Web of Smoke (2 page)

He stared at her for a minute. “The house is empty, ma’am. Officer Johnson is pursuing. Can you tell me what happened?”

Christie didn’t answer. Her eyes fixed uneasily on the badge that glinted on his chest.

“Ma’am? An ambulance is on the way. Could you answer a few questions? It could help us find—”

Christie shook her head, tuning out his gentle voice. Instead she saw the attacker’s eyes, heard again his voice.

Eyes, as cold as the Arctic…a voice as haunting as the elusive snatches of an almost-remembered song. Both as indistinct as the shifting shapes in an obscurely shadowed alley.

She understood, at last, what she’d been waiting for all day. Unfortunately, with the understanding came the undeniable realization that she’d been waiting much longer than a day.

And the waiting had only just begun.

Chapter Two

Sam focused on the blue Toyota in the driveway. This was the place.

Jumping from the Jeep, he marched up the brick walk that bisected the green lawn. He rang the bell and waited on the porch, rocking from toe to heel, slapping the newspaper against his thigh. To either side of him tailored yards and polished houses lined her street. Even the air smelled wealthy.

From inside the house he heard the excited yapping of her three dogs as they charged the front door, nails clicking against wood and tile.

Once, he’d been happy to say good-bye to those mutts. But then again, once, he’d been happy to say good-bye to Christie, too.

“Who is it?” she called from the other side of the white wooden door.

No peephole. He frowned, shaking his head. “It’s Sam.”

“Sam?”

She threw open the door, looking at him with surprised wonder.

Her eyes could be called brown, but not by Sam. They glittered with too many facets of amber and gold, green and mahogany, to be called anything but magnificent and jewel-like. They made him forget why he’d stormed up the walk. Why he’d been angry with her. But in the heartbeat it took to forget his reason for being there, she seemed to remember her reason for never wanting to see him again. The twinkle disappeared from her eyes and a dense layer of muddy brown masked their sparkle as quickly as storm clouds blot out the sun.

Sam felt the answering smile that had somehow invaded his lips dwindle to nothing.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

He thrust the newspaper out. As she reached for it, Snort dashed between her feet and straight up Sam’s leg. Sam scooped the Pekingese into his arms and began scratching him behind the ear.

Christie shot the captured dog a look that said “traitor” and then turned her gaze to the newspaper. She scanned it once before zeroing in on the article.

La Jolla Woman Attacked….

She finished reading and handed the paper back. “So why are you here?” she asked.

Maybe it was her tone, probably it was Sam and the whole mess that had once been the best thing he’d ever known, but something triggered a switch and he blew.

“Why am I here?” he repeated incredulously. “I find out—by chance—that my wife has been attacked in some ritzy pad that she doesn’t belong in, and you have to ask?”

“Who are you to tell me where I belong?”

“I’m your husband.”

“Ex-husband.”

“I’m not an ex yet. Who the hell is paying for this place?’’

“That,” she exclaimed angrily, “is none of your business.”

“The hell it’s not.” He shoved open the door, stepping over Barney, the cocker spaniel, and charged straight inside.

Christie banged the door closed behind him. It echoed in the empty house.

Facing him with her hands on her hips, she shook back her short, blond hair. He caught a glimpse of the diamond studs she’d kept long after she’d discarded him. His gaze bounced from the small, shell-shaped ears that had once been his to nibble, to the bare walls and vacant rooms that reflected cold solitude.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said in a more controlled voice. “Whose house is this?”

“You’re right. I didn’t answer your question.”

She spun on her heel and marched down the polished hallway to the kitchen. Three dogs followed. Cursing under his breath, Sam did, too.

“Are you living with someone, Christie?” He’d meant it to be a demand, but the question hit the taut silence between them like a plea.

“No, Sam, I’m not living with anyone. I leave that kind of thing to you.”

“Well, then, why don’t you have a peephole?”

Christie tilted her head. “A peephole?”

“Yes, dammit, a peephole. For your front door. I could have been anyone out there. Would you have opened the door if I’d said Federal Express? American Express? What if I was some other Sam? Son of Sam, for chrissake!”

