Cold Target (31 page)

“Then …”

“Has she said anything about her husband to you?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if she had?”

“No.”

He smiled at that, but it didn't deter him. “She's afraid of something.”

Marty didn't reply.

“She might need help.”

“Then she'll ask for it.”

“You're a hard woman, Marty.”

“I'm an old softie and you know it.”

He sighed. “I won't hurt her.”

“You may not intend to.”

“You're right.”

“Have you been asking questions?”

He nodded. “But in such a way it shouldn't attract attention.”

“Good.”

“Keep an eye on her,” he said.

“I will.”

Frustrated, he went down the street to a restaurant, where he ordered two large pizzas. He looked at his watch. Hopefully, Liz and her son hadn't eaten yet.

Thirty minutes later he was on her doorstep, ringing the bell.

Harry opened it, looked at the two big boxes in his hand and grinned. “Pizza,” he exclaimed.

Liz reached the door then, wiping her hands with a cloth.

“Hi,” he said. “I was getting a pizza and decided I didn't want to eat alone. I hoped you and Harry would share them with me.”

“Them? That's a lot of pizza.”

He shifted uncomfortably at the door.

“Where's Jenny?” she asked.

“At a sleep over.”

She was not welcoming. Then she smiled, and it was as if the sun just entered the room. “Thank you. I
am
hungry, and pizza comes second only to tacos in Harry's opinion.”

“I'm a taco man myself,” he said, grinning down at Harry.

He stepped inside and looked over in the corner of the room where she'd established a work area. “I hope you don't mind. I don't usually barge in on people, but I was at the restaurant and I thought of Harry. I won't stay if you don't want. But—”

“I don't mind at all,” she broke in. “It was thoughtful.”

Relief. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she didn't have anything to hide. Or anything to fear. He hoped to God not.

He took out the pizzas while she got some napkins.

“I got a pepperoni and cheese, and one with the works.”

“They smell wonderful. What would you like to drink? Cola? Or water?”

“Cola sounds great.”

They sat around a small wobbly table. Harry waited until he was offered a piece, then ate carefully. Too carefully for a small boy.

Liz's gaze met his. Damn, but her eyes were soft. Gentle. Her lips looked inviting.

He took a piece and decided it tasted a great deal better with company than without it. “I didn't know whether you would like pizza.”

“Hmm. I love it. I haven't eaten today, either.”

She looked beautiful with tomato sauce on her lips. He wanted to ask her about taking Harry riding on the weekend, but he knew how much a parent hated being put on the spot in front of her child. He would do it later.

“How are the sculptures doing?” he asked.

“Marty said they're selling out.”

“Good. Does that mean you will stay with us awhile?”

She took another bite of pizza, not answering immediately.

“Or will you return to Chicago?”

“Why?” She met his question directly.

“Family?”

“I don't have any. My mother and father are both dead.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, feeling immensely uncomfortable. He didn't want to interrogate her. He wanted to enjoy these few moments. Hell, he wanted her to enjoy them even more.

He refrained from asking more questions, hoping against hope that she might come to trust him with more answers than she'd given thus far. He paced his eating to theirs, and when he'd taken the last bite he pushed away from the table. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

“I could hardly refuse a hungry man with pizza,” she said with a hint of a smile. Since it was one of the few she'd gifted him with, he felt a fuzzy warmth inside.

He wanted to ask her out for a real date. Hell, he wanted to lean over and kiss her.

Most of all, he wanted to pierce the mystery that enveloped her. He put the leftover pizza into the box and followed her out to the kitchen as Harry munched on some cheese sticks that had been included.

Once out of hearing of Harry, he asked his question. “I'm taking Jenny to the ranch Saturday. Would you and Harry like to go?”

He saw the swift denial on her face but she never put it into words. Instead he watched desire war with caution. “We'd like that,” she said almost defiantly.

“Good. I'll be here at nine. Perhaps some breakfast along the way?”

She nodded. “Thank you for not asking in front of Harry.”

He suddenly realized that his decision in that one matter had opened her door to him.

But even while that thought pleased him, he felt a deeper disquiet. She was opening up to him. Ever so slightly. He felt traitorous. As low as he ever had felt in his career.

He decided to give up his queries.

N
EW
O
RLEANS

Meredith looked around at the mourners. Her heart was numb. Nothing seemed real. It was as if she were an onlooker watching the drama and grief of others.

Was someone here a murderer?

Everyone was solicitous. But she sat alone in the second pew of the packed church. Sarah and Becky, she knew, were at her father's house, helping to supervise caterers for the gathering after the funeral. She'd invited Mrs. Edwards, the housekeeper, to sit with her but the woman declined. She wanted to sit in the back.

Meredith had always been alone but she was even more alone now.

She had looked for Gage, but he hadn't come. She had told him she needed space. He'd apparently taken her at her word.

She tried to listen to the service. Her father had once been an active member of the church and had, with his wife, continued to give tens of thousands of dollars although he seldom attended. She listened to her father's character extolled.

She'd declined to say anything. He was her father, and as such she had loved him. She had admired him even if she had not actually liked him. Now she realized his life had been full of secrets. So had her mother's.

Secrets dangerous enough to kill for.

Still, she mourned him. She felt infinite sadness for the man who had told her his wife had never loved him. He had uttered the words with such despair. She was beginning to feel that both her parents had lived in a hell of their own making.

But why?

So many questions. So few answers. All she could do now was mourn her father. She couldn't change the past. She could only try to understand it.

A hymn. “Faith of Our Fathers.” She remembered when she had first heard that. Years ago when her mother had thought she should go to Sunday school and church. She had sat between them and felt the tension.

