In the Teeth of the Wind (10 page)

****

As he drove, Chuck Corbettson's hands were like steel clamps on the steering wheel, his foot heavy

on the accelerator. He was oblivious to the red lights and stop signs through which he raced. He barely

took note of the lone pedestrian who had to leap out of his way at an intersection. Glancing at the

stunned man in the rear view mirror his throat vibrated with a mirthless chuckle.

"Keep your worthless ass out of my way," he growled and flexed his fingers around the wheel. "Or I'll

mow it down!"

No woman had ever spoken to him like Marek had. No woman had ever turned away from him

before. And no bitch had ever dared laugh in his face or question his sexual prowess. The insult was

more than he could bear and it hissed in his brain like a nest of vipers, striking at his manhood.

"Oh, I'll have you, Miss High and Mighty." He nodded in agreement with his prediction. "I'll have you

just the way I want you and you'll enjoy the hell out of it!" His face split with a vicious grin. "And if you

give me any shit…"

He thought of the hooker. Oh, yeah, the hooker. He didn't remember the whore's name, but he sure

remembered the lesson he'd taught the uppity bitch. He shifted in the seat, groin tight with anticipation.

Removing one hand from the wheel, he reached down to the juncture of his thighs to massage the

erection, which strained at his jeans.

"Yeah," he whispered, his hand working to relieve the pressure. "Just like the hooker, Marek." A low,

vengeful chuckle erupted and he licked his lips. "Give me trouble and I'll teach you like I did her!"

The blast of a horn startled him. A car had narrowly missed colliding with Corbettson's when he ran

that last red light. He jerked his hand up, turning to glare at the driver. He flipped the motorist the bird

and chuckled as another prolonged blast of the horn told him the motorist had been doubly offended by

the gesture.

"Eat shit and die, motherfucker!" He stomped his foot on the accelerator.

After all, he was a man with a mission. He was in a hurry.

He had business with Rhianna Marek.

*Chapter Sixteen*

Rhianna had not slept. She hadn't even gone to bed. The damp gray dawn that lit up the sky found her

at the breakfast table, staring sightlessly at the first fat droplets of rain falling on the third floor balcony

rail. The cup of strong black coffee sitting on the table was cold. Before her, lay the letter Conor Nolan

had written. The single page was tear-stained and crumpled from repeated reading.

Lightning flared in the western sky and drew Rhianna's gaze to the depressing gunmetal clouds beyond

her balcony. She heard the shrill beep-beep-beep of a garbage truck moving into position to empty one

of the dumpsters in the complex parking lot and realized the day had begun without her being aware.

Wearily, she pushed up from the table and carried her cup to the sink. She had enough caffeine in her

system to keep her awake for a week. She didn't need another cup, but she poured one anyway. The

muted ringing of the phone annoyed her so she didn't answer. The machine would screen the call as it had

for most of the evening and night and a few times that morning. She didn't want to talk to anyone yet. Her

gaze fell on Conor's handwriting and she felt her throat closing again. There was only one person she

wanted to talk to, but after five months she was beginning to think that would never happen again.

With a sudden rage that shocked her, she threw the cup across the room where it hit the wall and

shattered, dark stains cascading down the beige wallpaper.

"_Damn you, Conor Nolan!_" she screamed. "_Damn you to hell for leaving me!_" Covering her face

with her hands, she began to cry again. She didn't hear the doorbell and wouldn't have answered if she

had.

****

"This is highly irregular," the building superintendent told Joe Cortesio. "I really should have a court

order before I allow you in." He stuck the key in Rhianna Marek's front door lock and hesitated. "I just

don't know if I'm doing the right thing."

Cortesio draped an encouraging arm around the older man's shoulders. "I'll tell Rhianna you had your

doubts about this, Mr. Casey. If she has a problem with it, we'll put all the blame on me. Okay?"

