“There’ a gray sweatshirt draped on that chair, Tim,” Sue pointed out further. “It has paint on the sleeve.” The woman came into the room and took the sweatshirt. “I don't remember your finding that in the garbage, Tim. Did you?” Where was she going with it? If they didn't find the shirt in the house, then what?
“I have to agree with everything you just said, Sue,” Tim said. “To answer your question, no, that shirt wasn't in the garbage. We'll look for it tomorrow morning.” His jaw looked clenched, his eyes, filled with pain. “Did you see anything unusual, J.T.?"
Jacob had a knot in his throat the size of a pillow. He'd just watched one of his best friends assassinated. Hot and heavy anger poured through his veins. “I can't watch any more of this, Tim.” He rose from his chair. “Maybe tomorrow, but no more tonight.”
He looked at Tim and saw his own emotions mirrored in his face. “I'm sorry, Tim. I know he was your friend, too."
Tim brushed a hand across his eyes. “I'm really glad Dottie pushed and shoved for an investigation.” He paused. “I think you're right. MacBean can watch these tapes again tonight, and then you and I can review them again tomorrow. Maybe by tomorrow I'll have a handle on my need to kill that bitch."
While Jacob roused the children and ushered them toward the hall, Tim stacked all but two of the videotapes in his bottom desk drawer, locking it. “We'll meet here about eleven,” he said. “That should give us time to look for the shirt and talk to the Colby woman.” After everyone was in the hall, he closed the office and moved with them down the hall. “After I make copies, I'm taking these two tapes and checking them into the evidence room.” He looked at MacBean. “You get some supper, then you can watch them again."
“What about that car, Tim? Did you find out who owns it?” Sue couldn't stand it anymore. The horror of what they'd just witnessed. The cold-bloodedness of the whole action. That car was in the neighborhood that morning. The same woman was driving it, she felt certain of it. The worst part was the camera never caught the woman's face. Not even when she entered the room, because the camera looked down. Maybe once there was almost a profile for a fraction of a second—or she'd imagined it. The woman couldn't have know the camera was watching—it was just too bad she hadn't looked upward at least once. Sue didn't think anyone could even tell how tall the woman was. If Robert hadn't looked up at her in surprise, they wouldn't have seen much of his face either.
Tim looked at MacBean for an answer. MacBean opened the small notebook in his hand. “Belongs to a Kimba Charles,” he said as they all reached the front doors of the station. “The same address as the lawyer, Keats Charles. I've got someone doing some research on her for us. Might be tomorrow before I have anything.”
After watching Tim and MacBean disappear down a hall, Jacob looked at Sue. “Let's go home.” He was willing to bet his undershorts that Kimba Charles wasn't a lawyer. However, he would know a hell of a lot about her before very long. He intended to get Robert's killer.
Sue took her keys from her purse, worrying about the resolute expression in Jacob's eyes. He was about to put himself in danger again; she hated it, but she knew it. She wanted him to talk to her about what they'd just seen, but it wasn't going to be easy for either of them to have any objectivity—any concentration to think.
Mike looked sleepily at his dad. “I wanna ride in the van,” he said. “So I can go back to sleep."
“I'll follow you, Babe” Jacob said.
Her arm around Andee's shoulders, guiding her toward the car, Sue nodded, wondering if she'd ever feel safe again—with or without Jacob following.
After starting the car, she sat still for a moment rubbing her fingers across her forehead. Something was wrong with the whole scene, but it was eluding her amidst the horror and anguish. She shivered. The moment the woman had pulled the gun from her purse Sue had had to start working to reject her all-to-familiar reaction to the violence, reminding herself that she could handle guns now, could hit a target. Once she'd put her concentration on what the woman was doing, grief and anger released her from the worry. Anger made her want to get her hands on that woman.
* * * *
He waited until the van and car disappeared around a corner, and then started his car. From the comments he'd listened to, there must have been a camera in the Delaney's house. None of them watching could recognize the woman with the gun. If they could, he would have heard them. He had hoped to hear more conversation, but they had been strangely quiet in there, and when they left the office he could no longer make out their words.
