The Woman Who Wasn't There

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Hello? Hello?” she demanded between long, deep breaths. Only the dial tone droned in response.

  “I think it’s your cell phone,” the voice beside her said.

  Delene jerked awake with a start, her eyes flying open and widening as she stared at the man lying beside her in the bed.

  The naked man lying beside her in the bed.

  A low-key, sexy smile slipped across Troy’s lips in response to her scrutiny. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Reaching over her, he plucked the small, silver cell phone from the edge of the nightstand and handed it to her. The experience was more than fleetingly pleasurable, at least for him, he thought. She looked as if she was having trouble digesting his presence.

  “Troy Cavanaugh.” He pretended to introduce himself. “The man you slept with last night, quite spectacularly, I might add.”

  Delene blew out a breath, mentally scrambling to get her bearings. Last night and early this morning came back to her like a pony express rider on the first leg of his journey.

  She cleared her throat and prayed she sounded less rattled than she felt. “I know who you are, I’m just not used to waking up with someone in my bed.”

  That can change, Troy thought. He decided that maybe it was best to keep the response silent for the time being. Especially since he wasn’t altogether sure just what to do with this morning-after feeling.

  Something deeper was happening to him. Something had occurred last night, something beyond just the friendly, if somewhat intense, coupling of two people who enjoyed each other’s company.

  This was going to have consequences.

  Whether he wanted to welcome those consequences, to embrace them, or to vacate the premises with no forwarding address, he hadn’t quite worked out yet. All these years, he’d liked being free, being him. He’d glimpsed a new “him” last night, felt like a slightly different version of himself at this predawn hour, and that was going to take some analyzing.

  Sitting up, he moved the hair away from her neck and pressed a kiss there. She squirmed and waved her hand at him, indicating that she wanted him to move back.

  Indicating that he was interfering with her ability to think. He liked that. Because she sure as hell had interfered with his.

  Clutching the small phone in her hand, Delene pressed it to her ear. “Hello?”

  “She’s here,” a woman’s voice rasped.

  It took Delene less than a moment to realize who was on the other end of the line and who the “she” was that the woman was referring to. If there was an ounce of sleep left within her, it was gone now. “Kathy Springer?” Beside her, she felt Troy stiffen. He’d stopped trying to assault her ramparts, thank God.

  “I don’t know any Kathy,” Louise Patton insisted, impatience and annoyance resonating in her voice, “but Serena Sherman’s in the next room and she’s packing.”

  Delene kicked the sheet aside. She had to get moving. “I’m on my way. Thank you.”

  “Talk is cheap.” It was clear that the other woman was waiting for something.

  “You’ll be compensated,” Delene promised. She swung her legs out of the bed. “Keep her there as long as you can.”

  It was hard for Troy to focus on what he’d just pieced together from Delene’s side of the conversation. She got up, utterly nude with the last strains of moonlight playing over her more-than-perfect body.

  Somehow he managed to find his voice. “That the babysitter?”

  Delene crossed over to the bureau. She nodded as she grabbed fresh undergarments from a middle drawer. “She says Kathy’s packing. I asked her to stall as long as possible.”

  Despite his dedication, he could feel his body priming. Wanting her. Work had always come first. This was a new experience.

  He got out on his side and began to locate his clothes which had somehow gotten scattered. “You should have told her to tie the woman up. That way we’d have a little extra time.”

  She glanced at him as she hooked her bra, then stepped into her underwear. “I can get dressed fast,” she told him, thinking he might be one of those men who thought all women took a minimum of an hour to get ready.

  “I wasn’t thinking about you getting dressed.” Looking at her, he tugged on his own jeans. “I was thinking about another encore.”

  Pushing her closet door open, she decided to forgo putting on a uniform just yet. Instead, she took out a sweater and jeans. “You keep on doing encores and the show might have to close early.”

  Mischief and something more glinted in his eyes as he watched her from the foot of the bed. “But it would have had a hell of a run before that.”

