Hush

by Nancy Bush

  He’d opened his mouth to protest, but now he slammed it shut. “No, it didn’t. You said it was about your dad.” He hesitated, as if unsure. “Didn’t you?”

  “Never mind.” She’d just tossed that out to see what happened, but Vic was clearly at sea. He might be odious, but he hadn’t left her the note; ergo he hadn’t slashed her tires. She hadn’t really thought so.

  And then she saw Danner weaving around the dancers who were swaying to a slower beat as he made his way to the bar. Vic followed her gaze and tossed down some money for his beer.

  “Everybody gone?” Danner asked.

  Vic said, “I’m the last. Are the guys really done?”

  “They’re packing up.”

  Vic shook his head and took off and Danner took his place at the bar by Coby.

  “Everything okay?” she asked him.

  “Yeah.” A smile flirted at his lips, then disappeared. “Although I think my brother’s marriage is about to end.”

  “Oh?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” He nodded in agreement, and after a moment Coby asked, “Is Kirk really leaving Split Decision?”

  “What time is it?” he suddenly asked.

  “Ten thirty. I just checked my watch.”

  “Is that all?”

  She laughed. “Does the night feel interminable?”

  “It has since we’ve been at the Cellar,” he said, “but I have a feeling that’s going to change.”

  “Yeah?”

  He moved in closer to her, close enough that she caught a peek-a-boo view of the edge of the shoulder holster where he kept his gun. “I think there was a promise tossed out earlier that I want to make good on.”

  Coby swept up her purse and gave him a smile, then turned without a word to the exit. She was aware of him behind her as she hurried up the steps and outside to the street. The rain was on hold; there was an expectation in the air, as if something was pent-up and waiting to happen.

  Danner caught her at the top of the stairs, before she turned to the parking lot. As if he felt the atmosphere, too, he suddenly pulled her close, melding her body to his, hands sliding to the small of her back, sliding her forward.

  Coby was smiling. She opened her mouth to say something clever, she hoped, but the kiss his lips slammed onto hers left no doubt what was in his mind. And it ignited her. One moment she felt playful, the next she felt limp in his arms, which only fueled his desire. She ran her hands around his back as well, feeling the tense muscles beneath his shirt.

  “PDA,” she finally gasped out when she came up for air.

  He lifted his head, gazing down at her hotly. “Let ’em look.”

  “In front of the Cellar? Take me home. Now.”

  He growled, then kissed her again, hard, before letting her go. She started laughing and his teeth were a slash of white in the darkness. Then he cupped her chin and brought her forward for a long, sweet, lingering kiss that promised what the rest of the night would hold.

  I wait in my car, cracking the window in order to see and hear them, as the windows are fogged from rain and the warmth of my heater:

  Coby Rendell is a cancer. She’s spreading like an evil scourge.

  But she’s a cancer with intelligence. She’s gathering information. She’s drawing conclusions. She’s everywhere. With her man, her lover, Detective Danner Lockwood.

  I want them both dead.

  Coby . . .

  The circle was ruined long ago, but she should have never been there at all.

  She doesn’t understand.

  And she won’t stop.

  Soon, soon, an opportunity will arise, a plan will form. Soon she’ll be gone.

  As I wait, Coby appears at the top of the steps and smiles into the night. She draws her coat close and looks back.

  And then Danner Lockwood joins her, wrapping his arm around her, looking down at her with love, pulling her close, pressing her body to his in a way that leaves no room for doubt that he wants to fuck her.

  My blood boils. I feel my breathing accelerate.

  She’s laughing, ducking her head, playing. But then she responds and he kisses her hard, like it’s his last hour on earth. And she’s bending to him like wax.

  I want to pleasure myself at the sight of them, the way their hands ravage each other, their lips straining forward as soon as they part, their bodies ripe with wanting.

  My hand drifts downward.

  But I refuse. Turn my groping fingers into a fist of rage.

  I watch as she laughingly tosses her head and says quietly, “In front of the Cellar? Take me home. Now.”

