BENEATH THE SILK

by Wendy Rosnau

  "Jack … don't say that. Don't say anything."

  "It's too late. If I think it, I say it, remember? So here goes. I love you. I love your husky voice, the way you smell. I love your sexy clothes. The way you chew your food." He grinned. "The way you moan when I'm inside you. I just can't think of anything that I don't love about you except your china cups." His hands slid up her thighs. "I mean it. I'm the man who can carry the ball, Sis."

  He loved her. Sunni silently recited the words. It was a dream come true, to be loved by Jack Ward. But he was wrong. He might be the man for her, but she wasn't the woman for him. He deserved better. A woman who wouldn't be a noose around his neck. A healthy woman who wouldn't send him running to the hospital every other week if she got off her schedule and ate dinner an hour late.

  "I know you're afraid I'm going to run, but I won't."

  Everything that Jack was, and stood for, was in-your-face, I'm-ready-for-whatever. And, yes, that was the problem. If he said he loved her, he did. If he said he wouldn't run, he wouldn't, no matter what happened or how much he regretted making that kind of a commitment.

  I lived at the hospital and I hated it. I brushed his teeth. Wiped his nose, the other end, too.

  Sunni buried her misery with a false smile. "It's true I enjoy you in my bed, Jack. A good man, as they say, is hard to find. But sharing top-notch sex and a kitchen during a crisis situation is all we've been sharing. I don't feel the same way you feel. I'm sorry, but I don't think I ever will."

  He stared at her for a long minute. Then, he asked, "You're sure?"

  Forcing the lie between her teeth, Sunni nodded. "Sorry, Jack."

  He glanced down at his watch. "Three minutes. Let's get you fed so you can keep on your schedule."

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  « ^ »

  Jackson was on the freeway with Mac laying beside him half-asleep—still groggy from his surgery—when something Lucky said the night before hit him. And as if his words had the power of the double-barreled lupara in the broom closet, they blew a hole in the case.

  He and Lucky had been talking about rumors and bad guys. Lucky had mentioned cops being saints. The words weren't much by themselves, but Joe had used the words saintly bastard at the Shedd when they'd been talking about his mystery woman.

  Hank had said there'd been talk Tom was on the take. He'd asked him to let him know first if he learned anything about Tom while he was in town.

  As he headed back to Sunni, Jackson played the what-if game, then mentally made a list. After that, he concentrated on opportunity, human nature, and the odds. He thought about heartless bad boys and saintly cops, and decided his hunch was worth checking out.

  He made a phone call to Hank, and after a few pointed questions, the odds climbed higher. And that's when he turned right on Ogden and punched in Joe's private number. "This is me," he said when he heard his friend's voice. "One question, bro."

  "Okay, shoot."

  "Was it Rhea?"

  There was a long silence before the answer came. Then one word. "Yes."

  The odds suddenly tipped the scale. "I'm on Ogden headed north. Meet me at her place. Capiche?"

  "I have a key. We won't have to break in."

  "And I thought Lucky was the one who lived dangerously. See you in twenty minutes."

  Joe was already in front of Rhea Williams's house on Bliss Avenue when Jackson pulled up. As he climbed out of the rental car, leaving Mac asleep in the front seat, he studied his friend. Joe was leaning against his black Jag. He had traded his suit and tie in for a pair of jeans and a black leather jacket. He looked as tough as Lucky, puffing away on a cigarette with his dark sunglasses hiding his eyes.

  Jackson quickly closed the distance. "Let's talk inside."

  Without a word, Joe shoved away from the Jag and produced a key from his pocket. Inside the small house, Jackson followed him through the kitchen and into a feminine living room in pastel colors. Before Joey sat down on the gray sofa, he removed his sunglasses and laid them on the wooden coffee table.

  Jackson took a seat on the piano bench not far away. "Okay, let's hear it."

  Joey closed his eyes for a moment as if he needed to arrange the order of what he was going to say. When he opened them, he said, "I met her at the hospital. Lucky was getting stitched up. She was there getting a few of her own. Seems she ran into a door." He swore, his gaze unwavering as he stared Jackson down. "She was pretty bad off that time. Me and Lucky volunteered to take her home."

