Deep Blue (17 page)

Thinking of relationships—or lack of them—returned Conn’s thoughts to Hope and a memory surfaced of making love to her at the pool. He’d told her that he wouldn’t hurt her. It was odd how important that had become to him.

Maybe she was right. Maybe it was better if he just left her alone.

Hope was sitting in the galley drinking a cup of King’s thick Blue Mountain coffee when Andy came in with the satellite phone.

“It’s for you. He says his name’s Deitz.”

“Thanks, Andy.” Hope took the phone and pressed it against her ear. “Jimmy?”

“It’s me, all right. I’m afraid I’ve got bad news.”

Her fingers tightened around the phone. “What is it?”

“Buddy Newton’s in the hospital. Got a concussion, broken ribs. He’s busted up real bad.”

She sank back down on the seat of the dinette. “What happened?”

“Story I got, he was coming into the building pretty late. I guess he likes to walk his dog in the evenings. He’s got some kind of terrier or something.”

“Skolie,” she said, thinking of the fuzzy little brown mutt that Jimmy was so crazy about.

“Looks like a couple of thugs jumped him. Beat the crap out of him and stole his wallet.”

Her hand shook. “So you’re saying this was a mugging? The men were after his money?”

“Buddy doesn’t think so. I went to see him in the hospital this morning. He said one of the guys told him he had better take the offer on his place or he wouldn’t have to worry about selling. He wouldn’t have to worry about anything at all.”

“What do the police say?”

“To put it bluntly, they think Buddy’s full of shit. They figure he’d say anything to get the public behind his cause. His wallet was stolen. That’s enough for the cops. They’re looking for the guys who did it, though. I think they’re seriously concerned about an old man being beaten up like that.”

“He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?”

“Like I said, he’s busted up pretty bad, but it looks like he’ll recover.”

Hope’s throat felt thick. “Anything else turn up?”

A pause on the end of the line. “I had a friend take a look at that apartment fire at Hartley House. He’s an ex-arson investigator. He says he thinks someone may have tampered with the wiring, messed with it enough to make it look like the wiring was faulty. He’s pretty convinced it wasn’t.”

“You think we should go to the police? Maybe after what happened to Buddy—”

“We haven’t got any real proof. Like I said, my friend’s retired. He’s making an educated guess. Still, between the two of us, I’m betting he’s right.”

“Have you heard from the men who came to see you about throwing the investigation?”

“No. I just got a check. I haven’t cashed it and I don’t intend to.”

Hope took a long deep breath. “Thanks, Jimmy.”

She hung up the phone but it rang again almost at once. This time it was Gordy Weitzman, giving her his version of the same information. He pretty much agreed with Jimmy, that Buddy’s attack was probably a warning.

“I’m coming back to New York, Gordy,” Hope said, making a sudden decision. “I want to see Buddy, make sure he’s going to be all right.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You don’t want to get involved in this any more than you are already. Way out there, you’re safe. Here, anything could happen.”

But Hope was determined. As she hung up the phone, she was already mentally planning her trip back to New York. She would go on the Net, find a reasonable fare. If she got lucky, she could be there by tomorrow night.

Conn stuck his head into the galley just then. “Andy said you got a call from some guy named Deitz. That’s the detective you hired, right?”

“That’s him.”

“What’d he say?”

Hope told Conn about Buddy being in the hospital. She told him about the arson investigator and that it looked almost certainly like the fire had been set.

“I’m going to see him. I want to let him know there are still people who care about him. I want to be sure he’s okay.”

“Going back is not a good idea, Hope. You’re getting involved in something way too dangerous. I know you want to help that old man, but this really isn’t your problem.”

“I’m going, Conn. I’m going to get on the Internet and get a ticket, then I’m going to call Eddie and ask him to send the Sea Ray out to pick me up in the morning.”

“Fine. If you’re that determined, then I’m going with you.”

“Don’t be absurd. This has nothing to do with you.”

Conn’s jaw hardened in a way she was coming to know. “Maybe not. But I’m going anyway.”

“What about the treasure? You’re making important discoveries every day. You’re needed here, Conn, and you know it.”

“Just get the damned plane tickets. I’ll call Eddie and set things up for us to leave in the morning.”

