Dirty Deeds (6 page)

His fingers itched to bring the rifle back up and to pull the trigger once, twice. He longed to feel again the power over life and death. The temptation was strong. His willpower was even stronger. He would like nothing better than to leave the two interlopers dead and bleeding on the kitchen floor alongside Kendall Stewart. He wouldn't though; he would walk away as he knew he must.

He would need the other two if he was to gift James McDonald with the final solution. Certainly he was skilled enough to find James on his own. It was safer and more expedient to have Russell and the other McDonald pave the way. For his own safety, he would stay in the shadows, and after all, wasn't this whole clean-up operation done to assure his safety?

Of course it was, and so now he turned and walked away from the house, the rifle clutched tight to his body in case wandering eyes were paying attention to the tall stranger who sauntered down the street. In the darkness, someone would have a hard time distinguishing what he held close to his side.

A block away, his car was parked beneath yet another of the tall maple trees. One of the things he liked about this part of the city was the ubiquitous maples that were tall, large and excellent for cover.

At the car, he laid the rifle on the rear seat and covered it with a navy blanket. Sliding in behind the wheel, he turned the key and the engine started with a purr. He whistled softly as he drove down the quiet street. The traffic was light and the traffic signals favored him with a parade of green. Yet another sign he was on the right path. Life was good.

Back at home, he sat down at the long workbench he'd built across the north end of his garage. He took the rifle apart, piece by piece, and cleaned it just as he had a hundred other times. He loved everything about the process from the feel of the metal against his fingertips to the smell of the oil on the soft cloth and brushes. He closed his eyes as he worked, seeing the weapon in his mind, feeling the shape and texture of each piece with his fingers. It had started as a game when he was a kid, a bet with his father that he, of course, won. That talent had served him well throughout the years.

His fingers moved with the caress of a lover over the stock, the barrel, the sight. Within minutes, the cleaned rifle was reassembled. He opened his eyes and smiled. Beautiful. Perfect. Just like his plan.

"Soon," he said into the silence, the rifle pressed to his cheek. "Soon."

* * * *

An hour later, Paul sat across from Louie at the downtown Perkins restaurant, explaining how he came to be at Kendall Stewart's house. He'd called his parents to talk, and that he'd been surprised to discover Jamie not only had a girlfriend but had been dating her for almost two years was an understatement. He was also stunned that his parents never so much as mentioned it to him. Why not? What did they think he'd do if he knew? After all, he was the good son, the one who always did the right thing. Jamie was the perpetual screw-up, the one who could never get anything right.

Yet, when he'd disconnected the call to his mother, it hit him how protected Jamie was by both of his parents as though he was a sick child who needed their tender care. That it hurt Paul really was a shock. The night had been full of surprises, and so far not a single one good.

Once he'd talked to Louie and given her the information on Kendall, he'd fully intended to leave the arena and go home. Somewhere between the two places, he changed his mind. He was curious. He'd wanted to the see the woman who loved his brother despite his many faults. Paul was the one who earned it all: success, admiration, respect. Everything except for love. Jamie, who couldn't tie his shoes right, was the one who managed to not only find love but keep it alive for years. The irony wasn't lost on Paul. So, the next thing he knew, he was standing in Kendall's kitchen and Louie was pointing a gun at the middle of his chest.

Right now, about the last thing he felt like doing was sitting around drinking coffee. He went along with Louie because he didn't know what else to do. At the house, he'd been reluctant to leave. He just didn't think leaving the scene of a murder was a good idea. He still wasn't convinced, although he admitted Louie made a fairly good argument that waiting around for the police was a pretty bad idea. She was also true to her word, and called one of her friends on the police force not long after they left the house. At least it made him feel a little less like a criminal. Little being the operative word.

