No Turning Back (16 page)

"I'm sorry but the case has been closed. Mark was her boyfriend. You yourself said they argued that night, which places him at the scene of the crime. His note was his confession."

"But you're wrong!" My voice was getting shrill and Blane pulled me tighter against his side. Whether to comfort me or quiet me, I didn't know.

"I'm sorry," Milano said, and to his credit, he seemed sincere, "there's nothing more I can do." With a last look at Blane and me, he left.

"Are you all right?" Blane asked. I sniffed. My eyes were wet and my nose had begun to run. Angrily, I swiped at my eyes with my sleeve.

"Fine," I said curtly. "Can we go?" In answer, Blane stood and helped me to my feet. I shrugged off his coat and handed it back to him. We headed to the car and I crossed my arms over my chest. The sunlight was fading and the wind had picked up. After we'd gotten in the car, Blane turned up the heat.

"Don't you ever wear a coat?" he asked. I grimaced. I hated wearing coats. Usually, I wore layers and sweaters until there was snow on the ground. Then I conceded to winter and wore a coat.

"Not usually," I answered. It wasn't until we were halfway there that I realized we weren't going back to the firm, but were headed to my apartment.

"Why are you taking me home?"

"You've had a shock," Blane said matter-of-factly. "You're taking the rest of the day off. You need to rest." I opened my mouth to protest, but a glance from him made me close it. It was nearly five anyway. It wasn't worth arguing about.

We pulled into my parking lot as dusk was falling. I turned toward Blane to thank him, but he was already getting out of the car. In a moment, he was opening my door and helping me out of the car. We climbed the stairs in silence. I hated to admit it, but he was right. I felt shell-shocked.

Pulling my keys from my purse, I went to unlock the door and froze. It wasn't locked. Blane, standing behind me, noticed something was wrong.

"What is it?" he asked. I turned toward him, my eyes wide.

"I always lock my door," I said. Understanding dawned immediately in his eyes and he abruptly pulled me away from the door, pushing me behind him. Reaching for his back, he pulled out his gun. I blanched. I hadn't even seen him put that on in the car.

"Stay here," he ordered. I nodded obediently, but I was thinking "Fat chance, buddy." My cat was in there.

Quickly pushing open the door, Blane took a glance inside. If anyone was waiting on the other side, they didn't show themselves. Carefully stepping into the apartment, he held the gun out in front of him. He disappeared from my view and I counted to ten, okay five, before following him. The scene that met my eyes made me gasp.

My apartment had been thoroughly trashed. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. My couch was flipped over, the cushions shredded. The glass of my television screen had been smashed. The few potted plants I'd managed to not yet kill had been dumped on my carpet.

I could see into the kitchen and the refrigerator door was standing wide open, its meager contents dumped out on the linoleum. Dishes and glasses had been broken and lay in shards on the floor.

As I stood in shock and dismay, Blane came back into view from my bedroom, tucking the gun back in his waistband. His face was grim and terror gripped me.

"Did you find Tigger?" I asked frantically. I knew I absolutely could not handle it if something had happened to him. Blane shook his head.

"No. We can keep looking though." But I knew that he thought Tigger was probably dead or gone and his image blurred as my eyes filled with tears.

Carefully stepping over the broken glass, I stood in the doorway of my bedroom. My clothes had been pulled out of the closet and lay in disarray on the floor. I could see they'd been torn. Unable to stomach any more, I turned away.

A knock from the living room made us both spin around. My new neighbor, CJ, was standing there. Her mouth was shaped in an O as she peered around, wide-eyed. But I didn't notice that so much as what she was holding.

"Tigger!" I shrieked, stumbling forward to take him. Thank God. Tears leaked from my eyes as I felt his familiar rumbling purr. I looked at CJ.

"Thank you so much," I said. "How did you find him?"

"He was wandering around outside," she answered. "I thought he might be yours." She paused. "So, what the hell happened in here?"

"Did you see or hear anything unusual today?" Blane asked. CJ shook her head.

"Nah. I work at night so I sleep during the day. Didn't hear a thing. Sorry." I was disappointed, but at least I had Tigger back.

