Everywhere She Turns

by Debra Webb

  “Anyone else in the house?” a firefighter shouted.

  Jenkins explained there was no one else in the house as far as he knew.

  A paramedic pushed CJ out of the way to get to Edward.

  “Wait,” she argued. “I’m a doctor.”

  “You’re also a victim,” the paramedic said as he examined Edward.

  Victim.

  CJ looked back at her house. The century-old wood fed the fire as if it had been soaked in gasoline.

  The firefighters rushed past her, hoses in tow.

  But nothing they could do would save the house or any of the memories . . .

  Or any possible evidence left inside.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  801 Governor’s Bend, 10:05 PM

  Carter had turned out all the lights hours ago. He’d turned off every phone in the house as well as his cell.

  He couldn’t talk to anyone.

  Suzi had threatened to go to his parents if this went any further.

  And it would go further.

  Much further.

  Nash had called. From one of those disposable phones he likely bought at Wal-Mart. Carter had done exactly as Braddock ordered. He’d told Nash he was ready to give him the money as long as he got the video. Nash hadn’t seemed as overjoyed as Carter had hoped. In fact, he’d made some ridiculous statement about being able to smell Carter’s fear. Then he’d said he would call back and promptly hung up.

  Carter was a dead man.

  Nash was suspicious.

  No matter that Braddock had posted surveillance on Carter’s house. Nash was too good. Too sneaky. Too crazy.

  He would find a way in if he wanted in.

  Nash would kill him.

  The police wouldn’t be able to stop him any more than they had all the other times.

  Carter pressed his hands on either side of his throbbing skull.

  He was so fucked.

  There had to be a way to get out of this. All that money and he was afraid to leave his house. Afraid for anyone to know he was here.

  What the hell was he going to do?

  His father had called twice before Carter had turned off the phones. He hadn’t left a message, which was not a good thing. His father always left messages.

  If that bitch attorney had told him a single word about what had happened . . .

  He’d do what?

  He was fucked.

  So, so fucked.

  He needed a drink. The police had confiscated all of his Vicodin.

  A drink would help dull the anxiety.

  He made his way to the great room. His mother had been so proud when he’d bought this house.

  His first mansion.

  Now he was a damned prisoner inside it.

  He didn’t bother with a glass. Opened the bottle of Scotch and downed a long gulp. Then another. And another.

  He coughed. Heaved.

  Had to keep it down. He needed some relief.

  A few more swallows and the burn faded into that relaxed sensation he’d longed for.

  He moved to the leather sofa his decorator had so painstakingly selected, and plopped down. Maybe if he drank the whole bottle he would pass out and wake up tomorrow to find that this had just been a bad dream.

  “Yeah, right.” He swallowed another mouthful.

  A creak jerked his attention toward the entry hall.

  He’d locked the doors. He was sure of it. Had he set the alarm?

  Fuck! No, he hadn’t. Fuck!

  Calm down and go set it now. His imagination was running away with him.

  He pushed up from the sofa, swayed a moment before he captured his equilibrium. Damn, that Scotch had done the trick. He walked unsteadily into the entry hall. The cool marble floor beneath his feet made him laugh.

  How could he have heard the floor creak when the entry hall was marble? Yeah, yeah, he was scared shitless and hearing shit.

  He reached the keypad. The buttons gleamed in the darkness. What the hell was his code? Maybe he should have done this before he drank the Scotch.

  Who cared about the alarm? He should just open his front door and wave to the officers in the squad car parked in his driveway. They were supposed to be his security system.

  He heard that sound again. Not a creak this time . . . a soft whisper of leather against stone.

  He turned around too fast, swayed, dropped the bottle of Scotch. It crashed against the marble.

  “Tsk, tsk, Doctor. Such a waste of good Scotch.”

  Carter peered through the darkness. Tried to make out the face of the form. There was someone there. This was not his imagination. He analyzed the voice, but it was too soft, too low.

  “What do you want? How did you get in here?”

  “Carter, Carter,” the voice whispered. “You’ve been a very bad boy.”

  Fury whipped through him, making him sway again. “Did my father send you?” That would be just like the old man. Send someone to shake him up, teach him a lesson. “The police are right outside.”

  “No, I’m afraid your father didn’t send me. And your policemen are too busy discussing how it sucks to work so hard for so little while jerk-offs like you are born into money.”

  “Who the hell are you? And why are you here?” His tongue was thick now. He had a hard time getting the words out. Wait . . . he knew. “Nash? Did that bastard send you?” Carter should push those two buttons. The two that summoned emergency services. He tried to focus on the keypad. Couldn’t.

  His visitor said something he didn’t understand. Carter didn’t care. He tried to see the keypad again. His vision blurred. He couldn’t see which buttons to push.

  “Come, Carter,” the voice said.

  He shuddered. It was right behind him now. He needed to run. Before he could make his legs react, something hit him in the back. Something small. He yelped.

  “You’re going to do us all a very big favor, Carter.”

  He tried to reach behind him, tried to pull it off.

  A jolt went through him. His muscles convulsed. His face was suddenly lying against the cool marble.

