Turn On A Dime - Blane's Turn (The Kathleen Turner Series)

by Snow, Tiffany

  Blane couldn’t help the laugh that burst out. She was obviously none too happy about her predicament and her childlike grousing was amusing. Searching his memory, he seemed to recall some music video with Britney Spears dressed in that outfit.

  “Gee, thanks,” she mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest, precisely like a disgruntled toddler.

  Blane stifled his laugh, but was still smiling as he said, “I just can’t imagine you pretending to be Britney. You don’t seem the type.” The type to show off so much skin in so public a venue. Even now her fair skin was flushed with embarrassment. Modesty, something so rarely found in women her age, was incredibly sexy.

  “Hey, she’s very successful, especially for how young she is,” Kathleen defended Spears, as if Blane gave a shit about the singer.

  “I’m not saying she isn’t,” he replied, amused all over again at her loyalty. “I’m sure she’s a very talented young woman.”

  This seemed to appease Kathleen and she settled back in the seat, her ruffled feathers soothed.

  Blane decided he really needed to make sure he went by the bar tomorrow night.

  After pulling in to the police department’s parking lot, Blane turned to Kathleen.

  “Let me do the talking in there,” he said. “I’m your lawyer, so trust me, okay?”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. Taking her elbow, Blane led her inside. He straightened his tie and buttoned his suit jacket as they walked. Once inside, he spoke to the cop on duty at the desk. A few minutes later, a cop who introduced himself as Detective Frank Milano came up to them.

  “What’s this about?” Blane asked after the introductions were made.

  “We’d like Miss Turner to help us identify a body,” Milano said.

  “A body?” Kathleen burst out.

  Blane shot her a look.

  “Yes,” Milano continued. “We think we may have found the person who killed your neighbor, Sheila Montgomery, but need to make sure. We thought you might know him. We’ll need to take you down to the morgue.”

  Kathleen looked surprised, but said, “Okay.”

  Blane and Kathleen followed the detective. In an undertone, Blane asked her, “Have you ever seen a dead body before?”

  Kathleen nodded.

  Blane didn’t think she understood, not really. He tried again. “Have you seen a dead body that hasn’t been prepared by a mortician?”

  “I’m not going to get sick or pass out, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she hissed back, her irritation obvious.

  Did she just roll her eyes at him?

  Blane bit back the retort that was on the tip of his tongue. He’d lay odds she’d be eating those words soon.

  Kathleen held together right up until the tech pulled back the sheet to expose Mark’s body. He’d been shot in the head with a high caliber weapon, the exit wound taking out a big chunk of the rear of his skull.

  Shit. He’d been afraid of this.

  Kathleen stumbled backward, her hand flailing as though searching for something. Her knees gave out and Blane caught her in his arms just as her eyes slid shut. She was out cold.

  The sight of her, helpless next to Mark’s lifeless body, struck Blane as being morbidly prophetic. If he didn’t do something, it would be Kathleen on the next slab and Blane would be the one identifying her remains. Fear made him angry and he lashed out at the detective as he turned around, holding Kathleen’s limp body in his arms.

  “You’re a piece of shit, Milano,” Blane bit out, brushing past him on the way out the door. Kathleen didn’t need to see Mark’s body again when she woke. Her head lolled limply on her neck, her arms dangling at her sides as Blane carried her.

  The detective followed Blane, whose long strides ate up the floor. They’d passed an employee break room earlier and that’s where Blane headed.

  “I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing, detective. Some warning would have been nice.” Kathleen had no doubt never seen anything like that before and Blane regretted the fact that it was another horrifying image she’d have to live with. She was innocent and good. She should be coddled, protected, and never be touched by that kind of gruesome reality.

  The break room had a couch and Blane laid Kathleen gently on it just as her eyes fluttered open. Blane shrugged out of his jacket and covered her, the paleness of her face worrying him as did the shivers that wracked her. He crouched down next to the couch.

  Her confused gaze met his. “Didn’t I hit the floor?” she asked.

