He released her and walked to the door. He spoke without looking back. “It’s the other way around, Hayley,” he said. “I don’t want to sleep with you because you’re Adam’s sister. I want to sleep with you in spite of it.”
When he’d been alive, Adam had loomed large in Hayley’s life. It seemed as if his death hadn’t changed that. He still cast a shadow she couldn’t escape. One way or another, his presence continued to tinge every relationship and each aspect of her world.
“Is Adam coming today?”
Hayley took a steadying breath, then picked up her father’s hand and gently chaffed his fingers between hers. His skin felt loose over his bones. “No, Dad. He won’t be coming.”
Ernie Tavistock dropped his head against the pillows, as if he’d spent all his energy lifting his head to look toward the door. His left lid drooped, as did the corner of his mouth. Through his thinning layer of white hair, his scalp looked as fragile as water-stained paper.
He had been such a powerful figure throughout Hayley’s childhood, she couldn’t get used to seeing him like this. Even a year ago, at seventy-one, he’d been exceptionally fit for his age. The stroke he had suffered last fall had devastated him physically, but it was the emotional blow of Adam’s death that had hit him the hardest. It was difficult for him to accept something so wrong.
There was no gray in Ernie Tavistock’s world, only black and white. Right and wrong, law and order, crime and punishment—he believed vehemently in all those clichés. His beliefs had propelled him to a distinguished career in public service. He had been a man everyone had looked up to.
Adam had followed in his footsteps every step of the way. He’d been the perfect son. He’d made Ernie proud with everything he’d done.
Hayley squeezed her father’s hand. As long as she could remember, she had wished she could make him proud of her, too. “It’s a lovely day. Let’s go outside.”
“Adam might call.”
“I’m sorry, Dad, but Adam’s gone.”
His chin trembled. He drew his hand away from hers. “I know, Hayley. Sometimes…I forget.”
She left the bed and moved to the wheelchair. She refolded the mohair throw that she had draped over the back. “The lilies beside the front entrance are blooming. We can go past there and then head toward the lake.”
“I remember now. The trial’s over.”
“Yes.”
He thumped his hand onto the mattress. “Sproule is free.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. He—”
“My son is dead and Sproule is walking around free. It’s a…travesty. It’s—” His words dissolved into a fit of coughing.
Hayley quickly took the pitcher from the bedside table, poured a cup of water and held it to his lips. “Please don’t upset yourself, Dad. You know that isn’t good for you.”
He swallowed a few mouthfuls and closed his eyes. He waved the rest of the water away.
She replaced the cup beside the pitcher, taking care that it didn’t block the picture of Adam that was propped there. “Dr. Byers is pleased with the progress you’re making. She wants to expand your therapy.”
He didn’t respond. He usually ignored any talk of his condition. Like Adam’s death, it didn’t fit with his view of the world.
Voices sounded in the corridor as two of the nurses went by. Hayley listened to the brisk squeak of their shoes on the tile as she lifted her gaze to the window on the other side of the bed.
The Applewood Manor nursing home was one of the top-rated long-term-care facilities in the state. Along with access to the best medical facilities and rehabilitation programs, it provided a healing environment, nestled into ten acres of well-tended grounds near the small lake that had given the town of Latchford its name. Her father’s insurance paid only part of the fees, her dwindling savings paid the rest.
Yet she knew in her heart that money wouldn’t buy what her father needed. If he was ever going to recover, he needed to get over his grief. He needed closure. He needed Oliver Sproule behind bars where he belonged.
Oh, how she wanted to give that to him.
“Talk to the D.A.,” he said. “Get him to appeal the verdict.”
“He refused. He said there wasn’t enough evidence.”
“I’ll ask the new commissioner. Johnson. Jim’s a good man. He came yesterday.”
“Jim can’t help, either. Dad, I—”
“Judge Mercer. We went fishing together. I’ll call him. He wouldn’t let my son’s murderer go free.”
