a Touch of Ice (17 page)

Nineteen

I curled up in a corner of the sofa in Violet’s office with a glass of lemonade and tried to look as inconspicuous and innocent as possible. My head was busy with alternatives if Jayne wouldn’t let me stay—like hiding in a closet, or hunkering down under an open window. What can I say? Way too many late night movies.

Adam and Jayne pulled into the driveway at the same time, and Violet shot me a look. “You can touch, but try not to talk.” With that warning, she went to answer the door.

“Hey, Jayne,” she said offering her hand to greet Mitch’s sister. “Adam. Please come in. What can I get you to drink?”

Adam glanced over at me. “Whatever El’s having is fine with me.”

Jayne’s head snapped to where I sat on the sofa. “Are you part of this meeting?”

“If you don’t mind? I’ve been working with Mitch and Violet, and I’d like to stay in the loop.”

She shrugged. “I can’t imagine how you’d be of help, but if it’s all right with Detective Stone, it’s all right with me.” She dismissed me by taking a chair on the other side of the room and directing her comments to Adam and Violet.

“I went grocery shopping this morning. I always do on Sunday because it’s less crowded, more efficient. I had both arms loaded with groceries so as to only make one trip from car to house. I headed toward my condo, my mind on the idiosyncrasy in the audit I’m going to tackle tomorrow morning.”

She slipped a glance in my direction. “Besides, I never completely relax when Mitch is on assignment.”

“I understand,” Adam said, prodding her along.

“I angled my body to put my key in the lock, and felt something hard press against my neck. Knew it was a gun right away because of the smell. You know, the oil and metal combination. Mitchell insists I keep up with target practice since he keeps a weapon nearby. Says it isn’t safe for me not to know how to defend myself.”

Adam cleared his throat, an obvious prod.

Jayne got on with it. “A raspy voice with a New York accent told me to open the door, nice and easy like.”

Adam took notes as he concentrated on Jayne. Looked like he didn’t miss a beat. Interesting. I sure as heck couldn’t write without looking—not if I wanted to be able to make sense of it later.

Jayne shrugged, continued. “He told me he wasn’t plannin’ to hurt me, but that we needed to have a talk and it’d go better for me if I cooperated.”

Violet rested a hand on her shoulder in silent support.

“I don’t take kindly to being threatened. I pushed the door open and passed through the laundry room, all the way to the kitchen. I needed to get the bags out of my hands because I was not, under any circumstances, going to drop an entire week’s groceries just because some lunatic was holding me at gunpoint.”

Violet grinned. “You go girl. That’s the Jayne I know.”

Jayne nodded, returned the smile. “He wasn’t able to keep the barrel steady while we moved into the kitchen, because I had to jog so I wouldn’t drop the bags. By the time I set them down, the gun wasn’t pressed against my neck anymore, just pointed in my general direction. It seemed like that was a sign for me to get control of the situation.”

A pained grimace crossed Adam’s face.

“I turned to face my assailant to demand an explanation. He looked familiar to me, appeared to be clean, dressed in jeans and a splashy shirt open to his navel, gold chains around his neck, dark hair and eyes. Nasty scowl on his face, but it didn’t feel like he was hell-bent on killing me, so I asked who he was.”

She took a drink of her soda. “Donny Civitelli. Tony’s brother. After he told me his name, I recognized him right away. Mitch and I went to school with the Civitellis you know.”

Adam nodded. “Yes. Mitch told us about that when we questioned him about Tony’s death.”

“I still can’t believe you thought my Mitch had anything to do with Tony’s death,” Jayne said, glare leveled at Adam, pointed. Sharp.

“Mitch is completely cleared, Ms. Hunt. Please go on.”

“Well, he wanted to know Mitchell’s whereabouts. Apparently when Mama Civitelli got the police report on Tony’s suicide, she called in some favors to learn who found her son’s body. It set her off about Mitchell because we all grew up together, so she sent Donny down to question him. Like you—” she scowled at Adam— “he thought my Mitchell killed Tony.”

She stopped to take a breath. “Donny wanted to know where Mitchell was hiding, and ranted for a while about how no one kills his brother and gets away with it, how the family doesn’t like that kinda thing.”