  Jackson frowned. "Just like that?"

  "Stud had been working for Frank for about a year at the time. Seemed appropriate."

  "So Stud Williams is on the take. I never would have guessed that."

  "Why not? Too saintly?"

  There was that word again. Jackson shrugged. "I knew he was hard on Rhea."

  "Hard on her? He beat her, Jacky. Beat her hard."

  "I knew he was obsessed with her. Took after a couple of guys at the precinct once. They had made remarks about her long legs, and her being a natural blonde. When she divorced him, he damn near went crazy. She asked me and Tom to help her get this place. I moved her in here."

  "She told me."

  "Tom liked her a lot. He came to see her after the divorce. After his death, Stud became my partner, remember? It didn't last long. He liked things black-and-white and I'm color-blind so… Anyway, that's about the time I made the move to New Orleans. I called Hank on the way over here. He told me Rhea moved away about a week after I left town."

  Joey said, "Stud stalked her. He wanted people to think that he had accepted the divorce but he never did."

  "So you offered her a ride home that night. And then?"

  "Nothing. Until it happened again. She was at the hospital when she called. He'd hurt her real bad that time. I went and got her."

  "And then?"

  Joey's jaw jerked. "I spent the night. Right here on this sofa. She was scared. Scared of the dark. Scared of the slightest noise. Hell, even of her own shadow."

  "But not you." It wasn't a question.

  "There was something going on between us from the moment we laid eyes on each other. I know that now. I can't explain it."

  Jackson understood. It had been the same for him and Sunni. Smiling, he said, "You always did have a weakness for natural blondes."

  "I never saw her bruise-free." Joey swore. "Stud hurt her in ways that I can't begin to describe, Jacky. I should have killed him. I regret that I didn't, but he was on Frank's payroll. And you know the rules I have to play by. I couldn't do it without bringing a bunch of hell down on all of us, so I didn't do anything." Joey closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the couch. After a long minute, he opened them again. "Anyway, I was engaged to Sophia. I had no business looking at Rhea Williams. Sophia and I were suppose to be married before the end of the year."

  "Did Stud know about you and Rhea?"

  "No. And neither did Sophia. We were careful. Lucky was my watchdog."

  "For how long?"

  "Two months." Joey puffed on his cigarette. "Then one day I came here and she was gone. I tore the city apart looking for her. At first I thought Stud had done something to her. But he was looking for her, too. He even asked Frank to call in a few favors to help him find her. Frank put out feelers coast-to-coast. But it's like she just vanished. After that, Stud picked up the lease on this place. He told Frank he wanted to keep it in case Rhea came back."

  "D'Lano?"

  Joey stared at Jackson. "You think Sophia found out I was seeing Rhea behind her back and had her father kill her?"

  "Grace Tandi disappeared and was never found. If Vito sent his wife to the bottom of Lake Michigan for adultery and got away with it, then a jealous fiancée with a father who's part of the organization and owns the biggest salvage yard in the city, could certainly make someone an ink spot under two tons of iron."

  "Jeez, Jacky." Joey jerked to his feet. "I can't think that happened."

&n
bsp; Jackson could see he had upset Joe more than he'd meant to, but facts were facts. "So Stud's been keeping this place just waiting for his ex-wife to come home. Somehow that doesn't fit."

  "So she's dead?"

  "Maybe, bro." He glanced around, saw a woman's pair of strapped white sandals tucked half under the couch. Frowning, he asked, "You know if those are Rhea's shoes?"

  Joey glanced at the shoes Jackson had pointed to. "They look like hers."

  Thinking that was just as strange as Stud paying on a second house when he already owned one on Ashland, Jackson got to his feet and walked down the hall to the bedroom. Peeking his head inside, he said, "Joe…"

  As he stepped into what obviously had been Rhea Williams's bedroom, Joe appeared in the doorway. "What the hell is this?"

  "It looks like someone's living here."

  "And wearing Rhea's clothes?"

  "So they're hers?"

  "Yes."

