Send Me a Hero

by Rita Herron

  “So everyone knows?” Nathan’s chest ached at the horrified expression on Veronica’s face.

  Ron nodded. Nathan watched the exchange with interest. If Ron had known, he could have used her past to torment her. But even though he disliked the man immensely, he sensed Ron genuinely cared for Veronica. Another thought to ponder.

  “I’m sorry, Veronica,” Ron said, reaching for her hand.

  She pulled back. “But why didn’t you say something?”

  Ron frowned at her withdrawal. “I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you would.”

  “So I hid it from everyone there for no reason.”

  “I…I didn’t understand why you wouldn’t talk about it,” Ron said.

  The true concern in Ron’s voice struck a nerve in Nathan. At least the man had one good point—he hadn’t cared about Veronica’s past. And his gut instinct told him Cox wouldn’t hurt her.

  So, did Veronica still care for him?

  “How long have you been in town?” Nathan asked, remembering the dark sedan that had followed them.

  “A couple of days,” Ron said, looking sheepish.

  “So you were here in Oakland when you called me?” Veronica asked.

  Ron nodded. “Yeah, I wanted to ask you if I could come over, but you sounded too distracted. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. Then I saw you with him.” Ron glared at Nathan.

  “And you followed us?” Nathan asked.

  “Yes.”

  Veronica’s eyes widened. “You did what?”

  “I only wanted to find out who he was. And how involved the two of you were.” Ron gave Veronica a hurt look. “I guess I got my answer.”

  “I’m sorry, Ron,” Veronica said quietly. “I really am. You’re a good friend, but like I told you in Florida, that’s all it can ever be. When I met Detective—”

  “You don’t have to explain about us,” Nathan cut in.

  “Yeah, I think I’d rather not hear the details,” Ron said sarcastically.

  Veronica wrung her hands together as the tension crackled through the room.

  Ron finally stood, jammed his hands in his pockets in a gesture of defeat and faced Nathan. “You’d better not take advantage of her.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Veronica snapped.

  Nathan pushed himself up and shook his head. “I’m going to catch the creep who’s doing this.”

  “Can I see you alone for a moment?” Ron asked Veronica.

  Nathan waited, hoping she’d say no. Instead she looked to him and arched her beautiful eyebrows. “Do you mind?”

  Nathan’s hands fisted by his sides, but he gave her a brief nod and stepped into the bedroom. He paced back and forth across the room, his mind reeling. What did the two of them have to talk about that he couldn’t hear? What was Veronica saying to him? When this mess was over, would she go back to that wimp?

  No. He damn well wouldn’t let her. She was his now. And if he had to make love to her over and over all day, he’d prove it to her.

  A few minutes later he couldn’t stand it any longer. He opened the door and saw Ron lean over and kiss Veronica on the cheek. “I hope you find what you came here for,” he told her softly. Then he turned and walked out the door.

  Veronica had wondered if the “morning after” would be uncomfortable, but awkward didn’t begin to describe the incident with Ron. She stole a glance at Nathan over the fresh blueberry muffins she’d made after Ron left, and saw him watching her, something he’d been doing intently since Ron had walked out the door.

  “These are delicious,” he said.

  Forcing a smile, she broke her muffin in two and watched Nathan lick his lips. A crumb clung to the corner of his mouth and she was tempted to lick it off. Last night she would have.

  This morning she didn’t feel quite so bold.

  “So what did Ron want during your little private talk?”

  His tone sounded mild, but Veronica could read his eyes now, and they held more than simple curiosity. And more than just interest in her case. They held heat and the remnants of their night of passion—the same wonderful memories hovering in the front of her own mind. And she also thought she detected a hint of jealousy. Could the handsome detective have feelings for her?

  “He wanted me to be careful, that’s all.”

  “And?”

  “And that’s all. It’s over between us,” Veronica said quietly. She didn’t know if that was the answer he wanted to hear, but she wasn’t into playing games, not with either man.

