The Crush (20 page)
She ducked her head and he saw a trace of a smile. He pressed the advantage. "Have dinner with me, Rennie."
"What for?"
"Well, for one thing, as soon as this sundae wears off I'll be hungry."
"The sundae was my dinner."
"Okay, we don't have to eat. We could go to a movie. Take a walk. Anything. I'd just like to spend time with you."
She turned the key in the ignition and started the motor. "Good-bye, Wick."
"Wait a minute." He added a soft
"Please," which stopped her from reaching for the door again. "Why are you always rushing away from me?"
"I told you. I'm not--"
"I know, I know, you're not in the market. Do you see somebody?"
"Yes."
Don't let it be Lozada, he thought.
"Patients," she said. "I see patients."
"You have dinner with them every night?" He gave her his best sad-puppy-dog smile, but it didn't earn him even one of her half-smiles.
She turned away and stared through the windshield for several ponderous moments. "You're very engaging, Wick."
"Thanks. But ...?"
"But things should have stayed where we left them last night."
"That was nowhere."
"That's right."
"Well, I wasn't content with that."
"You'll have to be. I tried to make it clear then. I'm telling you again now. I can't, I won't, see you again. There would be no point."
Turning back to him, she added, "And I won't change my mind."
He searched her eyes for a long time. Finally, he extended his hand toward her face.
She whispered, "Don't."
But he didn't touch her. He lifted a strand of hair from her cheek and tucked it beneath her hat.
His fingers lingered there just above her ear for several seconds before he withdrew his hand. Softly he said, "I'll follow you home, see that you get there safely."
"I don't want you to do that."
"I already know where you live."
"You won't be invited in, Wick."
"I'll follow you home."
He backed away and closed her car door.
She drove off without even a wave. Nevertheless he kept his promise. He followed her all the way home and when she rolled her car into her garage, he tooted his horn twice as his good-bye.
SHE CALLED THE HOSPITAL
to check on her post-op patients and was told that the doctors on call had nothing untoward to report. The spleenectomy patient's condition had been upgraded from fair to good. He was doing well.
Following that call, she was officially off duty for the remainder of the night. Ten minutes later she was soaking in a tub of hot bubble bath. She breathed deeply and focused on relaxing, but when she closed her eyes she saw an image of Wick Threadgill and smiled in spite of herself.
It was impossible not to like him. She liked him more than she had liked anyone in a very long time.
That was why she would never see him again.
Her capacity for romance had ceased to exist.
It had died along with Raymond Collier that fateful afternoon in her father's study. She had killed that part of herself as surely as Raymond had been killed.
Or had it died? Maybe it had only been successfully suppressed.
She had denied common yearnings so effectively and for so long that she had convinced herself those yearnings no longer existed for her. What was natural for most women didn't apply to her. She didn't need love and romance. She didn't need anyone or anything in her life except her work. Work was what she desired, so work was what satisfied her.
That had been her mantra, her anthem.
It had begun to ring hollow.
Her resolve never to marry and have a family had seemed courageous in her twenties. Now she wondered. Had she spited only herself when she made that decision? Over the years the line between independence and loneliness had become so fine that there was now little distinction between the two.
This man, this lanky Wick Threadgill with the long legs and unruly blond hair, had stirred longings that she had thought long dead.
She hadn't wanted to say good-bye to him this evening. She liked his company but feared what she felt when he looked at her in that certain way.
His kisses were probably as potent as his smiles. Not that she would have allowed a kiss. But it would have been nice, when he replaced that loose strand of hair, to have turned her head ever so slightly and to have rested her cheek against his hand. Just for a moment. Just to-Her telephone rang.
She sat up, scattering mounds of bubbles across the surface of her bathwater. Maybe it was Wick. He was just arrogant enough, persistent enough, to try again.
But it could also be Lozada.
The caller ID registered no number. She hesitated, then cleared her throat and answered.
"Rennie, are you all right?"
Chapter 13
Lozada thrilled to the sound of her light, rapid breathing. Only fucking or fear caused a woman to breathe like that. He would enjoy it either way with Rennie.
"Why are you calling me again when I specifically told you not to?"
"I was worried about you, Rennie," he said.
"I'm calling to make certain that you're all right."
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because of the company you keep."