  He pulls her to him once more, then groans and complies, cupping her face and kissing her lightly before grabbing her hand as they hurry around small puddles in the tarmac to his car.

  I slide down out of sight.

  I feel physical pain.

  My insides writhe.

  I cannot let them live.

  They were in his car and Coby couldn’t think straight. She squeezed her eyes closed, filled with wanting him. And he definitely felt the same way. Opening her eyes, she stared through the windshield, but the word “sex” seemed to be glowing in red letters in front of her vision. SEX!

  He half turned to her, his hand poised on his keys, ready to switch on the ignition. She saw the echo of what she wanted in his tense expression. “What are you thinking about?”

  She moved her head helplessly. “I’d be embarrassed to say.”

  “Say it.”

  Instead, her gaze drifted down to the place between his legs, and his groan of desire made her cover her face with her hands and laugh softly. “I feel like I’m fourteen!”

  “We’ve got to get to your place, and fast.”

  Danner was turning out of the parking lot, his jaw set, his expression hard. He muttered something about feeling like he was going to explode, which sent her into another fit of laughter.

  “Stop it,” he said, flashing her a smile. “I mean it.”

  Which made her laugh even harder.

  Then his cell buzzed. He’d turned it off when they were at the club, only flipping it back on as they exited. He’d even grunted to himself in satisfaction that he’d had no calls.

  Giving her a tense look, he hesitated a moment, then picked it up. “Lockwood.” Coby could hear a male voice twanging away on the other end of the line, though she couldn’t hear what was being said.

  Oh, no, she thought as the Wrangler suddenly slowed and Danner pulled sharply over to the shoulder on Highway 26, not exactly the safest move. He put the vehicle in park and turned on the hazard lights as he listened intently. Then he said, “Okay. I’ll head to the scene.”

  “What?” Coby asked, when he’d switched off.

  He stared at her through the semidarkness of the vehicle. “There’s been an accident not far from here, just outside Laurelton. Someone ran Hank Sainer off the road. His Land Rover rolled and he’s being pulled out with the Jaws of Life.”

  “Oh, God . . . is he . . . alive?” she asked hopefully, fearfully.

  “I’m going to find out. After I take you home.”

  Chapter 23

  Danner’s cell phone rang twice more before he pulled in front of Coby’s building. The first time the message was that Hank Sainer had been life-flighted to Laurelton General Hospital, but it was the second call that caused him to sit up in his seat and freeze.

  “What?” Coby asked, fear skittering down her spine.

  He hung up after saying, “I’ll be right there,” and turned to her a bit blankly. “Jarvis Lloyd tried to leave his room and when the guard outside tried to stop him, Lloyd grabbed his gun, placed it under his own chin, and pulled the trigger. He’s . . . dead.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “I’ve got to meet my partner at Riverside West Hospital, where Lloyd is.”

  “Okay.”

  “Stay here,” he said urgently. “Be safe.”
/>   Coby said, “I’m going to call my dad. Hank’s a friend. If he wants to see Hank, I’ll take him.”

  “Just be careful.”

  “Always.”

  She slid out of the Wrangler and lifted a hand in good-bye, watching his taillights disappear around the corner, realizing distantly that the rain might have stopped but fog was drifting around in feathery pieces, like props in the dance of the seven veils, teasing one moment, gone the next. Shivering, she pulled her coat closer to her neck and hurried up the two steps to the small stoop and her own front door. She let herself in and switched on the lights, feeling discombobulated. Had it really only been a few short hours since she and Danner left for dinner at Shake It Up? It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Crossing her living room, she switched on the television. The news was almost over but she had her television set to Channel Seven and she reversed her DVR as far as it would go and there, suddenly, was Pauline Kirby’s narrow face and her dark cap of hair with its severe cut. The background was a hospital. Laurelton General, Coby realized as she turned up the volume.

  “Appears to be a one-car accident,” Pauline was saying, “although another driver came upon the scene a few moments later and was certain two cars pulled off Highway 26 in front of him, one closely following the other. The other driver did not stop, apparently. Mr. Sainer was life-flighted here, arriving just moments ago. He is undergoing surgery now.”

