“I came home a few minutes ago and nobody was here,” Jace said. “Aaron’s home now and he said he’d gone to the store because you forgot to pick him up some Cokes. I wish y’all had at least left a note so I wouldn’t have been—”
“What’s the problem, Jace—afraid of the dark?”
“What’s wrong with you all of a sudden? You’re acting like you’re mad at me. As a matter of fact, lately you’ve been acting like you’re mad at the whole world.”
“Just leave me alone, will you? I’ve got a headache, I’ve had a rotten day and all of you are pissed at me because I ratted on Aaron.” She stopped in the middle of the hallway and turned around to face Jace. “You’d have thought Quinn would be at least a little upset with Aaron, wouldn’t you? The guy slept with Quinn’s girlfriend and Quinn acted like it was no big deal.”
“It wasn’t a big deal to Quinn. You know how he is with women. None of them mean anything to him.”
Marcy heaved a deep sigh. Yeah, Jace was right. In the ten years she’d worked for Quinn, women had come in and out of his life and he’d never been serious about any of them. She had fantasized that she’d be the woman who’d finally capture his heart, that one day he’d look at her and realize she was the only woman for him. But that hadn’t happened and it never would. She’d been fooling herself to think she’d ever be more to Quinn than a friend and an employee. He’d told her numerous times how much he valued her as his assistant and as his friend. There had been a couple of times when, if she’d taken advantage of the moment, they might have become lovers, but she wanted to be more than Quinn’s lover. She wanted to be the love of his life.
But why should he want her, even as a temporary lover, when practically every woman he met fell at his feet? She hated all those other women, especially the ones who kept coming back into Quinn’s life—ones like Lulu Vanderley and Kendall Wells. She had despised Lulu. The woman had treated her as if she were nothing more than a servant, someone she could order around and then dismiss with a wave of her hand.
“Earth to Marcy.” Jace wiggled his fingers in front of her face.
“Huh?”
“Where’d you go?”
“What? Where I’ve been is none of your business.”
“Jeez, you’re really out of it. I wasn’t asking where you’d been tonight. Why should I care? I just meant where’d your mind go. You were off in la-la land somewhere.”
Before she could thoroughly process Jace’s question, Aaron came out of the kitchen, a Coke in one hand. “Don’t you know that any time Marcy’s daydreaming, she’s thinking about the boss?”
Whirling around, she shot Aaron with a deadly look. “Shut up. You don’t know anything.”
“I know you’ve had the hots for Quinn as long as I’ve been working for him.” Aaron put the canned cola to his mouth and downed a hefty swig.
“I said shut up!” Get hold of yourself. Stop overreacting. Aaron knows how to push all your buttons. He likes getting a reaction out of you.
“Ah, leave her alone, will you? The boss wants us to lay off her.” Jace frowned at Aaron. “Besides, it’s not like she can help herself. What woman could resist Quinn?”
“You know, Jace, old buddy, this hero-worship act of yours is wearing a little thin,” Aaron said. “We all like Quinn. We’re all grateful to him for helping us, for being a great boss and a real friend. But he doesn’t expect you to bow and scrape and he’s the last one who’d want you putting him up on a pedestal.”
Behind his wire-framed lenses, Jace’s eyes widened with concern. “Has Quinn said something to you about—”
“Nah, man, that’s just me talking.” Aaron swigged on his cola as he headed toward the living room. After sitting on the sofa and picking up the TV remote, he said, “Where have you two been? I was going to order pizza, but I waited for y’all to get back.”
“I just rode around,” Jace said. “Kind of took in Memphis. I drove downtown, checked out Beale Street.”
Think fast, Marcy, she told herself. It’s none of their business where you’ve been or what you’ve done. It’s not as if Aaron actually cares. He’s just making conversation. You can tell him a half-truth. That should satisfy him.
“I called the car rental place and had them pick me up so I could rent an SUV for myself,” she said. “That way we don’t have to share a vehicle and Quinn did give me the okay to do it.”
“Want me to order that pizza?” Jace asked, apparently hoping his question would diffuse the tension in the air.