  What the fuck?

  He told himself to move. Couldn’t.

  Something moved beside him.

  He tried to turn his head . . . couldn’t.

  “You’re going to die, Doctor. Any last requests?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  904 Williams, 11:48 PM

  Braddock skidded to a stop in front of Abbott’s home and jumped out of the car before it stopped rocking at the curb.

  Both CJ and Abbott had been treated and released from Crestwood Medical Center’s ER. CJ still wasn’t answering her cell. She’d called from Abbott’s home number and left him a message saying she was here.

  Braddock rushed up the steps and pounded on the massive door. His gut had been in knots since he’d gotten the call about the fire. He’d still been stuck in the meeting with the chief and the DDA going over evidence they didn’t have. A strict no-interruptions decree had kept anyone from informing him about the fire until nearly an hour after the fact.

  He’d thought CJ was still at the precinct. No one had bothered to let him know she’d left, including her.

  His pulse jumping erratically, he pounded again. Where the hell was she?

  The door opened and she stood there, staring up at him like a lost child.

  He grabbed her, held her as tight as his arms would allow.

  She melted against his chest.

  When he’d conquered his emotions enough, he murmured, “You sure you’re okay?” He drew back then to look at her.

  She nodded. “I’m fine. A little shaken, but that’s to be expected.”

  “How about Abbott?” According to the ER, both were fine.

  “He’s sporting a few butterfly bandages, but otherwise he’s fine.” She tugged Braddock inside and closed the door. “He retired to his room as soon as we got here.” She shrugged. “Couple hours ago. I think he was pretty shaken as well.
But I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to hear from you.”

  “We’re still trying to locate Nash. He’s supposed to call Cost back to set up a meeting.” Braddock shook his head. “But I have a feeling the only thing Nash is going to do is attempt to get the hell out of town.”

  Worry cluttered her blue eyes. “I need a drink.”

  He wasn’t surprised. He could use one himself, but he didn’t dare.

  She led the way into an enormous parlor. Went straight to the bar and poured herself a shot of bourbon. After she’d downed it, she looked him in the eye. “Someone burned down my house with me in it.” She poured another shot.

  The police who’d responded to the call had already given Braddock the facts. CJ had been in the shower. Abbott had taken a blow to the side of his head and when he woke up he was in an ambulance. “Had to be Nash. Jenkins claims the only time he wasn’t looking right at your house was when he got a call from dispatch saying the meeting I was in would be prolonged. He hung up and the next thing he knew there was smoke seeping from a cracked window.”

  “It was Nash,” CJ agreed. “He wouldn’t have wanted me to find anything in the house. The fact that I told him I’d found a video most likely rattled him. Now that we know he has a video, he was likely pissed at the possibility that I might cut into his deal with Cost.”

  Braddock nodded. “I should have had Jenkins inside the house instead of outside.” Jesus Christ. CJ could have been killed. She wasn’t supposed to have left the precinct, but he knew her well enough not to depend on her following orders. He should have been thinking ahead. But with Lusk’s murder and with questioning Cost and then the meeting called by the brass, he’d fallen down on the job. There was no excuse.

  “I found the other camera.”

  He hadn’t heard about that. “Tape?”

  She shook her head. “This one was in the fireplace. The last place I would have thought to look.”

  “Nash probably set up the cameras for Shelley. Don’t forget, the whole video idea was his plan. But after you told him you’d found that tape, he got nervous.” Braddock resisted the impulse to reach out and sweep the hair from her face. She looked so tired. “With what Cost told us, we have to assume that Nash was the last person to see Shelley alive. He was the one to take the tape from the VCR.”

  “That just confirms the theory that he’s most likely the one who killed her.”

  “That’s the presumption we’re working under. Nash is going down, one way or another.”

  She leaned against the bar. “I’ll be very glad to see this finished. I am so tired.”

  “Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll be here.” She looked ready to drop. “I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”

  She stood there a moment, undecided. “I do need sleep.”

  He didn’t respond; he understood that she was attempting to convince herself.

  “Yeah. Okay.” She looked up at him, the vulnerability showing in her eyes. “Will you stay with me? In my room? I don’t want to be alone.”

  “I’ll be wherever you want me to be.”

  “Thank you.”

  Their gazes held a few seconds longer as if she wanted to say more, but she didn’t. She gestured for him to follow as she led the way up the grand staircase and along the upstairs corridor to the left.

  “Wait.” She turned in the other direction. “I should check on Edward before I call it a night. I’ve been pacing the floor downstairs waiting for you. I haven’t checked on him since he went to bed.”

  Braddock waited while CJ walked quietly to the double doors leading to what was obviously the master suite. She pressed her ear to the door and listened.

  “He’s up,” she said, moving away from the doors. “In the shower. I could hear the water running.” She hesitated. “You think I should go in there? Make sure he’s okay?”

  “Is there reason to be concerned that he might black out?”

  She shook her head. “The blow stunned him but he didn’t black out. No concussion, just a nasty contusion and a laceration. Probably just rattled him and then he was overcome by the smoke.”

