by Kara Lennox
“Look behind you,” he said softly. “Turn your head real slow.”
She did, then gasped. “They’re not all gone.”
“Maybe we are different,” he said. “But we have this in common.”
She looked back and smiled sadly. “I’m not sure hummingbirds are enough to save us.”
His heart sank. He wanted to argue. He wanted to demand that she think harder about what she was throwing away. People who were different fell in love all the time. Look at Daniel and his wife, Jaime. She spent her life putting criminals behind bars. Daniel spent his getting innocent people out of prison. Yet somehow they found common ground and by all accounts were insanely happy.
But he could tell Liz wasn’t in the mood to be convinced of anything. She wasn’t in a good space, emotionally. Maybe she couldn’t bring herself to be happy. On some level, she might feel guilty for not being there for her father. There was probably nothing she could have done to prevent his death, but she might not see that.
He kissed her on the cheek, then stood and walked away, feeling hollow. At that moment, he didn’t care if they put him in solitary confinement for the rest of his life.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LIZ DIDN’T COME to the dinner table. Elena reported that she wasn’t feeling well and had asked that a tray be brought to her room.
Hudson felt both relief and disappointment. He craved being close to her. But her nearness was also torture when he knew he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t take her to bed. “Is she okay?” he asked Elena.
“She is fine, just a little tired. She said she is not fit company.”
Hudson begged to differ; even out of sorts, Liz was fine company.
Joe had gone home; the table was set for only two—Hudson and Daniel. Cora entered as if on cue, setting a plate in front of each of them bearing a juicy sirloin steak and baked potato. Another servant placed a big bowl of green salad on the table and a silver gravy boat filled with dressing.
Hudson cut into his steak and checked the doneness; medium rare, just the way he liked it. How had Cora known?
“Isn’t Jaime going to join us?” Hudson asked after thoroughly appreciating his first bite. He knew the district attorney had arrived home from work; he’d been sitting outside on an upstairs terrace that overlooked the front driveway when her Land Rover had come through the gates and pulled into the massive garage on the far side of the house.
“It’s probably best if Jaime doesn’t have any close contact with you,” Daniel said apologetically. “You’re now a material witness in a murder that took place in her jurisdiction. She’s very conscious of anything that might appear as impropriety.”
“I wouldn’t tell.”
“She’s scrupulously honest. People already look askance at her because of my job.”
“I’m sorry I’ve prevented you from having dinner with your wife, Daniel. I’ll go eat in my room if you’d rather—”
“Jaime and I will see each other later. Trust me—we arrange our schedules in such a way that we have plenty of quality ‘us’ time. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you. Alone.”
A chill of trepidation swept up Hudson’s spine.
“Did you ever do any target practice near your house?” he asked. “Maybe with your partner?”
The piece of steak Hudson had just swallowed stuck in his throat. He made an effort to force it down, then took a few sips of water. “What? No. It’s not even legal to discharge a firearm that close to Lake Conroe.”
“We got a match on the projectile we found behind your house.”
“Don’t tell me. It traces back to my gun. Which means I shot at myself. If someone’s trying to frame me—”
“Hudson. Hold on. It wasn’t your gun. It was...it was a gun registered to Carla Sanchez.”
It felt as if someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water over Hudson’s head. “Carla? My Carla? Wait a minute, that must be a really common name—”
“Your Carla Sanchez,” Daniel confirmed. “Address and date of birth matches up.”
“Daniel, that doesn’t even make sense. Carla would never be mixed up in something like this.” Or would she? He’d believed she didn’t still hold a grudge over their ill-fated liaison, but what if he was wrong?
“She’s a single mom, two kids to raise, trying to figure out how to pay for their college on a cop’s salary. She starts out maybe just looking the other way once or twice. Then it escalates—”
“Carla has her issues, but I’ve never seen any sign of corruption.”
“People can surprise you. My own chef tried to kill me, a guy I’d known since college. I would have sworn he couldn’t do that, either.”
