I'm Watching You (14 page)

A heavy silence settled between them. "I'm starting to feel
like Christina Braxton died. She's starting to feel like a distant
memory."

"She became Nicole Piper. And Nicole Piper is going to have a
wonderful life."

"But I'll always worry. I'll always have to look over
my shoulder. Unless I get lucky and Richard drops dead."

Lindsay understood Nicole was in a no-win situation and didn't bother
with platitudes. "What time do you work today?"

"Three." Nicole shifted in her seat and looked through the
sliding glass doors at the wall clock. "Hey, it's almost eight.
You're running late."

Lindsay had been up since six. She'd practiced her yoga for almost
ninety minutes, trying to fill her time and to push the murder and Zack from
her mind. "I don't have to be in the office until nine."

"Is today a shelter day?"

"No, I'm working out of the Mental Health Services building
today." She hesitated. She didn't want to tell Nicole about the
murder, because she didn't want her to worry. But better Nicole hear from
her about what had happened. "We had some trouble at the shelter
yesterday."

A deep crease formed on Nicole's forehead. "What
happened?"

Lindsay chose her words carefully. "Ruby, the Sunday night
volunteer, found a body behind the shelter near the trash cans."

Nicole lurched forward. "What!"

Lindsay held up her hands. "The cops have identified the guy.
He's a local attorney who apparently had lots of enemies." She
skipped the details about the flowers, the severed hand, and the
Guardian's note. "It's nothing for you to worry about,
because it has nothing to do with you or Richard."

Nicole's expression grew more serious. "Lindsay, don't
patronize me. A dead body is something to worry about. How did he die?"

Lindsay picked at the chipping paint on her chair arm. "He was
shot in the chest."

Nicole blew out a breath. "Who was it?"

"His name was Harold Turner."

"This isn't good."

Lindsay smiled, hoping to lighten Nicole's worries.
"It's under control. The police are all over this case. I'm
sure they'll figure out who did this. And I want you to know that I
haven't told anyone that you're living here."

Nicole relaxed a fraction, as if Lindsay had touched on a secret worry.
"Okay."

"This will blow over soon enough."

Nicole looked skeptical. "What can I do to help you?"

"Nothing.
Everything is fine. If I need you, I promise
to unload my troubles, okay?"

"I'm holding you to that. You've done so much for
me." Nicole shifted, pressing her hand into her stomach.

"You aren't feeling well, are you?"

Nicole's skin looked sallow. "No. I can't seem to
shake this stupid bug."

Lindsay studied Nicole's tight face. She knew her friend was under
a terrible strain, but some topics couldn't be avoided. "I've
been tiptoeing around this subject for a couple of days. But there seems to be
no getting around it now. When was your last period?"

Nicole shook her head and held up her hands. "Don't even go
there. I'm not pregnant."

Lindsay relaxed back in her chair. "So you've had a period
recently?"

Slim fingers drew into fists. "No, but I've been under a lot
of stress the last couple of months. Things were getting pretty bad with
Richard toward the end."

Lindsay's concern returned threefold. "How long has it been
since your period?"

Nicole frowned, closed her eyes as she thought. "Two
months."

Lindsay leaned forward and clasped her hands in front of her.
"Have you ever gone this long before?"

Hope flickered in Nicole's gaze. "When my mother died, I
missed one."

"But not two or three."

"No."

Lindsay blew out a frustrated breath. "You need to take a
pregnancy test, Nicole."

"I don't need a test. I'm not pregnant." Anger
etched her delicate features. "Richard said he wanted to have a baby. He
said a baby would bind us together forever. But I was able to use some kind of
protection almost every time."

Lindsay rose, then squatted in front of Nicole's chair and laid
her hand on her arms. "I'd love to think this is just the flu. But
you've been sleeping a lot and you've been nauseous too often to
ignore it any longer. I know you don't like the idea of carrying
Richard's child, but the possibility exists, doesn't it?"

Defiance burned in Nicole's blue eyes. "It was only just one
time that he completely surprised me and I wasn't able to take
precautions."

"When?"

"May."

The timing would be right. "Once is all it takes, honey."

Nicole pressed trembling hands to her cheeks. "I can't have
Richard's baby. I
can't
."

"Hey, hey, don't panic or borrow trouble. Just pick up a
pregnancy test tonight. They have to be taken in the morning. By this time
tomorrow, you'll know where you stand."

Nicole's voice was a hoarse whisper. Her gaze reflected fear.
"Lindsay, what if I
am
pregnant?"

"Honey, let's just do the test first. Then we'll
figure out what the next step is."

Nicole offered a weak smile, but her eyes still looked panicked.
"You're right.
One step at a time.
You've been saying that since I arrived here."

Lindsay admired Nicole's strength. With only the clothes on her
back, she had left a very powerful, very vengeful man. "Do yourself a
favor and get out of the house today. Go see some of the city. Put that new
camera of yours to work." Photography would give Nicole something
positive to focus on temporarily.

A sigh shuddered through Nicole's body. "I have been itching
to try out the vintage Leica I found at the flea market last week."

"Perfect. This apartment could use some real photographic art on
the walls."

A clock in the hallway chimed eight times. "Now, I've got to
get my act together. And my car is still at the shelter, so I'll have to
call a cab."

"Why is your car at the shelter?"

She shrugged.
"Long story."

Nicole rose, shaking her head. "You don't want to tell
me."

Lindsay smiled. "Not right now."

"I get that we all have things we don't like to talk about.
Okay, I'll drive you. Give me fifteen and I'll be ready to
go."

