Sooner or Later (13 page)

She shrugged and tucked the fifty into the top of her black patent leather boot. “No need to get nasty. Make a left here, then another. It’s just an alley but it’s quiet.”

Buck parked at the far end of the alley near the trash
cans, then sat back while she took care of his needs. She was good at her job, her mouth felt like silk and rubber, her teeth like the scratching of demons, tearing at his soul.

He slid his hands around her neck and she jerked backward. “What y’ doin’ … ?” Panicked, she dived for the door but he was too quick. He had her by the throat and nothing would have pried him off. His face was contorted with the effort and sweat dripped into his eyes.

She choked and flailed around, clutching at his hands. Then she went limp. The tongue that had done such a good job on him a few minutes ago stuck out from her slack mouth like a swollen purple eggplant, and her bulging eyes were dark with congested blood.

Buck dragged her from the car and let her drop. Her wig fell off, revealing matted black hair. He aimed a kick at her; the bitch hadn’t even been a real redhead. Retrieving the fifty from her boot, he pocketed it.

The alley was quiet, there was just a dim light at the end. He took out the switchblade and knelt over her. The knife made a little hissing sound as he slit the skin, etching the deep cross, from temple to temple, scalp to nose. There was little blood because her heart was no longer pumping it around, but he wiped the knife fastidiously on her short skirt, then got back in the car, and drove out of the alley.

There was still no one in sight. When he got to the next intersection, he switched on his lights and checked his appearance in the driver’s mirror. Smoothing back his hair, he thought he looked pretty good. He was whistling “Dixie” happily under his breath as he headed back to the freeway, and Montecito.

The bar was crowded. He took a stool and caught the bartender’s eye.

“Double Jim Beam, Mr. Jensen?” the barman asked.

“You got it, Al. Any chance of some of those pretzels?”

“Certainly, sir. You catch the Lakers game tonight?”

“I sure did.” Buck had caught the final few minutes on the car radio, and anyhow he was never one to turn down an alibi when it was offered. “Boy, they’re tough to beat these days.”

He had forgotten about the woman he’d just killed, and he sipped the good bourbon, remembering how he used to dream about it in Hudson, how it would taste, so smooth, rich. And now he had it. He almost had it all.

D
AN WAS OUT ON THE DECK, PLAYING WITH THE NEW
Weber barbecue. He’d dashed back from the ranch early, not wanting Ellie to catch him sweaty from the fields and smelling of stables. He was freshly showered, wearing Levi’s, sneakers, and a blue shirt, rolled at the sleeves. And he ached in every muscle from the long horse-ride that afternoon.

He ran his hands through his still-wet hair, wondering why he was so keen to see her. It wasn’t even really a date, just two old friends catching up on each other. Even though she was beautiful. There, he’d finally said it. Ellie Parrish Duveen was a knockout.

A sudden image of Ellie as a child flashed into his mind; a photograph of a lanky, freckled redhead in a saggy bathing suit, shivering on the windy beach, then plunging fearlessly into the waves. Had she had braces then? he wondered. No, she must have been too young, only eight or nine. Too young to date, anyhow.

As a cop, finding time for dates had been a major problem. A detective’s hours were difficult and subject to
change. He’d never understood how Piatowsky juggled marriage and four kids, but he’d held it together and had a pretty and devoted wife.

“It’s Love,” Piatowsky had told him cryptically. “Like, she loves me. And I love her. That’s all there is to it. And maybe a bit of give-and-take.”

“I assume the ‘give’ comes on Angela’s part?” Dan remembered asking with a grin. He knew Piatowsky too well. He was at the precinct all hours of the day and night. He never let a case drop, not even for a day off.

Anyhow, being a cop hadn’t done wonders for Dan’s relationships. There were women, of course; women he liked. Especially an assistant DA he’d met when he was in court, presenting a case against a felon he’d arrested. He had thought, for a while, she might be the one. But between his unsociable shifts and her busy schedule, spending time together had become more and more difficult, until there hadn’t been much point to it anymore.

So he’d gone on working out at the gym, getting up extra early to run, finishing the New York Marathon twice, respectably in the first quarter. He’d filled his apartment with music, and with books—true stories of derring-do: mountain climbing, solo ocean-crossings in small yachts, and treks to the North Pole, always thinking that maybe, someday, he would find space for an adventure like that.

