Jan Coffey Suspense Box Set: Three Complete Novel Box Set: Trust Me Once, Twice Burned, Fourth Victim

by Jan Coffey

Frankie snorted as he dumped a half dozen pills into his hand.

  “Take too many of those at one time, and your liver’ll shut down.” Archer sipped his coffee as Frankie dropped all but two back into the bottle.

  “I still want a lawyer.”

  Archer paused, patting the thick file on the table as if considering something, and then moved his chair closer to Frankie. Taking a cigarette out of the pack on the table, he lit one for himself and slid the pack back down the table. “We don’t really have anything we can book you on.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “That was all standard bullshit Bob was pulling on you...that stuff about resisting arrest.” Archer inhaled deeply. “I mean, I’d be going nuts, too, if I were knocked out and then woke up to a bunch of uniforms pawing me.”

  Frankie took a swallow of coffee and shook a cigarette out of the pack. Archer slid his chair a little closer and held a lighter for him.

  “And we both know there are no fingerprints of yours in that house.”

  “So I guess you’re letting me go then.” Frankie took a long drag before crushing the newly lit cigarette on the edge of the table.

  “Sure. But before you go, there are just a couple of things.” Archer paused, searching in his jacket pockets for a moment. Having no success, he stood up, finally locating a crumpled piece of paper in his back pocket. Sitting down again, he flattened it out on the table. “Just answer a couple of questions for me, and I’ll get one of the guys to take you out to your car.” Archer looked at the man apologetically. “They towed your Mercedes to the pound.”

  Frankie eyed him warily as Archer reached inside his jacket pocket for a pair of reading glasses. Putting them on, the detective looked the crumpled page up and down.

  “Here we go. First...there were these...these knobs from the stove in your hand when you were found lying on the kitchen floor. Well, never mind that. They could have popped off on their own.” He lowered the glasses on his nose. “Okay. Here we go. I definitely need help with this one. The uniforms arriving on the scene found a key to the judge’s house in your possession. We’ll hold off on that one for a sec, too. What’s this next one? Oh yeah...when we towed your car, the uniform helping the tow truck operator finds these dark spots in the trunk of that nice clean Mercedes of yours. He says blood...I say no. Now, we still could do some testing and stuff like that to find out what it is.”

  Archer looked at him over the rims of his glasses. Frankie closed his mouth and fixed his gaze on his coffee.

  “Unless you want to tell us about it and save us some time. But what’s worse, Frankie, we found this bag in a little compartment in the front seat and...and there was a...” The captain looked at his paper again. “A silver-plated 9mm handgun in there. But, of course, I’m sure you have a permit for that, and can explain where in Newport you might have fired off a round or two?”

  Archer looked up at Frankie’s pale face and turned again to his list. “There are still some other questions that I have. Like this phone call that you got tonight at O’Malley’s Pub.”

  Dan Archer paused and watched Frankie’s eyes move from the coffee cup in his hand to the bottle of Tylenol to the wrinkled piece of paper on the table.

  He slid his chair a bit closer and spoke in a low, confidential voice.

  “I could have all of these checked out myself, Frankie. But I thought, since I know you’re a decent guy and...Look, I understand how things happen, and you know the person who was with you in the judge’s house—the person who called us—is bound to turn up sooner or later.” Archer leaned forward and touched the man lightly on the knee. “Listen, Frankie, I can help you out if you’d just—”

  “I’ll talk.”

  Chapter 5

  The Range Rover sped past dripping trees and dead-end streets, past mansions, sullen and dark behind the gilded gates and iron fences. Gas-fed street lamps too flitted by, no more than dim and dying stars in Sarah’s blurred vision. She tried to blink back the tears, but more and more she found them working their way down her cheek. She was losing control, and suddenly she was so tired. She tried unsuccessfully to swallow the thick knot that seemed to have lodged itself permanently in her throat.

  Mansions gave way to a blur of shops, restaurants, a museum, a synagogue. They were winding through the remains of colonial Newport when a gas station came into her view, awkward and out of place.

  “You should call your lawyer.”

  His voice was muffled, and Sarah pushed herself against the heavy blanket that seemed to have descended over her. She pressed her head against the window. The glass lacked the ability to cool her fevered skin. She concentrated on his words.

  “You do have someone to call, don’t you?”

  The car stopped at a traffic light, and Sarah barely managed to focus enough to see him turn and stare into her face.

  “Maybe the emergency room should be our first stop.”

  She shook her head as adamantly as she could muster and tightened her hold on the leather bag in her lap. “I...I’m fine.”

  She turned away as more tears slid down her face.

  “Right there. That brick building just past the next light is the police station, if I’m not mistaken. And in a minute that’s where I’m dropping you off.”

  Her head snapped around. “Please don’t! Not yet...I need a bit of time to think this through.”

  “You’ll have plenty of it in the police station.”

  “No.” her voice cracked. “They’re trying to kill me.”

  “The police? That’s ridiculous.”

  “I know.” Sarah nodded, burying her face in her hands. She tried to fight off the numbing chill, willing her body to stop the persistent shivering, to control the tears that kept coming.

