The Damsel in This Dress (25 page)

“You see?” Richard said, smiling at Betsy. “The English I am learning very well.” He turned again to Piddle. “Insensitive cretin!”

Piddle blinked his large eyes and looked as though he might break down and cry.

“Wh-Who’s an insensitive cretin?”

Betsy’s heart skipped and she whirled to see her father standing at the foot of the stairs. He looked sleepy and rumpled wearing a pair of Soldier’s sweats and a T-shirt. Staring into her eyes, he smiled, and her heart swelled with love for the father she had missed for so long.

Next to her, Loretta gasped as she gaped in astonishment at her ex-husband. “Douglas?”

Douglas’s eyes widened.

Betsy stepped between them. “Daddy . . .”

Her father looked confused. “Betsy . . .”

Loretta caught her breath. “Douglas!”

Realization struck him. “L-Loretta!”

Richard scowled at Piddle. “Insensitive cretin!”

Except for a slight limp and a bandage around his head, Taylor felt pretty damn good. He was alive. That was enough to make any man who’d escaped death feel a little giddy.

As he waited for his brother to come and spring him from the hospital, Dr. Claire entered his room. White coat, chart and pen, efficient bedside manner, she looked lovelier than ever.

“So, all set to go home?” she asked.

“I guess so. I enjoyed my stay, though.”

“Really.”

“Yeah. Great food. I had no idea Jell-O came in so many flavors. And the room service is tops. Hot and cold running nurses at the snap of my fingers.”

“We try.”

“I guess I need to spend more time at home in the afternoons, though. Did you know that soap operas are now broadcast in English, Spanish,
and
Japanese? Gosh, I’m
really
going to miss this place.”

“We hear that all the time.” She laughed. “How’s your head?”

He touched the bandage encircling his skull. “Okay. Tell me, Doc. Will I be able to play the trombone?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

“Cool. I never could before.”

She laughed, and he was once again entranced by the musical sound of her voice. “You’re pretty funny for a cop.”

“We cops are a funny group,” he said. “Without a sense of humor, this job could bring you down real fast.”

Slipping a lock of her silky looking shoulder-length hair behind her ear, she gave him a little shrug. “Well. You’re all signed out, Detective. You can leave any time. You’ve got your meds and—”

“So you’re not my doctor anymore?”

“Nope.”

“And I’m not your patient?”

“Nope.”

“So if I asked you out for dinner, it wouldn’t be a violation of doctor-patient fooling-aroundishment?”

She blushed and laughed again. “Detective McKennitt, I—”

“It’s Taylor.”

He watched her intently as she lowered her lashes and nibbled on her bottom lip. “Look, I . . . it’s not that I don’t find you attractive. I really do.”

“Really?
Really
really, or just really?”

She sighed. “You’re not making this easy.”

“Nope,” he said.

Hugging the clipboard more tightly to her bosom, she looked up at him. “I’m a doctor and you’re a detective. I get calls at all hours of the day and night, and I’ll bet you do, too. I don’t have time for a social life, let alone a relationship.”

He moved toward her until he stood only inches away. “Is that what we’d have?” he said softly. “A relationship?”

“I hope you realize I’m not the casual affair type, Detective.”

Slipping his knuckles under her chin, he raised her face to his. “Must be pretty hard on your sex life.”

She arched a brow. “What sex life?”

He lowered his gaze to her lips. Man, what lips she had. Full, pink, and begging to be kissed. So he did.

She gave a small gasp when his mouth touched hers, but she didn’t pull away. He ended the kiss with a brush of his tongue against hers and a nibble of her bottom lip.

Her eyes were closed, and when she opened them, she looked a little dazed.

“I was married,” he said. “My ex-wife was a bitch on wheels. Faithless as they come, conniving, manipulative. But she was beautiful, and I was an idiot and didn’t see her for what she was until too late.”

“I’m sorry, Taylor. Truly.”