  Delene laughed. It felt good. When was the last time she’d actually laughed out loud? She couldn’t remember. Couldn’t recall being happy enough to even feel like laughing.

  Careful, a voice inside her warned. Don’t get carried away.

  She glanced at her watch as she slipped on her shoes. “Speaking of running—”

  “Gotcha.” Dressed, Troy looked around for his footwear. He’d located one shoe, but the second one was eluding him. It hadn’t been beneath his clothes. He moved aside her dress on the floor, putting it on the bed. No shoe.

  Getting down on all fours, he looked under the bed and saw that somehow his left shoe had gotten kicked underneath. Out of reach, no matter which way he moved, he had to take his other shoe and use the tip to coax out the errant loafer.

  By the time he put it on, Delene was dressed and running her fingers through her hair in lieu of a comb. He shook his head in admiration. “Damn, you are fast.”

  She was already at the door. And smiling. “Just where it counts.”

  He had no idea what that meant, but he knew he wanted to explore it further as soon as they had time. “We’ll go in my car,” he said to the back of her head as they hurried down the stone stairs.

  The only light came from the moon and a tall lamp left on by the city. The residents in the surrounding apartments were all still asleep.

  Already halfway to her carport, Delene stopped to look at him. “Why your car?”

  If he noticed that she was challenging him, as if this was a control issue, he deliberately didn’t show it. “Because my car has the dispatch radio,” he told her easily.

  Torn, she hesitated for a moment longer. “We can use both.”

  He unlocked his door. “One’s faster.”

  She surrendered, although she wasn’t quite certain why. With a snort, she crossed to his vehicle and got into the passenger side. “That makes no sense.”

  Troy turned the ignition on. “Humor me.”

  Delene slid the seat belt’s metal tongue into the appropriate slot. “I thought that was what last night was about.”

  It was his turn to laugh. Deeply. The sound burrowed its way into her belly, warming her.

  Careful, Dee, she warned herself again. You don’t want to get used to this.

  But the problem was, part of her did want to get used to this. Did want to feel at ease with a man. Especially a man who had so successfully moved the earth beneath her feet with his lovemaking.

  “We’ll discuss that later,” he told her, turning his car around. They were on the main road in a matter of seconds. Except for two other vehicles, theirs was the only car traveling north.

  She stared at his profile. Light from passing street lamps moved in and out of the vehicle, highlighting the interior and then casting it back into semidarkness. Was he putting her on? Or was that a promise of some sort? “Later? There’s going to be a later?”

  He glanced at her before looking back at the road. “Has to be. Because there can’t be a now.” And he really wanted to make slow, languid love to her again. “We’ve got a witness to question.”

  She detected something in his voice, something beyond the latent desire. “You think she did it, don’t you?”

  He inclined his head slightly. “Packing up in the middle of the night kind of points in that direction.” />
  Delene tried to make excuses for the woman she’d never met. “Maybe she’s trying to get away from Mendoza’s men. Maybe she saw something.”

  “Maybe,” he allowed. Anything was possible, but somehow he doubted it. Troy spared a glance at the woman whose appetite for lovemaking had turned out to be a match for his own. “Since when do you have optimistic thoughts?”

  Delene retreated. “Optimistic?” she scoffed.

  You’re not quite pulling this off, Delene, he thought, amused. “I thought this job made you see the worst in everyone.”

  It wasn’t the job that had tainted her view of humanity. “I saw the worst long before I came to work for the Probation Department.”

  Since she seemed to be in a somewhat talkative mood, he decided to ask her another question that was bothering him. “Why did you come to work in the department?”

  She shifted in her seat, impatient to be there already. Afraid that somehow Kathy would bolt and they wouldn’t be able to find her.

  “So I could stay on top of the drug dealers.” She looked at him to see how he took her answer. The expression on his face told her it wasn’t the reply he’d expected. “For every drug dealer who gets busted and sent away, there’s that much less revenue being generated for Russell’s ‘clients.’”

