He had to grin as he remembered the parrot, Merlin. He was a magical bird indeed if he’d frightened off Gene Ames. Jake would like to be there when Gene discovered who, and what, had spoiled this particular ambush.
After David Cable had left, Kirke made herself a cup of coffee and tried to wipe away the exhaustion she felt.
She microwaved the last of the turkey and wild rice soup she’d made and frozen a month earlier. It was thick and rich and just enough. She cut some pineapple slices for Merlin. He signaled his approval by singing a few notes from “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien,” a song on her favorite Edith Piaf CD. Somehow he managed to catch the late French singer’s throaty, sultry sound. It was one of the few sounds he’d picked up from her. The others obviously came from the drug dealers. Expletives were, unfortunately, not uncommon.
She needed a bath, a long, hot, scented one. She ran the water, turned on her Piaf CD, poured a glass of wine, and sank gratefully into the tub full of bubbles. Merlin flew into the bathroom and perched on the sink, regarding her with interest. Spade nested in her robe beside the tub.
The bathtub was her thinking place.
The fear was gone. The intruder had been a burglar, plain and simple, and Merlin had frightened him away. As for the computer, maybe the burglar was trying to obtain financial information. She would watch her accounts for the next few days.
She had a good security system. She would just have to ask Sam to make sure it was always on. He was often careless about it. To be truthful, she’d grown complacent as well. But she’d nailed down the back window as soon as David Cable left.
She felt safer.
Her thoughts turned to David Cable. It had been a long time since she’d had such an immediate and visceral reaction to a man. Especially when it wasn’t wise. She’d never seen such guarded eyes.
Military. Or law enforcement. He was one of the two. She worked with police and knew the breed. She liked them, admired them, but she would never marry one and had turned down dates from several. They held so much inside that they often found it difficult to communicate with anyone other than another cop. She’d heard of too many divorces for that reason.
Why hadn’t she asked him if he knew someone named Mitch Edwards? Why hadn’t she mentioned the letter?
Too many mysteries, she answered herself. He was too cautious with his words, too cool with responses. Then there was the fact that Mark Cable hadn’t asked her to give it to his brother. If he wanted David to have it, wouldn’t he have asked her to give it to him?
She got out of the tub, pulled on a robe, and went to her landline phone. She punched in 411 for information in New York and asked for the number of a David Cable, giving the address she’d seen on the driver’s license. No such number was listed.
She hung up, then went to her computer and brought up a site she’d used as a reporter, one that provided background checks of people for a price. She used the free service first, typing in David Cable/New York. Fifty David Cables appeared. The service listed their ages but no addresses.
She eliminated those who were outside his age range. That included anyone over fifty and younger than thirty-five. The list narrowed to ten names. She decided to take those ten to the second level, which meant a fee. None of the subsequent addresses and phone numbers matched her David Cable.
Okay. Instead of pursuing the name, she would try the address he’d given her. She Googled the address. It belonged to a corporation.
Possible. Some people did business from a home held by a corporation for tax reasons. A further search revealed it was headquartered in Delaware. Then a dead end. She could find nothing on the listed officers. Probably attorneys who would claim privilege.
The phone rang, and she immediately recognized the voice of the subject of her search.
She’d been too startled to react immediately, other than to assure him she had taken the precautions he’d suggested. The deep, concerned voice, though, warmed her. In truth, it sent sparks through her.
Before she could say anything more, he’d hung up and left her staring at her telephone.
He was just as much as a mystery as before.
Back to the computer. She decided to try Mark Cable. The detective said the address she’d discovered in his wallet didn’t exist. Or at least the police couldn’t find it. She remembered it was a Virginia driver’s license.
She ran a search for Mark Cable, narrowing the search to Virginia. Nothing likely, so she went to the counties near Washington. Maybe he’d been with the government. Again she aimed for men in the right age range. She came up with nineteen this time. She paid again for the more detailed information.
She looked at the clock. Nearly midnight, and it had been a very long day. Time to end her quest. For tonight, anyway. Dammit. She’d found exactly nothing.
She shut off the computer.
“G’night?” Merlin asked.
“Good night,” she agreed.
She went to the fridge, found several more pieces of pineapple, and mixed it with the bird food. Merlin perched on her shoulder, his eyes following the pineapple pieces as a miser eyed his gold. She took the food to his cage, and Merlin flew in and started eating his treats. He’d earned them today. More than earned them.
When she’d first acquired him, she’d kept the cage in her bedroom, but soon she discovered as long as a light was on, he would chat. Incessantly. She’d moved his cage to the living room, and they’d come to a much better accommodation. At night, she would cover the cage, and as long as he didn’t hear any noises, he was silent until she she got up.
When he finished his treats, she cleaned out the bottom of the cage, taking out the soiled newspaper pages and replacing them with fresh ones. She located the envelope still tucked among several pages, unsullied by Merlin’s necessities.
Could the burglar have been after the letter?
An overly vivid imagination, she told herself. This had been a simple burglary.