“Sure, kid, go ahead,” Aaron said. “Order enough for Quinn, too, just in case he comes home tonight. Remember, he likes extra pepperoni.”
“I can finish up the sauce and boil some pasta if y’all would rather have spaghetti instead.” Marcy glanced from Jace to Aaron.
“Don’t bother,” Aaron said. “Save it for tomorrow. We’d rather have pizza.”
Grinning, Jace nodded and headed for the kitchen. The minute they were alone in the living room, Marcy walked over and blocked Aaron’s view of the TV. He had the sound muted, but his gaze was focused on the screen.
Aaron glanced up at her. “Want something?”
“I want you to stop ribbing Jace. He’s just a kid, not even twenty. He looks up to Quinn, sees him as a role model.”
“Jace knows I don’t mean anything by what I say, but if you really think my kidding is getting to him, I can cool it.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
When she kept standing in front of him, Aaron hardened his gaze. “Is there something else?”
“You do realize that Jace isn’t the only one who sees Quinn as a role model, don’t you? In your own way, you admire him as much as Jace does. You’d like to be just like Quinn and that’s the reason you slept with Lulu Vanderley.”
Aaron shrugged. “Are you psychoanalyzing me? You think you’ve got me all figured out. Is that it?”
Aaron surprised her by shooting up off the sofa and getting right in her face, which meant him looking down at her since he was so much taller. Marcy’s heartbeat accelerated as Aaron reached out and grabbed her shoulders. Gasping at his unexpected move, her gaze clashed with his.
“Have you ever thought maybe there’s only one of Quinn’s women I really want? The one he’s never had?”
Marcy couldn’t breathe. Aaron was too close. And he was confusing her by the way he acted and by what he said. Surely he didn’t mean he wanted her. They’d been buddies, of a sort, ever since Aaron came to work for Quinn nearly six years ago, but there had never been any sexual chemistry between them. At least not on her part. But then again, she’d been so nuts about Quinn for such a long time she barely noticed other men.
Marcy gulped. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
Loosening his tight grip on her shoulders, Aaron eased one hand down to clasp her waist and the other up to cup the back of her neck. “Say that you suddenly realized you’d rather have me than Quinn.”
Marcy’s heart fluttered maddeningly. “I’m confused. You’ve never acted like…sometimes you treat me as if I irritate the hell out of you.”
“You do irritate the hell out of me, especially when you’re mooning over Quinn.”
Aaron looked at her as if she was the most important thing in the world to him. All she had to do was stand on tiptoe and lift her face to him and he’d kiss her. But did she want that? Did she want Aaron to—?
“Pizza’s ordered. Be here in twenty-five minutes,” Jace called just before he came out of the kitchen.
Marcy and Aaron jumped apart as if they’d been caught on the verge of committing a crime. Heat rose up from inside Marcy, flushing her face, creating moisture on her upper lip and between her breasts. When Jace walked into the living room, she forced a casual smile.
“Why don’t you see if you can find us something to watch on TV,” Marcy said. “I’m going to change into my sweats. Be right back.”
She practically ran out of the room, but not before she caught a
quick glimpse of Aaron, who had the oddest expression on his face. Whatever he was thinking, however he was feeling had to be a jumble of thoughts and emotions as crazy as hers. He had to know that things would never be the same between them. Not after he’d all but come out and said he wanted her. Wanted her the way a man wants a woman. At twenty-eight, she should be sexually experienced; but she wasn’t. Of course, she wasn’t a virgin either. Her own father had sexually abused her from the time she was eleven until she ran away from home at sixteen. She hadn’t seen either of her parents since and a part of her hoped they were both dead. She blamed her mother as much as her father for those years of abuse because her mother had known and done nothing to stop it. And although she’d been halfway in love with Quinn since he’d rescued her and helped her turn her life around, there had never been anything of a sexual nature between them.
Once inside her bedroom, she went straight into the connecting three-quarter bath, turned on the faucets and filled her cupped hands with cold water. After splashing her face several times, she yanked a hand towel from the rack and patted her skin dry. Lifting her gaze, she stared at herself in the mirror.
