All Fall Down (8 page)

B
oyd watched Melanie walk away, his lips curved into a small, amused smile. He thanked the security guard, apologized for his sister-in-law's behavior, then excused himself—the very image of calm, control and self-confidence.

Save for the telltale twitch above his right eye.

He cursed the twitch and breathed deeply through his nose. Damn his sister-in-law. Sanctimonious, nosy bitch. How dare she confront him? How dare she come to his hospital and challenge him? Here, he was God. He called the shots—others bent to his will, deferred to his opinion.

She knew nothing about him.
Nothing.

On his way past the information desk, he glanced over and found the receptionist studying him, her gaze speculative. The twitch became a spasm. That was how it started. A speculative gaze. A murmured question. A whisper, a rumor, an accusation.

He sent the woman a curt smile, and she ducked her head, obviously embarrassed at having been caught staring at one of the most important people at Queen's City Medical Center. She should be, he thought. He could have her fired. Today. One call and she would be out.

For a moment, he considered doing just that, then discarded the notion. That would have the opposite effect he desired—singling out the woman in any way would draw attention to him and set tongues wagging. No, his smartest move would be to pretend the woman didn't exist and today's episode had never happened.

He made his way to his office, nodding to colleagues he passed, enjoying the way they looked at him. The way they looked
up
to him.

He intended to keep it that way.

Boyd unlocked his office door and stepped inside, closing it behind him. Melanie had accused him of striking his wife. Big deal. Nobody ever went to jail for that. If Melanie May even suspected the truth about him, he wouldn't be standing here now, let alone be the chief of thoracic surgery at one of the most respected medical centers in the Southeast.

No, Boyd decided. She was just blowing hot air, up in arms over his and Mia's disintegrating marriage.

Leave it to Mia to run crying to her sister. Spoiled, sniveling little twit.

He shook his head. When he'd married Mia, he thought her the perfect choice. As a nurse, she had been familiar with hospital politics and had possessed the social skills necessary to further his position within the hospital hierarchy. She'd looked good on his arm and most importantly, been docile, easily intimidated and absolutely enamored with him and the life-style that marriage to him would afford her.

He hadn't factored into his decision that her hellcat twin sister was a cop.

A cop.
A sensation akin to panic settled in the pit
of his gut. He had been so careful—about the women he chose, where he found them.

Not about all the women he chose. He had made mistakes.

He crossed to his desk and sank into his chair, only then allowing his guard to slip. Cops had a way of sniffing things out. What if his sister-in-law started snooping around asking questions of his previous colleagues and employer? Charleston was a lot smaller than Charlotte, people talked. What might she be able to dig up?
Who
might she be able to dig up?

Boyd fought the panic off. Melanie May was a two-bit cop from a municipality the size of the average shopping mall. How much harm could she do?

He snorted with disgust. None. Melanie May was no more dangerous to him than a mall cop.

F
ate was a fickle creature. Sometimes it smiled on those least worthy, protected those deserving punishment, while turning its back on the good and the meek.

Not so Death. Death was just. Evenhanded. Death relied not on whimsy or chance but on forethought and planning. On righteousness.

The time had come. For this man, like the others, to pay. For crimes unpunished. For sins against the weak. Against those for whom justice was an empty promise.

Death emerged from the shadow cast by the restaurant and crossed the parking lot, heading toward the row of fruit trees that lined the lot's back edge. The trees were in full bloom, the blossoms a delicate white, fragrant. There, parked under a canopy created by their branches, the man's car waited.

Death reached the automobile and paused to breathe in the heavenly scent. To enjoy. The scent, yes. But the moment as well. The moment of victory over evil, goodness over might.

The time had come.

As was the man's habit, he had left the car's windows partially lowered. A dangerous habit when parked so near such sweet flowers. Foolhardy. Espe
cially if one had an allergy to bee venom. Especially if a single, unexpected sting at an inopportune time might cause the throat to close, the blood pressure to drop, the heart to eventually stop.

Death carried a small, white bag—the kind used to bring home take-out food or bakery items. One printed with the name and logo of the restaurant behind him. From inside the bag came an angry hum. Death's messengers demanding release. Retribution.

