Killing Kelly

by Heather Graham

  “No?”

  “No!”

  He moved closer; she moved closer. They were both breathing heavily.

  “Oh, hell!” Doug pulled her into his arms, felt the crush of her body, the unbelievable heat of her lips. He pressed his hands against the wall, pinning her there, staring into her eyes. “Still angry?”

  “You bet.”

  “So am I!”

  This time she leaned forward, finding his mouth. His hands slipped behind her back, caught her against him, lifted her. The steam from the shower was still swirling around them. He had been damp; in seconds he was soaked. The roar of their hearts, breath, movement, seemed to crash around them. Her legs were locked around his. They were slamming against the wall of the bathroom, the tile smooth against his hands, her back…

  The volatile surge of excitement that had seized them burned hard and fast. In a few minutes, she lay panting against him. He eased her weight down. “Still angry?” he whispered.

  “Well, actually,” she murmured, “it’s a little better now. And you?”

  “Well, not so angry.”

  “Then what?”

  He kissed her with all the tenderness their lovemaking had just lacked.

  “What?” she whispered.

  He drew her to him, bringing her back to the softness of the bed. He didn’t reply until he had laid her down and come by her side, studying the beauty of her face in the dim moonlight that filtered in.

  “Scared,” he said softly. “I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

  CHAPTER 27

  In the morning Kelly’s first thought was to call the vet. It was early, but Dr. Garcia answered his own phone and didn’t mind in the least that she had called. “He’s looking good,” he told Kelly. “You can pick him up tonight, anytime.”

  “What do you think caused it?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll have to wait for the lab results.” He was silent a minute. “If you’re worried, he’s more than welcome to stay with me for a few days.”

  “Thanks,” Kelly told him. “Can I get back to you on that?”

  “Sure thing.”

  She thanked him again and rang off. Doug was out of bed already and she had a feeling he’d been up with the sunrise. He didn’t seem to need much sleep.

  She hopped into the shower, feeling good. Sam was going to be all right. An idiot had tried to run her off the road and succeeded, but all she’d suffered were some sore muscles and a few scratches. And she was living with a man who…drove her crazy. Made her insane. And also made her feel as if she were the most important being in the universe, the most sensual, sexy female living. But she didn’t want to dwell on the feelings and she didn’t want to think about what they meant.

  Doug hadn’t been in her life that long, but suddenly it seemed as if he was her life. And she liked it that way, didn’t want to think what might happen when…when it was all over. Where did she go once this video was filmed? Her life wasn’t in South Florida. His wasn’t in California. Her life, she realized then, was never going to be the same again. In many ways.

  Hearing the phone ring, she shut off the water. When she stepped out of the shower stall, the ringing had stopped. She dressed quickly and hurried down the stairs. A cup of coffee awaited her. Doug was at the computer.

  “Our call is at nine,” he told her. He turned around and grinned. “Fifteen minutes to spare. Quinn just stopped by. He said to tell you goodbye and that he’ll hopefully see you back in Miami.”

  “Of course,” she murmured, picking up the coffee cup. “I see he brought a bunch of papers. It almost looks as if you’re studying race forms.”

  He shrugged. “Did you know that your old friend from Household Heaven kept in contact with Marc Logan?”

  “No, I certainly didn’t know that. I’m surprised Logan still hired me if those two are buddies!”

  “I can’t find anything indicating that they’re buddies.”

  “Still, maybe Marc Logan did call Matt Avery about me. Who knows?”

  Doug studied her for a moment. “I called Logan and asked him why.”

  “What?”

  “Asking questions can sometimes help find the truth.”

  “Yes, but didn’t Logan wonder why his tango dancer was asking questions about his phone calls?”

  “Sure. He asked me what the hell business it was of mine. I explained to him that I’d once been a cop, and that even if he wanted to fire me, I’d still be here—at your insistence. I was going to be your bodyguard.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He laughed and told me to be a good bodyguard. Then he admitted that Matt Avery had called him several times to try to talk him out of using you.”

