His question shocked her. His attorney looked surprised, too. Previously, Meriman’s attorney had indicated the doctor considered supervised visitation insulting and beneath him. Yet, right now, his reasonable behavior was contradicting what his spouse and Liam Seegar had told her. His wife had claimed the doctor had no interest in the baby and had abused the child after the baby’s crying had disturbed his sleep. According to Mandy’s client, after she’d reported his abuse, he’d retaliated and accused her of abuse—so the state had taken the child away from both parents. Mandy wanted to make certain she understood what he’d said and reiterated, “If the judge okayed it, you’d agree to supervised visits?”
“You don’t have to answer that,” Liam replied.
“It’s humiliating, but yes. I would agree to do almost anything to see my son.”
She couldn’t imagine being separated from Gabby for weeks, or the out-of-her-mind fear she’d have if her daughter were placed in a foster home. Although most families did wonderful jobs with the children they housed for the state, some did not. Last year a case where a family locked up and starved the kids had made headlines. Seeing that his baby was well cared for seemed a reasonable request to her. “I’ll see what I can do. Liam, if you call me next week—”
“I’ll do that.”
“Thank you,” the doctor said.
Zack remained silent until they returned to the privacy of her leased car, but he had a puzzled glint in his eyes. “What just happened back there?”
She started the car, adjusted the AC to cool her face. “What do you mean?”
He checked the street, then his gaze settled on her. “Dr. Meriman’s wife is your client. Why would you do him a favor?”
“Why not? It’s not like seeing his baby under supervised circumstances will hurt Mrs. Meriman.”
“But she certainly won’t like it,” he countered.
“The parents are adults. They need to act with maturity for the sake of their child.”
He rubbed his jaw. “Didn’t you just get through telling me over dinner that not everything in life is fair?”
“I didn’t say it was. But,” she shot him a grin, “there’s no reason not to try and make things right. Why should Dr. Meriman have to worry more than necessary? I’m a family law attorney because I want to help people at a time when they might not be thinking clearly, when they are hurt, when the decisions they make can affect how they live for many years.”
“Are you always this passionate?”
“Yes,” she answered before realizing he was teasing her, and she couldn’t help but smile. Pulling out of the driveway, she steered and headed past more custom-built homes toward the interstate, her frustration spreading as wide as the smoke from the TECO stacks, a coal plant that generated electricity for the area. “Do you realize we’ve spent the entire day searching for clues to who might have killed Lisa and come after Dana and me, and we’ve come up with zip, zero, zilch?”
“You may chalk up our work as a bust, but it’s a rare investigation that turns up evidence on the first day.” Zack’s tone was mild.
“But we couldn’t verify the stockbroker’s or the pediatrician’s whereabouts during the time of Lisa’s death, nor could we find the drug addict. As far as I can see, we’ve wasted our time . . .”
“Time you could have better spent on your cases?”
“Time where I actually help people and earn a living.”
“But you can’t return to earning a living until we catch these people,” Zack reminded her.
“I know. I know. But I have a life, a schedule, that I’ve worked hard to mold. Is it selfish of me to want that when poor Lisa is dead?”
“Of course not. You’ll get your life back. You just have to be patient.” Zack sounded so certain.
But he was used to living like a nomad. He didn’t have a child waiting for him to come home. Mandy’s whole life was on hold. Gabby and her mother were at the beach. She couldn’t even sleep at her condo tonight. Not with Zack for her bodyguard. Before she freaked, she reminded herself things could be worse. She could be dead right now.
By the time she’d cruised up the on-ramp to the interstate, she managed to ask casually, “So where are we going now?”
“Mom has a furnished rental house in Brandon that’s currently vacant. She’s offered it to us.”
“Really,” she said, wondering if Catherine thought she’d be safer away from her home. Mandy didn’t ask. Whatever the reason, Catherine had just solved her problem about Zack walking into a condo full of baby paraphernalia.