She half smiled. “I saw your Jeep from upstairs, Sam.”

“Liar. You were surprised to see me.”

“Sam, don’t you think I know your voice? I knew it was you, and, yes, I was surprised.”

“You were glad to see me,” he insisted. He sounded childish and he knew it. But he had to hear her admit it.

“Yes, for one brief second I was glad to see you. But since that moment has passed—”

“What about this?” Sam cut her off, waving the paper in front of her before she could ask him to leave.

“What about it? Someone broke in, I caught him, he ran away.”

“That’s not what the paper says. The paper says he assaulted you and you barely escaped alive.”

“I surprised him, Sam. We fought; I got lucky.”

“Jesus, Christie, this guy could’ve killed you.” The very thought of it weakened his voice.

“But he didn’t and now it’s over.”

She turned away from him and he noticed the dark bruise on her neck. The sight of it gnawed at his insides, amplifying his fear for her safety.

In the calmest voice possible, he asked, “What if he comes back?”

“He’s a thief. Why would he come back?”

Sam looked at the unfurnished family room behind him. She had a point. “He must’ve been good. Did he get everything?”

She tossed ice into two glasses and filled them with soda. “No.”

“No? What did he miss?”

“I never had anything for him to get,” she said with a dark scowl.

“Never. You mean he didn’t steal anything?”

“Not that I’ve discovered.” She sat down on one of the two stools that bellied up to the island counter in the center of the bright kitchen.

“Then why the hell do the cops think he was a robber?”

“Because they do. Why don’t you sit down, Sam?”

“Why?”

“Because you look like you’re ready to fall down.”

“Not funny. Why do they think he’s a robber?”

“Because he is.”

“Give me a break. What moron detective would investigate a robbery when nothing is missing?”

“He wasn’t a moron. After questioning me, robbery was the only clear motive.”

Sam took her advice and plopped down on a barstool. “Christie, that doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, not that anyone asked you. Think about it,” she continued in a matter-of-fact tone. “I just moved in. I live alone—”

Thank God.

“—and I keep a very tight schedule. He probably thought he could break in and get away before I got home. I surprised him by coming home early.”

“But why would he want to break in here? You just said you don’t have anything.”

“Well, obviously, he didn’t know that.”

“What? Was he blind?”

“No, Sam, he wasn’t blind,” she snapped. “Just stupid. The police agree with me.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re right. Christie, the cops are so busy with kid snatchers and drive-bys, they don’t have time for a case like this. They were probably happy to jump at any plausible reason to close this case. They’d have agreed if you’d told them the guy was a lost ice-cream man.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No, don’t
you
be ridiculous.”

“So what is it that you want from me, Sam? I could be right; I could be wrong. Either way, what’s it to you?”

“That’s a low blow. It’s a lot to me.”

“Let me ask you again, Sam. Why are you here?”

He looked over her shoulder, angry with her for putting him on the spot. Angry with himself for handling things in the worst possible way. As usual.

“I came to check your locks.”

“You came to see how I got this house.”

“No,” he shook his head. “That’s the excuse I used. But I came for the locks. I’ve got new ones in the Jeep.”

Christie’s mouth fell open. “You’re serious?”

He nodded.

“Then why did you barge in here like the avenging angel?”

“Because I was mad about you living here with whomever you might be living with.”

“Well, now you know. It’s just me, Barney, Snort, and Bear. Satisfied?”

“How come you don’t have furniture?”

“I’m saving for it.”

“Where were the mutts when this guy broke in?”

“At the groomers, where they go every other Monday during flea season, as you should know. Which only goes to support my theory that I was watched.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Did you quit giving golf lessons and decide to take up criminal investigation since the last time I saw you? Excuse me if I’m not into this interrogation.”

Sam suppressed a frustrated sigh and looked at the windows and sliding glass door. “You need some curtains, Christie.”

“I know,” she said. “I hung blankets last night.”

With his toe, Sam absently stroked the smallest of the trio of dogs. Bear rolled over, trusting him with the tender underside of her belly.

“Chris, I’m sorry I barged in like I did…It’s just that…. Every day you hear about some new person who got it. I’m worried about you.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“But I am.”

