Killer Love (58 page)

“Don’t say that, coach,” said a short boy standing near second base. “Tremaine’ll start missing balls on purpose.”

“Bite me!” came a shout from the outfield, most likely Tremaine. “I bet you miss
your
balls since the operation.”

A burst of laughter and good-natured ribbing ended abruptly when the boys, seemingly all at once, noticed Sam.

Hawkins turned and saw her, then stood immobile for a few seconds before gesturing to one of the boys shagging balls the fielders threw back in. The boy took over batting to his teammates while Hawkins jogged over to Sam.

He wore a white muscle shirt, gray athletic shorts, and a black Red Sox ball cap. He stopped in front of Sam, the tendons in his arms gleaming with perspiration as he crossed them over his chest. He gave her a lopsided grin, his eyes sparkling in the afternoon sun. “What a nice surprise.”

Thoughts of how cool and comfortable he looked, how hot and miserably wilting she felt, and the news about his screwing around with a married woman combined to make her response a little sharper than necessary. “Well, since you weren’t in your office on a work day, and I needed to speak with you, I had no choice but to track you down.”

“Is it a crime to take a day off, Detective?”

She shook her head irritably. “Not a crime, but a little irresponsible to take a day off work to
play
.”

“To play? The boys...” He looked behind him toward the field, then swung his gaze back to her. He seemed about to say something, then he shook his head. “Never mind. What can I do for you?” His jaw tightened, causing the dimples to deepen.

“Did you do toxicology testing on Mona Morrison?”

“Yes. But the results aren’t back yet. Why?”

“One of the interviews uncovered a claim of drug abuse. Cocaine.”

“Cocaine? Judge Mona?”

Sam shrugged. “I agree, doesn’t sound likely, but you never know. If it’s true, it could have played a part in her murder.”

“Toxicology results can take six to eight weeks.”

Sam blew a breath out between pursed lips. “I don’t have that long. I need some answers right away.”

“We can do a hair analysis. That will show if there is cocaine in the system.”

“How long will that take?”

“Normally twenty-four to seventy-two hours after it reaches the lab. I’ll go in tonight and take the samples and send them out. I’ll ask them to put a rush on it and let you know when I have the results.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, trying to sound a little more cordial than she had earlier.

“Sure. And look, I’m sorry I wasn’t available at the office. Sorry you had to come all this way.”

She didn’t respond right away. His apology made her feel like an ass. A strand of damp hair had come loose from her ponytail and she tucked it behind her ear. She could feel sweat trickling down her sides, underneath the jacket. Damn heat. “No, I’m sorry,” she sighed. “This heat makes me a little crabby.”

He grinned again, one of those charming grins that reached his eyes, making them glint like sunlight on an aqua sea. “It’s okay.” He reached out and took her lapel in his hand, letting the material slide between his thumb and forefinger. “You wouldn’t be so hot if you took this off.”

Sam’s chest tightened and her breath slowed. The back of his hand hadn’t actually stroked her breast, but it had come close. “That won’t help,” she said, her voice sounding raspy and unnatural.

“No?”

She shook her head. “Maybe if you moved back, I wouldn’t be so hot.”

His mouth crooked in amusement. “Oh? I make you hot?”

Sam’s face flushed even warmer. “Of course not, I mean, not like that. You’re just too damn close.”

She stepped back and he released her, chuckling deep in his chest. “Sorry, Detective, didn’t mean to make you...” His pause was thick with innuendo, “...whatever I made you.”

Sam stared at him, searching for an appropriate response. Finding none that wouldn’t just prolong the agony, she spun around hastily, half stumbling as she made her way back to the car. Even though she could no longer see him, she felt his gaze, burning into her, hotter than the inferno of the fiery sun.

****

Sam’s mind was barely on her driving as she headed back to the station. The man was exasperating; unlike anyone she’d ever met. Oh, she’d met his
type
. Married one, in fact. But she’d never known anyone who could so thoroughly befuddle her thinking, throw her off her game like he could. She would have to be very careful around Doctor Dexter Hawkins. Keep contact to a minimum. A
professional
minimum.

