Hallowed Ground (8 page)

As he applied antibiotic cream to the cuts, he said, “Tell me what happened.”

So I did. It distracted me from the too-tight feeling of my skin and Martinez’s surprising gentleness.

When I finished, he said, “Why didn’t you start in Pine Ridge, like I told you?”

“For the same reason you wouldn’t have.”

Those deep brown eyes hooked mine.

“Because following someone else’s plan drives you bat shit. I do things my way, Martinez, you knew that when you hired me.”

“If you hadn’t met with Donovan—”

“He’d be dead.” I signaled for more tequila. “I’m still not positive Harvey didn’t set this up without your knowledge. With Donovan out of the picture, Rondelle will keep full custody of Chloe. Which, quite frankly, after talking to Donovan, I’m not sure she deserves.”

“Not your decision. Your job is to find Chloe, period.”

I stalled, braced myself with a shot.

“Even if Rondelle’s working for the Carlucci family?”

As I expected, that got his attention.

“DONOVAN WAS CONFUSED. RONDELLE DOESN’T WORK for the Carluccis,” Martinez said.

“You know for sure? You’ve been up there lately? Seen her in action?”

The tiniest bit of annoyance showed. “No. She’s a cocktail waitress at The Golden Boot. Bud Linderman owns it.”

“Who’s Bud Linderman? A friend of yours?”

“Hardly. A business acquaintance.”

“Or business rival?”

“No. He owns a couple of cowboy bars in Spearfish and Wyoming, but his main dealings are in

real estate. Apartment complexes, retirement resorts, and nursing homes. Couple of car dealerships.” His gaze cut through me. “What else?”

“According to Donovan, she hadn’t told Harvey she’d switched jobs because she knew he’d have a shit fit. He said she’s been working the cage at Trader Pete’s for a while.”

He said nothing, just eased back onto his haunches, expecting an explanation.

God. I needed a cigarette. I finished telling him the little bit I’d learned.

Although his expression hadn’t changed, I sensed anger. Danger. His silence frightened me more than a burst of rage.

“I’ll look into it,” he said, rising to his feet. “You’ll be at the office tomorrow?”

I nodded.

“Good. I’ll call you.” He extended his hand to help me up. “You’re exhausted. Go home, get some sleep.”

“That’s it?”

“For now.” Martinez walked to the door, fiddled with the locks. “You can go out the back.”

Not that I wanted to saunter through the main bar. Raggedy appearance aside, it bothered me I’d been dismissed. Okay, it really bugged me that I wouldn’t get to stick around and see if Martinez ripped Harvey a new one.

I glanced up; he’d already exited the room. I followed and watched him unlock about two hundred locks on another steel door at the back of the storage area.

Once I’d stepped outside, I shivered from the chill in the night air. My tank top didn’t cover much skin and I’d accidentally left my sweatshirt on the bathroom floor. I spun back toward him.

He reached out; a blunt fingertip softly tracked my profile from temple to chin.

I shivered again.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, blondie.”

Then he shut the door in my face.

I smoked all the way to Wendy’s. No comment on my horror movie escapee appearance from the chubby girl manning the drive-thru window. When she handed over my bacon cheeseburger combo with a genuine smile, I figured her as a new hire. Nobody gets that much joy from slinging burgers.

Although, it beat the shit out of watching someone get shot.

I ate while I drove home, wishing I had three hands so I could call Kevin. The strange twist in this case left me unsettled. Antsy. I needed Kevin’s opinion.

Was it really Kevin’s expertise I needed? Or did I just want his attention? Either way, whatever advice he’d impart would have to wait until morning, or whenever the hell I saw him again.

Depressed, I balled up the sandwich wrapper and chucked it on the floor mat.

No lights burned inside my house. Good thing Kell wasn’t here. I had no desire to explain my bloody clothes or justify the brutality that creeps into my life when I least expect it.

My reluctance went beyond client confidentiality. The one time I’d brought up my brother’s murder, he’d gotten a look of revulsion I’d rather forget.

Right. I had baggage. Who didn’t?

Kell didn’t, but he had principles in spades. Didn’t take any drugs, only ate organic food, and practiced random acts of kindness. In his shiny, happy bubble guns aren’t allowed, violence is a dirty word, and killing a chicken is as bad as killing a human.

I’d begun to feel like a pin, waiting to pop his illusions.

So far I’d managed not to get defensive with him. The hippie-type credo he lived by was good in theory; in reality, seemed one person got stuck paying more than their fair share of the bills while the other person touted their ideology.

For now, he crashed here, more often on my couch than in my bed.

I made a beeline for the shower and let the water beat on my head until icicles practically dripped from my nose. The water only washed away the blood; it didn’t go through my skull and numb my brain.

My bloody clothes on the fluffy pink bathroom rug sent my mind spinning. I needed something to help me wind down.

Jumbo bottle of Excedrin, birth control pills, and Power-Puff girl band-aids stared at me from inside the medicine cabinet. Pretty pathetic selection of pharmaceuticals. Too much trouble to dig for the cough syrup stashed under the sink by the plunger. And I’d save my cache of Tylenol with codeine for serious injuries.

I tossed my clothes in the garbage. My gaze landed on the bottle of tequila sitting on the kitchen

counter. Granted, I’d had a few slugs with Martinez, but they didn’t count; I’d been under duress.

Plus, the calming effects hadn’t lasted near long enough.

Two substantial, no frills shots later, I’d relaxed. Drowsy, I slipped between my cool sheets. I’d start keeping a bottle of tequila in the bathroom for medicinal purposes.