  “You seriously expect me to believe that the police are trying to kill you.”

  Even in her frame of mind, she could hear the skepticism in his voice.

  “They stopped me on my way back from the airport. One of them tried to choke me.” She touched her neck where she could still feel the bruising grip of the man’s hand. “When I tried to get away, they shot at my car. I was barely able to get on a dirt road and escape on foot. That’s where you found me.”

  “So you’re a fugitive from the law.”

  “How could I be? I’m already dead, remember?” She took a deep breath before continuing. “Look, Mr. Dean, I went away two weeks ago and came back to a nightmare. And since my plane landed, I don’t know how many hours ago, I’ve had two attempts made on my life. Two attempts!”

  “But you don’t really think the police can be involved.”

  “I do.” She stabbed at her wet face with a heel of her hand. “I can trust no one. They’ve put Judge Arnold in jail for murdering me. I think they’re trying to finish the job...destroy the loose ends. I think they mean to—”

  “You’ve been watching too many movies, and we have a visitor.”

  Sarah’s spine froze at the sight of the police car pulling up on their right. She turned quickly to him. “I need a...”

  Owen shoved a tissue into her hand.

  The policeman’s sharp nose angled in their direction. “Everything okay?”

  “Yep.”

  “It’s been green for a while.”

  “Sorry, officer. Lost in conversation, here.”

  “You all right, miss?”

  “She’s fine!” Owen responded as Sarah nodded, keeping her nose in the tissue. “Just a little...uh, domestic discussion. You know how these things go.”

  Sarah stopped breathing as silence linked the two cars. She didn’t dare look at the officer for fear of being recognized, so instead she turned toward Owen, speaking loud enough for the policeman to hear. “I...I feel much better now.”

  “Well, have a good one, officer.”

  Owen didn’t wait for a response as he closed the window and drove through the intersection. At the next light, he didn’t turn into the parking lot of the police station, inst
ead continued along Broad Way.

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. Our friend has decided you need a knight in shining armor.”

  Sarah glanced in the side mirror and watched the police car follow them past the hospital. Cold dread again took hold of her body.

  “They knew my car. They know where I work, where I live, when I was coming back. I can’t get away.” She couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice. “And I don’t understand any of this, why all of a sudden…” She fought for her next breath. It was another long moment before Sarah again found her voice. “Please let me out...anywhere. I shouldn’t drag you into the middle of this.”

  The words died on her lips as he signaled and pulled into the semi-brightness of a convenience store parking lot. Inside the plate-glass window of the store, a lone cashier sat with his back to the parking lot.

  He had done as she’d asked. This was the end of the line. Sarah reached for the door. “I appreciate the...”

  “Come here.”

  His mouth stifled her questioning gasp as he grabbed her arm and drew her face to his. For an insane moment, the shock of his lips on hers immobilized her. Before she could articulate the sensation, she felt the heat of him penetrating the layers of chilling fear. Then reality kicked in, and she tore her mouth away.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to convince your persistent hero that you’re okay.” His mouth continued to linger right above hers. His arm slipped around her. “Don’t turn around. But he’s parked right by the entrance to the lot.”

  It was difficult not to turn and look.

  “And he’s going to stay there until he knows everything he needs to know about me...and then some.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  He reached over to wipe the wetness on her face. “I have a woman who is disheveled and clearly upset in my car. I used the wrong word. Domestic. He is going to hang around and make sure that I won’t beat you some more. He doesn’t want me dropping your body somewhere off the Cliff Walk before dawn.”

  “Everybody else is trying to do just that.”

  “Yeah, well, it doesn’t look to me like he’s in on your conspiracy theory.” He stole a look over her shoulder at the police car. “If you get out of this car, then you get to talk with him. Or you can stay with me—for a short time, anyway—and try to make some sense.”

  “I’ll stay with you.”

  He gave her a half smile. The same killer smile, she thought, that she’d been seeing in the tabloids for years.

  “Then it’s show time, Sarah. We’ll have to send him the message that our domestic squabbling is over, and you just can’t wait to get me back home with you.”

  She stared up into his handsome face. The dark hair was starting to gray at the temples, and the lines around the eyes were deepening, but the piercing blue eyes were as clear as ever, and she knew he was right.

  “Look, I’m a professional,” he said. “All you have to do is...”

  Letting go of the leather case, she raised herself and took Owen’s head in her hands, bringing his mouth to her lips and kissing him as she had long ago dreamed of doing—as if nothing that had happened this night truly existed and this was yet another part of a dream.

  His eyes reflected his surprise when he pulled back.

  “A Garbo kiss,” he murmured vaguely.

  In a split second his mouth was crushing down on hers, and suddenly she was filled with the taste of him. His mouth was rough and hot, and for an instant her mind emptied of everything else but the need to take what he gave.

  Though blinded momentarily by this unexpected burst of desire, Owen still knew that he was treading on extremely dangerous ground. This woman spelled trouble any way you looked at it. And yet, having her in his arms, her mouth so soft and willing, his concern for real life dissipated into thin air.

