The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 4

by Nora Roberts

  “What about what I need? Why don’t you think about someone else for a change? What the hell do you think I’ve been doing with you these past months?”

  “I thought we were enjoying each other. If you were thinking along these lines, I didn’t pick up on it. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry. You’ve humiliated me, and you’re sorry. That makes it all fine, doesn’t it?”

  “I went out of my way not to humiliate you. Don’t make this harder than it is.”

  “Harder than it is.” He whirled away. “Do you know how much trouble I went to, with everything else I have to deal with, to give you the perfect night? To find the perfect ring? And you’re throwing it back in my face.”

  “I’m saying no, Luke. You and I don’t want the same things. There’s nothing else I can do but say no, and I’m sorry.”

  “Oh yeah, you’re sorry.” He spun back, and something in his face made her palms go clammy. “You’re sorry you’re putting your stupid job before me, your smothering, middle-class family before me, your fucking blue-collar lifestyle before me. After everything I’ve invested in you—”

  “Whoa.” Her temper began to stir, to mix with his. “Invested? I’m not a stock, Luke. I’m not a client. And you’re going to be careful what you say about my family.”

  “I’m sick to death of your fucking family.”

  “You need to go now.” The stirring was moving toward rapid boil. “You’re angry with me, we’ve both been drinking—”

  “Sure. You didn’t have any problem sucking down champagne at two-fifty a bottle while you were planning on kicking me in the face.”

  “Okay. Okay.” She stalked into the bedroom, yanked open her desk drawer to pull out her checkbook. “I’ll write you a check—I’ll write you one for both bottles and we’ll call it a day. We’ll just consider we both made a mistake and—”

  He jerked her arm, throwing her off balance. Before she could blink, he’d backhanded her. The checkbook flew out of her hand, and her shoulder rammed against the wall as she fell in the same direction.

  “You bitch. Write me a check? You fucking ball-busting bitch.”

  She saw stars, little red stars that danced in front of her eyes. More than pain, shock had her freezing for a moment when he reached down and dragged her to her feet.

  “Take your hands off me.” She heard the tremor in her voice, fought to calm it. Learn to run, her grandfather had told her once. And she had. But there was nowhere to run. “Take them off me, Luke. Right now.”

  “I’m done letting you tell me what to do. You’re done running this show. It’s about time you learn what happens when somebody tries to play me.”

  She didn’t think. Didn’t think that he was about to hit her again, or how to stop it. She simply reacted, as she’d been trained to react.

  She plowed the heel of her hand up, connecting hard with his chin, and rammed her knee viciously between his legs.

  The stars were still dancing when he crumbled, and her breath was coming fast and short. But by God, there was no tremor in her voice.

  “Now you can call me a ball-busting bitch. Too bad for you that you forgot cop’s part of that, too. Get your sorry ass up and out of my house.” She grabbed a lamp, yanked the cord to pull it out of the wall. And reared it back on her shoulder like a bat. “Or we can go another round, you bastard. Get out, and consider yourself lucky you’re not spending the night in a cell, or the goddamn hospital.”

  “I’m not going to forget this.” His face was pale as wax, and he had to crawl before he gained his feet. His eyes were molten as he stared at her. “I’m not going to forget this.”

  “Good. Neither am I. Get the hell out. Don’t come near me again.”

  She didn’t shake, not when she followed him out into the living room. She didn’t shake while she waited for him to grab his coat, limp to the door. She stayed calm as she bolted the door behind him, and even when she stepped up to the mirror to examine her face.

  She got her digital camera, set the timer, took shots full face and profile, then sent them with a brief e-mail explanation to her partner.

  Cover your ass, she told herself. Then she got a bag of frozen peas out of her freezer, sat down with them pressed to her bruised cheek.

  And shook like a leaf.

  12

  Sitting in the car, smoking a Camel. Little slut’s come up in the world. Riding around with Fancy Suit in the shiny Mercedes. Ride like that went for thirty grand easy. Ought to have one like it. Maybe just boost that one. Wouldn’t that be a kick in the ass? Fancy Suit comes back out, swishing in his cashmere coat, and he’s got no car.

