“Um,” she cleared her throat. “Earlier you said that since 1972 fingerprints have been compared and retrieved via computer, and by 1989 they could be sent back and forth on-line. You also said that a computer scans and digitally encodes prints into a geometric pattern according to their ridge endings and branchings, and in less than a second the computer can compare a set of ten prints against a half million. At the end of the process, it comes up with a list of prints that closely match the questioned prints. Then the technicians make the final determination, which involves a point-by-point visual comparison. In addition to fingerprints, you said, there are also palm and footprints, and even ear and faceprints.” She paused and smiled again. “My question is, what with DNA testing and advanced fingerprinting, computer analysis, blood splatter techniques, databases, and instant transfer of information, is it possible that someday crime will be a thing of the past, since nobody will be able to get away with it?”
She closed her note pad and held it to her chest as though it were some kind of shield. Her eager eyes focused intently on Abbott, who stood stock still, in obvious confusion that a woman who looked like a scatterbrain was anything but.
Soldier smiled to himself. If anything would make Abbott keep his hands to himself, it was an intelligent woman.
Abbott curled his fingers over the edge of the podium. “Miss . . . um, what is your name please?”
“Tremaine.”
“Miss Tremaine, then. Uh, Soldier?” he said through his teeth. “Why don’t you answer that one for the lady.”
Caught off guard, which he knew was exactly what that ass Abbott wanted, Soldier gathered his thoughts. Standing and turning toward the audience, he said, “Criminals are nothing if not arrogant. Even with all the techniques we have available to determine whodunit, people still murder other people, or steal, or cheat. They always think—if they think at all—that they’ll get away with it. In answer to your question, Ms. Tremaine,” he said, looking deeply into her lovely eyes, “I’m sorry, but no, I don’t think crime will ever become extinct. Unfortunately. As long as people envy, hate, and covet, they will kill and steal. Capture and the penalty for their crimes seem not to be deterrents. When somebody wishes someone else harm, or wants something someone else has, they find a way, regardless of whether it makes sense or not, whether their chances of getting away with it are virtually nil.”
Soldier knew Betsy was thinking of the stalker. He watched as she quietly thanked him, then lowered her eyes to her hands, clutching her note pad. The little pearl ring she wore gleamed softly as she tightened her grip.
Although the question and answer period went on for another ten minutes, Betsy had retreated into her own world. He’d have to find a way to get her mind off her predicament, help her become aware of the danger she was in without completely destroying her sense of safety or her tenuous self-confidence.
Being stalked had a way of putting a damper on a person’s enthusiasm for life.
After class, a few people lingered to speak to Abbott. Most of the eager students were women, anxious to have his full attention. He answered them each with charming alacrity, then turned his attention to Soldier . . . and Betsy.
As Abbott approached and extended his palm in greeting, Soldier rose to meet him. The two men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.
“John, this is Betsy Tremaine.” Out of spite, he’d leave it at that, letting John wonder if she was his girlfriend, coworker, mere acquaintance, lover, or country cousin.
Betsy remained seated in the folding chair. Smiling up into the tall detective’s eyes, she said, “Hello. I enjoyed your class, Detective Abbott.”
“John,” he said, taking her hand between his two large palms.
“John, then,” she replied, sliding her hand from his grasp.
Turning to Soldier, he said, “Heard you were back at it, Detective. Yeah?”
Soldier nodded in agreement. News traveled faster than lightning through the SPD. “Yeah.”
Abbott nodded, his eyes serious for the first time. He reached for Soldier’s hand again and shook it with a firm, sincere grip. “Welcome back, stranger. I’ll see you around.” Then he grinned and slid a look at Betsy. “Take care of the lady, champ. Looks like she’s way out of my league.”
As they were leaving the room, Betsy felt Soldier touch her elbow. “Time for dinner, then it’ll be my turn to take the podium.”
