She kissed the taut, hair-roughened skin of his chest. “I know. I love you, too, Zach, even though it’s too soon and too dangerous.”
“It’s because it’s dangerous that it’s happened so quickly,” he said, drawing away from her and propping himself up on one elbow. “If we weren’t in this situation, we’d both be doing a lot more thinking before we admitted it.”
She nodded, rather surprised at his perceptiveness. When, she wondered, would she stop underestimating this man? It was the conceit of her profession, she supposed, that she should think him incapable of such thoughts.
And it was also her perception of him as a man of action, not much given to introspection. But lately, he’d had little to do but think. Perhaps he was even having trouble recognizing himself.
“I’ve got to make something happen,” he said after a long silence. He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.
She was momentarily confused until she realized that he wasn’t talking about them but rather about their situation—his situation, actually, but she was too involved now to think of it that way. The man of passion had once more become a man of action, or rather, a man frustrated by inaction.
“I had dinner last night with Sam,” she told him. “He talked quite a lot about you. Maybe he could help us. I know we could trust him.”
He rolled onto his side and stared at her. “You had a dinner date with him?”
His tone of voice startled her. “Well, I suppose you could call it that. I told you I’ve known him for ages.”
“But he asked you out, and you accepted.”
“Yes, but—”
“That sounds like a date to me.”
“Are you saying that you’re jealous? Because—”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying. I tell you that I love you, and now you tell me that you’re going out with Sam Gittings.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I went out with him because I know he wants to help you, and I thought I’d sort of feel him out, see if he can be trusted.”
“Maybe that’s your reason for going out with him, but it sure wasn’t his reason for asking. And we’re not going to get him involved. It’s too risky for him.”
“It’s a risk he might be willing to take, Zach. He really cares about you.”
“I like him, too, but we’re not getting him involved.”
“Because you’re jealous of him.”
“So what? Is this some earth-shattering discovery, that I can be jealous? How do you think I feel when I hear that the woman I love is going out to dinner with some other guy while I have to sneak around to see her at all?”
“Not seeing me was your decision,” she pointed out. “You’re blowing this all out of proportion, Zach.”
He was silent, but she could feel him seething with frustration. She thought back to what he’d said earlier, about making something happen. All that pent-up frustration was going to find an outlet soon—and quite probably a very dangerous one.
“I had dinner with Mary Williams, too,” she said, trying to ease them away from the volatile subject of Sam Gittings. “It could have been nothing more than wishful thinking on my part, but it seemed to me that she knows something.”
To her very great relief, his brooding turned quickly to a keen interest as she related her conversation with Mary.
“The problem is,” she said with a sigh, “if she really does know something, she wouldn’t keep it secret. Or at least I don’t think she would, especially if she had any reason to suspect that Harvey Summers might have killed Dad.”
Zach nodded. “You’ve got a point. Still, she knows him well. They’ve worked together for a long time, and from what I heard, her husband was one of Harvey’s closest friends. I know he used to be part of Summers’s pokerplaying crowd.”
C.Z. chewed on that bit of information for a few minutes. “Do you think that she might have told Dad something? They were pretty serious, according to Mary. They’d even talked about marriage.”
“It’s a stretch, but I agree that it’s possible. Still, if she knew something that could have helped me, I think she would have spoken up.”
“Maybe it’s a case of not being sure. She certainly wouldn’t want to accuse Harvey of anything unless she was very certain about it.” She frowned thoughtfully. “I think it’s time for me to start pushing her a bit. She knows that I’ve met you and I told her that I thought you were innocent. I could tell her that I’m trying to help you without admitting that I know where you are now.”
“Okay. That sounds good. If she’s troubled by something she knows or has guessed, then she might be willing to talk to you. But there’s something else I want to do, and I need your help.”
“Of course. What is it?”
“I’ve spent two nights over at the Antlers, and I picked up hints of something. It’s about Willie Davis—the con who was supposedly behind the attack on me.”
“Hints about what?”
“Someone was saying that his family’s been living pretty well, considering that he’s in prison and his wife is a maid at one of the local nursing homes. In fact, the guy joked that they’ve been living better since he’s been in prison than they did when he was home. He knows Willie. They worked together—for Harvey Summers.”
“So you think that Harvey paid Davis’s wife for him instigating that attack on you in prison?”
“It could be. He couldn’t very well have paid Davis himself, and if anyone started to ask questions, Summers could just say that he was helping out the family of an employee.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to get into their house and have a look around. I checked the phone book and they live out on Circleville Road. Most of the houses out there are set far apart, and there should be a mailbox with their name on it.
“The reason I need your help is that she’s not likely to let me into the house, no matter what story I come up with. But if I have a woman with me, it’ll be easier. With luck, no one will be home if we go during the day, but she could work different shifts.”
PRIVATELY, C.Z. thought that this expedition was useless. Even if they did find proof that the Davis family was living beyond their means, it would scarcely help them. As Zach had said, the Davis woman could simply claim that Harvey Summers was helping them out.