  Jackson studied the clothes laid out on the bed. Then turned to assess the underwear displayed on the dresser. "Not wearing," he said, "just looking."

  "What?"

  "A man obsessed with his ex-wife would want to stay close to her things. If you can't have the real thing, you settle. Substitute. Right?"

  Joey released a string of obscenities.

  "Let's have a look around. You take the other bedroom, I'll take the bathroom."

  When they met back in the living room, Jackson said, "When we came through the kitchen I thought I saw a door. Closet?"

  "Basement."

  Jackson moved back into the kitchen and opened the door to the basement. Joe came up behind him and flipped on a light switch in the kitchen that lit up the stairwell and beyond. Following Jackson down the narrow stairs, he said, "There isn't much down here. Just storage for—"

  There were no words to describe the sight that confronted them as Jackson and Joey came off the last step. Both men simply stared for several minutes.

  Finally, Joey shouldered his way past Jackson to stare at the four walls that outlined the basement. Walls that were peppered with pictures and newspaper clippings.

  Jackson gazed at the collection of memorabilia—traits of a psychotic madman. "Look." He pointed to a number of pictures of Rhea Williams with Tom Mallory. There were a half-dozen of the two of them. The two of them out to dinner, leaving the movie theater. Tom bringing her home. Tom leaving the house. The picture that got Jackson's attention was of Rhea crying at Tom's funeral. The picture had been placed in a square box outlined in black ink, with the words Justice Served written along the top.

  He stared at the picture for a long time, knew what it meant. Finally he said. "Stud killed Tom."

  "It looks that way, bro."

  Jackson's heart started to hammer inside his chest. He scanned the next wall, this one dedicated entirely to Rhea Williams and her life with Stud—shared birthdays, a boat ride on the river, picnics in the backyard. But in all the pictures Rhea Williams was never smiling.

  The next wall was devoted to Milo Tandi, Elizabeth Carpenter and Sunni. Clearly telling Jackson that—though he didn't understand Stud's motivation—he was certain he had killed Milo, as well as Elizabeth Carpenter.

  There were no pictures of Rhea with Milo as there had been with Tom. Instead there were newspaper clippings of Milo's death. Sunni leaving Masado Towers, getting into a cab. Milo with Elizabeth Carpenter entering the Crown Plaza. Nothing, however, was old. All the pictures and newspaper articles were fairly recent—a month old at the most.

  The next wall took Jackson by surprise. It was devoted to him. He didn't hear Joey come up behind him until his friend swore viciously. The next thing out of his mouth was "You're next, mio fratello. The son of a bitch wants you dead next."

  Then to prove it was true, Joey pointed to an empty square box outlined in black ink with the words Justice Served above it.

  * * *

  He loved her. Sunni had replayed the words over and over again in her mind all afternoon. With Jackson gone to pick up Mac, it was the perfect chance to get a grip and fortify the lie she'd told him that morning. But every time she started to think about pushing Jack further away, his heavy voice claiming that he loved her drowned out everything else.

  She knew the lie she'd told was for his own good. She couldn't … no, wouldn't, saddle him with a woman who someday might need him to brush her teeth.

  When the knock came to the back door, she stood and peeked out the side window. Detective Williams had called an hour ago and she'd told him that Jackson wouldn't be back until after six. Seeing him now surprised her, but she swung the door open, anyway, and took a step back to let him enter the small kitchen. "Jack's not here," she offered.

  "I know. I figured he wouldn't be back yet, but I thought I'd drop off the report on Libby… Ah, Elizabeth Carpenter. I've got a busy night planned, and…" He glanced around. "You alone?"

  "Yes."

  "Good idea, Jackson sneaking you out of the hospital like that." He glanced at the coffeepot. "Coffee sure smells good. Can you spare a quick cup?"

  Sunni glanced at the folder. She was curious about the report. "Sure. Sit down."

  He pulled a chair out at the table. Sunni noticed him wince as his left arm bumped the table. Like always, he was dressed in a sports jacket over a white shirt and tie. But today he was wearing jeans instead of dress slacks, and boots instead of loafers. He really did fit the typical detective, she thought, glancing at the notepad that stuck out of his jacket pocket as she brought him his coffee. "Sugar or cream?"

