by J. B. Lynn
I glanced at Smoke. He nodded reassuringly. When I looked back to Alan, I could tell he'd noticed our exchange.
"He said I should stop poking my nose where it didn't belong, or I'd end up dead too."
"Dead too?" the blonde detective asked. "Like the frat boys?"
I shrugged. It wasn't like I could say "or Juliet Rato." Not without both men at the table thinking I'd lost my mind. "I guess so."
"Did he say anything else?"
"You wouldn't want Ruth and Artie Spring to lose another kid." My voice shook, and I had to blink away tears.
Alan's gaze flicked across the table to Smoke and then back to me. "And then what happened?"
"I hung up on him…her…whoever it was. And then I called Smoke."
"You called him?"
I nodded.
He glanced down at his watch. "It's not even seven yet."
"I was already here when she called," Smoke interjected. "I was concerned for her safety after the tire slashing, so I spent the night keeping an eye on the place."
Reed cocked his head to the side and considered the former cop thoughtfully. "Outside?"
Smoke nodded.
"I guess your instincts were right about someone being after her."
"They usually are," Smoke said dryly.
Reed pivoted his head in my direction. "So you called him and then what?"
"I let him inside and told him what happened." I could feel my cheeks flush as I remembered the whole chemise thing, and I fervently hoped neither man noticed my high color. "And then he called you."
"Which was the right thing to do. I'll see if we can figure out where the call originated from."
"Good luck with that," Smoke muttered.
"Do you have any better suggestions, Barclay?" Reed didn't bother to disguise his annoyance.
"Figuring out who killed those kids would probably be a good start."
"I'm working on it."
"Work harder," Smoke said. "In the meantime, I'll keep an eye on her."
"You do know I'm sitting right here, don't you?" I snapped, interrupting them.
It was Reed's turn to mutter, "Good luck with that."
"And I don't want or need anyone 'keeping an eye' on me," I continued. "I'm perfectly capable of watching out for myself."
Smoke raised his eyebrows but didn't remind me that less than an hour before I'd been reduced to a quivering, crying mess because of one phone call.
"My mother was right," I blurted out, needing to prove I wasn't as incapable as the two men seemed to think I was. "Buck didn't have a brother."
"What?" Reed's confusion was almost comical.
Smoke frowned. "You're sure?"
I nodded eagerly. "I read their obits online last night. So Sal couldn't have been…"
"Who?" Reed asked.
"You know," Smoke answered in a deceptively quiet voice. He fixed Reed with a glare that looked harder than diamonds. "The one you told her to expect at the frat boy house."
Frowning, Reed scrolled through his notes. "I don't think so…"
"You didn't tell her the brother would be stopping by?" Smoke's disbelief was evident…and downright insulting.
"Buck Hopkins didn't have a brother," Reed said, reading his notes. "Nottoway did."
"This guy who showed up said he was Buck's brother," I said quickly.
"Maybe he's my suspect," Reed mused.
"Ya think?" Smoke asked. Considering he wanted back on the force, you'd think he'd make an effort to make nice with the Police Chief's son, but instead he seemed determined to antagonize Alan.
Alan refused to take the bait. "What did this so-called brother look like?"
After Smoke and I gave our descriptions, I stood. "I've got to get on with my day."
"You have my number." Alan rose. "Call me if you think of anything else or if something else happens."
"Like what?" I asked.
"I dunno. But haven't you ever noticed how things happen in threes?"
"Oh my God, he's superstitious." Smoke threw back his head and covered his face with his hands. "Save me from these people and their illogical beliefs."
Ignoring him, Reed told me. "I'll let myself out."
A moment later I heard the front door close.
"You can go too," I told Smoke. I really didn't want him hanging around watching my every move.
Dropping his hands from his face, Smoke picked up his coffee and sipped it. "You're forgetting something,"
"And what's that?"
"I'm your ride to work."
"Oh."
"I'm starving. The tire place isn't open yet. Let's go to breakfast. After all, it's the most important meal of the day."
And I had a feeling it was going to be one hell of a day.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I eyed my cell phone like it was a rattlesnake ready to strike. So far I'd answered the death threat call, a call from the tire place saying there'd been a delay in getting the replacements for the van, my mother insisting I show up for dinner with my grandmother the next night, and a call offering me a job to clean up a meth house.
I felt like I was playing Russian Roulette with the thing. One answer too many, and I'd be a dead woman. Which would be a pretty terrible thing at the moment because I'd told Martin that I couldn't help him any more because it was too dangerous. He hadn't taken the news well. Somehow he'd managed to slam every door in the house simultaneously.
"What the hell was that?" Smoke asked as he ran in from the other room, brandishing a carpet knife like it was a deadly weapon.
"It's drafty?" I'd suggested weakly.
An unfamiliar number was calling me now, and I made no move to answer it as I sat Lucky Liu's Chinese Restaurant. I'd been sitting there for what felt like hours, but was more like twenty minutes, waiting for Smoke. He'd told me what to order for him and then gone outside to make a phone call. He hadn't returned, and his lobster sauce had cooled and congealed. I'd given up being polite a while back and eaten most of my meal while it was hot.
