The Switch (35 page)
"That's enough." She blinked threatened tears from her eyes and swallowed the lump in her throat. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass him after he'd bared his soul. She wanted to tell him that she was honored he had confided such a private moment to her, but she didn't. She wanted to touch his hard cheek and tell him that he shouldn't feel ashamed for experiencing a spiritual awakening, but she didn't say that, either. And touching him would be risky on several accounts.
Instead she said softly, "You can believe in science and still have faith in God, Chief. They aren't mutually exclusive." "Yeah. I guess."
He cleared his throat and stood up, moved to the side of the bed, then propped himself against the headboard and stretched out on top of the bedspread, boots and all. Using his cell phone, he placed calls to his office and residence voice mails in Houston but returned none of the messages.
He placed another call to The Mansion and asked if they were holding any messages for him. He listened. Feeling his eyes on her, she glanced at him over her shoulder.
He clicked off the phone. "Tobias."
"Called you?"
"Lawson must have told him where I'd been staying. He left a message for me to call him as soon as possible. Said it was urgent."
"Are you going to call?"
He shook his head no. "If I do, I become officially involved in an FBI investigation. Sooner or later the media would get wind of it. I'd rather stay unofficially involved. But maybe we should hang on to the number he left. Just in case."
When he recited the number to her, she said, "That's his cell."
"You remember the number?"
"I have a knack. Which reminds me, there were several numbers programmed into Jem's autodial function. Some were labeled. Some weren't. I jotted them down, just in case my memory fails me. We can check them out later. Maybe one will provide a clue as to why he sicced goons on me."
"So you think Hennings eavesdropped on your conversation when you made the appointment with Tobias?"
"It couldn't have been anyone else. It had to have been Jem." "Unless your telephone had been tapped."
That was an alarming thought. `By whom? Why?"
"I'm not saying it was. I'm playing devil's advocate here, throwing out a few options."
She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head stubbornly. “Jem's involved. I know it. I feel it."
"Woman's intuition?"
"Maybe it is just that, but it's strong. From the morning the body was discovered, he's been behaving in a very peculiar way. Remember in Lawson's office, he claimed he'd been against the artificial insemination all along? Gillian had told me just the opposite. She said thatJem had actually urged her to have a child. So either he was lying to her or to us." She stared into near space until Chief prodded her to share all her thoughts.
"Something else?"
Her eyes found and focused on his. "He's lying about the engagement. Gillian would have told me if they had decided to marry. I'm absolutely positive she would have. Jem gave me some flimsy excuses for why they had sworn each other to secrecy, but he was lying."
"If he's lying about an engagement, what else has he lied about?"
"That's what's been worrying me."
"Is it even conceivable that he is in some way responsible for her murder?"
"I hate to even think it, but it has occurred to me," she admitted.
The expression that came over Chief's face made her glad that she wasn't his enemy. She hoped she never would be. The skin seemed to stretch taut over his facial bones, emphasizing the cuts and bruises. "Does your face hurt?"
"I'm okay."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." He gave her an appraising look. "Maybe you missed your calling."
"Nurse?"
"Investigator. Should I alert Tobias to your qualifications?" "Whatever." She lay down on the opposite side of the bed and bunched the pillow beneath her head. "Lord, I'm tired."
"Snooping's tiring work."
Inside Jem's apartment, she'd been as nervous as a cat, waiting for either him or the police to show up. She had risked arrest in order to get in there, but it had proved to be an unproductive waste of time, effort, and nerves.
"I just wish I had more to show for it. If Jem Hennings has a dark side, he's hiding it well. There was certainly nothing inside his condo to indicate an alliance with hit men, or whoever those guys were who came to my house this morning."
"Reading matter?"
"
Forbes, Money, Robb Report
, magazines you would expect a stockbroker to read. No calendar, date book, address roster,
telephone list. No receipts, no notes. In fact, there wasn't a
scrap of paper in the place. Not even in the trash. It was virtually sterile."
"Sounds like him. A bachelor pad should look like a bachelor pad."
"I'd gone there once with Gillian for dinner. Jem cooked. I noticed then that the place was spotless. His kitchen was like a laboratory. I thought it was because he was having company. Apparently he lives like that all the time."
She paused and shook her head ruefully. "I always thought he was uptight and anal-retentive, but now that I'm learning more about him, I can't imagine Gillian ever being the slightest bit attracted to him."
"Was she in love with him?"
She mulled it over before answering, choosing her words carefully. "I think she talked herself into believing she was." "Why?"
"Frankly, Chief, I'm a little uncomfortable discussing Gillian's love life with you."
"Aren't I entitled? She spent the night with me. What happened between us didn't feel sordid. I don't like to think of it as cheating."
"Guilty conscience?"
"Because of Hennings? No. If Gillian had been truly in love
with him, then yes. But I don't think she was, so no," he said definitively.
"She was approaching the big four-oh, which, let's face it, for a woman is a wake-up call. Time to take stock. I think Gillian was afraid that Jem might be her last chance to have a meaningful relationship."
"Not a very good reason to enter a relationship."
"A very bad reason, in fact."
"Did you share your reservations about Hennings with her?" he asked.
"Frequently. Including that day during lunch."
"I'd like to know what was in her mind that night," he said quietly. "When she got home, did she express any regrets?"
