a Touch of Ice (13 page)

I could barely see the edge of Violet’s shirt, make that Adam’s shirt, as she leaned against the door jamb. “So, a house call. How very doctorly of you, Pierce.” Her voice a statement, steady, without inflection.

“A. J.” Ah, now that deep rumble of a voice I immediately recognized and associated with vivid blue eyes. Irish eyes. But A.J.? Who the hell…

“Why did you dust off your MD?” Mild curiosity on Violet’s part.

“Good cover. Flexible hours. I’m in and out. It’s efficient. Easy access to patient records—seems to be some gunshot wounds going around lately. Besides, my patients love me.”

I could hear the grin in his voice, and a burning need to see what was going on had my feet sliding along the bamboo floor. Stealthy. Silent.

The scrape of a chair had me jerking back, my breathing suddenly ragged.

“I’ll give you what I’ve got but it isn’t much.” She sounded resigned. Fabric rustled. Guess Violet must have sat down. I really wanted to see and inched forward another step.

“El and I have been here for six years. You know about her touch thing?”

“Yeah. Through Adam. He thinks she’s accurate on most counts. I’ve been in this business long enough, and I’m Irish enough to believe it. Go on.”

Huh. My touch thing didn’t seem to faze him. Good to know.

“She touched Mitch at the beach, saw Tony Civitelli’s body, and has a new mission in life to find the killer. I’ve been trying to herd cats as best I can without breaking my cover and getting killed. I’m sure you know more about this than I do. What I don’t understand is why Delano West is here. Tony wasn’t worth his time. West is only into big bucks and financing terrorism.”

What? West? Who the hell was West? Another name I was positive I should know. It is
so
inconvenient to hit your head. The hall did a bit of spin and I dug my fingers against the wall to stay upright. Now was not the time to be dizzy. Not when my curiosity was determined to hear his response. Oh, yeah. I wanted to hear what the man had to say. Craved it with every fiber of my being.

“You’re sure he’s not after you?”

Whoa. After Violet?

“No. He’s unpredictable. But I don’t see how or why I’d suddenly hit his radar after six years. I keep a low profile. I’m out of the business. Didn’t intend to ever pick up a sniper rifle again until West showed up when I ran that plate.”

Sniper? Rifle?
I smashed my lips together and plastered my body to the wall. It’d be a seriously bad time to shriek or pass out. What the hell was going on? Terrorism? Her cover? Talk about a lot of crazy, disjointed information. And that name. Delano West. It kept nagging at the back of my mind.

“I noticed your AW Covert is packed, but clean and ready to use.” Smug. The good doctor sounded just this side of obnoxious.

Violet sucked in a breath deep enough to be audible and then let it out with a whoosh. “I know you, Pierce. You’re good at your job, very good. Possibly the best since I retired.”

What? Even though I couldn’t see, there was no doubt she’d said that with a killer smile.

“So, I have to ask, did you leave anything in my home?”

His voice was clear and steady. “Of all the people in the world, A.J., I do not want you angry with me. I trust you as much as I trust anyone, and no, I did not bug your home.” Pause. “I’d tell you if I did. I’m here because you’re officially cleared to work on this.”

Violet chuckled. Harsh. “Always good to be cleared for work when I’m ass-deep in a situation.”

“We’re good together. Always have been.”

My mind was reeling. Who the hell were these people? Planting bugs? AW Covert’s? Just when I was beginning to get a handle on understanding universe-speak, it went multi-lingual on me.

“Looks like I better prepare for a confrontation. Damn, I wanted West to disappear, for that part of my life to be over and done. Since he’s still in business, he’s mine—a loose-end I left untied and I need to finish it, to keep the people I care about safe. The question is, if West isn’t here to kill me, why is he here?”

Bloody hell. This was getting worse by the minute.

“We’ll find out. Since you’re at the top of his hit list, will you wear a tracking device, let me monitor you until we catch him?”

“No, but I’ll put you on speed-dial. My contact list seems to be attention-catching lately.”

“I’m not even gonna ask about that one A.J., and I’ve been here too long.”

“Before you go, you should probably fill me in on what you want me to tell Everly about your visit?”

Yeah. What were they going to tell me? I had a vested interest in the answer to that one.

“Not a damn thing.” Pierce sounded stunned. “Oh, the touch thing. You mean she’ll know I was here?”