"Well thank you so much for taking care of my cat," I said gratefully.

"No problem. Catch you later."

After she left, I looked around and sighed. What had already been a long day was promising to be an even longer night. And I didn't even want to think about how I was going to replace all of my things. I didn't have any renter's insurance.

"Come on," Blane said, picking his way through the living room to the door. I frowned in confusion.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "I can't leave. I need to call the cops and start cleaning this mess up."

"No you're not," he said curtly. "We'll call the cops from my place. You're staying there tonight." That was such a bad idea. Tempting, in that way that makes you know you'll love every minute and hate yourself in the morning, but still a bad idea.

"I don't think so," I stated firmly. "I can go stay with Clarice or something." Blane's jaw set and I grew wary.

"You can come willingly or unwillingly," he threatened. "But like it or not, you're coming with me." The look on his face made me think he wasn't bluffing.

Somehow I knew that if I went with him, there would be no turning back, a line in the sand would have been crossed. But despite that inner voice shouting at me, telling me going with Blane would be much more dangerous to my well-being than staying here, I gave in and followed him out my apartment door.

Chapter Seven

I held Tigger in my arms as Blane drove. I felt numb. Mark had been murdered, and it appeared I might be next on their list. I held Tigger closer to me. Suddenly, he seemed like all I had.

The car stopped, Blane turned off the engine, and I looked around curiously. Not having paid attention to where we were driving, I hadn't realized we had arrived. Glancing out the window, I found myself gaping.

We were stopped in a circle driveway and my side faced the house. And what a house it was - a gorgeous, two-story colonial style house with huge pillars in front. A long sidewalk led to the enormous front door and discreetly placed floodlights lit the house at strategic spots. The bottom floor showed lights on inside and I wondered if Blane lived with other family members. Or a new girlfriend.

I took so long staring wonderingly at the house that Blane was already at my door before I had realized he'd gotten out. I gripped Tigger tightly as I stepped out of the car. We turned to the pathway and Blane reached over, lifting my purse strap off my shoulder, and carrying it by his fingers. His hand settled on the small of my back as he guided me up the walk.

Even in the deepening twilight shadows, I could see the grounds were spacious and landscaped. We passed carefully tended shrubs, and even though the yard was full of trees, I didn't see more than a handful of stray leaves on the ground. Those seemed to be an almost artistic touch rather than normal autumn debris. As we neared the door, it opened and I paused, hesitant.

"It's all right," Blane said reassuringly. "It's just Mona, my housekeeper." Sure enough, a woman stepped into the doorway, smiling widely. She was a bit taller than me and appeared to be in her late fifties or early sixties. Her hair was a shiny silver gray and styled in a sleek bob. Her clothes were very nice and conservative, yet still practical. For some reason, she reminded me of a piano teacher.

"Good evening, Blane," she said, as we neared and passed by her into the house. She shut the door and turned to us, her eyes resting expectantly on Blane.

"Good evening, Mona," Blane said. "This is Kathleen Turner. She works at the firm. Someone broke into her apartment so she and her cat are staying here." Mona frowned. I smiled nervously, hoping Mona didn't think I was one of Blane's flavors-of-the-month.

"I'm so sorry to hear that, dear," she said, and her eyes were kind. I let out the breath I'd been holding. She glanced down at Tigger, clutched in my arms. "Of course you're welcome here. What is your cat's name?"

"Tigger," I answered, "his name is Tigger." Said cat was still snoozing, his purring so loud it was almost embarrassing. Mona reached over to scratch Tigger's ears, which made him purr more loudly.

"Perhaps Tigger would like some dinner?" she asked, and I nodded. She reached for him, and as I handed over my precious orange lump of pampered feline, Blane spoke to Mona.

"Where's Gerard?" he asked.

"Oh, he's upstairs," she said casually. "One of the bathrooms has a leaky faucet." Tigger seemed content in Mona's arms as she stroked his fur. "It'll be good to have a cat around here again," she said. My eyes widened a bit. This was just for tonight. I opened my mouth to correct her, but she kept talking. "My own cat, Morris, died a few years ago. We still have his litter box and things. You won't mind, will you, Tigger," she said to the oblivious cat. Well, crap. Now I didn't have the heart to tell her we weren't staying long.

