You Don't Know Me (24 page)

Adulthood was less interesting. Too many women who were too willing. No challenge there. Nothing shocking. Nothing to get the old blood pumping, the penis hard and throbbing.

That was the real problem, Lambert reflected sourly. His sorry cock just didn’t like those eager females with one hand down the front of his pants and another stealing his wallet. He’d had to go in search of tougher fare, and unfortunately, was still paying off that blue-collar jackass who’d caused such a stink in San Diego.

Sweet little Jenny with the red, red lips had been asking for it. Licking that ice cream cone in her polka dot dress, her skinny legs sticking out. Little white socks and shoes. Okay, maybe she was a little young, but she’d been more than willing to take off her clothes for a fiver. Jenny wasn’t complaining, nosirree, it was her dad, breathing fire and saying nasty things about calling the police. It had taken more than Jenny’s fiver to set matters straight, but in the end it had all worked out.

He’d been damn near bored stiff when he’d happened upon Lina. The last few years had been bliss. No problems at all. Until he looked at Lina one day and didn’t like the way her teeth crossed. And her fingers were so stubby.

So he’d gone in search of more stylish fare. He absolutely detested Carolyn Lenton. Avaricious, unprincipled, and loud, he’d first refused her invitation to decadence in Houston. He wanted something closer to home. But then Carolyn let it slip that Denise Scott was one of her guests, and Lambert had always had a hard-on over her.

Lambert had been on the first flight out. More sweet incentive. Denise belonged to John Callahan and Lambert knew enough about that bastard to want to give his ex-wife a ride. Callahan was one of those holier-than-thou assholes who looked down on the rest of the world, especially if those others might have some extra money. Not that Callahan hadn’t been born with a silver spoon wedged firmly down his throat. Sampson Callahan had provided plenty for his cool, independent son.

So who was he to act as if he were better? It infuriated Lambert the way women reacted to the man, too. Callahan’s reputation as a womanizer should have turned them off—women loved to play those kind of “you can’t catch me” games—but instead it attracted them like free money.

But Denise Scott had slipped the leash. She was no longer John Callahan’s private pet. And Lambert Wallace couldn’t wait to give her what she had coming.

It had been so easy. All it took was one moronic jerk-off named Peter, and Denise was putty in Lambert’s hands. She wanted out. He was her ticket. They left together and the rest was history.

Unlike Lina, however, Denise had some kick to her. He didn’t trust her. She was too unstable and remarkably sharp of tongue when she wasn’t high. Resorting to drugs annoyed Lambert; he’d rather have her clear-headed. But she was too unpredictable, and this annoying habit of picking up the telephone had to stop. He might have to cut off the landline.

She’d actually called Callahan today.

A shiver of excitement ran through him, remembering the sound of Callahan’s furious voice. Maybe he should take a video of him and Denise screwing away and send Callahan a copy.

The idea had merit, except Lambert knew better than to involve himself. A pity. He would love to cripple John Shithead Callahan.

Maybe he’d go give Denise another taste of the old Wallace charm. He’d kinda lost interest lately, but if he imagined Callahan watching . . .

He heard Lina’s heavy footsteps around the corner. Swirling his brandy, Lambert listened to her movements. She was going into the dining room.

He was glad he’d thumped Denise with the phone. But that hazy look in her eyes, that disinterest—
that
really pissed him off. He wanted to see some fear, some real emotion. Maybe he’d take her off the drugs and get into a real, rambunctious winner-take-all-fight! She was strong though; he wouldn’t get away unblemished.

Was it worth it?

Lambert smelled the lemony scent of the oil Lina rubbed into the table. Sliding off the stool, he went to stand in the doorway, watching her as she methodically rubbed and rubbed until the patina was sleek and glossy.

She was aware he was there; he caught the slight, telltale tightening of her body though she tried to hide it. He’d left her alone since Denise’s arrival, but right now, his eyes following her every move; he was pleasantly horny.

He’d go after Denise in a minute, but for now, well . . .

Lina wore black slacks and a black blouse. Her breasts were nice and big without being that terrible cowlike shape some men went nuts over. Lambert was a connoisseur. He liked them big, but not monstrous sacks. Her hips were a bit too wide but that made them nice and squishy when he grabbed.