“I’d sort of sworn off women . . . until I met you. I’m not interested in getting married again, but I am interested in you. Just have dinner with me. A meal. Food. Conversation. That’s it. Nothing fancy, not if you don’t want it.”

“I’m older than you.”

“I’m taller. Say yes.”

“I hate it when men do that.”

“That’s why we do it. Say yes and hate me over dinner tomorrow night.”

He lowered his head and kissed her again.

When she recovered, she gave him a defeated grin. “Yes, damn you. Yes.”

S
oldier glanced at his watch. He had just over an hour to finish up at the PHPD and get over to the hospital in time to pick up his brother by eleven o’clock.

Slapping the file folder closed, he reached for his laptop and logged off. From the other side of the desk, Sam Winslow said, “You look like a man who just solved a crime.”

Soldier smiled, giving Winslow a quick, “
damned right
” nod.

A few more hours and this would all be wrapped up. A few more hours, hopefully, and no more twenty-hour days to suck the energy right out of him. Since this case began, it had been one thing after another and barely any time to take a deep breath.

Getting to bed well after midnight several nights in a row sure didn’t help, but that was the way it worked sometimes when a crime was fresh.

Of course, he could have slept last night but had chosen instead to make love to Betsy for hours. And hours.

Betsy. This was almost over, and she was and would continue to be safe. Betsy. Christ, what that woman did to his insides. Was it possible to fall in love with someone in so short a time?

Did
he love her? The mere thought should have sent him into panic, but it didn’t. She hadn’t quite said the words, but she’d come close. Even if she never said them, he could see it in her eyes. She was such a lousy poker player.

He looked at the file on the desk in front of him.

Turning to Winslow, Soldier pointed to the name on the file and said, “I’m heading over to her place now with a search warrant, but I want to put out an APB in case she’s already on the run.”

Winslow nodded. “You think she’s the woman Ms. Tremaine’s father saw?”

“Yep. I think she wanted Linda Mattson’s job, then when it went to Betsy instead, her plans were screwed and she blamed Betsy. I’m hoping a search of her place will turn up some evidence we can use to make an arrest.”

“So, what happened to the Mattson woman?”

Soldier stood, walked over to the window and gazed out over peaceable Port Henry. Almost peaceable, soon to be again.

“I had Seattle run a dental check on a Jane Doe found off I-90 about three months ago.” He faced Sam Winslow and crossed his arms over his chest. “I got the results this morning. It was Linda Mattson. No runaway marriage, no Minnesota. Skull was crushed.”

“Sounds just like the Spangler thing.”

Soldier shrugged. “Hey, if it worked once, it would work twice, right? Our killer swings a wicked tire iron, especially when the vic is somebody who trusts her and hasn’t got a clue as to what’s coming.”

As Winslow shrugged into his regulation forest green jacket, he said, “Do you really think she’s just going to be sitting in her apartment, watching TV or reading a magazine after having killed three people?”

“If she doesn’t suspect we’re on to her, she might,” Soldier replied. “But I think she’s gone into hiding. Nobody’s seen her since the day Finlay was murdered, so she’s found a little niche somewhere to hide until she’s ready to make another move. My goal now is to find her before she makes that move.”

Carla Denato stood across the street from her apartment building, watching her carefully planned life literally go up in smoke.

She’d packed everything she needed into her car, having ditched Kristee’s green sedan days ago. As she watched, black plumes began to curl out the open window as tiny flames flitted along the eaves.

Fire had gotten her out of a jam once before, and it would again.

Even so, she was pissed.
Damn
Ryan Finlay for forcing her to kill him before she was ready. But he’d caught her off guard last night, and now she had to move quickly.

Everything was falling to pieces, she thought, and it was all
Betsy’s
fault. And if she wasn’t extremely careful, she’d miss the opportunity to deal the death blow to her nemesis, and have to hightail it to Canada before she was damn good and ready.