If Mandy could just focus on the next problem—spending the night with Zack. Could she trust him not to make a move? Could she trust herself not to welcome it, if he did?
Chapter Sixteen
ASPIRIN, SUGGESTED by Dana’s doctors, helped ease the pain of her head injury. Tonight, she wanted to put the attack at the airport behind her. She’d had food catered from Wright’s Gourmet, and ordered Sam’s favorites, a veggie relish with pickles, olives, and a dill dip; Brie, covered with almonds, apple slices, raisins, and apricots with fresh bread rounds; and turkey tetrazzini with water chestnuts, white sauce, and smothered with aged Vermont cheese. For dessert, his favorite carrot cake. She hadn’t felt up to cooking or going out, but she’d wanted a special evening for the two of them. She’d set a table on their bedroom balcony, which overlooked the pool and their waterfront view of Tampa Bay. She’d planned a romantic dinner with a sunset and had dressed up the table with a fine lace cloth, silver, and her favorite china. She’d lit candles, and a bottle of Sam’s preferred Pinot Noir awaited him in a copper ice bucket.
She’d been warned not to consume alcohol after her concussion and had iced a bottle of mineral water. Sam had come bounding up the stairs after working out in their home gym, glanced at the dinner table, and entered the shower. “Give me ten minutes.”
“No hurry.”
While Sam showered, Dana channel surfed and picked out clothes to wear tomorrow for Lisa’s funeral. By ten in the morning, the sun would already be high enough in the sky for the temperatures to soar into the eighties. She picked out a black cotton dress, sandals and a purse, and laid out a silver belt and earrings. She’d already ordered flowers from the firm as well as from Sam, then canceled them after learning Jews didn’t send flowers to funerals. She settled for a card and a donation to the foster system on Lisa’s behalf, but she wished there was something more she could do.
Lisa had been so young and so enthusiastic about her work. Her extended adopted family was flying in for the service, and her friends from school would be there tomorrow. She’d died horribly, violently.
And Mandy had been attacked twice. Dana once. The incidents couldn’t be mere coincidence. They had to be connected, but just thinking about it made her head throb. Dana rubbed her forehead, opened a bottle of aspirin, and poured the cold mineral water into her glass. She was swallowing the aspirin when Sam emerged from the master bathroom, wearing shoes, slacks and a dress shirt, his damp hair combed.
Tie in hand, he strode to the mirror and placed it under his collar. “Sorry dear, I just got a phone call. I have to meet the lead attorney on the Morrison case.”
So it was starting already. “Can’t you delay the meeting until after we eat?”
Sam came up behind her, placed his hands on her waist and kissed her neck. “I’d rather skip dinner and try to come back early.”
Early for Sam meant sometime before midnight. Disappointment flooded Dana. Recently, she’d spent too many evenings alone, and after the attack last night, she didn’t want to be by herself. “It’s a shame to waste the food. I’ll call Mom and see if she’d like to join me.”
“Good idea.” He kissed her cheek. “Got to run.”
Although she wished Sam could stay, she realized he’d missed a lot of work recen
tly. While he’d been wonderful today, she shouldn’t have to be in the hospital to gain her husband’s attention. She hoped things would change once they started a family. But meanwhile, she consoled herself with the knowledge that if she told him she’d needed him to stay, he would have been there for her, just like she was certain he’d be there if they had children.
Dana phoned Catherine but was sent straight to voice mail. Her mother must be on another call, so Dana texted her. Waiting for her mother to call back, Dana lay down on the bed to watch the news. But she must have been more tired than she’d thought because she dozed off.
When she awakened, it was dark. In the light from the television, she could see that the ice around the wine had mostly melted and condensation drizzled down the outside of the copper bucket.
Dana heard footsteps on the stairs, and she shoved herself to a sitting position. “Sam? Is that you?”
No one answered. “Tom?” Her bodyguard was supposed to make intermittent rounds along the yard’s perimeter. After each inspection he came inside and remained downstairs. However, if there was a problem, he might have come up to the second level. But if he was here, why hadn’t he answered when she’d called out?