The rest of his time was filled with work. He’d lived it and breathed it, and he’d almost died for it. But he still liked quiet dinners in charming little Italian restaurants, a good bottle of wine, and the company of a pretty, intelligent woman.

Ellie nosed the Jeep down the quiet lane, looking for Pines Cottage. She had changed from the yellow dress into narrow white jeans, Converse sneakers, and a soft white shirt, tied at her waist. As always, she wore her
mother’s pearls, and she’d taken the time to apply mascara and lipstick properly, instead of at the traffic light as she usually did. In the back were two grocery bags with the steaks, salad, cheese, fruit, French bread and a chunk of Miss Lottie’s birthday cake.

She checked her watch. Two minutes before the appointed hour. Being early might be a first in her life, and she wondered whether she was acting too eager. He was just an old childhood friend, she reminded herself, then corrected that. Well, almost a friend; at least she’d known him, way back when.

Dan Cassidy had looked great at eighteen: abs like a washboard and zero body fat. Those deep-set Irish-blue eyes, with the long black lashes stuck together in little wet points, his chest tanned a deep golden brown, and his lower half encased in a sexy black wet suit that fit snug as a second skin and had all the girls giggling.

She also remembered being clasped against that golden chest as he hauled her from the surf, after she’d been hit on the head by a board, and her throwing up seawater all over him. She must have swallowed a gallon of the stuff. “That’ll teach you never to do that again,” he’d said frostily, “it’s a good way to get yourself killed.” Ellie grinned; she surely hoped he didn’t recall that little incident, it would ruin her image in a minute.

An old wooden board with
Pines Cottage
carved clumsily into it hung askew over a wooden gate. She parked the car, hauled the grocery bags from the back and pushed the door with her foot.

As she walked toward the roar of the ocean, the trees thinned out and she could see the house. It was small and simple, painted white with nautical blue trim, and a big old brass ship’s bell by the door.

Shifting her packages to one arm, she tugged on the bell rope, then took a step back, sniffing the clean salt air
like a happy puppy. She decided she might as well enjoy this, after all it was just dinner with a friend. Even if he was cute.

Pancho leapt out as Dan flung open the door. Their eyes met. “Hi,” they said, simultaneously.

Ellie looked down at the mangy dog bouncing all over her. He was the worst-looking mutt she had ever seen. She grinned at Dan. “I’ll bet you took him because you knew nobody else would.”

“He’d been at the shelter for months. Next week he was headed for the kennels in the sky. He looked at me, with those big brown eyes”—Dan lifted his shoulders, heaving a sigh—“and now, he thinks he owns me.” He grabbed the grocery bags from her. “This was meant to be my treat, and I’ve let you do all the work.”

“Oh no. No, sir. This is where I quit and you begin.” Following him into the kitchen, she began to unpack the bags.

Pancho pranced on his hind legs, whining eagerly as he scented the steak, and she said severely, “No chance, dog, even if you are a beauty.”

“You can’t mean you think the mutt’s beautiful?” Dan looked astonished.

“He looks like a molting fur cushion, but then I’m a pushover for waifs and strays.”

“I hope you’re not including me in that category.”

Ellie laughed, taking out the rest of the food. “I thought it was the other way around. Ah, here it is.” She unwrapped part of the pretty pink cake that said
Happy Birthday Miss Lottie
in silver, then stuck a finger in the frosting and licked it.

“Bad,” she admitted, rolling her eyes with pleasure. “But I can’t resist.”

“I bet your grandmother told you it’ll spoil your dinner if you eat your cake first.”

“I thought you were going to say ‘You can’t have your cake and eat it.’ ”

“I’m doing my best to prove that’s not true. What about you?”

She sighed, leaning against the sink. “I’m trying. I’m trying.”

She sounded wistful and he poured her a glass of wine. “Iron Horse,” he said, “a class-act winery. Taste it and tell me what you think.”

She gazed, too innocently, into his eyes. “I think it’s been a long time since I had dinner with a man.” Then laughing, she added, “Of course, I get to have dinner with dozens of men, every night. But that doesn’t count, if you know what I mean.”

“I know.” His eyes were still on hers. “It’s nice. Especially because you’re an old friend.”