Lindsay touched Nicole's shoulder. "It's going to be
okay, baby or no."
It's going to be okay
.
She was trying to reassure herself as well.

Nicole straightened her shoulders. "I know."

Both smiled.

But neither believed the other.

Minutes before seven, Zack arrived in the lobby of the Public Safety
building. The modern building, located in the west end of the county, housed
the homicide division and sat adjacent to the police training facility.

Zack headed past the guard at Reception and, instead of taking the
elevator, climbed the steps to his second-floor office. In deference to the
heat, he'd skipped the suit today and dressed in khakis and a white
collared shirt. The way he figured it, he and Warwick would be doing a lot of
legwork on the Turner case.

The homicide division consisted of five small offices, one for each
detective, and a conference room with a long table that sat twenty. Fluorescent
light made the industrial-blue carpet look gray and the ivory walls washed out.

His eyes itched with fatigue. Dreams of Lindsay had invaded him and kept
him awake half the night.

Last night's dreams were different from the others he'd had
this past year. They weren't a replay of the fights they'd had
during the last days they'd lived together. These dreams had been purely
sexual. Until yesterday, he'd almost forgotten how good the sex could be
between them. When he'd awoken, a restless energy had been churned up.
He'd gone for a long run, taken a cold shower, but neither had been
enough to banish Lindsay.

"Damn." He grabbed a cup of coffee from the break room and
headed to Warwick's office.

Warwick glanced up from his desk. "You look like shit."

Zack had come to recognize the tone. It meant Warwick was gunning for
trouble. Normally, Zack ignored it, but today, he didn't have the
patience. "I haven't been drinking, if that's what
you're implying."

Warwick looked unrepentant. "This isn't the time to fall
apart."

Zack hadn't even had his first cup of coffee and already he was
pissed at his partner. "I'm not falling apart and I'm not
going to drink again. The sooner you accept that fact the better our
partnership will be."

Warwick didn't hide his skepticism. "We'll see."

Zack shook his head. "And I thought I had hang-ups. But I'm
begining to believe you've got some real issues of your own."

Warwick rose abruptly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Was it your mother or father who was the drunk?"

Tension radiated from Warwick's body. "Don't try to
lay your problems on me."

"As long as I'm sober, I don't have a problem. But
you, you could be sober as a judge and still have demons chasing you." He
sipped his coffee, enjoying the fact that Warwick was the one at a
disadvantage. "I'd say it was your mother who was the drinker. Or
was she a drug addict?"

Warwick tightened his jaw and released it. "Fuck off."

Zack shrugged.

Warwick snatched up a file from his very orderly desk. "I asked
everyone in the division to meet us in the conference room at seven. They
should be waiting for us now."

Zack knew he'd just opened a wound. If Warwick hadn't been
such a prick these last eight months, he'd have felt bad about it.
"Let's do it."

Warwick nodded stiffly.
"Right."

The two went into the conference room as Detective Vega offered
Detective C.C. Ricker Danish from a bakery bag.

C.C. glowered at Vega. The redhead stood just over five feet and had a
compact, lean body. In her late twenties, she had come up through patrol, the
domestic violence division, and for the last two years had worked homicide.

Catching sight of Zack and Warwick, Vega wiped his hands clean. Nick
Vega was tall, had olive skin, and wore his black hair slicked back. Born in
Cuba, he'd immigrated to New York when he was six. He spoke Spanish like
a native and English like a New Yorker.

C.C. stood a little straighter. "So I hear you boys snagged
yourself a juicy murder."

Warwick's frame dominated the space.
"Lucky
us."

Vega chuckled. "Tread carefully. C.C.'s on another diet.
Low carbs this time.
And she's mean as a snake."

Warwick sat down. All traces of the anger toward Zack had vanished.
"What's the occasion and how long do we have to suffer before you
can have a real meal?"

C.C. frowned. "My sister's wedding." They'd all
seen the pictures of C.C. and her three sisters. The other Ricker sisters were
tall and blond. C.C. had often joked she was a genetic throwback. "So
how's Sharon?"

Warwick's smile didn't waver but his eyes hardened a shade.
"No more Sharon. I'm a single man again."

C.C. didn't hide her sadness. "Sorry to hear that. I liked
her."

"No biggie," Warwick said.

Zack wouldn't use any more armchair psychology to his partner
again. Their exchange a few minutes ago, coupled with the fact that he'd
broken up with another good woman, told Zack all he needed to know. His partner
had been raised by a drunk and it had left its mark. No matter what he did, no
matter how long he stayed
sober,
Zack would always be
a drunk to Warwick.

Add that to the three detectives' camaraderie and Zack wondered if
he'd ever live down the days he drank.

Ayden entered the room, silencing any other banter. He had rolled up his
sleeves and loosened his tie. Under his arm, he held a stack of files. In his
left hand, which still bore his wedding band, he gripped a mug that read
"#1 Dad," a gift from one of his sons. He tossed the files on the
table.

"Zack and Warwick.
Phone records just arrived."
He pushed the files toward them. "Harold and Jordan Turner's are
included as well as O'Neil's and the shelter's records. There
are hundreds of calls to wade through."

Zack thumbed through the records. He remembered the feeling he'd
had yesterday that Lindsay was hiding something. God only knew what
they'd find.

"Is Sara joining us?" Ayden said.

"I'm here," Sara said, breezing into the room. Her
neat ponytail suited her khakis, crisp white shirt, and polished brown flats.
"And please tell me no one expects DNA this morning."