Courting Death (11 page)

“I can handle him.”

“I don’t want you going out tonight.”

My temper began to fray. Jealousy was one thing; possessiveness another. I stormed over and stood toe-to-toe with him. “You don’t own me, Sam Bowie.”

Sam rocked back on his heels. “Maybe not, but you should know Joe Poellinger bailed this morning.”

My anger eased. “The ice cream truck driver?”

“Yes. He could have just let you go at the funeral home. But his pursuit of you through insane traffic indicates he didn’t want any witnesses, and that motivation isn’t going to change after a few days in jail. He may come after you again.”

Disappointment slapped my silly heart. Sam hadn’t come to see me because of last night; he’d been doing his “protect the people” thing. I let the hurt frost my voice. “You’ve done your job. Consider me forewarned. Now if you would excuse me, I’m busy.”

He cursed. When he reached out, I held myself stiff, but he only cupped my face. “Nicole, being a cop is as much a part of me as being an attorney defines who you are. You may be a burr under my skin, but you’re the one I lay awake at night worrying about.”

I lifted my hand to cover his and rolled my eyes. “A burr? You say the most romantic things.”

“You’re the wordsmith. I prefer action.” He lowered his head and kissed me. A long, slow, sumptuous kiss that built a different kind of heat than I was used to with him. Rather than the wild flare of passion, this was a gentle simmer, stirring my heart.

When he raised his head, I let out a sigh. He ran his hands along my upper arms. “Promise me this much. As soon as your
date
with Quint is over, I want you to call me.”

“I will.”

He kissed my forehead and left.

I wasn’t about to give Sam the last laugh, so I gritted my teeth behind a bright smile as Damian droned on about himself. At least the Clematis Street restaurant was reasonably busy for a weeknight. Space heaters kept the sidewalk area warm for outside diners like us. Strings of tiny white lights danced in the breeze that tunneled through the buildings on its way to the Intracoastal Waterway.

Although the restaurant constantly underwent ownership and name changes, Carling, Kate and I frequented it enough that I was a familiar face to the staff, which is why I named it as the meeting place. A safe, neutral ground.

It wasn’t that the man sitting opposite me wasn’t attractive—the number of women ogling as they passed by was proof of that. Nor was it he couldn’t make intelligent conversation. So far he had covered a wide range of topics from politics to his favorite, feet.

The reason Damian Quint was quickly damning any chance at a second date was the unrelenting “me, me, me” and “I, I, I” in every sentence. Moreover, there was a smooth sophistication about him that set me on edge. Almost as if a sheen of oil coated the slickness. Tonight he wore an exquisitely tailored navy blazer and tan pants. The way the light glinted on his nails when he raised his glass of cabernet sauvignon made me positive he had them buffed to perfection.

At the first sign of trouble, Damian probably would think “everyone for himself” and leave me in his wake. As I raised my glass to take another cautious sip of my favorite California chardonnay, I decided I liked men a little more rugged. Like the man dressed in worn jeans and a black crew neck sweater making his way to sit at the farthest table away…

Sam. I choked on the wine. I set the wine glass on the table with a sharp
clink.

“Are you all right?” Damian leaned forward.

“Fine.” I coughed and grabbed my napkin to dab at my tearing eyes. Thank God Sam had taken his position behind Damian where the podiatrist couldn’t see him.

Since the night was going downhill, I used the break to seize hold of the conversation.

“So, you first met Brian in school?”

“Yes, I was a class ahead of him. Then of course, I went on to get my surgical fellowship. I was—”

“When did you meet Claire?”

He blinked. “Let’s see. When Brian and I were in practice together in Chicago.”

I lowered the napkin. “I didn’t realize you had worked together.”

“Oh yes.” Damian sat back in his chair and gave me a cool smile. “I take it he hasn’t mentioned it?”

“No, but it’s understandable. He has his hands full right now.”

“That’s true.” He swirled the dark red contents of his glass. “The practice didn’t last long. I decided a warmer climate would be better for business.”

“Excuse me?”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “People up north wear boots for long stretches of time. In the south it’s sandals all year. Women and men, for that matter, want their feet to look nice so…” He shrugged. “Proved to be a profitable move.”

“Were you still living in Chicago when the Whitmans lost their first child?”

