Unmanned (19 page)

“Altercation!” I felt breathless, crazed. “You tried to kill me.”

He chuckled, leaned forward conspiratorially. “Ahh, but that’s the operative word, isn’t it?
Tried.
Mr. Kaplan was quite impressed by the fact that you dissuaded me.”

I had hit him with the telephone and screamed bloody hell. The cops had shown up before I’d bled all over my cheap linoleum.

“I believe he was originally intrigued with your bravado. Your zest for life. But then he saw your picture on the Internet. There is quite a lovely photograph of you in a periwinkle skirt and dove gray silk blouse.”

That
was
a good picture. I looked slim, controlled, and intelligent. The magic of photography. “You’re saying he…liked me?”

He laughed. “Poor Chrissy. Always so insecure.”

“That he found me and made up a story just so he could get to know me?”

“How long has it been since you’ve copulated, my dear?”

I leaned back in my chair. “Not so—” I gritted my teeth and resisted closing my eyes. “That’s none of your business.”

“So tell me, is young Mr. Kaplan still in your life? Are you simply paranoid and needing to check him out before you take him to your boudoir?”

“He’s dead.”

His brows dipped the slightest degree, and I watched him, wondering if he was faking his response. If he already knew. If he had hired someone else to do the job at which Swanson had failed. “You jest.”

“He’s dead. Shot in the head near my garage.”

“So his paranoia was not just a psychotic manifestation of his guilt.”

“What?”

He puffed a little sigh of disbelief.

“What are you talking about?”

“So he survived this place, only to die a short time later. How ironic. But he always thought he had been born under an unlucky star. Although, knowing his past, I would have to say it’s a bit more than bad luck that someone was intent on killing him,” he mused, then glanced up as if just remembering I was there. “It appears as if he was right. The two of you did indeed have a good deal in common. As I told your lieutenant.”

“What?”

“Lieutenant Rivera, the senator’s moody son. He asked much the same questions.”

“You knew who Will Swanson was all along.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You knew he was dead.”

He paused, watching me. “In actuality, that I did not know. Your lieutenant can be quite closemouthed. I assumed he was simply checking into Wires’s checkered past. He seemed quite zealous. Almost as if you were lovers.” His eyes were spookily steady. “Are you two involved?”

“No.”

“That’s not what I hear.”

“From who?”

“Whom.”

I jerked to my feet. “Who have you been talking to? You sent the thugs, didn’t you?”

His brows rose. “Thugs?”

“You sent them. The three guys with the van. The guy on my stoop.”

His brows dipped and then he was laughing. “I am so glad you came, Chrissy. Indeed, I haven’t been so entertained for months.”

“I know who they are. They’ll turn on you. You won’t get out of here for a thousand years. You won’t—”

He stood up. I jerked back, heart thumping, and he smiled, serene or insane or both.

“You’re mistaken,” he said softly, and, turning toward Mr. Edwards, nodded serenely. “Quite mistaken.”

24

False hope is better than no hope at all.

—Elmer Brady Chrissy’s maternal grandfather, who was supposed to die of lung cancer twenty years before he decided to do so

I
HAD PLANNED TO DRIVE
straight to the office from the prison, but my mind was spinning like a dime. If David hadn’t hired Will, then whoever had shot Will had probably intended to do just that. Unless…unless the shooter had mistaken Will for Pete.

My heart thumped to life at the thought. It would make sense. They looked rather alike, similar height, color, age. But Pete hadn’t even arrived yet when Will had been shot. Which meant that whoever had done the deed had known of Peter’s impending arrival. How? Petras had known. So it must have been common knowledge at the station. Had Daryl called there and learned of Pete’s plans? Or was it somebody else entirely?