  “See? I told you. I could sue Matt for that, couldn’t I?”

  “I don’t know, but it wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. Logan had his heart set on you.”

  He was still staring at her. “What?” she demanded.

  “That was his explanation, but there were a few calls from Avery’s office to Marc Logan’s before this whole thing about the video started.”

  “So? They’re both businessmen. They travel in the same circles. They’ve probably known each other for years. Marc Logan owns that recording studio we went to, you know.”

  “Apparently Logan owns a lot of other media outlets as well, under corporate names.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m still working on it. I’m trying to trace down what they all are and where they all are.”

  “You think it could be Marc Logan?” she said incredulously.

  He hesitated. “Dana Sumter had a child.”

  “She had a couple, according to the papers. Grown now.”

  “No, no…an illegitimate child. He or she would now just be the age of Lance Morton or Matt Avery.”

  Kelly gasped. “How do you know?”

  “It was a hunch, but her ex-husband verified it.”

  “So you think that one of them might have been that child, and that they grew up, found out she was their mother and killed her?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Then the woman in Ohio, her death was accidental?”

  “Again, possibly. But the woman who was killed by the hit-and-run driver in Palm Beach…I think she was definitely murdered.”

  “Okay, I can see feeling bitter and furious with a mother who easily gave up a child. A sick mind might not seek circumstances. But then why kill the woman in Palm Beach? And why attack me?”

  “Association,” he said softly.

  “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “I’m not sure. But I could swear, I’m almost there.”

  “Well, Marc Logan could hardly be the child of Dana Sumter.”

  “No, but Matt Avery could be.”

  “Matt Avery isn’t in Florida.”

  “He could be. He isn’t in California. And he owns that place in Palm Beach.”

  “Aha. Okay. Keep me in on it, huh? I am involved.” She smiled at him then. “Sam is fine, by the way.”

  “I know.”

  “You called the vet, too?”

  “You bet.”

  “He’s a cool dog, huh?”

  “The best.”

  “He may even like you best,” she said lightly.

  “No, that dog is yours all the way.” He rose, stretching, and stared down at the papers again. “Addresses, phone numbers…dates, times. Something should be gelling. It’s just out of reach,” he murmured, “and I need it to gel now.”

  “You know,” she told him, “there may be nothing to gel.”

  “There is. And I’m going to find it, and find it fast.”

  “How?”

  “I’m going to delve and ask every rude question I can,” he murmured. “I’m going to push the envelope until something snaps. But now we’ve got to go. Jane is going to meet us outside the women’s changing room and stick with you all through makeup.”

  “Did Jane used
to be a black belt or was she a cop, too?” Kelly asked.

  “Neither. She’s company, there to make sure that no one entices you away again without me.”

  It turned out that Jane and the other backup dancers weren’t needed that day. Herb Essen wanted to get the interaction between Doug, Kelly and Lance Morton.

  Lance looked bad that morning, as if he’d gone overboard with his vices the night before. He was in a surly mood, as well. Kelly’s feeling of things moving in the right direction began to fade quickly after they began work. And she couldn’t really blame Doug. Lance was goading him.

  The scene required that she be dancing with Doug when Lance, in his dream vision, swept her away. She would then move in his arms, just swaying to the music. It was easy enough. And the tango was close, but…twice when Herb yelled “Cut!” Lance kept her in a vise. And several times when the tape was running, Herb would call out an order to let her spin, but Lance would refuse to do so.

  Herb called a break for lunch, swearing.

  “You picked a loser, babe!” Lance told her, indicating Doug, who was coming to meet her. “You could have me, can have me, just say the word.”

  “Lance. A word. No,” she told him.

  He shrugged, walking away before Doug could reach them.