“No, but I flew back for the funeral. They were devastated by the loss of—” his brows knitted together as if he sought to recall the baby’s name and then smoothed out as he gave a slight shrug, “—of their baby. I urged Brian to consider a fresh start in Florida. Eventually he and Claire moved here and I sent him several referrals.”

He toyed with the stem of the wine glass. “This second loss, of course, is a major setback for them. How strong is the case against them?”

Over Damian’s shoulder I saw the waiter serve Sam a beer. He tilted it in my direction. Deliberately, I focused on Damian. “I can only discuss their case in generalities.”

“Of course, but I would like to help.”

“I learned the name of the lead prosecutor today. She’s not one of their top notch prosecutors which means the state’s not giving it highest priority. However, she’s not fresh out of law school so they are giving the case some weight.”

“I see. Will you need a neonatal expert?”

“Yes, I’ll need medical testimony to differentiate between SIDS and infant apnea.”

His gaze sharpened. “Apnea?”

“Yes, the paramedics were able to revive Rebecca before reaching the hospital, so we’re not dealing with sudden infant death syndrome.”

Damian reached inside his jacket and pulled out a gold pen. He grabbed a paper cocktail napkin. “I serve with Dr. Chang on the Oceanview board of directors—”

“Oceanview?”

Irritation pinched his mouth. “Yes.”

“Did you know Dr. Hassenfeld?”

“The over-aged hippy? Yes, he served on the board.” He studied me. “This is starting to feel like an inquisition.”

“Sorry, but I’m representing a very frightened woman.”

“I would think with Hassenfeld’s unfortunate death that Claire’s right to a speedy trial would work to your advantage.”

“Yes, that’s one of the things I’ll be discussing with the Whitmans later this week. The problem with a speedy trial is the inability to do adequate discovery. Surprises can work both ways.”

“Still without a proper autopsy, isn’t the case based largely on circumstantial evidence?”

“Yes, and expert opinion.”

“Here’s Dr. Chang’s phone number. Give him a call. He’s very busy but I’m sure he’ll give you a consult if you use my name.”

He flagged a waiter down. “Would you like another glass of wine? If you’re interested, there’s a contemporary art exhibit at a gallery that just opened next to City Place.”

I gave an apologetic shake of my head. “It’s been lovely, but I have several hearings tomorrow that I need to prepare for.”

With surprising speed his hand darted across the table and seized mine. “I don’t suppose your faithful little bodyguard over there in the corner has anything to do with your decision?”

I tugged but his fingers only tightened in a painful grip. “Stop it, Damian. You’re hurting me.”

He sneered. “Maybe he’ll come to your rescue. I made him the moment he crossed the street to slink behind me.”

Enough.
I didn’t want to cause a scene because that would bring Sam breathing hellfire. However, I wasn’t about to be a pawn in whatever game Damian was playing. I gauged the angle and gave a swift kick under the table.

“Ow!”

His shin didn’t stand a chance against the pointed toes of the Bruno Maglis that had been a birthday present from Kate.

Damian’s grip loosened and I yanked my hand free. Grabbing my purse as I rose, I took a step back and almost bumped the table behind me. I turned my head slightly. “Excuse me…”

A man with a stocky build in his forties sitting by himself glared at me. Despite the chill he wore the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, exposing a myriad of tattoos. His crew cut almost bristled with indignation. No, it couldn’t be my former client Trevor Jordan’s father.

Last I heard the father was still in jail. In the aftermath of his courtroom outbreak, the authorities had found an outstanding warrant for possession of firearms. Trevor’s maternal grandmother had taken him in like he said and hopefully given him the stable environment the young man so desperately needed.

Then I saw this man’s eyes and hair were dark whereas Tommy Jordan had been fair. “Sorry.”

I turned my attention back to the immediate problem at hand. During the brief period I had been distracted, Sam had materialized beside Damian and had his hand clamped tightly on the other man’s shoulder. The testosterone emanating from the two men almost steamed in the cool air.

Anger blazed in Damian’s eyes but he managed a tight smile. “I guess the party’s over. If you would be so kind to remove that beefy hand of yours, Detective, I’ll pay the bill. Unless you wish to take care of it.”

Sam released his grip and Damian flexed his fingers. Then Sam slapped the man between the shoulder blades, causing him to lurch forward. “Thanks, pal, for offering to pick up the tab.” He dropped a receipt on the table. “The lady and I will be on our way.”

Sam ambled toward me, draped an arm around my shoulders and urged me in the direction of the street. I cast a look at the next table but the burly man was no longer there. Didn’t like the free entertainment, I supposed.