  The scene switched to the wreck of Hank Sainer’s car, and Coby shuddered. It truly looked as if the Land Rover had been ripped apart by a giant can opener, which was kind of what the Jaws of Life were.

  She lost the thread of Pauline’s narrative, wondering about Hank. And then her thoughts turned to Jarvis Lloyd and Danner. The program went to commercial and Coby pressed the Forward button to catch up. Just before the program ended, the local anchors said there had been a shooting at Riverside West Hospital, a patient having taken their own life.

  Picking up her cell, she phoned her father’s condo. When she got no answer, she tried his cell and wasn’t all that surprised when her mother was the one who answered.

  “Mom, it’s Coby. Have you heard about Hank?”

  “Your father and I are on our way to the hospital now,” she said.

  “I’m coming, too,” Coby said, then snapped off before her mother could say anything, positive or negative, about that decision.

  Riverside West was a madhouse, inside and out, when Danner arrived. The hospital was in lockdown mode after the shooting and Danner, who preferred to leave his gun in his car unless he was on active duty—mostly as a means to avoid the kind of tragedy that had just taken place—had done just that, tucking the Glock in his glove box. He’d hoped to avoid the security rigamarole he would encounter just trying to get inside, but that wasn’t going well. His badge was being scrutinized as if he were a terrorist, and it was only when Metzger, who’d been waiting for him, cruised by the front of the hospital and saw him that his explanations were treated seriously and he was allowed inside.

  And just as they were walking away, the news vans pulled up with a screech. Danner glanced back through the wall of security personnel and through the glass doors to see Pauline Kirby step out of a white van. They’d left Laurelton General and injured politico Hank Sainer for the even bigger story of Jarvis Lloyd’s suicide.

  Metzger caught his glance back. “Don’t let the vultures get you.”

  “Hank Sainer was at the beach house the night Annette Deneuve was killed,” Danner said. “It was a side note last week and would be a lead story if it weren’t for Lloyd.”

  “You’re involved with breaking news all around,” she muttered. “Pauline’s gonna be hunting for you.”

  “Lucky me.”

  Lloyd’s body was already in the hospital morgue, and they took the elevator to the basement. The guard who’d had his piece stolen by Lloyd and witnessed the suicide was standing with a small crowd of hospital personnel when they entered. He looked sober but in control, except for the quiver that sporadically hit his knees.

  “Hey, sit down,” Danner said, pulling up a wheeled stool and easing the protesting man onto it. “What happened?”

  In the automaton voice of a person who’d already told the tale too many times, Officer Rod Eyerlie recounted the events of the evening, which broke down to: 1) Lloyd called the nurse and asked for something to help him sleep; 2) a nurse brought him a sleep aid; 3) he pretended to take it; and 4) he walked out of the room and told Eyerlie he was sorry, then actually slammed himself into the surprised guard, lifted his gun, held Eyerlie at gunpoint for about ten seconds, ordering him to retreat, and when Eyerlie did so, he placed the barrel under his chin and fired.

  Danner watched the man carefully as he recited the events. It wasn’t easy witnessing a suicide. When Eyerlie finished, Danner put a hand on the man’s shoulder and said, “Nothing you could do. Lloyd was intent on killing himself.”

  “We should’ve handcuffed him to the bed,” Metzger said as they walked together out of earshot.

  “Yeah.” What Danner didn’t add was that people bent on taking their own lives mostly found a way to do it. Maybe some could be convinced that life was worth living. In Jarvis Lloyd’s case, with the blood of his daughter on his hands, Danner doubted that would be the case.

  “Guess Charisse Werner won’t have to be worrying about whether Lloyd was Mirandized anymore,” Elaine said dryly.

  Danner didn’t acknowledge her. There were a whole lot of new issues to contend with now.

  The fog was still patchy as Coby nosed her Sentra around Laurelton General’s front parking lot. The lot was nearly full, but there were scattered spots. She parked toward the street side of the lot, away from the center median with its covered roof where vehicles faced each other beneath the portico that ran from the parking lot and to the front doors.

