JUDGING ELLIE
Page 11
Even without her glasses, Ellie could see her way well enough to walk through the semi-familiar surroundings with confidence.
"Bernadette," she shouted again, and stalked into the living room.
The woman had really outdone herself with her decor in this area of the house. Huge, puffy white couches crowded the room, each one piled high with matching white suede pillows. There were no bookcases, only glass and chrome shelving units that glittered, reflecting the candlelight that lit up the room. The effect was cold and unwelcoming to Ellie’s eye.
The shining shelves grabbed her attention, and she moved closer, staring. They held dolls, scores of tiny dolls, each one watching Ellie with dead, glittering eyes. Creepy. She instinctively took a step away from the little faces with their blank stares.
Overcome by curiosity, she eased back to the collection and squinted. None of the dolls looked as if it had ever been played with. Each one was perfect and pristine. There was something odd about them. She leaned even closer to take a better look.
Ellie sucked in a breath. Each doll wore Bernadette’s face, the cornflower blue eyes, the golden blonde hair. They were different sizes and wore different little dresses, but each one was a miniature Bernadette. She recoiled in disgust.
"What the hell are you doing in my house?"
Ellie turned. Bernadette stood on the staircase in a satin robe trimmed with fur, her feet shod in matching furred mules. "I’m calling the police."
"Make sure the officers take my statement as well." Ellie stomped toward her. "That way I can explain to them how you have invaded my privacy week after week, even to the extent of spying on me through my through my front window." Her face, her body flushed hot with righteous anger.
Bernadette said nothing, just picked her way slowly down the stairs, trailing one hand along the banister. She glided toward Ellie and stopped a few inches away. She had to tilt her head up to meet Ellie’s eyes, but the aggression in her stance made it clear she didn’t feel at a disadvantage.
"Are you insinuating I stood outside in the middle of a winter storm to watch you and your boy toy toss around?" Her voice was almost a growl. "Don’t make me laugh, little girl. I don’t need you or anyone else to give me lessons on how to make a man feel good." A smile crawled to her face. "Although you probably could use a few tips yourself, or is that wig just a part of your call girl repertoire?"
Ellie balled up one fist, feeling her short nails cut into her palm. More than anything, she wanted to smack that horrid smirk off of Bernadette’s face. She could almost feel the satisfaction that would come from a good, hard slap. But she had to keep her cool. The pleasure of knocking Bernadette McFee into next week wouldn’t help her if she were hauled off to jail on assault charges. The Marine Corps didn’t look favorably upon that sort of thing and the stink Bernadette would make with Ellie’s command would ensure the end of her career. Ellie slowly unclenched her fingers.
"Good choice." Bernadette snickered. "Although I would’ve enjoyed bringing you up in front of the judge. He’s a good friend of mine, you know."
"How do I know you’re not lying to me about watching us through the window?" Ellie demanded to know.
"Stupid girl, do I look as if I’ve been outside in the bushes in the middle of forty-mile-an-hour wind gusts?" She adjusted one perfect blonde curl.
She had a point, Ellie conceded to herself. Bernadette’s elaborate coiffure looked perfect, not a strand out of place. It was extremely unlikely she could have gone outside, crawled behind the bushes to get to the window, and observed the activities inside without completely destroying her hairdo. The time and effort it would have taken to repair that sort of damage was beyond even Bernadette’s maneuvers.
Ellie felt her volcanic anger subside until only intense dislike remained. "I’ve still got my lease agreement until the end of January. Don’t come into my house again without prior notice and express permission from me."
"Don’t worry, little Eleanor. There is nothing in your house that interests me." She narrowed her gaze. "Except the quality of people you invite into my properties. I demand to know who he is."
Ellie hiked up her chin and stared down her nose at Bernadette. "He’s none of your business."
"Oh, but he is, especially if I think there seem to be questionable activities going on in one of my rental units. Here you are with your lovely prostitute outfit, complete with wig, and your muscular friend parading around my property half-naked. Yes, indeed, there is a lot of business going on that may be attracting my attention. Monkey business, if I don’t miss my guess."
