Like No One Else (27 page)

Donovan jerked back, looking shocked, offended, hurt even. “Whoa! Chill out, Sanchez! It was just a little joke. No harm intended, man. We're on the same side, remember?”

Paulo drew away, his jaw tightly clenched as he dragged an unsteady hand through his hair. His nerves were stretched taut, guilt over the way he'd left things with Ashton was tearing at his conscience, and he wished like hell he could take a long, deep drag on a cigarette.

Concerned, Donovan stared at him. “This case is really starting to get to you, isn't it?”

“You could say that.” Paulo resisted the urge to pace the length of the porch, not wanting to give the reporters a show, and not entirely sure the decaying floorboards could support his weight.

Questions were racing through his mind at warp speed. What was the connection between Maribel Cruz and Ashton Dupree? The two women were as opposite as black and white, night and day. One came from a good family, the other had been orphaned from childhood. One had held a respectable job, the other had dabbled in the oldest profession known to man. One had boasted a tony uptown address, the other had lived in a shantytown. Maribel and Ashton had come from two different worlds, had probably never caught a whiff of each other's paths. What had put them on the killer's radar?

“I guess if I were in your shoes I'd be coming a little unglued, too,” Donovan said grimly. “Man, what are the odds of you knowing
both
of the victims?”

“I don't know,” Paulo muttered darkly, “but I don't like it. Not one damned bit.”

“Me, neither. Something's off about this whole thing. Seriously off.” Donovan paused, frowning. “I didn't expect him to kill again so soon. Maribel's body was still lying on a slab in the morgue as of yesterday. At this rate we could be looking at another dead body by Monday.”

Paulo's gut twisted at the thought of who the killer's next target might be. An image from the nightmare flashed through his mind.

Maribel Cruz's ghostlike face morphing into Tommie's.

Tommie's whispered plea,
Help me, Paulo. Please help
—

“I'm going back inside to see if they're done with the room,” he said abruptly, stalking past the officer guarding the front door.

He strode into the house, by now accustomed to the rancid scent of death that assailed his nostrils upon reentry. Instead of returning to the bedroom, he continued to the kitchen and stepped out the back door. Standing on the decrepit porch with his arms folded across his chest and his heart still thudding, he watched as the crime scene techs searched the grounds for trace evidence.

They'd already concluded that the perp had gained access to the house using a spare key hidden in a potted plant. But it remained to be seen whether the small backyard would yield any clues about his identity or the path he'd taken. The grass was badly overgrown, rotting, and choked with tall weeds that swayed in the cool morning breeze. The odds of finding a shoe imprint, impressions in the dirt, or any other type of physical evidence were slim to none. Especially when they were dealing with a cunning, methodical killer who'd thus far made no mistakes.

“But sooner or later you will, you son of a bitch,” Paulo growled under his breath. “It's just a matter of time.”

He only hoped it happened before another innocent person was slaughtered.

After wrapping up her last class of the day, Tommie drove to Ben Taub General Hospital to visit Zhane's nephew and keep her friend company. When she stepped through the door of the ICU room, she found Zhane sitting in a chair at his nephew's bedside. He was holding Kadeem's hand and staring intently at his sleeping face, as if he were afraid the boy's soul would quietly depart if he looked away or let go.

A lump of sorrow rose in Tommie's throat. Tears misted her eyes.

As if sensing her presence, Zhane glanced up and smiled wanly at her. “Hey, beautiful.”

“Hey yourself,” Tommie murmured. Blinking back tears, she walked over to him and kissed the top of his head. His soft dreadlocks tickled her lips.

“Are those for me?” he asked, indicating the floral arrangement she'd set on the bedside table.

“No, this is,” she said, passing him a cup bearing the Breakfast Klub's logo.

“Mmmm. It smells divine.”

“It should. It's a karmel macchiato.” Before he could open his mouth, she warned, “And I don't want to hear a word about how fattening it is. You've probably lost about ten pounds since you've been here. I think you can afford to indulge in one measly macchiato. Now shut up and drink.”

“So bossy,” Zhane complained. But he dutifully complied, taking a long, grateful sip and sighing with pleasure. “That's yummy.”

Tommie smiled, tugging on one of his dreadlocks. “See what you've been missing?”

As she turned her attention to the hospital bed, her heart constricted at the sight of fourteen-year-old Kadeem Masters lying beneath the stiff white sheets, looking much too fragile for a boy who possessed boundless energy and laughter, who enjoyed playing basketball and wolfing down pizzas. Tubes fed into and out of him, sustaining his vital organs. Beside the bed, monitors and machines blinked and beeped intermittently, their display screens filled with glowing medical hieroglyphics.

“How's he doing?” Tommie asked in a hushed voice.