  At that instant, only the two of them existed. No police. No cameras. Nothing beyond the heat of a man and a woman. He pushed aside the oversized raincoat and let his hand run over her breast through the wet fabric of her jacket. Her soft moan in the base of her throat was just one more step toward his undoing. He wanted her. It was as simple as that.

  A pickup truck pulled into a space not far from the Range Rover, and Sarah practically leapt out of his arms, pressing her back against the passenger door with a look of shock on her face. He watched her struggle to catch her breath.

  “Well...where did that come from, I wonder?” He glanced at the entrance of the lot before looking back at her.

  She quickly looked away, but even in the light from the convenience store window, he could see the blush spreading across her face.

  Beautiful, he thought. Too beautiful for comfort. Too soft and too vulnerable. And he was clearly too aroused to be thinking straight.

  He lowered the driver’s window to let in some fresh air.

  “I guess we put on enough of a show for our friend to send him on his way.”

  She turned around and stared at the empty curb.

  “Why did you call me?”

  His gruff tone snapped her head around. “I...I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have.”

  “I’m not asking you what you should or should not have done. I asked why you called me.”

  Those incredible eyes were again tearing up, but Owen fought off the urge to pull her to him. She was messing with his head.

  “There was no one else I could think of. No one that they wouldn’t know about.”

  “They? Who are ‘they’ exactly?”

  Two bruisers dressed in jeans and work boots came out of the store carrying coffees and got into the pickup truck. She watched them back out and threw another nervous glance at the empty street.

  “I’ve told you. The police! And a heavyset man who tried to gas me in Judge Arnold’s house. They must be the ones who killed my friend the day I went away.”

  “Killed what friend?”

  “My friend who was house-sitting for me. They must have killed her by mistake, trying to murder me to frame the judge.”

  Owen looked at her doubtfully.

  “Well, I can’t think of anything else. Judge Arnold has always been after the Newport Police for different things…excessive use of force…failure to follow established procedures.” She shrugged and shook her head. “That’s all I can think of. This must have been a setup.”

  “But I found you in Wickford. That’s a different township.”

  “I know, but they could have been Newport police. Between the night and the rain and their flashlights, I couldn’t tell the difference.”

  He shook his head. “Think about it for a minute. Even if it were some group of rogue cops setting all this up, do you really believe they could…or would…hire a thug to gas you at that mansion within an hour of trying to bump you off on the road? A bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

  She leaned back against the head rest and looked at him with weariness in her eyes. “I know none of this makes sense. But I didn’t imagine those attacks. Someone is trying to kill me. You saw it in the papers. But they killed an innocent woman in my apartment and…and got rid of her body.” She closed her eyes and he saw another tear trail out of the corners. “She was my friend.”

  She was a mess. A beautiful, rumpled mess. And she was upset. But Sarah Rand didn’t look like someone out of her mind. Neurotics, psychotics...he’d run into a lot of them in his business. But she wasn’t one of them, from what he could tell.

  He picked up the passport she’d shoved in his hand before. Turning on the overhead light, he leafed through the pages, glancing from the picture of a sophisticated professional woman to the real woman across from him. The one made of flesh and blood. The one with the soft mouth and the heat just beneath the surface. There was no mistaking that they were one and the same.

  Owen leafed through the passport some more, checking the stamped departure and arrival dates. The ticket stubs matched the dates on the passport.
r />   “Tell me everything.”

  “My friend Tori arrived from California the morning of August 2nd. That same evening I left for Ireland.” She rubbed her forehead. “No one knew I was going away. The whole thing was a last minute family emergency. But I also hadn’t told anyone that Tori was coming to visit me, either.”

  A slew of questions ran through Owen’s mind, but he decided to wait.

  “When I arrived at the airport, I tried to call her. She’d left a message for me. I know why, now. She’d left her wallet in my car. There was no answer. No answering machine, either, which was strange. I tried to call her again from Shannon when I got to Ireland. Same thing yesterday, from JFK. No answer.”

  “Didn’t that worry you a little?”

  “Not really. I’ve known her for too many years.”

  She clutched the briefcase tighter to her chest. “But last night, after I read what had happened in the papers, the blood in my apartment…the matching traces of it on the judge’s boat…I tried to call her again.” She stabbed at another tear. “That was when I realized that she must have been killed, instead of me.”

  He closed the passport. “What do you think you’re going to accomplish by not going to the police?”

  “I will go to them. Not local police, or the state police. Someone at the federal level. But first, before I do that, I have to sort out a few things.” Her eyes met his. In the light of the car he could see them now. They were dark green, almost the color of jade. “I have to figure why these people want me dead. Also, I have to figure what the connection is between all of these attempts on my life and the framing of Judge Arnold.”

  “And you think you’ll be able to figure all that out in a few hours on your own?”

  “I’m so tired now, I don’t know if I can think clearly at all. But I have to try, Mr. Dean. I can’t just go to the FBI and tell them, ‘Here I am! I’m alive.’”

  “Why not? That would free your Judge Arnold.”

  “True. But it doesn’t get us any closer to the reason behind the attacks. They’re still out there. We don’t know who they are. What’s going to stop them from making another attempt on my life, or hurting somebody else?”