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Sure.” He smiled down into her eyes. “You know,” he said in low tones, “you are a really nice person. I don’t meet many nice people in my line of work, but you, you’re special. Unique. Genuine. The real deal. I . . . well, I just wanted to say that.”
He ushered her into the ballroom, converted once again for dining. At the far end, in front of the tall windows, a long buffet stretched from one side to the other, and was filled with a variety of Asian delights. The scent of spices and succulent meats permeated the air, making Betsy aware of just how hungry she was.
The room was filling up quickly, so Soldier guided her to a table near a wall and placed his jacket over one chair. Betsy put her note pad and pen on the other chair, to secure their places while they went through the buffet line.
“You like Chinese food?” he asked.
“Oh, sure. Gosh, who doesn’t?” She was so hungry she was afraid she’d knock him down in her haste to get to the food line.
People chatted as the queue moved slowly forward. Standing near him as she was, Betsy was aware of Soldier’s height and the warmth of his body. Even though she couldn’t identify the scent, he smelled like a man, and she liked it. She let herself feel as though she were with him, they were together, a couple. It was a silly game, but it sure was nice to pretend that a man like Soldier could be interested in her.
All wrong, you’re all wrong, Elizabeth. Lose weight, fix your hair, get some decent clothes, will you? No man in his right mind will give you a second glance, dear. Bless your heart, you have a certain healthy glow, but I’m afraid you’re not what one would call pretty. And you’re no spring chicken, either. Nearly thirty and no hope in sight? What am I going to do with you, Elizabeth?
Betsy shoved her mother’s words into the darkest recesses of her mind where, sadly, they were only hidden, not gone. They hung about like tattered clothes in her closet, waiting to be dragged back out and worn again, because they were all she had.
From the corner of her eye, she could see women glancing in Soldier’s direction, smiling, even flirting. He must get that all the time, she thought. The only thing keeping him from taking one of them up on it was his “duty” to her.
She gave herself a mental smack. Snap out of it, cupcake. Enjoy being with him now and quit bitching. So he won’t be around forever, so what? You may not be beautiful, but you’re smart. Say something smart!
She looked up at Soldier. “E equals M C squared.”
“What?”
She sighed. “Never mind.”
Clever words suddenly made themselves as scarce as iced tea in hell, so she contented herself with watching as Soldier heaped his plate with almond duck and sweet-and-sour ribs, pot stickers, egg rolls, and whatever else he could get on the plate without losing too much over the sides. Betsy filled her own plate with white rice and some vegetables and a little almond chicken. Everything looked so delicious, she hardly knew where to begin.
By the time they returned to their table, strangers had filled the other six chairs. It was a companionable group, and included Kristee Spangler, who still couldn’t keep her eyes off Soldier. The busy waiters had obviously been around, because there was a large pot of tea in the center of the table. Her teacup had been filled, as had her water glass, and a fortune cookie had been placed on her napkin.
She moved the cookie and napkin out of the way in order to set down her plate. Soldier’s arm brushed against her shoulder as he took his seat, and the same thrill zapped her as when he’d kissed her.
Yes, he had kiss
ed her, there was that. And the heat of that moment, the feel of his mouth on hers, would carry her forward for a long, long time. She mused that someday, when she was old and gray and they took her away to the Home, she’d look back on that kiss, and her ancient toes would curl and her congested heart would palpitate. Oh, that kiss.
Problem now was, she wanted more. Much more.
“So, Betsy,” Soldier said, leaning toward her to be heard above the din. “What’s your sign?”
She burst out laughing and almost choked on her almond chicken. “Wow, just how old is that line, anyway?”
“Hey, it worked for my dad.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Dad had been discharged from the army. He’d flown from Da Nang to New York, then on to Chicago, then finally Seattle. He was bushed. But he perked right up when he saw my mother.”
Soldier reached for his teacup, which appeared dwarfed in his large hand. The fragrant scent of the tea enveloped them both. He swallowed and Betsy watched, mesmerized, as his powerful throat worked. She was certain her palms began to sweat with the primitive urge to grab him and have her way with him. Her heart beat like a wild jungle drum every time she looked at him.