  Kathleen’s innocent question softened the edge of Blane’s anger. She had no idea that somehow, between waking up next to her in her bed and stalking her outside of her work, she’d wrapped Blane completely around her little finger. She couldn’t get rid of him if she tried. It was a revelation to himself as well, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Blane simply accepted the fact and moved on.

  “You think I’d let you fall?” he asked, trying to keep it light. He didn’t want her dwelling on Mark’s body. “I have to keep you uninjured so I can remind you that you were quite sure you wouldn’t pass out.”

  Blane’s teasing was rewarded with a faint smile, but it was gone quickly. She sat up and Blane swung his jacket over her shoulders.

  “Why didn’t you tell me it was Mark?” she asked Milano, her eyes flashing with anger.

  “We weren’t sure he was the same person as the one you said was Sheila’s boyfriend,” Milano said. “We needed you to identify him as the same man.”

  “What happened to him?” Blane asked, moving to sit beside Kathleen. The need to feel her, be right beside her, was overwhelming and he didn’t fight it.

  “Neighbors found him,” Milano answered. “He wrote a suicide note confessing to the murder before he shot himself.”

  Which was utter bullshit.

  Kathleen wavered slightly and Blane was immediately concerned that she’d pass out again. Sliding an arm around her back, he held her close. “Breathe slow,” he said into her ear. “Breathe deep.”

  She closed her eyes and did as he said. It seemed to help because soon she was firing more questions as the hapless detective. “You’re saying he killed himself?”

  “That’s how it appears.”

  “You’ve got it wrong. There’s no way he could have murdered Sheila, and he didn’t kill himself either. He was murdered, too.”

  Milano looked skeptical. Kathleen must have seen it, too, because she persisted. “Believe me,” she said. “You’ve got to find whoever did this. They killed Sheila and now Mark.”

  And soon Kathleen herself, if Blane didn’t protect her.

  “I’m sorry,” Milano said, “but the case has been closed. Mark was her boyfriend. You yourself said they argued that night, which places him at the scene of the crime. His note was his confession.”

  “But you’re wrong!”

  Blane pulled her closer to him, worried that she was becoming hysterical.

  “I’m sorry,” Milano said, sounding somewhat regretful. “There’s nothing more I can do.”

  After he left, Blane glanced down at Kathleen, huddled against his side. She was crying.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She swiped angrily at her eyes. “Fine. Can we go?”

  Blane stood and helped Kathleen to her feet. She handed his jacket back to him, though Blane would have preferred she keep it. He didn’t say anything though until they were in the car. She shivered in the cold and Blane reached for the heat controls.

  “Don’t you ever wear a coat?” he asked. Little things like her were usually cold when it was seventy-five degrees outside.

  “Not usually,” she said.

  Blane headed in the direction of her apartment. There was no point in taking her back to work and he wouldn’t have allowed it anyway.

  “Why are you taking me home?” she asked after a few minutes.

  “You’ve had a shock,” Blane said. “You’re taking the rest of the day off. You need to rest.”
And he could work just fine sitting in her living room as he could in his office.

  Blane knew she’d have something to say about that and sure enough, he shot her a look just as she opened her mouth. After a second, she seemed to think twice about arguing.

  At her apartment, Blane made sure he had his Glock before rounding the car to open Kathleen’s door. He followed her up the stairs and waited while she dug in her purse for the keys. He briefly considered offering her his copy to use, but didn’t think that would go over real well, so he held his tongue.

  Finally, she found her keys and started to unlock the door. Then she froze.

  “What is it?” Blane asked.

  “I always lock my door,” she said, her eyes wide and fearful.

  Blane’s gun was in his hand in the blink of an eye. He pulled Kathleen behind him. “Stay here,” he ordered. She nodded.

  Blane carefully eased open the door, the gun leveled in front of him. There was enough light still to see that Kathleen’s apartment had been completely wrecked. His gaze took in the damage even as he searched the shadows, listening intently for any sound.

