This Case Is Gonna Kill Me (24 page)

“Yeah.”

“But it worked when you called me.”

I nodded. “And it worked fine until I reached the house.”

“Okay, I’m becoming more convinced about Securitech,” John said.

“Because of the trace?”

“No, those are easy to buy. But blocking a cell phone signal—now we’re starting to get into real sophistication.” He dropped the tracer and ground it under his heel, then picked it up again.

“So, this means David Sullivan’s off the hook, right?” I didn’t know why, but for some reason it was important to me that John agree.

“Yeah. He knew the address. He could have made a phone call. There would have been no reason for all this cloak-and-dagger shit.”

At that moment the door to the burger joint opened, and the smell of grilling meat and French fries wafted out. My stomach clenched down into a painful ball because I was so hungry.

“I know this is just really awful of me, and I shouldn’t want food after what happened, but I’m fucking starving. I haven’t had anything since lunch.”

John stood up and held out his hand. “Come on. I could do with a cheeseburger too.” I gave him my hand and he pulled me to my feet. “And look, they do chocolate malts. Do you like malts?”

“Um-hmmm,” I managed as my mouth filled with saliva at the very thought.

We started across the parking lot, and even though I tried to hide it, John realized I was limping. He looked down at my bare feet and shredded stockings. Next thing I knew, he had swept me up into his arms. Despite his willowy build, he was incredibly strong. I clasped my arms around his neck, and he carried me into the restaurant.

The air was redolent with the smells of grease and chocolate. It was wonderful. John deposited me in the plastic chair at a plastic table and leaned in. “What do you want?”

“Cheeseburger, fries, chocolate malt.”

“Look, I don’t think you ought to be alone until we figure out exactly what’s going on. Either you can come to my place, or I’ll stay at yours. No funny business. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Hasn’t your bed already got somebody in it?”

“I doubt it after the way I blew out the door.” He gave me a somewhat rueful grin and shrugged.

“Then I’ll take you up on your place. All I seem to do is have nightmares at mine.”

And he surprised me by leaning in and giving me a kiss on the cheek.

16

After our grease-and-carbs dinner (John got a large order of onion rings, and I ended up eating way too many of them), we climbed back into the car. As we pulled out onto the street and headed for the entrance ramp to the freeway, I watched John’s eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror, over to the side mirrors, and back again.

“What are you…? Are you—” I began.

“Yep, there they are.”

“Somebody’s following us,” I squeaked.

“Yeah, I figured they would get a little closer once the trace went dead.”

“Are you going to … lose them? Chip said you could go into this … other world … Fairy … are you going to do that?” I felt like an idiot even saying it.

“Nope.” The word was a harsh single syllable. “I don’t go there.” He took a deep, steadying breath and shook his head. His tone was normal when he continued. “Look, they know who I am. By now they probably know where I live. It’s not worth the effort.”

“Not worth the— They might try…”

“Trust me, they won’t. They’re not that desperate—yet.”

I found that more ominous than comforting, but John was right. Nothing happened. I occasionally looked in the mirrors and even turned around in my seat to look back, but I never saw anybody following. John laughed at me. He had a good laugh, full throated and filled with joy.

I gave him a suspicious look. “Did you just say that? Because I don’t see anybody,” I said.

“Oh, no, they’re there. They’re good, and you don’t know what to look for. And now they’re dropping out because they know where we’re going,” John said as he turned down city streets and drove into the Village.

Amazingly, he found a place to park only a few cars down from his building. He carried me and the bag up three flights of stairs. The smells of dinners long past lingered in the air, but they were nice smells—lemongrass and curry. We went past a tricycle and a bicycle chained to the bannister, and a squeak toy on one step.

I pointed at it. “Is that an early warning device so you know when someone’s coming?”

“Neighbor’s dog. A pretty whippet, but she forgets where she leaves her toys.”

We approached a door painted bright blue, and he set me down. He took out a key, inserted it in the lock, and let us in. The door to his apartment opened directly into a long, narrow kitchen. A wrought-iron potholder hung from the ceiling, and it was festooned with copper pots and high-end cookware. A gigantic spinning spice rack stood on the meager counter space. Another counter was swallowed by an espresso machine. At the end of the kitchen there was a half bath.

