One Hot Target

by Diane Pershing

  “Which used to get my dander up something fierce. Even though he was right.”

  “About so many things.”

  Both mother and daughter’s eyes filled briefly, then they smiled bittersweet smiles at each other. It had been four years since Gerald Coyle’s untimely death in a small plane crash, and the lack of his presence in all their lives was still felt deeply.

  “Okay,” Grace said, clapping her hands. “Enough digression. Back to making my garden bloom.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The cart was overflowing as they headed for the car. Out in the parking lot, as they passed an old station wagon, a dog began to bark. It was a similar bark to Bonzo’s and the sound made Carmen’s heart pound.

  Like that, the lovely sense of well-being was shattered. It came back to her, the thing she’d been able to forget since being in Santa Barbara for the past few hours. Last night’s terror, the barking dog and the sound of garbage can lids clattering and running feet. In the warmth of Grace’s love and gentle presence, among the earthy smells of a nursery, she’d managed to put the incident and its unsettling aftereffect away, but now it was back.

  Someone had been trying to get into her house. A figure in black, Gidget had said. Carmen’s imagination had made the leap to connecting that figure with the incident at Nordstrom.

  Which, if she thought about it, didn’t really make sense.

  First of all, Monday’s murder had nothing to do with her—she’d been the classic innocent bystander, that was all. Secondly, she lived in a high-crime neighborhood, where robberies were frequent. And, thirdly, didn’t dressing in black make sense if you were robbing people at night?

  Which brought to mind how lucky Carmen was that Gidget’s dog barked at intruders. Lucky even that Gidget slept in the nearby alleyway and, in a funny way, watched over her. Amazing. A homeless woman, acting as her protector.

  Protector.

  There it was again, that word, Carmen thought as she loaded the plants carefully into the back of her mom’s ancient station wagon. Yet one more protector for the screwup. JR and Mom and Dad and Shannon and Shane and Gidget. The list was endless. Step right up, ladies and gentlemen. Come take care of this poor, clueless girl who can’t seem to get it together enough to take care of herself.

  Hold it right there. Carmen shook her head to clear it. What in the world was she doing? Heavy self-pity was so not her style. The bright side, she always made herself look on the bright side. Which was…?

  That she was alive. She was healthy. She was loved. She was young enough to make changes.

  And she adored gardening. This afternoon, she would plant the flowers and shrubs she’d chosen for Grace, maybe take a walk in the woods that abutted the small abode-styled house Mom had moved to after Dad’s death. Something positive, some next step, would come to her. She just knew it.

  She turned around and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek.

  “What was that for?” Grace said, gray eyes twinkling.

  “Just because I love you.” Her mood having lightened considerably, Carmen hummed as she finished loading all kinds of lovely plants into her mother’s car.

  The intercom buzzed. JR, just back from the Venice storefront and eating a sandwich at his desk while catching up on his work, said absently, “Yes, Daisy?”

  “There’s a Detective Marshall on line four for you.”

  “Thanks.” Curious as to why the detective would be calling him, JR punched in the button and the speakerphone. “Detective?”

  “Mr. Ewing. How are you?”

  “It’s JR and I’m fine. What’s up?”

  “I’ve been trying to get hold of Ms. Coyle. I’ve left a couple of messages for her, but she hasn’t gotten back to me.”

  “I’m sure she’ll get back to you eventually.”

  “Yeah, well, I need her sooner than ‘eventually.’ Do you know where she is or how I can reach her? Does she have a cell phone?”

  “Detective?” JR smiled. “Remember that you’re talking to a lawyer.”

  “I remembered, trust me,” Mac said dryly.

  “And that means before I give you any information about Carmen, I want to be sure her best interests are being served.”

  “Fine. Okay, first of all, we’ve released the dead woman’s identity and she wanted to know that. It’s Margaret Davis. Peg for short. Her husband’s on his way back to the States and the funeral is on Friday.”

  “Thanks. Anything else?”

  “Yes. We’re reinterviewing all the witnesses.”

