Sweet Baby

by Sharon Sala

  “That’s okay. I understand. Besides, I need to keep my nose to the grindstone or I won’t meet my own deadline.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Think of this as a night out with the boys,” she said.

  He grinned. “Yeah, right, some boys. The concert is free, and it’s hot as hell outside. There’s bound to be a crowd. It will be nothing short of a miracle if I’m able to spot Tribbey.”

  Tory sympathized. Brett had been working on the same case for days now, trying to locate Lacey’s witness. She didn’t know the particulars, but she knew it was important. She slid her arms around his neck.

  “You will find him.”

  Brett kissed her earlobe, then left a trail of kisses along the edge of her collarbone. “And just how do you know that, oh wise and beautiful one?”

  Tory giggled and looked down. “Because you’re good at what you do.”

  He laughed. Her double meaning was as obvious as the bulge behind his zipper. “Yeah, and I bet you tell that to all the boys.”

  Tory tilted her head back to look up at him, and as she did, her hair tumbled down from the clasp, covering his hands and arms.

  Brett groaned beneath his breath as he settled his mouth on her lips. She was soft and yielding, and he’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted to take her to bed right now. He kissed her once more with feeling and then broke their connection.

  “Victoria…”

  She leaned into his embrace, adjusting her curves to the hard, flat planes of his body.

  “Yes?”

  “I need you to do something for me while I’m gone.”

  “Like what?”

  He grinned. “Like… hold that thought until I get back.”

  She smiled, and he couldn’t resist tasting that, too, tracing the shape of her mouth with the tip of his tongue before stealing another last kiss.

  He was on his way out the door when he suddenly stopped and turned.

  Tory, watching him from across the room, was at that moment stunned by the sudden depth of love she felt for him.

  “I love you, baby,” he said softly, and then winked as he shut the door behind him.

  “Oh, Brett, I love you, too.” But he was already gone.

  Five

  When Brett Hooker came out of his apartment, Gus Huffman breathed a sigh of relief. They’d identified Linda Tribbey’s body. He’d heard that on the streets. Killing her had been a warning to her ex to stay lost. But there was no way to threaten this man to keep quiet. The only way to silence him was to put him out of commission… Permanently. The palms of Gus’ hands itched. He wanted this job over and done with. He wanted his money and he wanted to leave town. After burning up one car and having to rent another, he’d almost given up and gone home. But the thought of facing Romeo Leeds had made him reconsider his options, and now he was glad that he had.

  The side street he’d parked on was directly opposite Hooker’s apartment complex, and the bushes in which he was standing were thick enough to give him plenty of cover. When Hooker came down the walk toward his car, Gus shifted his stance. Right now he had a perfect view of his target through the crosshairs of his rifle. Gus’s finger moved to the trigger when Hooker reached for the car door.

  And then, out of nowhere, a pickup full of teenagers came flying around the corner, coming to a skidding stop only yards from the bushes in which Gus was standing. He still had a clear shot at Hooker, but now there would be six other witnesses with which to contend. Cursing his bad luck and their timing, he had no choice but to watch Hooker drive away into the night. A few moments later the teenagers disappeared into a house across the way, and Gus made a break for his car. Within moments, he was flying down the side streets in an effort to catch up with his quarry.

  ***

  Brett had been at the concert for nearly an hour, and, as he’d feared, the amphitheater was filled to capacity. The night was sultry, the air barely moving, and with the crowd that had packed into the outdoor setting, the night was fairly miserable. And yet the discomfort didn’t seem to inhibit the concert-goers. They were jammed into every available space, obviously enjoying the entertainment.

  Two hometown boys who’d made good were playing to a wild and rowdy bunch. Brett stayed on the move, constantly searching face after face as he passed through the crowd.

  Now the need to find Tribbey had become urgent for reasons other than the trial. If Brett didn’t find him first, there was every likelihood that Harold would wind up just like his ex-wife. If that happened, Manny Riberosa would walk, and Romeo Leeds would have once again gotten away with murder.