  Be worth a few laughs.

  But first watching was the name of the game.

  Get the binoculars. Slut left her shades up most times. Probably liked having guys jack off watching her up there.

  No whore like a Catholic whore.

  Standing in the living room. Looks intense. Love birds having a love spat maybe. Should’ve gotten a beer. Better watching with a cold one.

  Look at her face. Sexy face, little mole, curvy lips. Get a boner instead of a beer.

  Into the bedroom. Now we’re talking! Peel it off, baby. Take it off for Daddy.

  Whoops! Solid backhand! Somebody’s feeling a little out of sorts. Hope he hits her again. Come on, Fancy Suit, hit the bitch again. Fans in the front row want to see the smackdown.

  Jesus, what a pussy. Let some skinny woman take you down?

  Get another smoke. Something to think about. Maybe kick his ass when he comes out. Maybe beat him to fucking death. Use a pipe, a bat. Blood all over Fancy Suit. Fingers point to her. Could point right at her.

  See how long she stays a frigging cop when she’s a murder suspect.

  Could be fun. And she’d always wonder, wouldn’t she?

  Fancy Suit comes out, limping like his balls are the size of cantaloupes. Have to laugh. It’s a real knee-slapper.

  Still laughing as you pull out to follow the shiny blue Mercedes. Hell of a car.

  And smiling, big, shit-eating grin because there’s a better idea in there. Better, and big-time fun with it.

  Takes a little time, but good things come. Have to make a detour, get some supplies. Keep it simple. Simple’s always better. Simple is your stock-in-trade.

  Get that beer now while you work. Explosives 101. She’d know enough for that. Sure, she would. Arson unit’s kissing cousins to the bomb squad. Nice little device. Simple. Boys and girls, don’t try this trick at home.

  Late enough now, plenty late enough now. Little bitch is sleeping by now, all by her lonesome. Not much traffic. Town’s dead at four A.M. Shit-hole of a town. Fucking Charm City never gave him anything but grief.

  Fancy Suit’s up in his Fancy Suit apartment, sleeping with his cantaloupe balls. Be fun to take him out. So easy, so juicy. But this is better. Few minutes with the thirty grand and we’re all set. Locked and loaded.

  Just stroll away, drive off a little ways. Might as well see some of the show.

  Light another smoke and wait for the fireworks.

  And five, four, three, two, one.

  Ka-boom!

  Look at that sucker fly. Look at her burn!

  Oh yeah, baby, good job. Ace of a job. Fingers going to point now, because Fancy Suit’s going to point them. Going to hold his bruised balls and point his finger right at her.

  Good night’s work.

  Too bad about the car, though.

  At six A.M., a full thirty minutes before her alarm was set to go off, Reena was wakened by banging on her front door. She dragged herself out of bed, instinctively pressing her fingers to her cheekbone when it began to throb.

  Throbbed all the way into her ear, she thought in disgust. Men like Luke knew just where to aim.

  She pulled on a robe, avoiding the mirror over her dresser, and walked quietly out of the bedroom.

  A peek out the window left her puzzled. Shoving at her hair, she unlocked the door, drew it open
. “O’Donnell? Captain? Is there a problem?”

  “All right if we come in a minute?” There were storm clouds in O’Donnell’s eyes, only adding to her confusion as she stepped back. “I’m not on till eight.”

  “Got a good bruise going there.” O’Donnell nodded at her face. “Working up to a shiner.”

  “Walked into something nasty. Is this about the e-mail I sent you last night? There was no need to make a big deal out of it.”

  “I haven’t checked my e-mail. We’re here about an incident involving Luke Chambers.”

  “Well, God, did he file a complaint because I kicked him out of here?” Reena pushed at her hair, and the flush that worked its way under the bruising was as much from temper now as embarrassment. “I wanted to keep this personal, send you an e-mail on the matter, with a couple of photos as backup in case he pushed it. Guess he did.”

