You Belong To Me (28 page)

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Authors: Patricia Sargeant

BOOK: You Belong To Me
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Joyce crossed her right leg over her left knee. “Are you sure
InterDimensions
is the only thing the three of you have in common?”
“Yes.” Nicole stood to pace the room. “I didn't know anything about Ty until I accepted Celestial Productions's offer. Mal and I have been apart for four years.”
Joyce swung her right foot back and forth. “Well, they both had you in common.”
Nicole turned toward her. “What do you mean?”
“You were working with them on the project. They had you in common.”
Nicole considered that. “And I received most of the letters and phone calls. Mal only mentioned one call. And he found only one letter in Ty's desk.” She looked at Joyce. “Ty didn't mention any other letters, did he?”
“No, he didn't.”
Nicole turned away. “Me and
InterDimensions
. The common denominators.
“Don't forget the references to someone's family.”
Nicole frowned. “That's right. Now we just need to figure out how this all adds up.”
C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN
“I should get going.” Nicole turned back to Joyce. “Thanks for talking this through with me.”
Joyce stood and walked toward Nicole, pulling her deep-rose cardigan sweater closer around her. “I appreciate your help finding the person who killed Ty. I wouldn't know where to start.”
Nicole hid her anxiety behind a comforting smile. “You're not alone in this. Mal and I won't give up until we find the person responsible for Ty's death.” Her smile faded, and her gaze dropped. “The idea that my books may have played a part in this insanity horrifies me.”
Nicole bent to collect her purse from the armchair. Joyce stopped her with a hand on her arm. The expression in her dark eyes was fierce.
“It isn't your books. It's some crazy person with an evil heart. If he is referring to your stories, he's using them as an excuse. So just don't even think your books had anything to do with Ty's death.”
Joyce's fierce expression didn't mask the pain in her voice or the tears welling in her eyes.
Nicole turned toward Tyrone's fiancée and wrapped her in a hug, close and tight. “Call me if you ever need to talk. Mal and I are here for you,” she whispered.
“I know. Thanks.” Joyce's voice was thick with emotion.
Nicole stood back and picked up her purse. “I'd better get going.”
Joyce followed her. “Are you going to show the list to the detectives?”
Nicole stopped beside the front door. “Not yet. You don't think the people on the list are killers, and I can't see anyone killing for the movie rights.”
Joyce looked doubtful. “Suppose I'm wrong, though?”
Nicole pulled her purse onto her shoulder. “I don't think your instincts are wrong.”
Joyce frowned, tugging her cardigan tighter. “I just don't want to risk withholding information the detectives could use to find Ty's murderer. What if one of those people is guilty?”
Nicole reached out to touch Joyce's arm. “Then we'll get them. But if we rush forward with a theory neither of us is comfortable with, we could cause trouble for innocent people. You saw what happened when Mal's name was released in connection with Ty's death. The press is having a field day creating a scandal. I don't want to put anyone else through that.”
Joyce looked down as though weighing Nicole's words. Finally, she gave a reluctant nod. “All right. I suppose you have a point.”
Nicole squeezed Joyce's arm. “We'll find him, Joyce. We won't give up.”
“I just can't wait much longer, Nicky. I want to find the guy. Every day Ty's murderer walks free is another rip in my heart.” Joyce's voice trembled with her final words.
Tears stung Nicole's eyes. She blinked to hold them back. “I understand,” she said, hoping the words didn't sound as trite as they felt. Nicole stepped aside as Joyce unlocked the door.
“It's getting warmer.” Joyce followed her onto the porch.
Nicole smiled, hoping to lighten Joyce's mood. “You Southern Californians are spoiled by your balmy winters.”
Joyce returned her smile, though sorrow remained in her eyes. “Thanks for coming by.”
Nicole descended the stairs. “Thanks for having me.”
“Drive carefully,” Joyce called after her.
“I will.” Nicole waved but didn't turn.
At the curb, she glanced both ways, making sure traffic was clear before crossing the street. Certain there weren't any vehicles moving, she took two long strides toward her car.
“Nicky!” Joyce's scream shattered the silence.
Nicole spun in the direction of Joyce's voice. A car shot past her, a flash of silver in her peripheral vision. She jumped back, lost her footing, and teetered for a long second before falling. Her head bounced once on the concrete sidewalk. Stars flashed before her eyes in the late afternoon. Then everything went black.
 