There was the faint odor of orange and ginger in the air. Either it was something he’d been cooking or a really lovely sachet.

A left turn took us into a postage stamp–sized living room. A flat-screen TV hung on the wall opposite the Territorial-style sofa and armchair. There were a number of bookcases (all filled), several pieces of decent art (all landscapes), and a Bose wave radio/CD player. A large, bright orange cat sat on a perch suspended in front of the windows. It
twurted,
stretched, jumped down, and ambled over to be petted.

Its fur was deep and silky, with a soft undercoat that gave it the feel of a plushy toy. The cat wove, purring, between our legs, arching its back to receive our strokes.

“This is Gadzooks. He’ll sleep with you, if you let him.”

“I’d love that.”

There was a half-open door. John led me through it and into the bedroom. The bed was rumpled, covers tossed aside and half-dragging on the floor. John sighed.

“Yep, she was pissed.”

“Sorry.”

He gave my back a quick rub. “No, it’s okay. There’s a full bath to your left. I’ll change the sheets while you clean up. There’s a bathrobe hanging on a hook on the door, and I’ll leave a T-shirt for you to wear.”

“Thank you,” I gulped past the lump in my throat.

I left my purse on the dresser and admired the collection of Native American fetish figurines, especially the white buffalo with turquoise horns and the white bear with a heart line outlined in some kind of red stone. I wondered how it was that Gadzooks hadn’t decided they were really awesome cat toys. Maybe the supposed deep affinity of the Álfar and animals was true. I headed into the bathroom.

An overly deep tub, shaped like a triangle to accommodate the small space, was tucked into a corner. There was a large rain-style shower head directly overhead, and shower curtains with a decided South Sea Island theme. The hooks had tiny, brightly colored palm trees on them. While the tub was filling, I stripped out of my torn and bloody clothes, wadded them up, and crammed them into the trash can. I’d worry about what to wear tomorrow when tomorrow arrived. Except it was already tomorrow. That thought was just too confusing. I shook my head. The steam began to occlude the mirror until I could no longer see the wan-faced girl looking back out at me.

The hot water stung my cut and abraded feet. Too late, I realized I probably shouldn’t have gotten the bandage wet. The water lapped at my chin as I sank down low. A quiet knock made me splash and jerk upright.

“Wha … what? Yes?” I stammered as I jerked awake.

“Didn’t want you to drown in there.”

“Thanks. I probably would have. I fell asleep.”

“I thought you might,” John said with a quiver of laughter in his voice. “The bed’s changed. T-shirt awaits. I’ve got a pillow and blanket, and I’m going to embrace the couch. Call if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

I washed up, scrubbed my hair, and climbed out of the dirty, soap-scummed water. John bought nice towels, thick and soft, bath sheets rather than regular towels. I limped out, wrapped in one. The door between the bedroom and the living room was closed, and Gadzooks was taking a leisurely bath in the center of the bed. I admired the black lacquer Oriental-style headboard with lots of nooks for books and drinks, and even his and her reading lights.

I dropped the towel, pulled on the T-shirt, and crawled between the crisp, clean sheets. Gadzooks determinedly marched up the bed and plopped down against my stomach. His purrs rumbled in my gut. My head sank into a down pillow, and I was gone. I didn’t have any nightmares.

*   *   *

I awoke to the intoxicating smell of blueberry pancakes, bacon, and coffee. Gadzooks, standing at the door, heard me stirring and let out a plaintive
twert
. I pushed the hair off my face, stretched, and climbed out of bed. The sounds of the city greeted me: trucks rumbling past, car horns, a yapping dog, a garbage truck’s hydraulics whining as it pushed trash into its interior.

The cat was making ever more tragic and desperate sounds. I cracked the door as I staggered past on my way to the bathroom. He darted through the opening. I hit the bathroom and peed. While I was sitting on the toilet, I noticed the bandage had come off my leg during the night. The claw marks were no longer raw, the edges had begun to seal, and there were no red streaks, so I figured I was out of the woods. I snagged the bathrobe off its hook and donned it. It covered my toes and it smelled of John and cinnamon. Both very nice scents.