Ellie had all the information she was going to get out of Bernadette. She refused to waste any more time in a battle of wits with her, especially since old Bernie was obviously defenseless. Without another word, Ellie turned and walked out of the living room, grabbing several of the stolen votives as she passed through the kitchen.
With a small twinge of satisfaction, she left Bernadette’s kitchen door swinging wide open, permitting cold air to seep in from the garage. Her own darkened apartment wasn’t much warmer, but the thought of Kurt waiting for her in the living room made her feel a special heat all her own. Ellie laughed. She might not have found out who was spying on them through the living room window, but at least she’d had the satisfaction of telling off the horrible Bernadette.
She placed the warm votives on her kitchen counter top. As she did so, she noticed a glint on the counter top next to the coffee maker. Her spare pair of glasses. She snatched them up with relief, too excited to put them on.
"Kurt?" She walked into the living room and looked around for her date.
He sat in the chair, a shadowed figure in the dying light of the fireplace. His white shirt blazed in the darkness.
"Throw on another log." She rubbed her hands together. "It’s freezing in here."
Kurt stared into the fireplace, something clenched between his hands. "I just got a phone call."
He lifted his hand and Ellie glimpsed a cell phone. He clipped it onto the waistband of his trousers.
"I need to get going." In one sleek movement, grabbed his coat, and strode toward the door.
"But we haven’t eaten." Damn Bernadette’s inference. "I’m sorry about her interrupting, if that’s what’s bothering you—"
"It’s not that. It’s work. I need to check in at work." He flashed her a smile. "If you want to call the police about the peeping tom, go ahead, but there’s nothing to find. Whoever it was is long gone by now. Good night, Ellie. You can bet I’ll call you." With that cryptic promise, he was gone.
The echo of the door shutting lingered in her ears.
Releasing a pent-up snarl, she yanked the wig off her head, ignoring the pain of the pins pulling her hair, and threw the offending hairpiece as hard as she could across the room. It smacked against the bookshelf, and slithered to the floor in a heap.
"Damn it all!" Ellie rubbed the sting of tears from her eyes. Makeup smeared beneath her knuckles. She didn’t care. Taking a deep breath, she slammed on her spare glasses, walked around the couch and stood over the wig.
"That’s it. I’m through with you." Susan would never persuade her to wear it again. Never.
She snatched it up, half tempted to throw it in the fireplace for kindling. What in the world had happened here tonight? A nice, normal date gone crazy, out of control. She never should have let things go as far as they had. The blasted wig must have squeezed her common sense straight out of her head.
She admitted her attraction to Kurt was strong, undeniable. In hindsight, it was frightening in its intensity. Maybe that’s why Kurt took off so quickly. The fire within had had a chance to fade and he got scared. God knew, she was.
That damn invitation from Allan hadn’t helped any. All the old feelings of inadequacy, anger, and hurt had flooded back. Kurt walked into her apartment expecting a nice, normal date and had found himself face to face with a woman who needed to prove she had the right stuff. She groaned. He probably thought
she was a crazed sex fiend.
Ellie plopped into the chair and stared at the fading embers. A chill raised goosebumps on her legs and arms. Rather than stoke the fire, she pulled an afghan over her legs.
She laughed bitterly. Work. He said he needed to check in at work. Here she was ready to give up everything to him and she didn’t even know where he worked. Definitely not an Ellie thing to do. She was almost glad he was gone. Almost.
Sighing, she tucked her feet under her and poured another glass of wine. A blast from the phone startled her. She leaped for it. One part of her hoped Kurt changed her mind, while another part prayed he hadn’t.
"Hello?" Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. The sound of Jess Alderman’s echoing hello settled it with disappointment.
"I’m sorry to bother you, Staff Sergeant. But I thought you’d like to know… Jeremy Forton died about an hour ago."