He moved in closer. She stopped rubbing. He could hear her breath catch.

“Keep going,” he urged.

After a moment’s hesitation, she returned to her work. Leaning over her, he grabbed one of those big tits and squeezed. She kept right on rubbing and rubbing.

Moving behind her, he started doing a little rubbing of his own. Closing his eyes, he smiled as he reached around for the zipper of her pants. Good old Lina.

“You like that?” he whispered in her ear, fumbling for his own pants.

She didn’t answer. Quiet. Obedient. Lina, the good.

Priming him for Denise.

Perfect.

 

Parked outside Hayley’s apartment, Connor dug inside his pocket for the cellophane-wrapped mint he’d received with his fortune cookie at Wu’s, the Chinese restaurant where he’d eaten lunch. Munching on the mint, he considered his options. He could contact Denise again. He
should
contact her, if for no other reason than to assure himself that she was still hanging on. He would love to counsel her into leaving Wallace—and maybe he would—even though he was pretty sure it would be a waste of energy.

There was also another avenue: Dr. Hayden Stone. Though Carolyn Lenton had explained Dr. Stone was no longer Denise’s shrink, it wasn’t impossible that Denise had followed after him. Even if she hadn’t, Dr. Stone probably knew more about her inner workings than anyone else, and though Connor was perfectly cognizant of the “confidentiality” code between patient and doctor, there were ways to learn things without forcing an actual confession. Some doctors, in fact, could scarcely contain themselves. In Connor’s biased opinion, shrinks were a bunch of old gossips who just loved to hear the dirt first.

So that was next on his list. For now, he wanted to connect with Hayley again. She was so focused, so cold and driven in her wants. But she wasn’t armored with a guard like Lambert Wallace, and since Denise hadn’t followed through with Dinah’s address, Hayley was his best bet.

Swallowing the last bit of the mint, Connor settled back in the seat. Evening shadows cast by the ragged-looking palm tree outside Hayley’s apartment complex striped the hood of his car. Momentarily, he thought about chucking the whole thing and moving to Wagon Wheel. Like his sister, he recognized this search for truth was going to hurt more than help. But damn it, he wanted to
know.

A dilapidated vintage Chevrolet backfired into the parking lot and Hayley Scott climbed out. Connor watched her slim legs climb the exterior stairs to her apartment. There was something “lost little girl” about her that struck him. Denise was openly wild, mired in emotional turbulence, but Hayley possessed a more sedate, though similar, quality.

He wondered what Dinah would be like.

Climbing from his car, he followed her at a more leisurely pace, losing sight of her before he reached the bottom step. Hayley Scott moved at double-speed, fueled by determination.

At her door, he rapped loudly, faintly amused at the sound of her bird-quick steps. She opened the door to the length of the chain and peered out.

“Well, hello,” she said, frowning. “Just in the neighborhood, or are you planning to grill me some more?”

“Maybe a little of both.”

“Your honesty’s your worst quality,” she told him, unlatching the chain.

“No more streetwalking?”

“No.” Pure finality. Discussion closed. “I’m just waiting for the boss man to watch my audition,” she revealed, opening the door to him. As Connor entered the apartment, she glanced in disgust at the small pile of DVDs dumped unceremoniously on the couch. “I took one to him today but things didn’t turn out the way I expected.”

“He didn’t like it?”

“He never saw it.” She glanced his way. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ve got time.”

Hayley shrugged. “So do I. I was late for work, and my old buddy, Jason, fired me.”

For some reason, that struck Connor as funny. He grinned, surprised at how long it had been since he remembered smiling.

“What’s with you?” Hayley asked suspiciously.

“Come on, I’ll take you to dinner.”

“Who’s buying?”

“I am.”

“Will you save the psychoanalysis of me and my family until after I eat?”

He lifted three fingers in the traditional Boy Scout’s honor.

Heaving a sigh, she capitulated, “All right. But only ’cause I’m broke and starving.”

“I won’t let it go to my head.”

“I mean it. There’s nothing else,” she said fiercely.

“Duly noted.”

For that he earned a hard glare that oddly made him feel like grinning again.

 

 

Scraping up the last forkful of chocolate-almond mousse, Hayley leaned back in the seat with a sigh of contentment. Connor fiddled with his water glass, smearing rings of condensation across the glossy black tabletop of the Immediate Gratification Café.