  "Sugar, please."

  "So—" Sunni placed a number of sugar packets on the table with a spoon, then sat "—can you tell me anything about Elizabeth?"

  "I suppose it wouldn't hurt now that I'm convinced the case has taken a turn and you're no longer a suspect." He smiled, took a sip of the coffee. "She was definitely murdered. Jackson was right. Libby … Elizabeth Carpenter had drugs in her system, but that's not what killed her. She drowned."

  Sunni couldn't imagine a more horrible death. "Poor Elizabeth."

  Detective Williams added a bit more sugar to his coffee, stirred. "She was already out of it before she died. She didn't feel anything."

  "How can you be sure? Is that what the report says?"

  "Not exactly. But she'd snorted a lot of white lightning that night. She passed out before she went swimming. I guarantee it."

  "If she drowned, how can you tell it was murder?"

  "It's murder when someone deliberately feeds an addict too much candy for the sole purpose of killing them once they've passed out."

  Sunni stood and walked to the sink to get a drink of water. "But you can't know that's what happened without…" As she ran water in the glass, she glanced out the window and realized that the detectives in the unmarked cruiser were no longer out front. She was about to mention it when she heard the scraping of the detective's chair on the tile floor. She turned and found Stud standing in the middle of the room pointing a gun at her.

  "I know that's what happened, Miss Blais, because I was the one who fed her the white lightning." He grinned, seemingly pleased with the effect his confession had on her.

  Sunni gripped the counter to stay on her feet, unable to believe what she was hearing. "You? You killed Elizabeth?"

  "You don't look like you'd be very strong." He rubbed his shoulder. "'Course, the paperweight was crystal, wasn't it?"

  "Oh, God!"

  He shook his head. "God isn't going to be able to help you, Miss Blais. And neither will Jackson or that hairy partner of his. No, it looks like I'm the only one on the job today."

  His gaze traveled to the window. "The boys were anxious to take a break. They went for some coffee and smokes. I told them not to rush back, that I'd watch over you until they got back. Only we're not going to be here when they get back."

  "I don't understand. You're Jackson's friend. Why are you doing this?"

  "Friend … ex-partner." He shrugged. "They're a dime a dozen to Jacks
on. He's had more partners than any cop alive."

  "I still don't understand."

  "This has nothing to do with wanting to hurt you, Miss Blais. I've been seeking justice for an old unsolved crime for three years. A month ago I uncovered evidence that reopened the case. I always believed that there were two men involved in the deception. I just couldn't prove it. Milo and Libby, and yes, you, were all invaluable in bringing this case to a close. I learned you were Clide Blais's daughter by accident, but what a gem that piece of information was. It was so easy after that. Libby stealing your scarves. Killing Milo at the Crown Plaza and making it look like you'd done it. Without you becoming a suspect, Jackson wouldn't have been sent back to Chicago. 'Course, I made sure he'd come. But you really were the key."

  "What does Jackson have to do with this?"

  "He's the second man, Miss Blais. A criminal."

  "You're mistaken. Jack would never—"

  "Shut up! It was an ingenious plan setting you up so he'd come back. I executed everything perfectly. Every detail was cross-examined again and again. A good detective pays attention to details."

  Sunni glanced at the clock. Jack wouldn't be back for at least a half hour. He wasn't going to be able to save her—Detective Williams was right about that. "Why Elizabeth?"

  "The lovely Libby was the perfect accomplice. She was very loyal to her habit, and to me since I was the one feeding it. But weaknesses can be a deadly business, as I'm sure you know, Miss Blais. Last night yours nearly cost you your life. I look at it as having done Libby a favor, really. She was supporting a demanding habit … a weakness. One that would have eventually killed her … same as you. This way she went quietly and quite peacefully. And since I have no malice toward you, your death will be just as painless. You'll just slip away."

  He was going to kill her. Sunni responded without thinking. "You're a monster," Sunni screamed, then sent the half-full glass of water flying through the air.