Dirty Deeds (12 page)

Paul dropped his head down to the pillow and groaned. They'd better find Jamie and soon. If she kept looking like that, the high road be damned. He'd jump her bones like an over-eager frat boy.

* * * *

For a man who'd kissed her like a lover last night, he certainly was different in the light of day. Granted, he did look a little worse for wear, and she supposed the bourbon played a big hand in that. Wait, there was no supposing about it. Way too much liquor combined with cozy firelight had set the mood, and both of them had responded. She'd like to say she was sorry except she wasn't. It had been great. There were times when getting carried away with the moment was the right thing to do and last night was one such moment. She smiled all over again just thinking about the touch of his lips to hers. She'd like more of that, but maybe not right now.

Waiting for the tea to steep, Louie risked a peek around the corner. Paul's head was on the pillow, an arm thrown over his eyes. Damn, he looked good. Thinking about how he'd reacted to her a few minutes ago gave her pause. For a second there it seemed like he would jump right out of his skin. Twitchy, definitely twitchy. Never realized she had that kind of power over a man. Some tough hockey player he seemed to be. If he was going to shadow her on this hunt, he really was going to have to toughen up.

Then again, the end to last night was unexpected. She bet he felt the same way. They didn't really know each other, she was tracking his criminal brother, and they'd discovered a dead body. None of those things were particularly conducive to the start of a romantic relationship. And yet that's the way it felt the moment his lips touched hers: pure romance, not at all like a couple of strangers reaching out in an alcohol-enhanced moment. No, it truly had felt natural and real. That he pulled back and hadn't seized the advantage impressed her more than a little.

It took a lot to impress Louie; she'd seen and heard it all. If not during her days on the police force, certainly since becoming a bail enforcement agent. Every excuse known to man had been offered during the last five years, and she'd grown hardened in response. Or maybe she was just cynical. In any event, impressing her was not something done easily or often.

Before she'd announced her presence and asked Paul if he wanted tea, she'd studied him for a few minutes. She didn't mean to spy. More than anything else, she was curious, or at least that's what she told herself. She was as intrigued with Paul McDonald as with any man. He kept surprising her, and she liked that about him.

With all the bourbon she poured down last night, she thought she'd drop like a rock once she hit the bed. Didn't happen. Instead, she kept seeing his green eyes and recalling the fabulous pressure of his lips against hers. She'd wanted more and was disappointed when he pulled away. Well, disappointed and awed. Most men she knew would have pressed the advantage and dealt with the fallout later. Not Paul McDonald, who took the gentleman's path.

This morning with his red hair tousled, and his long, muscular body stretched out on her sofa, she'd had the crazy urge to run in and jump on him. Considering the fact he was the brother of a man under federal indictment, that didn't make a whole lot of sense. Plenty of men expressed interest in Louie, and a couple who were even doggedly persistent. She'd dated one or two of them, and it had been fine. The difference between those men and the one on her sofa was simple: sparks. Not once did she experience the urge to jump on any of the others. Only one so far filled her with such want and a complete and utter disregard for consequences.

Once more the single word floated through her mind: crazy.

The tea she fixed now was little more than an excuse to get out of the same room. She'd really been afraid she'd do something to embarrass herself. A little time and a little space were in order. Give her that and she'd be rock steady Louie again.

By the time the tea had steeped, Paul was up and looking more like the man she met on the ice that first day. His green eyes were clear and though he was a bit on the pale side, he appeared to be making a full recovery.

They sat at the bar in the kitchen and drank the tea while chatting about his brother and what they'd do next. Neither one of them brought up the kiss or what it implied. It sort of hung between them, acknowledged though unspoken. As if either one of them mentioned it, the magic would be gone. So they drank tea, exchanged smiles and small talk as though nothing passed between them.

The tea polished off, Paul left and after Louie changed into jeans and a blouse, she headed over to her office. When she parked the Chevelle outside the brick building, she noticed that Paul's car wasn't in the lot.

She breathed easier.
Thank God for small favors.

"Good morning, sunshine."