  “All of them?”

  The detective sighed the sigh of the world-weary. “Look, we know she didn’t kill the woman, and as far as we know, she has no connection with the victim.”

  “But…?”

  “Her name has…come up.”

  “Oh?”

  He expelled an irritated breath. “Counselor, all I want to do is talk to her. Do you know where she is? Again, does she have a cell phone?”

  Her name had “come up,” JR thought. He could have asked in what context, but he was pretty sure he already knew. The police had had time to delve more deeply into the witnesses’ backgrounds, including Carmen’s, and learn about her association with Tio Schluter. JR’s two years in the D.A.’s office had taught him that any hint, the merest sniff of law-breaking or association with lawbreakers, and she’d be placed right on the front burner. A Person of Interest. It was the way the cops worked and, ninety-five percent of the time, they were right to do so.

  It was just that Carmen, his Carmen, belonged in that other five percent, and he would make sure the authorities knew it.

  “Detective, I’ll see if I can locate her and pass along your message.”

  “Will that be ‘eventually’ or ‘sooner’?” he asked.

  JR smiled. “We can only hope it’s the latter. Goodbye.”

  Carmen ran her tongue over her mouth as she washed off a dinner plate before handing it to Grace, who was on drying duty. “You ought to franchise your spaghetti sauce, Mom, honest. It has to be the most delicious ever.”

  Grace laughed softly. “And you’re feeling better, aren’t you?”

  Carmen handed her mother the clean plate and grinned at her. “What was your first clue?”

  “The fact that you actually ate your dinner. I couldn’t get you to take a bite at lunch and you completely avoided the cookies I brought out this afternoon. You and I are the exact opposite. When I’m troubled, I eat. When you’re troubled, you lose your appetite.”

  The ringing wall phone made Grace reach for the receiver. “Hello?…JR. How nice to hear from you… Yes, she is.” Smiling, she handed the phone to Carmen.

  After wiping her hands, she took the phone. “Hi, JR,” she said, feeling uncharacteristically shy.

  Their conversation this morning had been an awkward one, and she’d thought about him intermittently for much of the day, especially in light of what Shannon had said about his feelings for her. Was it possible her sister was right? Or was it her older sibling’s own love-life-deprived state that made her see hearts and flowers where none existed?

  “I thought you’d want to know,” JR said. “The shooting victim’s name is Margaret Davis, Peg for short. The funeral is the day after tomorrow.”

  In a flash, the pictures in her head came back. The woman lying on the floor of the dressing room, blood pumping out of her. Carmen had to swallow before saying, “I want to be there. I’ll get a bus out tomorrow.”

  “I have a deposition in Ventura at ten a.m. tomorrow, so why don’t I swing by in the afternoon and pick you up?”

  “It’s out of your way, JR. Really, I’m fine on the bus.”

  Her mother, hands deep in soapy water, glanced over at her with a questioning look in her eyes. Carmen put her hand over the mouthpiece. “He’ll be in Ventura tomorrow and wants to drive me back.”

  “And your problem with that is…?”

  At the same time she heard JR say, “Carmen, I’m practically
there. I’m not going out of my way, I promise.”

  She was cutting off her nose to spite her face, as the expression went. A pretty silly expression, if you thought about it, all those discarded noses. “Well, okay. Yes.”

  The problem wasn’t just that JR would be going out of his way—and whether he said it or not, he was—but that Carmen didn’t, or part of her didn’t, want to go home. The thought of walking in the door of her little house gave her the willies. That sudden, shattering noise last night. The fleeing person in black that Gidget had seen.

  Which, if she stopped to think about it, might or might not have been the truth, given Gidget’s propensity for fantasy….

  But she had to go home eventually, right? She needed to get on with Phase Two of her life—the meaningful employment/career search. Mom had suggested she get some vocational aptitude testing. Not a bad idea. And in the meantime, she could probably get a job at a different nursery from the one she’d worked at before. It was the one thing she shone at, wasn’t it? And sure, it might not be big money, but maybe she could advance.

