For the Love of Jazz (15 page)

She was stronger than anybody thought, Tate knew. There was pure steel under that soft voice and silky, pale skin. But there was also a good heart. Marlie couldn’t have put a gun to Desmond’s head to save her own life.

When the door swung open, Tate looked up at Jazz and snapped, “I hate anonymous tips, y’know that?” Whirling away from the wall, he stomped toward the stairwell. “I hate them.”

Falling in step behind him, Jazz asked, “Any particular tip you are talking about? Or did you drive thirty miles just to let me know not to leave you anonymous tips?”

“Somebody left a message on my voice mail, for crying out loud. Said they’d seen Marlie Muldoon near Doc Kincade’s quite a bit recently.”

Jazz scoffed, shaking his head. “No way. Not Marlene. That girl wouldn’t hurt a soul.”

“I know that,” Tate said. “But somebody wants her to take the fall for this, since you have an alibi. It was a .38 used to shoot Doc Kincade. Marlie owns a .38, but apparently, it’s gone missing. She doesn’t recollect the last time she saw it.”

“Lemme guess; the gun turned up at Doc Kincade’s?”

“No. It’s not on the property, at least not anywhere we’ve searched. And we’ve been pretty thorough.” Cursing roundly, Tate leaned against the cool, concrete wall in the stairwell. “We’re going to have to question her.”

Jazz stared at him for a minute before turning away. “Marlie and I have never had any trouble, Tate. The only thing that connected us was Beau, and he’s long gone.”

“That’s true. But it’s also true that your momma killed Beau. Some folks may see fit to believe that she’d do this for revenge.”

“You don’t buy that.”

“No. I don’t. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to have to question her and spend time clearing her, when I could be looking for the bastard that did this.”

Tate turned his hat in his hands idly, shaping the brim, releasing it. His voice was mild, his gestures and stance relaxed, but when he raised his head, the fury he felt inside simmered just below the surface. “And it’s not going to change the fact that there is a lunatic out there focusing on people I care about.”

Resting back against the wall, Jazz studied the gray, concrete ceiling over his head. “I don’t know who could be responsible, Tate. I’ve thought it out and tried my damnedest. But I keep coming up blank.”

“You don’t think it’s Muldoon?”

A sneer curled Jazz’s mouth and he glared at Tate. “Gimme a break. He was the only person I could think of right off the bat. But hell, he’s not the only person who hates me. That chickenshit ain’t got the guts. Of course, shooting somebody in the back would be just like him. But I doubt he could handle the blood.”

The corner of Tate’s mouth curved up and he agreed, “There is that.” Still turning his hat round in his hands, he focused his eyes on the stairs in front of him. “The thing is, these days, too many people have too much information about how the law works. They know about planting evidence, disposing of the weapon, disposing of clothes and so on. That’s going make things more complicated than they already are.”

Wishing vainly he hadn’t given up smoking, Jazz dug into his jeans in search of gum. “Well, hell. I may as well go ahead and complicate things even more. I’m worried the lovely, young Dr. Kincade may start nosing around.”

“Talk some sense into her, then,” Tate snapped. “Can’t you talk some sense into her?”

“Well, I could try. But that isn’t how her mind works. If you go telling her not to do something, then she’ll do it just to be ornery.”

“Shit,” Tate muttered. Shoving off the wall, he started to pace the narrow stairwell. “That’s the last thing I need, her poking her pretty little nose into things. It’s a damned mess already.”

Raising his shoulders in a careless shrug, Jazz said, “I didn’t say she was going to sneak out of the hospital tonight to go play Nancy Drew. But I suggest you offer her some answers real quick, otherwise she may decide to try to figure this out on her lonesome.”

“If it was that easy, don’t you think I’d have closed the book on this already?”

Jazz shrugged, popping a flattened stick of gum in his mouth. The artificial flavor of cinnamon did nothing to relieve his need for nicotine, or the tension settling in his neck. “I’m just sharing this with you, Tate. She’s going to get antsy real quick, once he is out of danger.”

“Your girlfriend wants to play Nancy Drew and you stand there blowing bubbles and smiling. You plan on being a Hardy Boy next?” Tate asked sarcastically. “Have you considered that Anne-Marie may be a target, since she screwed up the original plan? Or don’t you have a thought in that thick head of yours?”