Louie turned and grinned but her smile faded as she got a good look at Meg. Her coffee-colored skin was gray and her eyes were hooded. Her whole body seemed smaller, almost folded in on itself. Louie ran to Meg's side and took one arm to help her up the stairs. Always thin, today Meg felt like little more than a shadow.

"Are you all right?" There had to be some reason her friend seemed to fade away before her eyes.

Meg patted Louie's arm. "Had better days, little one, but this too shall pass," she said.

Had better days? That was an understatement. Louie knew some really good doctors and she was certain they could do something to help Meg. "Maybe we should take a run to the doctor's office?"

Meg shook her head. "No, no, no. All I need is a little rest and I'll be good as gold."

Louie wasn't buying it. She'd never seen Meg look this haggard before. On most days, she was a veritable ray of sunshine, a bundle of energy and good humor that Louie envied. Not today, and a feeling deep in the pit of her stomach told her this wasn't good. She couldn't just stand by and do nothing. There had to be something she could do. She helped Meg up the stairs and into the small apartment.

Louie got Meg settled into her favorite chair and made her a cup of steaming tea, the special Earl Grey ordered from England. She set it on the small table beside Meg and knelt in front of her.

"Are you sure you don't want me to call the doctor? I'll go with you."

Meg's smile held some of her usual brightness. She touched a frail hand to Louie's hair. "No, Louise, I don't want to visit the doctor."

"I think…"

Meg pressed a finger to Louie's lips, stopping her. "I'm an old woman and time, my dear sweet friend, takes its toll whether we want it to or not. The doctor cannot turn back the clock and make me young and vital again."

"He could help you feel better."

"Perhaps and perhaps not. This is what it is and I accept that. You'll have to do the same."

"I don't know."

Her smile was sad. "I've had my day, Louise, and it was good. Now, I watch time pass and wonder when I will join my dear sweet Henry. I don't believe it will be today, so please stop worrying. I'm going to be as fine as an old lady can be."

"I can't help but worry about you."

"And that's one of the reason I love you. I can't imagine how dull these last few years would have been without you around. You remind me of myself, little one. You are the kind of pistol I was in my day. You'll do something good for this world and I'll go to my maker glad you were my friend."

Louie smiled. She appreciated Meg's confidence in her even if it might be misplaced. She did know that having Meg as her friend made her a better person. "And right back at you."

Meg squeezed her hand. "Now get to work," she said. "You're wasting daylight, as my darling Henry would say."

"Yes ma'am." Louie saluted.

By the time Louie left the apartment, Meg was at rest in her chair, her eyes closed. Louie felt a little better, though not much. Despite Meg's protestations to the contrary, she looked ill and Louie didn't like it. She made a mental note to check on Meg more often and to ask Harry to keep an eye out as well. Friends like Meg were few and far between, and she didn't want anything to happen to Meg.

* * * *

Jamie knew it was stupid to even do this, but what choice did he have at this point? He had nowhere to run and no one to run to. They'd killed the one person who still believed in him. Now, she was cold and dead, and it was his fault. He was more alone than ever and he deserved to be.

Except for his brother. Paul would be furious, and even Jamie couldn't blame him at this point. Man, oh man, he'd screwed things up big time, even for a lifelong screw-up like him. Right now, he was desperate enough to risk Paul's fury.

The time Jamie'd spent underneath the city bridge was the last straw. While that nasty spot under the bridge had been an excellent place to hide, he couldn't and wouldn't spend one more second beneath the rattling concrete and asphalt. The thought of what he might find if he returned was something he couldn't deal with. No, what he needed were clothes, food, and a car, and he needed them pronto.

He would beg, he would cry…hell, he'd do whatever he needed to in order to get Paul to listen. If Jamie just stuck to the truth, even as crappy as it was, Paul would have to help him. There was a time, even if it was a long time ago, when they were close. Paul would remember. He'd have to. If he didn't, Jamie was afraid he'd be dead before the week was out. He could feel them breathing down the back of his neck already, and it had him jumping at his own shadow.

