Veil of Night (22 page)

She pulled her shoulders back and gave him a flat, unwavering stare. “Ask your questions, and make it snappy. I have another appointment, and I have to be there within the hour. What do you want to know?”

“I thought we could go over Wednesday afternoon again, see if you remember anything else about the man you saw or if you remembered anything Carrie might’ve said that—”

“Give it up, Detective,” she said curtly. “I’ve told you everything I remember. How many times are we going to go through this?”

“As many as it takes.” He looked at her hard, without any sign of the humor he’d displayed a moment earlier.

“Can’t this wait until—”

“Officer,” the minister called, and they both turned to the massive, mustachioed man who stood behind the bar. “How about a beer and some hot wings?”

Eric didn’t correct the minister, didn’t tell him that he was a detective and not an officer, to this crowd that wouldn’t make any difference: a cop was a cop. “No beer, thanks, but I’d love some wings and maybe a tall glass of sweet tea.” He moved past Jaclyn, heading toward the bar.

“You got it,” the big man said. “We’ve got brownies, too. If you’d been a little earlier you coulda had some banana pudding, but it’s about all gone.”

There went her plan to brain him with the banana pudding. Jaclyn spun around and followed Eric to the bar. She was so indignant she felt as if she were caught in some Victorian melodrama. She wanted to point at him and demand
How dare you!
in her most outraged voice. What in hell was he doing? This was her world, her job, her life, and he was following her around as if he expected to catch her in the middle of some terrorist act. This wasn’t good for business. Once could be explained away as an aberration, but twice? What if he showed up again tomorrow? Word would get around that something weird was going on at Premier, and people to whom that mattered would start looking at other event-planning businesses.

As soon as he was away from the door, a couple who weren’t anywhere close to being finished with their large plates of food whispered a quick good-bye to the others at their table and slipped out the door as surreptitiously as possible, given that they were the first to leave. Another guy quietly got up and left. Mullet-head wasn’t far behind them; he couldn’t get out of Porky’s fast enough. She’d known these people were different from her usual clientele, but what on earth had she gotten herself into?

“How many left?” Eric asked as soon as she appeared beside him.

“Four.”

He grunted. “I was expecting it to be five.”

She knew she shouldn’t be drawn in. She knew she should answer his questions and leave as fast as she could. But curiosity got the better of her and she asked, “Who’s the fifth one?”

Casually he looked over his shoulder, located the person he was talking about. “The woman with her tits hanging out of the red halter.”

Oh, good God. It was the bride.

She hadn’t recovered from that shock when he patted the stool next to him. “Come on, sit with me and we’ll talk.”

Abruptly she’d had enough. She had to get out of here, and if he didn’t like it, then tough. She pointed to a sign behind the bar that proudly read:

Kiss my butt
.

Jaclyn turned her back on him and walked to a table where the only three women in the room who hadn’t gone out of their way to show off their boobs sat, huddled together as if they were surrounded by aliens who might attack at any moment. The older woman looked so completely miserable Eric could only conclude her son was the groom. Looking around, he could even spot the guy, who was half-looped but still lacked that doper look he’d recognize in his sleep.

Lucky for them he wasn’t working vice. He didn’t care who was carrying pot or who had outstanding warrants. He’d have to act if one of them had a rolling meth lab sitting in the parking lot—in fact, he’d carefully sniffed the air before coming in—but other than that he’d give them a pass. They weren’t his target tonight.

No, his target stood out like a diamond sitting in a bowl of rocks. Jaclyn had class, beauty, and balls. Other women might’ve cried or fallen apart, but she’d kept her cool. Sort of. Her walk killed him: sexy and slow and enticing. That sharp navy blue business suit clung in the right places, nipping in at the waist to show her trim figure, while the skirt ended just above the knee and gave him a good look at those legs. The glare she sent his way cut through him, but not in the way she intended.

After saying a few words to the three horrified ladies, she smiled at them and left the restaurant without looking back. Eric slid off his stool and followed her; no one was sorry to see him go, and no one noted aloud that he’d only taken two bites of a wing and one sip of tea. His feelings were almost hurt because no one said good-bye.

In the parking lot, he easily caught up with Jaclyn; her legs were long, but the snug skirt and high heels kept her from walking as fast as she’d like.

“I really do need to talk to you,” he said as she reached her Jag.

“If you want to question me again, call my lawyer.”

“Dammit, Jaclyn, listen to me,” he said sharply, irritation flashing to life.

“That’s Ms. Wilde to you,” she snapped as she opened her car door and tossed her purse into the passenger seat. She got in the car, but before she had a chance to close the door he grabbed the top of it, held it.