  Suddenly everyone around him began shouting and clapping, and Brett turned to look. As he did, he caught a glimpse of an unshaven and stoop-shouldered man leaning against a nearby tree. His clothes were stained and several sizes too big. When he moved aside to let some people pass, Brett noticed a limp to his gait. The man Brett was looking for hadn’t been wearing a beard, but the limp Harold Tribbey had earned in Vietnam wasn’t something a man could disguise. Brett started toward the stranger, intent on getting a closer look at his face.

  ***

  It had been years since Harold could remember experiencing joy, but tonight was special. He loved a good song as well as the next man. Once, in his youth, he’d even dreamed of becoming a country singer, but that was before ’Nam. After that, he’d never felt much like singing.

  Truth was, he had given up counting on Lady Luck to control his fate. It seemed to Harold that every time he left his life to chance, someone would toss him the joker. He’d survived Vietnam, but for what point? He’d come home with nightmares he’d never been able to shed. Even after witnessing a murder years later, he’d done a fair job of maintaining control of his emotions. And then the bombing had occurred. After that, he’d come the rest of the way undone. The explosion had been the trigger for a war’s worth of suppressed memories. He’d tried for a while to hold on to his life, and then he’d found it simpler to let it all go.

  At first it had been hard, losing job after job, and even worse, knowing his friends were losing respect for him. After that, he’d lost respect for himself. Losing Linda was almost anticlimactic. He’d been expecting to fail for so long that when it finally happened, it was a relief. Life on the streets wasn’t easy, but it was better than facing the challenges of the real world. And anyway, he’d been lost for so long now that he’d forgotten the way to go home.

  There were days, even weeks, when he never thought of Linda. In fact, he rarely thought of anything more than what to eat and where to sleep. On the streets, Harold had finally achieved success. He’d done what he set out to do. He’d become anonymous, and at this point in his life, it was the only way he could cope.

  Tonight he was happy, and he was so involved in the concert taking place that he didn’t even see the man coming toward him through the crowd.

  ***

  The moment Brett stepped in front of the man, he knew he’d finally found Tribbey. The face was older than the picture he had, and half hidden by a good week’s worth of whiskers. But those dark, deep-set eyes and that thin, worried mouth were the same.

  “Harold Tribbey?”

  Harold jumped. The sound of his name from a stranger’s lips was as near to a curse as he ever wanted to hear. His eyes widened, and he took a step backward, only to feel the hard, rough bark of the tree at his back.

  “You got the wrong man. Leave me alone.”

  Brett took out his identification. “Mr. Tribbey, my name is Brett Hooker, and I’m an investigator for the district attorney’s office. Manny Riberosa’s trial is next Monday, and the D.A. needs you as a witness.”

  Harold started to shake. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He tried to run, but Hooker grabbed his arm and wouldn’t let go.

  “You witnessed a murder. Almost two years ago, remember? It was in an alley outside the machine shop where you worked.”

  Harold’s eyes glazed. “It
’s gone,” he said, and a line of spittle slipped out the corner of his mouth. “It’s all blowed up. Just like them people who died in the Murrah Building. It’s all blowed up.”

  Brett’s heart went out to the old, lost soul, and at that moment, he almost turned and walked away. Leeds’ lawyer would take what was left of this old man apart on the stand. But it wasn’t his decision to make. Don Lacey was calling the shots.

  “Sir! Mr. Lacey needs you to tell about the shooting in the alley. Remember? It was before the bombing. You were in the alley on your lunch break, remember?”

  Tribbey’s eyes teared up. “Chicken salad. Lindie made me chicken-salad sandwiches every Friday.” The tears began to roll down his face, leaving clean tracks on the dirty, unshaven cheeks. “I ain’t been able to face chicken salad since.”

  Brett’s voice was quiet but calm as he tugged on Harold’s arm and began to move toward the edge of the crowd. “I can understand that.”

  “I can’t go back,” Harold said.

  “You don’t have to stay,” Brett said softly. “But you need to tell what you saw. If you don’t, a man will get away with murder.”

