Satan’s Lambs (10 page)

14

“You're not going to catch him.”

“Let
go
.”

“Lena. Come on. Back in. He's—”

“You don't believe he was here, do you?”

“I believe he was here.” Mendez led her back through the living room and up the stairs.

“He's not up
there
.”

“No, but your bathroom is. Just a minute, I'll be right back.”

Lena glanced around the bathroom, wishing she'd put up the shampoo, the wet washrag, and particularly the red lace bra that hung on the towel bar. She followed Mendez's progress by listening to his footsteps—going down the stairs, into the kitchen, then back up the stairs again. He came back to the bathroom with a green ceramic bowl.

“I make meatloaf in that,” Lena said.

He filled the bowl with warm soapy water. “Soak your hands in there. You have any gauze, bandages … first-aid stuff?”

“Medicine cabinet. Yank hard, it's kind of rusted shut.”

He pulled once, then again, harder.

“Mendez?”

“Hmmm?”

“Would you mind just—”

He sighed. “This is it?”

“What'd you expect, General Hospital?”

“Every home should have … at least more than a dried-up bottle of peroxide and two crumpled Band-Aids. Dinosaur Band-Aids. Never mind. I have a first-aid kit in my car.”

“I just bet you do.”

His voice floated back from the stairs. “Plain bandages, though. Mine don't have little dinosaurs on them.”

“Hey!” she yelled. “
Beth
got those on
sale!
”

The front door slammed, then a car door opened and closed. The water in the bowl was turning pink. Lena's hands throbbed. She leaned her head against the wall.

Mendez came through the door with a blanket tucked under one arm, a white plastic case, and a disconcerting air of purpose. He set the case on the bathroom counter, scooting three brands of skin lotion and a Lowila cleansing bar up against the wall. One of the bottles of lotion wobbled, fell off the counter, and landed in the overflowing trash can. Mendez leaned down to pick it up.

“Don't bother.”

“No? Going to grow old gracefully?”

“Be still my heart, you made a joke.”

He tucked the blanket around her shoulders. She rubbed her cheek against it.

“Scratchy,” she said.

“Wool.”

“Cotton is softer.”

“Wool is warmer.”

“You better take it off me, for real, Mendez. I might get blood on it.”

He took off his sport coat and hung it on a brass hook on the back of the bathroom door.

“Won't be the first time.”

Lena eyed the blanket and pushed it away from her face. Mendez unfastened his cuff links, set them on the back of the toilet, and rolled up his sleeves.

“You're starting to make me nervous,” Lena said.

He selected a needle out of the white plastic box, and doused it with alcohol.

“What's that for? I've got tweezers somewhere.”

He smiled at her. “Only take you a week to find them.”

“I think they're with my makeup stuff.”

“I have tweezers. I like a needle better. My wife used to go barefoot all the time. I dug out a lot of splinters.”

He sat on the side of the tub, his knees touching hers. He took a red towel off the rack and folded it on his lap. He patted the towel.

Lena laid her hands down on the ridged terrycloth.

“Ow.”

“I haven't touched you yet.”

She peered down at her hands. “Think I need stitches?”

“No. Lena?”

“Hmmm?”

“You're in my light. Sit back now. Relax.”

“Why do people always say that?”

She sat back and let her head rest against the wall. Her shoulder knocked the top of the toilet tank and the cuff links fell to the floor.

“Damn.”

“I'll get them later. Be still.”

“How bad was Eloise, Mendez? Did you hear anything from the hospital?”

“She's still in shock. He hurt her, Lena, but she'll live. Somebody's there now, waiting to talk to her.”

“He stuck that bottle, that broken bottle, into her eye. Doesn't that get to you?”

“Would it depress you to know I've seen worse?”

“I can't stand it, thinking about—ouch, oh, stop a minute,
Mendez
.”

“Be still. Okay. I got it.”

“Thinking about Charlie. He's such a sweet boy, he shouldn't be in the middle of all this.”

Mendez held her wrists, his gaze steady. “In the middle of what?”