If running away before the police arrived wasn't bad enough, Paul had never seen a dead body before. His stomach still rolled when he thought about the pretty young girl and the dark, red blood around her body. It was nothing like television and movies portrayed it. To call it surreal was an understatement. He hoped he never encountered anything like it again and if he did, he hoped to be better armed than with his favorite hockey stick. The sight of Paul and his stick might make goalies quake in their skates, but he doubted he or the stick, would be very effective against, say, a nine-millimeter Smith and Wesson or perhaps a Colt 38.

He picked up the heavy brown mug and sipped scalding hot coffee. Terrible didn't begin to describe the taste and even worse, it burned his tongue. What he really needed was a beer or better yet, a nice stiff whiskey. Anything to dull the memory of that poor girl sprawled on the kitchen floor, surrounded by a bloody halo.
Yeah, some big macho guy I am
.

He looked up to see Louie studying him, her eyes narrowed and her mouth a thin line. "You haven't seen anything like that before, have you?" she asked.

Great, now she was reading his mind. There were a couple of options available as far as he could see. He could lie and try to sound tough. Or, he could 'fess up and be honest. Option two seemed better. Death wasn't his business and trying to pretend otherwise was stupid. Besides, he didn't feel the need to lie to her. There was something about Louie that made him want to trust her.

The truth was simple. "No."

A sad smile crossed her face and, as odd as it was given their circumstances, it occurred to him she was really quite beautiful. Auburn hair curled around her face, and her skin was pale and flawless. She didn't wear makeup or if she did, it was so light as to not show.

She was in a tough field where nerves of steel and unflinching determination weren't optional. The job could easily harden a person both physically and mentally. He didn't see it in her. She was a dichotomy: tough as nails on one side, gentle and understanding on the other, although he suspected she'd argue about the latter. Reputations after all, were everything—something he knew from personal experience.

Louie looked down at the coffee mug she held between her hands. "I'd like to say I haven't either except I have. It's never pretty and it's never easy to take. Anybody who tells you different is lying through their teeth. And if they're not, I'm telling you right now, be very, very afraid."

He didn't have a bit of trouble agreeing with the sentiment. Still, something nagged at him and refused to accept the comfort she offered. "We should have stayed."

No matter how long they sat there, no matter how he rationalized it, he couldn't get out of his mind it was wrong for them to have left. Responsible people didn't run away. People like Paul didn't run away. Granted, he'd never been a witness at a murder scene, but it still seemed like they should have stayed until the Spokane Police arrived.

She reached out and put her hands around his. They were warm.

"In a perfect world I'd agree with you. This unfortunately is far from a perfect world and I have no intention of spending the whole night in the police station being asked questions I don't have answers to. All I can do is speculate on what happened and that's the best you'd be able to do as well. I doubt the police would believe us any time in the next, oh, say twenty-four hours. We'd sit in interrogation rooms for hours and hours repeating the same thing over and over again."

Paul pulled his hands free and leaned back in the booth. He ran his hands through his hair, stopping to massage his temples. She was right, at least in some respects. They'd stumbled on a crime scene after the fact, and wouldn't be able to provide any helpful information. Wasting a night downtown in the bowels of the Public Safety Building wouldn't help the police or get them any closer to Jamie. In reality, all it would do would be to put them further behind. Jamie already had the jump and Paul didn't want to give him any more time. If there was one thing Jamie was good at, it was running.

Paul hedged only because he wasn't ready to jump on board a hundred percent. "You might be right," he grumbled.

"Your brother…"

"He didn't do this." As angry as he was with Jamie, Paul was quick to leap to his defense, and wondered why. Maybe it was a case of old habits dying hard. He'd been defending Jamie since they were little kids. It was okay for Paul to kick the crap out of his younger brother, but it wasn't all right for anyone else to do it.

"I didn't think he did," she told him, sounding matter-of-fact.

"Jamie might be stupid about some things … plenty of things really. He's a fuck-up of major proportions. Thing is, as screwy as he is, he'd never hurt someone he loved."

"I believe you." Her words were calm.