“I thought of it,” Jazz said, straightening and meeting Tate’s stare eye to eye. “And I decided I wasn’t going to let her out of my sight. If she decides she wants to start nosing around, I’ll be right on her back. Nobody is going to touch her, Tate. They’ll have to go through me first.”

“A bullet can go through both of you!”

“What do you want me to do? Lock her up? Why don’t you do that, then? Lock her up for wanting to know who did this,” Jazz growled, glaring at the face that was so similar to his. “She’s already lost her brother and her mom, Tate. Find who did this so she doesn’t lose her father.”

Whirling away, Tate swore roughly. “I don’t need this. I’ve got an attempted murder on my hands, damn it.”

“Then don’t you think you should be working on it instead of trying to boss me around? That’s a waste of time anyway, and you know it.”

Glaring at him, Tate slammed his much-abused hat on his head, shot him an obscene gesture, and then took the stairs at a lope. “Be where I can reach you tonight, Jazz. We got more to talk about.”

Chapter Seven

Anne-Marie arched back, so utterly weary. She hadn’t been this tired even back during her internship. Talk about emotional stress…

Shifting her shoulders, she tried to find a more comfortable position in the hospital chair from hell. On the bed, Desmond slept on, healing slowly, but surely. Four days out of surgery and he was doing well. They took him off the ventilator two days ago and he was breathing on his own.

In a few more days, they would transfer him out of CCU and onto a regular floor.

She didn’t like his color, though. Gray and thin, he was finally starting to show his years. His head was shaved along the right side of his scalp, the four-inch long tear covered by a bandage and iodine. The rest of his hair was limp, filthy. As soon as he woke up, she was going to get him a bath.

Of course, knowing him, she’d do better to have a few pretty young candy stripers do it. With a sad smile, she decided if he would only wake up, he could have those candy stripers by his side doing a striptease, even if she had to get one from a strip joint in Lexington.

Since those first few times he had opened his eyes to acknowledge her, he had done nothing more than sleep. Granted, he was sleeping a healing sleep, one he needed desperately.

When the door opened, she turned her head and met Jazz’s eyes. He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I hate to have to do this, but you are under arrest,” he told her, slowly pulling her body up out of the chair.

Rolling her head back against his shoulder, she smiled up at him. “I am? What for?”

“Failure to take proper care of yourself. You’ve been sentenced to spend the night at the hotel down the street to get some rest, a decent meal.”

“I don’t want to leave—”

“I know that. But that is what you are doing. Because the doc would want you to take care of yourself. It’s not going to help him any if he wakes up and finds out you’re in the bed next to him.”

“But—”

“No buts, Dr. Kincade. You’re getting a good night’s sleep in a real bed.” Pivoting her in his arms, he cupped her face and raised it to his. Brushing her lips with a gentle kiss, he whispered, “You do the crime, you do the time. And your time is a real meal, followed by some decent sleep.”

“You’re not a cop, or a sheriff. Isn’t it illegal to impersonate one?” she asked, tipping her head back as he trailed a line of kisses down her jaw line.

“I’ve got a badge right here in my pocket. You wanna see?” he teased, nudging his hips against her middle.

“Mmmm. Okay. I’d hate to have resisting arrest on my record.”

Jazz felt her sigh brush against his mouth as she relaxed. She watched him from under her lashes as she said, “You know, speaking of taking care of yourself, you don’t have to live at the bedside with me. You’ve got that pretty, little girl to take care of.”

“Heading back tomorrow. Which is why I intend to see that you rest tonight,” he responded. “I’ll be back in a day or two and if I know you, you’ll still be sitting right here. So tonight—you rest.”

Linking her arms around his waist, she said, “Then you had better keep a close eye on me. I’m sneaky. If I’m left alone, I’ll make a break for it.”

“I was going to keep an eye on your dad.”

“No need. The nurses will call if anything changes. And he’s going to be fine,” she said, her voice somewhat shaky. “I know that. He’s too strong not to be.”

“You know that, huh? Then why is it you have spent the past four nights in this hospital, why is it you use the shower in the doctor’s lounge and wear OR scrubs?”

With a quick smile, she replied honestly, “Because I don’t like hotel rooms. And I didn’t want to be alone in one.” Rising on her toes, she bit his lower lip and said, “If you come with me, that won’t be a problem.”