  After clearing the living room, he checked the bathroom, then the bedroom. Everything had been torn apart. It was obvious whomever had done this had been intent on finding something. Blane was just thankful Kathleen hadn’t been here to greet them. He could imagine only too well what they would’ve done to her.

  As he emerged from the bedroom, Blane saw Kathleen standing in the living room, looking shell-shocked. Of course she hadn’t waited like he’d told her. One glance at the look on her face though had him biting back chastising her.

  “Did you find Tigger?” she asked, frantic.

  Shit. The cat.

  “No. We can keep looking though.” Blane didn’t want to say that the cat was probably long gone, though it didn’t seem he had to. Kathleen’s eye filled with tears as she stepped over the broken shards of glass and ceramic in the kitchen to look inside the bedroom. She stood there for a moment, taking in the shredded bedding and clothes.

  A knock at the door had Blane reaching again for his gun, but it was just the neighbor he’d spoken to the other night. Thank God, she was holding the cat.

  “Tigger!” Kathleen hurried to take the cat from the girl. “Thank you so much. How did you find him?”

  “He was wandering around outside,” the girl replied. “I thought he might be yours. So, what the hell happened in here?”

  Blane holstered his gun. “Did you see or hear anything unusual today?” he asked.

  The girl shook her head. “Nah. I work at night, so I sleep during the day. Didn’t hear a thing. Sorry.”

  Kathleen thanked her again and the girl left. Blane watched Kathleen as she turned in a slow circle, surveying the disaster. He made a decision.

  “Come on,” he said, heading toward the door.

  “What do you mean?” Kathleen asked. “I can’t leave. I need to call the cops and start cleaning this mess up.”

  That wasn’t happening. She wasn’t staying alone in this apartment for another night, not until Blane had these guys arrested or killed. And with the way he was currently feeling, his preference was for the latter.

  “No, you’re not,” he said. “We’ll call the cops from my place. You’re staying there tonight.”

  “I don’t think so,” Kathleen said. “I can go stay with Clarice or something.”

  As if she had a choice in the matter. “You can come willingly or unwillingly,” Blane said baldly. “But like it or not, you’re coming with me.” Throwing her over his shoulder seemed a little caveman, but at this particular moment, Blane didn’t give a shit. He’d do what he had to do and she could just be pissed later. At least she’d be alive.

  To his relief, though, she gave in and followed him out the door.

  The drive to Blane’s house was done in near silence, the only sound in the car that of the purring cat. Kathleen had a death grip on the animal, but it didn’t seem to mind.

  Blane was well aware of what it felt like to have someone break into your house and mess with your possessions. It was a feeling of violation that few understood unless they’d experienced it firsthand. Home was supposed to be a place of safety and comfort. It worried him enormously that Kathleen was now in the crosshairs of some very dangerous people. If he didn’t miss his guess, he’d say Jimmy Quicksilver’s fingerprints were all over the break-in.

  Kathleen didn’t seem to snap out of her stupor until he opened the car door for her. As they walked, Blane lifted the strap from her shoulder, carrying her worn purse.

  Mona met them at the door and Kathleen hesitated, necessitating a quick explanation from Blane.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s just Mona, my housekeeper.”

  Blane wondered briefly how Mona would take to him suddenly bringing a woman home to stay with him. The women he dated rarely saw the inside of his home and none had ever stayed the night. Even with Kandi, they’d stayed at her house, not his. Blane had always felt the need to keep his home sacrosanct. For some reason, he found himself now anxious about whether or not Kathleen would like it, if she’d feel comfortable. He wanted her to feel welcome and hoped he could count on Mona to read between the lines since he’d given her no forewarning.

  But he needn’t have worried. Mona didn’t bat an eye as Blane introduced Kathleen, chatting with her about her cat and seeming to set Kathleen at ease.