Her gaze met his and the sincerity he saw reassured him. It wasn't all he noticed; there was something else on her mind. Short as their time together had been thus far, he could still detect a hold-back when he saw it. He'd spent most of his life learning to read faces on the ice. Reading them off the ice really wasn't all that much different.

He leaned forward, put his hands on the table and called her on it. "You know who did."

"I don't know the name, but I have a pretty good idea. It has to be the people your brother was working for. Violence is a routine part of the drug trade."

His laugh was bitter. "Leave it to Jamie to get himself involved with murderers."

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "Paul?"

"Yeah?" He liked the way she said his name. Liked even more the feel of her hand on his.

"We have to start thinking. If they're this quick to violence, then your brother is far from safe. Whatever he got himself mixed up in, I think it's beyond the dope the feds confiscated."

"The thought already crossed my mind." In fact, it had been on his mind since the phone call came in telling him Jamie failed to show up for his hearing. He just hadn't wanted to verbalize it. Somehow to say it out loud made it a little too real.

"Good, then we're on the same sheet of music here. We're not going to have much time. We have to find your brother and fast."

He was about to agree with her when a sudden, horrible thought occurred to him. "What about my parents?"

Chapter Four

Paul McDonald was the real thing: a genuine, good old-fashioned nice guy, a stark contrast to the person portrayed in the newspaper articles Louie'd pulled up on him. He was incredible on skates, a pro player with throngs of hopeful women waiting outside the locker room doors, and legions of fans with his jersey on their backs. He was the
it
guy until an injury pulled the plug on his career. Or at least his career as a player. He seemed to have made the transition from player to coach with the smoothness of a seasoned professional. Bottom line, Paul McDonald loved the game of hockey and found a way to stay in it even when he couldn't be a player.

Now, he sat in the cold light of the all-night restaurant, his face a pale testament to his discomfort with violent death. His look, one that couldn't be faked, went a long way toward easing her mind. She'd walked away from his office earlier not completely convinced he was on the up and up with her. He may have been truthful with her, but there was always the omission factor. What was it he didn't tell her? He came across sincere enough and yet, who could blame him if he tried to protect his little brother? Blood was thicker than water. She wouldn't blame him for protecting his brother; she'd be a hypocrite if she did.

Her fingers wrapped around his, and she stroked the cool skin on the back of his hand with her thumb. Though he tensed when she first touched him, he didn't pull away. She found that somehow comforting and even a little exciting. She didn't typically touch a client's family members. Not exactly professional, and it was always wise to keep things professional. Or not.

She continued to hold his hand.

"Come on." She finally, reluctantly, let go and slid out of the booth to stand. "Let's check on your parents."

"I've got my cell." He started to dig in his pocket.

She shook her head. "Not in here. Too many people."

"Yeah, maybe you're right." He followed her to the door.

Outside the night had become dark and the air cold. Fall was coming. Each day grew a little shorter and a bit cooler. Louie took a deep breath. She treasured this time of year. Loved the way the breeze kissed her skin and the air smelled clean and fresh. Not far in the distance, was the splash of ducks as they paddled in the nearby Spokane River. She felt alive and peaceful. Or, as peaceful as she ever got anyway.

Over by the SUV, Paul leaned on the rear door and flipped open his cell phone. Worry lines creased his forehead beneath locks of wavy red hair. As he talked, the fingers of his free hand rubbed at one temple as if he was trying to massage away a migraine. She had the strangest urge to go to him, slide her hands along his cheeks where just the hint of stubble darkened his skin, and try to smooth away the concern. Probably not an urge she'd act on. The man already thought her capable of murder; she didn't want him thinking she was a nut-bag as well.

His conversation was brief. When he put the phone back into his pocket, the worry lines were gone. She walked over to him and, despite her best intentions to keep her hands to herself, put one on his arm. Warm, strong muscles tensed beneath her touch.

"Are they all right?"

"Yeah. Everything's quiet in Surrey. They haven't seen Jamie or anyone else, thank God. I told them to call me the second they set eyes on little brother. If they do. I also told them they needed to leave the house and why."