“Mal, Joyce is on the line for you. She's frantic.” Rita's tension carried over the intercom.
Malcolm pressed the blinking light that would connect him to the caller. “Joyce, what's wrong?” he demanded, clutching the receiver.
“Mal, Nicky's at L.A. County General. I had to call an ambulance to take her there after the accident.”
Joyce's words tumbled over each other. Malcolm held his breath, hoping he'd misunderstood her. “What accident? Joyce, what's happened?”
“Oh, Mal. I don't have time to explain,” Joyce fretted. “Please just meet us at the hospital.”
Joyce disconnected the phone, leaving Malcolm frustrated and afraid. He concentrated on the frustration. Malcolm shot away from his desk. He grabbed his coat from the rack as he sprinted toward the door.
“I'm leaving for the day,” he called to Rita. “Nicky's in the hospital. I'll call as soon as I know more.”
Malcolm opted to run down the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. He was too anxious to stand still even for a moment.
What felt like an eternity passed before he burst into the hospital. He paused, uncertain of where to go. Luckily, Joyce was waiting for him. The scene was too reminiscent of the night Tyrone had died. Malcolm struggled to pull himself together. History wasn't repeating itself, he mentally chanted.
“What's happened?” he demanded as Joyce rushed toward him.
“Nicky came to visit me,” Joyce explained, breathing as though she'd just sprinted up a long staircase. “As she was crossing the street to get to her car, another car pulled away from the curb and sped toward her. It looked as though the driver wanted to hit her.”
Malcolm felt the blood drain from his face. “Did he?”
“No, no.” Joyce shook her head, sending her curls flying around her tear-streaked face. “I screamed her name, and she turned around. That's when she fell. She hit her head on the sidewalk, but the car didn't touch her.”
Malcolm cupped Joyce's arm, leading her away from the hectic hospital activity. “Is she going to be okay?”
Joyce looked over her shoulder as though searching for a hospital official she recognized. “They're checking her now. I was afraid to move her myself, so I called the ambulance.”
Malcolm scrubbed the back of his neck. “Thank you.” He looked up and captured Joyce's gaze. “I'm glad you were there for her.”
“So am I.”
Joyce returned his look. Malcolm knew they were both thinking of Tyrone.
Joyce squared her shoulders. “I called Detective Miller. I think we need to report this. The driver's behavior was just too suspicious.”
“He deliberately aimed his car at Nicky?”
“Yes. I'm certain of it. I couldn't believe it.” Joyce's voice rose several notches.
“All right. We'll tell them.” Malcolm looked up as a nurse approached them.
“Ms. Allen?” the nurse asked.
Joyce turned around. “Yes.”
“Ms. Collins is asking for you.” The nurse glanced toward Malcolm. “You can go, too, if you'd like. She's in room 812. The elevators are down the hall on your left.”
“How is she?” Malcolm asked.
“She has a concussion and a few scratches. Her right arm was bruised in the fall. She's lucky she didn't break it. We're going to keep her overnight to monitor the concussion, then examine her again in the morning.” With a nod, the nurse disappeared into the crowd of bodies farther down the hall.
Malcolm and Joyce rode the elevator to the eighth floor. As they entered Nicole's room, Malcolm saw a nurse fussing around her bed. Nicole lay very still, studying the woman's movements through slitted eyes. She turned her pain-narrowed gaze toward them without moving her head.
“Hi. How are you feeling?” Malcolm spoke quietly as he approached her bed.
“Like I was almost hit by a car,” Nicole responded in a soft, tired voice.
His eyes found thin, light scratches below her right temple and a bruise on her right cheekbone. His gaze traveled to her arms, which lay on top of the crisp white sheet. There were several shallow scratches on the back of her right hand and a fist-sized bruise on her right arm.
Rage pooled hot in Malcolm's chest like lava rising in a volcano. Someone had hurt the woman he loved. He wanted to find that person and bounce
him
against a sidewalk. Then he looked at Nicole, lying eerily still and looking heart-achingly vulnerable in the sterile hospital bed. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to take her out of the stalker's equation so he could find Tyrone's killer and make their movie without jeopardizing her safety. Surely after this experience, she'd reconsider returning to New York.
Nicole shifted her attention from him to Joyce. “Thank you for calling to me. You saved my life.”
“You're welcome,” Joyce whispered. “How are you really?”
“Okay. Just a headache. Soreness.”
Nicole spoke in breathless, chopped sentences. Malcolm knew it was a result of the headache.
“I'll get you something for the pain,” the nurse interjected.
“New head?” Nicole responded with a weak attempt at humor.
The nurse smiled. “I'll see what I can do.”
“Maybe return without your instruments of torture.” Nicole closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
The nurse quirked a brow and smiled at Nicole before leaving the room.
“Nicky!” Joyce struggled to smother her laughter.
Nicole opened her eyes and squinted at Joyce. “The nurse is nice. Just doing her job. But if she pokes me once more, I won't be responsible for reflexive actions.”
Malcolm forced a chuckle. “I see you still get cranky when you're in pain.”
Nicole's narrowed gaze slid to him. “You're no barrel of laughs when hurt, either.” She carefully raised her left hand to massage her temple. “I'm a little cold. Could you pull the blanket over me?”
“Sure.” Malcolm moved to the foot of her bed, grateful for something to do. He pulled the blanket up and adjusted it to cover her. He moved to the bed's other side, intent on pulling the blanket over her right arm.
“Arms above blanket. Don't want to feel like a mummy,” Nicole joked.
“Okay.” But when he started to lift her arm, he noticed Nicole's grimace and cautiously laid it back down.
“No, I'm okay,” Nicole gasped. “Little stiff.”
Malcolm lifted her arm, avoiding her bruises and scratches. He was moving to the bed's left side to repeat the procedure with her other arm when he heard footsteps approaching the bed.
“Excuse us, Ms. Collins.”
Malcolm looked up to see Detectives Miller and Fairway.
 