He already did, she thought. They all did. She and her father had had variations of this conversation every day for the past week. It always ended the same way, with her father fading into himself just a little more.
She wasn’t sure when she had decided that Cooper had been right, but he was. It didn’t matter how Oliver ended up in prison as long as he did. It might not be the black-and-white justice Ernie wanted, but at least it would give him something to hope for.
Hayley pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat. She took her father’s hand again. “Dad, he won’t be free for long.”
He opened his eyes and looked at her.
“I’m not giving up.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I’m gathering evidence of Oliver Sproule’s other crimes. He’s going to face justice.”
“How?”
She saw a spark of hope in his gaze. She went on eagerly. “It’s too soon to tell anyone else yet, Dad, but I’m going to finish what Adam started. He discovered Sproule was using Latchford Marine to smuggle something into the country. I’m working on learning more. Sproule will be punished. I promise you.”
A flash of vitality tightened the slack muscles of his face. For an instant, he was the father she used to know, indestructible and invincible.
Hayley smiled. “It’ll work, Dad. You’ll see.”
And then you’ll let yourself heal.
And maybe then you’ll look at me the way you used to look at Adam.
And maybe, just maybe, you’ll love me back.
Chapter 7
From the corner of his eye Cooper saw Izzy weave his way through the crowd near the pool tables, his shaved head gleaming like a cue ball. He had his arm draped around the shoulders of a short brunette in a bright-pink tank top and his hand was already working its way under one strap. There was no danger of the top slipping down, though—it was stretched so tight across the woman’s bust it could have been spray-painted on.
Several heads turned to follow her display as she and Izzy approached the bar, but Cooper’s wasn’t one of them. He was remembering how classy Hayley had looked in her cream-colored suit the day she had come to the Long Shot. Then he thought about how good the weight of her breast had felt in his palm yesterday morning.
The towel squeaked so hard across the glass he was drying he felt the vibrations in his wrist. He set the glass down carefully. He’d already broken three tonight.
Why was she getting to him? He’d made a pass, she’d said no. End of story. He knew it was for the best. She was a passionate woman, but he didn’t need the complications that came along with her.
Damn, if he’d been smart, he would have walked away when he’d seen her on her belly in the rain.
The hell of it was, he couldn’t walk away now. She was proving to be more of a help than he’d anticipated. She was clever, and she was persistent. He still needed her.
And he still wished he could ease the loneliness he saw on her face, wrap her up and protect her, watch her sleep, make her smile, hear her laugh…
He braced the heels of his hands against the edge of the varnished pine slab in front of him. This bar was what he cared about. His business, his new life, the chance that Tony had given him, those were his priorities. Looking out for number one was how he’d survived until now. There was no room for weakness in his world.
Instead of being frustrated, he should be thankful Hayley had reminded him of that.
“Hey Webb!” Izzy stopped in front of t
he bar and grinned. His fingertips were no more than an inch above his girlfriend’s left nipple. “Nice place you got here.”
Cooper took a second to fix a bland expression on his face, then lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt above his elbows. “The hours suck but the pay’s good,” he said, echoing what Izzy had said to him. “Depending on the tips.”
Izzy laughed. With his free hand, he dug into the pocket of his pants and brought out a thick wad of bills. He nimbly thumbed off the one on the outside and slapped it on the bar. It was a fifty. “Give us a pair of tequilas. You can keep the change.”
Cooper picked up the bill and held it under the counterfeit scanner he kept out of sight beneath the bar. It was real. That ruled out one possibility about what Sproule was into. He snapped it between his fingers and handed it back. “Your drinks are on the house.”
Izzy stuffed the money back in his pocket. “What’d I tell you, Nina?” he said to the woman. “Cooper’s all right.”
She looked at Cooper and gave him a smile. Dark circles of mascara ringed her eyes. Two large gold hoops swung from her ears and a smaller one pierced her right nostril. Her mouth was covered with bright-red lipstick—hooker’s lipstick, Cooper thought—but her skin was as smooth and plump as a baby’s.