She glanced in her rear view mirror, noticing a car behind her that she thought she’d seen at the ball field. It was a late model silver Nissan Maxima. She couldn’t see the driver very well, but a chill washed through her that told her she was being tailed.

As if her noticing him prompted him into action, the car drew closer. Seconds later, she heard the impact and felt her car lurch as the Nissan bumped her from behind. Gasping, she tightened her hands on the wheel and glanced in the rear view mirror. She couldn’t get a good look at the driver, other than to tell that he or she wore sunglasses and a ski cap. She couldn’t even say for sure if it were a man or a woman.

She picked up her cell and increased her speed, but before she could dial, she felt a thump and heard the grinding of metal on metal. The phone flew from her hand and she skidded out of control, her car leaving the roadway in a heart-pounding instant. She slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. She was heading straight for a light pole. The car jolted violently and she was thrown forward, then back against the seat. The airbag didn’t deploy, which probably meant the impact wasn’t hard enough, although it certainly felt like it was.

It all happened so fast, she wasn’t sure whether or not she’d been injured, figured if she had been, she’d feel the pain soon. Dazedly, she peered out the car window, hoping to get a closer look at the driver, even though she was sure the car was long gone.

She was surprised to see the vehicle moving slowly, nearly at a crawl, just ahead of where she’d crashed. Unable to reach a pen and paper, or her cell, she quickly made a mental note of the plate number just before the car sped away.

Disengaging herself from the seatbelt, she groped around the front seat and floorboard, searching for her phone. Now the pain had started, a sharp, stabbing from her shoulders up through her head. She felt a sudden wave of nausea and managed to scramble from the car before she vomited.

Stumbling around to the passenger side, she opened the door and spotted her cell phone in the floorboard, far under the glove compartment. She grabbed it, relieved to see it was still on, therefore working, and dialed the station.

As she waited for assistance, she took long, deep breaths, hoping she could keep from fainting. She was sure it hadn’t been long, but it seemed like eons passed before an ambulance arrived.

A young female EMT hopped out of the driver’s side and rushed over to Sam. Another EMT opened the back doors and slid out a gurney.

“Here, let us take a look,” the woman said, lowering Sam to the gurney. “Are you okay?”

Sam shook her head, then nodded. Or maybe it was the other way around. “I’m fine,” she slurred.

She heard tires screech and saw Frank climbing out of his Crown Victoria. He rushed to her side the moment he spotted her.

“What the hell happened, Spike?”

Sam shook her head and lifted a hand to wipe the hair back from her face. Her fingers came back wet and sticky. She stared down at the red dampness, not quite understanding.

“Ah, Jesus.” Frank turned to the female EMT. “Can you help her, please?”

“Yes, sir, we’re taking care of her. Don’t worry.”

The young woman poured some liquid onto a gauze pad and began carefully dabbing at Sam’s forehead. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but she tried not to let on.

“So, what happened?” Frank studied her worriedly.

Sam explained everything, even gave him the plate number, if she remembered it correctly.

“Soon as they’re finished with me, we’ll go check it out,” she told him.

“
We
, hell. You’re going to the hospital.”

Sam shook her head, causing the EMT to admonish her to stop moving. “I’m fine. I’m going with you. Get on it while it’s still fresh. Could have something to do with the...” Suddenly, the word she was searching for left her. It was right there, then,
poof
, it vanished, as if it were some foreign word she couldn’t quite remember.

She looked helplessly up at Frank and he nodded, as if pleased she was suffering head trauma just so he could be correct. “That’s what I thought. You’re going to the hospital and I’ll follow up on this. See if it has anything to do with the
investigation
.”

Damn. That was the word.

Chapter Six

The hospital kept Sam overnight for observation but determined it was only a mild concussion and released her the following morning. When Frank arrived to take her home, he looked her over thoroughly. “How ya doin’?” he asked.

“Better now that I’m out of there. How bad is the Impala?”

“Not too bad. It’s in the shop, but there’s a rental waiting for you at your place.”

“Great. Thanks.”