  “Good.” Nathan slurped his coffee and grinned. “I don’t share my women, Veronica.”

  Veronica almost choked on her food. “Your what?”

  Nathan wiped his mouth. “Excuse me—my woman.”

  Veronica stared at him, remembering the mindless pleasure he’d given her. What a totally barbaric thing to say. Then suddenly she laughed and so did Nathan.

  “It’s Saturday. Do you have to work?” he asked.

  She cleared the table. “I need to do some errands.”

  “Want a bodyguard?” Nathan asked coming up behind her and circling her waist with his arms. “’Cause I like guarding your body.”

  Veronica moaned as he nibbled at the sensitive skin at the base of her neck. “Don’t you have work to do?”

  “Protecting you is my work,” he whispered against her hair.

  “Is that all I am? A job?” Veronica bit her tongue as the words came out, mortified she’d revealed so much of her feelings.

  Nathan spun her around. The anger in his eyes made her stiffen in his arms. “You know you’re not.”

  “I…I’m sorry.”

  He cupped her face and lowered his head, devouring her mouth with his. When he finally broke the kiss, she could hardly breathe.

  “I need to take a shower,” she said softly.

  Nathan grinned. “So do I.”

  An hour later, after they’d made wonderful love in the shower, Nathan drove Veronica to her office to retrieve her car.

  “I’m going to the precinct to check on the labwork. Will you be all right?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I have a little paperwork to catch up on.”

  “I’ll bring steaks tonight,” Nathan offered.

  “I’ll pick up some wine.”

  After he walked her to her office and checked the inside, he kissed her and waved goodbye. She waved back, and a strange feeling overcame him. He zeroed in on her hand. Veronica was right-handed.

  Aha. That was it. He’d known from the beginning she hadn’t tried to commit suicide. And he couldn’t wait to explain his theory to Ford and watch the detective’s face.

  A few minutes later he stood in front of Ford’s desk. “I figured something out today.”

  “What?” Ford asked as he wolfed down his second bear claw.

  “Veronica is right-handed.”

  “So?”

  “When her wrist was cut during that first attack, it was her right wrist. If a right-handed person tried to commit suicide, she’d cut her left wrist, not her right.”

  Nathan saw the moment Ford conceded. His furrowed eyebrows formed a straight bushy line. “You might be right.”

  “I am right,” Nathan said. “Tell me what you found on the prints off her car.”

  “Nothing,” Ford said. “Oh, except her secretary’s. You asked me to check into her, too.”

  “Her prints were on Veronica’s car?”

  “Yeah, but she works with her, doesn’t she? Maybe she took something to her car for her.”

  Nathan nodded. “It’s possible. Does she have a record?”

  Ford licked the powdery sugar from his lips. “For prostitution in ’88.”

  “Ahh, interesting.” Nathan let the idea churn around in his mind. Louise Falk worked for Veronica, had access to her keys, her car and perhaps her house. But why would she hurt Veronica? Even if Veronica had known about her past, which he didn’t think she did, Veronica had given her a job.


  “Final report on the bloody knife in the car,” Ford said. “Blood was from a butcher shop, not a human’s.”

  “So, someone is trying to drive Veronica crazy.”

  “But why?”

  “It has to be her past. But Louise Falk doesn’t fit. If she did know Veronica as a child, she was just a kid herself.”

  “I’ll check into Falk’s family,” Ford said.

  “Good work,” Nathan said, realizing the two of them were actually working together. “I’m going to check out some of the people in Mr. Miller’s date book. Maybe the key in discovering who’s threatening Veronica is to find the person responsible for murdering the Millers.”

  “So you don’t think it was a murder-suicide?”

  “Veronica doesn’t,” Nathan said. “And I believe her.”

  Ford shook his head. “I hope you’re right.”

  He remembered a similar conversation with his former partner, only his partner had been wrong. But this was different. And sometimes a cop’s instincts led him to the truth.

  Only problem was, Nathan wasn’t sure he hoped he was right—if he was and the murderer was in town and afraid of being discovered, Veronica was in terrible danger.