Jayne relayed that part in a pretty good imitation of how Donny must have talked. Sounded strange coming from such a prim and proper woman, and I had to choke down a smile.

“I understand about protecting your brother, have that tendency myself. I explained that Mitchell was on assignment, that I didn’t know where, and he didn’t have anything to do with Tony’s death. Then I turned the tables on him, started asking him questions. Told him he would have a better idea of who killed Tony than Mitch did.”

“How did he respond to that?” Adam asked.

“Huffy. Then I started thinking he might have been the one who beat Mitchell up, the one who drugged him. I admit to losing my temper, and I probably threatened him.”

Adam stared at her. “You threatened him?” he asked, his voice rising.

“I know about the Civitelli Family, how Mama runs things. I ordered Donny to put the gun away. Asked him who he thought he was accosting.”

Her eyes darted back and forth between Adam and Violet. “Perhaps I got a little carried away. I reminded him that Civitellis aren’t murderers. Act like fools, do stupid things, and twist the law to meet their needs, yes, but murder? Not the Civitellis. I don’t like to say so, but they’re a bit too inept to carry off a successful murder.”

Adam closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. “And he responded?”

“Told me the family sent him down here to straighten things out, to find out who offed Mama’s number three son.” She angled her head at Adam. “He looked a little green by that time, so obviously he’d needed a talking to. Realized he couldn’t go back to his Mama without an answer and proof he’d taken care of the matter.”

Jayne was quiet a minute, adjusted herself in the chair. “I think he was starting to regard me as a mentor, because he tucked his gun in his waistband, pulled out a chair, and straddled it. The poor boy looked miserable and apologized about bad-mouthing Mitchell and attacking me.”

I’d been biting my lip to keep quiet, but couldn’t hold it in a second longer. “So you don’t think he had anything to do with hurting Mitch?”

She glanced at me, almost smiled. “No. Donny wasn’t directly responsible for what happened to Mitchell.”

Adam tapped his pen on the notepad, wiggled his fingers in a get on with it gesture.

“I told him he wouldn’t be there long enough to get comfortable, that neither Mitchell nor I knew anything about what Tony was involved in. Then I lost my temper again and mentioned how unhappy I was with the whole Civitelli family because they kept disrupting my life. I suggested he contact you, Detective Stone, but I told him to lose the gun first.”

Adam fought a grin and lost.

“Then I told him I planned to call you, tell you he was on his way to the station for a chat.”

“How’d that go over?” Adam asked, his sharp green eyes twinkling.

“He grabbed the phone out of my hand and tossed it across the room. Told me Civitellis don’t talk to cops, that the family settles their own problems. I suggested it would be easier to chat with you, Detective Stone, rather than face his Mama without some answers.”

Not knowing anything about New York or the Civitellis I had to ask, “Is Mama Civitelli really that…formidable? “

“She would chew you up and spit you out before you had time to say hello.” Jayne sent me an evil grin. “Mama is quite a woman. Runs a tight ship, and for the most part keeps her boys in line.”

“What did Donny do then, Ms. Hunt?” Adam asked.

“He hung his head, and I thought for sure I was going to have a blubbering fool on my hands. I think the truth of the situation sunk in because he conceded I had a point, that he didn’t have to tell anyone about how he got the answers as long as he went back with something to tell Mama. Preferably where Tony’s killer is buried.”

Violet nodded in agreement. “That would be my guess.”

Jayne shook her head. “As if that boy could commit a successful murder. I’d about had enough chit-chat, and the frozen food needed to be put away, so I told him if he turned himself in the authorities would probably take care of the vendetta for him, leaving him free to return to New York and tell Mama the truth without getting cuffed upside the head. Then I told him to get out of my house.” She took a delicate sip of her drink. “After I got the groceries put away and thought about it for a while, I realized I probably needed to let you know about this. Before Donny does anything rash.”

“Do you know where Donny is now?’ Adam asked.

“No. But the idea of him threatening anyone is ludicrous. I’m here because if Donny doesn’t come to you, if he actually tries to avenge Tony, it will be a disaster. Especially if it interferes with your investigation.”

