by Nancy Bush
No wonder Hawk didn’t want her to tell him who she was.
“I guess some people love real deep like that,” Jesse added, eyeing her cautiously, for Liz had subsided into a tight silence. “Cobain was married and had a kid. He loved ’em both a ton.”
“But he committed suicide,” Liz reminded him. “That’s selfish.”
“Ah, no. He was a heroin addict and he had chronic stomach trouble and he couldn’t handle the fame. It wasn’t him.” Jesse was earnest. It was important to him that Liz understand his hero. “He grew up in Aberdeen, so even Seattle was a monstrous city. Then the next thing y’know, he’s world famous. He couldn’t take it. But he loved his family.”
His bangs flopped in front of his eyes. Liz ached to brush them aside, but that would be too forward, too close. She was getting more of Jesse than most. She had to stay content with that.
“Do you want to be a rock star like him?” Liz asked.
“Hell no! I’m tone deaf.”
“That doesn’t seem to be a limiting factor,” Liz said dryly.
“See . . .” Jesse shook his head and pursed his lips. “You’re all the same. Your own music’s great. The best. But you can’t say a nice thing about anyone else’s, and you don’t even know it.”
“You’re right. I can’t judge it because I’ve never heard it.”
He perked up. “Want me to bring you a Nirvana CD? I’ve got ’em all.”
“Um . . . sure.”
“I’ll be by the Fieldings’ this afternoon. I’ll drop off a couple.”
“Okay.” Liz smiled. Well, here was a clear path to getting to know her son.
“Thanks for seeing Dad.” Jesse headed out the doors to the parking lot and a waiting bike. Liz followed and offered him a lift, but he shook his head. There was no way for the Miata to haul his bike.
“He’s not always a jerk,” Jesse added as he rode away, and Liz amusedly realized he was trying to hook her up with Hawthorne.
Oh, if you only knew!
* * *
“Damn it, Perry. Belding’s around there somewhere,” Hawk growled into the hospital telephone. A nurse showed in the doorway. Young. Unsure. Hawthorne scowled his meanest scowl and she scurried away. “He was running. He might have got hit.”
“I know. I know,” Dortner said wearily. Hawk had been a broken record from the moment he’d called in on his cell phone and explained where he was and why he was incapacitated. Pain or no, Hawk had given directions to his location and Perry himself had found him straight off.
“Find Belding,” Hawk demanded now.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. We found him.”
Hawk’s stomach sank. “Dead?”
“Yep. But not by a bullet. He was at the bottom of a ravine. Looks like he just fell over the edge. Probably running away and he just didn’t see it.”
Hawthorne shook his head to clear out the cobwebs. Damn those painkillers. He was numb all over, especially his brain. “He couldn’t have fallen.”
“Well, he did. And it looks like an accident.”
“Accident! Someone was shooting at us!”
“Your surgeon showed me the bullet,” he said dryly. “But Belding’s body wasn’t hit. He died of a blow to the head, probably hit a rock at the bottom.”
“Then he was chased,” Hawk declared stubbornly.
“He could have been.” Perry was noncommittal.
“Are you trying to piss me off?” he demanded. “Because you’re doing a bang-up job.”
“I’m just telling you what is. That’s all.”
“Fine. Fine.” Hawk hung up, impatient to get off the phone. He had another lead, one he’d decided to keep to himself for a little while. He knew Perry planned to yank him from the case, but he didn’t want to be yanked. Not after taking a bullet in the leg. This was personal now.
All his years in law enforcement and he’d never been hit by gunfire before. It took a trip back to his hometown before he took one in the flesh. How ironic.
And it didn’t help to have Liz Havers be a part of that.
Gnashing his teeth, Hawk shifted uncomfortably. The cast bugged him. He hated being fettered. Damn it all to hell, why did he have to let Liz Havers consume his thoughts? He had an investigation to continue. Someone had very nearly killed him and he was an inch away from losing this case entirely because he was now infirm.
