One Hot Target

by Diane Pershing

  “Thank you. I’ll consider it.”

  “Carm,” JR said, standing right in front of her, his arms fisted at his sides, “come to my place.”

  “No thanks. I’ll be fine.”

  “No, you won’t, and I’m not leaving.” She saw a small muscle in his jaw working overtime; he was well and truly pissed off at her. Well, the feeling was mutual.

  “Yes, you are leaving,” she said, glaring at him. “Dammit, JR. You can’t have it both ways. You give me the lecture from hell about how I need to stop asking other people to clean up my messes, and then every time I try to take care of myself, you’re right there, ready to hop in and fix it. Give it up. Get a life. Go on your date. I’ll take care of myself.”

  His initial reaction to her outburst was to look stunned. Then, mouth in a thin line, he nodded. “All right. Fine.”

  What she’d said and the way she’d said it might have surprised him but it had totally blown her away. Wow. She never stood up for herself that way. Never. To anyone. What had come out of her mouth sounded more like Shannon than her; Carmen usually backed away from confrontation, walked out on arguments.

  Not today, though.

  And even though she knew both men’s concern for her echoed her own and was founded on—she had to admit—real possibilities, standing up for herself had felt great!

  Except that she’d hurt JR, just a little, she could see, and she hated that.

  But still, she knew she was right. If any action was needed, she would take it herself. Filled with a new-but-not-unwelcome sensation of having grown a spine, she said, politely but pointedly, “Goodbye, gentlemen.”

  Both of them walked out the door, but stopped on the other side of the threshold. JR looked at Mac. “Can’t you do anything?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing myself.”

  Her heart melted, just a little, at the sight of two highly masculine, action-oriented types thrown for a complete loss. “Thanks for caring so much,” she said, adding, “I mean it,” before closing the door.

  She went to the window and watched them leave. After that, a quick glance down the alleyway let her know that Gidget’s shopping cart was gone, which meant she and Bonzo wouldn’t be around to stand guard.

  Facts were facts. Night was closing in and she lived alone in a high-crime area. There had been an attempt to break in to her house the other night. She might have drawn a line in the sand, but she wasn’t an idiot. She walked over to the phone and punched in her sister’s number. “Shannon? It’s me. Want company tonight?”

  There wasn’t much of a turnout at the funeral chapel the next morning—twenty or so people, all crowded up front near the casket. JR and Carmen sat halfway up the aisle. Every so often he glanced over to see how she was holding up. Apart from the look of sad sympathy on her face, she seemed okay.

  He was not.

  Yesterday, after she’d ordered him and Mac out, he’d kept watch on her place and had been relieved when, within the hour, Shannon had come for her. He’d watched them drive off, hadn’t seen another car following and had finally relaxed…for the moment. When, later on, Carmen had called and asked him to pick her up at Shannon’s for the funeral, he’d acted appropriately surprised at her location.

  But he’d canceled his date for that night. He’d only made it because he’d been determined to get past this thing he felt for Carmen, the thing that had nothing to do with their long friendship. Love? Lust? A possibly neurotic need to rescue her? All of the above?

  Was any of it returned?

  She’d kissed him. Yesterday afternoon, after their return from Santa Barbara and before the entire sandals revelation, she’d kissed him. And he’d kissed her back. It was not a “friend” kiss; no, there had been a spark. More than a spark, the beginning of a flame, a two-way flame.

  But he didn’t know what it meant—to Carmen. Didn’t know what to do with it or about it.

  JR didn’t like feeling this way. It felt passive and he was not, by nature, a passive man. He liked himself. He was hard-working and responsible, self-confident. He could be easy-going, but only up to a point, and then he could turn cold, decisive. Firm.

  Except when it came to Carmen, to getting past this thing he felt for her. One kiss and he was waiting to see what would happen next. One whiff of danger to her, and he was ready to quit his job, sell his condo and drag her to another continent, if it would ensure her safety. Getting over Carmen? Not on today’s agenda, that was for sure.