I woke alone when the alarm beeped at 4:30. Still sore, I stumbled out of bed. Coffee brewing, I half-dozed on the couch beneath my grandmother’s wedding ring quilt for ten minutes until the aroma beckoned me. Five cups went down the hatch as I made myself presentable. By 5:30, I was in my car, Godsmack blasting the last bit of sleep from my brain.

First stop: Black Hills Bagels. Armed with two of everything—bagels, hummus, and onion flavored cream cheese—I pulled into the office parking lot.

Bingo. Kevin’s car was still there.

I nearly skipped inside. Juggling keys and Styrofoam to-go boxes, I unlocked the main door and decoded the alarm.

Thoughtful, showing up early with Kevin’s favorite breakfast?

Nope. Bribery, pure and simple. I’d need every advantage when I told him about Chloe and Donovan Black Dog. And Tony Martinez. And Harvey. And Rondelle. And the Carlucci angle.

Crap. Maybe I should’ve bought cinnamon rolls from the Colonial House too.

He’d left the door to his office cracked. No lights shone beyond the fingers of tangerine sun creeping through the blinds.

I knocked softly. “Kevin?”

A groan, then, “Jules?”

I pushed on the door. “You decent?”

“Yeah.” Fabric rustled, sofa springs creaked.

In the dim light I watched as he tried to orient himself. It was an odd sight. Kevin, Mr.

Meticulous, shoeless, sockless, prone on the couch with his hair sticking up like Calvin from
Calvin and Hobbes
, and a fleece blanket ruched around his waist.

I crossed to him, perching on the middle cushion so my hip touched his. Heavy stubble covered his jaw. Instinctively, I ran my hand across his face, taming his hair. His eyes remained closed.

“Your hand is cold,” he said.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He sniffed. “And you smell good.”

He hadn’t flinched at my touch or pushed me away, which was a novelty of late. I kept my hand in place. “Do I usually smell bad?”

“You usually smell like cigarettes.”

“Damn. I knew there was something I’d forgotten.”

“You haven’t even sucked down one death stick yet this morning?”

“Nope.”

“You sick or something?”

“Ha ha.”

“Then granola boy
is
influencing you. Maybe he’ll convince you to quit smoking.”

“Don’t bet on it.”

He opened his eyes.

God. My stomach knotted. Exhausted didn’t begin to describe his change in appearance over the past month. His skin had lost the golden glow of summer, his dark hair lacked the usual sheen, his green eyes were pale, as if caring for Lilly in her last days on this earth had sucked the life and the color right out of him.

“How is Kell, by the way?” Kevin asked. “Still making bean cakes and writing angst-ridden folk tunes?”

I whapped him on the arm, which earned me a rare grin.

“I don’t know. He didn’t grace me with his presence after his gig last night. Besides, I’m not his keeper.”

His grin faded. “Consider yourself lucky.”

My hand stilled at the bitterness in his tone. I could say something flip, or I could buck up and ask the question we usually avoided. “How
is
Lilly?”

“The same.” Pause. “Actually, that’s not true. She gets worse every day.”

“Kev, I’m so—”

“Don’t say it. If another person tells me how fucking
sorry
they are, I swear to God I’ll snap.”

He struggled to get up.

I pushed him back down. “Fine. Then I’ll ask why the hell you’ve been sleeping in your office for the last week.”

“Shit. How’d you know?”

“Wouldn’t be much of an investigator if I couldn’t figure that out, now would I?”

“You learned from the best.”

“Damn straight.”

He grabbed my hand and held my gaze for the longest time. “I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah? Well, you know what they say. A day without Julie is like a day without—”

“Hemorrhoids,” we finished together.

I smiled. Our inside jokes didn’t seem forced, even when we’d had sixteen years of them. I brushed my lips across his forehead.

The moment lingered; a connection we hadn’t allowed ourselves for months. Reluctantly, I sat up. “Come on. Over bagels you can tell me why you’re crashing on this crappy couch. And I’ll bring you up to speed on the latest case.”

His eyes lit with interest. “You brought bagels? If I weren’t already overpaying you, I’d give you a raise.”

I stood.

Kevin deposited his feet on the floor and attempted to put himself back together, slowly, clumsily.

Weird, seeing him befuddled.

“Well, my
liege
, while you do something with your hair, I’ll be in the reception area.”

No smart-ass comeback. Just a muttered, “Thanks.”

I set out the bagel stuff and snuck into my office for a smoke.

Ah. Nothing in the world like that first hit of nicotine. While I smoked, I opened Martinez’s file.

Not much in there: copy of the contract, copy of the check, and my scant notes. Didn’t feel like writing down the horrific details from last night.

In the doorway separating my office from the reception area, I watched Kevin.

A chunk of bagel liberally smeared with hummus and cream cheese disappeared in his mouth, the other half was already gone. Was he starving as well as sleep deprived?

I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat across from him.

“Aren’t you having one?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Too early.”

He shrugged and snagged the other bagel, neatly slicing it in half. “Why
are
you here so early?”

“Because I wanted to catch you.” I blew on my coffee, staring at him over the steam but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Kev, are you avoiding me?”

He picked at the poppy and sesame seeds on the top of the bagel before he admitted, “Yeah, I’m avoiding you.”

Animosity surfaced; I managed to gulp it down with a swig of coffee. I waited for an explanation, or a clarification, hell, anything, but he silently, meticulously destroyed his breakfast seed by seed.

“As your partner I deserve to know why.”