  “People die ever’ day,” Tribbey muttered. “I saw it plenty in ’Nam.”

  Brett felt like an executioner. His gut instinct kept telling him this would finish the old man off, but his dedication to duty wouldn’t allow it.

  “What about your wife? Don’t you care about what happened to her?” Brett asked.

  Harold stopped, and the look he gave Brett was suddenly clear and cold. “I don’t have a wife,” he said shortly, and then his voice cracked. “At least, not anymore.”

  “I know you were divorced, but I can’t believe you’re that blasé about her murder. We think they killed her to get at you.”

  Beneath all the whiskers and grime, Harold Tribbey went pale, and Brett suddenly realized the man hadn’t known Linda was dead, let alone that she had been murdered. He dropped his grasp in regret.

  “I’m sorry, sir, I thought you knew.”

  Harold started to shake. “Someone killed my Lindie?” Then he started to cry, soft choking sobs that broke Brett’s heart. “She can’t be dead. I’m the one who’s dead.” He held out his hands and then dug at his face. “See? See? I died years ago, but nobody would believe me.”

  Brett took him by the arm again and began moving through the crowd. Although few noticed their passing, he was breathing easier by the time they reached the parking lot. The shadows surrounding them were darker and deeper, but there was also more privacy here, and at the moment, privacy was what Brett needed. He could tell by the way Tribbey was behaving that he was going to need help. He reached for his phone. If Lacey was going to use this man on the stand, he was going to have to get him some professional help first. Brett knew Lacey’s home number by heart, and for the sake of justice, the man would welcome this call.

  As Brett was punching in the numbers, an expression of sudden clarity crossed Tribbey’s face.

  “Murdered? You said she was murdered?”

  Brett nodded.

  Tribbey swiped at his nose with the back of his hand, then smoothed down the front of his shirt, although it would take more than a tug on the fabric to make him look decent.

  “Who did it?”

  “We’re not sure, but we think it was meant as a warning to you not to testify.”

  “How did they… I mean where was she when they found her?”

  Brett thought about not telling him, but the man was trying so hard to hold on to reality, and he had a feeling that truth was what Harold needed to hear.

  “They shot her in the back of the head. I found her in the Santa Fe Warehouse down on Reno Street.”

  Harold blanched. “I know that place. I slept there more than once. I know that place. Oh God, oh God, my Lindie in that dirty old place.” And to Brett’s surprise, a strength came into Harold’s voice that hadn’t been there before. “Lindie didn’t belong in a place like that. She was a good woman… a lady.”

  Brett’s finger was on the Send button of his phone as he nodded. “Yes sir. Just give me a minute and we’ll—”

  Behind them, the crowd roared, masking the sound of Gus Huffman’s rifle as it fired. Brett didn’t hear the shot, but he felt the impact, and then the heat, as the bullet ripped through his shoulder. As if in a dream, he saw blood splattering all over the front of Harold Tribbey’s shirt, and as he began to pass out, he realized that the blood was his own.

  It was instinct left over from a long-ago war that made Harold Tribbey catch Hooker as he fell. He eased him down to the pavement, all the while wondering why he’d been destined to witness everyone’s death but his own. He stared at the blood gushing out of Hooker’s wound and blanched. He’d seen men die with less injury in ’Nam. Now in a crouch, he swept the parking lot with a frightened gaze, believing at any minute the next shot would be for him. It never came.

  ***

  Brett moaned and opened his eyes. To his overwhelming relief, Harold Tribbey was still there by his side. He kept thinking there was something that needed to be done, but he was fading in and out of consciousness so fast it was hard to remember.

  Tory! That was it! He couldn’t leave Tory. And Harold Tribbey was his only hope of survival. There were too many things he hadn’t done in this life to give up on it now. He wanted babies with Tory. He wanted to grow old with her. He wanted…

  With his last bit of strength, he grabbed at the old man’s arm, unaware that he scared Tribbey half to death. The old man had thought he was dead.

