Darker Than Midnight (21 page)

She nodded. “We can really do a number on ourselves when we don't want to know something, can't we? What else?”

“Shopping trips where she didn't buy anything. Visiting friends who weren't even in town at the time. A lot of times she should have been home and wasn't.”

“I don't suppose you remember any dates?”

He frowned, shooting her a look. She was digging into his private hell, digging like any good cop trying to solve a case.
Part of him resented it, and part of him admired her for it. Most of him was grateful. She was trying to help him. And so what if her reasons were entirely selfish? An effort to ease her conscience of a guilty secret.

That bothered him. Bothered him a lot more than it ought to, given everything else he had to worry about.

“Actually, I remember a couple of dates,” he said. “Only because they were important.” He couldn't look at her as he went on. “One was Halloween. She never missed Halloween, used to dress up for the trick-or-treaters. Another was my birthday.”

He was sorely afraid Cassandra would express sympathy, and he knew he couldn't handle it if she did. He braced himself for it, for her to gasp and ask how any wife could stand her husband up on his birthday. She didn't. Instead she set her cocoa down, opened the drawer of the nightstand and took out a pad and pen. “October thirty-first,” she said, jotting it down. “And…?”

“September twenty-fourth.”

She wrote down the date. “And this would have been of…what, year before last?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. That gives us a couple of dates we can check. If we can figure out where she was we might be closer to learning who was with her.”

He nodded. It was a logical, practical approach.

“Do you have any…suspicions, River? Of who it might have been?”

He closed his eyes.

Her hand settled on the back of his neck, rubbed him there like a trainer would massage a boxer between rounds. “I know it's hard,” she said.

“No. No suspicions. Hell, she didn't even know anyone out here. Didn't make any friends. She was miserable.”

She nodded. “She knew Ethan, though.”

He shook his head. “It wasn't Ethan. He wouldn't do that to me. Hell, even if he would, he wouldn't do it to Victoria. He adores his wife.”

Cassandra tilted her head to one side. “I saw him in the grocery store earlier. Did I tell you?”

River turned toward her. Her hand was still massaging his nape and it felt damn good. “No. You didn't mention it.”

She nodded. “He asked me to go out with him. Dinner tomorrow night. Didn't mention he was married.”

River couldn't reply to that, because it was as if she was speaking a foreign language. It didn't make any sense.

“I said I'd go.”

“The hell you will.”

The words came without warning, without forethought. A knee-jerk reaction that didn't make any more sense than anything else in this messed-up conversation.

She lifted her brows and blinked at him. “Look, what better way can you think of for me to pump him for information? See what he lets slip?”

“You don't need to pump Ethan for information. And you'd better believe if he asked you out, it was for the same damn reason you accepted. He thinks you know something. Bet on it.”

She shrugged, drained her cup and set it on the nightstand. “Well, naturally. It's not like there's a chance in hell he could be attracted to me.”

“Oh, come on, Cassandra, you know damn well that's not what I meant. A freaking dead man would be attracted to you.”

Her smile was slow and knowing. “Dead man, huh? How about an escaped mental patient hopped up on Haldol?”

River held her eyes. “Yeah. Him, too.”

She took the cup from his hand and set it beside hers. “So is he going to do anything about it?”

“No.” He shook his head firmly.

“Come on, River. Do you really think I came up here to talk about the case?”

“It would be a mistake. I can't…Jesus, with everything else. No. It's just a bad idea, Cassandra.”

She shrugged. “It's been a while for me. I'll bet it's been a lot longer for you. I'm not much for romanticism, River. I learned young that you never know for sure when your time is up. So I'm big on living in the moment.” She dipped into her pocket, pulled out a handful of cellophane-wrapped packets. “I—uh—picked these up at the store. In case you change your mind.” She leaned over him, set the condoms on his dresser.

Before she could lean back again, he caught her shoulders, and she looked up into his eyes, waiting. What the hell was she doing? Was this another attempt at repairing mistakes made in the past? Soothing her conscience over the death of an innocent man?

His eyes fixed on her mouth. She licked her lips, and the thoughts that flooded his mind were damn near overwhelming. But the one thing more powerful in his mind was the knowledge that he might hurt her. He might kill her.

“You should get some sleep,” he said at a last.