“How do you feel about Aaron?” she asked herself aloud.
You quivered inside when he touched you. Got butterflies in your tummy and your heart beat ninety to nothing. And when you thought he was going to kiss you, you didn’t try to turn away from him. Did you want him to kiss you?
“Yes,” she told the image staring at her from the mirror. “Yes, I wanted him to kiss me.”
Quinn hadn’t spoken a word to her since they drove away from Kendall Wells’s house and headed away from South Bluff. His big hands gripped the Porsche’s steering wheel forcefully. With his jaw taut and his eyes glued to the road ahead, Annabelle more than sensed his anxiety—she actually felt the edgy unease radiating from him. Alone with him in the semidark confinement of his car, she wondered what had possessed her to come to his rescue, to whisk him away from what she perceived as harm’s way. Yes, it was in her nature to be a protector, a caretaker, to soothe and nurture. But why Quinn Cortez of all people?
Have you forgotten that he’s a suspect in Lulu’s murder?
No, she hadn’t forgotten. And for all she knew, he might wind up being a suspect in Kendall Wells’s death, also. But every instinct within her told her that this man was no murderer.
Was she a fool to trust her own instincts when everything feminine within her was drawn to all that was masculine in Quinn? She had never been so physically captivated by a man, so sexually enticed, so emotionally connected. These odd yet powerful feelings confused her. How could she be so strongly attracted to a man who was not only a stranger, but possibly a dangerous stranger? A wise woman would steer clear of him or at the very least learn everything she could about him before she disregarded common sense. If she asked Griffin Powell for a condensed report on Quinn, enough to give her some insight into who the man really was, would he share that information with her?
When Annabelle realized how close they were to her hotel, she felt a strange urgency to keep Quinn with her. Do something, she told herself. Don’t let him drop you off and drive away.
She said the first thing that popped into her mind. “You don’t suppose Griffin might have a report for us by now, do you?”
Quinn let out a long, deep breath as if her breaking the silence eased some kind of ache trapped inside him. “I doubt it. Nothing that would actually help us.”
“We could call him,” Annabelle said. “Or just drop by his suite.”
Quinn pulled the Porsche up to the front entrance of the Peabody. “If you don’t want me to leave, just say so.” Turning to face her, he draped his arm over the passenger seat and leaned toward her.
Annabelle’s breath caught in her throat. “I don’t want you to leave.”
Squinting his dark eyes into mere slits, he studied her, his gaze raking over her face with pensive intensity. “I’m trouble, honey. Bad trouble. Trouble with a capital T. Are you sure you can handle me?”
With her nerves quivering and her femininity clenching, she shook her head. “When it comes to you, Mr. Cortez, I’m not sure of anything.”
* * *
Wythe rushed out of the elevator and ran down the corridor to the apartment that Vanderley, Inc. maintained in Memphis. His pulse raced. His heart was practically jumping out of his chest. When he tried to unlock the door, his hand shook so badly that he nearly dropped the key.
God, what if someone had recognized him? If anyone found out where he’d been and what he’d done—no, he couldn’t let that happen. He’d been discreet, taken every precaution. But what if the police were already involved?
Finally managing to insert the key, he unlocked the door, opened it and hurried into the apartment. Thank God Anna-belle hadn’t stayed here with him; otherwise she’d be here now and might suspect what he’d done.
Wythe locked the door behind him and went straight to the bathroom. He needed to shower and get rid of his clothes. He’d send them to the cleaners first thing in the morning. Just in case. No point taking any chances.
Once he had stripped and stood under the delicious warm water, he sighed. She wouldn’t identify him. He’d made sure of that. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He never meant to hurt any of them. But sometimes he simply couldn’t stop himself.
Griffin Powell stared at the faxes in his hand. A gnawing sense of unease spread through him as he considered the implications of the information in both faxes. It was too soon to jump to conclusions, not without more facts. Initially, he’d put three of his best people on this job, investigating Lulu Vanderley’s murder at the same time the Memphis PD was scrambling to find and arrest her killer. His people understood how important it was to stay just under law enforcement’s radar whenever possible. It was counterproductive to step on John Law’s toes. The Powell agency didn’t actually work with the law, but rather alongside it and never in opposition.