  VERONICA WAS LEAVING her office when the phone rang. Thinking it was business, she hurried back to answer it. “Veronica Miller speaking.”

  “Ms. Miller, this is Alma Jones. We met at my grandson’s campaign kickoff party.”

  “Yes, you’re Eli’s mother. I remember.” How could she forget the withered old woman who’d been so unfriendly to her?

  “My granddaughter, Tessa, said she had lunch with you yesterday.”

  “Well, it wasn’t exactly lunch. I’m afraid I wasn’t feeling well and had to leave before our food arrived.” Had Eli’s family decided to welcome her into their tight-knit group?

  “Listen, I’d appreciate it if you would stay away from my family. What with Gerald running for the senate, our family can’t use any negative publicity right now. You understand, don’t you?”

  “What?” First Eli didn’t want her to see Gerald, now his mother wanted her to stay away from the whole family.

  “Murdering your own parents was bad enough, but I won’t let you harm any of my children.”

  Veronica gasped. She’d heard rumors that some people thought she was a child murderer, but no one had ever said it to her face. Anger hurriedly replaced her hurt. “Look, Mrs. Jones, I don’t have any intention of interfering with your family. In fact, I don’t even want to be a part of it.” Veronica slammed down the phone and dropped her face into her hands, her pulse racing. How dare the woman.

  Still reeling fifteen minutes later when she parked at the hospital for her appointment with Dr. Sandler, she did the relaxation exercises the psychiatrist in Florida had taught her. Taking deep breaths and imagining herself on a quiet, deserted island helped. Only the island wasn’t deserted—Nathan was there. And it was perfect, a romantic haven where problems didn’t exist, where their love could blossom and they could make love beneath the stars every night with only the moon watching them and the sound of waves lapping at the shore.

  Feeling better, she made her way through the quiet hospital corridors and up to Dr. Sandler’s office. She offered him a calm smile when he greeted her.

  “Well, Ms. Miller, it’s a pleasure. You’ve turned into a beautiful young woman.”

  Veronica blushed as he gave her a firm handshake. You could tell a lot about a person from a handshake. “Thanks. I’m afraid I don’t remember much about you.”

  “Of course not. The last time I saw you, well, it wasn’t under the best of circumstances.” He offered her a sympathetic look, which she tried to ignore.

  “I know.” Veronica settled into one of the leather chairs flanking his massive oak desk. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened.”

  Dr. Sandler folded his hands, and Veronica had an eerie feeling that the next few minutes were crucial. “I want to know what I said when I was a child. You know, after my parents’ death.”

  “Why now?” Dr. Sandler asked.

  Veronica told him about the threats.

  “I know. I talked with that young detective yesterday who’s working on your case.”

  “You what?” Veronica felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her.

  “Dawson, I believe he said. I thought you probably gave him my name.”

  She shook her head, stunned. He’d lied to her. Why hadn’t Nathan told her? Was he checking up on her? Hurt spiraled through her, and it took her several seconds to regain her composure.

  “Relax, Ms. Miller. I didn’t disclose anything confidential. I pride myself on my ethical practice.”

  “Of course.” Veronica breathed a sigh of relief, her anger growing. He had spent the night with her, made love with her until dawn, but he hadn’t told her he’d asked a psychiatrist about her. Did he think she was crazy? Or did he believe she could have killed her own parents?

  “Um, Ms. Miller?” The doctor checked his watch. “I have to see patients soon.”

  “Oh, yes.” Veronica collected herself. “I’ve had these recurring nightmares all my life. A big ominous shadow is chasing me, trying to catch me. One doctor told me it was a child’s way of compensating for the fear I felt, that the shadow represents death. But I think the shadow is a person’s face. I think I’m seeing a vision of the person who killed my parents.”

  Dr. Sandler’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “Either one is possible. Have you tried hypnosis?”

  “Yes. But nothing happened. I wondered, did I say anything to give you a clue as to who killed my parents?”