  “Detective Hale, we’re going to need to ask you where you were this morning between three-thirty and four A.M.”

  “I was here.” She shifted her gaze to Captain Brant. “I was here all night. What happened?”

  “Somebody torched Chambers’s car. He insists it was you.”

  “Torched his car? Was he hurt? Oh good God.” She let herself drift down into a chair. “How bad is he hurt?”

  “He wasn’t in the vehicle at the time it was lit up.”

  “Okay.” She closed her eyes. “Okay. I don’t understand.”

  “You and Mr. Chambers had an altercation last evening.”

  She looked at her captain, felt the weight and a fresh flutter of nerves. “Yes. During which he struck me in the face, knocked me down. He then proceeded to drag me to my feet and threatened me with additional bodily harm. I protected myself, applying the heel of my hand in a firm manner to his jaw, and my knee in an equally firm manner to his groin. I then ordered him to leave.”

  “Did you at any time threaten Mr. Chambers with a weapon?”

  “A lamp.” Reena clutched her hands together in her lap. “My bedroom lamp. I picked it up and informed him if he didn’t get out I’d be going another round with him. I was pissed. He’d just finished clocking me, for God’s sake. He outweighs me by a good fifty pounds.”

  Remembering it, that shock, that moment when she knew he’d hurt her had her muscles quivering under her skin. She had to swallow, carefully, as her throat was already starting to burn. “If he’d come at me again, I’d have used any and all measures to protect myself. But it wasn’t necessary as he left. I locked up behind him, took the digitals, e-mailed my partner in case Luke decided to change the story around and file any charges.”

  “A man assaulted you, in your home, but you failed to report it?”

  “That’s right. I handled it, and I hoped that would be the end of it. I don’t know anything about his car or a fire.”

  The captain sat back. “He’s made several allegations. His story is that you assaulted him, being intoxicated and upset by the fact that he is relocating to New York. That in attempting to hold you off, reason with you, he may have inadvertently struck you.”

  Nerves turned to insult, with a good dose of self-disgust. She turned her injured cheek. “Take a good look. Does that look inadvertent to you? It happened the way I said it happened. Yes, we had both been drinking. I was not intoxicated. He was angry because I’d refused to relocate with him. I broke up with the son of a bitch, I didn’t torch his car. I haven’t left this apartment since I got in at approximately ten last night.”

  “Let’s see if we can verify that,” O’Donnell began.

  “I can verify it.” Her hands were no longer clutched in her lap, but gripped the arms of her chair. The only way she could stop them from balling into fists of rage. “I called a friend at about eleven. Because I was feeling sorry for myself and my face hurt and I was supremely pissed off. Just a minute.”

  She rose, strode to the bedroom. “Gina, put on a robe and come out here, will you? No, it’s important.”

  Reena closed the door, stepped back out. “Gina Rivero—Rossi,” Reena corrected. “Steve Rossi’s wife. She came over. I told her not to because she’s a newlywed, but she came over, with a half gallon of Baskin-Robbins, and we sat around until, I don’t know, after midnight. Eating ice cream, bitching about men. She insisted on staying in case he came back and tried to get in.”

  The bedroom door opened and a tousled and irritated Gina came out. “What’s going on? Do you know what time it is?” She focused long enough to stare at the men. “What? Reena?”

  “Gina, you know my partner, Detective O’Donnell, and Captain Brant. They just need to ask you a couple questions. I’ll make coffee.”

  She walked into the kitchen, then braced her hands on the counter and just breathed. She had to think, and she had to think like a cop whose ass is on the line. But she was struggling to get past the idea of someone setting Luke’s car on fire. How was it done? Why? Who would target Luke? Or was it random?

  She pulled back, forced herself to go through the routine of coffee preparation. Beans out of the refrigerator, into the grinder. An extra measure for the pot, a dash of salt.

  She didn’t drink the stuff, but she kept it on hand for Luke. Thinking of that brought on another wave of disgust. She’d pandered and pampered the bastard, and what had she gotten for the trouble? A black eye and the strong possibility of an internal investigation.

