Pink Neon

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  Cecily alternated between a rage so powerful she’d smite the son-of-a-bitch if she could and an urge to weep. As she tried to form a credible answer, Daniel spoke up. “You’re out of line, Frank,” he said. “You’ve got no evidence to get warrants, nothing but the fact no one’s turned up any other possible suspects.”

  “I can get warrants,” Tillman replied in a smug voice.

  “It’s impossible unless you come up with something more than you’ve got,” Daniel said. “You’d have to look into her stories, verify her presence in Branson. Unless you can prove some blank spots, you’ve got nothing. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to pin the crime on Ms. Brown.”

  His words sucked the air from the room and left it still, a terrible calm before an approaching storm. Tillman glared at Daniel but he never looked at Cecily. “Is that an accusation, Agent Padilla?”

  Daniel’s dark eyes smoldered. Damn he can be lethal and I like it. I’m ready to haul ass out of here anytime. I wish he’d take me home.

  “No, not yet,” Daniel said. “I call things as I see them, though. You need to back off.”

  “You need to butt out. Ms. Brown, how did it feel when you shot your ex-husband in the head? Did you enjoy it? Was it payback for something he did during your marriage?”

  With a flourish, Tillman ripped sheets from a folder and tossed down crime scene photos in front of Cecily. Willard lay in a puddle of blood, face half-gone, and brain matter leaking into the gore. No matter how much she’d come to loath the man, the pictures upset Cecily. She might’ve grown up in a piss poor neighborhood but nothing prepared her for such vivid evidence of violence. The graphic images sickened her and would no matter who it was sprawled in death. Cecily gasped and looked away but Tillman picked up one of the photos and thrust it in her face. “Take a closer look, Ms. Brown. Did you do this? Is this your handiwork or did you hire it done?”

  Daniel grasped the photo and tossed it face down onto the table. “It’s over,” he said with a snarl. “You’re out of line, big time, Frank. Ms. Brown, I apologize for this ugliness. You’re free to go. Come on, I’ll drive you back to Branson.”

  Cecily managed to stand and nod. “Thank you, Mr. Padilla.”

  “I won’t forget this,” Daniel said, his eyes locked with Tillman’s. “I brought this woman in good faith for an interview, not an interrogation. You went far beyond the parameters we’re allowed.”

  Tillman shook his head. “Martin’s going to hear about this, all of it. I’m convinced she’s guilty and that’s what I’ll tell him. Ms. Brown, I’d suggest you don’t leave Branson and make sure we can find you. Padilla, you’re going to have to answer for this insubordination.”

  “Do what you have to,” Daniel said. “And so will I.”

  He lifted his hand toward the door so Cecily walked out of it. Daniel followed. He said nothing but he punched the elevator button with more force than necessary. When the doors parted, she entered and so did he. In the privacy of the brief descent, Daniel pulled her into his arms. “I’m so sorry, querida,” he said. “I knew it would be difficult but I didn’t expect it to be so ugly.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she told him. “What now?”

  Daniel shook his head. “Let’s get the hell out of here first. Then we talk.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Head held high despite her inner turmoil Cecily strolled through the lobby and outside. She gasped to fill her lungs with air, inhaling the late summer scent of just mown grass and dust. Her legs threatened to buckle under but she managed the few steps to Daniel’s car. He hadn’t spoken since the elevator, maybe because he figured they remained under scrutiny. After he unlocked the car and held the door for her, Cecily crawled into the seat and resisted an urge to bury her face in her hands. Her feet hurt from the heels and she kicked them off before Daniel slid behind the wheel. He shot her a sympathetic glance but said nothing, just started the car and pulled out into traffic. By the time he merged into traffic on a busy main thoroughfare, Cecily’s breathing reached a normal, even rhythm. She thought it must be mid-afternoon or later but the clock on the digital dashboard confirmed it was just after noon.

  “Where are we headed?” she asked.

  At the traffic light he stopped in queue and took her hand. “You okay?”

  “I guess,” she said although her stomach ached and a headache threatened. “That was awful.”