He parked in front of the station and waited thirty minutes before entering the building. If the cops put the tapes in the evidence room, he would get them. If they left them in Benson's office, he would get them.
As he entered the police station, he wondered if Ellen Colby was a light sleeper.
* * * *
Neither of them was in their offices. Neither of them answered their cell phones. Kimba paced the plush white carpet of the bedroom. Clint was always home at this time, unless he was out showing buyers what house to bid for, and how much to offer. Keats promised to take her to dinner at eight, it was nearly nine, and she couldn't find him anywhere. And, he had her car.
She glanced at the room. White everywhere. She hated white, but she couldn't change it. Keats had told her the day they married that she was never to buy anything for the house without his approval. It was his house, and he made all the decisions. She hadn't realized how much he meant that until the day she bought an antique stool to use at her dresser and mirror. He took it outside and set fire to it.
Laughing, he'd said it wasn't that he didn't like it, because, actually, he did. She had disobeyed and that was that.
Stopping beside the phone, she lifted the receiver and dialed Keats’ cell number. No answer. Not even voice mail. She tried calling Clint and had the same results. Switching to intercom, she punched the three numbers that connected her to the chauffeur's residence behind the garages.
“Lester here, Mrs. Can I be of service?"
“Lester, Mr. Charles has the silver. Did he tell you where he was taking it?” She'd found a note in the kitchen that said Keats was taking it to have the brakes checked. But Lester always checked the vehicles and did much of the work.
“No, Mrs., Mr. Charles didn't say. He told me to be on call for you and nothing more."
After hanging up the receiver, Kimba cursed succinctly. Though she guarded against feeling any emotion at all, what she did feel toward her cold husband was close to hatred. One day, he would be dead and gone.
One day, she thought, I'm going to have this house, and I'm going to remove every stick of furniture, every carpet. Keats wouldn't be in any condition to object. There were two rooms in the West wing he wouldn't allow anyone to see, including the maids. Those would be the first rooms she intended to redecorate.
Kimba smiled. With any luck, it would be soon.
* * * *
After she pointed half-asleep Michael and Andee towards their bedrooms, Sue returned to the front door. J.T. and the van were still sitting in the drive behind her car. The engine wasn't running, the headlights, off. She quietly closed the door and walked to the passenger side of the van.
The automatic window slid down. “Come in,” Jacob said, his voice husky. He didn't want to be alone. He didn't want to go home to an empty house. He'd watched his friend murdered; there was always the constant reminder that his life was bearable only if he kept busy. He didn't want to be alone.
Climbing in, she said, “It's after midnight, Jacob.” Even in the dark van, she could see the moisture in his eyes, and it made tears sting sharply in her own. J.T. was suffering, and she couldn't stand it. Moving into the space between the seats, she put her arms around him. “I'm so sorry.” There just wasn't anything else to say.
Jacob wanted to set her back on the other seat. Having her touch him, holding him with her breasts against his arm, her cheek against his, was stirring up every horm
one in his body. The familiar, delectable smell of her filled his nostrils. He wanted her, as he always had. He needed her, as he always had. She is his other half; the half he has loved more than breathing. Forcing his hands to stay still, he kissed her cheek, tasting the salt of her tears. She didn't pull away. He worked his kisses down to her full, sweet mouth, and to his surprise she met him before he got there—as she always had.
The kiss was a whisper of a touch. She looked at him. Her shaky fingers brushed his cheek. He took her hand. “You're shaking."
“I know,” she said. “Touching you is making me shaky.” But Sue didn't just want to touch him she had to. She needed him to hold her like he used to. The mere act of brushing her fingertips across his skin was all it took for her to realize how unbearable it would be if he didn't love her. Seeing the video had shown her that life was too short to waste even one minute. Because of her being a coward in a pinch, they had wasted two precious years.
