Dead to the Max (11 page)

Pain, then malice flickered in his gray eyes. “She acted oddly.”

“Oddly?”

“Manic. Up one minute, down the next, changing with a snap of my fingers.”

“Bouncing off the walls,” Max murmured, remembering Theresa’s description.

Dropping her hands, his fingers curled into fists, and his jaw tightened. She witnessed the same anger, maybe even despair, that had gripped him when he’d smashed Wendy’s mug. “How could she do that? I gave her everything, took care of everything, managed every aspect of her life for her, cared for her the way her father did. Even better. She didn’t have a worry in the world.”

Wendy’s father? What an odd statement for a husband to make. Perhaps that was the problem. Wendy had needed a husband; instead, she’d gotten another father. Max’s stomach muscles clenched, her chest hurt. Wendy cried inside her, and she knew she was on the right track. The things Hal wanted for his wife had never been the things Wendy wanted.

Unsure for the moment what benefits this discovery gave her, Max nudged Hal back to Wendy’s indiscretion. “It must have been horrible to find out she was having an affair.”

The dark look on his face said she didn’t know the half of it. “If I knew who it was, I could accept it and go on.” He looked away, down, then at the dance floor and finally back at Max.

It was coming, she knew. He’d ask her to spy for him. Max egged him on, all wide-eyed innocence. “How would that help you?”

His lips worked as if he searched for the right words. He was good, she’d give him that. Under different circumstances, she might have believed him.

She covered his hand on the table, told herself the touch was necessary. But...yuk. Inside, Wendy shuddered. “If there’s anything I can do...” The offer lingered.

He stared at their joined hands, his still a fist. “I believe it might have been someone she worked with. Wendy was a little introverted, and she didn’t go out much.”

“Someone at Hackett’s?” Wendy’s date book flashed across her mind. Nickie. Monday. The night Wendy died. Had Hal entered the name in ballpoint, then used Wendy’s keys to hide it in her desk after her death?

Maybe. But would he have known she called her lover Nickie?

“Perhaps if you hear anything,” Hal said. “People talk. I need to know. So I can move on.” Move on, go on, a repetitive phrasing he seemed to have practiced.

“Of course, I’ll help you. I know how you must feel.” She really didn’t want to know a thing about how this man felt. He creeped her out.

Pulling his hand away, he reached into his hip pocket, fished out his wallet. “My card. Call me. Leave a voicemail. I always check.” He slid the business card across the table. It was his work address and phone; Hal Gregory, Attorney at Law. A lawyer, she should have known. The only lawyer she’d ever respected was Cameron.

“And if there’s anything you need,” he added belatedly.

“How kind of you.” She put the card in the front pocket of her purse. “I’m taking a little trip to the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.” She dragged her purse off the table and wound her way through the throng of people. Wendy had her stomach tied in knots.

In the bathroom, amidst chattering female voices, she splashed her face, then put her hands under the hot stream until the chill faded. She shouldn’t have touched him. Her skin felt clammy.

She wasn’t even close to cracking his alibi. But she had access to him now. That was a damn good start.

Leaving the restroom, she stopped a moment at the end of the passageway leading to the dance floor. Alone at their table on the other side of the bar, Hal stood out like a city-slicker in a Brooks Brothers suit. He grimaced when the DJ started the Macarena. Would the life cycle of that dance song
never
end?

“Get rid of him.” A voice right behind her, the man’s warm breath against her hair was sweet with peppermints. Like Cameron’s. The scent turned her inside out before it was eclipsed by an angry swirl of cigarette smoke despite the fact that Cameron said he’d quit.

She felt the guy at her back, his husky voice beating through her body as a fever raced across her skin. He rested warm hands on her hips beneath her jacket. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak. All she wanted to do was lean back until his erection nestled between her cheeks. She didn’t doubt he had one.

She knew who he was without turning around.

Nicholas Drake. Nickie of Monday night, Boise Flight 452, and the backseat of a nice, shiny new car. Wendy Gregory’s lover.

Quite possibly her killer.

Just what the hell was he doing at the Round Up watching her with the dead woman’s husband?

