You Can't Hide (9 page)

“Before I left today, I asked Records to run the list of offenders she’s testified against. I should have it tomorrow morning.”

She drew a breath. “Thank you.”

“And I’l ask Murphy about the… nutcase that tried to hurt her.”

33

Karen Rose

[Suspense 5]

You Can't Hide

“Who succeeded,” she said quietly. “Check Tess out, Aidan. You’l find you’re wrong about her.” “I hope so, Kristen. But either way, I’m going to do my job.”

She lifted a brow. “I’m counting on it.”

Sunday, March 12, 8:30 P.M.

Ciccotelli was home now, safe and sound. Clearly visible through her window. With binoculars of course. Such an important tool of the trade. Never leave home without them. People would notice a gun or a knife, but no one questioned a person walking the street with binoculars around the neck and, if anyone asked, it was simple enough to claim a fascination with birds.

As if. Annoying little chirping creatures. Except for the birds of prey that silently watched from the skies, swooping down on unsuspecting marks, talons ready to tear into flesh like paper. Birds of prey were creatures to be admired. And emulated.

The unsuspecting mark was sitting at her dining room table, working on her laptop, headphones covering her ears. Occasionally looking up to stare out the window that put Chicago at her feet. It was an interesting fact, truly. Given a high enough window most people never considered that as they looked out, someone else could just as easily be looking in. And really it was so very easy. And at the moment, boring.

She wasn’t in jail. And while disappointing, it was to be expected. Enough people still thought enough of Dr. Tess Ciccotelli to defend her against what appeared to be ludicrous charges. Where was motive? they would ask. An upstanding psychiatrist, awarded citation after citation… A chuckle broke the silence. By this time tomorrow, the police would have their motive and the number of her staunch defenders would soon dwindle.

But just in case, there should be more. There would be more. One touch of the speed dial had Nicole’s phone ringing and like the smart girl she was, she answered on the very first ring.

“What?” her voice was raw and hoarse.

“What the hell have you done to your voice?” It was expected that an actress would take better care of her voice, but it sounded as though Nicole had been crying. She was a weak woman. She’d need to be watched closely. Perhaps another visit to Nicole’s little brother was required to ensure her continued compliance. “You better still be able to perform.”

Nicole cleared her throat. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“You’d better hope so. I’ve invested a great deal of time and money on your voice, Nicole. Please don’t forget that your brother’s health depends on you and you alone.”

“What do you want?” Nicole asked, her words sounding as if they were being yanked from between clenched teeth.

“Be at the corner of Michigan and Eighth by eleven. Bring the wig.”

There was a beat of silence, then the sound of Nicole’s voice, choked and afraid. “You said it would be a few days.”

“I changed my mind. Eleven, Nicole.”
We’re going to pay a visit, you and I. To Mr. Avery
Winslow.
Winslow’s face with its sad, basset-hound droop stared up from the photograph lying on top of the pile. Little Avery Junior’s face was next in the stack. Poor Mr. Winslow, losing his infant son like that. That a father would feel guilty was utterly understandable. That he would seek the help of a psychiatrist, rational. That his psychiatrist was Tess Ciccotelli, his doom. Avery Winslow had been on the juice for three weeks now. His apartment was prepped. It was time for Act Two.

Poor Mr. Winslow. It really was nothing personal. Not against him, anyway. But Ciccotelli…

she was different.
She
was personal.

Soon enough, she’d be dead. But she’d suffer a great deal first.

34

Karen Rose

[Suspense 5]

You Can't Hide

Sunday, March 12, 11:30 P.M.

Too late. Too late. I’m too late.
The refrain ran through Tess’s mind again and again as she pushed her way through the crowd. She couldn’t see. Couldn’t see past all the men. Tall men. Dark hair. Al so angry.

Angry with me.
She pushed past the last man and stopped. At her feet lay Cynthia Adams. Dead.
Too late.
One of the men stooped down and scooped Cynthia’s heart from her broken body and held it out, stil pumping in his hand.

“Take it,” he commanded, his blue eyes glowing in the night.

“No, no.” She stepped back. The heart still quivered, blood dripped between his fingers to fal on Cynthia’s pale face. And as the blood made little drips on Cynthia’s face, her eyes popped open and stared. Dead and empty.