He hadn't been able to believe his eyes when she'd arrived home followed by Threadgill in his pickup truck. He could dismiss their meeting at the wedding reception as a bizarre coincidence. But two days in a row? It stunk to high heaven of police tactics.
Threadgill had given two short honks of his horn as he drove away. The only reason the bastard was still alive was because he hadn't gone inside the house with Rennie. But where had they been? How long had they been together? An hour?
All day? What had they been doing?
Lozada had considered several ways he could kill Wick Threadgill. Which method would inflict the most pain? He wanted Threadgill's death to be painful, yes, but it must transcend normal pain. He also wanted the death to be ignominious. He didn't want to leave Wick Threadgill a martyour, a dead hero.
He couldn't repeat what he'd done to brother Joe. That would be unoriginal, and Lozada was known for his creative flair. He would devise something unique, something special. Perhaps he would incorporate one of his scorpions. The fear factor alone would be ingenious.
However it came about, killing Wick Threadgill would be his masterpiece, the benchmark of his career. He must take his time and think about it very carefully.
Of course if Threadgill had gone inside with Rennie, he would have been forced to act immediately, killing them both. Threadgill for his poaching.
Rennie for her infidelity.
It had then occurred to him that she might be entirely innocent. What if she were unaware that Threadgill was a cop? Threadgill could be using her in hope of getting to him. That was what he'd wanted to believe. To make certain of it, he'd placed this call.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr.
Lozada," she said. "Furthermore, I don't care."
"I don't approve of your friends."
"I don't give a damn what you approve or disapprove. For the last time, leave me alone."
"I don't like your keeping company with cops."
Her silence was sudden and total, indicating surprise.
"I especially don't like your spending time with Wick Threadgill. He's a loser, Rennie.
Unworthy of you. Unworthy of us."
A few seconds ticked past. When she spoke, her voice was thin. "Wick ...?
He's a ...?"
Lozada's grin spread wide. He'd been right. She hadn't known. "Poor darling. I thought you knew."
"Then what happened?"
"I've told you. About a dozen times."
Wick rubbed his eyes. They were scratchy from lack of sleep.
"Tell me again."
"After we left the barn, she went into her house. I was not invited inside."
"Do you think somebody else was in there?"
"I never saw anyone else. There were no other cars around. I have no reason to believe anyone was inside, but I couldn't swear to it. Okay?"
"Why didn't she invite you in?"
"Common sense would be my guess. She had only met me once. Briefly. And I show up at her place in the country with some half-baked explanation about how I tracked her down? If I were a woman I wouldn't have invited me in."
"Good point. Go on."
"I have a question," Thigpen said. "Did you see any weapons around?"
Wick snapped his fingers. "Now that you mention it, she was packing an Uzi in the pocket of her jeans."
Thigpen muttered a disparagement. Oren gave Wick a retiring look and motioned for him to continue. "I forgot where I left off."
"She went in. You stayed out."
"Right. Then this old man shows up. Toby Robbins. Big, robust dude." He recounted his and Rennie's conversation with the rancher. "He seemed very protective of her and suspicious of me. Kept looking at me funny."
"You're kinda funny-looking."
Thigpen was making himself hard to ignore, but Wick was determined to ignore him. He had hoped that by the time he arrived Thigpen would have left for the day and that he would have to tell his story only to Oren. No such luck.
He also noticed that the photographs of Rennie he had removed from the wall had been smoothed out and replaced. He didn't acknowledge their return. He refused to give the slob the satisfaction.
"Is the FWPD going to pay for the damage to my truck?" Wick asked, changing the subject.
"The cost of having it fixed will be just below my deductible. You watch."
Oren dismissed the dent with a negligent wave.
"When I sent you there I asked you to scout out the place. I didn't know it would wind up being a date."
Wick rolled his eyes. "We have differing opinions on what constitutes a date. I didn't know I was going to see her. The race just sorta happened and things progressed from there. Iwent with the flow. I wasn't into it for fun."
Liar, liar. Pants on fire, Wick thought to himself. He had very much enjoyed watching Rennie attend to her horses. Whatever else she might be, or whatever else she might have done, or whoever else she was involved with, when it came to those animals, it was a mutual love affair. That was the only time Wick had seen her looking completely happy and relaxed.
He hadn't minded the earthy smell of the stable.