  “My phone. Find it. Just push the Send button. Tell Lacey what happened. Tell them to send help.”

  Harold was wild-eyed and in an all-out panic. His first instinct had been to run, but he hadn’t. He kept telling himself that was what he should have done the first time back in that alley. If he had, no one would be bothering him now to testify against anything. But he couldn’t quit thinking about Lindie’s face. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been crying because he was leaving. And now she was dead. He wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out. But then he looked down at Hooker… and the blood. Had Lindie hurt like this? Had she died afraid and all alone? And then the truth hit Harold like a slap in the face.

  She died because of me.

  He tried to focus on what Hooker was asking.

  The phone. I need to find the phone.

  He could almost hear Lindie urging him on.

  Go on, Harold, you can do it. You can do it.

  He shuddered. It was when he quit listening to Lindie that everything had begun to go wrong.

  “You’re right, Lindie, I can do it.”

  Harold began crawling on his hands and knees, looking for the phone Hooker had dropped. A couple of seconds later, he spied it on the ground near the wheel of a car. Moments later, the call went through, and Harold Tribbey took control of the rest of his life.

  ***

  Tory had fallen asleep on the couch. At twenty minutes to eleven the doorbell rang, yanking her rudely awake. Disoriented, she sat up with a jerk and then glanced at the clock, unaware that it was the doorbell she’d heard. When it rang again, she staggered to her feet. All the way through the living room she kept thinking Brett must have forgotten his key. There was a sleepy smile on her face as she opened the door, but it faded when she saw the uniformed officer.

  “Miss Lancaster? Victoria Lancaster?”

  She frowned. “Yes, I’m Victoria Lancaster.”

  Then he flashed his badge. “Miss Lancaster, I’m Officer Ernie Reynolds. Brett is a friend of mine.”

  At that moment, clarity came. Brett. Something had happened to Brett.

  “Miss Lancaster, may I please come in?”

  Tory’s legs wouldn’t work. She could feel them, but she couldn’t make her brain tell her feet to move. Inside her mind she was already screaming, though the sound had yet to be born.

  “Has something happened to Brett?”

  Reynolds took her by the
arm and gently moved her inside, closing the door behind him. “Miss Lancaster…”

  It hurt to breathe, and she kept trying to focus. Staying calm was important, because she needed to hear what the man had to say, yet at the same time, she didn’t want to know. She blinked, and her voice was shaking as she spoke.

  “Tory.”

  Reynolds frowned. “I’m sorry, ma’am? What did you say?”

  “Not Miss Lancaster. Tory. Brett calls me Tory.”

  Reynolds sighed. There was no easy way to say this. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve been sent to tell you that Brett’s been shot.”

  Tory swayed on her feet and then moaned. Reynolds caught her before she could fall. She grabbed at his hands in desperation, unable to ask what she needed to know.

  Reynolds saw the question in her eyes. “Yes, he’s alive… but it’s serious. The department sent me to get you, ma’am. He was on his way to surgery when I left.”

  A knot began to form in the pit of Tory’s stomach. She started backing up and then turning around. Her mind went blank as she started searching the room for her purse.

  “I need to get my purse. I’ve got to go—” She pivoted, panic etched on her features. “I don’t know where he is. Where did they take him?”

  “You just get what you need, Miss Lancaster. I’ll take you to him.”

  Tory spun around, and moments later exited the apartment on Ernie Reynolds’ heels.

  ***

  At least a dozen uniformed officers stood in a clump at the end of the hall. When the elevator doors opened and Officer Reynolds and Tory emerged, they all turned to look. Almost immediately, a slim-faced man with a stern expression and a full head of white hair emerged from the group. He was wearing jeans and a western-style shirt, minus his signature black string tie, but Tory would have known him anywhere. It was Don Lacey, the Oklahoma County District Attorney.

  “Miss Lancaster, I’m very sorry this has happened. Brett’s a fine man, one of my best. I want you to know that everything possible is being done for him. At the moment, he’s in surgery, but if there’s anything I, or my office, can do for you, all you have to do is ask.”