“Maybe I’ll get a job here,” Hayley said, stretching her arms above her head. “This would be a good place to be fired from.”

“What happens if your acting dream doesn’t materialize?”

“Oh, it will. I’ll make it happen.”

He didn’t know whether to be impressed or alarmed at her single-sightedness. “You ready to talk?”

“I don’t have anything else I can tell you, but fire away.”

“Let’s go for a walk.”

They headed outside into crowded streets. The café was located across from a trendy strip mall and Hayley, though she’d struck out with Callahan and lost her job at Stanbury’s, felt positively lighthearted.

She knew what it was—stupid though it might be. Connor Jackley. Being in the company of a man whom she could trust was a totally new experience for Hayley. All he wanted was information. And though it was information she wasn’t prepared to give, it was nice to know where she stood. No grabbing hands, dirty thoughts, wicked suggestions. The man was Mr. Clean with dark hair and good looks—a potent combination if you were the kind of woman who cared—which she, of course, wasn’t.

“So when are you going to start with the third degree again, Jack?”

He shrugged. “I’d like to talk to your sister when she’s not under Lambert Wallace’s influence.”

“Oh, Denise split with him already.”

“She did?” Connor was surprised.

“Yup. Her ex was waiting for her at their house in Malibu. He told me he’d have her call me.”

He looked unconvinced.

“Well, I suppose she could be leading some kind of double life, which, knowing Denise, is a distinct possibility. But Mr. Callahan acted like she’d been there awhile.”

“What about your other sister?”

“Dinah?” Hayley shrugged. “Dinah takes care of things. You don’t have to worry about her.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t have a clue.”

“Denise promised to get me in touch with her, but
nada
so far. I thought you could help.”

“Sorry.”

He shrugged, as if he didn’t quite believe her. Oh, sure, she could tell him Dinah was somewhere in New Mexico, writing for some paper, but then he’d just contact her and stir up this hornet’s nest even worse.

Better to leave Dinah out of it.

“Tell me about her,” he said.

“Dinah?”

They stopped by his car. Connor opened the door, offering her a hand of assistance. Hayley stared at it a moment, shivered slightly, then got in her seat unaided. While he climbed in the other side, she stared out the window.

“I hate thinking back,” she admitted cautiously.

“Because of Daniels?”

“Well . . . yeah.” She grimaced. “He made us all so uncomfortable. Particularly Denise. She had this boyfriend and I think the old man was jealous. He yelled at her a lot. She would run off to be with Jimmy and when she’d come back he’d yell and yell and yell!” She shuddered, managing a faint smile. “You get the picture.”

“What about Dinah?”

“Dinah was cool.” Hayley forced herself to talk. It would be safer if she gave him the history. Much safer coming from her than Dinah or Denise. “Dinah’s the smart one. Just a few well-placed words and he’d get furious! I used to envy her so much. He hated her.”

“Your stepfather,” he clarified.

Hayley nodded. “And then that would get Denise going. She’d start in with the sarcasm and he’d bellow and rant and rave. It was kind of funny really.” Digging through her purse, she searched doggedly for a mint. Where were the damn things anyway? “Damn it!” she muttered, slamming the purse on the floor.

“What about you?”

“What about me, Dr. Freud?” she demanded. “I just wanted it all to stop, okay? And eventually it did.”

“What stopped it?”

“We left. We just packed up and got the hell outta Dodge. Dinah insisted I take my high school equivalency and that’s the end of that story.”

“You all left together.”

“We split up pretty fast. Dinah had places to go and she connected with Glen Bosworth.” She made a face of disgust. “And Denise met a guy who was an actor and then she got a part and things happened for her.”

Connor’s gray eyes held hers. She didn’t like what she read in them. It made her feel funny inside. Scared. “What about you?” he asked softly.

“I’ve bummed around taking acting classes and waiting for lightning to strike twice. It struck my sister, I figured it could strike me, too.”

He didn’t respond immediately and Hayley began to feel defensive. “Look, I didn’t know he was dead, okay, but believe me, it’s no big loss to the world. He was scum.”

“Someone murdered him. The investigation isn’t going to go away.”