She turned her head toward him. His blue eyes bore into hers. "I can't tell you her secrets, Chief."
"They wouldn't be secrets. I was there."
"Then you—"
"But I want to hear what she said. You told me earlier that she'd had a very good time. Did she tell you about us showering together?"
"No. In fact, she wanted to shower as soon as she got home."
"We didn't shower together."
She looked at him with angry dismay. "Oh, I see. That was a trap. To see how much I really knew."
"I'm sorry."
"Go to hell." She made to get up, but he grabbed her hand and held her on the bed.
"Please, Melina. Talk to me. Tell me what she was thinking. Please."
He wanted to know how Gillian had felt about that night, but she also discerned his
need
to know. Maybe it had some- thing to do with his motivation to remain involved when, at any point along the way, he could have deserted her to research the murder alone. For that, she supposed he deserved to know some of what she and her twin had talked about.
But she couldn't discuss it and look at him at the same time, so she pulled her hand free and returned her head to the pillow, looking straight up at the ceiling.
"She told me that she wasn't seduced, that she initiated it. Is that how you remember it?" She felt his nod.
"She was afraid that might have put you off. That you might have thought less of her because of it."
She sensed him shaking his head before he spoke a rough, "Hardly."
"That's good, then."
He waited for more. When her reluctance to continue became obvious, he probed. "What else, Melina?"
"Chief."
"Please."
She drew a deep breath and t
hen released it in a gust. "Men... might
..."
"Go on. Men might
..."
"Boast."
"About?"
She laughed softly. "Everything."
"Specifically?"
"You know" She cut her eyes toward him, then back to the ceiling. "The number of times he ..."
"Oh." Then, after a small pause, "Gillian told you how many times?"
"Not precisely."
"Several."
"I gathered."
"So how could she have been in love with Hennings?" Quickly she looked over at him. "I mean, a person might slip once, Melina. Do something in the heat of the moment and instantly regret it. Think, Oh, my God, what have I done? and leave feeling remorse. It wasn't like that. Did Gillian tell you how—"
"Chief, please stop this."
"—intense it was? How I couldn't get enough of her?"
His eyes were hot as they looked at her across the expanse of the king-size bed, and suddenly it wasn't quite expansive enough for her.
Flustered, she sat up, planting her feet on the floor and putting her back to him. She checked her wristwatch. "He's probably home from work by now. We should go." She left the bed and began gathering her things. "Take your stuff. Depending on what the immediate future holds, we may not be coming back."
As they collected their belongings, the silence between them teemed with undercurrents of the sensitive topics they had discussed and of the many things they'd left unsaid.
When she had everything, she glanced around to make certain she hadn't missed something, then
approached the door with both hands full.
"I'll get it." Chief moved up behind her. Close. Reaching around her, he took hold of the doorknob but didn't turn it. "Melina?"
His breath was in her hair, his body heat against her back. "You knew Gillian better than anyone."
She gave a small nod.
"How could she have loved Hennings and slept with me?"
It was a long time before she found enough voice to speak, and even then it was thready. "She couldn't. That evening wasn't about Jem. Or the insemination. Or having a child. It wasn't about anything except you. It was all about you."
Imperceptibly he leaned forward, until it was more than his body heat she felt against her back—it was him. "I needed to hear you say that."
"Don't, Chief," she implored in a hoarse whisper.
"What?"
"Don't forget that I'm Melina. I'm not Gillian."
CHAPTER 25
Tony and Candace Anderson lived in an upscale neighborhood in north Dallas. The lawns were well maintained. Each garage had at least two vehicles, one of which was a minivan or SW. Homeowners here could afford private schools for the kids, ski vacations in Vail, and a membership to the nearby country club.
"Nice area," Chief remarked.
"Hmm." Melina probably hadn't noticed. She was apprehensive about the reception the publicity-shy Andersons might give them. They had waited until late in the day to come, when it was more likely that they'd find both at home.
Their house was situated at the end of a short cul-de-sac. It was contemporary in design. The walkway brought Chief and Melina up to a front door that was constructed largely of panes of beveled glass, so that they could see Tony Anderson's approach before he opened the door. A dog inside the house barked once, but it was a halfhearted, nonthreatening bark.
"Mr. Anderson?" Melina asked.
"That's right." He was of average height and better-than average looks. His tan suggested a lot of time spent outdoors; his trim, athletic build implied tennis over golf. Friendly but
cautious, he evenly divided his inquisitive regard between them.
"My name is Melina Lloyd. This is Christopher Hart."
Anderson looked Chief's way, showing surprised recognition and curiosity over his battered face. "The astronaut?"
"Tony?
"
Candace Anderson might have been a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. She had the figure and the face for it, a mane of sun-streaked blond hair, and eyes as large as a doe's. She was wearing old blue jeans with split knees and a knit top that was cropped at her narrow waist. But for all her beauty, her face bore the imprint of sadness and her doe-eyes had a wounded look. She sidled up to her husband and stood close to him, as though for shelter and support.
"I thought you looked familiar," Tony Anderson said to him. "Nice to meet you."
Tony looked pleased to be shaking hands with him, but also perplexed. "Uh, this is my wife, Candace. Candace, Christopher Hart. And Miss ... Sorry."