Adrenaline and fear wiped away the last dregs of sleep. Her head pounded, but there was no time to take another aspirin. Dana rolled off the far side of the bed, grabbed her cell phone and crawled toward the closet. Heart pumping hard, blood pumping too fast, she brushed a trickle of sweat from her eyes. At the sound of another footstep, she trembled.
Someone had sneaked past her bodyguard. They were coming upstairs. For her.
What should she do?
Dana wanted to scream for help. Instead she dialed 911. At the damn busy signal on the network, she swore in frustration.
Blinking back tears, Dana listened hard. The rustle of clothing on the stairs warned her she didn’t have much time.
Perhaps Sam hadn’t heard her call out his name, and he’d breeze into the room at any moment and they could laugh over her silly fears. But in the meantime, she wished she had a solid weapon. A baseball bat. A fireplace poker. A gun.
What the hell was wrong with her? She had a gun in the closet—one she knew how to use.
Thankful for the thick carpet that covered the sound of her mad scramble, she opened her closet. Didn’t dare flick on the light.
Where was the gun? Her hands knocked a hanger to the floor, and it clattered. Her mouth so dry she wondered if she’d be able to talk if her call ever connected, she peeked through the wooden slats. A shadow loomed, emerging from the dark stairwell.
Unable to find the gun, she again dialed 911, her hands quivering, her heart dancing up her throat. Again the network wouldn’t put her call through.
Damn.
She picked up a wooden hanger, the best weapon she could find, and peered through the wooden slats once more. The shadow lengthened, enlarged. Someone padded into the bedroom without hesitation. A woman’s silhouette.
“Dana, did you fall asleep?”
“Mom?” Heart still stammering, Dana exited the closet.
Catherine flicked on the light. Both women blinked. Stunned, Dana banished her fear while her mother frowned at the wooden hanger that Dana held in her hand like a club. Catherine’s worried eyes took in Dana’s ebbing panic. “What’s wrong?”
“I called out, and when no one answered . . .”
“I didn’t hear. I thought you might be sleeping.”
Dana sank onto the bed and dropped her head into her hands. “I thought . . . I thought someone had snuck in.”
Her mother sat next to her on the bed, smoothed her hair and rubbed her back like she’d done when Dana had been a little girl. “It’s okay. You’re fine. When I returned your call, you didn’t answer.”
“I fell asleep.”
“I thought you might be in the shower so I just came over, figuring we’d have dinner together. Tom’s downstairs. He let me in.” Catherine stood and gave Dana a few more moments to regroup. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved.” The idea of food, of normality, sounded great. But first she popped another headache pill.
The sun had already set over the bay. The candles had burned down and the food was no longer piping hot. But they reheated the meal downstairs in the kitchen, then brought it back up to enjoy some privacy from the bodyguards who could otherwise overhear their every word. When they finally settled on the balcony to eat, Dana sighed, still on edge. “Between the attack last night and Lisa’s death, I’m as jumpy as a defendant about to hear the judge pronounce sentence.”
Catherine blotted her mouth with a napkin and waited for a noisy boat to speed by before speaking. “I’m half tempted to close the firm until—”
“You can’t. We have clients who need us.”
“I know.” Catherine waved her to silence. “We have a duty to our clients. But I also have a duty to Mandy, Maria, Sylvia, and you and Zack.” She smiled at the mention of her children. “Especially you and Zack.”
“We could close for the rest of the week, but that wouldn’t necessarily make us any safer. Until someone cashes in that lottery ticket, we’ll all be targets.”
“What’s the time limit to cash in?” Catherine asked, spearing an olive with her fork as if it were Lisa’s murderer.
“Thirty days. Much too long to close the firm—although I wouldn’t mind if Zack and Mandy stayed together until then.”
Catherine sipped her wine. “Don’t get your hopes up. Zack’s so much like his father . . . he wants to save the world and doesn’t mind risking his life to do it.”
