Johnston - Heartbeat (12 page)

“She wasn’t just counsel, Jack. She was there. She did her clerkship one summer in Houston for a firm that represented a MEDCO hospital, and she was recruited by a law firm in Dallas to work with a MEDCO hospital. After that she moved to San Antonio to work for Wainwright & Cobb and began representing MEDCO hospitals statewide.”

“Are you suggesting
she’s
the murderer?”

“She’s certainly one of the suspects.”

Jack tried to laugh and couldn’t manage it. He rose and paced the cowhide that covered the floor. “I’ve met Maggie Wainwright, and I can tell you she’s not a murderer.”

“Did you know she had a couple of kids who died?”

Jack stumbled. It felt like all the air had been sucked from his chest.
“What?”

“MEDCO dug up the information from her health insurance records. She had two live births, but the investigator found out both boys drowned ten years ago, in 1987. Seems one of the boys was DOA, but the other survived on life support for a while. The family removed the kid from the hospital, and the investigator couldn’t find a record of what happened to him after that. At least no insurance claims were ever filed.”

“Jesus.” Jack slumped into the horn and hide chair. “She never said a word.”

“I don’t expect it’s something Ms. Wainwright cares to talk much about,” the captain said. “But her background definitely gives her a motive, Jack.”

“What motive is that?”

“The same one we’ve given the doctor and his nurse. Ms. Wainwright, of all people, would know how much a family can suffer in a situation where a child is on life support without much expectation of a full recovery.”

Jack set his jaw and shook his head. “She’s not the one. It’s Hollander or the nurse. Or somebody else we haven’t tied to the victims yet.”

“I take it you like the lady,” Buckelew said.

“You could say that,” Jack conceded. He hadn’t realized until this moment just how much he liked Maggie Wainwright. Way too much. He knew better than to think they were headed for any kind of long-term relationship. After all, neither of them wanted to get involved. But he liked the look and taste and feel of her. He wasn’t done with her by a long shot.

“Are you going to be able to stay objective about Ms. Wainwright, Jack, or should I assign somebody else to this case?”

Maggie a killer?
Jack tried to imagine it and couldn’t. He sorted through some of the things she’d said, things he hadn’t thought much about at the time—like the fact she believed as much in quality of life as Dr. Hollander.
“Does that make me capable of murder?”
What if she and the doctor and his nurse had formed their own mercy-killing society?

Jack’s stomach churned, and he swallowed down the bile in his throat. “I’ll do my job,” he said through tight jaws. “If Maggie Wainwright is killing kids, I’ll be the first one in line to make sure she hangs for it.”

It was easy enough to say he would stay objective, but Jack was having a hell of a time doing it. As he perused himself in the steamy bathroom mirror, straightening his cummerbund and adjusting the bow tie that had come with the tux he’d rented from Anthony’s, he looked like a man on his way to an execution.

He’d been waiting all week for Saturday to come so he could spend the evening with Maggie. He had planned to hold her and kiss her and had certainly imagined making love to her. Right now he felt about as comfortable as a horse thief at a necktie party. What if Maggie was guilty? What if she’d used the information he’d given her about being a Texas Ranger to throw him off her scent?

Jack hadn’t always been scrupulous about his bed partners, but he wasn’t ready to make love to a murderer. So where did that leave him? He was tempted to confront Maggie with what he knew and see what she had to say for herself. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure that would solve the problem. What if she told him she was innocent? That didn’t necessarily make her so.

He was still sorting through everything in his head when he arrived at the guard gate for the address off Broadway Maggie had given him, 200 Patterson. He waited while the guard called to make sure he was welcome, then drove past the black wrought-iron gate through what amounted to a manicured park surrounding the exclusive high-rise condominium.

Jack left the keys in his truck when he got out at the etched glass doors under the portico and belatedly realized—when he saw the smirk on the parking attendant’s face—how awkward it might be for Margaret Wainwright to arrive at the Cancer Society Gala in a pickup.

