Cold Target (20 page)

From the address Meredith had, it appeared that though Lulu had attended St. Agnes, she'd not gone on to marry among the city's elite. The address was in a working-class neighborhood of fifty-year-old bungalows.

She tried the number she had again. No answer. Frustrated, she decided to run home and change clothes. Once there, she slipped into a new pair of slacks, then tried to call again.

This time a woman answered.

“Mrs. Starnes?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Meredith Rawson. My mother is Marguerite Thibadeau.”

“Maggie?”

Meredith had never heard her mother referred to as Maggie. “Yes, I think so.”

“How is she?”

“She's ill.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“She asked me to do something for her. I need some help. Could you possibly see me?”

“Anything for Maggie. I haven't seen her for years but I owe her a lot.”

“Why?” Meredith asked. “If you don't mind my asking. If you do, just tell me it's not my business.”

“She didn't tell you?”

“She's in a coma. I got your name from her yearbook.”

“Oh, God,” Lulu Starnes said. “I'm so sorry. I haven't seen her in thirty years, but she was my friend then. Probably the only one I had at school.”

Meredith was silent, allowing the silence to ask questions for her.

“I was a scholarship student,” Lulu said. “Maggie befriended me, insisted I was invited to parties, made me one of her crowd. Then she dropped out. I didn't see her again. But I'll never forget her.”

“I wonder if we can meet tomorrow. I would like to hear more about her then.”

“I teach at a high school. I'll be home at five. I had a meeting this afternoon.”

“Would six be all right? That will give you some time unless it's your supper hour.”

“It's just me and Nicky, my dog. My husband died a year ago.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Thank you. I would like to hear about Maggie.”

“At six then,” Meredith said.

“I'll be there. Do you need directions?” She went on to give detailed directions.

Meredith finished dressing, wishing she didn't care so much about tonight, then left for the office.

Lulu Starnes had given her a completely new perspective on her mother.
Maggie
. Someone who took an outsider under her wing and obviously protected her.

Where had Maggie gone? When had Marguerite taken over?

She looked at her watch as she arrived at her office. Ten to seven. Sarah had gone home early to attend a junior high basketball game. Becky had left an hour ago.

The building was nearly vacant and had that lonely feel that buildings often did after their occupants disappeared into their other lives. Meredith's world had changed in the past few days. She once would never have had a second thought about walking down the hall alone. But now a flicker of apprehension ran down her spine.

I'm not going to live in fear
. She kept reminding herself of that as she said hello to Reggie, then walked to the rest room before heading to her office. As she emerged, she saw Gaynor strolling toward her.

He was early. Not much. Just a few moments. She appreciated people who were on time. She was the next thing to obsessive about being on time herself.

“Hi,” he said.

He looked terrific. He wore a sports jacket over a light blue shirt that was unbuttoned at the neck. His sandy hair had been tamed and his eyes held a hint of a smile.

“Hello. You're early.” She meant it as a pleasantry but it came out more as an accusation.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Don't be. I was …” She started to say
apprehensive
, but she didn't want to show weakness. That was a no-no in her world. “I was just putting on some lipstick.”

His lips parted into a smile that was seductive and teasing. “You never do what you're told, do you?”

She gave him a questioning look.

“You're alone here.”

“Just for a few moments. My paralegal left not too long ago and there's a guard downstairs. I also have my revolver with me.”

“What is it?”

“A Smith and Wesson Titanium .38 Chief's Special.”

He nodded. “Do you know how to use it?”

“Yes. Cliff Morris checked me out, in fact.”

“Good. Ready to go?”

She nodded.

“Do you have your car here?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then we'll eat near here. I can bring you back and follow you home.”

“That's not necessary,” she protested. She remembered what had happened the last time he'd followed her home. She was resolved that it would not happen again.

“Yes, it is.”

He placed a hand at the small of her back as they entered the elevator, a small courtesy that sent electricity through her system. The elevator seemed smaller than usual when the doors closed. Warmer.

His hand stayed at the small of her back. The electricity between them sparkled little internal blazes. Three floors later, the doors opened too slowly. Or too quickly.

Dammit. She never reacted like this. Never.

Nonetheless he guided her out, his hand still protectively on her. She nodded at Archie.

“Are you gone for the evening, Ms. Rawson?”

“Yes. Thanks for looking out for me,” she said.

“Any time.”

She turned toward Gage. “Archie takes very good care of me. Archie, this is Detective Gaynor from the NOPD.”

Archie held out his hand. “Ms. Rawson is one of my favorite tenants.”

“I'll take good care of her, too,” Gage said.

As they walked out of the door, Meredith basked in the protectiveness. She had never asked for it or even wanted it before. She had always taken care of herself. She took great pride in that fact. But her world had been turned upside down these past few days. For the first time in several days, she didn't feel she had to have eyes in the back of her head. She didn't have to keep touching her purse to reassure herself that the revolver was still there.

“Any place special you would like to eat?” he asked.

The question startled her. She had no idea what he liked. She really had no idea as to who he was. The only time they had eaten together was when she had suggested muffalettas. She had no idea of his budget or even whether she should split the bill with him.

“You choose,” she said.

“Do you like Cajun or American?”

“Both.”

He turned and gave her a wry look. “Neither of us are being much help, are we?”

She had to smile at that. They were like two people on a first date, which couldn't be further from the truth. This was a business meal. Hadn't she spent the last few hours convincing herself of that?

“What about Deanie's, if it's not too crowded?” she suggested. The restaurant was a moderately priced neighborhood eatery on Lake Pontchartrain and famous for its seafood. It was light and airy, not particularly romantic.

He nodded his approval. “Good.”