The darkening of her eyes, the way her hand found its way to his chest, all seemed to clarify her words as far as Jacob was concerned. Hadn't her eyes always looked like that just before they made love? Yep. Hope filled his mind, his heart. He cupped her face between his hands. “Michael put the seat down into the bed position back there. It wouldn't be the first time we made love in a van.” The ball was in her court. This was her decision to make.
Sue shifted to between the seats and moved to the van's bed. Saying nothing, she slipped her sleeveless shirt over her head and looked at him.
Dragging his six-four, two-hundred-ten-pound body through the small gap between the seats was making him feel like a pretzel. But he figured if he climbed out and went around to the side doors, he might find out he was just dreaming and Sue was really in his mother's house. If it was a dream, he damned well wasn't ready to wake up. He had steadfastly believed that actions spoke louder than words, and in this case, volumes. His shirt was open by the time he sat down beside her.
“You sure you want to love a coward?” she asked, slipping her skirt off and tossing it over the driver's seat. “I would understand if you wanted to change your mind."
Jacob stripped, laid down, and pulled her gently into his arms before answering. He slowly loosened her hair from its braid. “As I remember it, you weren't the one who past out cold when Andee was born. You weren't the one who nearly did the same thing when Michael slipped into this world.” He let the waist-length silk of her hair filter through his fingers. He kissed the lobe of her ear. “When Mike needed stitches under his chin, it wasn't me who held his hand. I couldn't watch, remember?” He touched her breast, feeling the instant response as it filled his hand. “The last thing I would consider you to be is a coward."
“No one had a gun in my face when you fainted—or when Mike needed stitches.” She placed her hand over his, staying him. “How about eighteen months’ ago? You could have died that day."
He took her hand and kissed the palm. “But I didn't, now, did I?” He kissed her eyelid. “Talk to me, Babe."
“I would love to.” Sue gasped as his thumb stroked her breast. “but I really don't want to think about it right now—” She made an effort to try again, “Intimidation—” Maybe tomorrow she would get the words straight, but right now she didn't give a damn about why she'd failed to shoot the butterfly. Something eased in her soul. Perhaps she'd never give a damn again. This was Jacob—and nothing but the kids and Jacob mattered anymore. She'd never felt a to-hell-with-it attitude before, and she found herself enjoying it, thoroughly.
Lifting her chin so she had to look at him he picked up on her word, “Intimidation, force, can be ugly words, and even uglier actions. No one knows what will happen five minutes into the future, Babe. No one can be sure how they will act, how they will feel. I love you. Please don't punish us any longer."
With her whole soul, Sue wanted him to be right. Punishment had never entered her thinking—healing, only healing. Lifting her arms, she welcomed him into them. Welcomed his body to cover hers. Welcomed the feel, touch, taste of him.
* * * *
When Jacob drove away two hours later, and Sue slipped under the sheets in her bed, they had decided one big step. The painters would finish Friday evening, and Saturday morning the Campbell family would begin a new life, together. She hugged her pillow. They had agreed not to tell the kids until Saturday morning. J.T. had wanted to wake the kids and take them all home. Seeing her in his bed, he had said, was a vision he'd waited too long for already. But, with gentle persuasion, he agreed that the house needed cleansed of the filth on the walls. Sue had visions, too, and Saturday night she would tell them to him.
She touched her breast. If he were lying here with her, his hand would be holding her, his arm, resting across her in his protective manner.
A day seemed like forever.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 19
When Sue woke Friday morning, she couldn't shake her thoughts about the silver car and the woman who owned it. She climbed out of bed, slipped into her shorty beach robe and padded into the living room. Beside the phone on the desk, she found the phone book and thumbed through it looking for a listing on Keats Charles. She didn't really expect to find one and, of course, she didn't. She flipped to the business pages and located the listing for the law office. That was a beginning.
How, she wondered, would J.T. go about searching out their address? Hearing a yawn behind her, she turned. “Good morning, Abby. I hope I didn't wake you."
Abby shook her head. “No, Spike did. I was putting him and Bandit out in the yard when I heard you in here.” She chuckled. “I still can't believe he is here.” She stifled another yawn with the back of her hand. “Guess I'd better make some coffee if I want to stay awake."
