by Bonnie Vanak
They weigh you down because a boat is just a hole in the water where you pour money, Belle had once teased him.
“I guess we were too late after all,” she said softly.
Roarke cursed. “I’ll call for the corner and CSU.”
He walked away, talking into his microphone.
Kyle remained with her as she stared at her brother’s friend. Trembling, she checked his pulse, even though she knew he was dead. Kneeling beside the bed, she looked at the man who had helped inspire her to become a doctor.
Forget the fact he had aided in Anna’s abduction.
Forget the fact he once sat at her family’s dinner table.
Forget the fact Mike was like an older brother.
They had shared meals, laughs, helped diagnose patients and they’d been deep-sea fishing together.
Mike had been her mentor.
Belle cleared her throat. “The body is dead less than two hours. Without a thorough clinical examination, my estimate is he was killed an hour ago.”
Kyle squatted down next to her. “Looks like a .45.”
“Rigor in the fingers and jaw, but the body is still warm to the touch.” She studied Mike’s forehead and the gunshot wound, using her training to think of this as a case, a dead body. Total objectivity. You can’t help anyone if you fall apart.
Mike’s own advice to her echoed in her mind. Belle shoved aside the memory and focused on the wound. “The body is pale from blood loss, and there is periorbital ecchymoses to the eyes. Bruising around the eyes from the gunshot wound. The orbital plates looked fractured.”
“Execution-style gunshot wound. Whoever did this pressed the muzzle against his forehead.”
She pressed on, glad for Kyle’s steady, calm tone. He was thorough and professional and his composure loaned her strength to keep talking. “Cause of death most likely is a large-caliber gunshot wound to the forehead at close range. The skin is bruised, and there is a muzzle imprint and gunpowder residue. A pattern of small abrasions on the skin at the entrance wound confirms close-contact range of the weapon. The exit wound is present...”
Belle glanced at the blood pooling beneath the body. “Of course, an autopsy will prove cause and time of death.”
She looked at Kyle. “Do you want me to check for lividity or should you wait for the ME?”
Kyle tugged at her arm. “C’mon, Belle. The ME will take care of it.”
Outside, she took a grateful gulp of fresh air. Belle leaned against the exterior wall, hugging herself. Mike was dead. Anna still missing, and they were running out of time.
Thoughts raced through her head. Clint had to be told. Yet she hesitated to call her brother in front of Kyle.
She glanced at her shoes, the bloody footprints she left behind and shuddered.
Kyle’s jaw tightened. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Belle kicked off her shoes and carried them, following him to the motel manager’s office. The man was far more cooperative now, letting them into a bathroom in his office.
After she washed her hands and splashed water on her face, Kyle handed her paper towels. Belle tried to calm the rapid pounding of her heart. This wasn’t her first dead body. She’d autopsied them in med school.
But it was the first dead body belonging to someone she knew.
When they returned outside, Belle pulled out her cell phone. “Can you hunt me down a bottle of water?” she asked Kyle. “I have to make a call.”
As the agent walked off, she dialed her brother. He answered on the first ring.
“Mike is dead. We found him in the motel room, Clint. He was murdered.”
She expected shock, grief, even silence. Not the string of curses that followed. Her suspicions grew. Did Clint know anything?
“Why would anyone kill him, Clint?” She walked off and lowered her voice for privacy. “What was he involved in that you’re not telling me?”
Silence for a minute. Then Clint’s voice cracked. “Damn, Belle, I can’t be certain, but I know he had financial trouble. Big trouble. As in owing a lot for gambling debts.”
Belle went still. “Did you loan him money?”
“I’ve been loaning him money. Finally had to cut him off. He didn’t linger at that family funeral, Belle. That’s not why he took time off from the clinic. He flew to the Bahamas to sell his vacation home. Came back two nights ago.”
Clint’s voice dropped. “Mike told me he’d gotten involved in something shady, but said it would all work out.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I promised him I’d keep my mouth shut.”
Slowly it dawned on her. “You knew I was in the thick of this, getting flak for being the last person to see Anna alive and you chose to protect Mike? And not tell me?”
“I didn’t think he’d had a hand in kidnapping that little girl, Belle. That’s not like him.”
Yelling at him would accomplish nothing. Remembering Kyle’s calmness and professionalism, she kept her voice steady. “When did you last hear from Mike?”
Clint sighed. “I called him tonight.”
That was news. “When?”
“Three hours ago. Left a voice mail and then he texted me around seven and said you were closer to Anna than you think. I thought it meant you were on the verge of finding her.” A heavy sigh from her brother. “I’m sorry, Belle. Where are you? I’ll come pick you up. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’m with the FBI.” She didn’t want to go home to her dark house and the memories dancing on the edge of her thoughts. Grief and anger were for later.
Helping the FBI with the investigation kept her focused. Kept her from thinking how her brother with his sterling reputation for honesty had been less than honest so he could protect a family friend.
Kyle returned, a bottle of water in hand. She took it, nodded her thanks.
“You can go over to my house and take care of Boo. Can you keep him overnight at your place?”
“Sure. Anything else?” He hesitated. “Should I call Mike’s parents? They’re down here for the season.”
