Catch a Shadow (8 page)

The sky was vivid with color. In a few moments it would be dark. A shiver suddenly ran down her back and she didn't know why. His presence? Or something more ominous? She decided to ignore it. “I'll tell you what I can,” she said, “but it isn't much. He was bleeding from an artery, and we were busy trying to stanch that. It looked as if he had internal injuries as well.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Nothing about family or wishes … I don't think anyone really thinks they are going to die. He didn't even tell me his name. It was in the wallet he dropped in the ambulance.”

“He was in pain?”

“Some. But shock is the best painkiller there is. I don't think he suffered much.”

“The witnesses said it seemed as if the driver meant to hit him. He didn't say anything about that?”

She shook her head. “He was weak. Could barely breathe.”

Tell him
. But something stopped her just as it had stopped her earlier from telling the detective. What did she really know about him? Maybe he killed his brother for an inheritance, and the proof was in the letter.

She mentally admonished herself. She read way too many murder mysteries.

“He didn't have any other possessions with him? Anything that would help me?” The question was asked quietly, but there was an intensity about it that startled her.

His dark gaze pierced her. He was too close, much too close. He radiated masculinity and, yes, something else that sent tingles of awareness through her. They weren't the kind she'd felt moments before when she thought someone might be in her apartment. It was pure feminine reaction to an attractive male. Inexplicable. Undesired. And new. She couldn't remember when she'd reacted so quickly to a man.

Empathy for someone who'd just lost a brother? Or touched by the hint of quiet intensity that he tried to cover?

Didn't he deserve the letter? It was by rights his. Everything Mark Cable owned probably belonged to him.

Or did it?

She couldn't forget the way he'd disappeared from the hospital. But that was not her call to make. Still, she felt a disappointment in him and an odd feeling that not everything was right with his reactions.

She would check him out before conveying the letter. Now she had a name and address. Then if he was who he said he was, she would give it to him.

“Where are you staying?” she asked.

He hesitated. “I have to return to New York tonight.”

“You're not going to stay to … I mean …”

It was none of her business, she knew. But she knew from her grandfather's death the number of details that needed tending, not to mention, in Mark Cable's case, his suspicious circumstance. Would he not want to know what happened?

“I have business I can't postpone,” he said. “But I'll be back.”

She nodded, but disappointment cascaded through her. Even if he wasn't close to his brother, shouldn't he be more concerned? Shouldn't he have spent a few more hours with him?

She stood. “I have to go inside.”

“Go inside,” approved Merlin from the other side of the door.

She'd almost forgotten about Merlin and Spade.

“You don't approve,” he said as he rose as well.

“It's not up to me to approve or not approve. I don't know you. I didn't know Mark Cable.”

“But you have a connection to him.”

She stared at him. “Why do you say that?”

“Your disapproval just then because I have to leave.”

She shrugged. “I care about all my patients.”

“Thank you. For caring. I didn't think many people did.”

“Did that include you?” she asked softly.

He looked startled, as if he hadn't meant to say what he did.

“We had differences. But yes, I care that he … is dying.”

She did hear some emotion then, and it made her feel better. But she was exhausted, Merlin and Sam were hungry, and it was time to go in. She had some research to do.

“I have to go inside,” she said. “I'm sorry, but I really can't tell you any more than I have.”

He nodded, opened the door for her. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Palmer,” he said with a formal courtesy that appealed to her. Too much.

She stepped inside, aware that he was still on the steps. It was nearly dark, and she turned on the light switch for the porch light. It didn't go on.

“That's strange,” she said.

“What?”

“I just put a bulb in.”

Without an invitation, he stepped inside the porch and checked the bulb. She had to stand on a chair to replace the bulb, as did Sam, but he was tall enough to reach it. “It's loose.”

She would have sworn she had made sure she'd screwed it in tight. She and Sam liked to sit out on the porch, sometimes with light, sometimes without.

Then she remembered the noise she'd heard. She'd almost convinced herself it had been her imagination.

How far did she trust her companion? She had to make an instant decision. “I thought I heard a noise in my apartment before you came. But then I sort of dismissed it.”

It was like watching a panther wake from a nap and go into full hunting mode. David Cable's body tensed, and she knew she didn't want to be on the other end of the hard gaze of his eyes. She also realized that he had nothing to do with any noise she might have heard from next door.

“This isn't your apartment?” he said, looking toward the door of Sam's side.

“No. I own the building and live on the right side. Sam, my tenant, lives on the left. He takes care of Merlin when I'm working, and I came by to pick him up.”

“Do you have your key?” he said.

She hesitated. Then, inexplicably, she handed it to him, all the time questioning her sanity.

He went in like a cop, though he didn't have a gun in hand. But she'd seen enough cops in action to know what was real. His moves were cautious. Experienced. Defensive.

In seconds he was back at the door.

“It's empty,” he said.

He stood by while she picked up Merlin's cage and went inside. The parrot was unusually quiet. She put the cage down and opened the door. Merlin flew out and sat where he could regard David Cable.

Her visitor didn't look like a David. David sounded warm and friendly and open. She didn't know much about David Cable, but he didn't appear to have any of those qualities. Still … inexplicably she did not want him to leave.

His lips thinned, and a muscle moved in his cheek. “You should see if anything's missing,” he said.

She nodded. “Thanks for checking.”

He simply nodded.

“You can go,” she said. “You said you planned to leave Atlanta tonight.”

“I'll wait while you check and make sure everything's okay.”

She studied him for a moment, then decided she felt safer with him than without him. For some reason she trusted him. She didn't do that readily, not after her bad judgment with her ex.