Chapter Eight

Dancing with Nicholas Drake was suicide.

“You’re holding me way too tight, Nickie.”

He didn’t let go. His thighs, molded to hers, robbed her of her objectivity. So did the hard-on wedged between their bodies. Yep, she’d been right about that. His scent, masculine soap and the lingering snap of mint, made her throat dry. The aromatic reminder of Cameron was an unfair advantage. The only saving grace was the knowledge that her reactions belonged to Wendy.

Undulating bodies bumped against them. Keith Urban sang a bone-melting ballad. Nicholas Drake’s hips did a slow slip-slide against her. The aroused ridge forced a shiver deep inside her.

To hell with cracking Hal Gregory’s alibi.

Max had gotten rid of Hal in three minutes flat. She’d patted her purse where she’d stowed his card, promised to call the moment she heard anything titillating, and vowed to herself to somehow get herself invited to Wendy’s funeral. Once the body was released.

It was a morbid ploy, but all was fair in flushing out a killer, even behaving in poor taste.

So bye-bye Hal, for now.

Then she’d ended up on the dance floor with Nick.

Her lower body deliciously vacuum-packed to his as they danced, Nick pulled back to stare down at her with pale blue eyes. “Why did you call me Nickie?”

“It was in Wendy’s planner. Monday night. 7:59 p.m. 452. I’m sure the police are looking for Nickie. I’m not sure they know who he is yet.”

Something flickered in his gaze. Fear? No, not from this man. More like a banked fire that would turn into a raging inferno with a moment’s notice. The bump in his nose from a long-ago break proved he’d lost control at least once. Volatility, however, did not make him a killer.

He ignored her implied threat, took their bodies together into a sweet dip as the song ended and another bump-n-rub, slow-dancing tune started. “And you just naturally associated the name with me, a man you saw at the airport?”

A man whose magnetism left her breathless even from a distance, his current proximity was driving her slowly insane. And yet...she seemed strangely detached, as if, while the physical sensations belonged to her, the emotions did not.

They most definitely belonged to Wendy.

But now wasn’t the time to analyze. Max forged ahead with her probing, trying to catch him off guard. “So you did notice me there? Don’t forget it was the long-term lot. And you were staring at the crime scene of a woman you...knew.”

His eyes narrowed. Again, he masked that quick flash of something.

“Then, of course, there was the Taco Bell two blocks from the police station.”

His lips smiled. The sentiment did not reach his pale eyes. “I thought you’d spotted me. You forgot that you’ve seen me outside of Hackett’s, too.”

She hadn’t noticed him, and the knowledge sent a shiver along her nerve endings. She didn’t mind being watched; she just wanted to know when it was being done. “Why have you been following me?”

“You’ve got me at a disadvantage, ma’am. I don’t even know your name.”

“You don’t need to know it. And you didn’t answer.”

“Why have
you
been following
me?
”

“On the contrary, I’ve been trailing Wendy.”

“She’s dead.” Cold, flat, angry, but not self-pitying like Hal.

“That’s why someone needs to speak for her, to tell everyone what happened that night.”

His arms tightened across her back. She almost bit her lip. There was great strength in those arms. Liquid heat stole through her extremities. God, she was melting.

You sound like the Wicked Witch of the West.

Vamoose!
She didn’t need Cameron butting in. She was in total control.

Wasn’t she? Well, yes, except for the desire to drag Nick off the dance floor and have her wicked way with him in the backseat of a car parked at the far edge of the lot.

That
part of it was all Wendy’s need. Despite what had happened to her in a backseat, she still wanted Nickie.

Instead of slipping her arms around his neck, Max clutched Nick’s hard biceps and the rough material of his shirt. He wasn’t dressed like the rest of the men in the bar. He wore work clothes much the same as he had at the airport. Denim shirt, worn jeans, and tan, beaten-up, steel-toed work boots. His features were lean with a masculine ruddiness, unlike colorless Hal. Nick was tall; even wearing heels, Max had to lean back to look in his face as he spoke.

Wendy had loved that sensation.

“And you think you know what happened?” he taunted.

“Only her killer knows for sure.”