She gave herself a mental shake. “So, how exactly did your parents meet?”
Soldier picked up his chopsticks and began trying to stab an egg roll, without much luck. “My mom was in graduate school, a poli sci major. She was part of a picket line protesting the war. When my dad came out of SeaTac, he bumped straight into her. I’ve seen pictures. She was cute, and he fell, hard, even though she called him a baby killer.”
“What? A ba— And he still wanted to go out with her?”
“Oh, yeah. Like I said, she was real cute, and he’d been at war a long, long time.”
“Aha.”
“Aha is right. The McKennitt men seem to have a soft spot in their heads for sassy, sexy women.” He smiled into Betsy’s eyes, and she nearly melted right off the chair. “So, he says to her, ‘What’s your sign? I’ll bet you’re a Leo,’ and I’ll be damned if he didn’t guess it right. Turns out, it was the only sign he knew. But he asked her out to debate the pros and cons of the war. Eventually, he convinced her he’d never killed any babies and that she should really take a long hard look at the situation.”
“And she agreed to go out with him simply to debate the war?”
“Oh, hell no.” Soldier laughed. “He was the sexiest guy she’d ever laid eyes on, and she could hardly wait to get him alone. At least,” he slid her a wry glance, “that’s the way he tells it.”
“So, is that where you got your name? Because your father was a soldier?”
“Yup. When I was a kid, everybody called me by my middle name, and it just stuck. My brother Taylor is about the only one who calls me Jack. It’s sort of his reverse nickname for me.”
“You have an odd family.”
“Yup.” He grinned down at her.
Betsy took a sip of her tea. Setting her cup down, she picked up the wrapped fortune cookie. Looking around the table, she said, “Well, I got mine. Where’s everybody else’s?”
Soldier glanced around the table. “I don’t have one. How’d you get one? Are the Powers That Be telling us that you’re the only one at this table with a future?” He laughed as he rose from his chair. A bowl of fortune cookies sat at the end of the buffet line. “I’ll go get some for everybody. Be right back.”
As Soldier made his way through the crowded dining room, Betsy turned the cookie over in her hand. Fortune cookies had always been kind to her. They had always delivered messages portending great wealth, a happy marriage, many children, success in business. Perhaps this particular cookie would promise a bright future with a tall, dark-haired detective.
The detective in question returned to the table and handed the other diners individually wrapped fortune cookies. As each person thanked him and opened their cookie, laughter and giggles went around the table.
Kristee Spangler was proud to announce that hers promised great wealth, according to Confucius, anyway. Another woman discovered she would soon inherit something of great value from a mysterious source.
Soldier tore open the little package and snapped open his cookie. Giving Betsy a suggestive smile, he said, “Good news.”
She swallowed. “What’s it say?”
Unfurling the small banner, he read, “Woman who reviews books will be drawn and quartered by furious fans of literary detective.”
Betsy arched a brow. “Wow, that was great,” she drawled. “And so specific, too. Usually they’re sort of vague, you know, something like, ‘Confucius say a wise detective knows when to shut the hell up and leave well enough alone.’ ” She batted her eyelashes at him and gave him a fake innocent grin.
He crumpled the small paper in his fingers and thrust it in his pants pocket. “Yeah, well, Confucius also say, ‘Sexy lady should watch how her own cookie crumbles.’ ”
Betsy took a sip of her tea, then pressed her napkin to the corners of her mouth. “Confucius also say, ‘Time flies like arrow. Fruit flies like bananas.’ ”
Soldier bit back a laugh, but he did allow her a big grin. He nodded, then said, “Okay, I know a challenge when I hear one.”
He cleared his throat, then narrowed his laser blue eyes on her. “Confucius say, ‘War does not determine who’s right. War determine who’s left.’ ” A round of applause broke out from the other guests at the table, and Betsy giggled in spite of herself.
