Killing Her Softly (21 page)

"You don't think she intervened in order to stop Cortez from whipping your butt, do you? Hell, man, she didn't want him getting in more trouble with the law. If he'd knocked you on your ass, I'd have had to arrest him, even if you did provoke him."

Chad's face turned red. He stood there and glared at Jim, but didn't say anything for several minutes. "I'm phoning Purser. Instead of wasting our time looking for other suspects in these two murders, we should concentrate all our energy on Cortez. I'm going to try to make the inspector see things my way. And if I can't bring him around, I'll go straight to Director
Danley
."

"Go right ahead, but keep one thing in mind—if you arrest an innocent man, it won't look good on your record."

Chad didn't bother replying, but he did give Jim a scurrilous glare as he headed toward his desk.

Idiot. Cocky, hotheaded idiot.

Jim entered the interview room where Dr. Jonathan Miles sat with Officer Dobbs. The man's hand trembled as he lifted a cup of black coffee to his lips.
Poor guy,
Jim thought. When he'd arrived at the Wells home and taken over from the patrolman who'd been the first officer on the scene, he'd gotten a firsthand glimpse at what bad shape Dr. Miles was in. The man had been crying. And every time he said his ex-wife's name, he broke down all over again. Unless the man was an Academy Award-winning actor, he was genuinely torn up by his ex-wife's death.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Dr. Miles." Jim closed the door behind him, then motioned for Officer Dobbs to stay put. Jim sat across the table from Miles. "It must have been terrible for you to have found your wife—your ex-wife's dead body."

Fresh tears pooled in Dr. Miles's eyes. "Who could have done something like that? I can't believe she's dead."

"We don't have any suspects, but rest assured we'll do our best to find Ms.
Wells's
murderer."

"She was lying there, with the pillow over her face," Dr. Miles said, his voice raspy with emotion. "I thought it was odd, but at first I didn't realize she was . . . then I noticed the blood . . . and her finger—" His voice broke. "Kendall. . . Kendall. . ." He hung his head, covered his face with his hands and wept.

Never being one to deal well with emotions—his own or other people's—Jim certainly wasn't comfortable witnessing another man falling apart before his very eyes. But how would he react if he were in Dr. Miles's shoes and he had discovered Mary Lee's body shortly after she'd been murdered? He might hurt like hell inside, but no way would he crumble to pieces in front of an audience. Alone, he might smash his fist through a wall. But first and foremost, he'd hunt down the person who'd killed her.

The odd thing was, a part of Jim actually envied Dr. Miles's ability to cry like a baby. Mary Lee had accused him more than once of being an unfeeling bastard. She'd never understood him. It wasn't that he didn't feel. He did. He just couldn't verbalize his feelings or show his emotions.

Jim motioned to Officer Dobbs, who got up and came over to him. "Yes, sir?"

"See that Dr. Miles gets home safely and have somebody take his car to his house first thing tomorrow."

"Yes, sir. Are we finished here?" Dobbs asked.

Jim glanced at Miles, whose shoulders shook as he continued weeping quietly. "Yeah, we're through."

After Officer Dobbs escorted Jonathan Miles out of the interview room, Jim sat down and rubbed the back of his neck. He mulled over everything he knew about Lulu
Vanderley's
murder. Then he compared those facts to what little he knew about Kendall Well's murder tonight. The killer's MO seemed identical; however that didn't necessarily mean the same person killed both women. But all the facts about Lulu's murder hadn't been made public, so there shouldn't be any way that a copycat killer would know the details.

Quinn Cortez was the only common denominator, the only connection—that they knew of—between Lulu and Kendall. That fact alone would be enough for some people to condemn Cortez. Chad seemed dead certain that Cortez was a killer.

Hell, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe in this case, Chad's right.

When the door behind Jim opened he pivoted his head just enough to catch a glimpse of Chad charging into the room. He groaned inwardly.

"Inspector Purser wants Quinn Cortez brought in first thing in the morning," Chad said triumphantly.

"For questioning in the Kendall Wells murder?"

"Of course in the Kendall Wells murder. If the guy doesn't have an alibi and we can come up with a motive, then the inspector says the next step could be an arrest warrant."

Jim nodded.