Still, she tucked the envelope inside the fresh pages. Safest place for it. If anyone did try to look, Merlin would most certainly bite, and he had a nasty one. She covered his cage, and Merlin fell silent. Spade followed her into the bedroom and jumped up on the bed, making a circle before collapsing in a fuzzy ball.
Sleep didn’t come as easily as it usually did after a busy day. She kept seeing those dark, intense eyes and rerunning in her head everything the detective said about Mark Cable. Plastic surgery. An address that didn’t exist.
After her admittedly superficial research, there were even more questions. Most people had a background littered with records. Deeds, employment, taxes. David Cable apparently had none. Neither did Mark Cable. But then she’d done little more than a cursory search. Maybe Robin Taylor could help her. An investigative reporter for the Atlanta Observer and an old friend, Robin was superb at digging out information.
She ached to open the envelope. But it wasn’t hers. It had been given to her in trust by a dying man.
She promised herself that she would call Robin in the morning. If they made no more progress in her hunt for Mitch Edwards, then she would reconsider looking inside the envelope.
CHAPTER 8
Kirke woke, glanced at the clock, and rolled out of bed. Six a.m.
Even when she’d been up as late as she had been last night, she automatically woke when the sun rose. It was a curse.
No time to loiter, though. She was off today, and she had a mission. She’d remained awake much of the night thinking about the next steps she should take. Her thoughts kept returning to Robin.
Problem was they hadn’t seen each other in many months, and her friend Robin had a curiosity that equaled hers. Making things more difficult, Robin’s husband was an FBI agent.
He was the police Mark Cable had warned her against.
Was a branch of law enforcement involved in some conspiracy? Would that include the FBI?
Or was it something simpler? And possibly illegal?
She went outside.
She didn’t see Sam’s car, which meant he hadn’t arrived home yet. She wanted to tell him what happened yesterday and warn him about the alarm system. Maybe he would overrule her decision not to go to the police.
Coffee. That’s what she needed. She reached for the can and looked inside. Empty. She needed other things as well. Mainly food. Always happened during those days she worked twelve to fourteen hours. She was often too tired at the end of the day to go shopping. When she got home, all she usually wanted was a hot bath.
Yet she had to admit she was an adrenaline junkie. She had been that at the newspaper and was even more so now. A good story couldn’t compare with saving a person’s life. Still, some calls were haunting. She’d been told in training that a paramedic couldn’t dwell on those. But some memories persisted. She expected that included the battered woman yesterday, as well as Mark Cable, who was so desperate to reach a man named Edwards.
She had gone over the incident a dozen times in her mind, and she was convinced Mark Cable knew he was dying. Some great wrong to be righted?
Which made his urgency so much more imperative to her.
She looked at the clock. Six thirty.
There was a cafe she often patronized three blocks away, and it was a walk she enjoyed. She dressed in jeans and her old Save the Whales T-shirt. The walk would give her time to think.
Merlin protested as she reached for her purse.
“I’ll be back soon,” she said. She rubbed his head and tempted him back into the cage. She didn’t like to leave him free while she was gone.
“Bye-bye,” he said sadly.
Guilt trip. That was better than some of the words she’d heard him repeat. She swung her purse over her shoulder and opened the door. The sky was a deep blue. It would be another scorcher today, but now there was the slightest breeze. The fresh air felt good. She would go for a run in the park tomorrow morning. It cleared her head, but now she had too much to do.
She checked the street in front of her. No one lurking outside. Not even David Cable, and she was surprised at how sorry she was that he wasn’t. She’d felt safe with him. Safe and … awakened.
She reached the café, bought a paper in the stand outside, and went inside. It was nearly full this morning, and she recognized many of the regulars. She took a small corner table and spread out the paper in front of her. Maybe there would be some news about Mark Cable. Or anything else that might give her a clue.
The waitress brought her a pot of coffee, and Kirke ordered two eggs over light, hash brown potatoes, bacon, and toast. A leisurely breakfast cooked by someone else. Heaven.
She turned to the paper and flipped through it. Nothing about the mysterious patient nor about any leads in apprehending the driver. In fact, the accident wasn’t mentioned at all. Yesterday’s news. When she got home she would call Robin and suggest she investigate the hit-and-run, tell her that she was worried it would fall through the law enforcement cracks.
That way she wouldn’t have to mention the envelope but would be privy to any information Robin gathered.
Satisfied that she had a strategy, she relished every bite of her breakfast as she finished reading the paper. It was eight thirty when she finished. She left a hefty tip since she’d taken the table for so long.
The street was busy when she left. Nothing looked odd, though. She would get back, call Robin, and then do errands. Groceries. Laundry. Gas for the car. Bills. She always tried to get those out of the way her first day off.
Would David Cable show up again? She certainly hadn’t expected him to call last night. Nor had she expected the frisson of pure desire that had shot through her.
She walked swiftly, something she’d learned at the newspaper when she had to walk a fast mile from the office to the statehouse.