“Afternoon, detectives,” Nicole greeted in her pain-modulated voice. “How did you know I was here?”
Miller flicked a glance toward Joyce. “Ms. Allen called us.”
Nicole looked at the other woman. Joyce moved to stand on the other side of the bed beside Malcolm. “I think we should tell them what happened. That driver meant to hit you.”
“So, what happened?” Fairway pulled a notebook from his pocket.
Joyce described the afternoon's events. Nicole was grateful she didn't mention the list of independent producers, although she wasn't comfortable keeping secrets from the detectives. She would discuss the list, as well as her theory and concerns, with Malcolm later.
“Can you ladies describe the car?” Miller asked.
“Didn't see it.” Nicole spoke carefully. Every syllable caused her pain. “Just a silver blur. In my peripheral vision.”
“It was a silver Beemer,” Joyce said.
Nicole turned her head toward Joyce, signaling the percussion section in concert in her head. “A silver BMW?” she asked, her voice breathless from the renewed pain.
“Yes. It was a four-year-old model.” Joyce gave them an apologetic smile. “I'm really into cars.”
Nicole groaned soundlessly. She couldn't believe this was happening. First, the silver BMW at the jogging trail and now a silver BMW outside of Joyce's house when she's visiting the other woman. That couldn't be a coincidence. She started to shiver.
“Do you want me to get you another blanket?” Malcolm whispered to her.
“No. Thanks,” she murmured.
The nurse returned with a packet of Tylenol tablets.
“Thank you,” Nicole whispered, almost in tears from the pain. Malcolm propped her up so she could put the pills in her mouth and swallow them with the water the nurse handed her.

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