With that single action, the blood drained from his head and pooled in his groin. Catching her hips in his hands, he pulled her flush against him. “I think you’re trying to bribe your way out of your jail time.”

Smiling against his lips, she murmured, “Can’t blame a girl for trying, can you?” Anne-Marie yawned and grinned up at him. “Okay. I’ll do the time. A bed is starting to sound mighty tempting, Jazz.”

“Am I still invited?” he asked, grasping one hand and lifting it to his lips.

“Whenever you like,” she offered, reaching up with her free hand and brushing his cheek with her fingertips.

As she turned away to gather up her things, Jazz smiled sadly. Just how long was that offer good for? He couldn’t imagine a time ever coming that he wouldn’t want her. Hell, why would there be one in his future when there hadn’t been one in his past?

“Jazz?”

Jerking his head up, he snapped out of his morose reverie. He looked up to see her standing a few feet away, watching him with curious eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I just hate having to leave you alone here,” he told her, moving closer. He gave in to the urge to touch her again and ran his hand down her hair.

“I’ll be fine, Jazz. Daddy’s going to be fine. Besides, your little girl needs you. And you need her. You’ve been with me since Daddy was shot. It’s been four days since you went home.”

He knew. That ache in his heart was the only reason he was willing to leave Anne-Marie’s side for even a minute. “I’ll come back up in a few days—”

“No. Once Dad’s stable, we’re transferring him to County Hospital until he is ready to go home. I can’t stay away from the practice for the time it’s going to take him to recover. In a week or less, I’ll be home.”

She moved to Desmond’s side, stroking his cheek. His eyes fluttered a bit as she leaned down and whispered, “I’m going to get some sleep, Daddy. I’ll be back in the morning.”

Straightening, she smoothed one hand down her limp ponytail and said, “I just need to let the nurses know he needs a bath. And then I need one.”

“Don’t bother with a nurse for yours. I’ll help,” he told her, offering her his arm. Tucking her hands in the crook of his elbow, they left the room. Behind them, Desmond lay on the bed, a small smile hovering at his lips.

* * *

Face turned up to the forceful spray of water, Anne-Marie hummed in pleasure as several days of grime sluiced off her body. Filling her palm up with the shampoo she had insisted Jazz stop and get, she lathered up the length of her thick, black hair, breathing in the scent of vanilla and spice. Twice more, she lathered up her hair before rinsing and reaching for the conditioner.

As she turned her back to the spray, she sighed in satisfaction. Her eyes drifted open, then opened wide and she yelped. Jazz had entered the room, pulled the curtain back a bit and was watching her with a strained smile. “Baby, you know, just looking at you right now is a turn on,” he told her, lifting one leg and bracing the flat of his foot against the wall behind him.

“You scared the life out of me,” she breathed, pressing a hand to her naked breast, waiting for her heart to return to normal.

Jazz didn’t respond as his eyes drifted down from her slicked-back hair to her smoothly rounded shoulders. Trickles of water ran down her torso, clung to the neat patch of hair between her thighs, running down her long, curved legs. With the heat of the shower making the air thick and dense, she looked like a water goddess come to life. Need ripped through him with vicious intensity.

How long, he wondered again. How long would she want him?

It would never be long enough. So he had to make what time he had count.

He reached for the buttons on his shirt, pushing off the wall.

Cocking a brow at him, she asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m feeling pretty rough myself. I thought a shower would help me, too,” he told her, shrugging out of the shirt. He shucked his work boots in seconds, unzipped his jeans and shoved them down his legs along with his boxers.

“Hmmmm.” Anne-Marie said, “I suppose that would be okay. We should conserve water, you know.”

“In the name of conservation, then,” he agreed, stepping into the wide shower stall and adjusting one of the showerheads to his height. Using his body to protect Anne-Marie from the spray, he wetted his hair down. Then he moved the showerhead back and stepped closer to her.

Conversationally, she said, “This is really a wonderful suite. I love the bathroom.” Her voice shook slightly as his hands closed over her hips and their bodies aligned. “Nice and…big.”

Chuckling, Jazz replied, “Yeah. I kinda like it, too.” Backing her into the wall, he lowered his head and took a pointed nipple in his mouth. Her breath caught in her throat as he applied a delicate suction. Droplets of water pelting her, the heat of his mouth on her, Anne-Marie thought she was caught in a wild summer storm.