She pursed her lips. “I'm not sure if you're being noble or stubborn.” She sighed and climbed off the bed.

Stupid, he thought in silence. I'm being freakin' stupid.

“Good night, River.”

“'Night.”

She left the room. Closed the door.

He lay there, arguing with himself for all of ten minutes. Then he surged out of the bed and opened the door. He heard the shower running, knew she was in it, suppressed a moan that welled up from his soul.

Silently he moved closer to the bathroom. The door wasn't closed tightly. It hung open just a bit. He could see inside. He
could see the tub, with its sliding glass door. He could see
her
beyond the frosted glass. She stood beneath the spray, a flesh-toned blur. Her hands sliding over her body. Over her belly. Between her thighs.

River spun away, lunged back into his bedroom and closed the door. Head tipped back, eyes closed, he stood there in an agony of self-denial and knew he would never sleep. Or if he did, she was going to haunt his dreams.

He reminded himself sharply that he had damn good reason not to get any closer to this woman than he already was. He didn't know what he was capable of. He didn't know when he might black out again, and God, what if he did? What if he did and came back to himself only to find her lying dead at his feet?

Deep down, he realized the real fear that was eating at him, tormenting him. Because frankly, he didn't see how any grown man could have failed to recognize the signs of his wife's infidelity, could remain blind to them for as long as he had.

So what if he hadn't? What if, deep down, he'd known the truth about Stephanie? What if that was the reason he'd killed her?

J
ax woke to the sound of her alarm clock, and managed to sit up, locate it and silence its irritating bleat all without opening her eyes. She took her time about that, arching her back and stretching her arms thoroughly before finally taking a bleary-eyed look around the living room. “I have
got
to get another bed in this house,” she muttered, flinging off her blanket and sliding to her feet.

Rex got up when she did. He'd been asleep in front of the fire. And just like her, he stretched tiredly, before padding to the door and looking back at her.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay.” She went to the door and let the dog out. Then, barefoot, she made her way into the kitchen and hit the button on the coffeemaker. She'd filled it the night before so it was ready to brew. Then she returned to the living room to fold up her blanket, pick up her pillow, and carried the two of them upstairs to stash them in a closet. No need alerting any further break-and-enter types that she was sleeping on the sofa.

She slid the blanket and pillow onto their shelf, then turned to look at the closed bedroom door. Poor River. She probably shouldn't have come on to him the way she had last night. Part of her wondered why she'd done it. It was true, she wasn't a prude when it came to sex. But she wasn't prone to sleeping
with strangers or bedding men on the first date, either. She couldn't deny the attraction between them. And she knew men. Hell, she'd been around them all her life. That man needed to get laid. Badly. He was practically climbing the walls with frustration, and his ego had suffered the worst blow the male ego could suffer. It needed shoring up. And since he was clearly as attracted as she was, she'd seen no reason not to indulge.

Still, she didn't suppose he was used to women with a practical approach to sex. She wondered what his wife had been like. Not loyal, that was for sure. Jax might be okay with casual sex when the need arose—both parties willing and all precautions taken, of course—but she didn't think she could ever cheat on the man she loved. If she ever fell in love, that was. An eventuality that seemed pretty doubtful most of the time.

She smiled. She wasn't usually attracted to cops. Interesting.

She wondered if he'd managed to catch any sleep, and crept to the door, opened it just a crack to peer in at him.

A neatly made bed lay in a startlingly neat bedroom. Not an escaped mental patient in sight. Frowning, she pushed the door open wider. “River?”

Nothing. And the cups she'd left on the dresser were gone. Vaguely, she recalled seeing them resting in the dish drainer when she'd gone out to turn on the coffeepot. She shifted her gaze to the other dresser, then began opening drawers. The condoms she'd left on top were inside now. But nothing else was there. No clothes. Nothing.

Hell, she couldn't believe her proposition last night had scared him away. No, it couldn't be that. He was up to something. But where the hell could he go without a…

She ran to the bedroom window, pushed the curtains aside and blinked down at her driveway. Her very empty driveway.

“That son of a—”

A note was propped on the windowsill. Just a page from
the notepad in the dresser, folded in half with her name scrawled on the outside.

Sighing, she picked it up, unfolded it.