“The man you saw, the gray-haired one,” he began. “Do you—”

She gave him a disbelieving look that he could read even in the not-very-well-lit parking lot. “What do I have to say to get this through your head?” she asked incredulously. “I didn’t pay attention to his face, and I can’t identify his car beyond saying it was a silver sedan. I’m not a car person. I can tell you for sure it wasn’t a truck or an SUV, and that’s about it. The color might’ve been more of a champagne but I’m pretty sure it was just silver. Beyond that,
I don’t know
. When I left Carrie—alive—I was flustered, I was
angry
, and I wasn’t trying to memorize strangers in the parking lot. Are we through now? I have a job I’m trying to do, if you’ll just get out of my way!” She jerked the car door closed, and he had to move his hand or get it crushed.

Without glancing at him again, she started the engine and almost, but not quite, spun her wheels on the gravel as she sped out of the parking lot. Probably she’d wanted to.

Well, that conversation had gone pretty much as he’d imagined it would. But even though he hadn’t found out anything useful, he had taken the first step back to an intimate footing with her. Pissed her off, too. The connection was still there, though. Even when she was mad as hell, even though she fought not to show it, the connection was there.

He watched her taillights until they were out of sight, wondering if he should follow her to the wedding, but what was the point? A wedding wasn’t like this circus of a rehearsal dinner; she’d be busy, and very unhappy to see him yet again. Better to give her a little bit of space tonight, let her cool down and do some thinking. He wasn’t just using the man she’d seen as an excuse; sometimes people remembered more than they thought they did, they just needed to think about it, let the details surface. She
had
to have seen more than she’d just said.

Tomorrow was plenty of time to make contact again. Maybe by then she wouldn’t look as if she wanted to take a swing at him.

Chapter Twenty

MAYBE IT WAS ONLY BECAUSE SHE WAS COMPARING IT
to the scene at Porky’s BBQ, but the Bulldog wedding not only went off without a hitch, but it was remarkably charming. And thank God she’d had it to keep her mind occupied, otherwise she’d be at home, fuming over her last run-in with Eric, unable to sleep or eat or even concentrate on HGTV. Being busy was good. Being too busy to think was even better.

The guests had enjoyed the less-than-traditional theme, and everyone had gotten a laugh when the ring-bearer had walked solemnly down the aisle in his little tux and football helmet. It had to be good karma, to be in the presence of so many happy people. Jaclyn figured she was due some good karma, because lately bad karma had been jumping all over her.

The church was a large one, with several buildings other than the sanctuary, one of which housed a large reception facility. Instead of getting in their cars and driving to another location the guests had been able to simply walk, which had greatly simplified matters. The weather had cooperated, too; the humidity had backed off a little so the night air was actually comfortable, and a light breeze was blowing. A sliver of moon lit the sky, and a few small clouds were visible scudding along, backlit by the silver glow.

The entire event had been beautiful, everything had met the customer’s specifications, and there had been no crises to be averted. All things considered, the night had been a success, at least professionally. On a personal level, Jaclyn had no idea where she was or what she was supposed to be feeling. Too much had happened in the past four days, beginning with the insanity of sleeping with Eric just hours after meeting him. She had been bombarded with emotions from every point of the scale, from ecstasy to rage, with fear, sadness, resentment, and even guilt thrown into the mix. She could no longer make sense of things; all she was doing was holding on, getting through each moment and hoping her mental equilibrium would return once this hellish week was past.

By midnight, the bride and groom were off, and most of the guests were gone. Because Diedra had arrived so early, she’d snagged a good parking space in the church lot; they walked out together, then said their tired good nights as Diedra stopped at her car. Jaclyn wasn’t so lucky. She’d had to find a parking space on the street, across four lanes and half a block down. A couple of late-leaving guests were also walking across the street so she wasn’t alone, though their car was parked about thirty yards before hers. She said good-bye to them, too, and they congratulated her on how well everything had gone. She thanked them and continued on her way, her heels clicking against the pavement.

The upper-middle-class neighborhood in a nice part of Atlanta was quiet this time of night; the big trees lining the street created deep shadows and a sense of lushness. Someone nearby had a flower garden, and the sweet, rich fragrance drifted Jaclyn’s way, making her wish she could put in a small patio garden even though she knew she didn’t have time to tend it. In the distance she heard car doors slam, and people laugh. It had been a good night. Amend that: the last part of the night had been good.