“If she touches me, the chair you’re sitting in, or anything else you’ve come in contact with, yep, she’ll know.”

“Well, shit. Will it work to tell her I made a house call? Since West is involved, I’d rather keep her out of it if possible. Need-to-know only on this one, and there shouldn’t be a damn thing she needs to know.”

Okay. I seriously had to stay calm. He was doing the enigmatic, secretive thing that triggers my temper. Best that I couldn’t move well or I’d have been in the kitchen by now. Eavesdropping sucks.

“Come on, Pierce. I’m not good with cover stories. My job was in and out, quick and clean. I can tell you this, it’s unlikely El will believe anything but the truth. Her intuitive radar is set on high, and she rarely misses a beat.”

That one made me smile. Violet thought I was quick. Now all I had to do was live up to her expectations.

Fifteen

Surely the ache terrorizing every bone in my body couldn’t be from a simple gunshot to the hip. I eased out of bed and stumbled toward the kitchen, coffee being high on my list of priorities.

“Hi sleepyhead.” Violet’s smile was cheerful, her full lips glossed in a pale pink. She handed me a steaming cup of coffee. With cinnamon. How did she manage to be all warm and friendly, brew my favorite coffee, and still keep track of who knew what? It boggled the mind. I, on the other hand, had a serious case of the grumpies and couldn’t act worth a darn.

“Morning,” I growled, taking a sip of the fragrant brew. Better. “I can’t remember if Dr. Pierce said I could take a shower or not. Fair warning: if I can’t, you should leave now, before I start throwing things and inadvertently do serious damage to our friendship.”

Violet grinned. “I get that and it’s a go on the shower.”

“Give me ten minutes to get human.” I carried my coffee back down the hall toward a life-sustaining, steamy hot shower. The aches and pains diminished to a dull roar under the pulsing heat, but I was still careful washing my hair, not that I had any trouble avoiding the knot on the side of my head. It throbbed with unrelenting persistence. I dried, carefully avoiding the bumps and bruises from where I’d slammed into the ground.

Dressed in a pair of loose, drawstring linen pants and an over-sized, white linen blouse, I took a quick look in the mirror to insure my appearance wouldn’t scare small children, and then headed back to the kitchen for a second cup of coffee and some breakfast.

“Thank you,” I said as I came up behind Violet and reached around her for the coffee pot. “What you did for me yesterday, and staying here last night, that means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome. Feeling better since your shower? You look almost normal, except for all that wet hair. Want me to fetch the dryer?”

I shook my head, and a shaft of pain zinged through my temples. Note to self: keep head still. “No. I’ll let it air-dry today. And how about if
I
make
you
breakfast? It’s the least I can do since you played nurse all night.”

“Deal. I’ll run over to my place, shower, dress, and check my calendar. Do you have any appointments scheduled today?”

“Nope. It’s a free day for me, but when you come back, if you could grab my calendar off my desk, I’ll check on tomorrow’s schedule. Breakfast will be ready in thirty. That okay with you?”

Violet checked her watch. “No problem.”

I opened the refrigerator in search of eggs and milk. It felt like a French toast morning. After mixing the batter, I snagged a pillow from the sofa and plopped it down on a kitchen chair. No way was my hip gonna be happy without a cushy surface to support it.

My fingers grazed the chair as I turned toward the stove. It was the one Pierce sat in.

The itchy sensation that had been nudging the back of my brain settled into an image of exactly what Dr. Tynan Pierce looked like sitting in my kitchen. Breathtakingly wow. I hated to leave the image, but hunger tugged at my taste buds, so I got back to the French toast. I was dipping a slice of bread in the batter when Violet’s footsteps thudded on the stairs.

“Could you put some plates on the table?” I asked, needing a minute to pull my thoughts together. The image of Pierce was hanging around my mind with a tenacity that wouldn’t quit, and I wasn’t sure how much of my nighttime snooping I wanted to confess. Ohmygod. I was acting like
them
. All secretive and spy-like. I bit my lip to keep from grinning.

“Two plates coming right up.” She set my calendar on the counter. “Looks like you have three clients tomorrow. Want me to call and cancel, or do you feel up to seeing them?”

I flipped a slice of toast on each of our plates and handed her some warm raspberry syrup. “Thanks, but I’d better take care of it. I’m not sure what I want to do yet.”

