When he sat back down, she unzipped his pants with a sly grin. She always got horny when she got high. She just didn’t realize she was high. And she rarely remembered what she’d done when she woke up the next day. It was one of his favorite things about her. He grabbed her hair and ran his teeth down her neck.

  He’d make it good for her. Really good. Until her heart cracked wide and her veins exploded from sheer bliss.

  And the scariest thing about this was how much he enjoyed it. What had at first been a necessity was now giving him a kick, a bigger kick than anything he’d ever got from cocaine.

  Who knew?

  Murder was addictive.

  Chapter Eleven

  The alarm system wasn’t armed, and Pip felt like a burglar as she walked through the front door of the Resnicks’ Sherwood Forest home. Ghosts danced over her skin with footsteps as soft as cats’ paws. Even without the bright silver of the moon she knew every inch of this house and there was a catch in her chest at the empty silence that greeted her.

  She eased off her running shoes—a house rule—and closed the door before moving into the foyer. She f
licked on the tiffany lamp that had been Cindy’s mom’s pride and joy. Muted jewels of light dappled the ceiling.

  Cindy had kept the essence of the home the same since her parents died. Same furniture and wall coverings. Same pictures on the wall, same drapes and blinds. The idea of replacing her mom’s choices had sat heavily on Pip’s friend. Now it was Pip’s problem.

  A family portrait hung on one wall.

  It was a big canvas of all four Resnicks in happier times. Cindy had always groused that it made her look dumpy, but she’d made no move to remove it after her parents and brother died. They wore denim and autumnal colors and were surrounded by fallen leaves, sitting out the front of this house. Cindy’s mom had her arm wrapped possessively around both of her children and Cindy’s dad stood behind them looking proud and happy. Their love for one another shone through that two-dimensional image and echoed through Pip’s heart. That’s what she’d been talking about when she’d spoken about the search for true love. That’s what Cindy had been looking for.

  Pip knew without a doubt she’d keep that portrait until the day she died. They were her family. Not the alcoholic mother, or the absent father. These people.

  She’d first met them when Cindy discovered Pip didn’t have anywhere to go for the holidays that first year at Florida State. Cindy had dragged her home and they’d virtually adopted her.

  Now they were all gone.

  Loss washed through her but she didn’t let it bring her to her knees. Not this time.

  She looked around. There were no signs that the FBI had been searching for anthrax. They hadn’t made a mess, which was different to how most police departments operated.

  Surely if Cindy had cocaine lying around the FBI or CDC, or whoever the hell was involved, would have found it? What did Pip really expect to find here?

  She’d tried to track down the drug dealer but none of her contacts knew who he was and there were no arrests in that name. She’d cruised down to “The Bluffs” with some inane idea about asking around but had just kept driving. The area was a notoriously deprived and dangerous place. A woman like her asking questions about specific drug dealers in that part of town—she’d wind up lying next to Cindy on a slab.