“Of this
mess
, Mendez.”

“Go on. Tell me the whole story.”

“I already told you everything.”

“No.”

Lena stared at him, deciding he had the steadiest, most penetrating brown eyes.

“She's my client,” Lena said finally.

“You want Charlie back? Give me everything, so I can find him. We don't have much time.”

“What do you think Archie will do with him?”

Mendez raised one eyebrow. Lena thought of Hayes.

“It would help,” Mendez said, “if I knew why he took him.”

“He …”

“Lena. I've been a cop a long time. I've seen a lot of women, too many women, get beat up by husbands, ex-husbands, their boyfriends. Like you said, I pick up the pieces.” He looked down at her hands. “Some men want to hurt, some want to humiliate. A lot of them hit in places people won't see. Some just lash out, blind rage.

“Eloise Valetta's injuries were systematic. Inflicted with maximum pain in mind. What was it he wanted? The robbery money?” He leaned forward. “You're running a big risk, Lena. If this beating gets kicked to Domestic, that means no manpower on the kidnapping. And if and when we do catch up to Valetta, Family Court.
Mediation
instead of criminal prosecution. It's in Charlie's best interest to connect this up to the robbery.”

Lena leaned against the wall. She began to shake.

“Okay, Mendez, you're right. God, you got that glass out yet?”

“It's out.”

“I'm going to be sick. Go away, would you?”

He moved quickly, dumping the bowl full of bloody water into the sink.

“Go.”

He slipped the bowl into her lap and pulled her hair back out of the way, then was ready with a cool rag when she was done.

She took the rag with trembling fingers and bathed her face. Tears streamed from her eyes.

“It just hit all of a sudden.”

“It does that.” He took the bowl from her lap.

“Give me that.”

He ignored her.

“I want out of these clothes, they're
bloody
. I want a shower.”

“Wait on that. Get undressed, sponge off. I'll get you something to wear.”

He left, shutting the bathroom door behind him.

She sat cross-legged on the floor and took off the brown-spattered shoes. There were stains on the cuff of her left sock. Blood had stiffened on her jeans and shirt, and she peeled out of them and tossed them in the trash. She heard the sound of dresser drawers opening and closing, the squeak of her closet door.

“There's a big T-shirt,” she yelled through the door. “Football jersey. Second drawer, left-hand side.”

The closet door closed and a drawer opened and shut. Mendez knocked.

“Lena?”

She opened the door a crack and he handed her the shirt.

Lena slid the T-shirt over her head. It hung to her knees, loose and baggy. She rinsed her mouth and brushed her teeth. The telephone rang.

“Mendez?”

“Got it.”

His feet pounded the staircase.

“There's an extension in the bedroom!” She opened the bathroom door, strained her ears for the murmur of his voice. She went back in the bathroom for the blanket, avoided looking at the clothes she had tossed into the trash, and padded down the stairs.

Mendez was sitting in her chair, phone to one ear.

“Yes,” he said. “No, he hasn't checked in. Stay on it. I'll send you some relief around six.”

Lena curled up on one end of the couch and tucked her feet up under her.

“What?” she said.

“There are two—what would you call them?—under-the-counter doctors, locally. We've staked them out. Valetta may try to get his knee looked at.”

“I think I broke it.”

Mendez nodded. “I'm going to make you a cup of tea, Lena. Then I'm going to give you a couple of tranks—”

“No, I don't want them. Hayes might—”

“He won't come back tonight, and if he does I'll be here. I had all my calls routed here when I left Eloise Valetta's apartment. Any news, I'll wake you up. Okay?”

Lena nodded. Mendez got up and headed for the kitchen.

“Mendez? I don't think I
have
any tea.”

“You do.”

15

Lena woke up on the couch, mouth cottony, head pounding. Mendez was asleep in her chair. He'd taken off his shoes and put his feet up, and a legal pad and a pen lay in his lap. His hands were folded and his head was tilted sideways.

Lena swung her legs over the side of the couch and rubbed the back of her neck.