Violet spoke up. “So, you’re saying the Civitelli family doesn’t accept the suicide idea, and Donny is here to track down Tony’s killer. Well, that adds some interest to the case. Is it a case yet, Adam?”

“In a way. I’m going to open a file on Jayne’s intruder, and since they’re connected, I’d say the door is ajar rather than officially open. Thanks, Jayne, for reporting this. Keep your condo locked. Even if you don’t think Donny is a threat, he could round up some help.”

Adam stood. “Can you stop by the station tomorrow to sign a statement and work with a police artist so we can get a picture of Donny?”

“I can, yes,” Jayne said as she walked to the door. “It was nice to see you again, Violet.”

She dissed me completely.

Twenty

Date night. With Mitch.

First thing on my agenda: a pedicure that included polish to match my new red shoes. Right after I changed the sheets and did laundry.

I yanked the sheets off the bed, knocking over my storyboard, a not so subtle reminder that I needed to make a trip out to the barn today, certainly no later than tomorrow. Although, didn’t I promise someone, I couldn’t remember who, that I wouldn’t go off on my own on detective-type missions? Was it still a valid promise if I couldn’t remember the “to whom” part?

Maybe a quick trip out to the barn while the laundry washed. I’d be back before anyone noticed I was missing. Then again, I did
not
want a repeat performance with the idiot who shot me, even if it meant another opportunity to get up close and personal with Dr. Hottie. And
that
thought had me dropping onto the bed and clutching the wadded up sheets to my chest.

I had a date with Mitch tonight, our first really, and I was looking forward to it. He touched my heart in ways that made me all wobbly in the knees. Probably it was good he’d been away. Gave me an adjustment period, time to rearrange my attitude about men. Prep for having a guy in my life.

Maybe that’s why I’d been having lustful thoughts about Tynan Pierce. Opening doors that had been slammed shut for—too long. It couldn’t be that I’d suddenly turning slutty at the advanced age of thirty-two. Could it? Maybe I needed therapy. The serious kind, not the retail kind. Surely not. All sorts of women hung around bars and dated bunches of different men. Just not me. Un-huh, no, not me. I’d dated maybe five men, total, in my life. Now all of a sudden I wanted my hands all over two men at once.

I fell back on the bed and pulled the sheet over my face.
Focus on red polish El, red polish. One thing at a time
. The stitches didn’t come out until—I turned, peeking out from under the edge of the sheet to check the Ansel Adams calendar hanging over my nightstand—
today
.

The stitches came out today.

Laundry, toes, stitches. No time for the barn. I pushed myself into action, tossed the sheets in the washer, and headed for the shower to prep for my appointment with Pierce. It was one thing to be sewn up by a complete stranger who happened to be a luscious hunk of manhood. It was totally different to expose my bare hip to the same black-haired, blue-eyed dude, especially after we’d shared secrets and a set of lock picks.

You’re an adult, El. Surely you can do this.

I settled on wearing black low-rise capris, so both my hip and my feet were easily accessible, added a plain cotton sport bra (in case my top rode up at the hospital) and dropped a loose white, V-neck t-shirt over everything. On the plus side, red toes would look great with all the black and white.

I put the bed linens in the dryer, threw the next load of clothes in the washer, and headed downstairs, stopping in my office long enough to check my appointment calendar. I knew I had today off, but tomorrow was a question mark—looked like I had one client in the afternoon. Good. Mitch and I could sleep in if the evening went in that direction.

There was a wait at the nail salon so I didn’t get to the hospital until after lunch. I sucked in a breath, took one last fortifying glance at my red toenails, Keys to my Karma red, to be exact, and pushed through the double doors leading into the emergency department.

“May I help you?” The receptionist greeted me with a worn-out smile.

“I’m Everly Gray, here to have Dr. Pierce remove my stitches.”

“Oh, you don’t need to see Dr. Pierce for that, any one of our nurses can remove stitches.” It was almost a huff.

Apparently, Tynan Pierce had a protection squad in place, and that was good news for me. I could get my stitches out with him none the wiser. “Great! A nurse would be per—”

“Ms. Gray,” his voice rumbled behind me. “Perfect timing. I’m free at the moment so let’s get started, see how you’re healing.”