Chapter 9
* * *
Severance. Eleanor Severance. Where had he heard that name before? Kurt frowned into the night as he drove his black Chevy Impala SS toward the base. He was usually very good at remembering and placing names. Why in the world did this one elude him? Not that it mattered. They’d find out soon enough. Her fingerprints had to be on the plastic baggie. If the contents were what Kurt thought they were, she’d be in jail soon—two cases solved in one blow. He grinned to himself.
Luck, pure and simple, led him to his discovery. When Ellie zipped next door to confront her volatile landlady, Kurt took advantage of the small window of opportunity to search her apartment. Pocket flashlight in hand, he walked the perimeter of her living room. He glanced over the bookshelves once, then something caught his eye. It was a tiny inconsistency at best—one book wedged into place where the others fit nicely on the shelf. Instinct made Kurt pull it out. A treasure fell into his hand. Further examination of that same book also revealed a bookplate with the name Eleanor Severance.
Kurt would have laughed had time not been so short. Instead, he shoved the book back into place while he pocketed his find. It was only after he called Vic to meet him at the NCIS building that regret settled in. Some part of him wanted her to be innocent. Seeing her seconds later, standing in the doorway backlit by candle light didn’t make it easier.
She’d drawn closer. Her lips beckoned. Her eyes were wide. He craved her. Then his gaze traveled to her hair and he saw what the landlady meant. The flaming red hair was nothing more than a wig. It was obvious now. It didn’t match her creamy complexion for one thing, and their earlier encounter had made it slip a little. Why couldn’t he see through the subterfuge before? Because he was blinded by a woman so skilled, so willing, so completely delectable that only a fool would say no?
A powerful gust of wind shook his car. Kurt clutched the wheel and swerved around a huge tumbleweed that bounced across the road. A muttered curse settled his nerves and put him back on course. For added measure, he unrolled his window and let the frigid air shock his system back to normal.
Maybe Jess was right. Maybe he did get too involved in his work. It seemed the older he got, the more he cared. Until last week, he’d chalked it up to professional aggression.
Now?
Kurt sighed. His objectivity had left him years ago. That thought made him laugh. He’d never had any objectivity. It was always about nailing the bad guy, digging and digging at the evidence until he’d put the criminal behind bars. He never gave up. He’d made it his single quest in life to find evil and punish it. Great on a resume when you could say you never had an unsolved case. Crummy when solving cases meant you isolated yourself and spent most nights alone.
"I wonder what her hair really looks like." Long? Short? Definitely dark, he decided, because her eyebrows were dark. He imagined his thumbs delicately tracing those arches, his fingers slipping down to her jaw, around her neck, pulling her closer. Kurt opened his mouth in anticipation of the imagined kiss.
"Damn it all!" With a snarl he ripped off the itchy brown beard and slung it to the passenger seat. The scent of her that lingered was driving him crazy. What had he been thinking? Oral sex with a fake beard? He’d clean it well tonight.
The hairpiece was next. He tossed it aside and raked life back into his own hair. The woman was a suspect, end of story. A clever seductress who wormed her way under a man’s skin. More than one man’s skin. He’d be smart to remember that or he’d wind up as her next victim.
He flashed his ID for the Marine sentry at the front gate, then drove on to the office. Vic shouldn’t be far behind despite the reluctance in his voice when Kurt called. Kurt didn’t blame him. If he had a wife to go home to, he wouldn’t want to be out on a night like this either. Thankfully, Helen was one hundred percent understanding of the demands placed on Vic’s shoulders. She also put up with his quirky sense of humor. They made a great couple.
Kurt slipped into his parking space and tugged his suede jacket closed. Still a gust of icy wind stole his breath away. Typical desert winter weather—all blow, no rain. Kurt detested being cold. This was the only time of the year he hated living in Twentynine Palms. He couldn’t wait for spring.
He’d barely had time to flip on a light switch and take out the brown contact lenses before Vic blew in through the door behind him.
"Boy, it’s freezing out there." Vic’s hazel eyes snapped and his olive skin was ruddy from the cold. He dusted the chill from his arms. "Okay, I’m here. Whatcha got?"