Zhane sighed. “No changes, really. He's been in and out of consciousness, said a few words. The doctors are doing everything they can to keep the fever down and stabilize his blood pressure. But it's still touch-and-go.”

Tommie nodded, brushing a gentle hand over the boy's warm forehead. “Where's the rest of your family? I didn't see any of them in the waiting room.”

“My other nieces and nephews went to school, my brothers are at work, and Zakia and Lavar are downstairs having lunch. Yes, girl, Lavar is still here,” he added at Tommie's raised brow. “This is the longest he's ever stuck around for his son. Maybe there's hope for him yet, though I'm not holding my breath. Anyway, Mom took Kay-Kay home with her. Being here at the hospital with all these crazy, stressed-out grown-ups was starting to wear on her nerves.”

“I can imagine,” Tommie murmured. “Poor baby.”

“I was talking about Mom.”

Tommie stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing.

Zhane smiled at her. “Lord, that's music to my ears.”

“What is?”

“The sound of your laughter. It's like a ray of sunshine from heaven, breaking through the clouds of my stormy day.”

Tommie eyed him curiously. “Is that Langston Hughes?”

“No, sugarplum, that was all me.”

She sighed dreamily, laying a hand over her heart. “Careful, Zhany. With beautiful poetry like that, you're going to make me fall in love with you.”

He laughed, taking a sip of his macchiato. “You keep bringing me these drinks, honey, and I just might have to reconsider being gay.”

Tommie grinned. “Don't get my hopes up.”

He chuckled, rising gracefully from the chair. “Come on, sugarplum, let's go for a walk. I need to stretch my legs and do a few pirouettes to remember what it feels like.”

“As if you could ever forget.” Tommie leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Kadeem's forehead.

A camera bulb flashed. She glanced up and saw Zhane holding up his cell phone, a wide grin on his face.

“I had to capture the moment. Without proof, Kadeem would never believe me if I told him you kissed him while he was sleeping.”

Tommie smiled. “If he pulls through this, I'm giving him a big, fat kiss right on the lips.”

Zhane laughed. “You'd better hope he can't hear you, 'cause he would definitely hold you to that!”

Walking arm in arm, they left the room and started down the tiled corridor toward the elevator. The ICU was quiet except for the sound of beeping machines. A middle-aged black woman with braided hair sat behind the nurses' station, watching the monitors and talking on the phone. She glanced up at them as they passed, smiling and nodding when Zhane told her, “If my sister gets back before me, tell her I went for a short walk with Tommie.”

When they reached the elevator, Zhane turned and gave Tommie a long, appraising look.

“What?” she asked curiously.

“There's something different about you. I've been trying to figure it out ever since you—” Suddenly his eyes widened in disbelief. “Oh my God! You got laid!”

“Shhh, not so loud!” Tommie hissed, clapping a hand over his mouth and glancing around quickly to make sure no one had overheard him. Other than the nurse at the desk, who looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh, there were no other visitors or staff around.

Tommie blew out an exasperated breath, shaking her head at Zhane. “If I didn't love you so much, I'd kill you.”

He laughed, prying her hand away from his mouth. “I can't believe you got laid and didn't tell me!” he said in an exaggerated whisper.

“I would've gotten around to it eventually,” Tommie muttered, an embarrassed flush heating her face. “I had other things on my mind when I got here. Like finding out how your nephew was doing, for starters.”

Zhane's eyes glittered with wicked amusement. “I'm going to assume the man you got it on with is that scrumptious Detective Sanchez.”

Tommie grinned. “That's a safe assumption.”

This time Zhane covered his own mouth to muffle a delighted squeal. “Girl,
what
in the world happened? When you left here the other night you were talking like you wanted nothing to do with him!”

“Things change,” Tommie said with an enigmatic little smile.

“Don't go getting all mysterious on me!” Zhane cried as the elevator arrived on the fourth floor. “I want details!”

Tommie shook her head, wagging a finger at him. “A real lady doesn't kiss and tell.”

Zhane snorted, following her onto the elevator. “A real lady also doesn't pee while she's on the phone with friends, but that's never stopped you before.”

Tommie laughed, unfazed. “Becoming abusive is no way to make me give up my secrets.”

Once the elevator doors closed behind them, Zhane gave her an amused sidelong glance. “You can at least tell me if it was any good.”

A slow, naughty grin spread across Tommie's face as she stared up at the electronic panel above the doors. “Let's just say it was so good, he had my pussy doing pirouettes.”

Zhane was still howling with laughter when they stepped into the hospital lobby minutes later, colliding with a man who'd been waiting to board the elevator.

“No problem,” he said, acknowledging their apologies with a polite nod.