Someone was keeping Hawkins informed, telling him about Rivera and me. Telling him about my impending visit. Then again, maybe he knew nothing. Maybe he was just speculating, lying just to make me paranoid. Or maybe he was lying about Will. Maybe he had paid Swanson, then hired someone to replace him when his luck had run out. But I didn’t think so. He’d seemed thrilled with the idea that a felon had seen similarities between himself and me. Had been enamored.

I dragged the Yum Yum bag across the seat and took out a turnover. My stomach was still busy churning, but I’d missed breakfast…and supper. A little frosting rained down on my skirt. I chewed, thinking.

The process of elimination left the Parker trio. But there had only been one man when I’d been grabbed on my stoop. Where were the other two? Was Daryl Dehn the kind of guy who would work alone? It didn’t seem quite right somehow, but what did I know about him, really?

I took another bite and crunched into something hard. Setting the turnover back on the bag, I picked the pit from between my teeth and—

Pit!

I cursed in silence. Hawkins had said Pit had told him to expect me. Micky Goldenstone’s childhood nickname had been Pit Bull. Micky, who had been a guard. Micky, who…I felt a premonitory tingle in the arches of my feet. Micky had had therapy with a psychiatrist before scheduling appointments with me. A psychiatrist whose name he’d never seen fit to disclose. A psychiatrist who blamed me for his incarceration.

I fumbled my cell out of my purse, dialed directory assistance, and waited, heart thumping as it rang through to the California State Prison.

“Yes.” I was holding my breath. “I’d like to speak with Pit, please.”

There was a moment’s hesitation then, “Is he an inmate here?”

I took a stab in the dark. “An employee.”

“Just a minute, please.”

I was put on hold. No music played in the background, or maybe it was drowned out by the sound of blood pounding in my ears.

“I’m sorry, it seems Joe already left for the day.”

I let out my breath in a whoosh. “Joe?”

“Joseph Pitmore. That’s who you wanted, wasn’t it?”

“Pit, right? They call him Pit?”

There was a moment’s hesitation, then, “Can I ask what this call is concerning?”

“I just…I’ll call him at home,” I rasped, and hung up.

So this had nothing to do with Micky. Nothing at all.

Unless…

My cell phone rang, causing me heart palpitations and a near collision with an oncoming pickup truck.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Christina.”

It took me a second. “Mr. Manderos.”

“I am only calling to see how you are faring this fine day.”

“Oh…” I swallowed, a little shaky. Why
had
he had a gun? And why bring it to my office? “I’m fine.”

“Good. That is good. Everything is well between you and your lieutenant, I hope?”

I vaguely considered reiterating that I didn’t claim ownership, but my mind was busy elsewhere. “Yes. Sure. No problems.”

“Good. After some thought, I worried that I may have caused trouble between you. It was not my intent.”

“No. No trouble.” That was just an outright lie. There would always be trouble with Rivera.

“Then it would not be problematic if I stopped by again sometime?”

I remembered Rivera’s warning, Julio’s affinity for linen, the Glock. “Stopped by?”

“You are not afraid of me again, are you, Christina?”

“No. I…” I paused. “Why me, Mr. Manderos?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You could have your pick of women.”

“Surely you are not saying that you think yourself unworthy.”

I thought about that for a second. Maybe I kind of was, but I denied it. “No. I just mean, why me? Why now?”

“Because I believe you need a friend.”

“How do you know?”

There was a moment of silence, then, “I know what it is like to need a friend. To be in danger. But I shall stay out of your life if that is your wish.”

His voice was smooth, melodious, almost hiding the hurt. Guilt flooded me.

“No. I didn’t mean that. I would love to see you.”

“You are certain?”

“Of course.”

“Very well. I shall hope to see you soon.”

We hung up a moment later.

M
y hands were almost steady by the time I reached home, but Julio’s phone call had reminded me of the gun. I treaded softly past the couch where Pete still slept and took the Glock from the drawer in the end table. Then I trundled Harlequin into the Saturn and hurried off to the office.