  And so they were here at Peg Davis’s funeral in Torrance. Carmen had dressed in what was, for her, conservative clothing. A long, navy-blue skirt with a print of pale tulips, and several layers on top—an off-the-shoulder T-shirt with something loosely woven over it that hung to her waist, and a knitted shawl around her shoulders, crystals dangling from her ears. Eclectic odds and ends, as always, and they somehow wound up working well. Carmen’s clothes were all soft; they moved with her, accented her innate sensuality. He wondered sometimes if she was aware of the effect she had on others. Stirred his loins, for sure, every time.

  Her attention at the moment seemed to be focused on Peg Davis’s husband’s back, as he sat stiffly in his Marines uniform. All around him were relatives and friends, the women sobbing softly and dressed in black.

  JR angled his head around. Sure enough, Mac was still there, in the rear, his gaze scanning the room, a frown on his face. When JR made eye contact with him, he nodded, once, then went back to his vigil. A uniformed cop stood to the side of the rear door, so Carmen was safe, at least for now.

  When the service was over, JR and Carmen rose together and watched the family filing out. After they’d paid their respects, he glanced around for Mac, but he was nowhere in sight.

  Outside in the parking lot, he asked her if she wanted to go to the graveside, but she shook her head. “We don’t really belong there.”

  “Okay, then, where to now? I cleared the morning.”

  “You didn’t have to do that, JR.” Her smile was sweet, letting him know she was glad he had.

  “I wanted to.”

  “Thanks.” She thought for a moment, then her face lit up. “You know where I’d love to go? The Venice boardwalk. That always cheers me up.”

  “I was hoping you’d choose someplace a little less public, Carm.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Because you think I’m a target?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “Didn’t we have this discussion yesterday? And didn’t I tell you I can’t live my life that way?”

  “I’d hoped you’d changed your mind.”

  “I didn’t.” She sighed, gazed around her. “JR, I saw a woman die a few days ago. And we just came from her funeral. Life is too short. Way too short. I won’t live it looking over my shoulder. If someone is out to get me—and until you give me proof, I still don’t think they are—then being out in the open air, surrounded by people, feels as safe to me as anyplace else. I’m going to the boardwalk.”

  “Then so am I.”

  As they drove north, JR tried to tamp down his anxiety about Carmen’s safety. He kept an eye on the rearview mirror. From what he could tell, he didn’t think they were being followed, but being on the lookout for bad guys in cars wasn’t his job. Was Mac still with them?

  When they’d spoken outside Carmen’s little house yesterday, the detective had said all they had at the moment was a theory, and theories didn’t warrant police protection. But Mac had promised he’d do all he could, at least until they knew if they were on the right trail.

  And JR had believed him. He’d met many officers of the law over the years, had heard numerous horror stories from other lawyers, but Mac seemed to have a little more heart and a little less need to clear cases, no matter the cost, than most.

  Carmen needed protection, that much JR knew, whether she wanted it or not. Maybe he would hire a private firm to do that. Even if she protested. He would do it anyway.

  The Venice boardwalk was actually
a long, paved strip that ran parallel to the ocean for several miles. It was a mix of new, upscale, ocean-view homes and rundown brick apartments in need of repair, alongside modest restaurants, businesses and shops. A mélange of vendors were set up on the ocean side of the walk, selling original art and jewelry, hawking tarot card readings and massages. There were deep discounts on socks, T-shirts, sunglasses and bikinis; body piercing and tattoos were available.

  The day was a gray, overcast one; summer was gone and with it, the tourists. Even so, a steady stream of people of all ethnicities and ages rode by on bicycles, strolled, jogged and inline skated. At the outdoor basketball courts, a few men shot hoops; nearby, several muscular specimens worked diligently on becoming more so.

  And pouring out of each storefront and vendor’s cart, there was music. As Carmen and JR walked along, the music changed every few seconds, like a radio set to Scan. Salsa, rap, reggae, folk, Kanye West to Ella Fitzgerald to Beethoven. Carmen, with her amazing ability to escape reality, bopped and hummed along with each new rhythm. She seemed happy to be here.