The merest scent of horse flesh stirred the latent cowboy spirit in every Texan. The hay had been fresh and sweet-smelling. And the sight of Rennie riding bareback hadn't exactly been hardship duty. But he didn't dare expound on that.
He said, "I don't consider grooming a bunch of horses a date."
"You went for ice cream."
"At a place where they play Donny and Marie and wear red-and-white-striped shirts.
Hardly, candlelight and wine. And still not my idea of a date."
"It's not a date unless he gets laid."
"Thigpen!" Oren rounded on him. "Shut up, okay?"
Wick was on his feet, fists tightly clenched. "At least I can get laid, Pigpen. How your wife can find your dick underneath all that flab is a mystery to me. If she even wants to look for it, which I seriously doubt."
"For the love of God, will the two of you cut it out!" Oren barked. "We've got work to do here."
"Not me. I'm outta here."
"Wick, wait!"
"I've been up for hours, Oren. I'm tired."
"I know you're tired. We're all tired.
No need to get nasty."
"I passed nasty a long time ago. I haven't slept in ... Hell, I can't even remember when I last slept. I'm going to my home away from home and sleep till this time tomorrow.
See ya."
"He was her father's business partner."
The simple statement halted Wick. It also deflated him. He dropped back into the metal folding chair, flung his head back, closed his eyes. Even though he had a strong intuition about what the answer would be, he asked, "Who was her father's business partner?"
"The guy our lady doctor whacked."
Again disregarding Thigpen, Wick opened his eyes and looked at Oren, who nodded somberly.
"I spent a few hours this afternoon in our downtown library. I had to go back several years to find the story, but it made even our newspaper."
"The really juicy ones usually do," Thigpen remarked. "And this one's really juicy."
Oren shot him another warning glance before turning back to Wick. "His name was Raymond Collier. He was shot and killed in T. Dan Newton's home study. Present at the scene was sixteen-year-old Rennie."
Sixteen? Jesus. "And?"
"And what?"
"What were the details?"
"Scarce and sketchy," Oren said. "At least in the Star-Telegram. I can't really start researching it until tomorrow. I didn't want to call Dalton PD until I could talk to somebody in a carpeted office. I don't want this to filter out through the rank and file. If word got around that she was under investigation, it could backfire on us." He studied Wick for a moment. "I don't suppose she opened up and talked about any of this with you."
Wick waited for several seconds to see if Oren was serious, and when he determined that he was, he laughed. "Yeah. I think it came up when she was trying to decide between strawberry or hot fudge." Oren frowned his displeasure.
Wick said tiredly, "No, she didn't open up and talk about anything that happened when she was sixteen."
"Did she mention Lozada?"
"No, Thigpen, she did not mention Lozada."
"The trial? Her jury duty?"
"No and no."
"You spent hours with her. What'd you talk about all that time?"
"Primates and how some are still evolving. In fact, your name came up."
"Wick," Oren said in a chastening tone.
Wick exploded. "He's a moron. Why would she mention Lozada?"
"Why don't you just tell us what you talked about?"
"Her horses. Her place. How much she likes it out there. My boring job in computer software. Nothing. Chitchat. Stuff. Stuff people talk about when they're getting to know one another."
"But it wasn't a date." Thigpen snorted like the hog he was.
Wick sprang up from his seat again. "I don't need this shit."
Oren shouted over him. "I'm only trying to get your impressions of this suspect."
"All right, you want my impressions? Here's the first. She's not a suspect. I think her association with Lozada stopped the minute the judge banged the gavel to end the trial. And speaking of Lozada, has anybody been watching him?"
"His Mercedes was in his building's parking garage all day," Thigpen reported.
"Whatever," Wick said. "Keeping this surveillance on Rennie Newton is a waste of time. It's stupid and pointless. She doesn't look like a murderer. She doesn't act like a person who's just knocked off her colleague.
What has she done that's the least bit suspicious? Nothing. Not a damn thing. It's been business as usual since we started watching her.
"Meanwhile, while we've been sitting here playing pocket pool to keep ourselves alert enough to monitor everything she does, whoever did knock off Dr. Howell is laughing up his sleeve at us because he got away with it. You asked for my impressions. Those are them."
"You want Lozada as much--no, more--than I do."
