Blood Stains (27 page)

“I don’t know…maybe a month.”

“Then use some of it. As of now, you are officially on vacation. If this ever goes to trial, we do not want to have to explain away Frank McCall’s involvement
and
yours. Do you savvy?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll send in the paperwork tomorrow.”

“Fine. Enjoy your vacation,” Carver snapped.

Bodie grinned. “Thank you, sir.”

Carver hung up.

Bodie dropped his cell phone back in his pocket, then made a detour at the bathroom. After he stopped to wash up, he took off his hat, stared at himself in the mirror as he combed his fingers through his hair, then swept them across his whisker-rough chin. Dave had been bringing him clean clothes, and he’d been showering in the bathroom in Maria’s room, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in a bed.

He looked like hell and felt worse, but it was a good kind of tired. Maria was alive, and she’d had the breakthrough they needed. Now all he had to do was keep her breathing and let the Tulsa P.D. do the job.

When he got back to her room, the cop was still standing in front of her door.

“At ease, man,” Bodie said. “Take a seat. When’s your replacement due?”

“O-seven hundred, Detective.”

“Have you had anything to eat or drink?”

“No, sir. I’m fine.”

“Go take a bathroom break and get yourself some snacks from the vending machine. I’m here until you get back.”

The cop strode away, then returned in record time, carrying a can of Coke and a cellophane-wrapped sweet roll. He nodded at Bodie, then resumed his position.

Bodie went back into the room.

Sam stood up. The expression on his face was questioning, but he didn’t ask.

Bodie had to admire a man with restraint.

“Maria remembered what happened.”

Sam’s face seemed to melt. His lips parted, and even from where Bodie was standing, he heard the old man exhale as he turned and laid a hand on the covers over Maria’s leg.

“Bless her little heart,” he muttered. When he turned around, his cheeks were wet with tears. “Who killed my Sally?”

Bodie hesitated. Ordinarily, this kind of information would not be shared until the perp was in custody, but in this case, Sam Vincent was probably the only person who might be able to help.

“Did you ever know the names of Sally’s tricks?”

Sam’s attitude shifted again, this time to defensive. “At one time, I knew the name of every man she turned. Had it all down in a little black book, which I gave to that detective, McCall. It should be with the rest of the evidence. Why?”

Shit. The McCall connection the chief was afraid of had just reared its ugly head again. One more thing he had to pass on to the lieutenant.

“What about the name ‘Frankie’? Ring any bells?”

“Is that what Maria said? That someone named Frankie killed Sally?”

“She said she heard her mother scream, ‘No, Frankie, no.’ Then he shot her—twice. It was a brutal attack, but I’m not going into details. I think part of the reason Maria buried it so deep was because she also heard him threaten her own life.”

“Son of a bitch. Do we know why he did it?”

“No, but he called her ‘our’ Mary. And threatened to put her in a sack and throw her in the river.” Bodie’s hands curled into fists; his voice was shaking as he went on. “She said she was afraid to cry out, because she didn’t know how to swim.”

A look passed between the two men.

“I will kill him,” Sam said softly.

“Let the law deal with him,” Bodie said.

“Then you better find him before I do. I’d gladly spend what life I have left behind bars to be able to watch him die.”

A chill ran up Bodie’s back. Except for a few details, that was the same emotional reaction he’d had when he found out someone had tried to kill Maria. If he’d needed proof that Sam had really loved Sally, he guessed it had just been offered.

“If you really want to help,” Bodie said, “then sit down and make me a list of all the men you can remember who went by the name of Frank or Frankie.”

Sam nodded, gave Maria one last glance, and then headed out the door.

Bodie leaned over the bed and kissed the side of Maria’s cheek.

She flinched, then moaned as she shifted restlessly.

Bodie pulled the chair back up beside her bed. “Sleep, baby, sleep. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you again.”

Sunrise was breathtakingly beautiful. A burst of hot pink and soft yellow on a horizon that went on forever, and yet Franklin did not appreciate the heavenly display, because he hadn’t been to bed.