"Will you let him know that I'm in for the evening?" Blane said.

"Of course," Mona replied. "Let me get Tigger settled and I'll get you two some dinner."

"I'm putting Kathleen in the Garden Room," Blane called after her as she walked away. "Is it suitable?"

Mona stopped abruptly, turning around to look at Blane, and her face registered surprise before she masked it. "Quite," was all she said before resuming her path to the kitchen.

I tried not to gape like a complete hick as I cast furtive glances around the foyer. The whole house had beautiful wood floors with rugs tossed lavishly throughout. A grand staircase, straight out of
Gone with the Wind
, led to the upper floor. Off to my right on the main level was a grand piano under a chandelier and an archway leading to yet another room. To my left was an identical towering arch that led to a dining room with a dark mahogany table that easily sat twelve.

"This way," Blane said, taking my elbow. My arms suddenly felt bereft without Tigger.

"Mona and her husband Gerard take care of the house and grounds," Blane explained, as we climbed the stairs. "They live in a house that adjoins the property. They decided to come with us when we moved here from back East when I was a child."

"How long have they worked for you?" I asked.

"As long as I can remember," Blane answered. "Mona was also my nanny when I was a child." He'd had a nanny. I'd had after-school specials on the television. I was yet again reminded of the vast differences between Blane's station in life and my own.

The upstairs was just as awe inspiring as the downstairs. A long Persian runner lay on the floor of the hallway and I nearly couldn't bring myself to walk on it, it was so pretty. Blane walked to the end of the hallway and opened a door, pulling me inside. He flipped on the lights and I stared in awe once again.

Now I understood why he'd called it the Garden Room. All four wall featured a magnificent continuous mural. Impressionist painters had always been a favorite of mine and I recognized Monet's Garden at Giverny. Even the bed linen fit the theme. The overall effect was that you were standing in the middle of a beautiful, sun-dappled garden with lavender flowers and a pond with water lilies.

"Do you like it?" Blane asked.

"It's...amazing," I said wonderingly.

"My mother was an artist. She decorated each of the bedrooms in a different artistic style. This room she painted herself." I turned to Blane.

"Your mother painted this?" I said, amazed. He smiled, nodding.

"She was quite talented," he replied, and I thought I detected a hint of pride in his voice. He gestured to a doorway in the far corner.

"There's a bathroom through there," he said. "In case you want to freshen up before dinner." His kindness suddenly hit me and I was humbled by it.

"Blane," I began, "I don't know how to thank-" but I was cut off when he placed a finger on my lips.

"Don't thank me yet," he said, and his voice had taken on an edge that made me wary. "When it comes to you, my motives aren't exactly..." he paused, his eyes skimming down my body and back up. "...altruistic," he finished. My mouth went dry.

"I'll be back to get you shortly," he said, pulling the door closed as he left. I sank down onto the bed and nearly groaned. The beautiful quilt was soft and luxurious; the mattress perfect between too soft and too hard. I felt a bit like Goldilocks and couldn't resist scooting back and lying down. A sigh escaped me as my head hit the down pillow. Blane hadn't said how long he'd be and I thought maybe I could rest for just a few minutes.

When I opened my eyes, I knew instantly that it had been more than a few minutes. The room was cloaked in the deep shadows of night and someone had covered me with a blanket. I rubbed my eyes, then glanced at my watch. It was after midnight. I'd slept for over six hours. Some guest I was, I thought with chagrin. I'd slept through dinner and hadn't even gone to see about Tigger.

Speaking of dinner, I realized I was starving. And sleeping in my clothes, which I hated doing. The house was pretty big, maybe it wouldn't disturb anyone if I snuck down to the kitchen and got a snack. I had no idea how many people lived here with Blane.

Swinging my legs out of bed, I realized someone had removed my shoes as well. I tried not to think about who that might have been as I searched for them in the dark but couldn't find them. Oh well. Less dirt to get on the Persian rug.

A quick stop in a bathroom, no less luxurious and as pretty as the bedroom, to brush my teeth and splash some water on my face and I was ready to go.