  Things went downhill after the lunch break. There was a problem with one of the cameras, so everyone was put on hold. The day was slightly overcast, so Herb wanted more light for the scene. And getting the rigging to his liking took more time. Finally the sun began to wane and Herb Essen decided he liked the colors in the sky, so everything was reset.

  Then, in one of the scenes, Lance pretended that his hand slipped and moved over her breast.

  “Dammit, Lance!” she swore.

  She should have kept silent. The next thing she knew, Doug was coming toward him. “Touch her again and I’ll deck you,” he said quietly.

  “I didn’t do anything. And if I did…well, what the hell. Are you two suddenly married or something?”

  “Touch her again and I’ll deck you,” Doug repeated very softly.

  “Gotcha!” Lance said, making a motion like a shooting gun out of his hand.

  They went back to work, but once again Lance made the slip. Doug came striding over.

  “All right, all right!” Herb cried ineffectually, but this time Lance approached Doug, shoving him on the chest.

  “Hey, can the testosterone!” Herb cried.

  Lance pushed again. And again. The third time, he took a hard swing. Doug avoided it and instinctively swung back. A right to the jaw sent Lance spiraling to his knees, screaming in pain and fury. He jumped up, staring at Doug. “You’re off, asshole. You’re off!”

  “Like hell,” Doug told him.

  They had a silent, stunned audience at first. Then Herb swore. “Lance, damn you, your face—”

  “Me! This animal came at me like a gorilla!”

  “Now, Lance—” Herb began.

  But to no avail. Lance Morton was walking off the set. “You’ll hear from my attorneys!” he said.

  Jane ran up to Doug. “Hey, don’t worry! There were witnesses. He started it.”

  Kelly looked at Doug worriedly. “He started it, but…”

  “Kelly, what the hell did you want me to do?” Doug demanded.

  “I’ll have the dancers, all of them, out here tomorrow, nine sharp, in costume and makeup!” Herb snapped, angry and disgusted.

  “There’s going to be trouble. Real trouble,” Jane murmured.

  Doug just shrugged. “Let’s go eat in the room,” he suggested softly to Kelly.

  She nodded. “I’ll give the vet a call again. Jane, are you joining us?”

  Jane shook her head. “I’m going to eat with the crew, suck up, find out what people saw or think they saw, and what they think of the whole deal,” she said.

  Doug smiled at her. “Jane on the defensive,” he teased.

  “Hey! I want to be in this video. I want us both to be in this video.”

  “Jane, his behavior was totally out of line, and you know it.”

  “Yes, I do know it. Come on, Kel, let me go to the changing room and be your company. Then I’m going to suck up around the crew.”

  Half an hour later, Kelly and Doug were back in her room. “Dammit, I shouldn’t have let him push me,” Doug said, pacing.

  Kelly was surprised. She knew he had felt he’d had good reason at the time.

  “Look, he did push you,” she said.

  “That’s the thing, he’s usually a cowardly little creep.”

  “Well, he’s always kind of creepy,” Kelly said.

  Doug shook his head. “Creepy but cowardly. He knew I could deck him. Knew it. But he kept at it, anyway. Almost as if…he had to.”

  It was then that they heard the firm knock on the door. Frowning, Doug stared at Kelly, then walked to it. He looked out. “The cops!” he said, shaking his head. “I wonder if they found out something about the accident. Or if they’re here because…”

  He opened the door to two men in sheriff’s uniforms. “Douglas O’Casey?” the bigger, heavier one asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re under arrest for assault and battery, and attempted murder.”

  “What?” Kelly cried incredulously. “Attempted murder! That’s ridiculous.”

  “May I see some ID, please?” Doug asked.

  “Yessir,” the larger man said. He took out a badge, flapping it in front of Doug, then closed it. “Deputy Smith,” he murmured aloud. He looked at the other man. “And your ID, please?” The second man looked at the first, then produced a badge. “And Officer Jones. Thank you.”

  Kelly kept shaking her head, frowning. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!” she protested. “Lance Morton attacked Doug.”