  JR, on the other hand, couldn’t help wondering if any of the faces they passed belonged to a killer.

  “Hey, JR,” Carmen said with a happy smile. “Race you to the water.” Before her words registered, she’d slipped off her shoes and was running over the sand toward the shoreline.

  He took one last look around the crowd before kicking off his loafers, peeling off his dress socks and taking off after her. Hell, what did he know? Maybe being on guard was a waste of time. Was he allowing the atmosphere of the past few days to get to him? The murder, the investigation, Mac’s frowning face, the funeral—had it influenced his thinking?

  What were the odds, knowing what he did about Carmen and her life, that someone was actually trying to kill her? Maybe there was some other explanation for this entire thing, one that had nothing to do with Carmen being in danger.

  “Carmen,” he shouted as he gained on her, “give it up. You can’t win!”

  He managed to pass her but stopped short at the water’s edge; she ran partway into the surf, holding her skirt above the waves, dancing and laughing. “It’s freezing! Come on in.”

  “If it’s freezing, why would I want to?”

  “Chicken!”

  “And proud of it,” he replied, smiling at the picture she made, at the way the wind whipped her hair and made her skirt billow around her knees. When she came out, shivering, he grabbed her hand and they jogged for a while in silence along the shoreline in the clear chill of an autumn afternoon, while sunlight danced on the water.

  After a while, they slowed down. Carmen said, “That poor man.”

  “Who?”

  “Her husband. Sergeant Davis. So stoic. I hope he breaks down soon.”

  “Men grieve differently from women. Or most of them do.”

  “Why do you think men don’t cry more?”

  “We’re taught not to. Society frowns. Or maybe it’s all physiological. We have a different hormonal structure.” JR shrugged. “Lots of reasons.”

  “But it’s such a relief to cry.” She angled her head to face him. “You don’t cry, do you?”

  “Not since I was a kid and someone took my Batman action figure.”

  “Poor JR. Who would have done such a cruel thing?”

  He chuckled. “Pretty much anyone back then. Remember?”

  Oh, yes, Carmen remembered. Her nerdy, awkward, socially backward little friend, Stanton Fitzgerald Ewing. Such a big name for such a little guy. He’d asked to be called Stan, but she’d refused, insisting instead that he call himself JR, after the character on the TV show, Dallas. The TV JR was cocky, confident and ruthless; Carmen had hoped her new friend would be a little more like a JR and a little less like a Stanley. For whatever reason, the name had stuck.

  She took in a huge breath of sea air and sighed happily. Next to the smell of mulch and fertilizer and newly watered roses, this was her favorite. Once again the ocean was doing its magic, relaxing her, helping her to forget. “Yes!” she said, letting go of JR’s hand, flinging her arms out and dancing in a circle, “I love the smell of rotten fish in the morning!”

  That got a laugh out of him, so she went on. “And tides fascinate me. They come from so far away, thousands of miles, all the way from Asia, along with the winds and stuff. Sometimes I think about a wave and its journey. You know, like it’s a person? It has this life span. It begins as this little bitty ripple thing, way, way back, and then it grows and gathers strength, and then it hits the shore and then it’s over.” She snapped her fingers. “A life. Gone. Like that.”

  For a moment it hit her again, the wasted young life of Peg Davis, and she nearly got sad again, but JR—who could always read her—gave her a crooked smile. “Waves aren’t human, Carm,” he said lightly. “They aren’t even animals.”

  “I know. I just think about it.”

  He reached out, grabbed her by the arms and pulled her to him. “You think about a lot of things, don’t you,” he said, smiling into her eyes. “Such a busy mind.”

  “Such a silly mind,” she said with a laugh, even though her mouth had suddenly gone dry, “filled with all kinds of silly things.”

  He was close, so close. Was he about to hug her? And would it be a friendship hug? Or was JR going to kiss her, the way she had kissed him yesterday? Were they about to start something? And did she want it to start?

  Oh, boy, talk about confusing.