She started to argue but the look in his eyes warned her not to. And the more she thought about it, the more she figured, under the circumstances, having an ex-Navy SEAL along might not be such a bad idea.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure you’re doing something crazy. Maybe if I come along, I can keep you from getting into even worse trouble.”

Hope opened her mouth to tell him she could take care of herself, but Conn was already gone.

After a three-hour-and-forty-minute Air Jamaica flight out of Kingston, the plane landed at JFK a little after eight in the evening.

Hope worried most of the way, first about Buddy, then about what her boss would do if he found out she was back in New York and involving herself in the Hartley House story again. The last hour of the flight, she worried about Conn spending the night in her apartment.

“I don’t suppose you’d consider getting a room,” she said to him as the yellow taxi they caught at the airport wove its way through the traffic in the busy Manhattan streets.

Conn fixed her with a glare. “I don’t suppose.”

The cab cut in and out between cars, the Pakistani driver blasting his horn and occasionally shaking a brown-skinned fist. The crosswalks were crowded, people bundled in heavy coats and woolen scarves. The recent snow had melted but a frosty mist hung in the air and a slick film of ice made the sidewalk a danger to navigate.

The taxi cut over to the curb in front of her Sixth Street apartment and Conn helped her out of the car. He paid the fare, caught her arm, and helped her cross safely to the door of the lobby. A chilling wind blew her hair back from her face and even though she was bundled in the heavy wool coat she had been wearing the day she’d left the city, after weeks in the Caribbean heat, she shivered.

“Not exactly Pleasure Island, is it?”

“Not exactly.”

They took the elevator up to her twelfth-floor apartment and she used the new key she’d had made to get in. The place was neat and clean, exactly as she had left it, but even more spartan than when she had first moved in.

“I didn’t have time to replace the stuff that was broken after the apartment was vandalized. I planned to do it when I got back to the city.”

Conn surveyed the room, his gaze taking in the bare walls that had once been warmed by pictures, the pale green sofa that no longer had any decorative pillows. The coffee table was there, but she hadn’t had time to replace the broken glass top.

“So you figure the attack on your place was a warning similar to the one Buddy Newton got.”

“Similar, but not nearly as painful.” She glanced around the apartment, wondering why it didn’t feel more like home. Maybe it was just that it was now so austere. She turned up the heat, hoping that would help.

“You’ll have to sleep on the sofa,” she said. “There’s only one bedroom.”

Conn picked up her soft-sided black canvas carry-on and carted it through the bedroom door before she could stop him.

“I’m too tall for the sofa,” he said from the other room. “You’ve got twin beds. I’ll sleep in one of those.”

“I have twin beds because my sister, Charity, and I shared this place for a while. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to—”

“Look, Hope—” Conn walked back into the living room. “I came here in case there was trouble. That’s something I know how to handle. I suppose I should have known the trouble would be you.”

“What are you talking about? I’m just being…” She let the words trail off. She was just being what? Cautious? Practical? She was only trying to protect herself, but that was something Conn didn’t seem to understand.

She sighed. It was obvious arguing was pointless—she could tell by the set of those very wide shoulders. He was wearing a pair of dark brown slacks and a white short-sleeved shirt. Once they got off the plane, he had pulled on a vee-necked tan cashmere sweater he got out of his carry-on, then stopped at one of the men’s stores in the airport and bought a pair of black leather gloves and a black wool overcoat—an impressive size 46.

Before they had left the boat, she had secretly wondered if he might not look like a fish out of water in his khaki slacks and deck shoes. Instead, in slacks and a sweater, he looked as if he had stepped right out of
GQ,
which irritated the hell out of her, though she had no idea why.

Maybe because he looked so good it made her itch to touch him, to run her fingers over his soft cashmere sweater and feel the muscles tighten underneath. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t here to scratch an itch. She had more important things to do.

“I know it’s past visiting hours, but I’d still like to go down to the hospital, see if I can find something out about Buddy’s condition. I suppose I could call, but if we went down there, they might let us in.”

“Depending on who’s on duty, there’s always a chance.”

“Sounds like you’re talking from experience.”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I spent a little time in the hospital after one of my first missions.”

“Is that the scar I noticed on your thigh?”