Delbert Casey nodded solemnly. "Just this once." He unlocked the door to apartment 3-C and gently

swung it open, stepping aside to allow the policeman to enter first. He hesitated on the threshold, not

certain if he should go in or not.

"Rhianna?" Cortesio called out as he walked through the great room.

Marek's shoulders sagged and she cursed between the hitching sobs that shook her. She didn't want

company, didn't want to see anyone, and especially not someone who had loved Conor Nolan almost as

much as she had.

"Honey, where are you?"

The superintendent took a step into the apartment, craning his neck around the door to see where the

detective had ventured. As the policeman came out of the bedroom, a scowl on his dark face, Delbert

Casey interpreted the man's concern.

"Her car is still here," he told the policeman. "It's parked next to mine."

Joe nodded and walked through the great room. He heaved an audible sigh of relief when he found

Marek sitting at the table in her kitchen.

"_Why _are you here?" she greeted him.

"You didn't answer the phone last night," he accused, before turning around and looking back at the

front door. "She's okay, Mr. Casey." He waited until the building superintendent left before pulling out a

chair and sitting down. "I got worried when you didn't answer the phone."

"Did it occur to you that I didn't want to answer the goddamned phone, Joe?" she snapped, wiping a

hand over her wet cheeks and running the back of it under her chin.

Cortesio had never been good with crying women. The only boy among eight sisters, in a house where

three generations of Italian women reigned, he had experienced plenty of tears and always felt helpless in

such situations. It made him acutely uncomfortable.

"He wouldn't have wanted this," Joe said quietly, reaching out to cover her hand with his. He

recognized the signs of sleeplessness. He should; he'd seen them in the mirror this morning.

Rhianna shrugged.

The smell of the stale bologna sandwich next to his elbow alerted Cortesio that Conor's lady probably

hadn't eaten the night before, either. His hand tightened over hers. "How 'bout us going out for some

breakfast?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Me either," Joe replied, "but I didn't have any supper last night and I'm getting a bit woozy."

She looked up at him. "You've always been a bit woozy, Cortesio." The smile wouldn't come, but the

effort was there in her eyes and he saw it.

"Go ahead. Rub it in. Make fun of the handicapped Dago."

Rhianna took in and let out a long breath. "I'm not up to going anywhere just yet. I…" The trill of the

telephone interrupted her.

"Want me to get it?" Joe asked.

"Let it ring," she replied. "The machine will catch it."

But the machine did not. The ringing kept on. By the tenth ring, Joe had had enough and he got up to

answer. As soon as he spoke, the line went dead.

"Bastard," the Italian swore. Replacing the receiver, he turned to look at Rhianna. "Better get your

machine looked at. It must be broken." The look on Marek's face made him frown. "What's the matter?"

Rhianna shivered. "I just had the weirdest feeling when you picked up the phone," she said, her voice

quivering.

"What?" Cortesio asked, coming to the table.

Marek mentally shook herself and looked up at him. "Like when you drink something too cold and

you feel it moving all the way down to your stomach." She shivered again. "Except this felt like ice water

pumping through my veins. I felt it all through my body."

"Doo-doo-doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo." Cortesio hummed the theme music to _The Twilight Zone_.

"Do you think they have pay phones in heaven?" he asked without thinking. As soon as Rhianna's eyes

widened with shock, he could have kicked himself around the block and back. He rushed to her,

gathering her in his arms and apologizing.

"Oh, God, Rhianna!" he whispered. "I don't know why I said that! Lord, I'm sorry!"

"There's no need," she said, pushing him away. "You didn't mean any harm." But the hurt was settling

in her heart despite the denial.

"Me and my big mouth," Cortesio hissed. "Rhianna, I really am sorry."

"Don't worry about it," she said, wanting to drop the subject.

Cortesio's face was beet red and his chest tight with guilt. He had never been so tactless in his life and

the pain he had caused her was unforgivable. He tried to apologize once more but the phone interrupted

him.

They both looked at the wall phone, but neither made an attempt to answer. It kept ringing long after

the machine should have kicked in. On the tenth ring, it stopped and the two people at the table breathed

a sigh of relief.