  “Yeah and I’m sorry,” Daniel replied. “I didn’t expect it to be so intense. I’ll buy you lunch if you want.”

  “Uh-uh,” she said. Food lacked any appeal. “My tummy’s upset and I’d rather just go home.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Do you want to stop for a Sprite or something?”

  She started to refuse but then she nodded. “Yeah, thanks. Maybe we could pick up something for my headache, too.”

  “We can.”

  At a Dollar General store, Cecily waited while Daniel went inside. He brought her the cold soft drink and some ibuprofen tablets. She took several and washed them down with soda, eyes shut as she savored the crisp coolness. When she opened her eyes, he handed her a silk rose.

  “What’s that for?”

  “I thought you’d like it,” he said. “It’s beautiful, like you.”

  For the first time since walking out of the FBI office, Cecily smiled. “Thanks, sugar. I do. You’re sweet to cheer me up.”

  “I try,” he said with a faint flicker of a grin. “Put your head back and rest. I’ll get you back to Branson in no time but fasten the damn seatbelt.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, with a laugh. She did and then settled down as he headed out of town. Although she wouldn’t have thought she could, not with her nerves so tight, Cecily shut her eyes and drifted into a light doze. Under any other circumstances and with almost anyone else, she wouldn’t trust enough to sleep. Her phone jingled and she roused up, momentarily confused. She blinked and read the caller ID. “It’s Nia,” she said. “Hello?”

  “What the fuck is going on down there?” her cousin said.

  “Whaddya mean?”

  “You haven’t called me, bitch,” Nia said without heat. “Is he got you distracted?”

  Cecily shot a glance at Daniel. “Well, yes but a lot’s happened.”

  “Something wrong?”

  She wanted to tell, to babble the truth out to gain sympathy and support but she didn’t dare. Daniel’s quizzical glance shifted. “Is it your cousin on the phone?”

  “Hang on, Nia,” she said. “Yeah, why?”

  “You think she’d come down to mind your shop for you?”

  “She might. Do you think she should?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt,” Daniel told her. “I’ve got a half assed plan but keeping the store open would be better than not. Ask her.”

  “Can I tell her what’s going down?”

  His sigh puffed out with noise. “I think you probably should.”

  Her tummy shifted with a gurgle and a wave of nausea. Cecily swigged Sprite to tame it and said, “Hey, Nia?”

  With a sharp tone, her cousin said, “What’s going on? Cecily, tell me or so help me God I’ll be down there.”

  She always did have a little bit of that fey thing, like our mamas. “I think you should come, girl. How soon can you get here?”

  “It depends on when I can get a flight but I can be there today. Are you in trouble?”

  “Not yet,” Cecily said. “But I’m about to be slammed with some big time shit.”

  Nia caught her breath loud enough to hear. “You’re scaring the hell out of me. What’s going on?”

  Cecily sketched out the basics of her predicament and described the interview at the FBI office. “Jesus,” Nia said when she finished. “It sounds like a mess. What’s your boyfriend think about all this shit or have you told him?”

  “Daniel knows,” she replied. “He’s an FBI agent too.”

  “What?” Nia roared. “You’re kidding.”

  “N
o, it’s true but he’s helping me.”

  “You sure he’s cool?”

  She delivered the ultimate approval and knew her cousin would understand the meaning even if Daniel didn’t grasp it yet. “I trust him, all the way.”

  “Shut my mouth!” Nia exclaimed. “You’re far gone, then, girl.”

  I might as well have admitted I love him. I haven’t even admitted it to myself until now but I love Daniel.

  “Yeah, I am,” she said, astounded, afraid, and awed by her revelation. “So are you coming?”

  “Of course I am,” Nia replied. “I’ll call you and let you know when to pick me up, hear?”

  “Okay.”

  Her stomach lurched as soon as she hung up the phone and Cecily knew she’d be puking soon. “Daniel,” she gasped. “You gotta pull over. I’m going to be sick.”