“Don't panic,” she read. “This has nothing to do with last night. I just have a couple of things I have to do. If all goes well, I'll be back tonight. Do me a favor, though—stay away from Ethan. And just in case I don't see you, thanks. For everything, Cassandra, including the ego-stroking. It did me a world of good.”

It was signed “R.”

She pursed her lips, crushed the note in her fist, and turned to carry it down the stairs to the living room, where she tossed it into the hearth.

“What's that?”

She spun around and saw Ethan Melrose standing in her front doorway, staring in at her. Hell, she hadn't relocked it when she'd let Rex out.

Rex. Where the hell was…?

A sudden explosion of barking told her that wherever he'd been, the dog was back now, and not happy to see a strange man standing on
his
porch. She lunged forward, grabbed Ethan by the arm and jerked him inside, slamming the door just before Rex could take a chunk out of his ass.

He was clearly startled. “Jesus, what the hell was that?”

“Stray dog,” she muttered. And she wondered if he'd recognized Rex. Surely Ethan would be familiar with his best friend's old pet. “He's not usually aggressive. I've been feeding him.”

Ethan lifted his brows. “Trying to make friends?”

“He's a great dog,” she said. “He needs a home, and I'm all alone, so—”

“You are?” He was looking around the house, past her, almost as if he expected to see someone there. “I could have sworn I heard a man's voice when I was knocking.”

Oh, no he didn't, she thought. He hadn't heard a damn thing. Because River hadn't been here. So if he suspected a man
was
around, he had other reasons for it. The guy was on a fishing expedition. She immediately wondered if he'd been the one who'd trashed her place last night, and she bristled inwardly at the notion, but tried to keep it from showing. Bastard.

“No one here but me,” she said. “I just made coffee. Do you want to come in and have a cup?”

“Sure. Thanks.” She stepped aside, mentally reviewing where she'd put the files and notes on River's case. She'd been shaken enough by the break-in that she'd taken precautions. Stuffed them inside an empty cereal box and slid it, upright, onto the top shelf of a cupboard. She sent a sideways glance at the note she'd crumbled and tossed into the fire. There was nothing left but ash. She smiled a little as she led the way into the kitchen, nodded to a chair and got down a pair of coffee cups.

Filling them, she carried them to the table…and caught him eyeing the two matching cups in the dish drainer. Shit. She set the coffee on the table, then opened the fridge, grabbed the milk and the orange juice. Then she fetched a third cup from the cupboard, set it beside her own and filled it with juice.

Ethan frowned at her.

“It's a habit. Two-fisted drinker,” she said with what she hoped was a casual smile. “I never have something as bad for me as caffeine without adding something good for me to cancel it out. O.J.'s the drink of choice this week.”

“I see.”

“So what brings you by, Dr. Melrose?”

He sipped his coffee. “I thought we were on a first-name basis now.”

“Oops. Sorry, I forgot. Have you got more information for me?”

“Maybe,” he said. “The hospital administrator was phoned
at home last night. Seems an urgent fax had been sent to the records department.”

She lifted her brows. “And?”

“It was from Corbett's lawyer, demanding that copies of all his medical records be sent to his office by the end of business hours today.”

Jax frowned as hard as she could. “Are you telling me that your escaped lunatic—”

He grimaced and held up a hand. “Patient. Not lunatic.”

She lowered her head. “I'm sorry. That wasn't very sensitive of me. He's your friend, after all.” Peering up, she watched his face. There was only genuine worry in his eyes. “So let me try that again. Are you telling me that a mental patient as disturbed as this one managed to escape from the hospital, contact an attorney and…and what? Launch some kind of…malpractice investigation?”

“I don't know. I thought you might have some idea.”

“Hell, I didn't even know he had a lawyer.” She held up a hand. “Wait, yes I did. It was in the case file—what was the guy's name, Berger?”

“Brown.” Ethan was watching her face. Probably thought he was some kind of expert at reading people, being a shrink. Too bad he was dealing with a seasoned cop who knew more about reading faces than he ever would. With him it was a matter of treating patients. With her, it was a matter of life and death.

“His lawyer will have to report it if he has any knowledge of Corbett's whereabouts,” she said.

“He says he doesn't.”

She sighed. “So why did you think I'd know anything about this, Ethan?”