“Soon,” Death murmured, unfolding the bag's top and quickly tossing it through the car's rear, driver-side window. It hit the edge of the seat, then tumbled to the floor. The bag opened fully and Death's small but potent messengers came forth.

M
elanie swung into the strip-mall parking lot, took the first available spot she came upon, hurriedly collected her purse and duffel bag, then climbed out of the car. The night air was slightly balmy, an indication that spring had more than arrived.

She slammed the door shut, locked it and started forward. She was running late for her tae kwon do class. In the couple of days since Cleve Andersen first announced his reward offer, the calls had poured in. One at the last minute had kept her well past shift change. But if she rushed, she could be on the mat in time to begin with the class. Her instructor did not appreciate tardiness, especially from his black belts. He thought it showed a lack of both discipline and respect.

“Officer May?”

Melanie stopped, looked over her shoulder at the blond woman hurrying to catch up with her. “ADA Ford, this is a surprise.”

Veronica Ford walked up to her. She indicated Melanie's duffel. She had a similar one hooked over her own shoulder. “Seems we have more in common than wanting to nail the bad guys.”

“It would seem so.” They fell into step together. “You're a black belt?”

“Third-degree. You?”

“First.” Melanie opened the dojang door, allowing Veronica to enter before her. They headed toward the dressing room. “When did you start here?”

“Two weeks ago. I was going to another dojang across town, but the fit was wrong.”

Melanie understood. Each dojang had its own atmosphere; each instructor his own philosophy on training and martial-arts etiquette. She had tried several schools before settling on this one.

The two women quickly dressed-out, exchanging street clothes for the traditional white gis and pulling their long hair back with clips, then headed out to the training room. Black belts could use the dojang anytime it was open or attend any of the half-dozen one-hour slots the instructor had set aside for black belts only.

Melanie preferred the black-belts-only sessions for several reasons, the biggest being the ability to find a sparring partner who outclassed her. She had decided up front she wasn't going to pursue this discipline halfheartedly. If it was worth her time, and she believed it was, she was going to push herself as far as her physical abilities would take her. It hadn't been easy. A born cupcake, she had suffered through bruises and torn muscles, wounded pride and tears of frustration.

The day she earned her black belt had been one of the proudest of her life.

Melanie and Veronica warmed up. Tae kwon do
relied heavily on kicking techniques, employing a wide range of spins, leaps and kicks that were dazzling to watch but difficult to perform. They required the martial artist to be in good physical condition and incredibly limber.

Melanie had been at the discipline for five years and practiced a minimum of three times a week, but she still stretched for at least ten minutes before each session. Veronica, she saw, did the same.

Melanie eyed the other woman—she sat on the mat, legs spread into a wide vee. As she watched, the woman bent slowly forward until her chest touched the floor. Veronica Ford, Melanie thought, had not been born a cupcake.

She braced her foot on the waist-high practice bar and bent forward until she touched her forehead to her knee. Her hamstring complained. Loudly.

“Do you hate this part as much as I do?” Melanie asked, grimacing.

“More,” Veronica answered. She gritted her teeth, bending forward once more and holding the stretch. “But it's a necessary evil. Like salads for lunch and panty hose.”

Melanie laughed and switched to her other leg. “You do have a way with words, Counselor.”

They finished stretching in silence, then moved on to their Poomse, a prearranged routine of blocks, strikes, punches, kicks and stances, similar in concept to a gymnast's floor-exercise routine.

“Want to partner for sparring?” Veronica asked, momentarily breaking concentration.

Melanie noted the other woman's moves. They were
beautiful—sharp, precise and strong. “If you promise not to totally humiliate me, sure.”

“It's a deal. Freestyle?” Veronica asked, referring to a type of sparring where either opponent was allowed to attack at will, without notice of when, where or how the attack would come. It was the most advanced of the sparring techniques and the most challenging.

Melanie, finished with her Poomse, shook her head. “Are you kidding? I'm feeling outclassed here. Why don't we do a little one-step attack and defense and once I have a better idea of what I'm up against, move on to semi-free.”