The shriek of sirens broke her angry reverie, and she stepped behind some low-growing evergreens. Neighbors were beginning to assemble on the sidewalk, their coats or robes pulled tightly around them to ward off the autumn chill as they stood in awe of the apartment house fire. The fire she had set.

Fire had such power, just like she herself did. Flames and smoke were quiet as they crept up on the unsuspecting, doing their deadly work before anybody realized exactly how much trouble they were in.

A fire engine screamed onto the scene to ostensibly save the day, and was soon followed by two police cars and another fire truck. More people gathered on the street and sidewalks, all gaping, all enraptured by the blaze.

Well, would you look at that? Detective Hunky McKennitt emerged from the squad car to stare at the fire, fury plain to see on his handsome face.

He stood with his back to her, his hands on his excellently lean hips as he surveyed the situation. She watched as he spoke to the fire captain.

What a bonus! Soldier McKennitt was here at her apartment! She had to admit that under other circumstances, she would have gone for him in a big way, but once he’d met little Betsy-wetsy, he’d stopped looking around. Even Kristee hadn’t been able to snare his interest, and she had
certainly
tried.

McKennitt turned to scan the crowd. Right. She’d almost forgotten. The cops knew how much arsonists loved to watch a fire, so he figured he could spot her among the onlookers. Time to take off.

As she backed away, immersing herself in a thick stand of rhododendrons, Carla considered what to do next. She’d liked it in Port Henry and had hoped to stay on for a while. But thanks to Betsy, that little bubble had burst.

Betsy had taken everything she’d wanted, worked for, killed for.

The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. Her fingers twitched in anticipation of getting her hands on Betsy and ripping her hair out, and then her heart.

Betsy Tremaine was as good as dead, but first she needed to suffer a little more. As she herself had suffered. She’d assumed the rumors and insinuations would ruin Betsy, but they hadn’t. Nobody had believed them! She’d even sent those stupid book reviews to McKennitt in the hope that he would write an angry letter to the
Ledger
, castigating Betsy, but he hadn’t. Instead, he’d fallen for the little bitch! Was life too damn funny or what!

Carla pushed those thoughts out of her head and instead tried to focus on the days to come.

Dead leaves crunched beneath her feet as she scurried to her car, her steps lightening as she went.

Oh, goody
, she thought.
It’s time to take out another player.

When Soldier knocked on Betsy’s door, the last thing he expected was for her to fling herself into his arms. Not that he didn’t like it a whole hell of a lot.

“Save me,” she whispered against his ear as she slid her arms around his neck.

Soldier let himself enjoy the feel of her body pushed tightly against his. Wrapping his arms around her, he bent his head and kissed her on the cheek. She lifted her face, and he kissed her on the mouth. “Save you from what?” he said roughly.

She gestured in the direction of the living room. “Them,” she whispered. “They’re all in there. It’s horrible. Do you have your gun? Put me out of my misery, please?”

“I thought I told you not to let anybody in,” he admonished through a scowl.

“It’s just my mother and her Dick,” she said, still wrapped in his arms. “They arrived just after you left. They’ve been here all day. With my father here, it’s been . . . tense. I’m ready to go nuts.”

“Here,” he said, handing her the bouquet clenched tightly in his fist. “Maybe these will help.”

Her eyes widened, and she inhaled deeply as her lips formed a delicate O. “Flowers? For me?” she breathed out.

Soldier had given women flowers before, but this was the first time in years he’d felt like blushing and digging his toe into the dirt like some lovestruck kid. “Yeah,” he said. “They’re just daisies. Nothing special.”

Her face said they were very special. In fact, she looked as though he had just given her the Hope diamond.

“Thank you,” she said, wrapping the huge bouquet in her arms. “They’re lovely. I’ll go put them in some water. I have
just
the vase for these.”

“Well,” he offered, feeling more composed, “you know, they’re just daisies, and a few little pink roses. And the woman put some of that white stuff in there, too.”

“Baby’s breath.”

“Yeah. Baby’s breath. My mom likes those, too.”