He stepped back from the window and went into the bathroom, then stopped and stared at himself. Once upon a time he’d been considered handsome, with the world at his feet, and he’d taken advantage of it and all it brought.

It wasn’t like his conscience was bothering him, because Franklin didn’t have one. His theory was, you only lived once, and when you died, that was it. No afterlife. No God. No Devil. No one to answer to.

It had made his life choices too damn easy. But he’d never been backed into a corner before. The more he tried to cover his tracks, the worse his prolems became.

He’d paced the floor of his manor house throughout the night, reliving the life and the mistakes that had gotten him to this place, and, in the interim, emptying a bottle of good scotch.

He should be drunk.

Normally, he would have been.

He wondered if modern science knew that sheer terror could completely offset the effects of alcohol. At least it had helped him to a decision.

The bottom line was, nothing had changed. Maria Slade’s return had been the impetus for the Tulsa P.D. to reopen the investigation into Sally Blake’s murder. According to his source, she’d witnessed it and then suppressed it.

The people he’d hired to clean up behind him had been ineffective. Now he either sat down and waited for the cops to come knocking on his door, or he cleaned up himself, just like he’d done twenty years earlier. It was sometime after that last swallow of scotch that he’d come to a final decision.

He knew she was in the hospital, under guard. He also knew she would soon be released. That was when he would make his move. No sneaking in at night. No bombs. Face-to-fucking-face—and a bullet between the eyes…to her and whoever else got in his way.

End of problem.

End of story.

Maria was lying in her bed, a couple of pillows beneath her head. From the angle at which she was lying, she could see Bodie shaving. For her, it was the highlight of her day.

He was in her bathroom, minus his shirt and with his face covered in shaving cream, wielding a disposable razor as adeptly as she was sure he handled a gun on the firing range. What was making her smile was that he was softly humming beneath his breath. She wondered if he was even aware of it. As she watched, she flashed on what it would be like to live out her life with this man, watching him perform this morning ritual for the rest of their lives.

She shivered with sudden longing. It wasn’t the first time looking at him had made her hot. He’d already made his plans for their future clear. The funny thing was, sometime over the past few days she’d begun to share his vision.

As she watched the play of muscles in his arms and across his back, she wondered what it would be like to be with him, feeling the power of his body, the rush of blood and the push of urgency as he drove himself into her, over and over. Just the thought made her shudder with longing. It was a miracle to her that he could still flirt and look at her the way he did. After everything she’d put him through, not to mention the way she looked now, he should be disgusted by all he’d seen.

But for whatever reason, he’d stayed steadfast, and she had come to appreciate him in ways she could never have imagined. He’d seen her through things that only a married couple would expect.

At one point, one of the pain meds they gave her made her sick. She’d spent hours throwing up, and God love him, Bodie was by her side the whole time, holding up her head and grabbing for the pan.

The first time she’d been able to get out of bed and walk to the bathroom on her own, he’d been the rock on which she’d leaned.

The day the nurse announced she could go stand in the shower in her little bathroom instead of having another bed bath, it was Bodie who’d helped her back into a nightgown.

She hadn’t seen the horror in his eyes when he’d first seen her naked body, but she could imagine it. The cuts and bruises, the tiny stitches and the staples in her head, which they’d finally removed, had all been vivid reminders of what she’d lived through. By the time he helped her back into bed, he had his emotions firmly back in control and his need to make someone pay even stronger.

For Bodie, what they were going through together only cemented his belief that they were meant to be. If they could get through this without freaking each other out, nothing would ever get in their way.

But for Maria, it was the knowledge that every time she woke up screaming, all she had to do was reach out and he was there.

By the time the day came for her release, she was ready for the next phase of this crazy sexless affair. Just a look between them was all the proof they needed that making love was on their minds 24/7.

Two days earlier, the plan for Maria’s release had gone quietly into action. All her belongings had secretly been moved from the hotel to Bodie’s home, but the room was still listed in her name.

The chief was all over whatever plans they’d made. After finding out that Tank Vincent’s little black book had never turned up in evidence, it was apparent that Frank McCall had concealed it for his own profit. Probably blackmail.