She unlocked the Jag and got in, then took a deep breath as she mentally checked off the tasks that had been completed during the long day. They were over the hump. Three weddings down, three to go. Her mother and Peach were probably wrapping up the Pink wedding about now, too. When she got home she’d call to see if everything had gone well with the Family Drama rehearsal as well as the Pink wedding, but there hadn’t been any phone calls tonight so she knew there hadn’t been any real disasters. Glitches, maybe; disasters, no. That was something.

The big wedding on Sunday would be an all-day affair for Premier, but at least it was the only thing they had. After that was over, they’d have a breather, a few precious days to rest and regroup. She might even take Monday off. Since she and Madelyn had started Premier she’d never just not gone in to work. She’d taken one weeklong vacation—three years ago—and she’d stayed home sick a couple of times when she wasn’t needed, but other than that she’d always been there. After the week she’d had, she deserved a little break.

She started the engine and put the transmission in gear, but kept her foot on the brake as she looked over her shoulder to check for oncoming traffic.

Good thing she did, because a car pulled away from the curb behind her, back close to the intersection, and barreled down the street, wobbling a bit between the lanes. Jaclyn automatically tensed, keeping an eye on the speeding car as she waited for it to pass. The way the car was jerkily swerving, the driver was probably drunk. She hoped the drunk driver hadn’t come from the reception; there had been some drinkers, of course, but none of them had made asses of themselves. No one else had been walking ahead of her and the couple who had crossed the street with her, but the driver could have come out earlier and been sitting in the car for a few minutes, maybe hoping to sober up a little, maybe fumbling for keys.

Thank God she hadn’t pulled out into the street yet; if the idiot could just get past without sideswiping her, she’d be good to go. But as she watched the car in her rearview mirror, sideswiping began to seem increasingly possible. The other car seemed to be aiming right for her. The distance was covered in just a couple of seconds but the time seemed to stretch painfully long. She gripped the steering wheel to brace herself, closed her eyes, and prayed.

The car pulled alongside; it didn’t come to a complete stop, simply slowed with a jerk that barked the tires a little. Jaclyn opened her eyes and jerked her head around, but even with the streetlights shining the driver was kind of a dark blob. What she did see was the light reflecting off something metallic that was pointing toward her. There was a split second of incredulity before she recognized the metallic thing for what it was: a gun.

There was a loud crack and the window beside her head literally exploded, sending kernels of shattered safety glass raining over her. A concussion of hot air seemed to slap her in the face. Instinctively she ducked and threw herself to the side, across the center console. Another shot boomed, the sound much louder now with the window broken out. Again she felt hot air slapping at her, and she pressed her face hard into the smooth leather of the seat as if that would keep a bullet from hitting her. She could hear screams, and dimly realized that she was the one screaming.

Oh God, she was a sitting duck here! But if she tried to scramble out of the car she’d have to lift her head and give the shooter a target—and what if the shooter was even now getting out of the car and walking to the blasted-out window? She was caught; there was nothing she could do, nowhere she could go. She was going to die in some senseless drive-by shooting. A nauseating tide of regret swamped her, because she’d never get to tell Eric—

“Jaclyn!”
That was Diedra’s voice screaming her name, the sound rising high and sharp above her own screams. There were other sounds, too, a man shouting, a door slamming—then, instead of the third shot that she expected, she heard the squealing of tires as the would-be killer peeled out and sped away.

Time slowed to the speed of cold molasses. Jaclyn heard the rasp of air in her throat, felt every beat of her heart thumping in her body. The smell of leather filled her nose, mixed with the sweetness of flowers and the sharp scent of gunpowder.

Slowly, as if she had aged seventy years in the space of a few seconds, she levered herself upright and looked around. To her surprise, the shooter’s car was still fishtailing in the street in front of the church as the tires fought for traction. What felt like minutes had actually been no more than a few seconds. Feeling numb and oddly detached, she thought about getting the car’s license number, or at least a partial, but it didn’t have a tag. Then the driver finally got the car under control and it shot forward, tires squealing again as it reached the corner, took a right, and disappeared from view.

Diedra was sprinting across the street, still screaming her name while she punched a number into her cell phone. A couple who hadn’t pulled out of the church parking lot yet was several feet behind her. The couple that had walked across the street in front of Jaclyn had already begun driving away, but when they heard shots they’d stopped and the man had pulled the car back to the curb. He and his wife were now both hurrying toward her. Lights were coming on up and down the block, doors were opening, people were spilling out into the night.

“Are you all right?” the man yelled, which struck her as odd, because if she hadn’t been how could she have answered?

Her lips were numb, but laboriously she shoved the car door open and got out. Every move felt as if she were underwater, pushing against a strong current. Shock made chills roughen her skin. Oh, God, that had been so close.