"Is that offer of breakfast still on?" Rhianna asked, getting up from the table. She could not stay in the

apartment one moment longer without going stark raving mad.

"Ah, yeah, sure," said Joe, still ashamed of his thoughtless remark. He glanced down at the tabletop

and blanched as he recognized his partner's handwriting on the sheet of paper there.

"He left it with Stephen," Rhianna explained quietly. She watched as moisture pooled in the detective's

eyes. "You can read it if you'd like, Joe."

Cortesio shook his head. "I've no right."

"It's nothing you probably don't already know," she said. "Go ahead. Read it."

Joe's hand shook as he reached out for the letter. He could barely read it through his wavering vision

and as he did, he could feel his heart breaking.

"I memorized every word," Rhianna whispered. "Every sweet, precious word."

The Italian looked at her. "You never suspected, did you?"

Rhianna smiled sadly and shook her head. "Never even dared to dream that he felt that way."

Carefully folding the letter, Joe put it on the table. He wished he hadn't read it for the words were

going to stay with him the rest of his life. They were now printed indelibly on his very soul and like the

man who had written them, would forever be a part of Joseph Cortesio.

"Let's go." Rhianna threaded her arm through Cortesio's. "I need to get out of here."

Before they could close the apartment door, the phone began to ring. Rhianna stopped, looked back

and shivered, but made no move to answer. Cortesio said nothing; just stood there, watching her. Six

rings had passed before he heard her speak.

"I know, Irish," she said softly.

The phone stopped ringing.

Cortesio shivered. He slowly turned to look at Marek and saw the tears in her eyes. He started to say

something, but she shook her head.

"It was about him, Joey. He's trying to let me know he's still alive."

With that said, she pulled the door closed behind them.

*Chapter Seventeen*

Trip stared at Corbettson's car as it rolled slowly through the apartment complex's parking lot for the

third time in less than an hour. He could see the frustration on the other man's face building higher and

higher with each pass. A slow, mirthless smile twitched at his lips and he let the drape fall back over the

window.

"Still there?" Rhianna asked as she brought a suitcase in from the bedroom.

"Don't worry 'bout it," Trip answered. "You got everything?"

Rhianna looked around, spied a book she'd been reading and added it to a canvas tote bag filled with

odds and ends. "Yeah, I think so."

"You can get a restraining order, you know," Trip told her as he hefted her suitcase. "Jace and Dave

heard him threaten you."

She nodded. "If it comes to it, I will, but C.C.'s mostly bluster. I trampled his ego and he's just pissed."

She draped her shoulder bag over her arm. "He'll get over it."

Trip wasn't so sure. He'd been in the precinct house the night Loreen Raye had come in to file a

complaint against the detective. Rhianna hadn't seen the mass of bruises and welts on the prostitute's

arms and legs; hadn't winced at the two black eyes, chipped front teeth, and split lip that oozed blood as

Loreen cried out her story to Dave Donne. Trip was still ashamed that the guys at the precinct had closed

ranks around one of their own and nothing had been done about the savage beating Corbettson had

administered to Loreen Raye.

"He's gonna kill somebody one day if you don't do something 'bout him!" the black hooker had told

the officer who questioned her. "I ain't the first one he's whipped up on and I'm telling you now, I won't

be the last!"

There had been rumors, Trip thought as he walked with Rhianna to the door and opened it for her.

Rumors and tales whispered about Charles Carver Corbettson that made men uneasy. Nothing you

could prove. Who took a whore's word for anything? But the rumors persisted and the man was brutal,

with a mean streak a mile wide.

"I'd feel better if you'd stay with me tonight," Trip said as they reached her car. "At least give me a

chance to have a talk with the bastard. Let him know we're watching him." Trip lifted her trunk lid and

swung the suitcase inside. He slammed the lid and stood with his hands on the trunk, looking her in the

eye. "He's a snake."