  “Kelly, it’s all right. You’re arresting me? Not taking me in for questioning?”

  “Sorry, sir. It’s an arrest.”

  “Not your fault,” Doug told the man.

  “What are you saying?” Kelly demanded.

  “I’ve got to go with them,” he told her.

  One had cuffs out. The other began reading Doug his rights. Doug turned, allowing the man to cuff him. He looked at her, mouthing words. “Lock yourself in. Don’t open to anyone. Call the sheriff’s office.”

  “But—”

  He narrowed his eyes fiercely, warning her to be silent. She shook her head, still disbelieving the situation.

  “Wait!” she cried in protest. “This is wrong, all wrong!”

  “Sorry, ma’am, we’ve got the charges, and there were witnesses. Apparently, sir, you nearly broke a guy’s face. We’ve questioned some folks and the witnesses agree that you went after Lance Morton with deadly intent,” Deputy Smith said apologetically.

  “That’s a lie!” Kelly said.

  “Well, hopefully it can be straightened out at the station,” Smith said. He seemed to be the talker between the two.

  “Right. We’ll straighten it out at the station,” Doug said.

  Kelly was at a loss. Doug seemed far too willing to go.

  “May I just say goodbye?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  He moved close to her, pretending to nuzzle her cheek. “Call the sheriff’s office and then Quinn. Right away.”

  “But these are the cops.”

  He shook his head with a barely perceptible movement.

  “All right, let’s go now. With any luck, it will be straightened out and you’ll be back here in an hour,” Smith said, setting a hand on Doug’s shoulder.

  Smith and Jones. Surely whoever had dreamed this up could have been more original with the names! Doug thought. He hated the thought of Kelly being left, even for two seconds. What an ass he’d been! He’d opened the door.

  At that point he couldn’t have protested. Not then. He cursed himself a thousand times over. Why the hell had he opened the door just because he had seen the uniforms? These fellows were armed. His l
icensed Smith & Wesson was upstairs, in his suitcase. He hadn’t dared take a chance that they would pull out the guns and shoot him and Kelly then and there.

  He had to admit, he hadn’t been in the least prepared for such a ploy as this. He had thought the killer was working independently. The best way to get away with a crime was to have no accomplices, no one to give you away. How would this be explained? There was obviously a plan underway to get to Kelly now—while he was out. But how? If she really kept the door locked, if she called Quinn…

  How much were these fellows being paid to impersonate deputies? The uniforms were good. The guns were regulation. The badges—except for the ridiculous names of Joe Smith and John Jones—were good, too. He was certain they’d been hired to kill him. But by whom? Lance Morton? No, he just couldn’t believe the guy had the intelligence to plan anything like this.

  So was Matt Avery in Florida, far closer to them than they had imagined? Was that it?

  A cold sweat broke out over him as he suddenly saw what it was he had missed—until now. Now it was crystal clear. And he had to get back to Kelly. Fast.

  The place seemed quiet as they walked him around to the docks. Cast and crew were probably in the main building, having dinner, or else they’d returned to their rooms. The launch was at the docks, but there was no sign of Harry Sullivan. And there was a small motorboat waiting.

  What was the plan, then? Were they going to shoot him and toss him overboard? Or just toss him overboard in the cuffs, assuming he wouldn’t be able to swim while shackled? He had to admit, the planning had been detailed.

  And Lance Morton had been in on it, goading him into the fight. The two men, had they been questioned, had a sure reason for being here, for taking him. The fight had been witnessed. The attempted-murder bit was a little preposterous, but hell, a guy like Lance Morton might have tried to press such a charge.

  Behind his back, keeping the movement small, he began working the cuffs. They weren’t regulation, he was grateful to realize. If he worked them hard enough, without causing his hands to swell, he could manage to slip them off. It was something he had done often enough in class with tighter cuffs, sometimes amazing his academy mates. He just prayed he could do it fast enough.