  The doctor shifted, obviously uncomfortable.

  “Please tell me the truth.”

  “Ms. Miller, you were very small and fragile, in shock.”

  “What did I say?”

  “You mentioned a big, dark shadow.”

  “But the police didn’t think anyone else was there?”

  Dr. Sandler shook his head. “No.” He paused, then continued. “The only other thing you said was that it was your fault. You kept saying it over and over—‘It was my fault. My parents died because of me.”’

  Veronica’s throat closed. It couldn’t be true. She couldn’t have killed her father and mother. But if she hadn’t, then who had? And why did she feel so guilty?

  AFTER CHECKING Veronica’s father’s date book and the list of people presently living in the town against those who were around at the time of his death, Nathan found only four names that ranked as possibilities. Alma and Gerald Jones were two of them. Scroggins was another. The last was a girl named Susan Pritchard. At the time she’d been seventeen, and would now have been thirty-seven. Only, she had died in a car accident within a few days of Veronica’s parents’ deaths. Her parents still lived in town. Nathan made a quick phone call, but the Pritchards weren’t home, so he decided to swing by and visit Gerald and his grandmother.

  The Jones family had been a founder of the town, and Alma knew everyone who lived in Oakland. He’d heard the woman was a society matriarch and would do anything to ensure her son’s future in politics. Now Gerald had been added to the repertoire of her protective arms.

  He drove to the mansion and pulled up in the big circular drive, amazed to see gardeners tending the lawn in the heart of winter. A distinguished, stiff-looking butler greeted him and showed him to the formal sitting room where Alma Jones sat. Wearing a long golden robe and feathered slippers, she looked as regal as a queen on a throne. Her gnarled fingers took away slightly from the powerful image, but her cool assessing eyes and pointed chin made up the difference.

  “What can I do for you, Detective?”

  The obvious distaste she had for his position in life came through loud and clear. “I want to discuss something that happened a few years ago.”

  “Is this about that Miller woman?”

  Nathan hesitated, wondering how she knew. Then he quickly realized Alma knew everything. She probably
paid spies to collect gossip for her.

  “Yes, in a way. Why do you ask?”

  “I saw the two of you cavorting at Gerald’s party.”

  Perceptive woman. “Actually, I’m looking into an old murder case—the Millers.”

  “You mean that murder-suicide?” The woman’s lower lip curled into a look of disdain that only a true snob could pull off. “It was a horrid thing for the community. And I did feel sorry for that poor child.”

  “I heard that you and your son visited her in the hospital.”

  Shock widened the woman’s eyes momentarily, but she quickly masked it and fanned her face, her diamonds glittering as she waved her hand back and forth. “Yes, Eli was…worried. And in his position, we thought it was a good move to show concern for the child.”

  “So, you did it to impress the cameras?” A bitter taste filled Nathan’s mouth.

  “That was part of it. And as senator, Eli felt a certain responsibility. The town supported him, he felt he owed it to help console that little girl in her tragedy.”

  “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

  The old woman smiled as if she was glad he understood. His stomach clenched.

  “Mrs. Jones, Mr. Miller’s date book indicates you and your grandson visited him the week before he died.”

  Yellow tinged the old woman’s white pallor as she dug her bony fingers into the kerchief in her lap. “Yes. He was the only lawyer in town. He handled some financial affairs for us.”

  “And Gerald? He was only—what, around twenty back then?”

  “Eighteen, but he had a trust fund. Miller was overseeing its executions.”

  She had an answer for everything. The quickness of her reply struck him as odd, almost as if she’d practiced her response. “Actually, Detective Dawson, I hated to mention this after the poor family’s death, but I was withdrawing my accounts from Mr. Miller.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.” The old woman tethered. “There was some gossip that he wasn’t quite on the up-and-up. And my family certainly couldn’t have had our name associated with someone of that caliber.”

  “I see.” Nathan studied the old woman. She was cunning and definitely out to protect her family. But at what cost? “And you think that might have had something to do with the deaths?”