  Remembering the pep talk she’d given herself earlier in the day, she nodded. There was a place for her. Somewhere. There just had to be.

  During the two-hour ride back from Santa Barbara the next day, Carmen and JR automatically resumed their old, easy, relaxed way of interrelating, which was a huge relief to Carmen. He spoke about an interesting new invention one of his clients was working on and Carmen recounted some of Mom’s career suggestions. She waxed enthusiastically about all the new colors in Grace’s garden and he got her laughing at a new lawyer joke.

  And as the ride went on, Carmen decided Shannon was wrong. JR wasn’t in love with her; no, he simply adored her the way she adored him. They had this long, shared history, hours of talking and laughing, and just, well, just being friends.

  Then why, she had to wonder, did she keep taking peeks at his profile as he drove? Such a nice profile. A strong profile, in fact. And his mouth. It was a very sensual mouth. Why had she never really noticed his mouth?

  Because he was JR, she reminded herself. Practically her brother, they’d known each other so long. Although not her brother, in actual fact, which was the good news. Especially considering the sexy parts of the dream.

  The minute they got back to her place, JR headed for her kitchen sink and poured himself a glass of water. The ever-changing Southern California weather had turned hot. Eighty degrees in November, even at 5:00 p.m. He’d long ago removed his suit jacket, loosened his tie and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and now Carmen watched him as he took a drink. Such nice forearms. Long muscles, a fine sprinkling of light hair. Large hands. Had she ever really noticed his hands? Long fingers. Sturdy.

  What would it be like to touch him, to feel those long, sturdy fingers on her skin?

  Stop it.

  She told herself to remember way back when he’d first come into her life over twenty years ago. The sunken chest, the skinny arms. The bottle-thick glasses. Even though she’d been a year younger, she’d gotten her growth spurts before he did, and he’d been deeply unhappy about it.

  He’d since caught up, and had several inches on her now. Yup, JR was fully grown and quite a man, at that. A sort of…intellectual hunk. Emphasis on the hunk. Yum.

  No!

  JR was her friend, for heaven’s sake. She’d seen him through most of his love life, as he had seen her through hers. He’d had three or four semiserious relationships. They’d tried double-dating, but it never worked; her guys were more brawn than brain, and he always went for that classy, Wall Street Journal-subscriber type. The not-Carmen type.

  “Carm?”

  “Huh?”

  He was finished with his water and was gazing at her with amused affection. “You’re away in your head somewhere.”

  “Oh, was I? Not a great neighborhood to visit, trust me.”

  Mentally chastising herself, she walked into the living area and checked it out. All appeared to be as usual—clean, but cluttered. Nothing out of place, except for the stuff that was always out of place chez Carmen. Which meant no one had broken in. Whew.

  Should she tell JR what had happened? He would worry. And hadn’t she discounted it as anything important? Noises in the night, that was all. Big whoop. No, she decided. Not worth it.

  “Well,” JR said, “I’d better take off.”

  “Oh, I hoped you’d stay.”

  “I can’t. Sorry. But I’ll pick you up for the funeral tomorrow, nine o’clock. Okay?”

  “Why can’t you stay?”

  He offered a one-shoulder shrug and looked uncomfortable. “I’m busy.”

  “Got a hot date?” she teased.

  “A date, yeah. Whether it’s hot or not, I don’t know.”

  “Oh.” Her stomach plummeted to the floor. “Anyone I should know about?” she asked lightly.

  “I just met her. A lawyer from another firm in our building.”

  “Oh, well, good. Have a great time.” She turned away, astonished at the sick feeling of jealousy, even hurt, that she felt. This was nuts, totally and completely wacko. Having all these emotions about JR!

  “Carm?” she heard him say behind her.

  She kept walking toward the door. “Yes?”

  “Remember what I told you. Don’t talk to Mac unless I’m with you.”