  She stared at the glass carafe as it began to brew and heard Gina’s voice spike up in the other room. Heard the insult and the outrage.

  “That bastard probably set it himself. Just to take another shot at her. Did you see her face?”

  Reena got down cups, poured half-and-half into a little white pitcher. Crisis didn’t mean a lack of hospitality, she reminded herself. Her mother had drummed such things into her from birth.

  O’Donnell came to the doorway. “Hale? You want to come back in?”

  She nodded, hefted the tray. Gina’s cheeks were still pink with temper as Reena set the tray on the coffee table. “It’s routine,” Reena said, and touched a hand to Gina’s before she poured coffee. “It’s procedure. They have to ask.”

  “Well, I think it’s bullshit. He hit you, Reena. And it’s not the first time.”

  “This individual’s assaulted her before last night?”

  Reena shoved down the embarrassment. “Slapped. Once before, and I thought it was an accident, as he claimed. I don’t now. It was during an argument—a fairly minor one. It was quick, and there wasn’t much behind it. Last night was different.”

  “Ms. Rossi’s verified your statement. If Chambers pushes, it may be necessary to inform IAB.” Brant shook his head before Reena could speak. “I’m going to discourage him from pushing.” Brant took the coffee, added cream. “Do you have any idea who else might want to cause this guy trouble?”

  “No.” Her voice wanted to break. Internal Affairs. She’d just gotten her detective’s shield, was just beginning to do the work she’d trained to do, dreamed of doing more than half of her life.

  “No,” she said again, struggling to stay calm. “He just got a promotion. I imagine he beat out several other candidates for it. But it’s hard to imagine one of the brokers figuring out how to torch a Mercedes.”

  “You can read just how to do the job on the Internet,” O’Donnell reminded her. “What about clients? He ever talk to you about a client who was upset with how he handled business?”

  “No. He’d complain about work—being overworked, not being appreciated enough. But mostly he liked to brag.”

  “Another woman?”

  She sighed now, wished she drank coffee. Holding a cup would give her something to do with her hands. “We’ve been seeing each other about four months. Exclusively, as far as I know. He was involved with someone before me. Ah . . . Jennifer. I don’t know the last name. She was a bitch, of course, according to him. Selfish, demanding, nagging. All the things I’m sure he’d say about me now. I think she was in banking. I’m sorry, I don
’t know more.”

  Steadier, she straightened her shoulders. “I think you should look around. I think you should search the apartment, and my car. The sooner this is cleared up, the better.”

  “You’re entitled to department representation.”

  “I’m not requesting any, at this time. He hit me, I hit him back. For me that was the end of it.”

  She would make it the end, Reena promised herself. She wouldn’t let this stupidity smear her reputation or slice up her career. She wouldn’t have it. “This other business isn’t connected to me. The sooner we establish that, the sooner I can get back to the job, and the sooner the investigators on this can move in other directions.”

  “I’m sorry about this, Hale.”

  She shook her head at her partner. “It’s not your fault. It’s not the department’s fault. And it’s not mine.”

  She refused to be embarrassed or insulted at having her own colleagues go through her home, her things. The more thorough this unofficial inquiry, the sooner the door on it closed for good.

  When they were finished in the bedroom, she went in with Gina to dress. “This is outrageous, Reena. I don’t know why you take it.”

  “I want my record clear. There’s nothing to find, so they find nothing. And it moves on.” Because it was Gina, she closed her eyes, pressed a hand to her belly. “I feel a little sick.”

  “Oh, hon.” Gina gathered Reena into a strong hug. “This sucks so wide. But you know it’s going to be cleared up. It’s going to be cleared up in, like, five minutes.”

  “That’s what I’m telling myself.” But even five minutes of being under suspicion was five minutes too long. “The only thing pointing at me is the fact that Luke and I had a fight last night.” She eased away, pulled on a sweater. “Something like this, you’ve got to look at the ex—especially when she happens to be a cop in the arson unit. Sometimes it’s the ones who fight or investigate fires who set them. You’ve heard the stories.”