Yet the memory of Liz’s smooth skin and whispery sighs kept swinging from the edges of his mind to the heart of it. One moment he was considering Manny Belding, the next he was envisioning himself rubbing against her soft curves, and it was enough to drive him crazy.
Why? Of all the women, why her? He’d spent so many years hating her or trying to hate her or determined to forget her existence. Why did it have to be Liz that he wanted?
Hawk inhaled through clenched teeth. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe she wanted him the way she’d once professed. No, no. She wanted Jesse. She’d made that very clear. And if it meant a few hot sessions with Jesse’s father, so be it. People worked from their own needs and no amount of candy-coating the truth ever made it go away.
Not that she was averse to him; she’d been right there, joining in. But her motives were tainted, and hell, his own probably weren’t much better.
A bout of self-evaluation just made Hawk’s head feel swathed in cotton. He didn’t know up from sideways right now. Damn drugs. He had to get out of here.
Struggling with the rollaway table, Hawk nearly flung the whole contraption away, then thought better of it. He couldn’t bear having to ask the young nurse for help.
He’d gotten the number for Federal Agent Don Vandeway through a little deception: He’d told Perry to call the man and ask some questions about Forest Service land, then had changed his mind and asked for the number. He hadn’t mentioned that Manny Belding had fingered Vandeway. He’d only told Dortner that he thought Sarah Lister’s boyfriend was a poacher and he was following up. All he’d told Perry about Manny and Barney was that they were connected and whatever they were into probably got Barney—and now Manny—killed and Hawk shot.
Perry was more cautious about those theories. He’d told Hawk to stop worrying about the Brindamoor tree case—an underling could handle it. Hawk’s job was to recover. Period. But Hawk had rejoined that just because he sported a cast from his goddamn thigh to his ankle didn’t mean he was completely useless. He might need a less-involved case. The Brindamoor yew case, for example.
This had, naturally, piqued Perry’s interest. It was so unlike Hawk to relinquish the tougher assignment. But Hawk had kept his head lopped against the pillow and his eyelids at half-mast, looking as pathetic as he could while he fought to keep a clear head. Perry, viewing his right-hand man, had come to the only conclusion he could: Hawk was too weak to argue. Why not let him keep the yew trees? No one else wanted to help the formidable Mrs. Brindamoor anyway.
So, Hawk had Vandeway’s number and a clear path to the one man who might lead him to Barney’s killer.
“Detective Hart!” a deep female voice boomed. “You need to rest.”
Attilla the Nurse. Hawthorne thought about challenging her, but she sailed in with such force he decided gallant defeat was his only option.
“You said it.” He grinned hugely. “I’m wiped out.”
“No more phone calls. No more visitors.”
“I thought I was getting sprung from this place.”
She sniffed. “We’ll see when the doctor gets here.”
“Good idea.” His body might be numb, but his leg throbbed. He couldn’t feel pain, just pressure. A bad sign. Closing his eyes, he sighed and let his body relax. Attilla fussed around a bit and he could feel her staring at him, but eventually she had to leave.
As soon as she was gone, he grabbed for the phone. She’d pushed the table farther away, but Hawk managed to drag it back by an attached cord. Feeling like a thief, he listened hard to make certain someone else wasn’t about to burst into his
room, then furtively placed a call to Federal Agent Don Vandeway’s private line.
* * *
“I don’t understand how that’s all connected,” Tawny said, frowning as she tucked a strand of blond-streaked hair behind one ear. It was a familiar gesture, but just now, Jesse found it took on erotic overtones. God. He was obsessed.
Tawny was sitting cross-legged on her couch as Jesse paced around the room. Her mom was in the kitchen, humming softly as she made dinner. He was glad she was feeling better.
“I don’t know exactly either. And I couldn’t ask ’cause I was eavesdropping,” Jesse admitted. “But that dead guy, Turgate, and another guy were involved in some scheme. My dad went to meet the second guy—”
“Manny Belding,” Tawny put in, to which Jesse smiled. She wanted him to know she’d been paying attention.
“Yeah. And he got shot. My dad, that is. Belding fell off a cliff or something and he’s dead, too.”