  She knew that there were a great many dealers and sources of drugs, but somehow she felt that this all tied in with the people Russell represented. She could feel it.

  Given what she’d told him, he would have thought she’d want to maintain a low profile. “Most people would just try to keep clear of that.”

  She shrugged, looking forward. Willing time to stand still and the distance to disappear. “Yeah well, I’m not like most people.”

  Now there was an understatement, he thought.

  “Point taken,” Troy acknowledged.

  Taking the receiver from his radio, he put in a call to the policeman he’d left posted, watching the apartment building Kathy Springer lived in. If the babysitter failed to keep Kathy distracted long enough for them to arrive, it was up to the patrolman.

  ***

  Jagged, half-chewed nails caught in Kathy Springer’s stringy, dirty-blond hair as she ran her thin fingers through it nervously. Standing just a few feet away from the broken-down vehicle in which she was planning to make her escape, she looked at the policeman who had suddenly gotten in her way.

  “I haven’t done anything,” she cried, trying to push past him. It was like a twig trying to push down a tree. “Get out of my way.”

  The little girl, a tiny carbon copy of her mother, was holding on to Kathy’s short skirt. The child was wailing, frightened by all the noise and the tall, thin policeman looming over her mother.

  They could hear Rachel crying and Kathy pleading as they pulled up into the parking lot.

  They’d gotten here just in time, Delene thought. “Looks like the first line of defense failed,” she observed just before she jumped out of Troy’s boat of a car.

  Was she crazy? “You’re supposed to wait until the car comes to a full stop,” Troy cried as he pulled up the hand brake. He left the vehicle double parked behind a vintage VW Bug and he ran after Delene.

  Kathy Springer was breathing hard. Her mascara had long since smudged, giving her the appearance of a raccoon. A terrified raccoon, now that two more officials approached. Clearly panicked, she seemed to search for somewhere to run, an avenue of escape left open to her.

  There was none.

  And just like that, Kathy Springer surrendered. Her thin shoulders slumped in abject defeat.

  “Kathy Springer?” Troy called out to her.

  There was little light in her eyes as she looked in his direction. “Yeah.”

  Troy took out his badge and held it out for her as he approached. “I’m Detective Cavanaugh.” Putting his badge away, he nodded at Delene. “This is Probation Agent D’Angelo. We’d like a few words with you.”

  Still distrustful as well as nervous, Kathy wrinkled up her brow. “You want to talk? Just talk?”

  Troy glanced at Delene before answering. Given how she felt about control, he was surprised that she was letting him take the lead. “Yes. Why don’t we go back upstairs to your apartment?”

  But Kathy seemed disinclined to give up any ground. “I don’t—”

  “Or we could go down to the precinct,” he told her evenly. “Your choice.”

  Kathy looked at her daughter, still clinging to her. She took a deep breath, making her decision. “My apartment.”

  “Good choice,” Troy acknowledged. He glanced down at the terrified little girl. Taking a moment, he squatted down to Rachel’s level. “Hi.”

  She stared at him with eyes that were the color of cornflowers, even in this light. “Hi.”

  “We just want to talk to your mom,” he explained. “Is that all right with you?”

  The little girl nodded.

  Putting out his hand toward her, Troy waited until she was trusting enough to take it on her own. Which she did, albeit hesitantly. He rose again, still holding on to Rachel’s hand.

  “Let’s go,” he told the patrolman. “You take the lady’s suitcase.”

  “I can carry it myself,” she protested a bit too heatedly.

  Troy’s suspicions were aroused. He exchanged glances with Delene. The look in her eyes told him she was thinking exactly the same thing.

  Delene fell into step before him while the patrolman “escorted” Kathy back into the apartment building. “You’re good with kids,” she noted, clearly surprised.

  “Lots of kids in our family,” he told her. Then he raised his brow at her, indicating the girl’s hand. Delene understood. With a nod, she took the small hand from his.