He shrugged, adding milk to his coffee and stirring slowly. “I don't know. You're living in his house, feeding his dog—”

“His dog?” She blinked and feigned surprise. “You mean that German shepherd outside?”

“Yeah. I never knew what happened to him. Guess he's been fending for himself all this time.”

“Well, I'll be damned.” She sipped her own coffee, black, and made a point to take a sip of the orange juice afterward. “Hey! Do you know the dog's name?”

He nodded. “Rex.”

“Rex. That fits him.”

“Yeah, as in T-Rex.” He shook his head. “That animal ought to be put down.”

“Oh, he's not so bad. I mean, he doesn't seem to like you very much, but he's been a doll to me.” She smiled. “So was there anything else, Ethan? I'm not rushing you or anything, but I need to get ready for work.”

“No. No, that was all.” He slugged half the coffee down in a single gulp and got to his feet. “I'm looking forward to tonight.”

“Me, too.”

He nodded, set the cup on the sink and then walked with Jax to the door. She said, “Better let me get the dog.” Then she opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. Rex was there, waiting. She gripped his collar and held on, tugging him out of Ethan's path.

As soon as he stepped out the door, Rex pulled against her, growling deep and low. She had to drop to her knees and wrap her arms around his neck to keep him still. “Stop it, Rex. Behave.”

Ethan came out, and Jax managed to drag and wrestle the dog inside the house, then pulled the door closed while remaining on the outside. “Sorry about that. Have a good day, Ethan.”

“You, too, Jax.” He started down the steps, then stopped and turned. “By the way, where is your car?”

She blinked, and sought an answer, found one, and only
missed a single beat in the process. “It was making a noise. My father wanted to take a look at it for me.”

“So…you need a ride to work?”

“Oh, that's so sweet of you. Thanks, but Frankie's picking me up.” She made a face. “Anytime now, to be honest. I'd better hustle.”

“Yeah, you'd better. See you at seven, okay?”

“I can hardly wait.” She waited until he was safely in his car—a silver Mercedes, no less—to open the door just enough to wedge herself back inside.

Rex sat on the other side, trying to get out, but she spoke a sharp command—one she'd heard the canine handlers use on the job. “Rex. Stand down!”

The dog sat instantly. But the fur on his haunches bristled and his ears were laid back. He did not like his master's best friend.

Jax patted his head. “I'm not overly fond of him myself, boy.” Then she hurried to call Frankie for a ride, before Ethan had a chance to call her himself and catch her in a lie.

* * *

River had managed to grab a few hours sleep the night before. He'd come wide-awake before dawn, and knew there was no chance of going to sleep again. His dreams had alternated between sheer delight—images of Cassandra wrapped up in his arms, her limbs twisted around his body, not a scrap of clothing in sight—and sheer agony when the faces in his mind changed and became not his and Cassandra's, but the faces of his wife and his best friend. Stephanie and Ethan.

All night he'd told himself it couldn't be true. It wasn't possible. But as much as he searched his mind, he couldn't think of another man who'd been close to Steph. Not that close. Not close enough to…

He shut his thoughts down and got out of bed. He had to know. And he thought he'd come up with a way to find out.
Cassandra had given him the idea when she'd mentioned the value of knowing exact dates when Stephanie might have been meeting with her lover.

River needed to go to Burlington. He needed to get to Ethan's office. And if he left now, he could make it there before anyone else was around. He wrote a note to Cassandra and left it on the windowsill. Then he made his bed quickly, tossed his few belongings into a pillowcase and slung it over his shoulder. As an afterthought, he snatched up the two cups and rinsed them in the bathroom sink. He left them in the dish drainer, then went back into the still-dark living room.

For a moment, he was brought up short, caught by the sight of Cassandra asleep on the sofa, drenched in firelight. She had angel's hair, he thought as he stood there, looking at the way it spread around her on the pillow. But there was a lot more to her than the way she looked. She was solid. Strong, assertive, smart and entirely self-sufficient.

Stephanie hadn't been. She'd been dependent and needy. She'd needed him, whole and strong, and when he'd let her down, she fell apart. Hell, could he blame her for turning to another man? He'd stopped being the man she could rely on. And even then, she'd been sorry. He was certain she'd been sorry, certain she'd meant it when she'd vowed they would work things out.