  “Got it.” At the door, smile firmly in place, she turned around to face him. JR stood right there, close, and smelling wonderfully of male sweat and aftershave. “Go,” she said lightly. “Get gorgeous for your date.”

  And then she did the silliest thing. She reached up and stroked her knuckles along his jawline, just beginning to get bristly, so many hours after his early-morning shave. And, even sillier, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. Lightly, just a friendly little goodbye-between-friends peck on the mouth.

  Which didn’t end right away. No, there were sensations to record first: the surprising softness of his mouth, the firm, smooth skin of his lips, still moist after his glass of water. She had the craziest urge to run her tongue over those lips, sip from the same water. She held back…but, still, she lingered, just for a moment or two. She’d kissed him before, of course, but as an afterthought. This was no longer an afterthought.

  JR’s immediate reaction, Carmen couldn’t help noticing, was to stiffen, as though taken aback. But that didn’t last long, because he made a noise in the back of his throat, put his arms around her, drew her close and deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth to take more of her. As he did, the shock of discovery that went through her system made her gasp. It was the smallest, most sensual touch of his tongue that caused her heart to leap into her throat, her nipples to harden, and set up an instant throbbing between her legs. Uh-oh.

  Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, she took a step back, putting distance between them. “Go,” she said with a little laugh, averting her eyes.

  “Carm?”

  It wasn’t easy but she made herself look at him. The expression on his face was priceless. Turned on, oh yeah. And shocked, too. Totally, completely, thoroughly thrown for a loop. JR was never thrown for a loop.

  “Carm?” he said again, his voice gravelly, his gaze pinning her with both wonder and sexual intensity. “You kissed me.”

  “Hey, I’ve been doing that all our lives. Go, now.”

  “But—”

  She grabbed the doorknob, yanked the door open and stepped aside. “Go,” she said, more firmly now.

  He stared at her, obviously trying to get a grip on what was happening.

  “Go, JR,” she said again, more softly now. “Please.”

  After locking gazes with her for another few moments, finally, he gave a quick nod and walked out the door.

  She closed it behind him. Then and only then did she raise trembling fingers to her mouth. To touch the very place his lips had touched. “Whew,” she said aloud, stroking her fingertips over the heated skin of her lips. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the close
d door and drifted into some kind of trance.

  She had no idea how long it lasted, but the sound of knocking brought her back to reality. Had JR forgotten something? Or had he come back for more of what he’d tasted?

  Smiling to herself, Carmen opened the door to see Detective Marshall standing on the porch. A fine layer of perspiration covered his brown face, his tie was askew and he wore another droopy sports jacket, dull green this time. “Ms. Coyle. May I come in?”

  “I’m not supposed to talk to you. JR said.”

  “Okay then,” he said easily. “How about if I talk to you? You don’t have to say a thing.”

  She knew she shouldn’t let him in, that she’d given her word. But she was curious about this case, felt a deep, personal need to know more. And—maybe she was a fool—but she trusted Mac. Probably shouldn’t, but she did.

  She stood aside and he entered the room, surveying it as he did, then nodding. “Nice,” he said appreciatively.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. It looks cozy. You know, comfortable. Colorful. I like colors.”

  She loved her little nest, so his comment pleased her, and she found herself relaxing just a bit more. “Can I get you something? A soda?”

  “Nothing, thanks. May I sit?” He indicated the wooden chair adjacent to her overstuffed sofa.

  “Sure.” She moved over to the couch, sat and curled her legs under her. “What is it you want to say to me and that I don’t have to answer?”

  “Just that the other day…I should have asked you more questions.”

  “I told you all I remember.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes.” She had nothing to hide, she reminded herself. Nothing.

  “I checked up on you,” Detective Marshall said.

  “Checked up on me?” She already knew he had, of course; JR had told her.

  “We’re still no further along on the Nordstrom case. When we come up against a brick wall like this, we do background checks of the witnesses. And I got a report from Culver City P.D. about you. Well, about Phillip Tioka Schluter, dope dealer and small-time grifter. You’re his girlfriend.”