He nodded. “Simonov SKS—old Russian carbine. After that, I learned to be more careful.”

She had seen the ragged scar on his leg when they had been in the pool. At the time, her mind had been on other, more interesting parts of his anatomy.

Now she figured he had probably gotten the scar during a mission in Desert Storm, but figured, considering the nature of his former occupation, he would probably never tell her.

“The wound must have been pretty serious to leave a scar like that.”

The corners of his mouth curved up. “Yeah. You wanna see it?”

Hope bit back a laugh. “Some other time.”

Making her way into the bedroom, she changed out of her cotton pants and blouse into a warm pair of black wool slacks and a fuzzy black sweater. It was another cab ride to New York University Hospital, where Buddy had been taken. One of the maintenance people swept the walk out in front as they made their way toward the automatic doors. Conn took her arm, helping her along the slippery path, and they entered the busy reception room.

Hope walked over to the desk. “I’m here to see a man named Buddy Newton. Can you give me his room number?”

A black woman in a crisp white uniform tilted her head back to read the computer screen in front of her through bifocal lenses.

“Here it is…William “Buddy” Newton. Sixth floor, room 613. But visiting hours are over.”

“Thanks. I just want to check on him.” Before the woman could argue, Hope took off for the elevator. Conn caught up with her before the doors slid closed. They got off on the sixth floor, but when they reached the nurses’ station, it was deserted. Hope could hear female voices coming from one of the rooms down the hall.

“He’s in 613,” she said softly. “That’s this way.”

Conn chuckled. “I didn’t know you had such a streak of larceny in you. If you’d been a man, you might have made a pretty good SEAL. Once you put your mind to something, you don’t let a little thing like breaking the rules keep you from accomplishing your mission.”

Hope just smiled. They slipped quietly into Buddy’s room and the heavy door swished closed behind them. He was lying in the narrow bed closest to the door. The man in the bed next to his was either deeply asleep or unconscious. From the looks of the tubes running into his arms and up his nose, she thought it might be the latter.

“Hope? Hope, is that…is that really you?”

“Buddy!” She hurried to his side, knelt down beside the bed, and reached for his weathered hand. Hope saw that he was hooked up to an I.V. tube and a heart monitor. The steady beep was somehow reassuring.

“I thought you’d be sleeping. I just wanted to check on you, see if you were all right.”

“Hell, no…I’m not…all right.” He wheezed in a breath and it was obvious it was painful for him to speak. “Those bastards…pounded me…into the sidewalk.” He paused to catch his breath, then looked up at her and managed a wobbly smile. “Wouldn’t have happened…twenty years ago. I was still…pretty tough back then.”

Hope smiled. “Are you kidding? You still are.”

Speaking of
tough
reminded her that Conn stood in the shadows a few feet away. She had never seen him in action, but from the beginning, she had noticed a hardness about him. She had no trouble believing he was a man who could handle himself in a difficult situation.

“Buddy, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. His name is Conner Reese.”

Buddy squinted toward Conn, who stepped out of the shadows so Buddy could see him.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Newton.”

“Same…here. Any friend of Hope’s…and all that.” Buddy was a small man, maybe five-foot-six with his shoes on. He had freckles, once-red hair now faded to gray, and a weathered, ruddy complexion. Tonight his face was sort of a pasty gray.

“Conn came back with me from Jamaica. He was afraid there might be trouble.”

“Oh, there’s trouble…all right, and don’t I…know it.” He coughed then groaned as a shot of pain jolted through his injured ribs.

“Don’t try to talk,” Hope said. “You need to get your rest so that you can get well and get out of here.”

Buddy closed his eyes and she could see their brief conversation had exhausted most of his strength.

Hope squeezed his hand. “You get some sleep, okay? I’ll be back to see you in the morning. We can talk a little more then.”

Buddy just nodded. Hope waited at his bedside until he fell asleep, then she and Conn quietly left the room. The night nurse, a heavyset woman in her forties with dark hair pulled back in a very tight bun, spotted them the moment they stepped out into the hall.

“Hey, what are you doing in there? Don’t you know visiting hours are over?”

Conn flashed a smile unlike anything Hope had ever seen. It made his eyes look bluer, his handsome face even more handsome. As he took in the woman’s rounded features, for once he looked almost friendly.