  “I’m Delene,” she told the little girl. Rachel tried to pull her hand away. Delene pretended not to notice. “And you look sleepy.”

  The girl stopped tugging and stared up at her. “I am.”

  Stooping down, Delene picked her up in her arms. The child weighed less than a guilty conscience. “You’re in luck. I love carrying sleepy girls.”

  Murmuring “Okay” against Delene’s neck, the little girl curled up and promptly fell asleep in her arms.

  The closer they got to her apartment, the more agitated Kathy became.

  “I didn’t do it,” Kathy protested even before they reached her door. “I didn’t do it,” she cried even louder, as if pure volume would convince everyone and make them set her free.

  “Didn’t do what?” Troy asked innocently. He could see that the door to the apartment down the hall, was ajar.

  Kathy was clearly upset. Had she not been flanked by the police, there was no doubt in Delene’s mind that the younger woman would have bolted.

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  They’d reached Kathy’s apartment. She’d left the door unlocked. He pushed it open, gesturing for her to enter—after the patrolman had gone in first.

  “Who said anything about killing someone?” Troy asked.

  “Nobody.” Kathy began to fidget, running her hands up and down her arms the way someone did when they couldn’t get warm.

  Delene set the sleeping little girl down on the sofa.

  Looking at Kathy, she felt for the younger woman. She knew terror when she saw it. And guilt. “Did you kill him?” she asked softly.

  Kathy backed away. She might have kept going if the policeman hadn’t blocked her way. “No!”

  “But you have the gun,” Delene assumed, her voice calm, nonaccusing.

  “He gave it to me for protection,” Kathy wailed, wringing her hands.

  “Where is it?” Troy prodded.

  Frantic, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, Kathy’s eyes moved from one face to another. “I don’t know.”

  Toy looked over the suitcase the patrolman was still holding. “If I opened your suitcase, would I find it there?”

  Kathy’s breathing became audible. “You can’t do that.”

>   He wondered if it was just a desperate protest, or if the woman actually knew a little about the law.

  “You’re right, I can’t. Why don’t we just put it over there?” He indicated the shabby chair beside the sofa. The patrolman set it on the edge.

  “Mind if I get some water?” Delene asked Kathy. Not waiting for a response, she turned and immediately bumped into the chair. The suitcase fell on the floor, its flimsy locks springing open. The contents of the case spilled out. Along with the gun she’d hidden inside. Delene looked down at the weapon almost at her feet. “Looks like that gun you don’t remember misplacing crawled into your suitcase.”

  Troy took out a pen and slipped it through the trigger area, lifting the gun off the floor. For lack of an evidence bag, he carefully wrapped the weapon in his clean handkerchief. His eyes met Kathy’s.

  “I think that the bullet that killed Clyde came from this gun. What do you think?”

  Instead of answering, Kathy covered her face with her hands and sank down on the floor. She began to sob. “He made me do it, he made me.”

  Handing the gun over to the patrolman, Troy moved forward until he was directly over her. “He said ‘Kathy, please kill me’?”

  She shook her head, then looked up, tearstains on her cheeks. “He said he’d take Rachel away. Clyde was a junkie. I’ve seen him when he’s high—he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He would have sold Rachel for a fix and then not remember doing it.” Kathy grew steadily more agitated. “I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let him have her.” She turned to Troy. “Don’t you see? He gave me no choice.”

  He felt sorry for her. Really sorry. The one decent thing about her were her maternal instincts, but her way of life had trapped her.

  “You know, in a strange sort of way, I understand,” Troy told her. Very gently he took her arm and helped her up to her feet. “When you write it all down, put it just that way. That you were afraid of what he would do.” Looking over toward the patrolman, he indicated that the man step forward. “Officer Ryan will take you down to the precinct.”

  Kathy stiffened as Ryan produced handcuffs and placed them on her wrists. She looked over toward the child sleeping on the sofa.