He scanned the first fax sent from his Knoxville office. If this was true, then Wythe Vanderley was a real sicko. Griffin grunted. He had no sympathy for sexual predators, no matter how mentally ill they might be or how badly they might have once been abused themselves. He was a man who believed in basic, ancient principles. Some people didn’t deserve to live. If he had his way, sexual perverts would be wiped off the face of the earth. And if half of what his investigators had discovered about Wythe Vanderley was true…
There was no point in confronting Annabelle with these findings. Not yet. It was possible she had no idea what kind of man her cousin Wythe actually was. But she had vacated Vanderley Inc.’s executive apartment as soon as Wythe had moved in, so that had to mean something.
Griffin put the second fax atop the first. This was the one that filled his mind with questions. Questions he wanted answered. Questions it would take more than three investigators to track down and unearth the answers to.
If the MO wasn’t identical and if Quinn Cortez wasn’t involved, he could chalk it up to coincidence. One of the things he’d told his crew at Knoxville headquarters to do was start searching for any other murders similar to Lulu Vanderley’s, starting with Tennessee and working out to surrounding states.
New Orleans lounge singer Joy Ellis had been murdered in her apartment. Smothered to death. No report of rape or any physical violence, other than what it took to subdue her. And no evidence leading to a suspect. Another investigative team might not have dug any deeper, but that’s why his agency was the best. They always went one step further. Far enough in this case to learn that the lady’s right index finger had been severed. Postmortem. A fact never released to the press.
Griffin huffed. Damn, Quinn, if you knew about this, why didn’t you tell me? By hiring me, you had to know I’d find out. That fact led Griffin to believe there was a good chance Quinn had no idea that Joy Ellis, the woman with whom he’d shared a very brief affair when he’d vacationed in New Orleans almost a year ago, had been murdered the day he left town
.
Was it possible Quinn killed both Lulu and Joy?
Griffin survived by his instincts. They had kept him alive in numerous dangerous circumstances. He never ignored what he felt in his gut. And his gut told him Quinn Cortez was capable of killing, just as he was, just as most people were, given the right set of circumstances. But unless he’d badly misjudged the guy, Griffin didn’t believe Cortez was a murderer.
“Excuse me, sir.” Sanders stood in the doorway to his bedroom.
“Yes, what is it?” Griffin kept his back to his old friend.
“You should turn on the television. They’ve interrupted local broadcasting to go live to the scene of a murder in the South Bluff area.”
Griffin glanced over his shoulder at Sanders. The man never made idle requests. Griffin nodded, then walked over, picked up the remote control and turned on the power to the television.
“Channel three. WREG’s late night news.”
He clicked in the number, then focused on the screen.
“The police have not commented on any details of the murder,” the reporter said. “We’ve been told that Director of Police Jay Danley will issue a statement in approximately an hour. This is the second murder of a well-known and highly respected Memphis resident in seventy-two hours and speculation is running high as to whether or not there is a connection, considering renowned trial lawyer Quinn Cortez was involved with both women.”
A tight knot formed in Griffin’s gut. He cast Sanders a Goddamn-it glance before returning his attention to the television screen.
“Kendall Wells was Mr. Cortez’s lawyer and it’s rumored the two have been close personal friends for a number of years,” the reporter continued.
Griffin clicked the OFF button, dropped the remote onto the coffee table and stomped across the room to the telephone. As he dialed the number, he looked at Sanders. “See if you can get in touch with Cortez. I want to see him. Tonight.”
“Yes, sir.”
Griffin nodded, then when the office manager for Powell Investigations answered her home phone, Griffin said, “This is Griffin Powell. Hunt down Ben Sullivan and tell him to contact me ASAP. I need half a dozen more investigators on the Cortez/Vanderley case and I need them on it yesterday.”
Amnesia Page 17