If
' Cortez didn't have an alibi.
If he
had a motive.

Jim figured that Ted had been trying to pacify Chad understanding the need to placate Congressman Harte's nephew and at the same time keep the boy under control. In the end they might wind up arresting Cortez, but not without some rock solid evidence. Right now, they didn't even have enough circumstantial evidence to indict the man. And so far all their leads in the
Vanderley
case hadn't given them a suspect they could arrest. He'd rather arrest Randall "Randy" Miller for killing Lulu than arrest Cortez. But that wasn't likely to happen. As much as he personally disliked Miller, he knew they didn't have any evidence against the guy. Besides, Chad was dying to put the cuffs on Cortez.

If Ted Purser thought he could pin both or either of the crimes on Cortez, he'd have already contacted DA Campbell and ordered Cortez's arrest.

"Cortez will have to get a new lawyer," Jim said. "Considering what's happened I'm really curious about who he'll hire."

"It doesn't matter who he hires. The guy's as guilty as sin and I'm going to bring him down."

Nodding, Jim grinned.
Yeah, boy, you do that. And do it single-handedly. Hell, I don't know why they bothered to give you a partner since you obviously don't need one.

"I'm heading home soon." Jim rose languidly from the chair. "I suggest you do the same. We both could use a few hours of sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a real bitch."

"Yeah, you're right, but I thought on my way home, I'd stop by the Peabody and check on Annabelle, make sure she got home okay."

Jim laid his hand on Chad's shoulder. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Why not?" Chad frowned. "Are you suggesting she might not be alone?"

"I'm not suggesting anything other than the obvious facts. Not only is the lady way out of your league, but it's also apparent you're not the man she's interested in." When Jim felt Chad bristle, he patted him on the back. "Why don't you stick to a sure thing?" Jim walked to the door, opened it and then with his back to Chad added "If you need a woman tonight, why don't you give my ex-wife a call?"

Jim shut the door and walked away, not waiting for his partner's reaction.

Chapter 15

Aaron turned out the lights throughout the house, locked the doors and headed down the hall to his room. When they traveled with Quinn, Marcy always rented a three- or four-bedroom house, apartment or condo and when necessary, a hotel suite that would accommodate four people. Although he preferred having his own room, he didn't mind sharing quarters with
Jace
. The kid was neat as a pin, almost fanatically so, and he wasn't much of a talker. They weren't exactly best buds, but they had formed a comfortable friendship in the year since
Jace
had joined the team. The guy who'd been Quinn's other gofer, before
Jace
Morgan, was now in the army, serving in Iraq. Bobby Joe Kirby had been another Judge Harwood Brown Boys' Ranch alumnus, another of Quinn's projects. Yeah, that^ what they all were in one way or another. Do-gooder projects. Aaron figured the outside world saw them as nothing but charity cases and assumed a guy like Quinn supported the ranch and tried to reform bad seeds for the good publicity it got him. But those were people who didn't really know Quinn. He didn't make a big show of helping a troubled kid turn his life around; he just did it. Word was that Quinn had been a wild teenager who'd gotten in trouble with the law and the man who kept him from a life of
crime was old Harwood Brown, a judge who'd had his own methods of dealing with delinquents.

Making his way down the hall, he wondered how long they'd be in Memphis. A week or two at the very least—or however long it took Quinn to clear up this mess with the two murders.

If Quinn showed up later tonight, he had a key and could let himself in, so there was no need for any of them to wait up for the boss. Knowing the guy as he did, Aaron figured Quinn was off somewhere licking his wounds, maybe getting drank and possibly even getting laid. Things had looked pretty dark for Quinn with the police because of Lulu's murder, but now that Kendall
Weils
was dead, things looked downright pitch-black.

As Aaron passed Marcy's closed bedroom door, he paused. What would she do if he knocked on her door? Would she tell him to get lost or would she invite him in?

Move on, buddy,
he told himself.
That gal doesn't want you.

The door to
Jace's
room stood partially open, enough to reveal the kid lying atop the covers, earphones in place, listening to music on his portable CD player.
Jace
was an odd kid. a real loner. And as far as Aaron knew the boy didn't have a sex life. He'd never known of him having a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend for that matter. And he didn't talk about his past, about his family or where he came from, nothing the least bit personal. But then again, neither he nor Marcy ever mentioned their lives before coming to work for Quinn. Sometimes it felt as if they had all been reborn the day they became a part of the Quinn Cortez entourage.