“Well, I don’t want you to worry, Sam. The guy was a robber. Nothing more. And now that he knows I don’t have anything—”

“That’s just it. Even an idiot would have the brains to look in a window. See nothing and move on.”

She cleared her throat and looked away, avoiding his gaze completely. “But I don’t have an alarm,” she said, as if that were explanation in itself.

Sam frowned. “So what? That’s not the only thing you don’t have.”

“He probably thought it was worth a try to come in and check.” Still avoiding eye contact with him, she gave a false-sounding laugh. “After all, next door they’re wired like a bank.”

She was lying. About what, he wasn’t sure. Wanting to pursue, but knowing better than to push her, Sam reluctantly swallowed his argument.

“Speaking of next door,” he said, “when did you start running with such a classy crowd?”

“A few weeks ago,” she answered in a resentful voice.

He waited for her to elaborate, but she fell silent, apparently contemplating the black hole of the fireplace in the adjoining family room.

“So…did you win the lottery?” he probed.

Her smile was small and insincere. “No.”

“Jackpot?”

“No.”

“The Japanese buy your company?”

“No,” she sighed. “If you have to know, my mother left it to me.”

“Your mother?”

She forced an at-ease expression that didn’t fool her dog Barney, let alone Sam. “Yes. She died.”

Sam blinked, hard. “Christie, I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”

“I didn’t tell you.”

“Why?”

She jumped up and dumped the last of her soda in the sink. Back turned to him, she answered, “I didn’t see the point to it. If that satisfies your active curiosity, Sam, I have some things to do now.” She closed the conversation with a resounding slam.

He wanted to ask how her mother had died, but her verbal slap in the face felt more like a punch in the gut and he didn’t want another. Silently, he cursed. What had he expected?

Sam finished his soda and stood up. “Will you let me fix your locks, Chris?”

“The police said my locks are just fine. The best, actually. They aren’t sure exactly how he entered, but it wasn’t by forcing my locks.”

“They don’t have any idea how he got in?”

“Probably my bedroom window. There’s a tree outside it and I must have left it unlocked by accident. The bedroom’s the place I surprised him.”

“Mind if I double-check? For my peace of mind?”

She sighed. “If you feel you have to.”

Sam, trailed by Christie and the dogs, walked from room to room, checking the windows, checking doors. He tugged at the sliding glass door and tried to lift it from its tracks, discovering in the process the safety lock that prohibited him from doing so.

Barney dashed through the doggie door in the garage and waited, smiling and playful, for Sam to exit to the backyard.

“How’s it going, boy?”

Barney chuffed, allowed with a lick that he was fine, and ran to fetch his ball. Sam played for a few minutes, watching the golden dog dash back and forth across the sweet, soft grass. Finally, admitting to himself that he was stalling, Sam went back inside.

“They’re right,” he told Christie. “The locks are all top of the line and in good shape.”

“That’s reassuring,” she answered in a cool, professional voice.

“I’d be happy to add a few more to your doors, just to be safe.”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary, Sam. But I appreciate your concern.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your clients, Christie.”

“Forgive me for being polite.”

“I don’t like leaving you here alone one little bit.”

“This is where I live, so you’ll just have to force yourself to like it.”

“Will you promise to call me at least? If you need anything?” He swallowed. “If something happens? Don’t make me read about it in the paper again.”

“Okay. If that will make you happy.”

“There you go again. I’m not booking a ticket to Atlanta, here. I’m serious. Will you call me?”

She nodded.

“Promise.”

“If anything else occurs, I will call.” She hesitated, avoiding his eyes. “But you’re worrying about something that’s not going to happen.”

Chapter Three

Throngs of people spilled from the bars on Avenue Revolucion in Tijuana as DC Porter made his way down the street. Rap music reverberated from the cavernous bars packed with half-naked girls and sweating, oversexed boys. It was barely nine o’clock at night, but most of the crowd looked ready to pass out or puke. Those who couldn’t hang with the tough would soon be replaced by fresh reinforcements spilling over the border in a nonstop stream.