Double Trouble (24 page)

She heard Gabby’s voice again:
“Stop looking at your feet. You’ll only trip over them.”

His voice softened. “‘Draw with confidence’ means with wild boldness. Like God is going to catch you.”

The image of Davy leaping from the top step sluiced into PJ’s mind.

“That’s grace, Princess. It’s being caught by God. Because He wants to.”

“I wish I could believe that. . . .”

In the silence, the waves lapped the shore. A wrapper tumbled by, pushed by the wind.

Finally, “Oh, PJ, I wish you could see what I see.”

“I wish I could see it too.” She winced even as she said it, wishing the wind might snatch the words away.

“Don’t leave. I know it’s the easy thing. I know it’s the familiar thing. But you don’t want to . . . and I don’t want you to.”

She didn’t even have a quip for him, something about fetching coffee or buying donuts.

“You still there?”

“For now.”

“Just be careful, okay? And don’t run away on me. I . . . need you, Princess.”

He hung up before she could
 
—before she wanted to
 
—protest. She closed the phone. Tapped it against her knee.

The throne of grace.

“I’m sorry I just keep messing up, Lord.” She drew in a breath, smelling the fresh water, the night scent as it combed the trees. “I’m so sorry.”

“Draw with confidence . . .”

She heard the words like the wind, softly, and closed her eyes, “Help me to jump . . . like Davy, into Your arms.”

Tracing the moonlight across the dark plain of the water, PJ slowly realized that as she’d sat, it had stretched out like a spotlight and puddled her in the middle.

PJ veered off Highway 35 south, away from a new beginning and onto the exit that led her, hopefully surreptitiously, back to Dally’s neighborhood.

“Don’t run away on me. I . . . need you, Princess.”

A streetlamp poured light down on the empty parking spot in front of Gabby’s that the Charger normally occupied. She drifted up to the curb, parked, and got out. Only a glow in the back of Gabby’s house
 
—the kitchen lights, probably
 
—suggested someone was home.

Dally’s place collected shadows, emanating danger as it sat in darkness, the streetlamp just barely illuminating the porch. PJ paused at the entrance to the walk and took a second to search for Lee. Sure enough, she spotted his car, three down and across the street, out of the hover of the lamplight. She peered toward it but couldn’t make out his outline.

Next door, the rottweiler lounged on the porch. He lifted
his head and let out one bark as she advanced up Dally’s walk. Apparently she wasn’t worth the energy of a full-out alert anymore.

Movement on the porch stilled her. She froze, halfway up the walk. A form stood in the darkness, someone by the front door. “Hello?”

Where was her two-liter when she needed it? She gripped her phone like a Mace bottle. “Who’s there?”

The figure stepped off the porch and into the light. Lee.

Relief whooshed through her, shaking her limbs. “You scared me.”

“Where’ve you been?” He looked tired, despite his clean-shaven chin. In this light
 
—and in his suit coat and tie, with the badge at his belt, the bulk of his shoulder holster
 
—he reminded her a little of Boone in his full detective regalia. His cool eyes scraped over her. “Are you okay?”

She came onto the porch, brushing passed him. “I’m fine.” She stopped and looked at him, even as she pulled out her key. “You haven’t seen any . . . strange guys around here, have you?”

“Why?”

She lifted a shoulder, eyeing again the rottweiler, who watched them with lazy, unconcerned eyes. Funny that he wasn’t clawing at the fence to take out a piece of Lee’s backside.

“I’ll bet you’re getting tired of this gig, huh? All for a woman who won’t even appreciate it,” Lee said.

“I think Dally appreciates it,” PJ said.

“Why? Have you talked to her?”

“No, but Jeremy has.”

“Really? Where is Jeremy?”

She put her key into the lock. “He won’t tell me.”

“Yeah,” Lee said quietly. “He won’t tell me either.”

She opened the door, then flicked on the light. “That’s how PIs are
 
—secretive.”

She was about to close the door behind her, but Lee stepped into the frame. “I think you should call him.”

“No, Lee. He’s busy. Besides, you’re here.”

He shut the door slowly, turning and closing in on her space.

That’s when she smelled it, a mentholated odor that . . . seemed . . . No, it couldn’t be . . .

She looked at him as her heart thudded.

“Apparently he’s a cop.”
Her own voice thundered in her head even as the missing photograph of Dally and her boyfriend in South Dakota swept into her mind. It had gone missing right after the second break-in.

She stared at dark, tall Lee, who looked like a . . .
cop
, who had been here . . . too many times, because once was enough for Gabby to recognize him. Lee, from Chicago, who had helped Dally relocate, who knew her whereabouts . . . as if he were keeping . . . tabs on her. . . .

“She thinks that one of Finch’s contacts is after her. . . .”

“Another witness got killed . . .”

Lee, who said he’d
seen
PJ get shoved into the trunk of a car but, although he was a trained FBI agent, had lost her whereabouts. Thankfully, he’d called Jeremy twice.