Bruce Lincoln was my first client of the day. He’s wealthy, intelligent, and ridiculously good-looking. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw a dog the size of a brontosaurus tied to the leg of my desk.

“This is Harlequin,” I said, tone placid. I had taken two Sudafed for my stuffy head and felt duly hazy. “I hope you don’t mind him visiting. I couldn’t leave him home today.” I had tried to think of an eye-popping lie to explain his presence, but my mind was busy elsewhere. So screw it; this was my office, I could bring in a llama and two Siberian tigers if I wished.

“You having your house fumigated or something?” he asked.

“Nothing so dramatic,” I said, and turned the conversation aside. “I haven’t seen you for a while. How are you doing?” Good God, I sounded almost normal, as if the material of my bra hadn’t been called into question only a couple hours prior. As if a convicted felon hadn’t become infatuated with me and subsequently died on my lawn. As if…

“Tracy called off the wedding,” he said.

I snagged my attention back to Mr. Lincoln. He had been a client of mine for only a few months, but I’d heard a good deal about the impending nuptials during that time.

I waved in the direction of the couch and swiveled my chair toward him. Despite everything, I had looked pretty decent when I’d left for work that morning.

“Sit down. Tell me what happened.”

He didn’t sit down, but trolled across my tiny office, looking caged and confused. “I don’t know. I thought she loved me. She said she loved me.”

He turned toward me, eyes sad enough to make Harlequin look like a piker. “Was it all a lie? Do you think it was all a lie?”

“Take a deep breath, Mr. Lincoln,” I said, and took my own advice. “And let’s start at the beginning. What’s happened since our last session?” I hadn’t seen him in two weeks, which wasn’t quite the beginning, but seemed like a good place to start.

“I don’t know. I thought everything was going fine. We had just ordered the flowers. Yellow roses. She loves yellow roses.” He ran his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture I had never noticed in him before. But why should he be nervous? The man had everything. Good job, good sense of humor, good—Wait a minute. Why had he originally sought my services? Something about sexual addictions. I settled back, settled in, put my own silly troubles behind me. So someone had accosted me on my stoop. So a couple guys had taken potshots at Pete and me. This was L.A. What did I expect?

“So she seemed fine while you were at the florist’s?” I said, leading the witness.

“Yes. Well…yes, I think so.”

“You think so? Is there some reason to believe differently? Did she seem distressed about something?”

“No. I mean…”

I waited, pointedly not remembering David Hawkins’s soundless laughter, or the suffocating feel of a large hand across my mouth, or Will Swanson’s dead eyes.

Bruce shook his head, and continued to pace. “It was ridiculous. Just idiotic.”

“What was ridiculous?”

“She’s not usually the jealous type.”

I nodded and waited, but he failed to continue.

“Did she have something to be jealous of?”

“No.” This with some emphasis. “I mean, maybe Jenna was flirting a little.”

“Jenna?”

“The girl in the flower shop.”

I felt the first niggling of understanding.

“Are you usually on a first-name basis with your florist, Mr. Lincoln?”

“Well, she…” He was pacing again. Pacing and wringing his hands. “She introduced herself.”

“I see.”

“Jenna Mann. ‘Like Jenna Elfman, but without the Elf,’ she said. She’s got a great sense of humor.”

A side-splitter. Like Roseanne Barr, but something about the look in Bruce’s eyes suggested she might be a few sizes smaller.

“So she was flirting with you?”

“Maybe. Maybe a little.”

“While your fiancée was present?”

“No. I…” He stopped suddenly, deer in the headlights.

I waited, knowing.

“I had another appointment with her.”

“An appointment without your fiancée?”

“Tracy asked me to go. She decided she wanted baby’s breath after all. Not just roses.”

“So you were kind enough to stop in.”

“Yes. Yeah, and I…” The fingers through the hair again. “Jesus, she’s a great girl.”

I waited. “Tracy or—”

“Tracy. Jesus, not—Jenna’s just a kid.”