But she was going along with it because she knew that Zach had to do something, and if it wasn’t this, it might well be something far more dangerous.
When she drove out to the A-frame and picked him up, she could feel the tension in him, the growing urgency to take some sort of action, and damn the consequences. This side of him both disturbed and attracted her. But she understood his frustration at his inability to clear himself, and for that reason, she had decided to take some action of her own that she had no intention of telling him about—at least until it was done.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he said suddenly, breaking a long silence as they drove along Circleville Road, studying the mailboxes.
“I was out of line,” he continued. “It’s just that I like Sam and he’s free and I’m not, and I got jealous.”
“I understand,” she said, reaching over to touch his hand briefly.
“Do you?” he asked, studying her face carefully. “I don’t want you to think that I’m some sort of jealous maniac. I’m not like that, Charlie. Slow down! There it is!”
She slowed down opposite a single mailbox where the name Davis had been painted on the side in bold black letters. He told her to pull over and stop. She did so, but before he got out of the car, she laid a restraining hand on his arm.
“Zach, you can’t really believe that I’d think that about you. Give me some credit for knowing you better than that.”
He settled back against the seat. “It isn’t you, it’s me. I’m spending too much time in my own head.” Then he chuckled. “It’s a damn good thing I managed to fall in love with a shrink, isn’t it?”
She l
aughed, too. “One could call it serendipitous.”
He turned to stare up the narrow dirt road beside the mailbox. “It looks like there are a couple of cars up there, but they might just be junkers. Let’s go.”
They both got out and began to walk up the road. If Mrs. Davis or any of the children happened to be home, they intended to ask to use the phone to call a garage, claiming that a warning light had come on and the engine was acting strangely.
There were two cars and a pickup parked haphazardly in the weedy front yard. One car clearly wasn’t road-worthy, but it was impossible to tell about the other car and the truck.
“If Harvey is paying them, she certainly hasn’t spent any of it on the house,” C.Z. remarked. The front porch listed to one side and the steps sagged. Dirty white paint was peeling from the wood frame construction.
“Yeah, but look at that,” Zach said as they drew nearer. “That’s the same system I have, and it runs over a thousand, plus the monthly fees.”
She followed his gaze to the side of the house, where a satellite dish sat amidst a clutter of ancient appliances. At that moment, a dog began to bark, and C.Z. saw it, chained to a crudely built doghouse at the side of the house. She’d never understood why people kept dogs if they didn’t want them as house pets. It made no sense to her.
But she had little time to dwell on that subject because the front door opened and a woman peered out warily. She had the look of a woman grown old before her time, beaten down by poverty and hard work. And perhaps beaten as well by a worthless, drunken husband, C.Z. thought as she recalled her encounter in prison with William Davis and wondered if his wife might be happy he was there.
“Hello,” Zach said, walking to the porch steps. “Our car broke down out there and I was hoping we could use your phone.”
C.Z. followed him to the porch, noting the way he had slipped so easily into his un-coplike voice. The woman peered at him silently for a moment before shifting her gaze to C.Z., who smiled pleasantly. Then the woman nodded and stood aside for them to come in. C.Z. guessed that Zach had been right—she would never have let Zach into the house if he’d been alone.
The interior of the house confirmed their suspicions. There was new furniture in the living room, together with a big-screen TV, and when the woman led them to the kitchen, C.Z. saw that all the appliances were new, as well. She wondered if Davis knew how his wife was spending Summers’s money and wondered, too, why Summers had paid it, since his scheme hadn’t worked.
While Zach went to the phone, she smiled disarmingly at Mrs. Davis and asked if she might use the bathroom. She guessed there wouldn’t be one downstairs, and if she got upstairs, she could see what else was new.
The woman nodded and told her it was upstairs, the first door on the right. Zach appeared to be carrying on a conversation with someone, though who it might be, she couldn’t imagine. She hurried up the stairs and quickly used the bathroom, then tiptoed quietly down the hall. One door was closed and she didn’t want to risk opening it, but in the two bedrooms, she saw new furniture and two more TV sets. There was no doubt that Mrs. Davis had gone on a recent shopping spree.
By the time she came downstairs, Zach was off the phone and waiting near the staircase for her, with the silent Mrs. Davis hovering nearby. He was admiring the big-screen TV and asking her questions about the satellite. Her responses were monosyllabic, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes.
They thanked her and left, and as soon as they were out of earshot, C.Z. told him what she’d seen upstairs. Zach grunted.
“She’d better hope they keep him inside for a long time. He probably doesn’t know what she spent the money on. That’s a battered wife if I ever saw one.” He smiled grimly. “Maybe we can do her a favor. If we nail Summers and he admits to paying Davis to get me killed in prison, that’ll be enough to keep him there for a while longer.”
“But we’re really no closer to proving anything,” C.Z. said unhappily, then asked who he’d called.
“My old number. I guessed that they hadn’t reassigned it yet—and they hadn’t.” He reached out to take her hand.