Lee, who wanted to know where Jeremy was so . . . what? He could track down Dally . . . who would get killed while in Jeremy’s custody? They’d blame Jeremy. Or at least never suspect Lee. . . .

Or . . . Leroy. As in Leroy Simmons.

Roy.

Why, oh why, couldn’t her instincts kick in one minute, even one
millisecond
, sooner? PJ backed away. “What do you want,
Roy
?”

The name registered on his face in a look that sent a chill through her. “So, you figured it out.” He pulled the gun from his holster as PJ edged toward the living room. “Now listen. No screaming or anything unprofessional. I just need your help.” He gestured at her phone. “Call your boyfriend.”

“Boone?”

“Funny.” He nodded at her. “Jeremy won’t show up for anyone but you.”

“You’re the one who kidnapped me so that Jeremy would show up and you could track down Dally! Did you steal Missy’s car too?”

His mouth tightened to a hard knot.

She took another step toward the chinchilla cage. They began to stir. “I’m not calling Jeremy. Sorry.”

“Oh, I think you are.” He pointed the gun at her feet. “It’ll be hard to wear flip-flops without toes.”

Her eyes widened. “Now, listen . . .” She bumped up against the chinchilla cage. One of the fuzzy rats let out a scream. Leroy pointed his gun at it.

“What are you doing? You can’t kill a chinchilla!”

He stared at her as if she’d joined PETA. “Yes, I can. They’re bred for their fur.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say.” Behind her, she gave the cage a tiny jiggle. The others began to scream. The house filled with sounds of mayhem and terror.

Lee gave her a dark look. “Funny. Make them shut up or I’ll shoot them one at a time.”

“What am I going to do
 
—sing them a lullaby?”

“Fine.” He aimed the gun at the cage.

“No!” PJ turned and shoved the cage over. The door broke open as it spilled onto the floor. The chinchillas streamed from the cage, escaping into the room, screaming, spitting, hiding.

“Oh, my!”

PJ froze, wide-eyed, horrified at the newcomer’s voice.

Gabby stood in the kitchen, dressed in fuzzy pink slippers, a housecoat, and pink flannel pajamas, her hair in a handkerchief. “The powder puffs are out!”

Lee turned toward her. “What is she doing here?”

Gabby shuffled into the living room. “Oh, I lost him, Dally. I lost Simon. Is he here?” She lifted her feet as chinchillas ran toward her. “Make them stay away!” She stared at PJ, fear on her face.

“It’s okay, Gabby,” PJ said, casting a glance at Lee, who pursed his lips at her. He’d pulled his gun to the side, out of sight. “Simon isn’t here. It’s time to go home.” She stood and nudged Gabby toward the door. “Go home, Gabby.”

Gabby looked at PJ, then to Lee. “I’m a good girl, I am.”

Oh no, more movie lines. PJ touched her shoulders. “Go home to Simon. I’ll be over later.”

But Gabby stopped at the door, peering at her. “Simon isn’t there. Just Marlon.”

“Right. Brando. Tell him hi.” She noticed the kitchen door hung open, the locks, but apparently not the latches, fixed. She watched Gabby pad down the steps.

“Don’t even think it, PJ. I’ll go after you both.”

She turned back to Leroy. “She’s crazy, you know. She didn’t even see you.”

“I know.” He motioned her to the sofa. “She’s been crazy for a long time. Now dial.”

PJ sat down, shoving her hands between her knees. “No.”

He sat on the coffee table in front of her, holding the gun loosely. “Yes.”

She swallowed, studied him for a long moment. “How can you do this? Dally trusted you. She probably loved you. And you lied to her.”

“No, I didn’t. I loved her. But she couldn’t get it through her head not to testify. If she’d just listened, then none of this would have been necessary. Instead she told me to stay out of her life. . . . She did this. It’s her fault. She just couldn’t see that she should leave it alone. Otherwise people were going to start getting hurt. Like my family back in Chicago.”

PJ clenched her jaw. Swallowed. She stared at Lee but saw Boone, saw his desperation, heard him as he pleaded with her to stop. But she could no sooner stop being a PI than she could stop breathing.

And she needed a man who watched her back. Not blocked her way.

“If you love her, then why didn’t you just let her go? Why hurt her?”

“Listen, I was hired to do a job.”

“Hired by who?”

“Finch. He just wanted to keep her quiet. But she wouldn’t, so it came down to her or me. That other witness
 
—only a reminder to all of us that Billy Finch is still in charge.”

Not anymore. PJ stared at her phone.

“Call him.”

“No.”

“Call him.”

She shook her head.

“You are so stupid. Really? Is it worth this?” He leaned forward as if to press the gun to her foot.

She brought down her hammer fist, hitting his arm hard. It swung wide, and he jerked forward.

She grabbed him around the neck and slammed his head down onto her knee. Blood spurted from his nose. Kicking him in the gut, she scrambled over the back of the sofa, landing hard on the floor.