His gaze sharpened. He took a closer look at her features and realized she couldn’t be more than sixteen. Cooper set only one glass on the bar and reached for the tequila bottle. “You got any ID with you, Nina?”
The girl’s smile wavered. She looked at Izzy.
He tapped his fingers against her breast. “Come on, Webb. Does she look like a kid?”
The man was a pig. If Cooper didn’t want information from him, he’d throw him out. He poured a shot into the glass and pushed it toward him. “Ditch the jailbait, Izzy. Then we’ll talk.”
“Dammit, Cooper, I don’t care how old she is. I only been out one month and four days.” He snatched the shot glass and drained it in one gulp. He slammed it back on the bar. “Don’t you remember how it was?”
Cooper remembered, all right. When he had finished his prison term, it had been tough to control his physical drives after being celibate for so long. It had made him irritable, antsy and spoiling for a fight. But those urges had been unfocused. The ones he felt now were centered on only one woman.
Hell, couldn’t he get through two minutes without thinking about Hayley?
Under the makeup, Nina’s baby cheeks had turned as pink as her tank top at Izzy’s remark. Any doubts about her age were impossible after that blush. Cooper glanced around the barroom. He spotted Pete Wyzowski near the platform where the band was setting up and whistled through his teeth to get his attention. When Pete looked at him inquiringly, Cooper pointed at Nina, then cocked his thumb toward the door.
Izzy sputtered, but as soon as he saw Pete’s size, he stopped arguing. Pete had that effect on people. Cooper refilled Izzy’s glass and watched Nina leave. He trusted Pete to see that the girl got home safely. Whether she liked it or not, he would probably give her a free lecture along the way—Pete had raised four rebellious sisters of his own.
“Don’t get excited, Izzy,” Cooper said. “I just don’t want to lose my licence for serving a minor.”
“Damn.” He knocked back the second tequila as quickly as the first. “I already wasted more than fifteen bucks feeding her.”
Cooper braced his hands against the bar again, trying to remember why he shouldn’t throw Izzy out anyway. “Yeah, that’s some wad you’re carrying. What does Sproule have you doing for that?”
Izzy glanced around, then leaned one elbow on the bar and motioned Cooper closer. “I’ll show you.” He dipped his hand into his back pocket and pulled out a brown leather wallet. It was flat—the cash was in his other pocket—but it wasn’t empty. He slipped out a small, square packet and held it pinched between his first two fingers. “I was saving this for Nina.”
At first glance it looked like a condom. Cooper felt a wave of disgust. Then he noticed that the packet wasn’t the opaque foil of a condom wrapper, it had the gleam of plastic. There was some kind of white powder inside.
“Horse is easier to move than TVs,” Izzy said, waggling the packet between his fingers. “You got a good setup at this place. With the business you do here, in one night you could distribute—”
Cooper grabbed Izzy’s wrist and smashed his hand on the bar. “The Long Shot is clean.”
“Hey, man!”
“The only thing I sell here is liquor.”
Izzy tried to yank back his arm. “Take it easy. I’m trying to do you a favor.”
Cooper could feel the grind of bones beneath his fingers and realized he was a split second away from breaking Izzy’s wrist. Somehow he managed to restrain himself. “Does Sproule know you’re helping yourself to the merchandise?”
Izzy clawed at Cooper’s fingers with his other hand. “There’s lots more where this came from. He won’t miss it.”
“You stupid son of a bitch. When Sproule finds out what you’re doing, you’re dead.”
“Back off, Webb. And let go of my arm.”
“Is there some trouble here, Cooper?”
Cooper looked around. Ken Martinez, the Long Shot’s regular bartender, moved into the rectangle formed by the bar, a case of beer balanced on his shoulder. Ken swung the case to the floor one-handed and stood poised on the balls of his feet, his arms held in the deceptively relaxed readiness of a martial arts expert. Theresa, Ken’s wife, set down a tray of glasses on the other side of the bar and reached past them to put her hand on the phone.
