Behind the Shadows (15 page)

She didn't think she could make a list of anything.

She knew Chris was going out on a long limb for her in asking for more than a rudimentary investigation without saying why. That could come back to haunt both of them. He knew, though, how much she wanted to keep this out of the newspapers, even her own.

“Kira?” Chris roused her to action.

She nodded. “I'll have a preliminary list in a few moments.” She went to her room, found a place among the ruins, and tried to remember all the pieces of jewelry now missing.

She had to be at work in a few hours. She needed to be a functioning human being. But she was numb. Completely numb.

Who would have done something like this? A simple burglary was understandable. But there was a viciousness here that sickened her.

Two technicians arrived twenty minutes later. She watched for several moments as they went about their work. They started with her fingerprints, then moved through the house, leaving white powder in their wake.

Forty minutes later, the technicians were gone, and she and Chris were left in the house.

“You going to be okay?” he asked. “You could come and stay with me.”

She shook her head. “By the time I packed and got there, it would be time to go to work.”

“Then I'll stay here on your sofa.”

“No need.”

His expression was implacable. “I think there is.”

“I'll call Max Payton in a few hours.”

“Why don't you call him now?” he said, his voice hard.

“We don't know this has anything to do with the Westerfields.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but after twenty years on the police force, I don't much believe in coincidences,” he said as he picked up pieces of glass. “The Westerfields are the only thing new in your life.” He paused, then added, “If you don't call, I will. Someone tried to kill you earlier today. Maybe they meant to try again tonight. He—or she—needs to be put on notice, and at this point, Payton should be asking his client some questions.”

“I don't think it could be Leigh Howard. She just learned about it Saturday.”

“Two days. Long enough to hire someone. She stands to lose an inheritance if you're right.”

“I told her I didn't want it.”

“I doubt she believed you. Few people give up a fortune, and nearly all who have one can't believe anyone else wouldn't give everything they have to get one.”

She hesitated. She had Max Payton's cell phone, but she hated to be called in the early hours of the morning. Those kinds of calls always terrified her. Still, Chris was right. She had to be at the paper at 7:30 a.m.

She punched the numbers even as she wondered what she would say if he answered. It was an ungodly hour. He answered after two rings. The cell phone must be next to his bed, or he was a vampire. Or both.

“Payton,” he answered in a clipped voice. Not sleepy at all.

“Kira Douglas.”

Silence. Then, “Good God, do you know what time it is?”

“I would, if I had a workable clock. Someone trashed my house.”

Silence, then, “Why call me?”

“I think someone tried to kill me earlier.”

“I'm coming over.” The phone went dead.

That was the last thing she expected. She hadn't even given him the address. Her old address and phone number were in the phone book. Maybe he would go there.

Somehow, she thought not. He would know. He would have made it his business to know. He exuded competence.

She didn't know if she was prepared for him tonight. She was too heartsick to confront that cynicism. She was still numb by the events of the last twelve hours. She'd gone through a roller coaster of emotions. Terror at the MARTA station. Then spiraling hope. The crushing disappointment that followed. Then the destruction at the house.

She was running on autopilot at the moment, and she feared anything more would send her careening into a black hole.

“Damn,” she said. “He's coming. Now.”

“Didn't expect you to back down from a fight.”

She didn't. Never had. Never would. She was just so damned tired and frustrated. Time was seeping away. She stood and walked around the room.

“Do you have any brandy around here?” Chris asked.

“I think so. I keep it for eggnog at Christmastime. The bottle is ancient.” She started to get up. “If it's even intact. I didn't look in the cabinet beside the sink.”

“I'll do that.”

She sat back down. “You're a very nice man, Chris.”

“Not always,” he said.

She looked at his hard face. She imagined he'd probably been very good at his job. And right now she was very, very thankful to have him here. She'd been so alone these past few days, especially last night as she'd waited for news at the hospital. She probably should have called him or someone, but she had her mother's horror of imposing on other people. He had given her the information she needed. She'd hated to ask for more. “Thanks for being here.”

“You should have called me when you heard about the potential donor,” he said. “You should have called me after the incident at the MARTA station.”

“It happened so fast … both …” Her voice faded as she tried to defend her action.

“It's insulting to me, to your other friends,” he continued. Then his voice softened. “I tried to do everything myself when my wife fell ill. Didn't work very well and I hurt a lot of friends by shutting them out. Don't make the same mistake.”

“I didn't mean to do that … It's just imposing …”

“Christ, you sound like me a few years ago.” He put a hand on her arm. “Let me help, like your mother helped Risa.”

Dear God, she needed help. She nodded.

“I hope you mean that,” he said, and went to the kitchen. He returned with two juice glasses half filled. She wondered whether any of the other glasses survived.

She accepted one of the glasses and took a sip. The brandy burned all the way down.

He sat on the floor. There were no other chairs left whole in the room. “Tell me exactly what was said when you talked to Payton and Ms. Howard.”

She told him everything, every word she could remember. She'd called him after meeting with Leigh, but not the attorney. She should have, but she'd still felt blistered by Max Payton's words.

When she finished, he asked, “Did you talk to anyone else about the baby switch?”

“No. No one.” She couldn't keep her eyes from wandering about the room. She should clean up the house. At least, start. But her mind stopped at the possibility that someone might have tried to kill her, and that someone, or someone else, viciously destroyed everything important to her mother.

She took another sip of brandy, then asked, “What do we really know about Leigh Howard?”

“Just what's been in the newspapers. I'll start digging deeper. Maybe I'll stop over there.”

The doorbell rang.

She steeled herself. She recalled the frosty look on Max's face yesterday. She wasn't sure she could take it now.