The carefully prepared dinner, worthy of a four-star restaurant, now didn’t tempt Hudson in the slightest. No, what he wanted was a drink. He’d never been one to drink until he passed out, but suddenly he understood the appeal.
“I should talk to her.”
“That’s probably not a good idea. Even if she’s not responsible, someone might get nervous if they find out we’re closing in.”
“I’m sure she has a simple explanation.”
“I’m sure she does, too,” Daniel said placatingly. “Let’s sit on the information at least for a day or so. You’re way too close to her to do any kind of adequate investigation, so Joe’s taking care of that.”
Hudson felt nauseated at the thought of anybody digging into Carla’s private life. But still...how could one of her bullets have got into that woods? Either she’d loaned her gun to a lowlife like Munch, or... “Maybe someone planted that bullet there. Trying to railroad Carla, just like they’re doing me.”
“I suppose it’s not out of the question. A cop hater. Did you and Carla have a beef with anyone lately? Did you arrest anybody who might be nursing a grudge?”
“Just Mandalay. But how would he get access to Carla’s gun or a bullet fired from it?” Hudson searched his memory. Could he be overlooking someone? But he continued to draw a blank. “I can’t remember anything out of the ordinary. No threats, no weird phone calls, even. Most of the homicides we deal with are pretty straightforward. Guy shoots another guy in front of ten witnesses, that sort of thing.”
Hudson’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked the screen. “Sorry, Daniel, I have to take this.”
Daniel nodded. “Of course, go ahead.”
Hudson stepped away from the table. Then, when he saw that Daniel was checking messages on his own phone, he moved all the way out into the hallway so they could both talk in private.
He answered his phone just before it went to voice mail. “Dad. What’s up?”
“I have an appointment with Homer Vilches’s widow, Nellie. I thought you might want to go with me.”
Hudson had heard the name before, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Who is Homer Vilches?”
“My old buddy? The one who investigated Holly Mandalay’s disappearance?”
“Oh. Oh, right. Tonight? It can’t wait until tomorrow?” Although he was anxious to learn more about the disappearance of Liz’s mother, he was exhausted down to his marrow, and Hudson really didn’t want to do anything else to antagonize Liz right now.
“Nellie’s in the hospital. Very ill, kidney failure. Frankly, she’s deteriorating rapidly. Tomorrow she might not be able to talk, or remember.”
Hudson took a deep breath. Sounded as if he really had no choice. “Okay. I’ll meet you there. Which hospital?”
His father gave him the particulars. Now he just had to tell Daniel what he was doing—and ask to borrow a car. Nothing like feeling sixteen again.
* * *
HUDSON MET HIS father in the lobby of Memorial Medical Center. Daniel hadn’t balked when Hudson wanted to go alone. He’d given him the keys to a Land Rover, told him to be sure he wasn’t followed and turned him loose.
Rusty Vale shook hands with his son. “When I heard Nellie was sick, I wasn’t going to bother her. But I spoke with Nellie’s sister, Judy. She sa
id something strange happened shortly after Homer Vilches died. A cop showed up at Nellie’s door, wanting to look at Homer’s private files. Said it was an official matter but didn’t elaborate.”
“That sounds kind of fishy.”
“I thought the same thing. I want to see what Nellie remembers.”
Rusty already knew Nellie’s room number. They headed for the elevator.
Nellie Vilches did not look good. A tiny, frail woman hooked up to more machines than NASA used for a space launch, she had decidedly yellow skin, and her breathing was shallow. Poor woman. And wasn’t it just Hudson’s luck that his best witness was dead, and another was dying?
“Hello, Nellie, it’s me, Rusty Vale,” Rusty said with exaggerated cheer as they approached her bed.
“Rusty?” Her eyes opened, but it didn’t seem as if she could see. She didn’t look in their direction. “After all these years, how good to hear your voice. How’s Binnie?”
