Forever My Love (16 page)

His fingers moved below the waistband, erotically, intimately, against her flesh. If he wasn't holding her, she would sink. She leaned her face on his shoulder while he replied huskily, “This.”

He pulled her closer against him, and she felt the mound beneath the fabric of his jeans, flush against her own sexuality.

She closed her eyes. But they flew open again as she heard a loud explosion. Like a gunshot. Then she heard the ferocious, deep, snapping growl of Sam's bark.

Brent swore. Kathy's eyes widened. “It's probably just that car backfiring again,” she said.

“Kathy, that was a damned gunshot, and the bullet ripped into the water somewhere!”

“Oh!”

By now, Sam was sounding like a wild thing. The Doberman had rushed around the dome enclosure to the back wall.

Brent let out a loud expletive, grabbed her hand and dragged her to the steps. “Stay the hell down!” he warned her. Dripping, he raced across the patio, dragging her behind him. He paused briefly at the table that held the steaks and swept up a kitchen towel.

She realized his pistol was beneath the towel. Her heart started to hammer even more ferociously as they entered the house through the sunroom that led to the living room. Brent shoved Kathy toward the kitchen. “Get down and stay there!” he warned her briefly.

“Wait! Where the hell are you going?” she demanded.

“Get down, Kathy! I am not playing duck shoot for anyone!”

She grabbed for his arm, but he was gone. “Brent!” Terrified for him, she raced through the sunroom. Through the French doors, she could see that he had already reached the back wall, that Sam was barking like crazy as Brent scaled it. He disappeared over the wall, and there wasn't anything she could do.

Call the police.

But even before she had taken two steps toward the phone in the kitchen, Sam started barking again. Kathy froze, watching the Doberman tear around from the back of the house to the front. She held still, paralyzed, then she tore to the front door and stared through the peephole.

It was Robert. Worn, tired, in his rumpled business suit, he stood there, waiting, keeping as far away as he could from Sam.

She gasped with relief, leaning against the door for a second. Then she remembered that Brent was out there, and she threw open the door as quickly as possible. She set the alarm code to Off and raced to the gate, swinging it open desperately.

“Get down, Sam! Robert! There was a shot. We were at the pool. Someone took a shot at us and then Brent went after him!”

“Where?” Robert said tensely.

“To Mrs. Fenniman's. The neighbor's yard. Around that way.”

“Keep that damned dog with you, Kathy. Get back in. I'll go around.”

He shut the gate, pulled his gun from his shoulder holster and went off. Kathy bit her lip, wishing she was with them instead of being left alone.

She gripped Sam by the collar. “Come on, Sam. You come in with me. You're the only male I really trust.” She remembered how he hadn't let out a peep while Brent silently broke into the bathroom. “Never mind. You're a traitor, too, but you're all I've got for the moment.”

She brought the dog into the house. The air-conditioning made it cool. She was wet and shivering, but she couldn't bring herself to move. She felt numb. Brent was out there. He had gone tearing after a killer, so it seemed. He shouldn't have done that, he should have stayed in the house. He could get himself killed.

He had to do it. She knew Brent so well, and she knew he would never sit still while others took crack shots at him. He would never wait this thing out. He couldn't live that way.

They couldn't live that way.

She sat on a bar stool and leaned her head against the counter. It was solid and soothing. She realized that Brent wasn't going to stay. No matter what she said, no matter how she teased, no matter how she tried to tell him the truth, he wasn't going to stay. It was all over.

And now he was out there.…

She really couldn't bear it if he died. No matter what happened, she didn't want him hurt. She did love him, very much, and she needed to know he was alive somewhere.

“Kathy!”

At the harsh sound of his voice, she turned, so startled that she nearly fell off the chair.

He was covered with dirt, his eyes bright against the smudges on his face. She didn't know how he had gotten into the house so quietly. He hadn't come through the gate. Then she remembered the back alarms were off because they'd been at the pool.

And that damned Sam. He never would warn her when Brent was coming.