  She was surprised at how quiet it was, but then the media had probably been seduced by the Lloyd suicide. Hank Sainer was a politician whose name was known, but Jarvis Lloyd—he’d been traveling down the road of notoriety already and had just hit the wall of infamy head-on.

  Entering the hospital, she turned to the reception desk, where a man in a dark blue blazer sat, wearing a headset. He regarded her approach with eyes that gave nothing away and a less than interested attitude that said if she wanted information, she was definitely going to have to ask the right questions and maybe, if she was lucky, she might actually get some answers.

  “I’m a friend of Hank Sainer’s,” she said. “He was involved in an automobile accident this evening and is in surgery, I believe.”

  “There’s a waiting room outside the OR,” was his response. “Down that hall and around the corner, by the emergency room doors.”

  “Thank you.”

  She turned to follow his directions, and at that moment the front doors slid open and Yvette, wearing a short black dress with a Lycra bodysuit top, half stumbled through the front doors. Her hair, normally tied into a ponytail, was straight and disheveled and there was a wild look in her eyes.

  “Hank?” she asked desperately, spying Coby.

  If Coby hadn’t already suspected Hank was Yvette’s secret lover, the father of her child, she’d be getting a pretty good idea right about now. “Still in surgery.”

  “Is he awake? Has he said anything?”

  “I just got here. I think my dad’s here.” She found she couldn’t say “with my mom.”

  “Do they think he’ll live?”

  “Well, we’re all hoping,” Coby answered. “Come on, there’s a waiting room outside the OR.”

  Coby started toward the hallway once more, but Yvette didn’t move. She seemed paralyzed. Disoriented. Returning to her, Coby eyed her with concern. Yvette looked as if she were gazing at some horrible scene that only she could see.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “You sure? You can come with me, if you want.”

  “No . . .”

  Yvette’s feet
seemed stuck to the foor. It was as if there were a line drawn on the carpet that she couldn’t cross.

  “Did you know Hank was coming to see me on Monday?” Coby asked. “He caught up with me at the memorial service and made the appointment. I got the impression he wanted to talk about Annette’s death.”

  Yvette reared back as if Coby had struck her. “Monday?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  She said in disbelief, “He was really going through with it.”

  Coby hadn’t intended to ask Yvette about her suspicions regarding Benedict’s paternity, but sometimes the opportunity just arose. “With . . . the DNA test?” she guessed.

  Yvette’s dark eyes were dull as they focused on Coby. “You know about that. I thought so,” she stated flatly. “Annette just couldn’t keep her mouth shut about anything.”

  “Hank Sainer is Benedict’s father,” Coby clarified.

  Yvette looked lost and disillusioned. She gave a curt nod. “We already had the DNA test done. Annette was on me about it. She wanted me to acknowledge Hank, or something, but he’d never wanted Benedict. Then all of a sudden, bam! He goes for full custody! He was taking me to court!” Yvette seemed to shake herself back to the present, and for a moment Coby thought she might break down and cry. “But he can’t now, can he? Unless he recovers.”

  With that she turned on her heel and headed back outside, moving with a funny, limping gait. It was as if she’d made some kind of decision that had been up in the air before she’d entered the hospital, and now she was ready to act upon it.

  Coby hesitated for half a beat, then hurried to catch up, heading through the glass doors after her. “Wait! Can we talk a minute?”

  “Not interested.” Yvette made a beeline for a car nosed into the center strip parked beneath the roof. A small compact. A black Ford Focus.

  “Annette was going to tell everyone that Benedict was Hank’s son. That was the secret she planned to tell.”

  “She was siding with Hank!” Yvette stopped at her car, frozen, keys in her hand though she didn’t put them in the lock. Coby was only a couple of steps behind or she wouldn’t have been able to see because of the fog. “You want me to say I killed her?” Yvette suddenly yelled, still turned away from Coby. “Is that what you want?”