“Ornery as always. I’ve brought my son with me. Hudson.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Vilches.” He grasped her bony hand in his. “Although I think we met once when I was a little kid.”
“Yes, I’m sure we did. You sound all grown-up now. What are you, twenty? Twenty-one?”
“Thirty-two, ma’am.”
“Oh, how do the years slip by so fast?” She laughed, but the laugh turned into a cough.
“I should have come to see you before now,” Rusty said gruffly. “You always figure you have plenty of time.”
“Don’t give it a second thought. Judy said you might be coming to see me. That you wanted to ask me something?”
Hudson was grateful that Nellie’s mind still seemed to be sharp. He was also grateful to the sister for preparing Nellie for their visit.
“Nellie,” Rusty began, “Judy said that shortly after Homer passed away, someone came to your house and wanted to look through Homer’s personal records.”
“Oh, that.” She frowned. “He said he was working on one of Homer’s unsolved cases, and he was desperate for any clue that might help him. But he wouldn’t say what case.”
A man, then. Not a woman. Not Carla. Hudson hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until then.
“When was this?” Hudson asked.
“Oh, maybe three years ago? Well, there the man was,” Nellie continued, “looking oh-so-official in his uniform, and of course I let him do anything he wanted. He spent some time going through Homer’s file cabinet, and in the end he took one file with him. He thanked me and left. Later, though, I wondered. It just seemed...weird.”
“Was he a Houston city cop?” Hudson asked. “Or from somewhere else?”
“I don’t know.” She sounded distressed. “I don’t remember.”
“Do you remember what he looked like?” Rusty asked.
“He was tall and thin, young, with glasses and dark hair. And a prematurely receding hairline—I do remember that.”
Rusty looked at Hudson, but all Hudson could do was shrug. That description could fit a million people.
“You don’t happen to remember what folder he took, do you?” Hudson asked.
“Why, yes. I was curious, so after he left I took a peek inside the file cabinet to see what was missing. I was familiar with his files. I’d gone through them myself, many times. Kind of silly, but it made me feel closer to him to see the notes he took. Like being inside his head.”
She paused significantly.
“It was the Holly Mandalay case. That’s the one that was missing, and it didn’t surprise me. Homer was always funny about that case. Couldn’t stop...talking about it at first, then one day...he just never said another word about it.”
Whatever strength Nellie Vilches had mustered to speak her piece to Hudson and his dad was fading fast. Her eyelids drooped, and she was almost gasping for breath.
Rusty squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Nellie. We’ve tired you out.”
“Oh, it’s okay. I’m glad to be able to tell someone about this before... Well, whatever.” She closed her eyes. “It won’t be much longer.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Vilches.” Hudson gave her hand one last squeeze. “We really appreciate your time.”
She said nothing else. Maybe she’d fallen asleep.
Hudson and his father remained silent until they’d exited the hospital. It was a fine autumn evening, cool but not quite jacket weather. Mrs. Vilches likely would never feel a fall breeze brush her cheek again.
“What did you make of that?” Hudson asked.
“I always got the feeling Homer was somehow pressured into putting that case in cold storage. Obviously I was right. Someone was interested. Didn’t want anything Homer had learned to get into the wrong hands. Did you recognize the person she described?”
Hudson shook his head. “It was a little too vague.”
“It might not have even been a real cop.”
“But I can’t rule that out. A guy took a potshot at me the other night. Some folks with metal detectors found the bullet. It traced back to a gun owned by my partner.”
“The woman? Sanchez?”
“Yeah. But Nellie’s visitor was male. Hell, maybe this has nothing to do with the whole Mandalay thing.”
“Maybe.” Rusty didn’t sound convinced. “Someone put pressure on Homer Vilches to bury that missing-persons case.”
“I can take a guess who that was. Pressuring law enforcement was something Franklin Mandalay knew how to do. He had a history of strong-arming anybody who opposed his wishes in any way. Even sent some thugs to beat up his own daughter’s boyfriend.”
“Hmm. Any chance the boyfriend murdered Mandalay?”