  Within seconds, he veered onto the shoulder and came to a stop. She fumbled with the shoulder harness and couldn’t undo the latch until Daniel reached across to free her. Then she opened the car door and hung her head out. Hot vomit exploded out of her mouth and spattered the pavement as her tummy clenched like a fist. “Oh, god,” she said and retched again. The comforting weight of a hand touched her back and scooped back her braids. “Thank you, Daniel.”

  “De nada,” he said. “Are you sick or it is your nerves?”

  Eyes streaming, tummy still tight, she drew a breath and almost gagged at the puke smell. “It’s just a gut reaction, sugar,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

  His dark eyes scrutinized her face. “You look so pale,” he said. A worry line bisected his forehead. “Can I do anything to help?”

  “I wish you had a cold, wet wash cloth so I could wipe my face and hands,” she said, knowing she asked the impossible.

  “I can come close,” Daniel said. He ratted around in the back seat and pulled out a container of wet wipes. “They’re not cold but they’re damp.”

  “Thank you,” she cried. “These will do.”

  “If you’re done puking, then I’ll get you home so you can settle down.”

  “I think I am.”

  He rested his palm against her cheek for a moment. “Then we’ll go querida.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes in response to his kindness. Daniel didn’t bitch at her for not feeling well or be impatient. What she’d told him had been true – she’d suffered a gut reaction to a major upset, something she’d done since childhood although the even had to be big to affect her normally cast iron stomach. Daniel’s compassion eased some of the lingering nausea. She looked up at him with a smile and he caught sight of her tears.

  “Que tienes?” he asked. “Cecily, what’s wrong? Do you have a pain?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m feeling a little better but you’re awesome.”

  Daniel snorted. “I don’t know about that but if you’re all right, we’ll go.”

  “I’m okay.”

  On the remainder of the drive back into Branson, she fell asleep, soothed by the sound of the music on his car stereo. She roused to Daniel’s voice saying her name and came awake quick.

  “We’re home, chica,” he told her. “If you feel like it, we need to talk before your cousin arrives.”

  “Okay,” she said. Her head felt thick and packed in cotton but her earlier headache had gone away. “Sure, sugar. I need to change clothes first, though.”

  Ten minutes later, her navy suit hung back in the closet, the killer heels parked in the bottom, Cecily came out of the bedroom in shorts and a tank top, barefooted to find Daniel waiting on the couch. He stood up. “You look better,” he said. “You feel all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “You don’t have to fuss over me.”

  She liked the fact he did, though, a lot. Daniel met her and brushed her hair back with his hand. “I want to make sure you’re okay, querida. You had a terrible experience today and there’s a lot to deal with.”

  “I can handle it,” she said with bravado and then laughed. Yeah, she’d handled it great, puking onto the side of the road. “Well, I will when this mess is over.”

  “We’re a long way from there,” he told her. “But we’ll get through it.”

  “So, what happens next? What’s the agent going to do now?”

  “I imagine he’s already reported to Martin, my supervisor, special agent in charge in Kansas City. He’ll be calling me any time now. It seems like we left hours ago but it’s been less than two hours,” Daniel said. He wrapped his arms around her and she cuddled against him. “Unless I read it wrong, Tillman’s going to offer his opinion you’re guilty for murder. They’ll need more than that but they’ll start digging. Martin will ask me to check into your stories here, see if I can prove or disprove your whereabouts at the time of death. And he’ll have some of the Chicago office checking out things there.”

  “Will they arrest me?”

  “Not if I can help it, no,” he said. “We’ve got a few days for them to try to turn up information but something about this doesn’t smell right to me. I’ve got a hunch someone’s paying off someone to skew the facts. Did your old man have anyone who would try it?”

  “I’m sure he did,” Cecily said. “His attorney’s a snake. He would. I don’t know if he did but he’s capable of it, the bastard. So what do we do?”

  “We have to find out who killed Bradford before anyone pins it on you. And we have to get you out of here before whoever did the job comes after you.”

  He said it as if it was simple but she knew it wasn’t. “How can we figure out who killed him? And why would they come after me?”

  “You’ll tell me everything you know that might help,” he said. “But to make sure they don’t take you into custody and no one finds you who shouldn’t, we’re going somewhere safe.”