Paul might hate Jamie for a dozen different reasons, but he refused to believe Paul would turn his back and let his only brother die. He'd always been a stand-up kind of guy, the one who did the right thing every time. More important, they were blood and that had to count for something. Didn't it? Jesus, Jamie hoped so.

Early morning traffic was light as he walked on the shoulder of the narrow road toward Paul's house. Gravel crunched beneath his feet. He kept to the shadows along the ridge of the prairie they call Five Mile. Once, long ago, instead of the high-end urban developments now dotting the landscape, Five Mile had been covered with massive wheat fields and family farms. In the middle of the hundreds of acres of prairie sat an old red brick schoolhouse and the requisite clapboard-sided country grange painted bright white.

Just down the road from the schoolhouse, Paul's place was one of the few original farmhouses still on the prairie, distinctive amidst the rush of modern architecture of the surrounding homes. From the outside, it looked much like it did in days gone by. Inside was different story, with every modern convenience installed with great care and thought. The house still had an original feel to it without sacrificing its past. Jamie hadn't been invited here often, but when he did, he was in awe of the home Paul had made.

Jamie had thought it wise to come under the cover of the pre-dawn darkness, particularly considering it had been days since he'd showered or shaved. A hundred years ago, he could have moved through the area without attracting attention. Today, his clothes were dirty and he smelled. He'd stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. People would pay attention and he didn't need a nosy neighbor calling the police.

After he waited a good two hours under the fire bushes planted along one of the small out-buildings, Jamie felt confident enough to sneak up to the back door. He hadn't noticed a single sign of life during the entire time he waited. Quiet as a cemetery, there was a feeling of emptiness. He was pretty sure Paul wasn't at home.

At the back door, he tried the knob. Of course it was locked. No big surprise, since Paul was a careful guy. Jamie reached up to feel around the gutter and the planters. Hopefully, big brother tucked away an emergency key. No such luck. He eyed the door, solid wood with six panels of glass. It was attractive and designed to allow plenty of light into the kitchen. He studied it for a long moment before making his decision.

The choice was between his safety and Paul's property. Right at the moment, Jamie didn't much care about a mess or damage to the tidy house. He looked around and spied a nice big rock just on the other side of the driveway. Once he held the rock in his hand, Jamie put it through the glass of the back door panel closest to the lock. He carefully reached through the jagged pieces to turn the deadbolt. The door whispered open. He slipped inside and held his breath. So far, so good.

No alarm screeched to announce his unauthorized entry, and he let out that withheld breath, relieved. Just in case, he zipped to the front of the house to look for an alarm panel and found it inside the front hall. He also found it was armed and the clock was ticking. Jamie started to panic, and then, just as quickly stopped and smiled. He punched in a four-digit number and voila, the lighted digital panel informed him the alarm was disengaged. All it took to shut it down was a head for trivia and the ability to recall the year of his brother's Stanley Cup winning goal. Good old dependable and, more importantly, predictable Paul.

With the alarm disengaged, Jamie stood very still and listened. Earlier, he'd had the sense the house was empty and he'd been right. Odd, though. Paul was very much a creature of habit. With the start of the new season, Paul would never consider leaving town during the season. Not without his team anyway.

Of course, Jamie hadn't talked to Paul in a long time and things change. For all he knew, Paul could have a couple of beauties on the string and might be spending a little quality time with one, or both. Didn't sound like such a bad idea to Jamie.

He remembered all too well the throngs of women that hung on his brother when he was a player. They were at every door in every city and they never seemed to have eyes for anyone but Paul McDonald. Why should it be any different now? Big brother was still tall, handsome, and successful, the holy trinity for a babe magnet.

But Jamie had no time to worry about why Paul wasn't home. Too much to do. First things first: he raced up the carpeted oak stairs, stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower in Paul's master bath. The shower itself was an absolute thing of beauty with glass walls and three massaging shower heads. After a couple of nights of torture, the warm water assaulting his body from the different directions was nothing short of heaven. He scrubbed until his skin glowed and he felt clean for the first time in days. He sure smelled a lot better.