The frogs chirping in the cattails and the water lapping against the dock and seawall soothed Dana’s nerves as much as her mother’s presence and discussing family. “Zack’s got some of you in him, too.” Dana dipped her celery into peanut sauce and enjoyed the sweet crunchy taste. “Have you seen the way he acts around Mandy? He plays it oh-so-casual, but the rest of us might as well not be in the room.”
Catherine rolled her eyes and eyed the Brie and sesame toast. “Lust does not a marriage make.” Generally her mother avoided high carbs, determined to keep her elegant shape, but this time she gave in to temptation.
Dana changed the subject. “I want to share some good news. Sam’s agreed to apply for adoption. I want to try for siblings, maybe a boy and a girl, but two girls or two boys would be fine, too.”
Catherine broke into a wide grin of delight. “That’s wonderful.” If her mother had any concerns about Sam’s taking so long to agree to adoption, she kept them to herself. She raised her wine glass and clinked it to Dana’s water glass. “Good for you, dear.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
A shout followed by a heavy thud downstairs interrupted their meal. In a flash, Dana’s good mood evaporated, and her fears returned as if they’d never really left.
Dana exchanged a frightened glance with her mother and whispered, “You heard that, right?”
“Shh.” Catherine raised her finger to her lips, her face paling.
Dana shoved back from the table and turned off the light. She returned to her mother’s side, grabbed Catherine’s hand and a dinner knife and tugged her toward the closet, determined to find her gun.
From downstairs, she heard the sound of a fist smacking flesh, a soft moan and an oof, the sound of air leaving a man’s lungs. It sounded like—a brawl. A whizzing noise—maybe a gunshot—then more loud thumps, like a body keeling over and knocking into a table or overturning a chair. Then nothing.
Silence.
Oh . . . God. Where the hell was her gun? She tossed aside shoes, purses, scarves, belts.
A car’s headlights shined through the window. A car was turning into the driveway. Dana peeked out. Sam was coming home, heading straight into the danger downstairs. While she prayed the two body
guards had started a fight with one another, she doubted that men so well trained would be so undisciplined.
Dana wanted to hide with her mother in the closet. But how could she let Sam come inside to face . . . she didn’t know what . . . without trying to warn him?
“Mom, call 911,” Dana whispered, praying her mother’s phone would get through.
“Why not warn Sam?” her mother asked.
“If his cell phone rings, it could make him a target.” Her fingers finally closed on the gun. She switched off the safety and prayed she was making the right decision. Leaving the bedroom, she headed for the stairs. Once she reached the landing she could peak over the balcony, figure out what had happened and hopefully find a way to warn Sam—all while remaining out of the line of fire.
Catherine yanked her back and whispered. “No. You can’t go down there.”
“Sam’s home. I can’t hide while he walks into danger.” Dana shook free of her mother’s grasp, pressed the dinner knife into her hand, and left her mother behind.
Knees trembling, heart hammering, gun in hand, she hesitated on the upstairs landing. The wooden stairs creaked, but she could avoid the noisy spots if she took her time and kept her head. Holding her breath, she proceeded, listening and estimating how much time she had before Sam entered the house.
The car’s engine was too quiet for her to hear it in the garage. She’d made it down four stairs before she picked up the sound of another thud.
Had her mother’s call to 911 gone through? How long would it take for help to arrive?
At a creak above her, Dana turned to see her mother following. Damn. She should have realized that no way would Catherine allow her to head into danger alone.
Praying that her mother had gotten through, that Sam wouldn’t enter the house but go down to the water as he sometimes did, and that the cops were on the way, Dana kept her hand on the banister to guide her. The laundry room door opened.
Sam was heading into the kitchen.
She swore. Dana had to hurry. Should she call out? Warn Sam to turn and flee? If she did, would he listen? It was more his nature to charge ahead.
Kiss Me Deadly Page 14