Again, that mirthless smile, and a slight tightening of his muscles against her. “I take it you’ve decided I did it.”

“You
were
her lover.” Dying for confirmation, she stated instead of asked. Any sign of weakness on her part would give him the one-up.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?”

“I know enough, Nick. I was her friend.”

“Try again. Her husband didn’t allow Wendy to have friends.”

“You seem to know a lot about their marriage, Nickie.”

“Did you know she’d left him?”

Everything stopped inside her, the blood in her veins, the breath in her lungs, even the rush of sexual heat. “Did
he
know?”

A slow, knowing sneer spread across Nick’s face. “Like you, Hal Gregory thought he knew everything about Wendy.”

“But she surprised him?”

“I don’t think he quite knew how to take it. If he had, he’d never have let her out of the house that day.”

“This gives you motive, doesn’t it?”

“This gives
Hal
motive.”

She tipped her head to one side. “But Wendy made demands on
you
, didn’t she, Nickie?” It wasn’t even a guess.

“I know how to deal with a demanding woman.”

By killing her? “If you know all this, you’ve proven you saw her that last night.”

“It was
you
I saw that night.”

A chill spread over her skin. The crawling sensation along her neck and the flush of fear and shame on her skin were completely her own, nothing to do with Wendy. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw
you.
”

“Where?”

“Here.”

“No way.” She had been to the Round Up Monday night, but only briefly, then she’d left again. Alone. She had to admit she didn’t always leave alone. Once in awhile...God, she couldn’t ignore the overwhelming, unstoppable, unquenchable need to feel a real touch. She loved Cameron, she needed him, but his touch was only real when she closed her eyes and sometimes, she had to have it eyes wide open.

“I’ve seen you before. When I’ve come in for a drink with a few of the boys from Hackett’s.”

Max swallowed hard. She’d never noticed Nick at the Round Up. She’d certainly never noticed him watching her go for the conquest.

Her hands turned frigid. Her nipples shriveled inside her white cotton shirt. All her dirty little secrets seemed to be unraveling. First with Witt Long and what happened the night Cameron left her, now with this man and her...extra-curricular activities.

Max shrugged, feigning indifference. “I like to dance.”

“And you always leave with a different guy.” He tipped her left hand, looked down at the ring on her finger. “What does your husband think of that?”

Not
always.
He made it sound sordid. Okay, it was sordid, but even before the words were out of her mouth, she hated them. She didn’t need to explain. “He’s dead.”

God, how horribly easy it was becoming to say that word. The effortlessness scared the crap out of her.

Until death do you part. Though Cameron was dead, they’d never parted, but he could only love her in her dreams. Sometimes she ran to the Round Up to pretend it was him.

Liar. She ran to the Round Up to
feel
someone real.

Nick’s nostrils flared as he took in a breath, his lips twisted. “I’m sorry.”

She’d succeeded in surprising him. Damn him, she didn’t want a sympathetic glance from those pale, understanding eyes. “What did your wife think about
your
little affair?”

“I’m not married. Not anymore.”

“You were when it started. So was Wendy.”

“The state of my marriage doesn’t have a bearing on this.”

“Like hell it doesn’t.” She tossed her head when he glared down at her. “What about Wendy’s marriage?”

“Leaving that ass was the best thing she could have done.”

“Except that she got killed the night she did it.”

The slow thrum of music ended. The DJ picked up with a foot-stomping, line-dance beat. Still moving slowly, Nick’s arms wrapped around her, they were in the way.

He dragged her off the dance floor, keeping a tight hold on her wrist. Leaning close, his breath bathed her cheek. “If I take you home with me, do I get to know your name?”

“Bastard.” Max stumbled as she pulled back, tugging against his grip. “Let go of me.”

“Do you tell any of those guys your name?”

She jerked free. “Don’t ever put your hands on me again.”

“Only when you beg.”

She thought about slapping him, but he might have liked the challenge. She settled for a man-hating glare.

He spread his hands. “Hey, I thought you wanted to accuse me of murdering Wendy.”

“Did you kill her?” she snapped back.

“Why don’t you stick around and find out?”