Lifting the tiny baggie from his pocket, Kurt held it up by one corner. "Is this what I think it is?"
Vic widened his eyes and nodded slowly. "Well, it’s not baking soda, that’s for sure. At least not the kind I grew up with. Looks like ketamine to me. Of course, we won’t know until it’s analyzed. Where’d you find it?"
Kurt tossed it to the tabletop. "Stuffed in a book belonging to one Eleanor Severance. Name sound familiar?"
Vic’s eyebrows inched together. "Can’t place it. Is this from the blackmailing case you’re working?"
"Yep."
"That’s awfully nice and neat. Both our cases all rolled into one. Seems a little too pat. Could be a coincidence. Maybe she’s just a buyer, not the dealer."
"Could be." But he’d seen stranger things happen over the course of his career. They shouldn’t discount this as a possible lead.
Vic led the way toward their shared office. "I’ve got to tell you, I hope this is a new trail for us. I just got word from Jess that our main suspect died about an hour ago from injuries sustained during one hell of a beating."
He started to log the substance as evidence. Pen in hand, Vic poised over the evidence tag and flicked his gaze up to Kurt.
"I’m almost afraid to ask this, but…did you have a search warrant before you rifled her place?"
Kurt didn’t dignify his stupidity with an answer. He looked away and made a big show of straightening his desk.
Vic threw the pen on the desktop. "Great. Damn it, Kurt! Illegal search and seizure. You know a lawyer will toss that out in a heartbeat. The least you could’ve done was put the stuff back when you found it, then gone in with a search warrant. What the hell were you thinking?"
Damn fine question. And there wasn’t an answer in the world he could give to justify his actions. He hadn’t thought; he’d reacted. Another example of objectivity gone awry.
"And if you wanted to preserve your anonymity, this is a stupid way to do it," Vic snapped. "What the hell is she going to think when she finds it missing?"
Kurt rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Okay, so I screwed up. Just log it in. We’ll find more evidence. With any luck, she’ll think her landlady took it."
Vic shot him a glare.
"I can’t very well put the stuff back now. You sit there all high and mighty about illegal search and seizure, but what do you think will happen if I get caught planting evidence?"
Vic made a sound somewhere between a grunt and snort, then snatched up the pen, tagged the packet, and put it in the evidence locker.
Kurt merely nodded. He didn’t want to contribute anything that might lead to another discussion of his lapse in judgment.
Vic seemed inclined to let it go as well. He shrugged on his jacket as they walked toward the door. A broad smile cut the tension on his face. "Helen and I were just getting ready to go out for a late dinner down in Palm Springs. The power’s on down there and Helen’s dying to try the new bistro on Palm Canyon Drive. Care to join us? Janie’s up visiting with us for a few days."
Kurt ignored his first instinct, which was to run the other way. He and Janie Brighton had dated very briefly. He hadn’t seen her since Vic and Helen’s wedding last spring.
She was a nice enough woman, pretty and intelligent, but she lacked the spark of life Kurt liked in a woman. She also came with a lot of baggage, not that Kurt blamed her. If he’d gone through an abusive marriage like she had, he’d have issues, too. He just wasn’t the man to help her through it. Still, she was there and accommodating. It might be just what he needed to ease his tension and get his mind off a certain someone. With a sexual outlet to relieve his needs, getting the goods on his alluring suspect was as good as done.
"Sounds great. I’ll be right behind you."
"Great." Vic clapped him on the back. "Meet you at the house."
Kurt knew he’d made a mistake the second he laid eyes on Janie again. She greeted him with a full-body hug that promised he’d get something out of it later. He squeezed her once, then set her away from him. Rather than being enticed, he’d swear his libido yawned. There wasn’t even a flicker of interest.
On the hour drive to Palm Springs, he only half-listened to her recap of the last nine months. Thankfully, Helen kept the conversation going with questions of her own. Kurt didn’t have to say a thing. He stared out the window. Patches of light swept the landscape here and there as power was slowly restored.