“Sorry. We just got in from the Caribbean…one of those long, bouncy flights, you know? Hope’s been worried sick about Buddy. We just stopped by so she could get word of his condition. We didn’t see anyone when we got off the elevator. I’m glad we found you. I’m sure you’ll be able to tell us everything we need to know.”

The woman’s face lit with a smile. A thick hand smoothed back her heavy dark hair. “Of course. If you’ll just sign the visitor’s sheet, I’ll be happy to tell you whatever I can.”

They both filled out a line on the sheet beneath the date, printing then signing their names, and the woman reached for Buddy’s chart. She rattled off a list of injuries that began with a concussion, several broken and cracked ribs, a sprained ankle, a deep gash on the back of his head, and a list of miscellaneous bruises and contusions.

“My God, it’s a wonder they didn’t kill him,” Hope said.

“He’s a grouchy old cuss,” the nurse said, “but he’s also rather charming. He’s got half the nurses running errands for him.”

Hope smiled. “That’s Buddy.”

They left the hospital, Hope somewhat relieved, but the long day was beginning to take its toll. By the time they were headed back to her apartment, she was exhausted.

“You want to get something to eat?” Conn asked. “You haven’t had anything but airline food all day and there wasn’t much of that.”

“I’m not really hungry. But if you are, there’s a great Chinese take-out one block away.”

“Sounds like a winner to me.”

The cab let them off in front of her building and with Conn’s help, she navigated the icy sidewalk. “I’m really beat. I think I’ll go on up.”

Conn shook his head. “Sorry. It doesn’t work that way. While we’re here, you go where I go.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about keeping you safe. If you don’t like it, just remember what Buddy looked like lying in that hospital bed. I’m not about to let that happen to you.” He tipped his head toward the block on the other side of the intersection. “Come on. Toughen up. We’ll be out of there and back to your apartment in just a few minutes.”

Hope sighed. Surely Conn was overreacting. But she thought of Buddy and the destruction of her apartment, then nodded and took hold of his arm.

Conn slept in the damned twin bed. He could have handled the tight fit if he’d been snuggled up with Hope. As it was, he tossed and turned and constantly looked over at the small lump curled in the center of the other bed.

Amazing how well a woman slept when she knew a man was lying there aching for her. Hell, he’d had a hard-on for the last two hours. He was tempted to go in and take a cold shower, but it was the middle of the night and he didn’t want to wake her. Besides, he didn’t really think it would do any good.

Conn shifted onto his back and shoved his hands behind his head. Staring up at the ceiling, he thought of Hope and how gentle she had been with the sick old man. His suspicions about Hope were growing. He was beginning to believe there wasn’t a single tough bone in her entire luscious little body.

Except when it came to him.

Hope was steadfast where he was concerned, determined to keep her distance. Funny thing was, the more she tried to escape him, the more resolute he became that she wouldn’t. It was crazy, but he was beginning to entertain some semi-serious thoughts about the woman. He could hardly believe it. A month ago, getting involved with a female was the last thing he wanted.

Morning finally came and Conn climbed out of bed. Though he had tossed and turned most of the night, he had actually managed to catch a couple of hours of sleep. Since there’d been a time he ran mostly on less than none, he felt passably good.

Hope was already up, he realized, a little surprised since he was an early riser. Rubbing a hand over his night’s growth of beard, he padded into the bathroom. When he came out fifteen minutes later, the smell of coffee greeted him and his stomach growled. Pulling on a pair of black slacks and a dark gray sweater, he headed into the kitchen.

“I hope you’re hungry.” She was frying a skillet full of bacon, doing it so well she didn’t even have to dodge any popping grease.

“Are you kidding? King has ruined me. I’m starved.” He looked around the cozy kitchen, which was neat and orderly: white cupboards, a couple of bright yellow dishtowels folded neatly on the light oak Formica countertop. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Just sit down and get your appetite ready.”

Conn pulled out a chair and sat down at the little butcher block table in the kitchen, noticing one of the legs was held in place with clear wrapping tape, obviously another casualty of her intruders. He thought of what might have happened if Hope had come home while the men were still in the apartment and his chest tightened.