I sat down to eat and decided to go for the direct approach. “What was Dr. Pierce doing here last night?”

Cowardly to put it all on Violet? Maybe. But I wasn’t ready to confess my nocturnal listening at doors, not quite yet. Besides, they were keeping secrets from me, and I was in no hurry to share everything with them. Talk about a bad attitude and a stupid way to try and solve a murder. I reached behind me for the coffee pot, topped off our mugs. Maybe some more caffeine would spark an attitude adjustment.

Without missing a beat, Violet tucked her hair behind her ear and answered. “He stopped by to see how you’re doing. I think Adam mentioned your involvement with Mitch and about Tony’s murder. Pierce and Adam have been friends for years.”

I took a bite of the French toast, took a minute to frame my response. “That’s weird,” I said, carefully, savoring the fresh raspberry flavor lingering against my palate. Whatever Violet said next made a difference as to how much I was going to reveal. The full confession was still on the tip of my tongue, just reluctant to come out.

“Why’s that weird?” she asked, cutting off a bite of French toast.

I stalled, waited for the tension around my heart to go away. “Because you were sitting here in the dark with him, and he was dressed in a sexy black outfit, similar to what we wore when we broke into Tony’s.”

Violet got up to turn the next batch of toast, took her time answering. “Ah. The touch thing. I didn’t want to turn the lights on, take a chance of waking you. He was off work, so maybe he’d stopped at the gym. Lots of guys dress like that when they pump iron.”

She slid a warm slice of toast onto my plate, and the cinnamon I’d put in the batter teased my senses. It distracted me, but then Violet hit me with another lie. “I don’t know. It didn’t seem that strange when he showed up at the door asking about you.”

“Seriously? A doctor making a house call for no apparent reason?”

She mumbled something unintelligible, and quickly sipped a mouthful of coffee.

Not good. Too many secrets, and I needed time to sort them out. Besides, if I hung around here for any length of time, it was a sure thing I’d blurt something out I wasn’t supposed to know. We finished the meal in an odd sort of silence. Not uncomfortable, just…tangible and weighty enough that my decision was easy. “I think it would be good for me to go away for a few days. You know how I take a weekend every month for retreat? Since I can’t do much right now—” I pointed to my hip— “it’s a good time to go.”

“Great idea.” The tension visibly drained from her body, but her eyes crinkled, the way they do when she knows something is wrong, but can’t put a name to it. “It’ll give you a chance to get away from bad guys and murder victims. How about I postpone my morning appointments and drive you to the retreat house?”

I brushed a few strands of wet hair off my cheek, twisted them around my hand. “Not necessary. I can easily drive, and I
need
to be able to take care of myself, get my confidence back.”

“Too soon. You were out of it for a while yesterday.” She wrung out the dishcloth, wiped down the table and counter. “I’d feel better going with you.”

I reached for calm. Now was not the time to blow my plans with a frustrated comment. “The retreat house isn’t far. Besides, I need my car there in case something comes up and I have to get back for one reason or another.”

I took the dishcloth out of her hand and flashed her a grin. “Stop worrying. I promise I’ll be more than ready to check out that barn when the police are finished with their…whatever it is they do at the scene of a shooting.”

Violet shrugged in resignation. “Okay. Don’t forget your cell, and call me. Every day.”

I waved her out the front door, grabbed the mail that had piled up while I was busy being shot, tossed a few things into my Bug, made a quick detour by the pharmacy drive-thru window to pick up an antibiotic, and then headed out of town.

It was a beautiful day, so I rolled the windows down and let my still-damp hair blow in the wind. The fifteen minute drive was enough to insure I’d look positively frightening by the time I got there. It didn’t matter. No one but the squirrels, birds, and a colony of feral cats were going to greet me.

My childhood home sits on two acres, hidden down a gravel and dirt road that winds behind a large housing development, but isn’t visible unless you know where to look. It’s my refuge, my retreat and it holds the memories of my parents. They left me a moderate amount of money, and arranged a lifetime annuity for Millie to stay on as housekeeper, and Harlan to maintain the gardens. The couple are dear to me and live in a small cottage on the property, so we often ate together when I was “at home.” We typically shared conversation and walks in the garden, but not this time. I’d called ahead to give them a few days off because another visitor would be showing up, one I didn’t want to explain.