“No problem,” Cooper said. “I’m just taking out the garbage.”
Ken and Theresa both nodded, yet they remained watchful. Cooper returned his gaze to Izzy. He no longer bothered to hide the revulsion he felt for the man. He released Izzy’s wrist and wiped his hand on his pants. “I’m only going to say this once, so pay attention. If you try pushing that stuff on a kid or bringing it anywhere near my bar, you better hope it’s Sproule who catches up with you first and not me.”
“It’s heroin.” Cooper stepped around the file boxes that were piled on the floor of the study and paced past the bookshelves, his big body moving with the fluid grace of a stalking predator. He looked edgy, dangerous and barely restrained.
Hayley swivelled the chair away from the computer to keep him in sight. “How do you know?”
“Izzy showed me a sample tonight.” He pivoted and walked to the window. He gave the curtain a yank to close it more securely. “It wasn’t pure white so it was already cut. He probably mixed it himself.”
While they had both guessed that it was likely drugs that were being smuggled, she still felt sick at the idea. Heroin. It was one of the worst, the drug of hard-core addicts. This was far more abhorrent than the theft and gambling that Oliver was already involved in. “What did you do?”
“I threw him out and flushed his junk down the toilet.”
“But I thought you wanted to work with him.”
“Not now. He’s skimming off Sproule’s profits. I don’t want anything to do with him.”
“You still have your connection to Sproule. I guess you didn’t really need Izzy.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “He brought that garbage to the Long Shot, Hayley. To my turf. He thought I would distribute it.”
Hayley had glimpsed his anger yesterday morning. It had been deep and cold. That had been mild compared to what she saw now. Tension flowed off him in waves. His fists were clenched. Beneath the rolled-up cuffs of his shirt, the veins stood out in his arms.
She had a pretty good idea what his foul mood was about. Izzy’s assumption that Cooper would deal drugs had insulted his honor.
Just as she had insulted his honor when she had suggested he wanted to sleep with her to get even with Adam.
Not for the first time, she wanted to apologize. The distance she had put between them yesterday was still there. They had k
ept their conversation limited to business since he had arrived at the house. He hadn’t flirted, he hadn’t touched her, he had scarcely made eye contact. Logically, she knew it was better that way—getting romantically involved with Cooper was the last thing she needed—but she missed the camaraderie they had developed in the truck.
Yet the situation was already volatile enough. It was after midnight, she was dead tired and it was difficult to keep her mind on business when his emotions weren’t stirred up. When he was like this, with his hair endearingly tousled by his fingers, the lines beside his mouth deepened by the shadows and his body heat sending delicate shudders tickling across her skin each time he walked past….
No. This was for the best. She wasn’t going to let her emotions cloud her thinking. She had her priorities straight. She swallowed her apology and swiveled back to the computer. “Did you find out anything else?”
He did another circuit of the room, then halted at the side of the desk. “That’s it, besides the fact that Izzy’s a pig, but I knew that already. What about you?”
Although she stopped herself from looking at him, she could see him on the edge of her vision, a tall, dark form still dominating her senses. She focused on the screen of the laptop. “I researched the company from Vladivostok that’s supplying parts to Latchford Marine.”
He hitched one hip on the desk. “Any luck?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, but it took me a day to unravel. It was a shell company nestled inside a whole series of shell companies.” She called up her e-mail program and scrolled through the messages. “I contacted a friend of mine in New York who works the overseas markets and asked if he could help me out.”
He leaned his shoulder toward her and twisted to see the screen. His shirt tightened, sending folds slanting down his torso. “Did he?”
She opened a message and pointed to the type halfway down the page. “Yes. That’s the name of the owner of the company. A Russian national named Stephan Volski. He divides his time between Chicago and Novosibirsk.”
The Angel and the Outlaw Page 9