Veronica finished her Poomse and shrugged. “Fine with me. But you're way off base with the outclassed thing. We're pretty evenly matched.”

“Said the spider to the fly.”

They took their positions, facing each other, attacker and defender, each in the ready position. Melanie took the attack, calling it first.

She threw a direct punch, aiming at Veronica's head. “Kiai!”

The other woman blocked it easily, then returned with a left punch to Melanie's chest, stopping just short of actually touching her.

They bowed, then repeated the procedure, varying between kicks and punches, taking turns attacking and defending.

The remainder of the session passed in what seemed like the blink of an eye. Melanie was winded but exhilarated. It was the best workout she'd had in some
time. So good, in fact, she suspected she would be sporting sore muscles tomorrow.

She told Veronica so as they made their way back to the dressing room. The attorney smiled. “Thank
you
for the opportunity to hone my skills.”

“Right. You didn't even break a sweat. You're good.”

Obviously pleased with the compliment, she smiled. “I love it, actually. It's the only time in my life that I actually
like
to sweat.”

Melanie laughed. “Sorry we never got around to semi-free.”

“That's okay. Next time.”

They entered the dressing room and chatted about nothing of consequence while they changed into their street clothes. They headed out of the building and into the parking lot.

“You want to grab a cup of coffee?” Veronica asked.

Melanie didn't hesitate. Casey was still in Orlando with his dad, it was Friday night and she was free as a bird.

They chose a coffeehouse not far from the dojang, got their drinks and took a seat outside. The night air was mild; the sky dusted with stars. “I love this time of year,” Melanie murmured, adding a sprinkle of sugar to her coffee. “Spring in the Carolinas, no place else measures up.”

“I wouldn't know about anywhere else,” Veronica said. “I've never lived anywhere but the Carolinas.”

“You grew up in Charleston?”

“Mmm. My family was in the furniture business. Markham Industries.”

It was a name Melanie recognized, a name anyone who had lived in the Carolinas for long would know. The Markhams were major players in the furniture industry and several Markhams had been in national politics.

“How about you?” the lawyer asked. “Lived here all your life?”

“No way. I was an army brat. Until I was fifteen we lived everywhere.”

“The ‘we' must include the look-alikes I've seen you with at Starbucks?”

Melanie smiled. “Mmm. Mia and Ashley. My twin and triplet sisters.”

After she had explained, Veronica shook her head, her expression amused. “There's nothing ordinary about you, is there?”

“I don't know about that. A divorced working mom, you can't get much more run-of-the-mill than that.”

“I must say, together the three of you make quite an impression.”

“Yeah, we do.” Melanie cocked her head, studying her companion, realizing that Veronica Ford, with her fine-boned features, fair hair and wide-set deep blue eyes, could be mistaken for their fourth sister. Melanie told her so.

“You think?” Veronica smiled. “That'd be nice, I think. I'm an only child.”

“Lonely, huh?”

“Very. Though being an only, I was spoiled beyond
belief.” Veronica took a sip of her latte. “After you were fifteen, what happened then?”

“My dad retired his commission and opened up a coffee shop here in Charlotte. And I do mean coffee shop. No lattes, mochas or cappuccinos. Just old-fashioned pot-brewed, and homemade pies.” She lifted her froth-topped mug. “Hence my addiction to the stuff.”

“Does he still have the shop?”

“He died four years ago.”

“And your mom?”

“She died when we were young. Breast cancer.”

“I'm sorry.”

Melanie lifted her shoulders. “It was a long time ago. So, what about you? Aside from being an incredibly indulged, lonely only child, that is.”

Veronica laughed. “Me? It's almost a cliché, isn't it? The poor little rich girl. Cared for by nannies and housekeepers while her dad grew his empire.”

“Doesn't sound so bad to me.” A smile tugged at her mouth. “Beats scrubbing a coffee-shop galley every night. What about your mom?”

Veronica's smile faded. “Actually, that's another thing we have in common. My mom died when I was young. Thirteen to be exact.”