A delicious feeling of wellbeing settled over me as I unlocked the door and stepped into the foyer. Sunlight poured from a row of windows above the door, brought out the patina of the walnut floors, and caught the colors of the painting over the fireplace. I’ve always loved that painting. My mom had created the three interwoven hearts as an expression of the love in our family.

I burst into tears. Not just a little boo-hoo kind of thing. Oh no, I went for the full-blown meltdown, then curled up in the hammock on the back porch and fell into a deep sleep.

“Miz Ellie?” Harlan was calling to me from behind a wax myrtle.

I startled awake and shook the sleep from my brain. The breeze rustling the Magnolia leaves curled around me, soothing, comfortable. “Coming.” I rolled from the hammock and started toward the wax myrtle. What the hell was Harlan doing here?

“I’m gonna need to take some of the myrtle out. See here? It’ll change the look of the garden.”

“You know, Harlan, you were supposed to take a few days off, take Millie on a wild date.”

He grinned, tanned skin deepening into mellow laugh lines. “We don’t need to go someplace for a wild date. We do just fine right here at home, but we’ll stay out of your way. Don’t fret about that.”

“It’s fine. I just have a few things to think through. About the wax myrtle—I think we need something completely new here, Harlan. Something different. How about bamboo or eucalyptus? I’m in a Zen kind of mood.”

He gave me a big, toothy grin. “That’s a big change Miz Ellie.” He leaned back, rested his hands on a shovel sticking in the ground and narrowed his eyes at me. “You find a new beau?”

I felt my cheeks warm. “Maybe I did, and maybe it’s just time to move on with my life.”

He winked at me and went back to digging. “’Bout time,” floated back to me. I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips.

I circled around the house to my car, grabbed the storyboard and packet of mail. The letter I’d written to myself was on the bottom of the stack, and when I ripped it open, an image—the regular kind, not the fingertip kind—of Mitch holding the bouquet of daisies flashed through my mind. It left a warm sensation in my belly. I liked this man. A lot. And as I read the words I’d written in the letter, it all came together. He’d said many of the things I’d written, oh, not in the same words, but it was there. Confirmation that whatever we had together was right, at least for now. I moved a baby-step closer to trusting my judgment when it came to men.

As I leaned the storyboard against the living room wall, the picture of the woman with the belly jewel caught my attention. A definite must if Mitch planned to lavish attention on my abdomen. Tingling at the thought, I gathered up paper, pens and markers to summarize what we knew about Tony’s death. Work now, belly embellishment later.

I kept coming back to the diamonds. There’d been no sense of jewels around Tony’s house. Maybe the barn? Soon as my hip healed, and my psyche, I’d go back and check it out. But first, a trip to Gypsy’s diner for a tuna melt. Okay. So over the years I’ve sort of let Violet believe that I’m sequestered when on retreat, but the tuna melt called to me. Besides, the odds were against me running into anyone I knew. Who would be at Gypsy’s, anyway?

I successfully ignored the squiggly feeling between my shoulder blades that felt suspiciously like universe-speak and pulled into the parking lot—my mouth all set for the overstuffed, gooey sandwich. The lot was full. Not a parking place to be found, but no problem. My fave bookstore was just across the street and I wanted to pick up a couple of new reads before I headed back to the house. Fortunately, the bookstore had a much bigger lot with plenty of open spaces.

Hiking back across the street was not one of my more graceful maneuvers, and since I had to hustle to avoid getting in the way of traffic, it aggravated my hip. I moved with deliberate caution as I slid into a booth toward the back of Gypsy’s. By the time I rescued some quarters from the bottom of my handbag for the jukebox, a server had taken my order and delivered a Diet Coke to the table. “Peppermint Twist” had just started playing when a car pulled into the parking slot right outside my window.

The car door slammed with enough force to catch my attention, and I peeked through the slats in the Venetian blinds to see Detective Adam Stone heading for the front door.

No.

It couldn’t be.

He ate at Gypsy’s?

Damn. This was bad.

I grabbed a ball cap out of my purse—thank God I’d thought to toss one in—wadded up my hair and stuffed it under the cap. Then I scooched down in the booth as far as I could, the too-quick movement sending a flash of pain through my hip. Not comfy. Maybe he’d sit far away, like at the other end of the diner, so I could eat my tuna melt in peace.