  Dancing away from him, she glanced around, hoping to find some distraction. “Oh, look,” she said, bending over to pick up something shiny—a shell? An earring?—lying half-buried in the sand.

  The next few seconds happened in a flash, too quickly for her brain to register details.

  First she heard what sounded like a car backfiring, followed a fraction of a second later by a whiz-z-z-zing sound above her head. Without thinking she began to straighten up, but was tackled by JR, and not gently.

  “Hey!” she said, then didn’t get a chance to say or think much of anything else as she heard another backfiring car—no, no, not a car, something in her mind yelled at her, a bullet! More whiz-z-zing sounds. And JR was doing something weird—covering her body with his and rolling along the sand, over and over, like children tumbling down a snow-covered hill in the middle of winter. Only there was no hill. Or snow. They were on level ground, on the sand by the ocean.

  She heard a man shouting and a woman’s high-pitched scream. And finally, JR stopped making her roll over and over, coming to rest partly in the water. The ocean was freezing and she couldn’t stop shaking. JR lay on top of her like a huge, immovable lump.

  “JR?” she said, but he didn’t answer. “Hey, get off of me.”

  JR still wasn’t answering. Panicking, she pushed at him and managed to heave him aside so that he lay next to her, farther submerged in the water.

  Scrambling onto her knees, she stared at him. His eyes were closed. She didn’t see any blood, not at this angle. She shook his shoulder. He didn’t respond.

  He lay there, half in and half out of the ocean.

  Lifeless.

  Chapter 5

  There was noise. Too much noise. People shouting, gulls crying, waves crashing and someone, way too close, screaming his name.

  His eyelids fluttered open to see that the screamer was Carmen; the look on her face made him wonder if he was dead and seeing her from the vantage point of his own coffin. Then as he became aware of excruciating pain in his left shoulder, he knew he was still alive, and that Carmen was on the verge of losing it.

  “Hey!” he said in what he thought was a forceful voice, but it came out a croak.

  It was, at least, enough to cut her off in midscream.

  “JR?” The expression in her large brown eyes changed from alarm to one of relief. “Oh, JR! I thought you were dead.”

  “What happened?”

  “We were shot! I mean, you were. I think. Were you? Are you hurt?”

  “My
shoulder.” He tried to reach his right hand around to touch the place that was throbbing, but she pushed it away and examined his left shoulder.

  “Your suit has this rip in it, and the shirt, too. And there’s blood. Some. But not a lot. I mean, not like the other day.”

  “Good news.” It came out a grunt. The shoulder ached like a son of a bitch now; once more he closed his eyes against the pain.

  Someone came rushing up, and he heard a familiar voice say, “Medics are on the way.”

  “Mac?” he managed.

  “Yeah, Counselor.”

  “Did you get him?”

  A curse, followed by, “No. I was too far away.”

  “It’s his shoulder,” Carmen said.

  JR felt fingers at the pulse point in his throat. “Pulse is faster than normal, but it’s steady,” Mac said.

  “How did you get here so fast?” he heard Carmen ask.

  “Been following you all morning.”

  “Did you at least see who shot at us?”

  The detective muttered, “If I’d had backup, I would have nabbed his ass. Figure in black, like the other day. And he got away. Again.”

  JR forced himself to open his eyes. Two faces loomed over him, one weary and disgruntled, the other pale and scared. He ran his tongue around his dry mouth. He could hear sirens now; his shoulder felt like it was on fire. “Damn, that hurts,” he said, trying to get up.

  Carmen was holding tightly to his right hand; now she squeezed it in warning. “Don’t you dare move.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s just my shoulder.”

  “Stay put, Counselor,” Mac said. “The paramedics are here. They’re running toward us with a stretcher.”

  “I really don’t think I need—”

  “Shut up,” Carmen said, her eyes moist with unshed tears. “Just shut up! Damn you, JR. You saved my life.”

  He managed a crooked smile. “And all I get is a ‘Damn you’?”

  “You idiot. You could have been killed.”

  “But you weren’t.” Truly, that was all that was important—didn’t she see that?