Silence. Jesse didn’t like the echoing sound of his own voice. Death was another being in the room with them, hovering around. Tawny shivered and said, “I’m so glad Mom’s okay.”
“Yeah, me too.” He sank down beside her. To his consternation, her eyes filled with tears. He didn’t want her to cry. Not like in his dream.
Awkwardly, Jesse drew her toward him. Tawny unfolded her legs and slid into the circle of his arms, resting her cheek against his chest. He stroked her back, but his earlier ardor had been checked by her emotions. Silent tears dampened his shirt. He stared off into space. Sometimes he felt like crying himself, but there was no way on God’s green earth he would allow even one betraying tear.
“You’ll come to my dance recital, won’t you?” Tawny’s voice was muffled against his shirt. He could feel the heat of her breath.
“When is it?”
“August thirty-first.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Jesse . . .”
“Hmmm?” Intuition told him she was about to say something important. Inadvertently, he tensed. She hesitated.
Come on, Tawny, say it. Go for it.
He could almost feel when she changed her mind. She was afraid to risk it. To say how she felt. Instead, she murmured softly, “You really think Aunt Liz’ll listen to your CD?”
“She’s cool enough to.”
Tawny chuckled and snuggled closer to him. Jesse let his eyes drift shut and concentrated on keeping a rein on passion, something he was pure shit at. Ah, well. Sweet torture was better than indifference.
He just had to make sure she didn’t feel his growing interest because his role today was best buddy.
What a bunch of bullshit!
With an effort, Jesse concentrated on a memory of swimming in the ice cold Pacific Ocean, a vision that generally had some effect, although he figured it was plain useless right now . . .
* * *
“Who’s beating you?” Liz asked Carrie bluntly. Direct confrontation was generally an ineffective tool, but Liz was at her wit’s end with the girl. New bruises only confirmed her suspicions. It was time for action.
“No one.” Carrie flushed and glanced over her shoulder. Her mother, Sarah, was late for the appointment, as usual, and for once Carrie looked like she wanted to see her.
“Come on, Carrie. I’m going to have to alert Child Services.”
“Go ahead. You’ll look like an idiot. I’m just clumsy.”
“They’ll come to your house and assess what’s going on.”
“Nope. Not if there’s nothin’ goin’ on.”
Carrie knew the system. Most kids who came to see Liz did. Still, Liz could file her suspicions and leave it there. She’d hoped, however, to get at the heart of the problem with Carrie first.
“Your mom seeing someone?” Liz guessed. Most often it was a male familiar to the household.
“Yeah. He’s a great guy.” Her tone was sarcastic; her dark gaze filled with hidden messages. She might not want to be a rat, but she did want to tell, Liz realized with renewed hope.
“What’s he do?”
“You mean work?” She laughed without humor. “He’s a mooch. Brags all the time about gettin’ somethin’ for nothin’.” Her expression grew cagey. “You know Jesse, right?”
Liz’s heart skipped a beat. “Jesse Hart?”
“He staked him out one night. Brad told me. They want to catch him in the act.”
“In the act?”
“We all kinda think he stole those trees, y’know? Jesse wants to catch him, then shove it all down that old lady’s throat. She hates all teenagers.” She shrugged. “We hate her right back.”
“Ah . . . What’s your mom’s boyfriend’s name?” Liz asked.
“You can ask her when she finally gets her fat ass here. He’s a mean son of a bitch.”
“So I gathered,” Liz said dryly, her gaze following the line of bruises up Carrie’s arm.
“I’m not gonna say nothin’ about anything, so you can just forget it. Jesse’ll get him.” Hero worship slipped into her voice.
So, Jesse thought Sarah’s boyfriend had taken the trees. Liz didn’t like the idea of him getting involved at any level. Maybe she could sow the seeds of caution if she brought the subject up just right to him.
Sarah breezed into Liz’s office, her hair flying. Twin spots of color brightened her cheeks. She was irate. “Goddammit!” she yelled. “I can’t take off work like this. I’m sick of this whole damn thing. She’s not coming here anymore.”
