by Janet Dailey
Delaney stiffened. “She had a gun?”
“I’d bet my badge on it.”
The car was pulling away. “Get the license number, Riley.” Even as she said it, he was moving.
“The license. What for?” the man asked.
“I assume it’s against the law in Colorado to carry a concealed weapon, isn’t it?” Delaney replied.
“Yes,” the officer affirmed, still frowning.
Riley came back. “I managed to catch only two numbers—nine and six. It’s a black Lincoln Town Car, a rental from Budget. It shouldn’t be hard to spot.”
“Got that?” Delaney asked the officer. When he nodded, she said, “Good. Call dispatch, give them the information, and let them know about the gun, then have whoever’s on patrol keep an eye out for the car and pull it over for a routine traffic check. If we’re lucky, they’ll find the illegal weapon.”
“And if we’re not—” Riley began.
Delaney finished the thought for him. “—we’d better get to the house. Just in case she didn’t buy your story about a previous engagement.”
“I’ll get the car.” Moving away, he broke into a loping run.
“I’ll be right there.” She turned again to the off-duty officer. “Have them keep us informed of any developments.”
“Will do.”
Riley had the engine running when she reached the car. She climbed in and they took off. Delaney was conscious of the fine tension raveling her nerves as she scanned the road before them, searching for the red gleam of taillights.
“What do you think the chances are that a patrol car will spot the car?” Delaney wondered as Riley placed an unlit cigarette between his lips, then pushed the cigarette lighter in.
“It’s a small town.”
“I’m counting on that.”
“Even if they catch her with that gun in her purse, you know she’ll say she’s carrying it for her own protection.”
“What else could she say?” Delaney glanced briefly at the uniformed security guard on duty at the entrance to the exclusive Starwood subdivision. “I just want that gun taken from her. I want to know she doesn’t have one in her possession.”
“Temporarily.”
“Temporarily will do.” She regarded each delay as another victory for their side.
Riley pulled out onto the main road. “You didn’t mention Jared would be at the party tonight.”
“Didn’t I?” Tensing, Delaney kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead of them.
“No, you didn’t.” His voice was drier than the Santa Ana wind. “How come?”
“It didn’t seem important.”
Riley muttered something under his breath, too low for her to catch. “What did you say, Riley?” she challenged out of sheer perversity. “I couldn’t hear that.”
“I was merely commenting on how much you two found to talk about. Too bad your little tête-à-tête was so rudely interrupted by Rina’s arrival on the scene.”
“It was hardly that,” Delaney retorted, annoyed with him. “Or didn’t you notice when Susan St. Jacque came over to join us?”
“I noticed.” Again there was that note in his voice that implied he had observed a great many things, none of which he liked.
“Honestly, Riley, if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were jealous,” she declared in disgust.
“There are times, Delaney,” he dragged the words out with a slowness that suggested a tight hold on his temper, “when I can’t decide whether to shake you or—” He clamped his mouth shut, breaking it off in midsentence.
“Or what?” she demanded, her own temper kindling.
“One of these days you’ll find out.” He fired her a quick look and laid a hand on the horn, advising Wyatt of their approach as they neared the driveway to Lucas Wayne’s house on Red Mountain.
The house was ablaze with light when they arrived five minutes behind the others. Lucas was in the living room, his bow tie hanging loose, his pleated shirt open at the throat, the studs to it scattered atop the coffee table. His hand gripped a cognac glass, his handsome features etched in taut lines. Arthur paced the floor in front of him.
“I told you not to go. Didn’t I tell you not to go? Why wouldn’t you listen to me? You have to stop this macho shit, Luke. You have to stop trying to prove how brave you are before you end up dead! Do you hear? Dead!” he declared, then turned and saw Delaney. “Lucas just told me Rina showed up. What happened?”
She glanced at Lucas, conscious of the tension emanating from him. “Isn’t it obvious?” She walked into the room, showing them both a calm look of unconcern. “Nothing happened.”