As soon as Frank dropped her off, she called the station. The captain ordered her to take the next few days off and she argued vehemently. “I’m in the beginning of a case. I can’t just stop now. You know the first forty-eight hours—”

“Have already passed,” he interrupted. “Stay home, get some rest, come back Friday. Not one day sooner, you got me?”

Friday. This was Wednesday. So, all of today, all of Thursday, she’d be sitting around here, going stir crazy.
Shit.

“Fine,” she agreed, only because she knew it wasn’t a request.

She swallowed two of the pain pills the doctor had given her and crawled into bed, thinking maybe she’d sleep for two days, then it would be time to go back to work.

****

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out when the alarm clock went off. What the hell? Why would she set an alarm when she wasn’t going into work? Then she realized. Wasn’t the alarm clock. The damn phone.

“Hello,” she mumbled into the receiver.

“Samantha?”

She scowled, trying to clear the fuzz from her brain. The voice sounded familiar...

She sat straight up, jerking the blanket to her chest with one hand, clenching the phone with the other.

“Dex?” she said, belatedly realizing she’d used his first name.

“Yes. You okay?”

“I’m fine, I was just...” She didn’t know whether to say ‘napping’ or ‘sleeping’ because she had no idea what time it was. The pills had knocked her out. She peered at the digital numbers of the clock on the nightstand. Five o’clock in the evening.

The room was dark because the heavy drapes were pulled. Was it...? Must be Thursday? She’d slept for twenty-four hours. Good Lord. She thought she wanted to sleep until time to go back to work, but she hadn’t really meant it. “I was just napping.”

“Oh. Sorry I woke you.”

“No, I needed to wake up anyway.”

“You’re not working?”

She didn’t want to tell him about the accident. “No. I’m off today. What’s up?”

“I have the hair analysis results.”

“Already?”

“Yeah. Fast work, huh?”

“Yes, thank you. Was she a user?”

“If you want to come over, I can give you the results.”

She furrowed her brow. “Can’t you tell me over the phone?”

“I could, but you’re really going to want to see this.”

She sighed. Yes, she did want to see it and with all the sleep she’d gotten, she was probably more than fit to drive to his office. “How long will you be at the morgue tonight?”

There was a pause. “I won’t. I meant come over to my house.”

Sam’s heart stilled. His house? “I don’t know...”

“Up to you. I suppose I can run them over to you tomorrow, if you’re going in to work?”

“I am, but I don’t want to wait until then. Ok. I’ll come over. Give me your address.”

****

The man stood at his kitchen sink, looking out the window to his front yard. All was quiet, peaceful this morning in his neighborhood. He liked that. Enjoyed the calm. Especially after what he’d been up to lately.

He lifted the glass of water to his lips and drank, noting his hands no longer shook, at least not as much.

Of course, this time he hadn’t killed. He only ran the cop off the road. He never intended to hurt her. He just wanted to get her attention. And he was certain he had. Certain—clever detective that she was—she’d taken down the license number. All according to plan.

Something outside caught his attention and his breath nearly stopped. A police car, slowly moving down the street.

The shaking started again and he slapped the glass down on the counter, flinching at the thudding noise it made, the sound peculiarly loud in the silence of the house.

Reaching up, he yanked the curtains closed, leaving a small gap to peer through.

Had they found out it was him in the car or were they here about the judge?

He gulped in a terrified breath when the cruiser pulled to a stop next to the curb in front of his house.

Both hands on the lip of the sink now, he gripped so tightly, he could feel the edge dig into his palms.

The car door didn’t open, no one got out. The person inside, a man it looked like, seemed to be on the phone, although he couldn’t see clearly from this distance.

His entire body trembled as he waited for whatever was to happen. Was the officer calling for backup? Was he verifying this was the address of the suspect?

He had a decision to make. Answer the door to the officer, act innocent, and hope like hell they had nothing on him, or make a run for it. But where would he go? He had no friends to help him hide out from the cops. Had no relatives to speak of, not any who would risk their asses for him.

No. He couldn’t imagine being on the lam. Wasn’t his style. He’d never survive.
You just have to stay and take your chances.
Even if it means going to prison. His eyes filled with tears at the thought. He’d never survive in prison. No way in hell. They’d eat him alive.