Atlanta was a big city. The shooting could have been random, or she might have been mistaken for someone else, though the Jag made that kind of unlikely. She could have been the victim of a vicious prank, or a gang initiation.

But she didn’t think so. Whoever had been in that car had been gunning for her, specifically, and she had no idea why.

Eric’s heart was still hammering when he arrived on the scene. When he’d gotten the call he’d jumped naked out of bed and already had his keys in one hand and his weapon in the other and was heading out the door before he realized he didn’t have any clothes on. Cursing, he pivoted and returned to his bedroom to get dressed—in the first clothes that came to hand, which happened to be the pants he’d worn the day before and a dark gray T-shirt he wore when he was working out. Underwear hadn’t figured into the scheme of things, so he was commando and sock-less, but at least he had a belt he could clip his badge to, and he’d grabbed his shoulder holster as well.

During the hair-raising drive into Atlanta, he’d called a buddy of his with the Atlanta P.D. and talked to him. They knew he was on the way, and he knew Jaclyn was all right, which were the two most important things. For one thing, he slowed down to a fairly reasonable speed. The second thing, the Atlanta cops weren’t alarmed by the arrival of a half-dressed man who was apparently crazed and armed. A lot of the guys who’d been around awhile knew him from when he’d been on the Atlanta P.D., but they knew him with his hair combed and all his clothes on. The newer guys might well have shot him if they hadn’t been looking for him.

He turned on his blue light, just to be on the safe side. By the time he arrived on the scene, it was the zoo he’d expected to find. When he got out of the car, he looked around until he spotted Jaclyn in the church parking lot, surrounded by her mother and friends, civilians he didn’t know, and several cops, both uniformed and not. Even from a distance he could tell they were all talking at once. Madelyn had a supportive hand on her daughter’s shoulder, and the other two stood close, offering moral and physical support. Spotting her car was easy; it was parked at the far curb in the center of a cluster of cops, the driver’s side window shattered.

Of the four women, Jaclyn was the calmest as she talked to the Atlanta cops, but even from this distance he could tell how pale she was. He began threading his way through the tangle of hastily parked cars toward her. He had to remind himself not to run. She hadn’t been shot. She was fine.

As he neared, her head snapped around in his direction, as if she had some built-in radar where he was concerned. “What are you doing here?” she said with open hostility.

“Hello to you, too. I hear you’ve had a little trouble.”

“How did you hear?” she asked suspiciously. She narrowed her eyes at the detective she’d been talking to. “Did you call him? How would you even know to—”

Peach sighed. “I called him,” she confessed. “I was worried out of my mind, so it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Why would you think that?” Madelyn demanded in a mixture of bewilderment and indignation.

“Well, why would anyone try to shoot Jaclyn? It had to be the same person who killed Carrie; it’s just too much of a stretch to think the two incidents aren’t related.”

She was right. Eric already had his money on the gray-haired man, who probably thought Jaclyn could identify him.

“How did you even know his number?” Madelyn’s voice was getting louder as she tried to make sense of what she obviously considered nonsense.

Peach threw Eric a beseeching, step-in-here-any-time look. “His card was in my purse, and—”

“Where did you get his card?” Madelyn half-yelled, throwing up her arms.

“Your trash can,” Peach admitted without shame. “The card was right there on top, and it seemed such a shame to waste it that way.”

Yeah, like people didn’t throw his cards away all the time. While the older women argued, lowering their voices, Eric caught and held Jaclyn’s gaze. He could tell she was tired and scared, and he almost stepped forward to wrap his arms around her and hold her close, let her lean on him for a while. Yeah, like she’d go along with that. He did ask, “Are you okay?”

She answered with a nod, not that he believed her. She hadn’t been shot, but she was far from okay.

Eric introduced himself to the Atlanta officers, stepped to the side with the senior investigator, and explained that Jaclyn was a witness in a Hopewell murder investigation. The Atlanta detective said, “She’s all yours, buddy. I’ve been trying to find out what she saw, but the witnesses are a tad muddled, to put it lightly. The only two who haven’t been drinking are Ms. Wilde and Ms. Kelley, but they’re the two who were most scared. While you’re talking to them, I’ll interview the others.”

“Muddled” was definitely putting it lightly. Jaclyn and Diedra, occasionally talking over each other, explained what had happened. The explanation didn’t take long, and they agreed on the main points. As Jaclyn had been leaving, someone had pulled alongside her and fired two shots. Diedra and a handful of other witnesses who were also leaving the wedding could confirm what Jaclyn said.

When he thought about her sitting there, a clear target, his heart climbed into his throat.