Well, damn. Not saved by a nurse. My heart did a tiny flip: disappointment, or excitement? Probably best to think about it later. Like in my next life.

Pierce turned toward an anonymous looking scrub-clad person. “I’ll work on Ms. Gray in room two.” He cupped my elbow, firmly in the palm of his hand. “Don’t need any help, but if you’d keep an eye on the angina in room twelve…” He marched me down the hall, only stopping long enough to grab a wrapped tray from some metal shelves that lined the hallway.

I inched onto the exam table, avoiding touching anything, and folded my hands demurely in my lap where they’d stay out of trouble.

He shot me a grin. “Any problems with your hip?” There were sparks of unmistakable laughter in his eyes. He knew darn good and well how my hip was doing.

I decided to play it cool. Enigmatic even. “No problems.”

“Roll onto your left side. Let’s take a look at the wound.”

The man could tempt a saint to violence what with pretending like we hadn’t spent an afternoon sharing a set of lock picks, but when I closed my fingers into fists it wasn’t with bloodshed in mind. I just didn’t want to chance touching the bed while I tried to scoot onto my side. It must have looked like way too much effort, because after a minute Pierce picked me up and rolled me into place.

“Sorry,” he explained, “I can’t seem to grasp the intricacies of your…ability. I’m not clear on what or when you touch or don’t touch.”

“I try not to touch anything unfamiliar. Places like the grocery store, movie theaters, malls, public places with lots of people aren’t too bad because there are so many images they sort of blend into white noise—unless I focus on them.” I angled my head to look up at him. “This is a public place, but the images are clear because of the intensity of emotion. Fear and pain are loud to my fingertips.”

He nodded. “Makes sense. I’m going to pull your shirt up so I can get to the wound.” He started to fumble his way through the folds of fabric resting in layers around my torso, and my body went into an immediate hot flash.

Not good. Mitch. I cared about Mitch. Tynan Pierce wasn’t date material. Traitorous damn body.

I uncurled my fingers, reached to gather my t-shirt and bumped into his fingers. Damn it all to perdition. I went for attitude, gave him my best, wide-eyed innocent look. “Really, Dr. Pierce, your fantasy is inadequate. I’m so much better underneath it all.”

He backed away and started to laugh—a deep, from-the-gut, contagious laugh. Guess it didn’t happen too often at work, because the anonymous scrub-clad person stuck her head around the curtain, wide-eyed and curious. “You need anything, Dr. Pierce?”

He winked at me, answered her without so much as a glance. “No thanks. We’re doing fine.”

Yeah, right. Just fine.

He focused on the stitches, still grinning. “Keep those fingers to yourself, please. I don’t take kindly to anyone messing with my fantasies.”

Several snips later, he pronounced me done. “Sorry I had to use removable sutures instead of fast absorbing. Remember, no sun for a few months.” He stripped off his gloves, and lifted me off the table. You could fit a toothpick, barely, between us.

Another hot flash.

He didn’t back up, so I peeked at his face to see what was going on. Laughing, he was definitely laughing at me. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to ask, because no matter how important Mitch was to me, Tynan Pierce had something I wanted. Needed. “I can’t seem to open my front door without a key. How about we schedule another lesson?”

“It can be arranged.” He took a step back. “Nice toes. I’ll see you later, El.”

Traffic was light so it only took me a few minutes to get home.

Shelly wagged her fingers at me as I circled the cul-de-sac and pulled into my driveway. She rushed over, and as I stepped out of the car, handed me an envelope from the stack she was juggling. “Here’s your invitation to our pre-wedding party.” She shuffled her feet. “It’s been strange since I saw you Sunday, like things are happening too quickly between me and Marcus. What if I’m getting a case of cold feet, El? Please tell me you have a quick fix for that.”

“Actually, I do.” I helped her adjust the envelopes so they didn’t spill all over the ground. “The cold feet may be just that, a case of bridal nerves, but it may also be your subconscious wisdom telling you you’re not ready to be married.”

She opened her mouth to argue with me and I held up my hand. “Hear me out. Sometimes things become clearer when we take time to hone our sense of self trust.”

She nodded, but frown lines accented her mouth and eyes.

