Die Smiling (10 page)

“Maybe I should. Why don't you just lie down with me somewhere, you know, to get me started? That should get my dreams smokin' in no time.”

He grinned again, one predominantly designed to rock me wildly about in my high-top Nikes, the same one that used to raise my hackles. Not anymore. I smiled back. He was growing on me, for sure.

“Is that really a smile I see, Detective? Hell, you didn't stalk off or pull your gun, or nothin'. That mean you're considering goin' out with me one of these days?”

“Nope. Not at all.”

“Can't figure what you see in that Black guy. Doesn't seem your type.”

Actually, McKay was ten on the accuracy scale again, even sans the dreams. Black and I were about as different as Nicole Kidman and Rosie O'Donnell. Truth was, I was probably a lot more like McKay, T-shirt, jeans, and smartass attitude. But Black rang all my bells and blew all my whistles, yep, created one helluva sexual cacophony. That was a hard thing to ignore.

“We're getting along just fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Can't you give me one itty-bitty ray of hope?”

“You can hope all you want, but I'm with Black, period, and end of conversation.”

“Oh, I'm gonna hope, all right. In the meantime, you take care, you hear me? And if it's all the same to you, Lizzie and I might hang out a while longer. She likes it down here on the water. Calms her down, know what I mean?”

His eyes were serious, and I could see how worried he was. I had a feeling the little girl wasn't doing so hot at all. “Yeah, that's why I live here, the peace and tranquility. Bring her out here any time you want. I was just kidding about the permission thing.”

I watched Elizabeth for a moment, wondering if she really didn't remember me from that terrible cave of horrors. She'd been through a lot of very bad stuff, even before McKay brought her to Missouri, too much for a little kid, but it was clear McKay doted on her. He'd get her through it.

My cell phone started up with the Mexican Hat Dance song, and I said good-bye to McKay, turned, and headed back to the house. It was Black on the other end, and I actually got a bit of a sensual shiver when I heard his voice. Good thing McKay didn't notice or he'd make a wisecrack.

“I'm on my way.”

“Did you get things taken care of?”

“Yes. I took time to check in on a couple of my patients staying here at the Lodge. Everybody's pretty shook up about the Swensen girl. Where are you?”

“Home.” I picked up my jacket and purse, crossed the driveway, and entered the garage.

“I should be there in about ten minutes. How's that sound?”

“Sounds good. By the way, just so you know, McKay and Lizzie are fishing on my dock.” Black has this little jealousy thing going on about McKay, so I thought I'd head that problem off at the bend.

“How sweet.”

Sarcasm. I had to grin. “I didn't invite him. He just showed up.”

“That's better.”

Maybe I knew how he felt now. Jude was not exactly chopped liver when it came to competition. “Okay, see you then.”

I flipped my phone closed, then stopped to punch in the code to disarm my alarm system and entered the house. Not that I needed a security system, after all I was armed with two lethal weapons and was more than adept at kickboxing my way out of trouble. My fingernails were longer than usual, too, which added ten more sharp weapons to my personal arsenal. But Black was more security conscious than Donald Trump and had me rigged up with this new state-of-the-art computer system that would probably even tie my sneakers if I asked it to. Too bad it didn't know how to cook.

Inside, my little pooch, Jules Verne, the French poodle, came barreling down the stairs, yapping like crazy. Black had brought him to me from his Christmas trip to Paris—see what I mean about the gift-giving thing? Jules jumped around on my legs, his tail like a windshield wiper in a downpour, and I picked him up and snuggled him close. I only did that when nobody was looking, but the truth was, I really liked the silly little mutt. He was always there to greet me when I dragged in all depressed and gunshot. Even Black took business leaves of absence from my mayhem.

Jules calmed down after a while, but his tail kept beating the floor as I stood at the window watching McKay with his little girl. Zach and I had gone fishing once, and he'd caught a little perch. He'd be eight now. I wondered what he'd look like now, if he'd lived to grow tall and be on Little League teams and in Cub Scouts, and then I determinedly pushed those pictures out of my mind. He was dead and gone, had been for almost six years, don't think about him, don't remember, don't make yourself want to die, too.

Instead, I let the anger come again, fast and furious, anger about my dead son, anger about my past life and all the death that came with it, anger about Hilde Swensen and the homicidal maniac running loose on my turf.

I needed to release some pent-up anger before Black came home or I'd probably take it out on the poor guy. I opened the back door, and Jules bounded out and ran around in circles as if he'd been locked in a box for thirty-six hours instead of sleeping on my very soft, luxurious, Black-bestowed, gold-and-black bedspread.

I'd work out a little, that's what I'd do, get the aggression out of my system. It always helped me think, that, and yoga, which acted to calm me down. I wasn't in the mood for calm now. I wanted the rage to roil up inside me, make me so angry that I'd think of nothing but solving this case. So I began my routine, protecting my wounded arm and jabbing my good fist into the punching bag I had hanging on the limb of a pecan tree outside my back door. Stopping, swiveling, kicking the absolute hell out of it. It made me feel good, it made me wish it was the guy who'd murdered Hilde, it made me feel like I was doing something to get him, but it didn't erase the fact that I'd had him in sight and let him get away.

The sound of Black's big Cobalt 360 thundered up out front, and Jules went absolutely berserk. He took off around the front of the house and down to the dock, and I followed until I could see Black stepping out of the big boat, my little poodle yipping and bouncing around him like a Mexican jumping bean. I watched Black secure the line, then rise and hold out his hand to McKay. They shook hands, then spoke together for a length of time that made me a trifle uncomfortable. A moment later, Black picked up the dog, then squatted down beside Lizzie, and to my surprise, she reached over and patted the dog's head. Stunned, I watched him talk to her, amazed the child had taken to him even that much.