“I told you to get into that kitchen and get down!” he told her harshly.

She arched her brows at him. “I asked you not to go running out there!”

“I had a gun—you didn't.”

“What happened?”

“When I tell you to stay down from now on, stay down!”

“Brent, what happened?”

He set the gun on the counter and walked into the kitchen, then turned on the water at the sink and scrubbed his face. “Nothing happened. I chased him through the dirt and trees and bracken but he had a little motorboat out there waiting.” He paused. “I think l winged him. In the shoulder.”

“You shot him?”

“Kathy, he was shooting at us. Yes, I shot him. I wasn't trying to kill him, though. I wanted to talk to him.”

He froze, grabbing the gun, as Sam started to go wild again, running for the front door, slamming his paws against it, whining furiously.

“What the hell—” Brent began.

“It's just Robert.”

“Robert?”

“He came to the front—”

“And you answered the damn door? After I told you to stay down?”

“I could see that it was him through the peephole.”

“Kathy, I ought to blacken your hide!”

“Brent, this is my life you're in, remember! I was careful, I—”

“You're going to listen to me from now on!” he muttered fiercely, striding quickly by her. He keyed off the alarm again and went to the gate to meet Robert. Kathy followed him to the door. She watched as the two men talked for a moment, then Robert walked to his car. He must be using the radio.

Then the two men walked up to the house. Robert was still asking Brent to describe the man, but there was nothing much Brent could tell him. The man had been about medium height, medium build, thirty to forty years old, dark hair. He had disappeared into the bay in a motorboat.

“Well, we may get him,” Robert said. “Even if we do, sounds like a hired job to me. I don't know what we'll get out of him. I do think I've got something for you, though.”

“What?” Brent demanded. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of tea. He held the cold container against his face for a moment before walking across to the cabinet for glasses. “Anyone want to join me?”

Kathy shook her head, Robert accepted. He sipped the tea, then leaned over the counter. “We found a few guys at the state prison who were willing to talk about Harry Robertson.”

“And?” Brent demanded.

“Seems like Harry was always saying he was going to be okay once he got out. That he had the real prize stashed away somewhere. He'd had a partner, the guy who had gotten him into the smuggling to begin with. He felt that the partner had ruined his life, then let him take the rap all by himself. But he was going to get even with the partner. He was never going to let the guy find the real treasure. The one guy, Harry's cell mate, seemed to think that there's a warehouse vault in Miami somewhere with Harry's treasure in it.”

“What does that have to do with Brent?” Kathy asked.

“Someone in the band knew the combination to the lock on the warehouse vault. And it has something to do with Brent. Harry said so.”

“What?” Brent demanded.

“You've got the number somehow, someway. You're the one who's got it.”

“So why try to kill Brent? Why kill Johnny?”

Robert shrugged. “Johnny had a reputation. Maybe Harry's partner thought Johnny knew something. And knowing Johnny, he might have kept his mouth shut but told this guy—the partner—to kiss off. Maybe the partner didn't give warnings. I don't know. But at least you know a little more about what's going on, Brent.”

Sure, they knew a little more, Kathy thought bitterly, but what good was it? They couldn't even go outside without someone taking shots at them. And Brent was still insisting on going to the benefit on Star Island.

She heard sirens. “There are the patrol cars,” Robert said. Kathy looked at him with alarm and he smiled. “It's all right, Kathy. They're going to look through the woods out back, down to the water, to see if they can find something. Then we'll need to fish the bullet out of the pool. Ballistics might help, you never know.”

Kathy nodded. Brent had disappeared into the bedroom and reappeared with her terry robe. He tossed it at her with a scowl. “Put that on, will you, please?” he demanded fiercely, then started out the door, holding Sam by the collar. Robert shrugged at Kathy and followed Brent to meet his officers.

Kathy checked the barbecue grill. The coals had died, so she brought the steaks in and threw them into the refrigerator.