Kirke turned the corner, when seemingly out of nowhere a man dressed in jeans and a loose jacket brushed against her, whisking her purse from her arm. She forgot everything that she’d been told about just letting it go, and, yelling like a banshee, she grabbed the strap and held on.
He turned so unexpectedly that she wasn’t prepared when his hand slammed against her face. She stumbled and went tumbling into the street. A car narrowly avoided her, then another bore down on her before she could scramble to her feet.
Arms swept around her, and she was thrown onto the sidewalk. A body landed next to her. The fall knocked the wind from her. Her right eye hurt like the furies, as did her cheek. She looked down and saw blood running from several cuts.
But she was alive!
She was aware of a crowd gathering, of pain beginning in several distinct sites in her body. She looked at the man who was sitting up next to her. The man who most probably had saved her life.
David Cable. The shock was almost as stunning as the blow to her face.
So he hadn’t left Atlanta last night. And how had he been so handy?
It didn’t matter. She was alive because of him.
A car had screeched to a stop not far from her and a woman ran over to them. “I’m sorry … I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you until it was too late. Just suddenly …” She burst into tears.
“It’s okay,” Kirke said to the woman. “Someone pushed me …” Her voice trembled. She hated that.
“I called the police and an ambulance,” a bystander said.
“I saw it all,” another said. “I can describe the attacker.”
But Kirke’s gaze returned to David Cable and the blood running down his shirt, the same one he’d worn yesterday. “You … you’ve been hurt,” she said.
He moved closer, knelt beside her. “Never mind me,” he said. “What about you?” His hands ran over her with an expertise that told her he’d had medical training. His fingers barely brushed her injured cheek with a gentleness she hadn’t expected.
Her heart pounded harder, and she felt a funny jolt deep inside her stomach. Pain seeped away for the moment.
She struggled to keep that knowledge to herself. “I’m battered but alive, thanks to you.”
“Next time don’t hold on to the purse,” he said curtly.
“I’ve had self-defense training,” she protested.
“And what’s the first thing they teach you? I think it’s surrendering whatever an assailant wants?”
She knew that, but everything happened so quickly, she’d just reacted. She decided to change the subject. “Are you really okay?”
“Yeah,” he said.
She heard the sound of a siren.
He obviously did, too. He touched her check again and wiped away blood with his fingers. There was an odd tenderness about it, especially after his curt comment about her purse. Then he stood.
He glanced at his watch. “I have to go. I missed the plane last night … can’t miss another.”
She tried to stand, but she was too dizzy. Her head hurt. “You should wait—”
“I’m okay. Just a superficial cut, but you’ve had a blow to your head. Stay where you are. Wait for the ambulance.”
And then he was gone.
She wanted to go after him, but when she tried to stand, her legs buckled under her, and her head felt as if someone was beating it with a stick.
“Maybe you shouldn’t try to get up,” one of the bystanders said. It was the person who’d called 911.
He was right—she shouldn’t. Kirke knew that better than anyone. You didn’t play around with a head injury. Anger filled her … anger and humiliation. Sitting there bleeding with a number of people gathered around, she better understood now how some of her patients must feel. The public display of helplessness, of being a victim, was mortifying.
“You’re going to have one heck of a shiner,” another person said helpfully.
She touched her face and felt the cut. Probably a ring from her assailant’s finger.
Then a man pushed aside the others and handed her a purse. “I followed the guy,” he said simply. “He threw it down. Probably didn’t want to be caught with it.”
“Thanks,” Kirke said.
“Better check it,” he persisted.
She did as he suggested. Cell phone gone. Wallet gone. Lipstick and other stuff still there. Her driver’s license, thank God, was still in a special zip pocket in the front. After losing a wallet prior to taking the self-defense course, she now kept her license separate in her purse.
She didn’t worry about the money, but the cell phone was her constant companion.
“My cell …”
She stopped. Better her cell phone than her life. She’d come so close …
Before she could say anything else, she heard the familiar wail of an ambulance and turned toward the street as it pulled up in front of her.
She recognized the paramedic who jumped out and ran to her. A police car roared up seconds later.
“It’s nothing, Tommy,” she said to the paramedic, echoing the words of David Cable moments earlier.
Tommy sighed. Paramedics were notoriously bad patients. “You know the drill, Kirke. I have to take vitals and put patches on those cuts.”
Kirke waited impatiently until he finished.
“Everything looks all right ’cept for that shiner and those cuts. You’ll probably need some stitches and probably should have a doctor look at that head injury.
“Stitches?”
“Shouldn’t leave a scar,” he assured her.
“I really should talk to the police first.”
“At the hospital,” he said.
“They’re here now.”
“Make it short,” Tom grumbled.
She talked to the two officers. She knew one of them. Pat Harris. She described the purse snatcher, adding her description to that of the witnesses who remained.
“And this guy who rescued you?” Pat asked.
She hesitated. He hadn’t wanted to stay, and she didn’t think it was because of a plane. He obviously didn’t want to be there when the police arrived. He’d just saved her life. She owed him the benefit of the doubt.
Catch a Shadow Page 7