“We were eleven. What happened?”

“She shot herself. I found her.”

The words landed heavily between them. Melanie made a sound of regret. “I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked. When it comes to mothers, I'm too nosy. Having lost mine, I—”

“Forget it.” Veronica made a dismissive gesture
with her right hand. “I'm over it, as much as a girl can be over something like that.”

Melanie understood those words completely. In a way, neither she nor her sisters were completely over their mother's death. They still grieved; still dealt with feelings of abandonment and betrayal. She imagined, because of the circumstances, those feelings were even more complicated for Veronica, the loss more acute.

The attorney cleared her throat and forced a smile. “I don't know about you, but I think a change of subject is in order. As a topic, dead mothers is a little too intense for a Friday night.”

“Thank you.” Melanie laughed lightly, enjoying the other woman's sense of humor. “You have a suggestion?”

“Tae kwon do seems neutral enough.” She rested her chin on her fist and grinned. “So tell me, Melanie, why tae kwon do?”

She shrugged. “Obvious reasons. I'm a cop. It's an asset.”

“Why do I have the feeling that answer's just a little too pat?”

“Because you're a lawyer.”

“True.” She flashed Melanie a wicked grin. “In that vein, let's consider the facts. First, we've already established that there's nothing ordinary about you.”

When Melanie began to protest, Veronica held a hand up to stop her. “Second, the police academy requires all recruits to take a number of hours in self-defense tactics. Most are satisfied with that minimal training. You weren't. Why?”

“Easy. First off, the majority of recruits aren't
women facing the possibility of having to take down a perp twice their size and strength. Second, I feel strongly that a woman, any woman, should be able to protect herself.”

“Ah-ha.”

Melanie looked at Veronica over the top of her cup, eyebrows arched. “Ah-ha what?”

“The real reason.”

Melanie shook her head, both amused and annoyed at the woman's insight. Veronica was right. Because of her past, she had felt the need to be able to protect herself long before she had ever become a cop. While still married, she had attended a tae kwon do exhibition tournament and been amazed to see women defending themselves against men double their size. She had made the decision then and there that the martial arts were for her. The very next day she had enrolled in a program.

“Touché,” she murmured. “I bet you keep those defense attorneys on their toes. You're good.”

“Which is a very nice way of telling me I'm grilling you like a witness on the stand.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “Sorry, I do that sometimes. Your turn, skewer and grill away.”

“Okay. What about you? Why tae kwon do?”

“Same as you, I suppose. I see some pretty gruesome stuff in my line of work. I face the very real existence of violence against women every day. I vowed to myself that I'd never be a victim. Tae kwon do is a way to keep that vow.”

They fell into comfortable conversation after that,
discussing everything and nothing, draining their coffees and going back for seconds.

As the minutes passed, they discovered they were alike in many ways—from being fans of police procedurals and true-crime novels, to loving triple-hanky movies and full-fat, double-fudge ice cream. Both had similar, clear-cut views on right and wrong. A moral gray area didn't exist for either of them. Both were fiercely loyal to the ones they loved and to their professions. Both had entered those professions hoping to make a difference in the world.

And both were survivors of troubled marriages, though Veronica was a widow, not a divorcée.

“He had a day meeting in Chicago,” Veronica said in response to Melanie's question about how her husband died. “I took him to the airport that morning, the way I always did. Walked him to the gate and kissed him goodbye. That was the last time I ever saw him.”

Melanie leaned forward. “What happened?”

“The plane exploded midflight.”

“My God.” Melanie searched her memory, seeming to recall the accident. “Was that about five years ago?”

“Yeah, it was.” Veronica rested her chin on her fist, gaze fixed on a point somewhere in the distance. Or the past, Melanie thought.

“I was devastated at first,” she continued. “Of course. Frightened. Confused.” She blinked and returned her gaze to Melanie's. “The truth is, in retrospect, that explosion saved my life.”

Pink tinged Veronica's cheeks and she shook her
head as if uncomfortable with her own admission. “When I got over the shock, when I was done grieving, I saw the truth. About myself and my life. About the man I had been married to.”