Kristee Spangler straightened her spine and blurted out, “Confucius say, ‘Man who pees through screen door only straining himself!’ ”
Laughter erupted from the table as Betsy slid a glance to Soldier. When he laughed, his face was transformed. He looked boyish and young and happy. His eyes sparkled and his smile was brilliant. Deep dimples creased his lean cheeks, and the sound of his voice infused her muscles and bones with delight. Oh dear. She felt a little tug at her heart and realized it would be so easy, so very easy, to slide into love with J. Soldier McKennitt.
If she hadn’t already.
The man sitting across from Betsy looked around the table, grinned and said, “Confucius say, ‘Man who goes to bed with sex on his mind wake up with solution in hand.’ ”
Before anybody could take a breath, Soldier counter-Confuciused. “Confucius say, ‘Man who walk through airport turnstile sideways going to Bangkok.’ ”
Smiling and laughing, he turned to Betsy. “You got anymore in that head of yours, or can we get on with seeing your fortune cookie now?”
Betsy held the cookie in her hands but didn’t unwrap it. Nibbling on her lower lip she said, “Confucius say . . .”
Everyone smiled and leaned forward to catch her words. Delightful anticipation showed on their faces.
“Confucius say, ‘Man with hand in pocket feeling cocky all day.’ ” She felt the heat rising on her cheeks and covered her mouth with her fingertips and giggled.
Through the gales of laughter, Soldier said, “Okay, Miss Smarty Pants, you win.”
Betsy smiled into his eyes, and when he smiled back, she felt another one of those tugs. Oh dear. He was going to break her heart. And she was just in love enough to let him.
“What’s your cookie say, Betsy? Inquiring minds want to know.”
She unwrapped it and cracked it open with her fingers. Unfolding the paper, she read the words, then dropped the broken cookie and paper onto the table as though they’d burned her hands. Abruptly, she shoved herself back and stood, moving as far away as she could before her back slammed up against the ballroom wall.
Soldier looked down at the small piece of paper that had evidently caused her such distress. With one of his chopsticks, he turned it over.
The message was hand printed in red ink. It was simple and to the point.
Confucius say, “Woman who betrays, dies slow and painful death.”
Chapter 8
“I don’t need to go to the hospital. I’m just fine.”
With a thermometer jutting out of her mouth like the stick on a sucker, Betsy looked flushed and nervous, which only added to Soldier’s worries.
“Sure, you’re fine now,” he argued. “But what if there was something in the cookie, or in the food?” He glanced at the paramedic about to take her blood pressure. The young man said nothing, but wrapped her upper arm with the sleeve and began punching on the bulb.
Betsy glared up at Soldier and spoke through the side of her mouth. “I didn’t eat the cookie. And the food was from the buffet. The same stuff everybody else had.” She slipped a loose curl behind her ear. “Besides, you wouldn’t even know what to check for. I don’t have any symptoms. Wouldn’t I have symptoms?” She looked to the paramedic as if for support in her cause.
He smiled. “Maybe, ma’am. Maybe not. You ought to listen to your husband.”
She gasped and the thermometer fell out of her mouth and into the paramedic’s quick hands. He looked at it. “Normal,” he said.
“He’s not my—”
“Blood pressure’s a little elevated, but that could be due to the excitement. Pulse is up, too. But everything else checks out okay.”
As the paramedic packed up his bags, Soldier thanked him and shifted his attention to Betsy’s face. She seemed all right. Should he make her go to the hospital or not? True, she exhibited no symptoms except stress, but she was bound and determined to not make a big deal of this.
The lab guys had arrived and were checking for latents, taking food samples, doing whatever they could to accumulate even the smallest bit of evidence from the crime scene. Not that it really was a crime scene exactly, which made things that much more complicated.
Soldier had interviewed the other six people at the table. Nobody had seen who’d placed the cookie on the table. And none of them had received odd fortunes in their cookies. No, they hadn’t seen anybody suspicious lingering or lurking or doing anything strange.
The Damsel in This Dress Page 10