She spun around, a scream trapped in her throat. And froze where she stood. Police.
Coming
for me
. Uniforms as far as her eye could see. Accusing eyes.
Run. Wake up. Dammit, wake up and
run.
“Tess. Dammit, Tess, wake up.”

She could hear a scream, shrill and terrified. Realized it came from her own throat. Tess whipped her head up from the dining room table, her eyes wide, her vision still blurry. She blinked hard and a face came into focus. Familiar. Brown eyes, sandy hair cut short. Fingers pul ing the headphones from her ears. Strong hands on her face. Live and warm.
Jon.
Jon was here. She was all right. They wouldn’t get her. Not today. Her pulse still raced to beat all hell, but she could breathe again. “God, Jon.”

Jon Carter held her face between his surgeon’s hands, his capable fingers cradling her skul , his thumbs stroking her cheekbones, waiting till she got hold of herself. Tess gave him a shaky nod and settled back into her chair. He grabbed another chair and straddled it, watching her carefully.

“I’m all right. It was just a bad dream.”

“Uh-huh.” He slipped his fingertips to her carotid, held them there as he counted.

“I said I’m al right.” She pushed her hair away from her face. “Just a bad dream.”

“You were screaming so loud I could hear you in the hall. Scared the shit out of me, Tess. Good thing I had a key. I might have called the cops otherwise.” He shuddered. “Sounded like you were being disemboweled in here.”

She jerked back, the heart dream still vivid in her mind. “That’s not funny, Jon.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” His sandy brows knit in concerned confusion. “That must have been some dream. What happened?”

Tess stood, pissed when her knees felt like rubber. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“I was worried about you. You called Amy away from lunch and never let me know you were all right. I tried calling al afternoon, but you didn’t answer so I came by after I finished my shift.”

“I turned the ringer off so I could sleep.”

“You’re not sleeping,” he pointed out.

She’d tried, several times. The damn dream kept waking her up. To her knowledge she hadn’t screamed before, though. “Actually, I was just now.”

“Uh-huh. At the table, your face in your laptop keyboard. I’m certain drool is not good for all the electrical thingies in there. What’s going on here, Tess?”

His eyes fol owed her as she took one experimental step toward the kitchen, then another.

“Didn’t Amy tell you anything?”

“Nope. All she would say is that you were stranded so she went to get you and took you home and tucked you into bed. I take it there’s a bit more to it than that.”

“Ah. Attorney-client privilege. So she
can
keep a secret. Good to know.” Tess made it to the refrigerator and held on to the door, still shaky. “I’m going to have a glass of wine. You want one?”

35

Karen Rose

[Suspense 5]

You Can't Hide

He’d fol owed her and now stood in the kitchen archway, frowning. “No. What are you talking about, attorney-client privilege? Amy said your car broke down.”

“Amy was being discreet as I have retained her for her services.” Tess found the corkscrew, grateful for something to keep her trembling hands occupied. “I appear to be a suspect.”

His frown deepened. “Like, in a crime?”

Tess huffed a nervous laugh as she pul ed the cork from the bottle. “Like, in a dil y of a crime, Jon. Pour this, will you? My hands still aren’t steady.” He poured the glass, which she drained in three noisy gulps. “More.”

Silently he obeyed and she took the glass back to the dining room table and sank back down into her chair. “One of my clients committed suicide last night.”

“This was the call you got last night? The one you needed me to go with you?”

She fluttered her hand. “Yeah, but this would have happened regardless, so don’t feel guilty. Have a seat, my dear. I’l tell you a story.”

He sat and she told him everything, down to Reagan’s accusing blue eyes and the young reporter by the police station door.

For a long moment he said absolutely nothing. Then he snorted. “That’s insane.”

Tess laughed. “I suppose that’s as good a word as any.” She pushed her glass so that it clinked against the bottle he’d set on the table. “More. Please.”

He poured what would be her fourth glass. “Did they charge you?”

“Not yet. You should stick ’round town. I might need you as a character witness.”

He scowled. “That’s not funny, Tess.”

She tilted her head. “It wasn’t meant to be. I’m in some serious trouble here.” She gestured to the stack of cassette tapes next to her boombox. “And not a clue in any of those. Nobody specific Cynthia mentioned in any of our sessions. Not in five hours of tape. I transcribed every spoken word.”