Hell, Maggie knew he drove a truck. If she hadn’t wanted him to pick her up in it, she should have said something. Except they hadn’t spoken all week. Jack was both nervous and anxious, two things he hadn’t felt because of a woman for a long time.

On the way up to her tenth floor apartment in the elevator, he stuck a finger between his bow tie and his throat. The damned thing seemed to have tightened by itself. The door-man downstairs had called up to let her know he was coming, so he knew Maggie was expecting him.

Still, when she opened the door to his knock, she looked surprised. “Jack. Come in. You look wonderful.”

Does that surprise her?
Jack wondered.

Before he had time to be offended, she said, “I’m almost ready. Would you like a drink? There’s liquor on the bar in the living room and beer in the small refrigerator behind it. I’ll only be another minute.”

She closed the door behind him without touching him and headed down the hall to the bedroom before he could say a word. Not that he could have spoken to save his life.

She had looked exquisite in a form-fitting, full-length black sheath which, he realized only when she turned her back on him, had no back. He could see the dimples at the base of her spine. The saliva pooled in his mouth, and he swallowed hard.

“Jesus,” he muttered. That outfit was like the come-hither nicker of an eager mare. Jack told his body “Whoa,” but it was hearing “Giddyap.”

He hurriedly stepped down into the sunken living room and headed for the wet bar in the corner. Maybe a good, strong drink would help.

Maggie’s living room reminded him of the outdoors, with pale green carpet underfoot and a rose silk couch covered with a half dozen pillows that matched the same flowery print as a nearby overstuffed chair. A ficus stood in a Chinese pot in the corner and a profusion of wildflowers filled a basket on the mantel above a white-brick painted fireplace. He leaned over to sniff and only then realized the flowers were fake.

She obviously liked cats, but the ones in her living room weren’t any more real than the flowers. She had tossed a pink, pillow-shaped cat on the chair, while a clear crystal one sat on the pine coffee table, and a sleek black ceramic feline reclined at the foot of the fireplace. With the one at her office, that made four fake cats she owned. Not that Jack was counting.

As he got himself a Pearl beer from the small refrigerator behind the bar, Jack couldn’t help thinking something was out of kilter in Maggie’s apartment. He just couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

Before he’d taken more than a gulp or two of the ice-cold Pearl, she was back. “That was quick,” he said.

“I just needed to put on my earrings and some lipstick.”

The diamond earrings dangled enticingly from her ears, and the lipstick was a bright red that had a lot more to do with GO than STOP. Jack figured if he didn’t get her out of there pretty damn quick, they weren’t going to leave at all.

When he set his beer on the bar, she said, “We have time to sit for a while. Please go ahead and finish your beer.”

Sit beside her? In that dress? Was she crazy? “Will you join me?” he asked, staying right where he was.

“I don’t drink.”

Jack didn’t drink much either, a beer once in a while to be social. An alcoholic mother had convinced him of the dangers of indulging. He looked at the bottles on the bar and noticed none of them were open. “Did you buy all of that for me?”

Two pink spots appeared on her cheeks. “I wasn’t sure what you drank.”

It was apparent Maggie didn’t normally entertain guests in her home, which meant he was a special case. “I appreciate the thought,” he said.

“Woody used to insist the bar be kept—” She frowned and looked around the room as though expecting to find something—or someone. When she didn’t, she crossed and sank into the flowered chair, picked up the cat pillow, and hugged it close.

Jack suddenly realized what was strange about Maggie’s apartment. Despite the fact she’d been married and had two kids, there were no pictures of her husband or her sons in the room. She had apparently cut them out of her life. Like the real cat she so obviously wanted, but hadn’t let herself have, along with real flowers and a real ficus. In fact, there wasn’t a single living thing in the apartment besides the lady herself.

“What’s wrong?” Maggie asked.

“I wondered why you don’t have pictures of your husband and kids sitting around.”

Her eyes rounded in alarm. “Who told you about my sons?”

“The question is, why didn’t you tell me, Maggie?”

She looked around the empty apartment before she met his gaze and said, “I try not to spend much time thinking about them. How did you find out?”