  “In that case, I’m sure he’s fine. You should get some sleep. I’ll keep my ears open. If I hear him up during the night, I’ll check to see if he needs anything.”

  “Okay.” Moving more slowly than before, she wandered along the corridor until she reached the guest room. From the size of the place, there were probably several guest rooms.

  He settled into a comfortably upholstered chair while she went into the en suite bath and changed. When she’d climbed into the big four-poster bed, he tried to close his eyes to prevent staring at her.

  The task proved impossible. He surrendered and allowed himself to stare. She lay on her side facing him, her blond hair splayed across the pale blue pillow. Beautiful. She really was beautiful. His body tightened at the memory of how it felt to kiss those full lips. Of how it had felt making love with her. He was relatively certain the memories would be with him for the rest of his life. He’d never felt with anyone the way he did with CJ.

  As if reading his mind, she rolled over.

  He wished she would turn off the bedside lamp, leaving the room in darkness so he wouldn’t be tempted to continue staring. But she didn’t.

  He dropped his head back on the chair and closed his eyes. Focus on the case. Go over the details.

  “Braddock?”

  His head came up. “Yeah?”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  He sat up straighter. “Do you want the television on? That usually puts me to sleep.”

  She sat up. “Can we just talk?”

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  To his surprise, she climbed out of the bed and came over to sit on the footstool in front of him. The nightshirt hit midthigh, but when she sat down, it slid higher. His throat went bone dry.

  “If I have to go back to Baltimore before this case is completely wrapped up”—she stared straight into his eyes—“will you promise me that you won’t give up until you finish it?”

  “You have my word.” The thought of her going back to Baltimore sat like a stone in his gut. He’d known, of course, that she would be going back. It shouldn’t matter. But somehow it did. “When are you going back?”

  “I have about two more weeks. Then I won’t have any choice without creating major complications.” She sighed. “I wanted to make sure Shelley’s killer was brought to justice. But it seems like the more bodies that pile up, the less evidence we have. Unless this thing with Nash pans out, we’re basically back at square one.”

  “Like I said before, even the most brilliant killers make mistakes,” he reminded her. “We just have to find the one he’s made. It’s there . . . we just don’t see it yet.”

  She met his eyes again. “Will you hold me?”

  “Definitely.” He opened his arms as she climbed into his lap, then closed them around her. It felt natural holding her this way. Touched him deeply that she trusted him so completely. That had been a long time coming.

  “I just need . . . you to hold me.”

  She snuggled against his chest, and something inside him shifted. He wanted to keep her safe, to hold her this way until he took his last breath.

  Eventually she lifted her face to his in invitation.

  He lowered his head, let his lips rest against hers. She took charge from there. The kiss was soft, sweet, and incredibly innocent for a woman who’d seen and endured all that she had.

  The kiss went on and on, but he knew it would never be enough. Just like last night. Touching her, kissing her, wasn’t nearly enough. But after what she’d been through, he didn’t want to push. When her warm fingers started to unbutton his shirt, he knew she wanted more, too.

  He held her tight against his chest, pushed out of the chair, and moved to the bed. When he’d laid her gently in the center of the tousled sheets, he toed off his shoes and climbed in next to her.

  CJ peeled his shirt off his shoulders; h
e assisted by pulling his arms free. The shirt landed on the floor. Her fingers busied with the task of releasing his belt and the fly of his trousers. He lifted his hips as she tugged the trousers down and off. His boxers followed the same route. She sat on her knees and regarded him a moment.

  He was hard as a rock.

  She pulled the nightshirt up and off, tossed it to the floor. His attention settled on her breasts, then lowered to her slim waist and lower still to the tuft of blond hair between her thighs.

  God, she was so beautiful. He could have her every night and it would never be enough.

  She crawled up his body on all fours. Settled her bottom on his waist. “You make me want to do things,” she murmured as she traced a line down his chest with trembling fingers, “I’ve never wanted to do before.”

  CJ’s breath caught when he wrapped his arms around her and rolled, putting her beneath him. He kissed her lips, slowly, slowly, slowly. She melted. Then he gave the rest of her body the same treatment. She shivered and sighed. Made those soft sounds to let him know he was doing something so very right.

  Finally he nestled between her thighs and slowly, inch by inch, thrust inside. Still a little sore from last night, she bit her lip, clawed his back as he settled in, pelvis to pelvis.

  She wrapped her legs around his and rocked her hips ever so slightly. He started that rhythm that quickly sent them both to the edge.

  The quiet sounds of their lovemaking filled the air. Quick breaths, soft sighs, urgent moans, and the raw, primal glide of their bodies connecting in the most organic behavior of their species.

  CJ lay in his arms afterward, the sweet scent of their love-making enfolding them. Her body felt right snuggled against his that way. He reached up and turned off the bedside lamp, cloaking them in the darkness. It felt good. Felt right.

  She slowly drifted to sleep.

  Something brushed against her senses, dragged her from that warm place.

  Her eyes snapped open.

  The room was dark.

  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

  Braddock’s body was still nestled against hers. He slept soundly, his respiration slow and steady.