It's for Mom
.

She shook her head at Chris as he started for the door. Instead, she went to it herself. Opened it.

He stood tall and lean and handsome and … grim.

Her heart sank. Even through the chill yesterday, or was it the day before, she thought she'd made the smallest impact. But looking at his face now, she knew she hadn't.

He was an enemy.

16

Max knocked at the door of the cottage-style brick home. It looked small, but was obviously well maintained. A streetlight revealed a multitude of rosebushes surrounding the porch.

He was still stunned by the phone call. Stunned and apprehensive. He wanted to think his conversation Saturday with Leigh had nothing to do with this. Yet something nagged at him. She'd been reckless in the past. Her college days had been tumultuous. She drank too much. She experimented with drugs, and she'd certainly had a tendency to pick guys more interested in her fortune than herself.

Kira Douglas opened the door. Her cheeks were smudged, and her eyes tired and sad. The look struck straight into his heart. Then she seemed to regain strength as she regarded him warily.

He had to work at maintaining his lawyer face. He had a compelling need to hug her and tell her everything would be all right.

He couldn't do that. For a number of reasons, he couldn't do that. Most of all his loyalty to Ed, and his own integrity as an attorney. He was the opposition. His duty was to his client. And he wasn't sure everything
would
be all right.

He stepped inside without an invitation and looked around. His eyes roamed around the slashed painting and furniture. There was a fury here that went beyond what he'd expected. It made him ill.

Then he saw the man standing in the shadows.

The man stepped forward. “I'm Chris Burke,” he said. “I'm a private investigator.”

“Ms. Douglas mentioned you,” Max said. “A former member of the police department, I understand. A captain.”

“You've done some research.”

“Your client tossed a bomb in my client's lap.” Max studied Burke. Mid to late forties. Early to be retired from a fast-track career. He was a tall man, taller than his own six foot two height. Big as well. Not fat, but big boned.

Max's gaze turned back to Kira. “What happened?” he said.

Burke answered instead. “A few hours earlier someone tried to tumble her from a MARTA station platform onto the tracks just as a train was coming.”

Shock stilled Max. A burglary could be random. Even one this vicious. But an attack on Kira's life hours earlier? As much as he wanted to, he couldn't escape the very real possibility that it had something to do with Kira's revelation.

His anger at the way she'd approached Leigh faded as he looked at her. Her dark hair looked mussed and she wore no makeup. She looked vulnerable and pale, and yet she had the light of battle in her eyes.

“Tell me everything,” he said. “From the beginning.”

“I took MARTA to work this morning. There's a station not far from here, and parking downtown is always a problem.” She paused, and he knew she was remembering every step. “I left work around seven. I just missed a train and was waiting for another. There were just a few people there. I heard the train coming.”

Her hands balled into fists, and he saw fear—no, terror—in her eyes as she obviously relived those seconds on the platform. He wanted to kill someone at that moment.

She stopped, then started again, her words coming in spurts. “I felt more than saw someone coming close to me, then he plowed into me, his hands … I'm not sure whether he stumbled and grabbed me or intentionally pushed me, but I fell toward the track. I tried to grab something … There was nothing there. Then someone caught my hand and pulled me away from the tracks. It was all so quick I didn't really get a look at the person who ran into me.”

“Did you call the police?”

“I thought it was just an accident. So did the man who helped me. I thought that until … I got back from the hospital and found the apartment in shambles.”

“When was that?”

“Early this morning. The hospital called last night and said a kidney had been located. I was there for a number of hours.”

He looked startled. “She had a transplant, then?”

“No. The kidney was deficient.” The defeat in her eyes was palpable.

“I'm sorry,” he replied.

“Don't be sorry. Just tell me who did this.”

“I wish I knew.” He couldn't say the MARTA incident and burglary didn't have anything to do with her claim. Not yet. But he sure as hell intended to find out.

He noticed the bandage around her arm. “Did that come from the MARTA station?”

She nodded.

He dug his fingers in his pocket. He wanted to punch someone. He hoped to hell that Leigh hadn't had anything to do with this. He couldn't believe she did. Fifteen years ago, maybe. Today, no.

He turned to the man standing behind Kira. “Burke?”

“Yes.”

“You used to be a cop. What do you think?”

Burke shrugged. “I learned never to think anything until I know more facts. I look at who has motive. Opportunity.”

“You think it's connected to Ms. Douglas's theory.”

“It's a possibility that can't be ignored.”

“You've called the police?”

“Of course,” Burke said. “They took fingerprints.” His tone was even, but the words were a warning.

“On a burglary?”

Burke shrugged. “You think this is an ordinary burglary?”

“Did you say anything about …”

“Leigh Howard?” Burke replied. “No. Not yet. We probably should have, but Ms. Douglas doesn't want the publicity that would result. At least not now.”

Max heard the threat in his voice. He didn't like it. But then, he didn't like what had happened here, either.

“Did you talk to her about the DNA test?” Kira asked.

“I did.”

“And …”

“She needs time to absorb this. Right now, she doesn't believe Ms. Douglas. I'm sure Ms. Douglas believes it, but …”

Kira started to say something, but Chris interrupted. “A blood test will determine the truth,” he said. “What are you—and Ms. Howard—afraid of?”

“Leigh doesn't believe it, and therefore feels that it's unnecessary,” Max said, his eyes neutral.

Kira's eyes sparked. Color came back into her face.

“Why did you come here, then?” she demanded. “To make sure I wasn't lying about the burglary? About the MARTA attack?”

“I didn't think you were,” he said softly. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Now you've seen for yourself. You can leave. I'll retain an attorney tomorrow and force a DNA test.”

“Give Leigh a little more time.”