Aaron entered his own bedroom, lifted his suitcase off the floor and onto the bed then began unpacking. He yanked open a dresser drawer and tossed handfuls of his stuff inside, caring less that his things were scattered and jumbled. Grabbing a pair of PJ bottoms, a clean T-shirt and his shave kit, he shoved the drawer closed. As he passed by
Jace's
room on his way to their shared bathroom, he glanced in at the teenager again,
intending to tell him he was on his way to take a shower and say good night. But
Jace
had his eyes closed and was bouncing his head gently to the rhythm of the music.

Fifteen minutes later, showered shaved and ready for bed Aaron came out of the bathroom and headed back toward his bedroom. What was that odd sound? He stopped in the middle of the hallway and listened. Crying? Somebody was crying. He crept closer to Marcy's door. Sure enough, the noise was coming from her room.

Should I or shouldn't I?

He knocked softly.

No response, but the crying stopped.

"Marcy," he called her name quietly.

The door opened just enough for her to peek at him through the narrow crack.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "I thought I heard you crying."

"I'm okay."

He could see her eyes were swollen and red. "Want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about."

He laid his hand on the door and shoved gently, inching it halfway open. Marcy jumped backward and glared at him. His gaze skimmed her from head to toe. Her curly blond hair was slightly disheveled as if she'd been tossing and turning. She wore a pair of blue and white striped pajamas and was barefoot. He noticed that her toenails were painted bright coral.

Grinning, he leaned into the open space and braced himself by resting his left arm against the door facing. "Anybody ever tell you that you're darn cute without makeup, your hair a mess and wearing baggy pajamas?"

She stared at him questioningly. "What are you trying to do, imitate Quinn's smooth technique?"

"Is that who I sounded like?" His smiled widened. "Maybe just being around the guy has rubbed off on me."

"Maybe it has."

Aaron reached out and ran his index finger across and down her cheek, then circled it under her chin. "I'm not the great man himself, but if you're willing to settle for a substitute, I'm your guy."

"Are you propositioning me?"

"I'm a man, you're a woman and we both have needs." Just looking at Marcy had given him a hard-on. He wanted her. She needed him. Why shouldn't they ease each other's pain?

"Look, honey"—he used Quinn's pet name for every woman he met, hoping it might affect Marcy in a favorable way—"if you're saving it all up for Quinn Cortez, you're making a big mistake. You're his friend and his valued assistant. He's not going to screw that up by taking you to bed then dumping you. If he'd had plans to bonk you, he'd have done it years ago."

Tossing back her head Marcy closed her eyes and sniffled. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

"Ah, honey . . . Marcy, don't." He shoved the door all the way open, walked into her bedroom and pushed the door closed with his foot. "He's not the only man in the world you know."

Opening her teary eyes, she nodded then said "He's with Annabelle
Vanderley
. Can you believe that? The police suspect him of murdering the woman's cousin and she's probably in bed with him right now."

After tossing his shave kit onto her bed Aaron slid his hand behind Marcy's neck, gripped tightly and yanked her to him. Gasping, her eyes wide and her mouth open, she stared up at him, but didn't try to jerk away or protest in any way. When he lowered his head she stood on tiptoe and met him halfway. Forcing her mouth against his, he kissed her. Kissed her hard. When her mouth gaped wide open, he took advantage of the situation and rammed his tongue inside, deepening the kiss.

His erection strained against his cotton PJ bottoms and pressed into her belly. Marcy lifted her arms and flung them around his neck, prompting him to make the next move. Sliding his hands down inside the back of her pajamas, he cupped her small, firm buttocks.

Moaning, she ran her hands underneath the back of his T-shirt and caressed his waist before moving all the way up to his shoulder blades.

"I want to make love to you," he whispered in her ear as he maneuvered one hand up and around to cover her left breast. "I've wanted that for a long time."

"I—I think I want that, too," she said breathlessly between kisses. "But you have to know that I don't love you . . . that it's Quinn I really want."

