Sleeping with Anemone (19 page)

I replied,
The dairy farm is set to open in two weeks, but I need someone to take over temporarily, as I am . . .
What could I say? A potential kidnap victim? Under house arrest by my boyfriend? Banned from group activities? Sniper-phobic? . . .
incapacitated. Please advise.

That was vague enough. I hit SEND, and went back to the search engine to see what I could find about Nils Raand. A half hour later, I’d uncovered nothing but what was on the Uniworld Food Corporation’s Web site. In a single paragraph, it stated that Raand had started in the mail room and worked his way up the corporate ladder to management, where he was now in charge of Uniworld’s Midwest Distribution Center. To me, it sounded way too hokey to be true, almost as if Nils Raand were a fictional character.

Maybe that was why I couldn’t find anything. Maybe Nils Raand was an alias.

“Hey, Reilly, I know I promised to drop the subject, but isn’t there any way you can take a peek in the Raand file for me?”

Silence. I turned to look and found him sound asleep, mouth open.

Some sitter.

 

Reilly was still asleep and Marco hadn’t yet returned when I finally decided to hit the sack. I fell into a sound but not restful sleep, my dreams filled with snipers, chases down dark alleys, missing brooches, and screaming women. Oh, wait. That scream was real.

I shot out of bed and tore from my room, the morning sun temporarily blinding me as I stumbled into the hallway and collided with Marco, who had a towel around his middle.

“What happened?” I asked, squinting.

“I didn’t know Nikki was in the bathroom. I went in to shower.”

Didn’t anyone know what a closed door meant?

I almost asked him that, but, seriously,
all
he had on was a towel wrapped around his hips. The rest of him was bare and hard-muscled and unbelievably sexy. However, since I was unshowered and unbelievably hungry, I headed for the kitchen. “What time is it?”

“Almost seven o’clock.” Marco opened the front door to retrieve the morning newspaper. I hoped the Samples across the hall weren’t on their way out their door to walk their Chihuahua. Mrs. Sample was given to hysterics.

I got out the orange juice and set it on the counter. “Want some juice?”

“Sure, thanks.” Marco came up behind me and slid one arm around my waist. “You’re pretty hot in the morning, with your messy hair . . . bare legs . . .”

And morning mouth. I poured two glasses of juice, took a sip from one, and handed the other to him over my shoulder. While he drank it, I started measuring out coffee grounds.

The bathroom door opened; then a bedroom door slammed. Nikki was angry.

Marco downed his juice and set the glass on the counter. “I’d better get dressed and go apologize.”

“I wouldn’t do that. Nikki went back to bed and will be sound asleep in a few minutes. She was probably half awake when it happened anyway.”

“No kidding?” Marco called from the other room.

Definitely kidding. Nikki would be angry until tomorrow morning. “Do you want toast with your coffee?”

I held my breath, hoping he didn’t go through the mushy breakfast list again. Instead, Marco appeared dressed in jeans and a white undershirt, walked to one of the cabinets, and took out a box of instant oatmeal.

“I picked this up last night. Want me to make you a bowl?”

“Okay.” Marco was really on the ball. I could handle having a guy around who paid attention.

He took out two packages and opened them into bowls. “The word on the street is that Nils Raand will be arrested soon.”

“I heard that, too. From my sitter.”

Marco was wise enough to look sheepish as he heated water in the microwave. “I guess I should have mentioned Sean was coming over last night.”

“I guess. You didn’t need to send Reilly here. He slept most of the evening, anyway.”

“Reilly owed me. It was no big deal.”

Maybe for them.

Marco kissed my cheek. “Have to keep my woman safe.”

His woman. Aw.
My caveman hero. “By the way, Reilly told me that Charlotte’s cause of death was massive trauma to the head and chest from tires like a van would have made, so it’s pretty clear that Hudge ran her down.”

“Yet another stupid move on Hudge’s part.”

“Also, I did some research on Nils Raand, but other than a short bio on the Uniworld Web site, there is nothing out there on him. Nada. I find that highly suspicious. And by the way, Reilly showed me a new Web site for digging up information on people.”

“If it’s the site I’m thinking of, I showed it to him.”

“Oh.” I poured him a cup of coffee. “You showed it to him and not me?”

Marco finished stirring the oatmeal, then handed me one of the bowls. He gave me another kiss, this one on top of my head, then picked up his cup and went around the corner to sit at the dinette table. Through the pass-through, I watched as he opened the newspaper and began to read as he wolfed down his breakfast.

He’d totally ignored my question.

“Marco?”

“Hmm?” came his mumbled reply.

I took back what I thought about him earlier, because he wasn’t paying attention now.

 

“Okay if I drive?” I asked Marco, as we walked across the parking lot toward the Vette.

“Better if I do.”

“Better why?”

“Just better.”

New word for the minus column:
autocratic
. “How is it better?”

“Safer for you. Defensive driving is one of the skills I learned in Ranger training.”

Hard to argue that one, but I had to give it a go. It was only a ten-minute trip, after all. With a forlorn sigh, I said,

“I really miss driving my Vette.”

Marco glanced at me and his gaze softened, no doubt because of the heart-wrenching look of sadness on my face. He handed me the keys. “I guess it won’t hurt.”

Defensive whining was a skill I learned in kindergarten.

I got behind the wheel, pulled the seat forward, adjusted the rear- and side-view mirrors, and turned on the engine. I ran my hands along the steering wheel, familiarizing myself with its feel. I patted the dash, whispering, “That’s my baby. Listen to your engine purr. Mama is back!”

“Seat belt,” my caveman said.

“I was just about to do that,” I said sweetly.