Suddenly Detecive Barbie slid into the seat opposite me without asking if I wanted company. Glad I'd already eaten, since her presence made me lose my appetite, I put down my chopsticks and met her probing gaze steadily.
"You look tired, and the MSG in that isn't going to help," she recommended as though I was her best girlfriend.
"I need a day off." I may have come across as a tad defensive, but I hadn't appreciated her unsolicited advice.
She raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows. "You should book a spa day. Have you ever been to the Oasis?"
I shook my head. Venus had offered to treat me to a "girl's day" there once, but I didn't like to be anyone's charity case, and it was way above my price range. I decided police detectives must make more than I'd imagined.
"But you know where it is?"
I nodded. The sprawling campus painted seashell pink was wedged between a childcare place and the world's largest pet supply store. Personally I wouldn't find that to be the most tranquil of locations.
"You should get a seaweed wrap. It would detoxify you."
I frowned. Was she hinting I had a toxic personality? "I'm guessing you're not here to talk about beauty treatments."
She sighed and tapped her freshly manicured nails on the tabletop. "This is none of my business, but…"
I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes. If one more person asked why I did this grisly work…
"…but why are you letting Reed railroad Smoke like this?"
"Excuse me?" Sure Reed and Smoke didn't get along, but I thought "railroading" was a pretty harsh term to describe their relationship.
"Smoke's a lot of things, but he's not a cold-blooded murderer."
"What?"
Barbie aka Lacey stopped her drumming. "You really don't know?"
"Know what?"
"Smoke is downtown being interrogated right now. A couple of uniforms picked him up outside the restaurant."
Confused, I tried
to ignore the sense of panic enveloping me. "About what?"
"I heard they're going to charge him with the homicides of the three frat boys."
A chill shimmied down my spine, and my stomach flip-flopped traitorously.
I shook my head denying the accusation against him.
She shrugged eloquently. "It's what I heard."
I stared at her dumbfounded for a long moment. Then, knowing that sitting around wouldn't help Smoke, I roused myself. "We've got to stop them!" I grabbed a couple of twenty dollar bills from my purse and threw them on the table before jumping up.
She shook her head. "Not me. They won't let me anywhere near this thing considering I'm his ex…you know."
I could well imagine what the two of them had shared. "Fine. I'll take care of this myself." I hurried out of the restaurant.
"Good luck!" she called after me.
I didn't need luck. I needed Mike. I called his law office and insisted that he meet me at the police station.
"I'm not a criminal lawyer," he'd argued weakly.
"He's your friend," I countered.
Which must have worked because he got there before me. Though, in my defense, I'd had to take two buses to get across town since the van was still in the shop.
"Let me handle this," Mike urged as we approached the police officer pushing paper at the counter behind the bulletproof glass. "Excuse me," he began politely. "Who would we speak to about—"
"Reed!" I bellowed at the poor detective who had the misfortune of walking into the hallway, ending up in my line of sight.
The overgrown surfer dude who until just recently I had thought was handsome, approached me warily. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to bail out my employee."
"You can't."
"I can't?" I turned to Mike. "Can he do that? Can he prevent me from bailing him out?"
"If they consider him to be a flight risk," Mike replied, shooting me a warning look that clearly indicated I needed to cool my jets and let him handle the mess.
Ignoring him, I turned my angry gaze on the detective. "We'll see about that."
"You can't bail him out," Alan Reed continued, "because he hasn't been charged with anything."
"Can they do that? Can they hold him without charging him with anything?" I asked Mike.
"Well…" he replied.
"We're not holding him. We were questioning him," Reed said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because he has no alibi for the time of the attack, because an eyewitness swears she saw him there, and because it's suspicious he managed to use you to insert himself into the crime scene by going to work for you."
"He didn't do it," I said.
"You're sure of that?" Reed asked.
"Certain."
"Why?"
I couldn't very well tell him that a ghost of one of his alleged victims had told me so. "I just am. When are you going to release him?"
"He's free to go." Then he turned to the officer behind the desk. "Tell them Barclay's ride is here and to send him out." He paused, then leaned closely in my ear and whispered so that only I could hear, "I think you're right about him not being the killer, but it doesn't make sense he's working for you."
Smoke emerged from some back room a moment later. He didn't look too happy to see Mike and me standing there. Then again, I wasn't too happy with him either, because Reed's comment had set off a niggling doubt in my gut. Without a word, I spun on my heel and stalked outside.
My purposeful strides stopped short when I realized I didn't know where Mike had parked. "Where's your car?"
Mike pointed to the far end of the lot. "Over there somewhere."
We'd almost reached the car when I rounded on Smoke. "What's going on? And you'd better tell me the truth."
He froze where he was, as though he'd suddenly encountered a wild animal and didn't want to make any movements that might cause it to charge and rip him limb from limb. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Reed's right. It doesn't make sense you're working for me. What are you up to?"
A muscle twitched in his jaw. His reply was slow and careful. "I had no agenda regarding the murder."
I didn't find that response to be particularly reassuring. "But you had one?"