I headed into the kitchen. As I walked through the living room I noticed a pair of slacks and a blouse that I recognized as mine draped over the back of the armchair. Clean underwear and a bra were folded on the seat. Set neatly in front were a pair of sandals with really pretty multicolored agates on the straps that I’d bought on sale at Bloomingdale’s. I frowned at them and completed the journey into the kitchen.

John was flipping pancakes on a griddle placed over two of the stove’s burners. He set aside the spatula and opened the oven door. The odor of bacon became much stronger. He grabbed a fork and turned the strips of bacon on their cookie sheet, then turned to greet me with his devastating smile.

“Morning. How did you sleep?”

“Like a rock,” I answered. I pushed back my hair nervously. “I saw the clothes. How did you…?”

“I slipped into the bedroom, took your house keys, got your address off your license, and drove up to your apartment. I didn’t think you’d want to put back on your dirty clothes, and our only other option was to go shopping with you dressed in a bathrobe.”

The image disarmed me, as I suspected he thought it would. I laughed. “Well, thank you.”

“Coffee or espresso?”

“Espresso.”

He set a cup under the tap on the espresso machine and punched a couple of buttons. There was whirring, grinding, and then a groaning as it deposited a thick black brew into the white cup. It finished, grumbling to itself a few more times. John handed me the cup. A beautiful rich cream floated on the top.

“Do you take anything?” he asked.

“No, this is perfect.” I blew on it, then took a sip. It was, in fact, perfect.

I helped by draining the bacon and setting the small two-person table in a corner of the kitchen. We then tucked in. I inspected the graceful curving glass bottle of Canadian maple syrup. “Nothing but the best,” I said as I poured it across my short stack.

“Damn straight.”

We ate in silence for a few minutes, then I took a breath and pushed back my chair. John gave me an inquiring look, which changed to alarm.

“Not good?” he asked anxiously.

“No, it’s great, the food I mean. It’s the day I’m dreading. By now the partners will have heard about the latest hideous killing that has me at its center. Securitech is out there.…” I waved vaguely at the window. “Are they out there?”

“No,” John said, and ate a slice of bacon in three quick crunching bites.

“But I can’t mention Securitech because it’s an ongoing case, and because…”

“We can’t prove anything,” John supplied the end of the sentence. “Suspicions. No proof.”

I studied my folded hands. Looked back up. “Can we get proof?”

“Say, by having Securitech try to kill you again?” he asked.

“Maybe something a little less drastic.”

“That’s harder. If Securitech is behind Chip’s murder and this latest killing, they’ve been very careful to put a lot of daylight between them and the killers.” He nervously beat out a rhythm on his plate with the fork. “We’d need them to make a mistake.”

“When people get desperate, they make mistakes,” I said.

“
Sometimes
they make mistakes. These guys are professionals. Maybe all that happens is that you get dead, and we
still
can’t prove a thing.” He drank some coffee, then changed from drum practice to drawing pictures with the fork’s tines in the syrup that lined his plate. “The only way I can think to make them desperate is to go find the other will. Assuming the other will exists.”

I shook my head. “But then I’d be working against the interests of my clients. I can’t do that.”

“You went to New Jersey to talk to that old lawyer.”

“I didn’t know he was the lawyer who drafted the other will. It was just a cryptic note.”

“But now you do know that the other will exists. Don’t you have an obligation to find out the truth?”

“No, I have an obligation to my clients. Right now all I have is the unsupported word of a senile old coot who is now dead. I don’t think I have any obligation to follow up on this.”

“A minute ago you wanted to get the goods on Securitech. You can’t have it both ways, Linnet.”

I sat and dithered, pulled first in one direction and then in the other. “I need to be a good lawyer.”

John nodded. “That’s probably the smartest approach. Certainly the one best suited to keeping you alive. And I like the idea of keeping you alive.”

“Probably not as much as I do.”

We cleaned up the kitchen together. I was startled to discover it was 11:20 in the morning. I was really going to be late to work. Then I decided,
fuck it
. After what I’d been through, I figured I was entitled to a few hours of personal time.