“Hell, who knows? All the people who hated him, you probably couldn’t fit them into the Astrodome.”
“And yet they’re focusing on you.”
“And Mandalay’s daughter. It’s that kind of detective work that keeps Project Justice in business. Happens more than us cops would like to believe.”
* * *
ELIZABETH COULDN’T SLEEP. Every time she closed her eyes, she was assaulted by grisly mental images of the dead man. Even though she hadn’t actually seen him, her imagination conjured up a host of horror-movie stills.
She tossed and turned for an hour, then decided she should get up. She could try drinking warm milk. Or maybe some physical activity would help. She hadn’t worked out at the gym in ages.
The Logan estate had its own workout room with a whirlpool and sauna. Elena had told Elizabeth it was in the basement, and that she was welcome to use it. She decided to throw on a robe and head downstairs—not to exercise, but to soak her feet in the whirlpool. Maybe it would relax her.
It wasn’t hard to find. Elizabeth took the elevator to the B level, then wandered down a hallway until she found an open door.
Someone else had got the same idea, apparently. Her breath snagged in her throat as she caught an eyeful of Hudson running on a treadmill. He wore only a pair of shorts and shoes; the rest of him was bare, his golden skin shiny with perspiration. Judging from how hard he was breathing, he’d been at this for a while.
Elizabeth wanted to slink away unnoticed, but she was rooted to the spot. He was so gorgeous, like a sleek wild animal.
Though she was sure she hadn’t made any sound at all, Hudson turned and saw her. He was startled enough that he lost his footing and almost was thrown off the treadmill, but he righted himself and hammered the emergency-stop button.
“Jeez, Liz, you scared me to death.”
“Sorry. I didn’t think anyone else would be down here.”
“You can’t sleep, either, huh?”
She shook her head, suddenly very aware of how thin her robe was and how very little she had on underneath. If he kissed her right now, if he pressed that deliciously sweaty body against hers and pushed her up against the wall—
Suddenly her mind was filled not with visions of death and decay, but with images of her and Hudson in a passionate embrace—on
the weight bench, the stair climber, and...oh, my, the chin-up bar.
She tried to summon some of the anger she’d been clinging to, but she couldn’t seem to find it.
“Liz?” His look was one of concern, not lust, yet the slight flaring of his nostrils told her he was aware of her as a woman.
“Oh, um, yeah, couldn’t sleep.”
“Me, neither. It’s pretty sobering to discover your own partner might be involved in murder. I don’t know if you heard, but the bullet found in the woods by my house traced back to Carla Sanchez.”
“Oh, Hudson. I’m so sorry.” That had to be hard for him.
“I don’t want to believe it. The whole idea of a dirty cop...”
“They could plant fake evidence, pay off witnesses to lie— God knows.”
“Right.”
Until now, Liz had avoided thinking about what would happen if they didn’t find the real murderer. Arrest, incarceration, a trial, legal fees. They wouldn’t let her use any inheritance to help with those fees, either. Her father’s estate would be frozen so fast...
She folded her arms, belatedly realizing how the action caused her robe to mold to her breasts. “Deep down, I’ve always believed we could prove our innocence.”
“Me, too.” He pulled her to him, put his arms around her. The move felt so natural, his comforting embrace so welcome, that she made no move to stop it.
“Do you think they have enough to arrest either of us?”
“They must have something—but maybe not enough. I can’t imagine why they haven’t brought us in for official questioning by now. If they really think we did it, they should be trying to wrest confessions out of us. Get us to turn on each other. That’s what I would have done.”
“Maybe they have something strong enough that a confession isn’t even necessary. Hudson, I’m scared.”
“Me, too. You know what happens to cops in prison?”
She didn’t want to think about that.
“Hudson?”
“Yeah?”
“What if we ran?” Suddenly that option sounded much more attractive than it had a few days ago. She had some money. They could make their way to Venezuela or some country without a U.S. extradition treaty.