“So you’re not interested in her?”

“No. I mean…no…absolutely not.”

“Did you tell her that?”

“Yes,” he said, but his face was red now and his hands clenched into fists.

“Were you in bed with her at the time?” I asked, and that’s when he started to cry.

I
felt drained by the time he left. Mandy poked her head into my office after the front door announced his departure. “Men suck,” she said. “Why do they always want what they can’t have? I mean, they rove around like wild Gypsies, but they expect us to keep our legs together till they decide to come wandering back.”

Generally true. “You’re not really supposed to listen in on client’s sessions, Mandy,” I said. But why
were
men so territorial?

“Yeah,” she agreed, and entered the room. “Client confidentiality and all that. So he really slept with that chick, huh? Do you think his fiancée’ll take him back?”

I sighed, and gave up on pretending to update records. “Would you?”

“Naw, I’d kick him in the teeth.” She settled onto the couch, put her feet up on the coffee table, next to my magnet with geometric metal pieces stuck to it. She had on fishnet hose and four-inch cork-wedge sandals. “He’s got a grade-A ass, though.”

“Would that make the fact that he slept with someone else better or worse?”

The doorbell rang. Harlequin lifted his boxy head and issued a bone-jarring bark.

“Good point,” Mandy said, and yanking her feet off my table, tromped toward the door. “That’s probably why you’re the shrink, huh?”

“Maybe. Hey, Mandy?”

“Yeah?” She stopped short.

“Do you carry Mace with you?”

“No. I hate that stuff. Some guy sprayed me in the eyes once when I was at a club.” I didn’t think I wanted to know why. “I was barfing for an hour.”

“Still—”

“I got me a nail gun under the seat in my car, though.”

“A nail gun?”

“Yeah. I can hit a bull’s-eye from forty feet. And I took a kick-ass self-defense course.”

“Oh,” I said.

She turned away, but she hadn’t made it to the door before it burst open. She shrieked, threw up her hands, fingers straight, edges out, just as Rivera stepped inside.

He didn’t seem to notice her. “What the hell are you doing here?” he snarled.

I pulled my gaze from his, put an unsteady hand on Harlequin’s head, and turned toward Mandy with smooth aplomb. “That’ll be all for now, Amanda.”

She lowered her lethal weapons slowly. “You sure?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You want I should get my nail gun?”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” I said, and she nodded once before skirting the lieutenant with obvious misgivings.

I understood her feelings.

He gave me a look. It wasn’t exactly ecstatic, but it wasn’t quite as deadly as I expected. “I thought you agreed to stay home today.”

“Did you?” I shuffled the files around on my desk.

“You have some kind of death wish?”

“I can take care of myself, Rivera.”

He stared at me for an elongated moment, then snorted. “Is that some kind of joke?”

“No, as a matter of fact, it’s not.”

“So that why you brought the dog? Self-defense?”

“Well, that and the fact that I didn’t think my brother was a good influence on an innocent—” I stopped, narrowed my eyes. “Did he tell you I was gone?”

He didn’t respond, except for a slight lowering of his brows.

I rose to my feet. “Did Peter John call you?”

He still didn’t answer, but watched as I unhooked Harlequin. The dog wriggled like a giant centipede, then galloped to Rivera, who caught him as he reared onto his hind legs. It’s hard to look dignified while fending off a thousand-pound carnivore. You can take my word for that.

“I didn’t expect him to turn out to be the intelligent McMullen,” he said, thumping Harley on the ribs before pushing him down and keeping a hand on his bony head.

“And I didn’t expect him to turn out to be a snitch. It was the only bad quality he didn’t have.”

“This isn’t a joke,” he said. “You could have been killed.”

“That’s why I brought the dog, and my Mace, and Mandy has a nail—” I stopped, thinking, heart suddenly lodged in my throat, knees weak. “Could have been?” He was glowering at me. I felt my face go pale. “
Could
have been?”