"Yeah, I figured that out already."

He eased her pajama bottoms down over her hips and legs. When they pooled around her feet, she kicked them aside and inserted her fingers inside the waistband of his pajamas.

"I haven't been with anybody," she said. "I mean . . . I'm not a virgin, but I'm not experienced."

"If I do anything you don't like, just tell me." He removed his pajama bottoms, then bent down and lifted her up by her waist. She wrapped her legs around his hips as he walked them over to her bed.

"Aaron?"

"Huh?" He lowered her slowly, easing over her, his knees straddling her hips.

"I really do want you." She emphasized the word
you.

"It's okay, honey. If you want to pretend I'm Quinn, I won't mind. Not this first time."

And before she could respond he inserted a couple of fingers into her, testing her readiness. She wasn't gushing, but she was wet. Wet enough. Hurriedly, he licked one nipple and then the other, smiling when both instantly went pebble hard.

He quickly reached out and yanked his shaving kit toward him, then unzipped the pouch and removed a condom. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so eager. In seconds, he was ready. God, was he ready!

Grasping her hips, he lifted her up and forcefully thrust into her. She was tight and hot, her body gripping him. A humming sound vibrated in the back of her throat. He waited, making sure she was all right with what had happened and when she began moving, pushing herself upward, urging him into movement, he retreated, then lunged again. And again. She caught on fast, her upward and his downward thrusts in perfect unison.

For a fairly inexperienced woman, she was wild, as if she couldn't get enough of him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered that it wasn't him she was fucking; it was Quinn. And when she came, moaning, groaning and crying softly, it was Quinn's name she whispered in his ear. But he didn't care. Not now. Not when release was so close.

And then he came, his juice shooting out and filling the condom. No matter what name she called out this time, next time the only man on her mind and in her heart—the only name on her lips—would be Aaron Tully.

Shocked at the news of Joy Ellis's murder, Quinn felt as if he'd been hit in the head with a sledgehammer. He and Joy had spent only a few days together—wild, fun hours similar to ones he'd spent with dozens of other women. Nothing more. Nothing less. When he met her at the club where she worked, she had told him that she had recently ended a two-year relationship and wasn't looking for anything more than a few laughs and some hot sex. Now nearly a year since he'd been with her, he remembered little about her, except she'd been a bosomy redhead with a loud laugh.

"You're telling me that three women with whom I've had affairs are dead, all three murdered in the same way." Quinn's stomach knotted and sour bile burned his throat. "And Joy's and Lulu's right index fingers were cut off."

Something odd was going on, something he didn't understand. He hadn't killed Lulu or Kendall and he'd had no idea that Joy was dead.

"Exactly when was Joy murdered?" he asked.

"The day you left town," Griffin said. "According to what my detectives found out, her estimated time of death was actually a couple of hours before you flew out of New Orleans that morning, so unless you have an alibi for those few hours . . ."

"I don't remember right offhand" Quinn said. "Hell, man,
 
that was nearly a year ago. And I was on vacation. I drank more than usual, parried more than usual and to be honest, I kept a perpetual hangover for days, something I seldom allow to happen."

"If you were drunk, is it possible that you could have done something and not remembered it?" Griffin looked right at Quinn as if daring him to lie.

"Anything's possible, but I'm telling you that I didn't kill Joy. Yes, I did spend some time with her the night before I flew back to Houston, but I left her apartment around dawn. I took a cab back to my hotel and grabbed a few hours of sleep before going to the airport. I remember that much."

"Were you alone in your hotel room?"

"Yes."

"And Joy Ellis was still alive when you left her?"

"Of course she was." Quinn glanced at Annabelle who sat perfectly still and quiet, her face pale, her expression strained. Did she believe he was a murderer? Had learning about Joy Ellis's death given her second thoughts about his innocence in Lulu's and Kendall's murders?

Please, honey, please don't lose faith in me.

Griffin turned to Annabelle. "Do you still want to be partners with Quinn? I've put half a dozen investigators on this case and that's going to cost a lot of money. Are you willing to split the tab with him or do you want to pull out now?"

"I'll pay for everything," Quinn said. "You keep digging, keep looking for the person or persons who killed Lulu and Kendall. And Joy."