He even slept neatly.

She went upstairs and got in the shower, adjusting the water to the highest heat she could stand. She stood under the shower head, letting the water run, while steam misted and swirled.

She still felt groggy from the pills.

Lena toweled her hair dry and found a pair of clean jeans. She put the football jersey back on, grimacing when her hair, still wet, made a cold spot on the back of the shirt.

She went to Kevin's old room, sat on the dusty carpet, and wrapped her arms around her knees.

She had meant to think and plan, but dozed off instead, head on the top of her knees. A soft knock and the creak of wood woke her. Mendez stood in the doorway, the hallway dark behind him. The morning sun, rosy pink, filtered in through the animal-print curtains.

Mendez came close and looked down at her.

“What did you mean the other night? When you said it was supposed to be a nice evening?”

Lena shrugged. Mendez sat across from her on the floor. He crossed his legs and put his chin in his hands, looking, Lena decided, as though he would be content to sit in that one place forever.

Lena reached out and traced the line of his jaw. Her finger was thick, padded with gauze and white surgical tape. She touched the stiff white collar of his shirt. “You dress very neatly. You even sleep neatly.” She undid the top button of his shirt. “And you're always prepared. First-aid kit. Blankets. Tell me, Joel, do you also have condoms?”

He leaned forward and kissed her slowly. She took a breath and tugged him down on the floor.

He touched her cheek and pushed her hair back off her shoulder. The hair held his interest. He took a handful of the black coarse curls, then put his hand behind her neck and brought her closer. Lena hooked her leg over his, feeling his warmth, smelling the faint scent of cologne—the same kind Hayes liked to wear.

She grimaced. All the men in my life.

He put both hands under the back of her shirt, fingers massaging the tight muscles. His hands moved up to her shoulders and down her spine—then around to her waist and up to her breasts.

Strong warm fingers. His touch went from firm to delicate.

She kissed him, eyes closed, and undid the other buttons on his shirt. She lifted the jersey up over her head. It tangled in her hair, then came off.

He rolled her gently to her back and settled his weight onto her. She wrapped her arms around him and he buried his face in her hair and neck, kissing her throat, cupping her breasts in his hands.

Over his shoulder, the child's mobile was dazzling behind dust motes and sunlight.

“Lena? What is it?”

She scrambled to get out from under.

“What—”

She twisted sideways. “I can't do this.”

Abruptly, he let her go. She snatched the jersey and pulled it over her head, inside out.

“It was your job to protect my sister.” She looked at him. “It was my job to protect my client.”

He reached for her hand, but she yanked it away. She was out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door in seconds.

The phone was ringing as she went.

16

His car was still in front of the house.

Lena shivered, hesitating at the edge of the porch. The grass was ice cold and the bottoms of her jeans sagged with dew. Her ankles itched and her hair was still damp on her shoulders.

She went in, closing the door softly.

It was warm inside, and she sighed deeply. The house was rich with the smell of coffee.

Go on, Joel, she thought. Make yourself at home. Don't be a stranger to my kitchen. She took a breath and headed for the living room. Definitely going to be awkward.

Mendez was on the phone. He glanced at her over his shoulder, and she veered into the kitchen. Mendez had her favorite black mug, so she took the white one and filled it with coffee. She sat on the couch and waited for Mendez to quit talking. His shirt was only slightly wrinkled, and his tie was neatly knotted.

The coffee scorched her tongue, and was warm going down. Mendez hung up the phone and looked at her.

“Developments?” she asked.

“Valetta's been spotted in Tennessee. Knoxville. With the boy.”

Lena put the coffee cup down. “Where exactly?”

“Doctor's office. One of those places I told you about, bad part of town. Specialize in bullet and knife wounds that people don't want reported. He was seen by an Alfred Ritterman—Knoxville PD. He'd been on duty all night and heard the APB. On his way off shift this morning, he stopped to meet an informant at a Dunkin' Donuts place across from this office. And he saw Valetta and the child.”

Lena stood up. “So they've got him!”