“No. The police will inform the Pattersons, but I’m sure his parents will need emotional support after they find out. I’ll call you tomorrow, Clint. And don’t go anywhere. I’m certain the police will want to question you. This is a murder investigation now.”
She hung up.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she whispered, clutching her cell phone. “Clint, why didn’t you tell me what happened?”
A warm, steady hand on her arm. Kyle. His touch centered her, allowed her to gather her lost composure and scattered thoughts.
“You okay?” His gaze remained calm and steady. A lifeboat in a turbulent sea. For a minute it seemed like the bustle around them, the flashing lights, the stream of police into and out of the room and the voices faded into gray. There was only Kyle, and his oh-so-blue eyes and his concerned expression.
Belle fought the impulse to sag into his arms, let him lead her away from the nightmare inside Room Six.
“Yes. I was talking with my brother to let him know what happened.”
“What did Clint tell you?”
Family loyalty always came first in the past. But she’d realized that while her loyalty might remain with family, her own family had different ideas.
Belle told Kyle everything her brother said. When she finished, Kyle’s expression tightened, though his tone remained calm. “We’ll need to question him. Tonight. We’ll handle it. First, though, I’m driving you home. I’ll drop you off before Roarke and I go to your brother’s house.”
A few minutes later, she sat next to Kyle in his SUV. Belle uncapped the water and took a long drink.
The darkness of the Everglades flanked them like a cloak as Kyle drove north. She blinked back tears, remembering past times her
e at night with Mike and Clint, staring at the stars.
Belle wiped her eyes. “You can question Clint and I’ll call my parents. They’ll come home on the next flight, I’m sure. Mom...she’s close to Mike’s mother and she’ll want to help...plan the funeral.”
The time was past for any members of her family to hide away from the police and the press. They had to face up to their responsibility. Dr. Michael Patterson was their employee. Anna had visited their clinic before she vanished.
Mike was dead.
And Belle had the bad feeling if they couldn’t find Anna soon, there could be another death on their consciences.
Chapter 16
The funeral three days later was an ordeal. Belle managed to get through the service without any display of emotion.
But the reception afterward required all her strength to greet guests and play the part of the soothing cohostess as her parents circulated among the crowd.
Her mother had faults, but she had a generous heart. The North mansion had been opened to everyone who attended Mike’s funeral. Of course, the funeral was closed, with only family and friends attending, the elite Mike frequently socialized with.
As always, her mother’s amazing ability to entertain, no matter what the occasion, impressed Belle. In the time since she’d flown back, her mother had organized the caterer, valets for parking and flowers, and had the house scrubbed by cleaning staff until it shone.
In the cool elegance of her parents’ living room she lingered over a cheese puff, staring at it, willing the tears away. Crying was confined to bathroom and in the privacy of one’s bedroom. Even at funerals. This room with its blue wallpaper and tastefully expensive white-and-blue furniture reflected the ocean vista gleaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. With the white-gloved waitstaff, they could be at one of her mother’s social galas.
No one knew Mike had been murdered. There were whispers, but the media had been kept out of it. Most people believed that Mike had died from a heart attack after bass fishing all day.
“Hi, Belle.”
Startled, she glanced up at Evan Worthington. Not drunk this time, not obnoxious as he’d been in the restaurant when she’d dined there with Kyle. Instead he was somber in his charcoal-gray suit and dark blue tie, hands clasped in front of him as if he didn’t know what to do with them. His black hair was slicked back from his forehead. The hairstyle made him look younger.
“Evan.”
He took her hand and attempted to shake it, but his clasp was more than a polite squeeze. Evan seemed to hang on for dear life.
A waiter stopped by with a silver tray of hors d’oeuvres. “I’ll take one,” she told him, and Evan finally released his grip.
She selected a cheese pastry and bit into it. Delicious. Of course. Her mother would never allow mediocre food to touch anyone’s palate within the confines of the North mansion. Even if she’d had only two days to plan the menu.
“Terrible about Mike’s death. But a nice way to remember him. It was good of your parents to host this.” Evan snagged a glass of wine from another passing waiter in full dinner dress.
Black-tie funeral. Mike always lived in style. Now he was sent off in style. Belle tried to push aside the last image of Mike, hands and feet bound, facial features frozen in horror, eyes glazing over.
“It was nice of your mom to help mine,” she told him, spotting Mindy Worthington in the crowd, talking with several friends.
Mindy looked like an elegant grandmother, with a strand of polished pearls around her neck that matched the ones in her earlobes. Gray hair swept back in a bun, Mindy looked equally at home at a funeral reception as she did chairing a charity gala. Her black dress was Chanel, and her pumps Manolo Blahnik.
Evan’s mother was as polished and ironed as most of the other women present. But her son wasn’t as neat. His black suit was rumpled, his tie askew as if he’d tugged on it too much.
“I hate funerals,” he muttered. “I’m glad you’re here.” Evan downed his wine.
He handed the glass to a passing waiter and helped himself to another one.
She gave him a pointed look. “Don’t imbibe too much more, Evan. Drinking too much isn’t a good accessory for you.”