“Carrie still has a few hours of counseling—”
“I don’t give a shit! I could lose my job. They’re looking at me all the time, and I have to lie.”
“She could come by herself,” Liz pointed out, but this met with a spate of renewed fury.
“Yeah? And have you yap, yap, yapping at her? You’re all the same. A bunch of nosy do-gooders who don’t know a goddamn thing. What did you say before I got here?” Sarah demanded, glaring at her daughter.
“Nothin’!”
“She’s a liar,” Sarah bit out to Liz.
“What are you afraid she’ll say?” Liz asked.
“I don’t have to take this. I’m her mother, and though she might not like it, tough! I call the shots.”
“I’m concerned about the bruises on her arms. I’m concerned that someone could be abusing your daughter. I asked Carrie if you were seeing someone, but she was reluctant to tell me the man’s name.”
Sarah’s lips tightened into a white line. “You’ve got a lotta nerve, lady.”
“You’ve got a daughter in harm’s way,” Liz rejoined softly.
“Screw you.”
She whipped her index finger in a circle, signaling Carrie to leave. With a last look at Liz, Carrie slunk from her chair and preceded her mother out the door. Liz half-expected Sarah to launch one last volley, but she practically ran out of the room after her daughter.
Chapter Twelve
Sweat beaded on Hawthorne’s brow. Exertion. Pain. Frustration. He banged his crutches against the door to the bathroom and nearly toppled to the floor. His doctor had suggested a home nurse for his first few days because he had no wife or significant other to care for him, but Hawk had rejected the idea straight out. Now, hobbling around the log cabin, he realized the idea had some merit.
Not that he had any intention of following through.
It took all his will to make it back to the couch. Flopping down, he jarred his leg, bit back a howl of pain, and ran a running argument through his brain about whether to try another painkiller or not. They made him fuzzy. He detested being fuzzy. Especially since he’d given up alcohol.
Because it made him feel better, he systematically barked out every four-letter word he knew into the empty room. By the time he was finished—for it was a considerable list—the pain had subsided and he was ready for action.
Phoning Federal Agent Don Vandeway for perhaps the twentieth time seemed an effort in futility. But shock of all shocks, the man actually answered the phone
this time, then tried everything he could to disconnect from Detective Hawthorne Hart of the Woodside PD.
“This isn’t a matter for the local police department,” Vandeway told him superciliously. “We have bigger fish to fry.”
“I’m the one with a bullet in his leg,” Hawthorne reminded him. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s a matter for the local police.”
“You don’t understand—”
“Then enlighten me,” Hawk cut him off bluntly.
Vandeway sighed. “Look, I know how you feel, but believe me, we’re handling the situation. And it’s a lot more delicate than you know.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hawk had dealt with bullshitters and charmers and murderers and thieves. “Belding said you killed Barney Turgate, and now Belding’s dead. Doesn’t sound that delicate to me.”
“Am I under investigation, Detective?” Vandeway asked primly.
“You bet you are,” Hawk retorted. “Now, are you going to meet with me or not?”
It took a certain amount of extra coercion, but Vandeway, proving he was smarter than he sounded, seemed to get it that Hawthorne Hart wasn’t going to give up. Muttering about the importance of keeping his investigation pure, he reluctantly agreed to meet Hawk at an out-of-the-way roadside bar in Willoughby, the nearest town of any size to Woodside. Hawk, however, wasn’t in the mood for concessions.
“I’ll be at the Elbow Room at four p.m.,” Hawk told him. “It might be worth your while to make it.”
He hung up while Vandeway sputtered protests. Hawk didn’t like him on instinct. It was too bad he had to hide his activities from Dortner because he could have used the help. But he knew Perry would have a shit fit over Hawk’s continued involvement. Better to fly solo for a while.
Vandeway showed up right on time. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and a prissy expression that made his lips seem perpetually puckered. Maybe they were. Tight-ass, Hawk thought inconsequentially.
“Detective Hart,” Vandeway greeted him, biting off each syllable as if it tasted bad.