“They’re so lovely,” she said through the sweetest smile he had ever seen, “they totally make up for my rotten day. Thank you.”

Betsy placed her open palm on his chest, rose on her tiptoes and settled a soft kiss on his mouth. She might just as well have jabbed him with a cattle prod, because every nerve in his body zinged to life.

He cleared his throat. “Taylor’s in the car. I need to get some food in him, then he needs rest.”

“Dinner’s on the stove.”

“Thanks. After we eat, I need to fill you in on all that’s happened today. The next twenty-four hours are going to be eventful.”

“Well, that sounds pretty ominous.”

“I’ll tell you about it when we’re alone.”

A moment later Taylor hobbled up behind him and moved through the open door and into the foyer.

“Hi,” he said to Betsy.

“Oh, Taylor, how are you feeling? Is there anything I can get you?”

“Food and sleep ought to do the trick.”

Ignoring the trio of voices coming from the living room, Soldier closed and latched the front door, then followed Betsy and Taylor into the kitchen.

The savory fragrance of a home-cooked meal teased his senses and poked at his stomach. A man could get used to this really fast, he thought as he surveyed the goodies Betsy had prepared. Pot roast with carrots and potatoes, homemade biscuits, a freshly baked apple pie. For a man, that was about as close to heaven on earth as it got. Throw in some good sex, and there you had it.

For the first time, Soldier took a good look around the kitchen. It was cute. It was . . . Betsy. Lace curtains on the windows, herb pots on the sill, white wallpaper strewn with wildflowers. A cookie jar in the shape of a cow wearing a straw bonnet stood on the counter next to large, old-fashioned jars filled with flour and sugar.

He slid a look at Taylor, who had settled himself into a chair at the big table, only to find that Taylor was sending him a look in return. And Taylor’s message was coming across loud and clear.

Pretty nice, hm? So, what are you waiting for, you idiot?

As Betsy wiped her hands on the pretty, forties-style apron she wore, the cacophony that had been sequestered in the living room burst into the quiet of the kitchen.

Loretta was dressed in royal purple. The omnipresent Piddle rested securely in her arms. Chattering in French, she led the hapless
Ree-shar
, who followed obediently behind, nodding and gesturing.

Bringing up the rear, Douglas Tremaine shuffled in and sat at the table next to Taylor. Betsy introduced them and they shook hands, but Douglas’s sad gray eyes rarely left his ex-wife, except when he looked at Betsy and smiled.

Turning to the crowd, Betsy said, “I’m leaving the food on the stove. You may get a plate and help yourself. Except for Taylor. Taylor,” she ordered, “you stay put. I’ll serve you.”

“I’ll get a plate for Taylor,” Soldier said. “He’s my brother. I know how to feed him.” He stood and began heaping food onto one of the dishes stacked next to the stove.

Betsy came up beside him and said, “Let me know if you need anything else.”

He stared down into her eyes and lust hit him like a freight train. Behind him, Taylor, Douglas, Loretta, and Richard, not to mention Piddle, were all chattering away, unaware of the sexual tension strung tightly between himself and Betsy.

If he shot them all and shoved the plates and silverware off the table, he could take her right now on her barnyard print tablecloth, chickies and duckies be damned. Blood surged through him, stalling at his groin, sending him spinning into need.

In Loretta’s arms, Piddle suddenly began to yelp, or squeak, or whatever a Chihuahua did to make that irritating sound.

“Shh,” Loretta scolded. “Does Mommy’s Pids need to go outside?” Nothing the woman could say calmed the nasty little beast, who kept growling and barking viciously.

Soldier shot a look at Taylor, who made as if to stand. “Taylor, don’t move! Betsy,” he snapped, “get the lights.”

Turning to the light switch, she slammed her hand against the wall and the room went dark. Loretta squealed,
Ree-shar
gasped, Piddle yelped, and Douglas rose from the table.

“Wh-What can I do?” he said shakily. “T-Tell me what to do.”