As he made to move past them, Tommie got a good look at his face and realized that she knew him. “Arthur?”

When he glanced back at her, his eyes widened in surprised recognition. A broad smile swept across his face as he reached out, warmly clasping her hand. “Hello there, Tommie. How are you?”

“I'm doing well,” she said, smiling easily. “It's great to see you again. What brings you back to Houston?”

“Actually, I never left,” he said ruefully. “My mother got sick, so being her only child, I didn't feel right about leaving her behind. I was just on my way up to her room to visit her. She just completed another round of chemotherapy. Ovarian cancer,” he explained.

“I'm so sorry to hear that,” Tommie murmured.

“Thanks, I appreciate that. She's a tough cookie, and her doctors are optimistic about her chances. So I'm very grateful.”

“That's good.” Turning to Zhane at her side, Tommie quickly performed the introductions. “This is my best friend, Zhane Jeffers. Zhane, I'd like you to meet Arthur Lambert, who made it possible for me to open my dance studio and have a place to live when he sold his building to me.”

As the two men shook hands and exchanged pleasant greetings, Zhane gave the newcomer a slow, assessing once-over.

Arthur Lambert was a tall, rugged-looking man in his late forties. His eyes were a silvery shade of green, and his hair was light brown with a sprinkling of gray at the temple that made him look slightly older, but no less attractive.

Zhane drawled, “Tommie has had nothing but wonderful things to say about you, Arthur. It's nice to put a face with the name of her hero.”

Arthur laughed good-naturedly. “That's very kind of you, but I'm afraid there was nothing heroic about what I did. The warehouse had been sitting vacant for a long time. I'm just glad Tommie came along when she did and took it off my hands.”

“For virtually pennies,” she reminded him sheepishly.

He smiled. “That's all right. Knowing that the property has been put to such good use is all the compensation I need.”

“It's a great place. I'm thoroughly enjoying it.”

“Good, good. Have you had any problems?”

“Just some faulty wiring in the stairwell. I haven't gotten around to calling an electrician yet.”

“I'm really sorry to hear that,” Arthur said, his brows creasing in a frown. “I thought we resolved all those electrical issues before we went to closing.”

Tommie bit her lip. “Not quite.”

Because the property had been such a steal, and she knew Arthur had taken a huge profit loss, she'd been reluctant to make too many demands when it came to negotiating the sales contract. The building inspector she'd hired had assured her that the faulty wiring could be easily repaired at a later date and shouldn't be a deal breaker for her.

“Tell you what,” Arthur said. “Are you going out of town next week for Thanksgiving?”

She nodded. “I'm leaving on Wednesday.”

“Why don't I stop by before then and have a look at the problem? Then I'll send someone back to take care of it for you.”

“Oh no, I couldn't ask you to do that, Arthur. You've been generous enough.”

“It's no big deal,” he said, waving off her gratitude. “The wiring should have been fixed before you bought the building, and quite frankly I'm annoyed with myself for letting that slip through the cracks.”

“Well, it's my problem now, not yours. So please don't worry about it, Arthur. God knows you've got enough on your mind with your mother being in the hospital.”

“One thing's got nothing to do with the other,” he told her. “I'll give you a call on Monday and set up a good time to send the electrician over. And don't you worry about the cost,” he added when Tommie opened her mouth to protest. “As much business as I give these contractors, they're always more than willing to do a favor for me.”

“Well…” Tommie couldn't deny that his offer was tempting. She was on a very tight budget, and after crunching the numbers yesterday, she knew she didn't have the funds to pay an electrician. But the lights in the stairwell needed replacing, and that couldn't be done unless she first resolved the wiring issue. She'd never been too proud to accept help from others when it was absolutely necessary. And her grandmother had taught her never to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Seeing the capitulation on her face, Arthur smiled broadly. “I'll call you next week and set up the appointment.”

“All right,” Tommie said meekly. “Thank you, Arthur.”

“You're very welcome. I'm glad to help. Anyway, I'd better head upstairs.”

“Give your mother my best,” Tommie said.

“Thanks, I will. Pleasure to meet you,” he said, shaking Zhane's hand.

“Likewise,” Zhane murmured.

Arthur boarded the elevator and waved to them as the doors slid closed on his smiling face.

“Well,” Zhane said, drawing out the word as he raised his eyebrows at Tommie. “
That
was interesting.”

Tommie bit her lip, feeling guilty. “You don't think I should have accepted his offer, do you?”

Zhane snorted. “Sugarplum, he didn't give you much of a choice. And I think you did the right thing by accepting his help. We both know you're flat broke, and ain't a damned thing wrong with letting a handsome man take care of your needs if he's willing and able.” He sighed, tucking his arm through hers as they started down the corridor. “Must be nice.”