But she still wasn't going to hand over the letter. Not without obtaining more information. Perhaps because she saw secrets in his eyes. Secrets, but not the cold vacantness she associated with a bad guy. It wouldn't make sense to anyone else, but there it was.

Nothing seemed disturbed in the living room nor the kitchen. But when she reached the back, the computer was running. She never left it on. She'd lost one once during a storm and was always careful now to turn it off when she was gone. Summer storms were frequent in Atlanta.

Then she saw a crack in the window that faced the backyard. That was something else she always kept closed because of Spade.

“Someone was here,” she said. “He must have gone out the back.”

“He?”

She gave him a weak smile. “Aren't all bad guys men?”

“You've had experience with that many bad guys?” he asked. No smile. Not even a hint of one.

Humorless. He was completely humorless. She didn't like humorless men.

Yet every time she looked at him, she felt the oddest connection. Her body warmed when she'd brushed by him. She wasn't sure why. He wasn't typically attractive. His features were too severe, his manner too brusque and emotionless.

“A few,” she replied.

His gaze bored into her again, and she felt as if her soul was being stripped bare.

“What might be on the computer that would interest someone?” he suddenly asked, shattering that hold.

She shook her head in puzzlement. “Nothing. E-mails to friends. A couple of blogs I like.” She decided not to mention that she had been trying to find a Mitch Edwards.

She went over to the computer and checked recent searches. It was the same ones as she had made, but with a later date. An hour ago, in fact.

What if she had walked into her own duplex before going to Sam's?

“Call the police,” David Cable said. “You should have this on record.”

“What should I say? Someone looked at my computer? Nothing is missing.”

“Isn't it?” he asked. “Have you really looked that well?”

There was something in his voice that ignited those alarm bells again. It brought back her other doubts.

“I'll do that,” she said.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“You said you had a plane to catch, and I have the parrot alarm.”

“You need more than that,” he said. “I noticed you have an alarm system. Turn it on.”

He'd noticed the alarm system. Just, she thought, as he'd noticed everything else in the apartment. His gaze never stopped moving. It had taken in the volumes on her bookshelves and the CDs piled up next to her player. And the pile of clothes on the floor from last night.

“Yes sir,” she said with a jauntiness that was all bravado.

He stared at her with those dark eyes. She felt properly chastised.

“And nail down that window,” he added.

She noticed he didn't offer to do that for her.

She liked that.

She worked hard to be independent. She never asked Sam to help her put together all those things that came with some assembly required, and she knew how to change a tire, refill oil in her car, and hit the hell out of someone who tried to abuse her.

He headed through the door to the screen porch, then turned. Their eyes met, and something flashed between them. Testosterone and pheromones meeting and finding something they liked. There wasn't a darn thing she could do about it.

And then he was gone, and the home she'd always loved felt empty. And lonely.

CHAPTER 7

Halfway out of the city, Jake slammed his fist against the steering wheel, then took the next exit off the expressway and headed back.

Dammit, but the woman is in over her head
.

Adams undoubtedly had seen Del Cox hand an envelope to her. Jake had little doubt that her intruder had been Gene Adams or someone working for him. Either way, she was in one hell of a lot of trouble.

She hadn't seemed to miss anything, so she must still have the letter. Was it on her? Or in the apartment of her friend?

If he didn't return to Chicago now, he would be on the run. He would be violating the terms of his release. Hell, he'd already violated them, but he certainly was worsening the situation. It was the devil's own choice, but his life wasn't worth a shit if he didn't learn the truth.

He
wanted
that letter. And he wanted to protect that damned woman. Correction. He didn't
want
to protect her. He
had
to protect her. He needed her.

He wondered whether she'd called the police about the break-in. Probably not. She had the attitude of a woman who thought she could take care of herself.

Even if she called the police, no department had the manpower to protect the victim of a burglary, especially one when nothing was missing. Neither they nor she could possibly comprehend the stakes involved in the murder of Mark Cable, alias Del Cox.

No one knew Gene Adams as he did, and Jake knew him even better now. He'd betrayed his country, his employers, and his comrades. And that put a huge target on his back if his continued existence was known.

Jake knew he didn't have enough proof at the moment to go to anyone. He'd just be slapped back in prison, and Ms. Palmer would probably die.

The late hour made traffic less hassle. He stopped at an all-night market. Now that he knew her full name and address, he quickly found her phone number and used the pay phone to call her. As before, he hesitated to use his cell phone. Adams might well have tapped her phone and thus could get his cell number.

“It's David Cable,” he said when she answered. “Just wanted to know if you're okay.”

“I am,” she said in a suddenly wary voice.

“Help!” came her voice but in the background.

“Pay no attention to Merlin,” she said. “He thinks he's a hero and won't stop yelling for help.”

He liked the fond amusement in her voice. Truth was, he'd liked most everything about her. The tousled hair. The direct, hazel eyes. The lack of pretension. She was no beauty, but she was attractive in a girl-next-door way, and her warmth and personality were appealing. To be truthful, more than appealing.

He'd been too damned long without a woman.

“Did you call the police?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “Nothing was taken. And I might have left the computer on.”

But not at the times indicated by the computer. He knew it. She obviously knew it. Had she not called the police because she had something or had done something she didn't want revealed?

“The alarm is on?”

“Yes, including the avian one. He's mumbling about my ingratitude at the moment.” She paused, then added, “I also nailed the back window.”

“Okay,” he said and hung up.

She'd had a long day. He knew from the information he'd collected that paramedics here worked twelve-hour shifts four days a week. He knew what a strain that was, particularly with a job as stressful as hers.