“One of the best ways to do this is walking backwards. Go down to the lake and walk around the entire path backwards. Focus in front of you, but use your senses to place your feet. Putting one foot behind the other breaks your typical pattern of behavior, and you’ll have no choice but to trust your senses to tell you where you’re going.”

“Well, I don’t know. That’s a peculiar thing to do. I guess it won’t hurt to try, and Marcus is busy with business this afternoon so I have some free time. Hope I don’t bump into anyone.”

“It’s best if you pick a time when the greenway isn’t too populated. You may want to close your eyes for several steps every once in awhile, adds to the intensity of the experience.”

“Thanks, I think. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

I hurried inside, dumped my stuff on the desk and headed upstairs to start some serious work of my own. I had a body to soak, shave, pluck, curl, and moisturize. It would keep me busy until Mitch arrived.

I plugged my iPod into the stereo base and turned Johnny Cash on loud enough to hear over the bath water. I sang my way through “Walk the Line” and “Ring of Fire” as I danced around the bedroom laying out clothes and arranging all the products I’d need to complete the transformation process.

The plan was to convert from perfectly-wonderful-everyday El into there’s-no-way-you-can-resist-me El. Okay, so it would take some work, but with enough time and the right shoes, it could definitely be done.

I’d just added the final touch to my ensemble—a spritz of Light Blue—when the whoosh of tires on cement told me Mitch had pulled into my driveway. I slid my feet into the red heels and practiced breathing as I headed downstairs to meet him.

No telling when breathing might come in handy.

It was exactly six. We planned on an early dinner so we’d have the rest of the evening to do…whatever, and it was too soon for that. Logically. But there wasn’t anything logical about my relationship with Mitch. With anyone. One touch, and I’d moved us through the let’s-meet-for-drinks to the I-brought-extra-condoms stage of getting to know each other. Any chance at normalcy was totally lost in that first handshake.

“The flowers match your shoes.” He handed me the bouquet, bird of paradise and red antherium, then wrapped his hand around my neck and pulled me close for a kiss. Holding the flowers a safe distance away, I brushed my fingers along his neck, deepening our kiss. Images flowed through my mind that featured the red heels in every scene—a bit of the future popping in, I hoped. He definitely liked the shoes, and to my way of thinking dinner was quickly fading into the distant future. But he pulled back, brushing his lips against my cheek. “Missed you, Sunshine.”

I struggled to fill my lungs, adjusted my dress. “I missed you too. The flowers are lovely, exotic. I’ll run upstairs and put them in a vase.” Mitch and I belonged together. No question. I had to do something to stop my physical response to Pierce. It wasn’t right. Not fair to either Mitch or to me.

“No need.” He wove our fingers together. “They’re in individual vials of water, so they’ll stay fresh until we get home.”

“Well, then. We should probably go. You look—” I licked my lips— “excellent. It’s appreciated.” I wanted this man in my life for the long haul. Pierce would henceforth be relegated to black ops teacher, or whatever. Someplace far away from my potential significant other radar.

It was a short ride to the restaurant and the hostess seated us in a private corner with plush chairs and lots of candlelight. We ordered a bottle of champagne to celebrate our first official date, and held hands across the table. Normal. We probably looked completely normal.

“I got word that you’d been shot, but that it wasn’t serious.” He looked at me so intently I could feel his concern wrap around my body, warm and comforting. “I tried to get a flight back, but the project was at a critical point. I couldn’t leave. It’s good to see you looking so…excellent, I believe is the word of the day.

I took a bite of my lemon caper tilapia. “Excellent is a good word, and can be applied to dinner as well. The wound in my hip, no big deal. Pierce took the stitches out this afternoon, so no excuse for me not to get back out to the barn. Touch things.”

He cut a bite of asparagus, pushed it around his plate. “Adam didn’t find anything?”

“Not that
I
know of. He plays it close.”

Mitch reached for my hand, played with my fingers, thoughtful. “I’m not okay with you going back there. Don’t like it. Wish you weren’t involved.”

I shook my head. “The thing is—”

“I know. Your fingers are needed to wrap this up. Doesn’t mean I like it. How about if we go together? Is tomorrow morning good?”