All I've Ever Wanted (13 page)

Grady Hospital
Saturday, 10:30 a.m.

T
he medication that dripped through Dossman's IV had him drifting in and out of consciousness. He swore that nothing compared to hospital drugs.

“Hey, you.”

Dossman rolled his head to the side. A lazy smile slid into place when he saw Kelly. “Hey, yourself.”

“How are they treating you in here?” She pulled a vacant chair closer to the bed, and then laced her fingers with his.

He licked his parched lips. “Are you kidding?
Meals served in bed, drugs and sponge baths—I may never go home.”

She laughed. “You're terrible.”

“True, but don't tell anybody,” he said, enjoying the feel of her hand. He suddenly wished that they were waking up together at his apartment. He longed to see her usually coiled hair spread across his pillows, or to feel her body beneath his.

“You're having dirty thoughts again.” Kelly waved a finger at him. “I can always tell by that glossy look in your eyes.”

“No, I wasn't.” He tried to look pained by the accusation.

“No?”

“No. They were romantic thoughts. There is a difference.”

Her laugh deepened. “Not with you there isn't.”

“Good point.”

For a brief moment, they simply stared at each other. Each read volumes of love and understanding in the other's eyes, but neither knew if their love had what it would take to bridge the troubles of age, race or careers.

“Have you seen the doctor this morning?” she asked.

“Yeah. He said everything was looking good and, if I was a good boy, I could be out of here in no time.”

“That's good to hear. I'm glad that one of us had a good morning.”

“Ah, I take it that you've already spoken with the captain?”

“If I remember correctly, I believe that he did most of the talking.”

“Figures.”

“I can't say that I really blame him for chewing a chunk out of my butt on this one.”

“Really? A chunk? Stand up and let me see.”

She slapped his arm playfully. “Focus, will you?”

“Sorry. Any luck locating Lawrence?”

“Not yet. I swear, if it wasn't for bad luck, I would have no luck at all.”

“Well, maybe I
do
need to stop hanging out with you. Your bad luck is starting to rub off on me.”

She rewarded him with another slap on the arm.

“I was just kidding.”

“Sure you were.” She smiled. “Anyway, I spoke to your partner last night.”

“Oh? Did he happen to say why he's been such a slacker on the visits?”

“Yeah. He seems to have his hands full with Ms. St. James. She's more or less hiding out at his place.”

“You're kidding me.”

“No. And for some reason, I didn't tell the captain that. Maybe it's because I have a feeling he would have blown his top.”

Dossman shook his head as his smile widened. “Are you sure she's just hiding out?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I've seen those two together. And I would give anything to be a fly on the wall over there right about now.”

 

Kennedy smiled at the feel of the sun's warm rays caressing her face. A rich, heavenly scent tickled her nose, further inducing her to remain drifting somewhere between dreams and consciousness, yet something tugged at her. There was something she needed to be doing.

She stretched lazily, and then froze when her legs bumped against something. Instantly, her eyes flew open, while her heart seemed to implode in her chest.

What did I do?
She searched her mind for answers, but the effort only caused a loud thumping at her temples.

Max moaned in his sleep and his arm shifted to lay across her waist.

She tensed, unsure of what to do. Prayer seemed like the only logical answer. Various scenarios played in her head. In all of them, she portrayed the shameless harlot who had thrown herself at a valiant knight.

How was she going to face him?

She groaned as she grabbed her pillow and plopped it over her face to hide her shame. But her voice echoed in her ears and the pillow might as well have been a ton of bricks as far as she was con
cerned. How had she gotten such a severe hangover? It wasn't like she had tossed down shots of tequila.

The phone rang and interrupted Kennedy's panic attack.

Max sat up on his side of the bed and reached over to answer it before the second ring.

“Yeah.”

Trapped beneath the weight of his body, Kennedy had no choice but to wait where she was until Max got off the phone.

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. I don't think that's a good idea. Uh-huh.”

Kennedy swallowed and wished that he would hurry and get off the phone. Finally, he shifted his weight and she was immediately able to breathe easier, but it slowed considerably when he swung his intense gaze in her direction.

“She's safe,” he said into the phone. “Trust me.”

Though he wasn't talking to her, both statements pulled at her. She did feel safe, strange as that seemed. And there was something about the look in his eyes that pleaded with her to trust him.

They stared at each other, the phone nearly forgotten. Then the person on the other line said something that drew his attention and he turned his head. The spell was broken.

She blinked and tried to clear the haze that clouded her head.

“All right. I'll stop by the office after I see Dossman. Uh-huh. Later.” He hung up and then rolled onto his side. “I hope I didn't crush you.”

“It's a great time to ask.” Kennedy sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. A quick glance over her rumpled top told her she had at least remained clothed.

“Hey.” He touched her arm. “You're not mad at me for something, are you?”

She shook her head and refused to look back at him.

“Well, you could have fooled me.” He waited a moment, and then added, “It isn't about last night, is it?”

Humiliation burned through her. “You must think the worst of me.”

He laughed, unaware that in doing so, he made things worse.