  “I’m putting Kathleen in the Garden Room,” Blane said to Mona. “Is it suitable?” Knowing Mona, she kept the linens fresh and room aired despite the fact that no one had stayed in it for years. His mother’s favorite room in the house, Blane had always felt her presence most strongly there. The décor seemed to suit Kathleen and he didn’t think twice about his decision to put her there.

  Mona’s surprise showed this time, but she only responded with “Quite.”

  “This way,” Blane said, taking Kathleen’s elbow and leading her upstairs. “Mona and her husband Gerard take care of the house and grounds,” he explained. “They live in a house that adjoins the property. They decided to come with us when we moved here from back East when I was a child.”

  “How long have they worked for you?” Kathleen asked.

  “As long as I can remember. Mona was also my nanny when I was a child.”

  Blane found himself holding his breath as he showed her into the room. After a moment, he had to ask. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s . . . amazing,” she said, gazing around the room with rapt awe.

  Blane let out the breath he’d been holding. “My mother was an artist,” he explained. “She decorated each of the bedrooms in a different style. This room she painted herself.”

  Kathleen turned to face him. “Your mother painted this?” she asked, her brows lifting.

  Blane nodded with a smile. “She was quite talented.” An understatement, though his father had never appreciated the extent of his wife’s artistic ability. “There’s a bathroom through there,” he continued. “In case you want to freshen up before dinner.”

  “Blane,” Kathleen said, “I don’t know how to thank—”

  Blane placed his finger on her lips, halting her thanks before she could finish the sentence. Now that she was here, in his home, the possessiveness he’d felt earlier was amplified tenfold.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “When it comes to you, my motives aren’t exactly . . . altruistic.” Now the trick was to go slow and keep his hands off of her, but he was making no promises to himself. He wanted her too badly to be anything but pragmatic as to how this evening would end.

  “I’ll be back to get you shortly,” he said, exiting the room while he still had an ounce of chivalry.

  As he’d expected, Mona was full of questions when he reappeared back downstairs after changing clothes.

  “Kathleen works for you?” she asked as Blane opened a bottle of wine.

  Blane eyed Mona while she prepared dinner. He poured two gla
sses of the merlot before he spoke.

  “Yes, and it’s not what you’re thinking,” he said.

  “What am I thinking?” she asked, all innocence.

  “She’s in trouble,” Blane said. “She’s not safe in her apartment, so I brought her here.”

  “So you personally need to see to her safety? It’s not something Todd or Rico could do?” Mona named a couple of Blane’s SEAL buddies who ran a private security firm in Indy.

  Blane took a drink of his wine, handing Mona the other glass. He didn’t answer her question. She knew him too well to pretend.

  “She’s . . . different,” he acknowledged.

  Mona’s teasing grin softened. “I’m glad to hear that,” she said. “She seems very sweet and quite pretty. Young, though, don’t you think?”

  Blane nodded. “A bit. Is that a problem?” He was being serious. He valued Mona’s opinion, always had. But she shook her head.

  “I don’t think so. She seems older than her years.”

  “She’s been through a lot,” Blane said, explaining about the death of Kathleen’s parents.

  “Yes, that’ll certainly make one grow up in a hurry,” Mona said with a sympathetic sigh. “Poor thing. Do be careful, though. It sounds like she’s not your usual one night stand kind of girl.”

  Blane acknowledged this with a nod. Mona had never passed judgment on how he chose to conduct his private affairs and he knew the statement wasn’t intended as such.

  Blane made some calls in the den while Mona finished making dinner. Kathleen’s apartment needed to be cleaned up and her things replaced, preferably as quickly as possible. Although technically after business hours, money made all the difference in how fast some things could be done. Another phone call to the man who did his suits and Blane had someone willing to be a personal shopper for Kathleen. Her sizes were easy enough to guess and the man assured Blane he’d take care of it.

  A short while later, Mona informed him that dinner was ready. Kathleen hadn’t yet returned so Blane went upstairs for her. Perhaps she was shy and needed a little encouragement.

  He tapped lightly on the door and waited. When there was no answer, he cautiously pushed it open a crack.