McKay turned around and glanced up at me, almost as if he knew I was watching them, so I turned and entered the house. It wasn't long before Black came in the front door, carrying Jules Verne in one arm. He was smiling, and I realized then, with sinking heart, that I was beginning to need him with me more than I liked to admit. It was a weakness, true, and a vulnerability I wasn't at all sure I liked.

Grinning, he headed toward me with a look I knew pretty well by now, but his expression changed when he saw the bandage on my upper arm. “Oh, crap. Bullet or blade this time?”

“It's a minor bullet wound. Don't get all bent out of shape.”

“Glad to hear it wasn't a serious bullet.” Oooh, sarcasm from the good doctor.

“I don't know why everybody's making such a big deal out of this. It's just a scratch.”

“Yeah? Well, you know how turned on I get when you're all weak and wounded.”

“I'm not weak and wounded.”

“I get turned on when you're not weak or wounded, too.” He smiled at me and I actually quivered inside my belly because I knew what that look meant. He said, “Sit down and let me take a look at it.”

I sat. He examined. We were avoiding talking about the homicide and how I'd gotten shot.

“At least this time you let somebody dress it who knew what they were doing.”

“I put some Band-Aids on it, but Buck just had to do it over his way. He's always such a perfectionist.”

“I suppose that's a good trait for a pathologist. Well, this time the wound doesn't look too bad. That's a change for the better.” He stood looking down at me, his hands on his hips. He had changed into a soft black polo shirt with the Cedar Bend logo and khaki pants and boat shoes, all the best money could buy, but of course. He always wore the best. “Want to tell me how this happened?”

I told him briefly about being ambushed on the deck.

“So you surprised the killer at the scene?”

“I guess. He still got away.”

“What's Charlie say?”

“He's outta town, so I talked to him on the phone. He said I could share the details if you keep your mouth shut. He trusts you.”

Serious now, Black sat down across from me and propped his foot on one knee. Jules Verne jumped onto his lap, and Black stroked his soft white fur. Black was good at stroking, let me tell you. The dog still liked him better than me. Probably remembered their time alone together in Paris.

I stood up and paced, agitated, furious all over again that I let the killer get away and dreading describing Hilde's mutilation to Black.

“Okay, I see you're nervous. Let's hear it. How'd she die? A gunshot wound?”

“Buck hasn't given official cause. I suspect she was strangled.”

“Where was she killed?”

“In the bathroom, we think. He left her posed in the shower stall.”

“How's Brianna taking it?”

“Not so well. Bud's with her.”

“Does she have any idea who might've done it?”

“No. But like I said, she told us that her sister lived it up a bit with the fast set down at South Beach.”

“Do you have to go down there?”

“Probably.”

“Tell Charlie I can fly you there on the Lear. I've got this whole week written off on my calendar for the pageant.”

I heard the Harley fire up, and I turned and stared out the window. McKay and Elizabeth were heading home. I still hadn't gotten to the worst part and wasn't looking forward to it. “It was ugly, Black. He mutilated her.”

“I see. What'd he do to her?”

“He cut off her lips and left us a note stuck on her shoulder with a cute little Shakespearean quote written on it.” I told him what the message said, and he frowned.

“That's from
Hamlet
. You say the body was posed?”

“You bet it was. He left her sitting in the shower stall, on the bench, her hands taped to hold some roses. I guess he was placing her on some kind of throne. That would explain the crown, too. It doesn't make sense why he took a shot at me. We didn't even see him until he fired. Didn't have a clue he was still around.”

“And all this happened in broad daylight? This morning?” He was silent a moment longer, then said, “He might've been drawn down here by last summer's press coverage. And the pageant would be the best place to get lots of media attention. Percentages don't support another sensational crime at the lake this soon.”

“Tell me about it.”

“This is not your fault, Claire. Don't blame yourself.”

We were going into a rapid free fall into analysis mode, and I wasn't in the mood for it. I changed the subject, not wanting to talk about myself anymore.

I said, “You and McKay looked pretty friendly down there.”

“I asked him about Elizabeth.”

“She took to you.”

“You were watching?”

I didn't want to admit it, so I said, “She's not doing so good, is she?”

Black nodded. “I offered to work with her. Pro bono. I suggested we do it out here when she's fishing, so she doesn't get anxious.”

I stared at him a moment, really, truly pleased, touched, to be truthful. “That's a pretty cool thing to do, Black.”

“I can be cool when the occasion calls for it.”

“Oh, I'm finding that out.”

We smiled at each other.

He said, “Maybe you could help me with Elizabeth. You know, hang around when she's here, hold her on your lap, help her bait the hook so she'll be comfortable with me.”

I stiffened because I knew where he was going with this. “Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Black. Killing two birds with one stone, right? Helping Elizabeth cope and forcing me to be around a toddler Zach's age.”

“Nobody ever said you were stupid, Claire.”

“Sorry, I can't do it. Not yet.”

“Okay.”

“I'm not ready.”

“Okay.”

“Is this reverse psychology again?”

“I'd never force you to do anything you don't want to do. I told you that from the beginning. I make the suggestions. You make the calls.”

Black was good, oh, yeah, I'd give him that. Time for change the subject, part two. “You hungry?”