  “What about Nia?”

  “She’s going to run your store for now so it doesn’t tip off the FBI we’re gone,” Daniel said. “Don’t worry – she’ll be safe or I wouldn’t let you ask her to come. You have to trust me.”

  “I do,” she said. “Where are going?”

  Daniel’s level gaze never wavered. “Texas,” he said. “Then to Mexico if necessary.”

  Images of the wide plains of west Texas filled her mind, scenes from movies. She’d seldom been to the Lone Star State and her rare visits had been to the major cities. And she’d never been south of the border but she’d be willing to go there or anywhere else in his company. A year ago, six months, even a month ago Cecily couldn’t have imagined any willingness to run away with anyone but she’d agree to go to hell and back with Daniel.

  “All right,” she said. “When do we leave?”

  Something almost imperceptible shifted in his expression. “Tomorrow,” he said. “As soon as I can get things ready for the trip, get your cousin set up, we’ll go.”

  “Okay. Where do we start?”

  Before he could answer, his cell phone buzzed and he held up one hand. “It’s Martin,” he said. “I have to take this.”

  She nodded, understanding. “Go ahead.”

  “Padilla,” he barked into the phone. “Yeah, I dropped off Ms. Brown earlier. No, I’m aware what Tillman thinks but I’m not in agreement with him. He hammered her pretty damn hard but I don’t see any apparent guilt. What? No, I don’t think she showed any motive or extreme hostility toward her ex-spouse, no more than most divorced woman do. Yeah, I can stay here another few days, check out her stories, see if I can find someone to confirm her whereabouts. No problem.”

  Head cocked, Daniel listened but his body language indicated anger – and danger. His tense stance radiated the silent calm of a gunfighter about to face down an enemy. Red stained his cheeks and his eyes glittered with irritation. After what seemed to be a long time, a period where she could hear his boss’ voice but not make out the words, Daniel spoke. “I understand, Martin. I’m not leaning one way or another here, just presenting my take on the situation. I’ll keep her under surveillance and I’ll get
back to you. Absolutely. Yeah, you do.”

  Stillness shattered the moment he disconnected. “Fuck!” he shouted. “Mother fucking son of a bitch whore! ¡Chíngate, Martin.”

  Cecily waited and when he stopped cussing under his breath, she said, “What’s he want?”

  “I’m supposed to keep an eye on you, let him know if you do anything odd or try to run,” Daniel said. “He’s taking Tillman’s bullshit seriously. Like I expected, he’s got agents looking for documentations in Chicago. If someone’s paying enough, they’ll find an agent to lie or doctor evidence. It happens, even in the bureau.”

  “It still sounds scary,” she said. “Even more frightening because someone might come after me.”

  “It is but I’ll work it out,” he said. “It’ll be all right, Cecily.”

  For a woman on the verge of being charged with murder and grand theft, a woman struggling to make a new life, and someone who’d survived a decade in a hellish marriage only to hit a new patch of trouble, she should be worried and scared down deep. And she was – but she possessed a new happiness too, one she couldn’t even begin to describe. She put her arms around Daniel and sighed. “I believe you, sugar.”

  “Do you, querida?” he asked, sounding amused.

  “I do,” Cecily told him. “And I need you.”

  She meant to convey need in an emotional sense, a longing to have him nearby and to be part of her life. But the words stirred her loins and evoked an inner fire. The stern expression he’d wore since their visit to Springfield faded and he looked down at her, his eyes lit with desire.

  “Something like this?” he said and kissed her. His lips moved over her mouth without haste and lingered. Cecily tasted something pungent and powerful on his tongue, not quite vodka, definitely not whiskey. The faint remnant raised her body temperature another level and her lips molded against his, soft and pliable as well-kneaded dough. His hands invaded beneath her tank top and fondled her breasts. She hadn’t put on a bra and now she shivered as his fingers tempted and touched. Cecily lacked panties so and when Daniel probed lower, he found the curly mat above her pussy. He stroked it as she pushed against him, craving more.