Jon drew a breath, contemplating. “What next?”

Tess shrugged. “First I have to finish this wine. Then I have to sleep. Really sleep. I’m hoping enough wine will knock me out so that I don’t have that damn dream again. Tomorrow I take these transcripts in to Reagan. Then, if he hasn’t found something to arrest me over during the night, I go to the hospital and do my rounds.” She shrugged again. “After that, it’s anybody’s guess.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

She tipped up one corner of her mouth and tapped the nearly empty bottle with her fingernail, feeling just woozy enough to be pleasant. “I already did. Four glasses.”

“Tess.” Jon shot her a warning glare. “I meant do you think it’s wise to voluntarily give the detective this information. He could have been one of the ones to get your contract yanked.”

“He might have been. Probably was. Still, he and Murphy are my only chance to get this resolved, right now. If they fuck it up, I’l take it higher. Spinnelli still likes me. For now, I’ll cooperate with the detectives.” She leaned her head on the chair back and closed her eyes. “Jon, somebody killed Cynthia Adams, just as sure as if he’d pushed her off the balcony himself. If I can help Reagan figure out who, I can make this go away and get my life back.” She struggled to her feet, grateful this time for his guiding hands. “Now, I need some sleep.” Leaning heavily on his shoulder, she made her way back to her bedroom.

She chuckled when he pushed her to bed and pul ed off her socks. She leaned back on her elbows and grinned up at him. He was a handsome man and she’d heard more than one whispered conjecture regarding the skill of his hands outside of surgery. But they were just friends, she and Jon. Not a spark of chemistry between them. After Amy, he was her closest friend, and monogamously attached, to boot. Still, she couldn’t resist the temptation to tease. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a man in my bedroom, Jon. Sure you don’t want to stay?”

He smiled down at her. “It’s an intriguing offer, Tess. But what would Robin say?”

She closed her eyes. “Not to worry. You’re safe from my evil clutches.” She chuckled again, her senses warmed and dul ed just enough to be comfortable. “Tell Robin I kept my hands to

36

Karen Rose

[Suspense 5]

You Can't Hide

myself.” She snuggled into the pillow, sighing when his hand pushed the hair from her face. Started to drift. “Fell asleep all alone. Again.”

Jon’s hand hesitated. “Tess.”

She opened one eye. His expression was pained and in turn sent an unexpected wave of longing crashing into her heart. It was the wine, she told herself.
Because I’m over that cheating
sonofabitch.
She’d slept alone in this bed without Phillip Parks for more than a year. She didn’t miss him. He could fry in hell for all she cared. But she did miss… having someone, she supposed. She gave herself a little shake that sent the bed floating. There would be plenty of time for selfanalysis tomorrow.
Especially if Reagan actually manages to arrest me.
“I’m fine, Jon. Go home to Robin. Just lock the door and don’t let Bella out.” As if she’d heard her name, Tess’s tortoiseshell cat sprang onto the bed and curled up on her pillow next to her face, purring loudly.

“Call me tomorrow, Tess.”

Sleep was coming. Final y. Merciful y. “Okay.”

Chapter 5

Monday, March 13, 7:40 A.M.

Daniel Morris, age six years, two months. Cause of death, asphyxiation. Fibers found in the lungs, consistent with a foam pillow.”
Shit.

Aidan threw the ME’s report on his desk, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat. The bastard father had suffocated that baby with a pillow, then broken his neck and tossed him down a flight of stairs to cover up his crime. Aidan gritted his teeth. And that little boy’s mother had gone along with the story. Somehow that made it even worse. He closed his eyes, drew a breath through his nose.
Calm down. You won’t get justice for that boy if you lose your head.
He could hear Murphy’s voice in his mind, soothing and steady, just as he’d been when they’d stood shoulder to shoulder and watched the ME tech zip that little body into a bag Friday evening.
Damn.
He swallowed hard, pursed his lips. Cursed the stinging of his eyes.
Think about
something else. Anything else.
Cynthia Adams and Tess Ciccotelli. Today he’d keep his promise to Kristen. Focus on Adams herself, on finding out who would have wanted her dead. He’d visit the brokerage house where she worked, find out who she hung with. He winced. Very bad choice of words. He would fol ow up on the lilies. Surely someone buying that many flowers would be remembered, and-“Detective?”