“Well, why the hell not?” Hayley demanded. “Can’t
somebody
find something more constructive to do than churn up all this crap!” She exhaled in frustration, raking back her hair. She felt itchy and anxious inside, ready to push away from a subject too hot to handle and get back on track with the things that mattered in her life. But Connor Jackley clearly wasn’t interested in the Hayley Scott of today. She could prattle on for hours about her hopes and dreams, if he cared to listen, but no, no. All he cared about was the past. Her past. And part of her detested him for it.

“Whoever killed my stepfather probably just couldn’t take it anymore. He had a way of turning everything to shit. Denise called it ‘The Sadim Touch’—backward for Midas. I just steered clear of him.”

“Did he abuse you?”

“No.” The answer came swiftly. “But not for lack of trying,” she admitted after a moment.

“What about your sisters?”

“Denise hung out with her boyfriend. Dinah stayed at school. I just stayed away.”

Connor pulled the car up to her apartment complex and killed the ignition. Twisting so he could get a better look at her, he placed one arm along the back of the seat. Inside, Hayley shrank away, though she didn’t physically move.

“There’s been talk that Denise was pregnant when she left Wagon Wheel. Jimmy Fargo, currently of Seattle, said she had an abortion.”

Hayley ground her teeth together. Reluctantly she pushed out the truth. “She lost the baby.”

“Miscarriage?” he asked.

“What does it matter?” she demanded.

“I think Daniels abused her. I don’t know about you and Dinah, but I believe Denise was physically, possibly sexually, abused. If he found out she was pregnant, what would he do? Beat her? Slap her around?”

Hayley flinched at every word. Connor watched, his expression stone, but inside his heart ached for her. Emotions flitted across her face. Emotions she denied, but they were there. Deep under the surface. Only available when he mined them with the picks and shovels of brutal truth.

“I want you to go away and never come back.”

“Will you give me Dinah’s address?”

“No.”

“I can get it from Denise. It’ll just take a little more time.”

“I don’t care what you do.”

“Are you protecting her?”

“I thought I liked you,” Hayley said icily. “I was wrong.” A moment passed. “You’re not going to go away, are you?”

“I can’t.”

 

 

Connor’s appetite for answers was whetted. He was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery, at any price, though he knew that price would be heavy.

Glancing over at Hayley, he felt a moment of deep regret. In profile, her resemblance to Denise was uncanny. What would Dinah be like? The sister he still hadn’t met.

“Good night, Jack.” Hayley looked at him quickly as she climbed from the car. “Glad to see the scratches have gone down. It’s been . . . interesting, but our association is at an end.”

She walked away, less determined than before, less sure. A different Hayley was emerging. Courtesy of his constant badgering?

He wished he knew if he were helping or hindering, but it really wouldn’t matter anyway. He wanted the truth. He’d determined that much, if nothing else.

 

 

The newsroom hadn’t changed one iota since she’d left. The same zigzag of partitions, the same clutter, the same noise. Dinah stood in the doorway, oddly removed, and wondered if Kate Patton had taken over her desk as well as her column.

She strode to Flick’s office, a glass-enclosed adjunct stuck in the corner. But Flick wasn’t there, nor was he on the private balcony though a half-eaten cigar still smoldering in the outside trash can said he wasn’t far away.

She let herself onto the balcony and settled into one of the chairs near the odiferous, smoking trash can. She felt tired all over, her thoughts so uncomfortable they physically hurt. Her own stupidity had landed her in this predicament, and Dinah Scott was not stupid.

At least not normally.

Groaning, she rubbed her face and tried to forget images of John Callahan. Yet every breath she took reminded her of his scent. It seemed to have permeated her own flesh, and though she loathed to admit it, she was well on the way to falling in love with the bastard.

Only, he wasn’t a bastard. She, Dinah Scott, would not fall in love with someone as self-centered, despicable, and cold as John Callahan had been purported to be. She should have known better than to listen to Denise. When had her sister ever been right about anything?

“Oh, hell,” she murmured, as Flick appeared inside the office and then herded his considerable bulk outside.

He didn’t so much as bat an eyelash at the sight of his errant reporter. “What do you want?” he growled around another smelly cigar as he squeezed into the chair next to Dinah’s. A shriek rose from the cushions—a last death throe? Apparently not, because the chair held, at least for the moment.