Beneath the Silk (11 page)

“Not yet.” He glanced at Sunni. “I got evidence before the game ended that night with a bang. I’ve got Miss Blais’s scarves with her prints on them, Jackson. She lives two stories above the crime scene. I got a desk clerk who says she was seen in the elevator three days prior with the deceased and they were arguing.”

“You got a gun?”

 
“No.”

“Then what you’ve got Stud, is circumstantial evidence.” Jackson reached into his shut pocket and pulled a piece of paper out. “Here. This will get you started in the right direction.”

“What’s that?”

“I did some legwork for you. There’s three suspects, all with solid motives.”

For a long minute Detective Williams didn’t move,
then finally he accepted the paper. As he studied the list, Sunni studied him from over Jackson’s left shoulder. The Chicago detective was good-looking, had broad shoulders, wore his blond hair in a crew cut and had Nordic blue eyes. He was clean and dressed in a suit jacket and tie over a white shirt and dark slacks. Sunni estimated him to be close to Jackson Ward’s age.

After he’d scanned the list, he looked up and said, “I would have thought at least one Masado would have made your list. Why not?”

“Too obvious.”

“And why should I check out Vincent D’Lano?”

“Milo stole the waterfront property out from under him. The lot where the Shedd sits and the one next to
it.”

“And how did you find that out?”

Jackson shrugged.

“Why should I believe you got the facts straight, and that you’re not covering for her and trying to score points with your boss?”

“Because you’re a fool if you think that, Stud, and you were never a fool. Just a little slow at the bar when it came to tipping jiggers.”

Stud grinned, his gaze finally finding Sunni. “Sorry, Miss Blais. Didn’t mean to ignore you. I’ve come to ask you a few more questions.”

Jackson shook his head. “She’s not answering anything, Stud. Not without her lawyer.”

“If she’s innocent, she won’t mind answering a few. Isn’t that right, Miss Blais?”

“Ask your questions, Detective.”

Jackson turned and gave Sunni the evil eye. She gave it back.

Detective Williams pulled a notepad from his pocket. “Is it true Elizabeth Carpenter was an employee of yours?”

“Yes.”

“And she worked for you for how long?”

“Two weeks.”

“Was there a problem? Two weeks is a short time.”

“The job was a few days a week. She wanted a full-time position.”

“And she found it?”

“Yes, but she never said where.” Sunni suddenly became worried. “What’s this all about, Detective? Is something wrong with Elizabeth?”

“Her employer filed a missing-person report this morning.”

Sunni sucked in her breath. “I don’t understand.”

Jackson asked, “Who’s her employer, Stud?”

“The Shedd. She’s been an exotic dancer there since last September. She was Milo’s favorite. Her stage name was Libby.”

* * *

It was after seven when Jackson returned to his apartment at the Wilchard. After leaving Silks that afternoon, he’d set out to find Elizabeth Carpenter. He’d turned over every rock and talked to everyone who knew her, but the twenty-two-year-old dancer who supported her drug habit on the runway at the Shedd was definitely missing.

Jackson entered the bedroom and went straight to the window. Gazing across the alley, he expected to see lights on in Sunni’s apartment, but when he didn’t, his eyebrows lifted. Before he’d left her office, he’d ordered her to go straight home. She’d agreed she would.

He lit up a cigarette and took a hard drag, then sent the smoke out the open window. Mac appeared at his side, and as he reached out and stroked the dog’s head he recalled Mac’s impressive performance in Joe’s office, and then his crazy antics at Silks a few hours later.

The file on Mac had claimed he was a Super Dog at one time. Jackson had found that hard to believe after living with the lazy mutt—if Mac wasn’t sleeping, he was chewing up a T-shirt or the leg off a chair. But today he’d witnessed ninety-eight pounds of K-9 aggression come alive like a demon from hell. It was almost as if Mac had been running on empty, and then somewhere between the first and the thirty-ninth floor of Masado Towers someone had fed him a four-pack of Energizers.

He admitted he had a new respect for the dog after seeing him in action. He wondered if he was on a comeback and if that was true, what had caused it.

He checked his watch, then eyed Sunni’s dark apartment. Suddenly anxious, he gave Mac a nudge with his knee. “Go check it out. See if she forgot to lock the slider again. See what you can find out.”

As if Mac was just waiting for the go-ahead, he jumped through the open window and trotted down the fire escape, then leapt to the alley. Seconds later, he scaled the iron stairs up the side of the Crown Plaza and vaulted onto Sunni’s terrace.

It had stated to rain, a cold fall rain that put a definite chill in the air. Jackson watched through the rain as Mac nudged at the slider, and sure enough, it opened.

As Mac disappeared inside, Jackson’s cell phone rang. He considered ignoring it. What if it was Clide? He wasn’t up to talking to his boss, especially when, at the moment, he couldn’t tell him precisely where his daughter was. On the other hand, maybe it was one of his old contacts. Maybe they had found out something more on Elizabeth Carpenter’s disappear
ance.

On the fifth ring, Jackson pulled his phone from his pocket. “Ward here.”

“Jackson?”

“Sis?”

“Can you come get me? They won’t let me leave unless—”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at Northwestern Memorial.”

“The hospital? Why? What happened?”

“Just come. I’ll explain when you get here. Hurry, can you?”

When the phone went dead, Jackson jammed it into his pocket, then went to the window and gave a shrill
whistle
.
A few seconds later, Mac was back on
Sunni’s terrace. He motioned to the dog, and in minutes Mac was on the move, racing down the fire escape and heading back to the Wilchard.