“Nothing happened, she says.” Arthur threw his hands in the air. “How in God’s name can you say nothing happened? She came to the party, didn’t she? You had to sneak Lucas out, didn’t you?”
“He’s here, isn’t he? And he’s safe, isn’t he? Therefore, nothing happened,” she reasoned.
“While you two argue this out,” Riley inserted dryly, “I think I’ll put some coffee on and change out of this tux.”
“Good idea.”
When she turned to watch Riley exit the room, Arthur started in again. “I don’t care what you say, something happened. You can’t convince me Rina Cole didn’t make some kind of a stink. What did she do? What did she say? Where is she now?”
“I have no idea where she is,” Delaney admitted. “When she found out Lucas wasn’t there, she decided she didn’t want to stay either and left with her date.”
“Her date? She was with someone? Who?”
“Timothy Collins-Jones.” She could tell the name meant nothing to Arthur. “He’s a famous lecturer with a doctorate in philosophy.”
“Rina Cole was with a doctor of philosophy.” Arthur arched an eyebrow. “Talk about the ultimate odd couple—”
The telephone rang, interrupting him. Arthur swung toward the extension in the living room. Delaney checked the step he took toward it with, “Riley will answer it in the kitchen.”
Arthur readily turned from the phone. “The woman’s crazy. She should be locked up.”
“Arthur, believe me, never at any time tonight was Lucas in danger.” She noticed that Lucas hadn’t said a single word during all this, his rigid stance never altering, his look hooded and tense.
“But what about tomorrow night? And the night after that? That’s what worries me,” Arthur stated, then abruptly declared, “I need a drink. Do you want another, Luke?”
“No.” Lucas tossed down a swallow of the cognac and turned to wander over to a window.
For a time, the only sounds in the room were the plunk of ice cubes dropped in a glass, the splash of liquor, the spritz of soda, and the sloshing rattle of it all being stirred together.
“Sorry, Delaney, I never asked if you wanted a drink.”
“No, thanks, I’ll wait for the coffee Riley is fixing.”
As if on cue, there was the sound of footsteps crossing the foyer’s marbled floor. A second later, Riley appeared in the living room arch, still dressed in his tuxedo.
“They located the car,” he told Delaney. “It’s parked in Little Nell’s lot. Unfortunately”—he paused and made a faint grimace—“they don’t think they have sufficient probable cause to go any further. So—she still has it.”
“She still has what?” Arthur jumped on that. “What’s he talking about? Rina?”
“Yes.” Delaney would have preferred not to tell them about this latest development. “We have reason to suspect she might have had a gun in her purse tonight.”
“My God.” Lucas lifted his head to stare at the ceiling. “This isn’t going to go away, is it? She isn’t going to let it. She’s going to keep coming after me—”
“It will end, Lucas,” she insisted against the hopelessness in his voice.
He looked at her with dark and haunted eyes. “One way or the other, I guess it will.”
Something in his words raised a chill.
; NINETEEN
SCUDDING CLOUDS RACED ACROSS the face of the late-afternoon sun, blocking its light, but Delaney didn’t notice as she glanced at the card Riley had discarded, then picked up one from the deck. She added the ace of spades to the other cards in her hand. She tried to weigh the options it gave her, but she couldn’t concentrate. Which was why she already owed Riley one dollar and twenty-seven cents.
There was too much tension charging the air, giving a sharp edge to the smallest sound, from the slip-slip of playing cards sliding together to the tap of Riley’s cigarette in the ashtray, the crackle of Lucas turning a script page, and the scratching of Arthur’s pen in the margins of some weighty movie contract.
“It’s your play,” Riley prodded.
“Right.” She tossed the ace in the discard pile.
He promptly picked it up. “Do you get the feeling this is the quiet before the storm?”
“I almost wish it would erupt. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel like I’m holding my breath—and maybe I wouldn’t want one of your cigarettes so much.” She tried to ignore the one currently balanced in the ashtray’s slot, smoldering so tantalizingly near her reach.