The wooden deck looked out over the ocean, with a flight of steps leading down to the beach. The tide was turning and a soft wind blew the hair back from Ellie’s face as they leaned on the rail, drinking in the view. Noticing the scar on her forehead, Dan wondered, shocked, how she had gotten it. Then he said, “Want to take a walk, before the sun sets?”

She had her sneakers off in a second and almost beat Pancho down the steps to the sand. Rolling up her pants legs, she yelled, “Last one in’s a sissy.” Then she took off down the beach, red hair flying.

He jogged after her, every muscle groaning with agony.

“Just look at the old man.” She was kicking up her heels at the edge of the waves, enjoying her freedom. “Whatever happened to Dan, Dan, the surferman, with abs of steel and a butt to die for?”

He grinned. “You’ve got a pretty good memory. How about that time you threw up all over me?”

He came up beside her, and she groaned. “I was hoping you wouldn’t remember.”

“Total recall. Except did you have braces or not?”

She shook her head, tossing back her windblown hair. “They came later. I’m glad you don’t have that memory to add to your hit list.”

“Maybe it’s a wish list.”

She glanced skeptically at him, and he added, “You were a cute kid, even then.”

“Liar.” She grinned. “I was kind of like Pancho, chunky, with long, spindly legs and big feet. Race you to the rocks,” she challenged, taking off again, her long hair streaming behind her. He huffed after her, limping.

She circled back, hands on hips, regarding him critically. Her cheeks glowed pink and her eyes sparkled. She felt the way she had on her first day of college, on her very first day of freedom—even if this was only one day.

“Uh-uh,” she groaned, “I knew it. It’s whiplash and you’re going to sue the hell out of me.”

He laughed. “Rear-ending my new car had absolutely nothing to do with it. It’s just that I rode a horse today for the first time in years, a frisky mare—almost as frisky as you, and twice as powerful. She gave me a run for my money and now I ache in places I didn’t know I had.”

“They say horses can reach parts even bicycles don’t.” She linked her arm companionably through his as they ambled back to the house.

“So what made you do it?” she asked suddenly. “Give up the police?”

“A bullet had my name on it. I thought I was lucky, it didn’t kill me, then they told me I’d be stuck in a desk job for the rest of my working days.” He shrugged. “After that, the simple life suddenly seemed attractive. Back to the earth, small-town living. A man can get sick of having to deal with day-to-day crime.”

Ellie nodded, she could understand that. She sniffed the salt air, enjoying the warmth of his bare arm against hers, the maleness of him. It had been a long time between dates, she told herself, smiling. Though, of course, this wasn’t a real “date” date.

He said, “So? What about you? I remember you were a pretty ritzy family. The mansion on top of the hill? Family retainers to do your bidding. Old money.”

Ellie stopped and skimmed a pebble across the waves. “That was then. Now I have to work for my living. My grandmother still lives at Journey’s End, but only just, and without the retainers. Somehow the money just ran out before it reached me.” She pushed her windblown hair from her eyes, looking at him. “That’s life, as they say.”

“No regrets?”

“Are you kidding?” She laughed. “Of course I have regrets. For one, I’d like to be able to keep my grandmother in the way to which she has always been accustomed, without having to worry where the money is coming from. Two, it would have made my own life a lot easier.” Heaving a sigh, she added, “But you know, I probably would have done exactly what I’m doing now. So I guess that says something. Like, if you want it badly enough you go for it, money or no money. Or else, that I’m an idiot working eighteen hours a day in a business that’s only just ticking over.”

“Looks like we’re in the same boat. Running Horse is a mess. It’ll probably take years before I get it into shape. They tell me there’s a jinx on it, and it’s never produced a decent bottle.”

“Until you came along.”

“Until Carlos Ortega came along. My new wine-maker. Either that, or he’s escaped from the local circus.”

Ellie laughed when he told her the story of Ortega’s arrival. “But how can you trust a man like that?”

“Gut reaction. It’s about all I have to go on these days, but I’d bet on him. And, as he shrewdly pointed out, I don’t have too much choice.”

Pancho streaked ahead of them up the steps to the house, then darted past them again, on his way down. From the corner of his eye, Dan caught the flash of red meat in his jaws. He clapped a hand to his head, groaning. “That darned dog has just run off with our dinner.”