Chapter 7

«
^
»

T
he bad news was that the cab driver was in surgery. The good news was Sunni had escaped the accident without any serious injuries.

She checked her watch and wondered how long it would take Jackson to get there. She’d had mixed emotions about calling him. But someone had just played Russian roulette with her life on the freeway and she would be a fool to dismiss the incident as just a freak accident.

She wrapped her arms around herself and watched the minutes on the clock slowly tick by. When the emergency door opened a little while later, she shot her head up, only to be disappointed when the man who stepped into the room was Detective Williams.

“You were luckier than the cab driver, Miss Blais.”

“Yes, I was,” she agreed “He’s still in surgery.”

“You told the officer at the scene of the accident that you believe the car deliberately sideswiped the cab. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

He dug in his pocket for his notepad. “Can you fill me in on what happened?”

Sunni let out a tired sigh and regretted it. Even the slightest movement sent pain shooting throughout her entire body. She moaned inwardly and gripped the edge of the examining table she was sitting on. “Can’t you talk to the officer I spoke with earlier? He wrote down what I said.”

“Oh, you can bet I’ll talk to him. But I want to hear it from you firsthand. If this was no accident then maybe I’ve been wrong about you, Miss Blais.”

Glad to hear that, Sunni told the detective that she’d left Masado Towers at five-thirty like usual. She’d hailed a cab and was headed home when a black car suddenly appeared and swerved into them,
forcing
the cab into a concrete divider.

“Can you give a description of the driver?”

“No. The car windows were tinted black.”

“You said the car swerved into the cab. Could the car have been changing lanes, and—”

“No. If it had been an accident, he wouldn’t have fled the scene, would he?”

“People panic. It’s a common reaction. You used the word ‘he.’ I thought you said you couldn’t see who was driving.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Then using
he
is speculation, Ms. Blais. It suggests you saw the driver.” He looked up from scribbling something down on his pad. “But you say you didn’t see the driver.”

“No.”

“I suppose you didn’t get the license plate number?”

“No.”

“This isn’t much to go on. Let’s hope the cab driver pulls through and has something to add.”

Sunni felt dizzy. She closed her eyes, trying to think rationally. She heard the door, and she blinked her eyes open, relieved to see Jackson with Mac beside him.

She was sitting on the examination table with her feet dangling two feet off the floor. Her gray silk skirt was blood-stained from trying to help the cab driver before the ambulance had arrived. She’d lost her white silk scarf and the end result was too much cleavage. Only that didn’t matter, all that mattered was that Jackson had come to take her home.

His eyes met hers, and then he was crossing the room, planting himself directly in front of her. It was so strange to feel such utter relief, but that’s exactly what she felt as his big hands brushed her hair away from her face. “You hurt?”

“No. Just a few bruises.”

The heat from his hand on her face as he examined the bruise on her forehead was shockingly soothing. His hip leaned into her thigh, and that, too, was comforting.

“What do you got, Stud?” he asked, not turning around.

“Hit and run, or attempted murder. Can’t say just yet.”

Mac decided he’d been ignored too long, and he leapt up on the table and sat next to her. “Hi, Mac,” Sunni whispered, then leaned into the dog’s shoulder. He leaned back—his sturdy body supporting her—and bent his head to nuzzle her ear.

His fur was wet. She asked, “Is it raining?”

“Started about an hour ago.” Finally Jackson turned to Detective Williams. “Got a lead on the car yet? A license plate number?”

“Miss Blais didn’t get the plate number. We’re going to have to wait until the cab driver comes around. Right now we don’t have much. Maybe you were right. Maybe there’s more to this than we first thought.”

“We?”
Jackson shook his head. “You mean,
you
first thought.”

“Okay. Have it your way. You always did when we were working together. Why should anything change now?”

“So we’re sharing information. Is that it?”

“Makes sense.”

“Take down my cell number so you can reach me day or night.”

Jackson recited the phone number while Detective Williams wrote it down. Then Stud said, “Here’s mine. If Miss Blais remembers something, I’d appreciate hearing about it. Need a lift home?”

“No. We’ll catch a cab,” Jackson said.

When Detective Williams walked out and closed the door, Sunni sighed. “Can I go home now?”

“Not a problem, Sis. Put your arms around my neck, and we’re out of here.” As she raised her arms, he scooped her up and drew her against his broad chest. Then they were on the move, heading out of the emergency room with Mac trotting to keep up with Jackson’s long stride.

* * *

Jackson unlocked the apartment after setting Sunni on her feet. He pocketed the key, shoved the door open, then once more lifted her. “Arms around my neck,” he instructed again.

“Wait. No, you don’t have to… Really I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. Besides, why walk when you can ride?”

He swept her through the door and kicked it shut behind him. He was about to flick on the light when he remembered the busted lamp that used to sit behind one of the sofas. Tomorrow would be soon enough to explain about the lamp, he decided, then started down the dark hall to her bedroom.

She had scared the hell out of him when she’d called from the hospital. He’d worried all the way over in the cab. And he’d nearly taken off the receptionist’s head at the front desk when she’d directed him to the emergency department.

“I can walk now,” she whispered against his cheek. Her fingers were laced around his neck, her touch doing crazy things to his insides.

“You don’t need to spend the energy. I’ll be your legs tonight.”

Relying on the small security light on the terrace, Jackson walked into her bedroom without mishap and made his way to her bed in the center of the room. He laid her down, and on hearing her moan, said, “Sorry, Sis.”

“Don’t be. This wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” Jackson jaw jerked as he sat down beside her.