Sue returned the phone book to the desk. “That sounds good. I'll help.” It wasn't going to be easy keeping her and J.T.'s decision from Abby for a few more hours. Sue hoped Abby wouldn't sense the new excitement she could feel all over. Just thinking about it made her feel as if she must be glowing like a hundred-watt bulb.
As Abby filled the coffee machine with water, she asked, “What were you looking for?"
“I wanted to find the home address for that lawyer Charles J.T. was telling you about.” Sue shrugged her shoulders. “No luck.” Last night she and J.T. told Abby about what they'd seen on the videotape, and about the silver car.
“Tim's partner is out there in his car keeping an eye on us,” Abby said thoughtfully. “I bet he'd tell me if he knows.” When the last drop of brewed coffee hit the coffee pot, she took a mug from the cupboard and filled it. “I'll just take this to him and see what happens. The way to MacBean's heart is through the coffee mug.” She tightened the belt on her robe and headed for the front door with the steaming coffee.
Sue poured herself a cup and sat at the kitchen table to wait. It wasn't long. Abby returned in just under five minutes with a smile on her face.
“He couldn't give me an address like that, he said. But, he could tell me where Mrs. Kimba Keats worked."
* * * *
An hour later Sue drove slowly around the taxing agency's compound. She called it a compound because it looked dark and sinister and had a fence around it that seemed as immovably fortified as a castle wall. However, she could see all the employee's vehicles and the one she looked for had a special parking spot right near the entrance—because the silver Mercedes was in it.
After parking her car and watching the building for an hour and a half, Sue tried to think of any excuse she could use to go in that building and look for Kimba Keats. Inactivity wasn't her best characteristic, which meant surveillance wasn't, and never would be, her cup-of-capacity. If she didn't move soon someone would find her snoring away.
Then a slender brunette came out of the building and stopped beside the silver Mercedes. The woman, who had to be Kimba Keats, opened the door and took a stack of files from the front seat. Nearly instantly a black sports car pulled in and stopped behind
her car. She walked over and handed the files to the man in the drivers’ seat. Sue thought he looked familiar. The man got out and walked with Kimba, opened the door for her and watched her climb in the car. Then he leaned down, and Sue thought it looked like he might be kissing her. Was this the lawyer husband?
Watching him walk made his familiarity become a memory. The man from the airport. Possibly the man who tried to killed Karen. So, maybe he worked for the agency too—and not the husband. Tim would love to know this. Sue let out a long sigh as she turned the key in the ignition. J.T. would have a fit if he knew what she was doing.
She had to follow that car—she just had to. As she pulled into traffic she glanced at the blue sedan parked across the street. The man in it had followed her here, and by Tim's orders she knew. He looked asleep. Well, let him sleep. She would just follow the car and see where Kimba Charles was going. That was all she planned to do.
When the car led her to an area of mansion-sized homes with enormous, manicured lawns, it became impossible to follow and not be seen, since they were the only two cars on the street. Sue turned a corner, stopped and waited before turning around and following again. But the Mercedes wasn't on the street anymore. Luckily a flash of silver showed Sue exactly which place Mrs. Charles called home.
Another fortification, Sue thought as she eyed the red brick and wrought iron wall that surrounded the house. She felt surprised when ten minutes later the car left again. The electronic gate didn't close all the way. There was plenty of room for someone to walk through without even walking sideways.
* * * *
When Jacob entered the police station at eleven that morning, he met an irate Tim coming down the hall.
“We've got ourselves a very busy killer, J.T. People and cats and dogs. I'd say anything warm blooded that gets in his way had best watch out. We went to question Dottie's neighbors this morning and found Ellen Colby smothered in her bed. Her dog was lying beside her—the Vet says he'll recover with rest.” He ushered Jacob into his office and shut the door, hard. “Topping off the morning, the video tapes I put in the evidence room have disappeared."
Risky Alliance Page 20