“Nerves shot?” His smile made light of the question, but his eyes were serious in their inspection.
“No.” She shook her head. Like him, she kept her voice pitched at a subdued level. “I just feel like I’ve been strung for two-twenty wiring all day.”
“Haven’t we all?”
She saw his glance slide to Lucas, sprawled on one of the room’s white chairs, glowering at the script in his hand. The long sleeves of his blue knit shirt were pushed up to his elbows, his dark hair rumpled by the constant rake of his fingers. Delaney guessed Riley was remembering the way Lucas had snapped at Toby earlier in the day. The usually limitless supply of patience he had for his brother had been nowhere in evidence.
“At least Arthur has kept his mouth shut.” In her opinion, Arthur Golden had contributed equally as much as Rina Cole to making her client so jumpy and uptight. She reached for the draw pile, then winced at the sudden blast of static coming from her earpiece and hurriedly reached to turn down the volume on her two-way radio receiver.
“Roger, Three. I copy that,” Riley said into his, then slipped it back into the leather case at his waist. “Your radio still not working?”
“No.” She rubbed near her lobe to stop the faint buzzing.
“We put new batteries in it. There must be a short somewhere. I’ll take it apart when I get back, and see if I can’t fix it,” he said, then smiled and wagged his eyebrows. “The caterer is here with our evening repast.” He got up from his chair, then leaned across the narrow game table to whisper to Delaney, “Or as the common man would say—Food!”
“You’re hopeless.” She smiled and shook her head, privately relieved that they were back on their old footing.
“No. My stomach is—hopelessly empty.” He winked and moved away from the table.
But she had caught the flicker of concern in his eyes when they searched her face, and she knew Riley had joked about the food to try to get her to lighten up and relax. She wished she could relax and ignore the charged undercurrents that sizzled around her, wearing her own nerves thin.
Riley was halfway across the room when the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” he said to no one in particular.
As he picked it up, Delaney laid her cards facedown on the game table’s ostrichskin top. She removed the earpiece and set it, along with her radio, on the table for Riley to repair later. That left only the familiar weight of the gun she wore clipped to the belt at her waist, making her feel strangely light.
“It’s for you, Lucas.” Riley held out the phone to him. “Your secretary Liz in L.A.”
“Liz?” His harsh frown deepened, the impression strong that his quick temper was already on a hair trigger. “Why the hell is she calling me on a Saturday?”
“You want me to ask?”
“No, I’ll talk to her.” Lucas threw the script onto the white ottoman and rolled to his feet. Delaney watched him, seeing the caged energy that colored his every movement with impatience and sharpness. He took the phone from Riley and snapped into it, “Yes, what is it, Liz?” A second later he froze in shock, the color draining from his face. “You’re crazy.” His voice sounded strangled, hoarse.
Delaney came out of her chair. “Who is it?”
He didn’t hear her. His whole attention was focused on the voice coming over the line. “Leave me alone!” he exploded, his voice shaking with the force of it. “Dammit, I’ve told you before—we’re through!” He stiffened at the reply, then slammed the phone down, holding the receiver on the cradle with both hands.
“It was Rina, wasn’t it?” Arthur guessed, his tan fingers curling into the contract he held.
Lucas nodded, then said through tightly gritted teeth, “She said she’d never be through with me. She means it.”
Arthur swore and turned away, hurling the contract onto the chair he had just vacated.
Riley cast a troubled look Delaney’s way. “Sorry. I knew his secretary was named Liz. When she said that’s who she was, I accepted it. My fault.”
But Delaney shook off any thought that someone was to blame. Instead she concentrated on Lucas. “What else did she say? Anything?”
He made a visible attempt to collect himself, releasing his grip on the phone and straightening to take a deep, long breath, his features set in rigid lines of control. “She said she’d be seeing me”—he paused, his mouth twisting in bitterness—“soon.”
“And when she sees you, she’ll have that god-damned gun,” Arthur declared and turned on Delaney. “Why the hell didn’t you take it away from her last night? Why did you let her keep it? Don’t you know she wants to kill Luke?”