He had the grace to look abashed. “Yeah, sorry about that at the bar. I was on a tear with the guys, first time I’ve really had a chance to let loose since I went into remission.”
Fishing around for common ground, she gestured to his mother. “Your mother was wonderful to help with this reception.”
He nodded. “Mom has always liked to organize everything. She didn’t mind, especially since Dr. Patterson’s parents are in shock.”
And throwing this reception took not only organization, but money. It was a drop in the bucket to people like her mother, and Mindy. Like her mother, Mindy enjoyed the privileges accommodating a wealthy lifestyle. But Mindy had always put her son first. Evan was an only child, doted upon by his mother. The pampering had grown worse after Evan’s father died five years ago.
As a teenager circulating in the same tennis-and-polo set, Belle once envied Evan for his mother’s devotion. He could do no wrong, unlike Belle, who never managed to do anything right. Mindy would do anything for Evan, whereas Belle’s mother was more concerned with maintaining her own lifestyle and social obligations, and making sure her daughter had an equally shining social presence. As she grew older, Belle realized the kind of helicopter parenting Mindy had perfected before the term grew popular could be equally damaging as absentee parenting.
Her own parents weren’t terrible. She’d wished her father had spent more time with her, though. But at least her parents listened to her at times. Sometimes she suspected Mindy only lectured Evan to do as she wished. Evan had broken free for a while when he moved away to pursue a successful investing career. And then the cancer attacked him.
She felt sorry for him, but not enough to socialize. When Evan got drunk he turned ugly. He wouldn’t dare drink too much here and make a spectacle of himself.
Evan cast a nervous eye at the clusters of people quietly talking. “I always imagined Mike to be invincible. One of those older doctors who eats whole foods and lives in the gym, with a heart that would never give out. He never did seem to have fun.”
Belle shrugged. Last thing she wanted was to philosophize with a man whose idea of fun was chugging a six-pack. Her own feelings right now were so complicated regarding Mike.
He’d been her mentor, a physician and family friend to hold in high regard. And now she realized he hid plenty of secrets.
Mike had died without revealing one critical secret—Anna’s location.
“Say, Belle, I really am sorry about how I acted in the bar. I was obnoxious and you were with that FBI guy.”
She relaxed a little. Maybe Evan wasn’t all that bad. Cancer changed people, and the grueling chemo treatments might have refined his cruder edges.
“Apology accepted. The FBI guy is Agent Anderson, who’s working on finding Anna.”
“Right. You have a thing for him?”
Startled, she nearly spilled her champagne. “A thing?”
“The way you two were staring at each other, it seemed like he was more into you than as just a fed.”
Yes, her heart agreed.
No, her mind protested.
Not that I’d tell you anything that personal or private. I guess you really haven’t changed. “I’m doing all I can to help the federal authorities find Anna, since I was one of the last people to see her.”
A diplomatic answer. Her mother would approve. But though it seemed the right answer, it gave Evan the wrong idea. He grinned, and his green eyes sparkled.
“Good. Then you’re not seeing anyone and neither am I. Maybe we can start over again. Go out on a real date. I know a great French restaurant that’s quiet, intimate and has a wonderful wine s
election.”
Belle stared. They were at a funeral reception, and he was hitting on her. “I don’t think so, Evan.”
“Just one date. Give me a chance. You’re so beautiful and smart, and I might learn something from you.” He grinned, showing perfect teeth. Perhaps that smile might charm other women.
It did nothing except irritate her.
Thankfully Mindy, Evan’s mother, drifted over, a cloud of French perfume following in her wake. “Evan, darling, there you are. Are you all right, dear?”
She clucked and cooed over her baby chick, secretly amusing Belle as Evan looked uncomfortable. “I’m fine, Mother. Chatting with Belle.”
Mindy’s gaze grew bright. “I always thought you two would make a darling couple, Belle. Have you ever considered staying here instead of going away to do that medical thing?”
That medical thing. As if practicing medicine was a hobby like knitting. Laughing would be inappropriate. “I don’t think so, Mrs. Worthington. Evan and I aren’t quite compatible.” She smiled to diffuse the sharp rejection.
If he felt rejected, Evan didn’t show it. Instead, he nibbled on the edge of his thumbnail. Mindy’s smile grew tight. “Dear, stop that nasty habit. Well, that’s too bad, Belle. You’re giving up the chance of a lifetime.”
Fingers tipped with glossy red nails curled possessively around Evan’s upper arm. “Come along, dear. I have someone for you to meet.”
Belle released a relieved breath as they wound through the living room. Tense already from smiling and trying to mask her feelings, she didn’t need Mindy pressuring her.
Another waiter passed with a silver tray of canapés, but she had little appetite. Mike’s dead face kept floating before her. Belle wished for a friendly face, a person who could relate and not someone she’d felt forced her into polite conversation. Her skin felt stretched too tight, her smile ready to crack her face.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a light in the dark tunnel entering the bright living room. Kyle Anderson.
In his black suit with a solid navy blue tie, absent of the whimsical patterns he usually sported, he blended well with this crowd. The dark suit complemented his inky black hair, and the gray lock of hair made him look distinguished.