A chinchilla cowering in the corner screamed.

Lee let out a word that put her teeth on edge. “You’re not going anywhere!” He leaped before she could find her feet and took her down, scrubbing her chin onto the wooden floor. “You’re going to regret that
 
—”

“So will you, dude!”

PJ felt, more than saw, Sammy’s presence, as he yanked Lee off her. She winced at the sound of fist against jaw. Lee slammed into the wall, shaking the house, his gun long gone. Sammy clamped a paw over his neck, then twisted Lee around in an arm bar, his face pancaked against the wall. “Don’t move.”

“That’s right!” Morgan hobbled around the sofa, wielding a bat. And behind her, Karla looked like she might want a piece of Lee herself. Stacey appeared in the doorway, carrying a tire iron.

The Rockets to the rescue.

“Oh, for crying in the sink, you already got him!” Gabby appeared in the door behind Stacey, holding her cast-iron skillet.

“Gabby!” PJ sprang to her feet. “Are you okay?”

Gabby smiled. “I still got it. Hollywood didn’t know what they were missing.”

“No, they didn’t, did they?” PJ grinned at her. “You deserve an Oscar, Gabby.”

“Sweetie, I may be eccentric, but all the reels are rolling up here.”

PJ glanced at Sammy, still looking like a prizefighter as he manhandled Lee.

He gave her a sheepish smile “Grandma called me and said she thought you were in trouble. I was down on one knee . . . pleading my case to Morgan. I asked her to marry me.”

She had to give him points for perseverance. PJ turned to Morgan. “And?”

“He told me you two were learning how to dance. Is that true?” Morgan still held the bat.

“Gabby was teaching us,” PJ said, suppressing the urge to ease the weapon from Morgan’s hand. Thankfully, she lowered it as sirens wailed in the distance. Obviously someone had also called 911.

“Well, fiddle-dee-dee, what’s your answer?” Gabby said, her eyes shining.

Morgan dropped the bat. “Yes. My answer is yes.” She stepped close to Sammy as if to kiss him.

“Don’t you move, mister,” Gabby said to Lee, still plastered to the wall. She waggled her skillet at him just in case he might have missed that.

Morgan saw it and instead ran her hand down Sammy’s cheek. “Maybe your grandma could teach me to dance too. After all, she has great dance moves. I saw her in that movie with Doris Day,
Romance on the High Seas
 
—
I even have the DVD.”

“Oh, pshaw. I was only an extra.” But Gabby smiled, tilted her head, batted her eyes.

Only an extra. Hardly.

“Why was he trying to hurt you, PJ?” Near the door Karla radiated a prison-yard menace. She glared at Lee.

The fact that her team had come running when Gabby called nudged something deep inside PJ. She could hardly breathe, cutting her gaze from Karla to Gabby, at the friends rising to her rescue.

“I wish you could see what I see.”

“Because my partner is protecting Dally, and Le
roy
here is working for Billy Finch.”

PJ got the appropriate response of anger from Gabby. “I knew he wasn’t good for Dally.”

“All this time he was supposed to be keeping her safe, but he was hired to keep tabs on her, to keep her from talking, and if need be, to kill her before the trial. He was probably thrilled when she put herself into my partner’s custody
 
—what better way to deflect attention away from himself when she wound up dead? Maybe he even used her fears to plant the idea that Finch was after her
 
—which he was, of course, but she didn’t know how close. But first Lee had to cover up his relationship with Dally. He remembered that she had a picture of him in her bedroom. Which is why he broke in twice. Why he ransacked the house. Even why he threw me into the trunk
of a car: so he could follow Jeremy back to Dally and finish her
 
—and maybe us
 
—off.

“Only, why didn’t you?” PJ gave Sammy the go-ahead and he added some muscle incentive to her question.

“Because he saw me, and we spent the afternoon tracking down Missy Gainer,” Leroy growled.

Oh. Jeremy had believed her.

Gabby squealed as a chinchilla ran over her foot. She reached down and grabbed it. “I think we better get these powder puffs back in their cage before Dally shows up.”

As if lured by the prey, Simon bounded out of Dally’s bedroom and jumped on top of the television. He let out a mew.

“Mother!”

PJ made a face even as Gabby’s countenance fell.

Evelyn.

She stormed into the house, looking like she had been pulled away from a bridge game, and froze, her gaze first landing on Lee, then Sammy, over to PJ, and finally melting into a look of horror at her mother and her cast-iron armament. “What are you doing?”

Gabby glanced at the skillet, lowered it. “Saving PJ.”

“Who is PJ?”

PJ raised her hand.

Evelyn stared at her with a sort of openmouthed confusion. “That’s Dally, Mother. I’m sorry, but that’s the last straw. You are moving, as fast as possible. First you call the house and hang up on me, and now I find you in your pajamas
 
—Sammy, what are you doing to that man? Let him go.”