"Goddamn right I do," Wick shouted. "But she's got nothing to do with Lozada."
"I'm not ready to concede that."
"That's your problem." He scooped up his hat.
"You're leaving?"
"Good guess."
"For home?"
"Right again."
"To Galveston?"
"Tell Grace and the girls good-bye for me."
"Wick--"
"See ya, Oren."
He turned toward the staircase but was drawn up short. Rennie was standing on the top step.
Oren and Thigpen spotted her at the same time. Thigpen muttered something that Wick couldn't hear for the roaring in his ears. Oren, who ordinarily stood tall and proud, lowered his head like a kid whose mother had caught him with a dirty magazine. The stuffy atmosphere became even more claustrophobic, the stale air too thick to inhale.
Her eyes moved from one of them to the other, landing on Wick.
He took one step toward her. "Rennie--"
"You lying son of a bitch."
He decided that for now silence was his best defense. Besides, he felt they deserved her fury.
She crossed the room and raised the night-vision binoculars to her eyes, looking in the direction of her house. Wick discerned a slight sagging of her shoulders, but it lasted only until she returned the binoculars to the table and came around to face them. That was when she saw the photographs Thigpen had taped to the wall, the ones of her in various stages of undress.
Her lips parted silently and color drained from her face, but again her initial reaction was quickly replaced by righteous outrage. "Which of you has the highest rank? Who is responsible for this?"
"I am," Oren replied. "How did you know we were here?" He looked suspiciously toward Wick.
Wick returned a look that said You know me better than that.
Interpreting the exchange, Rennie said, "I assure you that Mr. Threadgill was a master of deceit. You can be very proud of him, Detective Wesley."
"Then how did you know--"
"It's my turn to ask questions," she snapped.
"What possible explanation do you have for watching my house?"
"You left us with a lot of unanswered questions about Dr. Howell's homicide."
"And you expected to find answers to those questions by spying on me?"
"We thought we might, yes."
"Did you?"
"No."
"Have you also been eavesdropping on my telephone calls?"
"No."
"Spying on me at work?"
"To some extent," he admitted.
"You have invaded my privacy in the most despicable way. Your superiors will be hearing from my attorney first thing tomorrow morning."
"My superiors approved this surveillance, Dr. Newton."
"This isn't surveillance. This is window-peeping. This is--" She threw a disgusted glance at the photos, then, too angry to continue, headed for the stairs. "You'll be hearing from my lawyer."
She jogged down the stairs.
"Well it's hit the fan now."
Wick wasn't interested in Thigpen's editorial. He rushed down the staircase behind Rennie and caught up with her on the sidewalk in front of the house. He hooked his hand around her biceps to stop her. "Rennie."
"Let go of me."
"I want to explain." She tried to wrest her arm free, but he wouldn't release her. "Listen, I need to say this."
"I'm not interested in anything you have to say."
"Please, Rennie."
"Go to hell."
"I'm not proud of myself."
She stopped struggling and looked up at him.
She gave a brittle laugh. "Oh, but you should be, Officer Threadgill. You played the role of the handsome stranger so convincingly. But then I wasn't much of a stranger to you, was I? You knew me from the pictures on your wall in there."
"I don't blame you for being mad at me."
"Don't flatter yourself." She jerked her arm away from him. Her eyes blazed. "I don't care enough about you to be mad at you. You aren't important enough to make me mad. I just wish I had never met you. And I don't want to see you again. Not by accident. Not by design. Never."
Wick didn't try to detain her. He watched her turn and jog away. He continued watching until she disappeared around the corner.
Chapter 14
He felt like getting drunk.
To accomplish this unambitious mission, he'd chosen a bar in Sundance Square. In this popular watering hole, Wick sat hunched over his second or so Wild Turkey.
This bar wouldn't have been his first choice. He would have preferred a seedier tavern where the drinks were stiffer, the music sadder, and the customers unhappier. But this lively hangout was right across the street from Trinity Tower, where Ricky Roy Lozada lived like the fucking millionaire that he'd become by killing for hire.
Lozada's affluence contributed to Wick's misery, and heaping one misery onto another somehow seemed appropriate and warranted tonight.
Because of the proximity of Lozada's luxury digs combined with his overall feeling like shit, Wick estimated that it was going to take a couple more bourbons before he started feeling even a little bit better.