“I have to use the phone,” she said, changing the subject. “Do you mind giving me some privacy?” It was all she could do not to start crying.

He didn't respond.

“Please?” she added.

“Not until you look at me.”

His tone left no room for debate, but she did so anyway. “Please, go.” Her whispered plea tumbled from trembling lips.

For a long while, the room grew loud with silence.

“As you wish.”

The bed creaked as he got up. There was another rush of relief when she saw that he still wore his pajama pants.

“Just remember,” he said, when he reached the door and turned back to face her. “It's almost noon.”

She frowned.

“You promised to come clean then.”

Had he slept with her to get a confession? Her gaze fell to the floor as that thought sickened her.

“I really need to make this phone call now.”

He studied her, then said, “Fine. But afterward, we talk. And I won't be put off so easily next time.” Without waiting for a response, he slipped out of the room.

She stared at the closed door and tried to piece together exactly what just happened, but she let it go. She had more important things to contend with at the moment.

Her first call was to the Warners and she couldn't prevent the ball of alarm from rolling over her fragile emotions.

Like before, she reached the answering machine and she hung up. When she dialed her grandmother's, her hands shook and her mouth went dry. But after the seventh ring, she started to hang up.

“Hello.”

The sound of her grandmother's voice temporarily rendered her speechless.

“Hello,” she repeated.

“Grandma, it's me, Kennedy.”

“Thank heavens. Your friends and I have been trying to reach you all night.” A rush of relief echoed in her voice.

“Reverend Warner is still there?” she asked.

“No, he and his wife dropped Tommy off and left about an hour ago. But there's this other young fella here who said that he came to see you. Do you want to talk with him?”

Before she had the chance to answer, a new voice came over the phone line.

“Hello, Kennedy. I've been looking all over the place for you.”

Disbelief racked her body when she recognized the deep, sinister voice of Keenan Lawrence.

M
ax slammed pots around more out of frustration than in any genuine effort to cook breakfast. By the time he'd taken the bacon and eggs out the fridge, he'd started wondering why he was fixing breakfast instead of lunch. He cursed and put everything back.

Frustrated, he glanced over his shoulder, down the long hallway. The look she'd given him at the door had seemed loaded with regret and disgust. The word
disgust
echoed in his mind and fed his anger.

She was the one who'd come on to him. Yet, she looked at him as though he'd slipped something into her drink and taken advantage of her. He cursed again and vowed to detach himself emotionally from
this situation. The only problem was that vow—he genuinely liked Kennedy St. James.

He snatched open the cabinets and searched for something to cook. His thoughts however, remained focused on the woman in his bedroom. The same woman who had felt so soft and right in his arms last night… The one he could have made love to but hadn't…

 

“None of this was supposed to happen,” Sandra Hickman said. She jabbed her finger at the man in front of her.

Aaliyah crept closer to try to get a better look.

“It was unavoidable. He was going to the Feds with this,” the man said.

“No. He would never do that to me.” Sandra's voice filled with rage.

“Well, he did it. I know for a fact that he'd contacted the FBI. What does that tell you?”

“That tells me you're making this up. Marion isn't here to defend himself against your accusations.”

“Sandy, Sandy, Sandy.” He encircled her in his arms. “I've never lied to you. You know that. We had a problem and I handled it. All I need for you to do is to ride the wave. If everybody plays their cards right, the police will have no choice but to conclude Underwood's death as a gang-related crime.”

Aaliyah's eyes widened. She couldn't believe
what she was hearing. Judge Hickman was involved in the ex-husband's death?

“Get away from me,” Sandra snapped, bolting from his arms. “How can you trust a group of thugs to keep quiet about something like this?”

“Let's just say, I've worked with these people before. But if I ever do feel like they can't keep quiet, I will handle that, as well.”

Aaliyah shifted her weight, trying to see who Judge Hickman was talking to, but when she did, the bush shook.

“What was that?” the stranger said.

“What was what?”

“You didn't hear it?”

Aaliyah held her breath and prayed for a good gust of wind to rustle the leaves again, or anything that would draw the guy's attention somewhere else.

As if on cue, the wind picked up.

“It's only the wind,” Sandra concluded; then she rubbed her head. “I can't believe this is happening. You killed my husband, Steve.”

Steve.
Now Aaliyah at least had a name.

“I had no choice.” The man glanced back toward the bushes. “Are you sure we're alone?”

“Yes, dammit.”

“Let's walk down toward the gazebo. I'll feel safer down there.”

Aaliyah watched as Judge Hickman followed the
man down a path that led deeper into the estate, and incidentally out of her view. It didn't matter. She'd find out who the man was before she left today. All she had to do was wait for the man to leave.

She smiled and couldn't believe her luck. Retracing her steps, Aaliyah worked her way quietly back to her car. With any luck, she would even get his picture with the camera she kept stashed in the trunk.

 

“I think we need to meet again, don't you, Ms. St. James?”

Kennedy's hand tightened on the receiver. “Where's my son?”

“Hey, don't worry. I'm an excellent babysitter. But you're just going to have to trust me on that. I don't have any references.”

Her heart squeezed as panic shook her vocal cords. “Please, don't harm my baby.”