Images flitted through her head. Her father as a younger man. Even then he had been distant. Demanding perfection. She remembered his rare smile when she told him she'd been accepted into law school. There might even have been pride in his face at her law school graduation. She had relished that until she learned he had her life planned.

The last hymn. The coffin was carried out by six men in dark suits. She wondered if they knew him better than she did.

She had to endure the graveside service as well. She invited Mrs. Edwards, her father's housekeeper, to share the limousine with her, and this time she agreed.

Unexpectedly, the woman had tears in her eyes. Meredith felt guilty that she didn't have any of her own. Not now. They were locked inside.

She noted that the day was sunny. Not like those funerals in the films when the sky seemed to weep. When the group gathered at the graveside, she looked at every face. Most she knew. They came from the legal and political communities or were her mother's acquaintances.

Her stomach roiled as she wondered if one was a killer.

She tried to look into their eyes. But all she saw was sympathy.

When the service was over, she looked again for Gage. She knew detectives often attended the services of their victims. But the police department wasn't considering her father's death as a deliberate act.

She didn't see him. She had told him this was something she wanted to do on her own. She would be safe. Surrounded by people. And he needed to do his job.

She'd wanted to prove to herself that she could stand alone.

She realized she was fighting a losing battle. She needed him far more than she wanted to. The big question was whether those feelings were fueled by grief and her bewilderment about the violence swirling about her or by something deeper. Something more lasting.

After the graveside service, there was the reception at her parents' house. She had planned it there since her house was far too small for the crowd. She suffered through it, accepting condolences. Uttering words of thanks. All the time she watched for a tall, graceful detective with unruly blond hair and clear green eyes.

When he didn't appear, she made mental lists even as she urged more food on her guests.

She had to make an appointment to see her father's attorney and make decisions about his estate. He had named her trustee for the estate years ago. He hadn't thought his wife could handle it on her own.

First on her list, though, was that delayed visit to Memphis, to the neighbors of her great-aunt. Perhaps someone would remember a visit thirty-three years ago of a young girl with a big secret. With more information, she might find the doctor. And records.

The last guest left her parents' house. With grateful relief, she returned home and fed the dog. She took him for a walk, enjoying the uncomplicated companionship. Both Sarah and Becky had suggested coming over to keep her company, but she'd assured them she just needed rest.

She had Nicky. And the gun in her purse.

She also had things to do. Meredith had given Mrs. Edwards several days off with pay. She'd left immediately after the reception to stay with her sister for a few days.

Meredith knew she couldn't sleep. She had to do something. She invited Nicky into her car and drove back to her parents' house. It had been thoroughly cleaned by the caterers but she thought she heard the echoes of the people who were there just hours ago.

She would have to decide what to do with it. She didn't want to live there. Too many memories.

She pictured her mother and father in it, remembering all the times they had both been there. But not together. Rarely together.

The doorbell rang. Nicky barked loudly.

Another mourner. Perhaps a reporter. She thought about ignoring it, but Nicky was frantic. She looked outside.

Gage Gaynor's lanky form leaned against the outside wall. Another man was with him. She recognized him. He had swept her house for listening devices.

Relief flooded her. She opened the door.

Gage took one look at her face and pulled her into his arms. He held her for a moment, then stepped back and introduced the man with him.

“Hi. I wanted the house sweeped for bugs.”

“You think …”

“Your telephone was bugged. I think it's entirely likely your father's might have been as well.”

She stepped back as the two men entered. She was silent as Gage's companion checked the phones, then swept the entire house for listening devices. Gage shook his head. “Nothing.”

She was confused. “Why me and not him? Why didn't they kill me but killed him?”

“Perhaps he told someone something they didn't want to hear.” He hesitated, then asked, “No more mystery calls?”

“No. But then the phone hasn't stopped ringing. I finally turned it off.”

“You haven't noticed anyone watching you?”

She shook her head. She wished she wasn't so glad to see him.

“Good. A friend of mine has been keeping an eye on you. I'm glad to know he's good enough not to be spotted.”

Anger flashed through her for a second. He'd had no right. Then she realized how stupid that was. She would be a fool to allow pride to get in the way of safety. And he'd cared enough to see that she stayed safe. Some of the chill left her. “Do you think they'll come after me again?”

“I think it depends on what you find. I think whoever did this is probably wary of too many bodies turning up. Hopefully, they'll think you are too distracted … and too frightened to keep looking. I'm sure they know you're too smart not to have made the connection.”

“I'm not distracted.”

“I know, and that worries me.”

“Where were you today?” She pressed her lips together, hating that she had asked that question as if the answer mattered. As if she had the right to hear it.

“A floater turned up this week. Fingers were cut off. No head. Bullet in the heart. Looks like a mob hit. We've been trying to get an ID on him. The lieutenant scheduled a meeting on it. I didn't have a choice.” His gaze met hers and shifted. She suddenly realized he was holding something back.

Or was she-just wary now of everyone?

Her cell phone rang.

She picked it up.

“Ms. Rawson?”

It was Nan Fuller's voice. Frantic. Hysterical.

“Nan?”

“I went home to pick up some things for the kids. Rick was supposed to be on duty. He's here. I think he's going to kill me. I locked myself in the bathroom but—”

“Have you called 911?”

“Yes, but—”

Meredith heard a loud bang at the other end of the line. Muttered curses. “I'm on my way,” she said.

She looked at Gage. “Rick Fuller is attacking Nan at their house.”

He headed for the door. “Let's go.”

Meredith followed at a run. She had neglected Nan these past few days. She had neglected all her clients.

And now one of them might die.