“Watch that post behind you.”

The post I’d been watching for a year now and had yet to hit? I backed out of the space in one smooth motion, glanced at Marco to see if he’d noticed, then drove across the lot and paused at the street to check for cars.

“Careful. The road looks icy.”

I gripped the wheel tighter but didn’t reply. Make that, I didn’t
trust
myself to reply. How did Marco think I made it to work each day? Blindly hitting posts and sliding across icy streets? Had he always been that bossy and I just hadn’t noticed?

“Why aren’t you wearing that flower pin on your beret anymore?”

“My mom still has it.”

“I kind of liked it.”

“You did?”

“The red brought out the blush in your cheeks.”

He noticed a blush in my cheeks? “Thanks. That’s really sweet of you to say so.”

How had I ever thought Marco was bossy? He was merely watching out for my well-being in that self-assured Army Ranger way of his. I had to stop being so critical and start appreciating his finer points. Maybe if I weren’t under such a cloud of worry, it would be easier.

To demonstrate my appreciation, I started to reach across the seat to take his hand, but he made a sound through his teeth as though an accident were imminent.

I yanked my hand back. “What?”

He pointed to the cross street. “Two hands on the wheel at an intersection. Defensive driving, remember? Taking your focus off the road for even a second is long enough for someone to charge through and broadside you.”

I was on the verge of pulling off the road and letting him drive when his phone rang. He slid it out of his pocket and checked the screen for a name. “It’s Reilly,” he said, then pressed the phone to his ear.

Good! That would distract him for a while. Maybe I could get all the way to the shop before he finished.

“Hey, man,” he said to Reilly, “I was going to give you a call later. Thanks for stopping by the place last night. We really appreciated it.”

Did not.

“So what’s up?” Marco asked. He listened for a moment, then said, “You’ve got to be kidding. I don’t believe it! How the hell did it happen?”

“What happened?” I asked.

Marco covered the phone with his hand. “Dwayne Hudge is dead.”

That was a distraction, all right.

D
wayne Hudge was dead? No way. He couldn’t be. The cops had him locked up in the county jail. He was surrounded by guards. They had the wrong guy.

“Thanks for letting me know. Keep me posted, okay?” Marco flipped the phone closed. “Damn. The detectives never even got to question him.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“That he’s dead?”

“That the body they have is Hudge. He’s in jail, for heaven’s sake. He’s got guards.” I glanced over at Marco to see him giving me a look that said,
Do you seriously think I could be wrong about this?

“Hudge is dead, Abby.”

“Did he hang himself?”

“He was stabbed.”

“Oh, my God! In jail? Who stabbed him?”

“No one is saying. One minute Hudge was leaning up against the bars of the holding cell; next minute he was on the ground, bleeding out. By the time someone alerted the guards, and they got to him, he had no pulse. Whatever weapon was used, it hit his carotid artery.”

“Aren’t the inmates searched for weapons before they’re processed?”

“Of course they are. Sometimes, in a prison situation, someone manages to slip in a shiv, but Reilly said the guys in the holding cell were clean.” Marco hit the dashboard with his hand. “Damn it. Twenty guys were in there with him at the time, and all of them swear they saw nothing.”

“If none of the men in the holding cell had a weapon, then obviously someone outside the cell killed him.”

“Except that the only people outside the cell were the jail guards. Some are former cops.”

“But someone at that jail has to know something or have seen someone.”

“You’re right. The detectives are going to have their hands full. But the coroner should be able to determine the weapon from the edges of the wound. That could help ID the murderer.”

“Do you think it’s possible someone wanted Hudge silenced?”

“
Someone
being the mastermind behind the kidnapping? Sure, it’s possible. Probable, in fact.”

“So now the only person who knows who hired Hudge and Charlotte is Charlotte’s sister, which means the cops better find her soon before she’s the next one murdered. And what’s to stop the killer from coming after me next?”

Marco reached across to rub my shoulder. “Me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Abby. My main job right now is to keep you safe. We’ll let the detectives worry about Charlotte’s sister.”

When he put it like that, how could I argue? “Thanks, Marco.”

“I’ll make sure someone is with you this evening while I’m out, too.”

Not another sitter! “Honestly, Marco, I’ll be perfectly safe in my apartment.”

He pointed toward the curb. “Pull up in front of Bloomers. I’ll escort you in.”

Before I could protest that he was being a little too protective, he was on the phone with Lottie. “Abby is feeling a little nervous so I’m going to walk her to the door. Be ready.” He glanced over at me. “Okay?”

A moment later, Lottie and Grace were standing guard in the doorway, checking up and down the sidewalk for any signs of danger, while Marco hustled me toward the shop. I felt absolutely ridiculous.

Still, I glanced up at the roof.

No sniper.

 

As soon as we were in the shop, Marco left to park the Vette and Lottie locked the door behind us; then the women sat me down in the parlor to hear the news about Dwayne Hudge. Afterward, they both assured me that the man behind the kidnappings would be crazy to come after me now, knowing he was being sought by both city and county police. I agreed with them, and we all breathed sighs of relief. We weren’t fooling anyone, of course, but none of us wanted to say so.

Marco was just putting away his cell phone when Lottie let him in the front door. He strode into the parlor and sat down with us at a table. “I’ve made arrangements to be here with you all day. My head bartender is back on duty, so that frees me up.”

“I’m so sorry to put you through this, Marco,” I said. “I’m sure you have things you’d rather be doing than hanging out here all day.”

“No problem, babe. I’ll keep busy. Ladies, if I get underfoot, let me know. I’ll be as unobtrusive as possible.”