“Now that will depend on you, won't it?”

“What do you want?”

“That's a silly question. I want you, of course. I have to admit that I was surprised to find out that you weren't traveling with your son, but this will still work out all right. Little Tommy here can still bring you to me. Can't he?”

“Look, I'll do whatever you want. Just don't hurt my son.”

“That was just what I was hoping you would say.
Since there is some heat on me right now back in Atlanta, why don't you come here. How long will it take for you to get to Memphis?”

She hesitated. She'd spent all the money that she had yesterday. “I'm not sure.”

“Don't even think about telling the police about this. I would hate for something to happen to the little man here.”

“Please.”

“Ah, I love it when women beg. But that's another thing entirely. You have until 3:00 p.m. Monday to get here. That should give you plenty of time. Meanwhile, I think that I'm going to just hang out here with Tommy and your granny.”

Kennedy lowered her head into the palms of her hands. Grief overpowered her. There was no doubt in Kennedy's mind that Keenan planned to kill her. However, there was a chance that she could save Tommy and her grandmother.

“Are you still there?” Keenan asked.

“Yes.” She sniffed as tears trickled from her eyes.

“Good. I'll see you Monday.”

The line went dead.

She continued to hold the receiver, wishing like hell that she were in the middle of some bad dream. What was she going to do now?

She jumped when loud beeps told her that if she would like to make a call she should please hang up
and dial again. What had happened to the Warners? How had Keenan found Tommy?

What did it matter? Kennedy tossed up her hands. She had to figure out a way to get her hands on some money in order to get to Memphis. She could try to get a loan from Bennie. Of course the chance of pigs flying had better odds.

She paced the floor, but she couldn't seem to churn out a solution to her problem.

There was a crash outside of the bedroom. Max. She'd forgotten about him. She headed toward the door, but froze when her hand landed on the doorknob.

No police
. Kennedy shook her head. What was she going to do about the promise she'd made to Max? Well, it really wasn't a promise, but she had the feeling that he would say otherwise. But what could she do?

She leaned her head against the door and she could hear the racket Max made in the kitchen. Maybe he was creating another of his culinary masterpieces. The thought made her smile.

He was a wonderful guy, regardless of what may have happened between them last night. She let her smile fade again and turned away from the door.

 

Kelly paced the floor in front of Dossman's bed as they reviewed the Underwood case. “The problem
is that we don't have any hard evidence that links The Skulls to the crime.”

“Right. But we do know that Keenan Lawrence wants Ms. St. James dead for some reason. It's a good thing that she's with Max. Right now, she's our ace in the hole,” Dossman said, pushing himself up in bed.

“Should you be doing that?”

“Probably not. But it's starting to feel like my butt is sticking to the sheets.”

She shook her head as she rushed to his bedside to help. “Careful, don't overexert yourself.”

Dossman took her by surprise when he tugged her down onto the bed.

She squealed, and then looked embarrassed for having done so.

He laughed against her ear and inhaled the floral scent of her hair.

Kelly slapped his arm away and pulled back to her feet. “Will you please behave? Someone from the precinct could walk in at any moment.”

“Hey, what happened to my pity party we were throwing last night?”

“It ended. Your choice, remember?”

“Doesn't mean that I can't tease you with what you'll be missing.”

She continued to laugh. “I'm starting to think that you also suffered some head trauma last night.”

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“It would probably be an improvement.”

He laughed. He couldn't remember the last time they had just played with each other. For the past few months, everything had been so serious between them. Their light banter was a welcome reprieve.

For a long while, they just stared at each other and smiled.

“Assure me that we're doing the right thing by breaking up,” Kelly said, taking his hand.

“I can't.” His smile faded. “I'm not too sure myself.”

 

“What on earth is taking her so long?” Max wondered, looking at his watch. He'd left Kennedy well over an hour ago. “Five more minutes. After that I'm going in to get her,” he decided.

Leaning over the stove, he tasted his homemade Alfredo sauce and smiled. He anticipated her surprise when she learned that he really did know how to cook. He smiled at the thought.

He took his time preparing the table. He even thought about calling the hospital, but then remembered that Kennedy was still on the phone.

Five minutes passed and he negotiated with his inner voice to give her another five. Pretty soon an additional twenty minutes had gone by and his irritation had begun to turn to worry about her.

Quietly, he walked down the hallway. He didn't
hear her on the phone. In fact, he didn't hear her at all. Had she gone back to sleep?

He knocked. “Kennedy?” He frowned when there was no answer. Undoubtedly, she was still mad at him.

“Kennedy, wake up.” He knocked again.

No response.

He turned the doorknob and opened the door. “Kennedy?” He poked his head through the crack. His frown deepened when he saw the rumpled bed. It was empty.

He swung the door open. The room was empty. He stormed over to the closed bathroom door and knocked. “Kennedy?”

No response.

He opened the door. It was empty. Not only that, he didn't see her clothes that had been folded on the bathroom counter earlier.

Turning, he surveyed the room again. This time he noticed the discarded flannel pajama top she had worn. It was lying beneath the open window.