Darkness came. Eventually Brent and Robert returned with other officers, and Kathy sat and answered what seemed like ridiculous questions while Brent went with one of the men into the pool to look for the bullet.

At midnight she made coffee and sandwiches. They found the bullet, then checked the grounds again. The officers left.

Brent and Robert sat on bar stools, talking. Brent was clean again; the water in the pool had washed away the dirt and grime from his skin. Robert was insisting that Brent think, and Brent was growing irritable, telling Robert he didn't have any damned solutions. It was going to go on for a while, Kathy decided.

“I'm calling it a night, guys,” she told them. They looked at her blankly and she started down the hall for the bedroom.

Robert called after her. “Kathy?”

“What?”

“You should be thinking, too. You were on that tour with everyone else. You might know what Brent knows.”

“I don't know anything!” Brent flared.

“All right. So the killer may think Kathy knows whatever he may think you know. So anything, anything at all, you call me, Kathy.”

“Sure, Robert. Good night.”

In the bedroom she stripped off the robe and the bikini and crawled into an oversize tailored shirt and slipped beneath the covers. She wanted to wait for Brent, but as she lay there, her eyes closed. He would wake her, she thought. If he wanted, he would wake her.

But he wasn't coming in that night. Somehow she knew it.

She dozed. She awoke a few hours later and saw that it was almost three. He hadn't come in. She closed her eyes and slept again, and when she next awoke, sunlight was filtering through the curtains and bathing the room in a golden glow. She rose and washed her face, brushed her teeth and combed her hair. Then she walked to the living room.

He was on the couch. He hadn't changed. He was still in his cutoffs, his arms crossed over his bare chest. His eyes flew open as she stared at him.

He sat up, startled. “Morning, huh? Already?”

She nodded. “I'll start the coffee. Want anything to eat?”

He nodded and stood. “Yeah, toast and bacon and eggs, sunny-side up. You feel like doing it?”

She nodded. “Well, it seems that the rest of my activities have been curtailed. I might as well.”

“Thanks.” He stared down the hallway. The phone began to ring. “I'll get it,” he called to her.

Kathy went into the kitchen and started the coffee.

Brent picked up the receiver in the bedroom and after his initial “Hello?” went rigid.

“McQueen. You've got something of mine and I want it. You understand?”

“Who is this?” Brent demanded heatedly.

“No, McQueen, no way. I know that there's a tap on this phone and I'm not staying on long enough for a trace. You just find what I want. Your wife will go first. Then your daughter. And don't ever kid yourself. I can get to her. You just can't hide from me. Find what I want.”

“What the hell is it you want?”

“The number. I want the number. Soon. I'll give you until the benefit, then I want that number!”

“You sure as hell aren't going to get it if I'm dead. And someone was shooting at me.”

“Warning shots. Next time, it won't be a warning. Next time, we'll take your wife. And if you don't give us what we want, you won't get her back. You understand?”

The phone line went dead. Brent jiggled the phone, then called Robert's office. Robert wasn't in, so Brent talked to one of the detectives, who apologized. They had gotten the husky, sexless whisper of the caller on tape, but they hadn't had time to run a trace. Brent thanked the man and hung up.

His hands were covered in a cold sweat. The caller couldn't get Kathy. No one could, not here. It was just that the thought of it…

And he had said he could get Shanna, too, that they couldn't hide.

He slammed his fist against his hand in raw, helpless fury. He had to find out what the hell was going on. None of them was safe if he didn't.

He picked up the phone and called the police station again. Robert had come in by then. He agreed to send a few plainclothesmen to stay with Kathy while the two of them set out together.

Brent rose and showered and dressed quickly. He went into the kitchen. Kathy had coffee poured for him and the scent of the sizzling bacon was delicious. He sat, wondering how to tell her casually what he was doing. He didn't want her to know about the call.

The phone started to ring again. He made a leap for it but the wall phone was right next to the refrigerator and Kathy picked it up. She looked at him, startled, when he nearly crawled over her.

“I'll get it,” he said.