“We’ll get there, Charlie. It’s just going to take a while. All I need is time and some luck.”
C.Z. thought that somehow, their situations had become reversed. Zach was the one who’d seemed so impatient, so determined to take some sort of risky action—while she had wanted to avoid just that. But now, he seemed content to move slowly, while she was about to take a big risk herself—one she had no intention of telling him about.
“What are you going to be doing?” she asked.
“Spending my days in the woods looking for that truck and my nights over at the Antlers drinking with some of Summers’s men. From what I’ve heard so far, most of them have worked for him for years, and my guess is that they know something or have guessed something.”
He turned and gave her a decidedly evil smile. “It turns out that one of the regulars is Dave Colby’s brother-in-law. I’d never met him before, but I remember Colby talking about him. They don’t get along, and the guy’s a drunk. If he knows or suspects anything, he’ll talk sooner or later, especially if I’m buying.”
“I’m pretty sure that no one has been following me,” she told him. “I want to come out to see you.”
He shook his head. “Stay away, C.Z. It’s safer that way. I’ll come to see you again in a week, or sooner, if I find anything.”
“You’re shutting me out of this, aren’t you?”
They had reached her car, and Zach drew her into his arms. “I couldn’t shut you out of my life even if I wanted to,” he said softly. “But I can do my best to keep you safe.”
Then he hooked a finger beneath her chin and drew her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were muddy brown behind the lenses and the glasses, but their effect was just as piercing as if she were seeing his own ice-blue eyes.
“Don’t start thinking about taking any chances, Charlie girl. If you come up with any ideas, run them by me first. Summers has got to be feeling nervous already with me on the loose. Nervousness turns to desperation real fast, and if he has any reason to suspect you of helping me, he might just try to kill you.”
She nodded but did not say she still had trouble believing that Harvey Summers was a killer. She also did not tell him of her plan, for the very simple reason that she knew he would not approve.
Zach needed to believe he was keeping her safe. She understood that. But she could not stand idly by while he tried desperately to clear his name.
C.Z. OPENED THE TRUNK of her car in the parking lot outside the courthouse that also served as police headquarters. She picked up the box, then paused, inundated by memories of visiting her father here. She knew that the children of police officers often got themselves into trouble just to prove something to their peers, and she wondered if she, too, might have done that, if her parents had stayed married. Instead, as a child, she’d been very proud of the fact that her father was a police officer, and she’d loved coming to the station.
Carrying the carton, she walked across the lot and through the side entrance that led to police headquarters. She recognized the officer at the desk, an older man nearing retirement now. He frowned at her, then suddenly smiled.
“You’re Tom’s girl! I thought you looked familiar. I remember you from the funeral.” The smile drained away. “Sure do miss your dad around here.”
“I miss him, too,” C.Z. said, surprised to find her throat suddenly constricting. “And it’s because of him that I’m here. Is Chief Colby available? I have something for him.”
He picked up the phone, spoke briefly, then gestured to the hallway. “The office at the end. But I guess you remember that.”
She did, and she could almost believe that she would find her father there, sitting at his big desk, surrounded by neat, orderly piles of the paperwork he hated. But of course, what she found instead was Dave Colby.
Like her father, Colby was a big man, both tall
and broad. But in Colby’s case, there seemed to be more fat than muscle. He was just putting on his jacket as she appeared in the doorway. His shoulder holster hung from the back of the big leather desk chair. At least, she thought dryly, he hadn’t found it necessary to put that on.
“C.Z.,” he said with a hearty, booming voice, even as his gaze slid quickly from her face to the box she carried into his office. She thought he seemed to tense at the sight of it.
“I hope I’m not interrupting you, Chief Colby.” She smiled pleasantly. Then she gestured to the box she’d set on the edge of his desk. “I recently discovered these files and thought I should bring them back. After Dad died, we packed up his personal things and I just never got around to going through them until recently. His death had hit me really hard, and I couldn’t face any reminders of him.” She paused, feeling slightly ashamed of her obvious play for sympathy. But it was the truth, after all.
“I can understand that,” Colby said quickly. “We all felt that way. Your dad was a good man and a good boss. I learned a lot from him.”
Their eyes met, but his slid away quickly, though not before C.Z. could see what she could only think of as a tortured soul. It seemed to confirm what Zach had said, that Colby might have been an unwilling participant in all of this.
“What’s in the box?” he asked, staring at it.
“They’re police files. I looked through them, and it seems like they’re all old files—cases that hadn’t been solved. I assume that Dad must have been working on them. Maybe these are just copies that he kept at home for his own convenience, but I thought I’d better bring them back.”
Colby walked around the desk and began to go through them. C.Z. watched him covertly, wondering if he was an example of the kind of person her father had once talked about, someone who takes one step outside the law and is then plunged into a life of deception and crime. A passenger in a truck that swerved into a school bus filled with children, perhaps drunk himself, who flees the scene and then watches helplessly as his life goes out of control.
Runaway Heart Page 14