He glanced at Mike for help then looked away.
"You used me?" My voice cracked.
He shook his head. "No, Tori. I tried to help you."
"This is all my fault," Mike interjected.
"Damn right it is!" I practically spat. "If you hadn't—"
Mike frowned." I was worried about you. You're overworked. Your house looks like something that belongs as a 'before' picture on a reality DIY show. Your folks are pushing you so hard…"
"You thought I was cracking up?" I asked incredulously.
"The possibility did cross my mind." Mike offered me a weak smile. "I thought it would benefit both of you. Smoke hated his job. You needed help. I needed to know you were okay."
I stared at him.
"Vicky? You're not really going to stay mad at me because I was worried about you and was trying to help you out, are you? I promised Jerry I'd keep an eye on you."
"How long did you rehearse that argument, Counselor?"
"Since before the birthday party," he confessed. "I didn't think you'd just accept my help, but then you agreed to meet Smoke, so I thought…"
I glanced at Smoke for confirmation. He was watching our exchange carefully, his expression guarded.
I tried to summon some sort of righteous anger, but considering they'd both been looking out for me, I just couldn't.
"You get one Get Out of Jail Free card," I told Mike. "You just used it. Do something this stupid again, and I'll never forgive you." I tried to sound gruff, but my smile leaked through.
Mike grabbed me up in a bear hug and twirled me around. "That's my girl!"
When he put me down, I eyed Smoke. "I know you didn't kill those boys."
He blinked, caught off guard. "You may be the only one who does." His voice, loaded with emotion, was deeper than usual.
I felt a pang of sympathy for him. I couldn't imagine how hard this whole ordeal had been for him. Still, I sensed he didn't need or want my pity. "Despite what you and Mike seem to think, I'm not crazy."
"I believe you," he parroted back.
I wasn't sure I believed him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Mike drove us back to Lucky Liu's where Smoke and I got into his Jeep. I called the tire place who informed me they'd only gotten three tires in, so the van wouldn't be ready to pick up until the next day.
"I've never had a clean-up job take so long," I muttered.
"Is the owner getting antsy?" Smoke asked.
"No. When I took the job I thought I'd be doing it myself. We're still on schedule, despite the…interruptions." Plus, the business model of Spring Cleaning has always been to under-promise so that we can over-deliver, so I always padded the time frame I anticipated a job taking. That way when I finished "early" the customer was always pleased.
"Then relax. We're going to my place for dinner," Smoke announced.
I wasn't sure I liked him making unilateral decisions for me. "Why?"
"For one thing, there's nothing at your place to eat. A bag of jelly beans does not count as dinner."
He had a point.
"For another," he continued. "Halley's coming over for dinner since it's pizza night at the home. She hates pizza."
"Who doesn't like pizza?"
"She has her reasons."
I was intrigued by the tension that threaded through his tone.
"Besides," he said lightly, as though aware he'd revealed something he hadn't meant to, "not everyone considers pizza to be one of the four food groups like you do. And lastly, I really want to change out of these clothes."
Realizing that he was wearing the same things he'd worn all day yesterday because he'd spent the night watching over me, I felt guilty for question
ing him about going to his place. "Okay."
"Okay? No more questions. No argument?"
"Nope."
As we picked up Halley and her Hello Kitty overnight bag, Smoke said, "I need a favor. Can you please not mention pizza to Halley?"
"She hates it that much?"
"Please?"
The vulnerability in his plea surprised me. "Yeah, sure, no mention of pizza."
"Hi, Vicky!" Halley greeted me with a big smile and hug as her brother stowed her bag away. "What are you doing here?"
"Your brother invited me to dinner."
"He's a good cook."
We headed over to Smoke's "apartment" which was actually a converted carriage house. Halley grabbed my hand and gave the grand tour while Smoke took off in another direction. If my place looked like the "before" picture for a home improvement show, Smoke's was the "after."
Everything was done in majestic desert colors, giving the place a warm, inviting feeling. The hardwood floors gleamed. Pops of turquoise, in the form of pillows and flower pots (The man had at least two dozen healthy houseplants scattered through his home.) broke up the sand and sun-baked adobe color scheme that was masculine, but not hard.
Except for a pile of mail tossed on the kitchen table, everything had its place and was put away. No wonder my kitchen freaked him out.
Halley showed me the kitchen, where the windowsills were lined with a collection of salt and pepper shakers, the living room, where the size of the television confirmed this was a bachelor's pad, and the dining room where half the table was covered with one of the most intricate jigsaw puzzles I'd ever seen. Then Halley took me to her "sleepover room."
I had to admit that I smiled when she opened the door. In contrast to the rest of the place, it was a riot of pinks and Hello Kitty. Nothing had a place. Stuff was strewn everywhere. With the zoo of stuffed animals taking up residence on the bed, I wasn't even sure that there was enough space for Halley to sleep there.
The next room on the tour was Smoke's bedroom, but since I could hear a shower running, I balked when Halley's hand reached for the knob. "Are you working on that puzzle I saw in the dining room?" I asked quickly.
"Yes. Would you like to help?