A sketch artist had come to the hospital and spent an entire afternoon with Maria before coming up with a sketch that Bodie immediately knew would be impossible to use. Even after computer aging technology, the face had been too generic, which was why they were now at this crossroad.

A bait and switch.

Tulsa P.D. officer Nora Watts was in Maria’s hospital room, checking herself out in the mirror while the others watched. She was wearing jeans and a blue blouse. She had on boots like the ones Maria favored, and was tucking a lock of her own blond hair beneath the dark brown wig, reminiscent of the style of Maria’s own hair.

“How do I look?” she asked, posing for approval with all her makeup and bandages.

“Better than Dave,” Bodie quipped.

His partner glared. He was wearing a Bodie-style Stetson, jeans and a sports coat, along with boots like the ones Bodie wore. From a distance, they would easily pass as Bodie and Maria, which was the plan.

“I don’t know how you stand these freakin’ boots,” Dave muttered.

Bodie chuckled.

“I’m ready,” Nora said, then turned and winked at Maria. “You get well, honey. I’ve got your back.”

Maria made herself smile, but she was scared. Leaving the relative safety of the hospital was unnerving. But the plan was that the police escort waiting outside would take Nora/Maria back to the hotel under guard in the hopes that, if the killer was watching, waiting for another chance at her, he would make the mistake of picking on the policewoman instead.

“Be careful,” Maria said.

Nora looked back over her shoulder as she seated herself in the wheelchair.

“Don’t worry about me. I have PMS and a gun.”

Dave groaned. “Dang it, Nora…TMI. Too much information.”

Their lighthearted manner eased the tension, and within moments the fake-out began.

Dave jammed the Stetson down low on his head, grabbed the back of the wheelchair and pushed Nora out into the hall. A pair of armed and uniformed officers followed, leaving Maria and Bodie alone in the room.

Sam was outside in his motor home, waiting for his part in the drama to unfold. Everyone and everything was in place. As soon as they got Nora on the road, they would slip out of the hospital unobserved.

The media had been given word that the bombing survivor was being released. A couple of news vans were already out in the parking lot, hoping to get film of her leaving the hospital.

Four police cruisers were waiting at the entrance, along with a big SUV with tinted windows. When an orderly appeared in the doorway wheeling a dark-haired woman toward the SUV, everyone’s attention shifted.

Nora had donned a pair of dark glasses, too, and when she went to get up from the wheelchair and into the SUV, it appeared as if Bodie Scott, well known for his boots and Stetson, was there to help her in.

Within moments, the small convoy drove out of the parking lot: two black and whites in front, the SUV in the middle, and two more black and whites behind. Both news vans followed as the procession began wending its way through the streets of Tulsa, back to the Doubletree Hotel.

Franklin heard the news that the bombing victim was being released. He’d driven into a parking lot across the street, waiting and watching long enough to confirm the fact. His ire rose as he saw her being wheeled out of the hospital, then loaded into the SUV. When they drove away, he slipped into the busy city traffic and followed, making sure to stay at least a block or two behind. As they turned off the street and into the hotel driveway, he stopped on the street long enough to see Maria exit with the cowboy cop on her arm and walk into the hotel.

Satisfied that he knew where she was, he drove away. There were plans to be made, but if all went as expected, by tomorrow, his troubles would be over.

“Easy does it, honey,” Bodie—the real Bodie—said, as he helped her up the steps, then into the motor home.

Sam was hovering. “I got you a pillow and a blanket, if you want to lie down while we’re driving.”

During the past few days, Maria had grown accustomed to the presence of these men. One from her past. One from the present. Both joined in a common goal: to keep her safe. But she felt shaky. Standing up for just that short time had made her feel light-headed.

“I think I will lie down.”

Bodie helped her back to the tiny bedroom, then took off her shoes as she sat down on the side of the bed. He watched her ease herself down, but he knew her well enough now to know she was jumpy. However, it was an understandable reaction to leaving the safety of the hospital. Someone wanted her dead.