He led her to a plain blue sedan with a rack on its roof and opened the door for her. She was used to the courtesy and yet there was something extraordinarily sensual in the way he offered his hand to help her into the seat. The touch was electric. For a second her legs felt boneless as a warm longing spread inside her. She froze, afraid he might feel her reaction, hear the increased tempo of her heart, of her breathing.

His hand lingered, his fingers splaying against her skin.

She breathed deeply, forcing air from her lungs. She sat down abruptly, jerking her hand away from his.

He looked at her with veiled eyes and a small twist of his lips as he shut the door and strolled to the driver's side. Once inside, he started the car, all his attention on backing up and driving out of the lot. She saw his quick glances to the left and right and to the rearview window.

The glances reminded her too much of the last few days, of the terror and the fear. She turned her thoughts, instead, to the car. The interior was clean and neat. She'd noticed a briefcase in the back as she'd stepped in.

He reached over and turned on the CD player, and the low, soft sound of plaintive blues filled the interior.

The sultry music flowed through the car, increasing the intimacy levels substantially.

She didn't need more intimacy. His proximity was intimate enough. His large frame dominated the vehicle as did his sure, confident control of the straight shift. A tangy scent told her he had recently shaved. Darn, but it was enticing.

She sat closer to the door than to him. The better to observe him, she told herself. But really it was cowardice. She didn't want that electricity to grow any stronger.

She looked outside. Dusk was settling around the city and traffic was moving steadily. She checked behind them.

“No one is following us,” he said, as if reading her mind.

“I wonder if I will ever stop looking back now.”

“When we catch him, you will.”

“Are you so confident?”

“It's not my case, but yes, I am. Your intruder wanted something. If he or she wanted something, then there's a clue.”

“You don't think the attack on me was just anger?”

“It could have been timed to delay you. Someone might have wanted to search your house. He certainly wanted to make an impression. The more I think of how your house looked, the less I think it was personal, committed out of rage against you specifically.”

“Why?”

“It was mechanical destruction. No passion in it. No writing on the walls or mirrors. Things were sliced neatly, not in the jagged stabs that usually accompany rage. There was a purpose. A sane purpose.”

She shuddered slightly. “And the anonymous calls?”

His shoulders shrugged. “Perhaps someone is trying to tell you to stop doing something you're doing. Do you have any active cases that you think might irritate someone?”

“Every legal case irritates someone,” she observed dryly.

He grinned. “Dumb question on my part,” he admitted. “What about more irritating than usual?”

“That's hard to judge. I do a lot of domestic violence cases. I also volunteer at the women's shelter and advise women on their legal rights. I suspect you know how insane some of their husbands or boyfriends become.”

“A volunteer?” He sounded so surprised that she took it as an insult.

“You didn't think I would volunteer?”

“No, ah, I know your mother did. But you have a legal practice and … hell, I'm just digging a deeper hole, aren't I?”

“Almost to China, Detective.”

“Maybe I should be quiet.”

“Maybe you can tell me something about yourself.”

“What?” Suspicion punctuated his word.

“Where do you live?”

“I have a camelback house in the Garden District.”

Camelback. She smiled at the term and the fact that he lived in one. It was a housing style unique to New Orleans. Tucked among the Garden District's mansions were more modest streets with camelback and shotgun houses. The camelback featured a second floor but only at the back of the house, a design that at one time helped residents finagle out of a tax levied on homes with complete second floors.

Somehow she had imagined him in a cabin on stilts in a bayou rather than a camelback in the Garden District. He must have purchased it in the early 1990s when the city was in a housing slump. Those houses were expensive now. Anything in the Garden District was.

“Any family?” she asked. The question had plagued her. He didn't wear a ring but …

He threw her a quick glance, taking his gaze off the road for only a fraction of an instant. His gaze immediately turned back to the road. “Only one brother now. I suppose you know about that.”

So he remembered their conversations. “Yes. Is he still—?”

“In prison? Yes. He's up for parole in the next few weeks.”

She had her answer.
Only one brother now
. She wasn't sure whether the fact that he had no wife or children was comforting or not.

“That must be difficult for you.”

“More for him,” he said shortly, his tone cutting off the conversation.

She said nothing else until they drove into the restaurant parking lot. The restaurant was crowded but she was recognized. She often brought clients here. The atmosphere was comfortable and nonthreatening, and the food was good.

In a few moments they had a table. “Influence,” he remarked. “I like it.”

“I come here often.”

They both ordered barbecue shrimp.

“Tell me what happened with Rick Fuller,” he said after they each ordered a glass of wine.

“Nan saw him at her children's school. He parked where she always picks up the boys. She thinks he made sure she saw him. Of course, he would just say he wanted to see his sons. But it terrified her. She took precautions driving back to the shelter, though she believes he knows exactly where she is. She's agreed to file for divorce but she doesn't want the house because she's afraid he will come after her.”

He worried with his glass of wine. “I talked to him. He didn't like it. I'm not sure how far I can push him without his taking it out on Nan and the children.”

She knew the same fear. Perhaps she'd hoped he had a magic bullet to solve the problem. “Surely his job—”

“If I talk to him again, he might well think his job is in jeopardy. He has to know that chances of promotion are slim now.”

She remembered what Gage had said a few days ago.
If Fuller lost his job, he might well snap
. For the first time, she saw some uncertainty in his eyes. She liked it far more than a bluff assurance. It meant he cared about Nan Fuller. Really cared. It wasn't just his job. That, she knew, was over. He was off Public Integrity. But he still cared. Something shifted inside her. “Perhaps you shouldn't do anything now,” she said. “Nan is going to move. We're asking the court to limit his access to the children. I'll talk to his lawyer.”