She saw the apprehension that leaped into Lucas’s face. Arthur’s alarm was contagious. She had to stop it. “She may try, Arthur, but she won’t succeed. We’ll be here to stop her. Remember?” She let a smile of quiet confidence curve her mouth.
“I remember.”
“In that case, why don’t you fix yourself a drink and calm down? Lucas could probably use one, too.” When she turned to Riley, he smiled in silent approval at the way she’d handled the situation. “I think you said the caterer was here.”
“Right.” He moved off again.
No further mention was made about the phone call from Rina, but the memory of it hung in the air, heightening all the previous tension. Even Delaney found herself picking at her food when they sat down to eat in the dining room. Riley was the only one who seemed to be enjoying the catered meal of black pepper-roasted duck garnished with Georgia peaches and accompanied by steamed vegetables. His plate was definitely the only one slicked clean when Delaney carried the dishes into the kitchen.
She came back with the coffee pot. “There’s some double chocolate cake for dessert if anyone wants it.”
“Not me.” Arthur pushed his chair back from the dining table. “And no coffee, either. My nerves are jittery enough. I’ll have myself a brandy in the living room instead.”
“I’ll pass on the coffee, too, and have a brandy with Arthur.” Lucas laid his folded napkin on the table and rose from his chair.
“You can fill my cup and I’ll take it with me.” Riley rose to follow Lucas into the living room.
Delaney filled his cup, then her own, and trailed after the three of them, bringing the insulated pot with her, nagged by the feeling that this was going to be a long night. Arthur headed straight for the brandy decanter atop the bar.
“For God’s sake, can’t somebody turn on the lights?” Lucas flipped on a lamp switch. “This place is dark as a—” He cut off the rest of the phrase, leaving the word tomb to dangle unspoken.
Riley immediately went over to the bank of wall switches and turned the recessed ceiling lights up to full bright, then casually announced, “I think I’ll take your radio apart, Delaney. Maybe I can figure out what’s wrong with it.”
For a change, Arthur made an equal attempt to defuse the moment. “Here’s your brandy, Luke.” He handed him a snifter glass.
Lucas took it and walked stiffly away. Delaney watched him a moment, then wandered over to the game table, giving Lucas the time and the space to compose himself again. She set the coffee pot next to a stack of playing cards, well clear of the area Riley was using to take apart her radio.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” she asked curiously before taking a sip of her coffee.
“I’m a wizard with electronics. Didn’t you know that?”
“I think you’ve kept that talent hidden.”
“Could be.”
The telephone rang. The brandy glass in Lucas’s hand crashed to the floor when he whirled to face it.
“I’ll answer it.” Delaney shoved her cup onto the table and went to the phone. She picked up the receiver as the phone began its second ring. “Hello.”
She tensed at the initial beat of silence, then a woman’s voice said questioningly, “Delaney?”
“Yes.” She waited, listening closely.
There was a throaty laugh, the sound too familiar for Delaney to fail to recognize. “It’s Susan St. Jacque. I’m so used to Riley answering the phone I thought I had dialed the wrong number,” she declared. “Since you’re there, I assume Luke is, too. Put him on the phone for me, will you?”
“Just a minute.” Delaney covered the mouthpiece with her hand and lowered the receiver. “It’s Susan St. Jacque.” She saw his hesitation and guessed at its cause. “I recognize her voice. Do you want to talk to her or—”
“I’ll talk to her.” When he took a step toward Delaney, broken glass crunched under his foot. He swore softly, savagely, then sidestepped the rest of the shards to take the receiver. “Hello, Susan.” He tried and failed to keep the clipped, hard edge out of his voice. Delaney walked over to help Arthur pick up the pieces of broken glass. “Yes…well…it couldn’t be helped. I had to leave.” Susan obviously said something and Lucas responded with a tersely impatient, “Of course I have.” That was followed shortly by, “Yes, I would.” Then, “All right, fine. Do that.”