“My captain has a file on you.” Which Jack had taken with him, hoping it would tell him more about her. The information had been sketchy at best—except it revealed her sons had drowned on April 2, and her husband had died on April 6.

“Why would the Rangers be interested in me?” she asked.

Jack took a deep breath and said, “Because you’re a murder suspect now, along with the doctor and his nurse.”

Maggie leapt to her feet, abandoning the cat. “But why? I haven’t done anything!”

“You had opportunity, Maggie. You’ve worked for law firms representing all three hospitals where the suspicious deaths occurred. And you had motive.”

“What motive?”

“The same as the doctor and his nurse. Sparing the families of those kids the same kind of suffering you endured when your kids drowned and one of your sons ended up on life support.”

Her complexion turned chalky, and she swayed. He crossed quickly to catch her, afraid she was going to faint. He eased her onto the flowered chair and knelt in front of her. “Maggie? Are you all right?”

She nodded, then looked earnestly into his eyes. “I’m not the one who’s killing kids, Jack. I won’t deny I’ve suffered because of what happened to my sons. But I would never . . . I could never . . . .”

He wanted to believe her. But how could he, when all the murders had occurred during the same calendar days each year that her family had died? It was too much of a coincidence to ignore. Nevertheless, the rational part of him that argued “She’s the killer” was being outshouted by the impassioned part of him that said he couldn’t want her so much if she was capable of such heinous crimes.

“Aw, Maggie,” he said in a soft, husky voice. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Hold me, Jack. Please hold me.”

It would have taken a stronger man than Jack to refuse her plea. He pulled her onto her feet and into his arms. She clung to him, her nose pressed against his shoulder, and Jack felt the warmth that was missing from the room seep into him.

“Maggie?”

He was asking if he could kiss her, if he could love her . . . if he could trust her. He felt her hesitation, heard the hitching breath she took. The tension in her body revealed the tug-of-war she was waging with herself.

At last she looked up at him, her heart in her eyes, her terribly lonely eyes, and said, “All right, Jack.”

Chapter 8

There was no question of having a long-term relationship with Jack Kittrick. Maggie would not allow it. Besides she had proved with Woody that she didn’t have the inner fortitude it took to make a lifetime commitment. She wasn’t about to end up with another death on her conscience. She was willing to take the gamble of letting Jack get close, because she felt certain he was no more inclined to make permanent ties than she was.

It was safe to have an affair with him, because he was not likely to complicate matters by falling in love with her. He seemed to desire the same thing she did—a brief, close encounter with a willing partner. The fact Maggie had not once, in ten years, been tempted to have sex with a man should have given her fair warning. But she rationalized that after ten years, she was due a superficial sexual relationship.

She lifted her face and watched Jack’s gray eyes darken as he lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss was unexpectedly gentle. It wasn’t until she parted her lips that he revealed the sexual hunger she had seen in his rigid features. His tongue surged into her mouth, mimicking the sex act and making blood rush to her extremities. She slipped her hands beneath his tux jacket to feel his strength as he pulled her close. His callused fingers made her shiver as they roamed her naked back from her shoulder blades to her nape, and back down the curve of her spine.

She could see the rapid pulse at his throat, knew hers must be beating just as fast. She felt breathless, excited, aroused. And terrified of taking that final step over the brink.

Abruptly she pushed at Jack’s chest with the heels of her hands, but she didn’t make much headway putting any space between them. He was big and strong and determined, and Maggie realized she might be in serious trouble. “Jack, stop!”

His hands paused at her shoulders, and he took a shuddering breath and let it out. “What’s wrong?”

She wished he had separated them, but she remained wedged securely between his thighs. The heat and hardness of him were like a magnet drawing her closer. She tried to ignore the danger she faced if she let things proceed to their natural conclusion, but it was impossible.

“I thought I was ready for this, but I’m not,” she said.

Jack sucked gently on her throat beneath her ear, and she felt her body clench as though he were already inside her. She moaned a protest that sounded more like a passionate response to his lovemaking.

“You react to my kisses like a woman who’s ready. What’s the problem, Maggie?” he murmured, his breath warm and moist against her flesh.