Sam turned and headed toward Olive Avenue.

Because there were too many pedestrians around to make an even bigger scene, I asked tightly, “Where are we going?”

“You parked at the city garage on Banyan like you always do, didn’t you?”

Was I that predictable? “Yes, it’s well lit and there’s plenty of people at this time of the night…”
Stop it.
No need to defend my choice of parking.

“Then that’s where I’m taking you.”

When we reached a storefront closed for the night with no listening ears nearby, I dug in my spike heels. “Damn it, Sam. What the hell did you think you were doing back there? I got nothing out of Quint.”

A scowl replaced Sam’s normal good ol’ boy expression. He placed his hands on his hips and leaned in to me. “You have no sense at all, do you Red? Is defending every sob story that walks into your office worth your life?”

The light from the display window cast the harsh planes of his face into shadows. Anyone looking at the surface would view him as menacing. However, I looked past the anger and saw the concern in his eyes. I stepped into him and placed my hand over his heart.

“Not every sob story, Sam, but some. Justice is a two-way street and not everyone accused is guilty, you know that.” I narrowed my eyes. “This isn’t about my meeting with Quint, is it? What’s happened?”

The tension eased from his body, and he covered my hand. “I’ve traced the call made to your house.”

“Who made it?”

“I don’t know that yet. It came from the jail.”

“The ice cream driver,” I said without hesitation. “Joe Poellinger.”

“He’s at the top of the list, of course. We’re checking to see if he made any calls that day and when.” Sam’s fingers tightened around mine.

“But, honey, you’ve put a lot of criminals behind bars. Any one of them could have used the fact you were headline news to take a renewed swipe at you. We’re cross-checking names in the detention facility against those you’ve prosecuted.”

“That’s stretching it, Sam.”

“I agree it’s slim pickings, but it’s all we have at the moment.” He slid an arm around my waist. “Let’s get you to your car and I’ll follow you home.”

We started walking again and reached the corner of Clematis and Olive where we waited for the light to change. Traffic this time of night remained a constant flow as people trolled the restaurants and nightclubs. A group of pedestrians gathered on the corner directly across from us.

“So the only reason you skulked in the corner of the restaurant was you were worried about me?”

Sam kept his gaze fixed on the traffic signal. “Exactly.”

As the light turned and the opposite group surged forward, I managed to poke him in the rib cage with my elbow. “Jealousy had nothing to do with your spying on me tonight?”

“None whatsoever.” Sam stepped off the curb.

“Liar,” I muttered as I followed him.

An engine roared to life on the west side of the intersection, and a dark sedan pulled out from a parking spot. People screamed as it shot across Clematis and nearly missed a northbound car. Horns blared. The sedan swerved and then righted itself.

Sam spun even as he bent over. “Get back.” He drove his body into my middle section and lifted me over his shoulder.

“Oomph.” I braced my hands on Sam’s back as he jumped back on the sidewalk. I lifted my head in time to see the car take dead aim at our corner. Then I gripped the waistband of Sam’s pants and held on for dear life as he sprinted into the deep alcove of the corner front store.

Metal screamed as the car bounced up on the curb and then veered off again. Burning rubber filled the air as the unknown driver gunned the motor and sped down Clematis. Brake lights flared and then disappeared as the car turned toward Narcissus.

Sam shifted and lowered me until my feet touched the ground. Having jelly for bones, I wrapped my arms around his waist. Sam kept one arm around my shoulders as he unclipped the phone from his waist.

A young man wearing a backward baseball cap appeared in the alcove. “Are you two okay?”

I let out a breath and answered as Sam belted out directions in low, urgent tones. “We’re fine. Thank you.”

The man gave a low whistle. “Talk about being drunk. It was like his car had you two in its radar.” He smiled at Sam who closed his phone. “Man, was that some sprint you did with the lady. Did you use to play football?”

He nodded. “Tailback.”

“You still have some moves.”

Sam’s teeth flashed. “With proper motivation I can still haul ass.” He slid his hand down and gave me an affectionate pat on my rear. “Lovely ass that it is.”

The other man snorted, gave a thumbs up and moved away.

I didn’t know whether to hit Sam or kiss him.

“Lovely ass my foot.” I threw a quick jab into his upper arm.

Sam laughed and rubbed his arm. “Quint’s the foot pervert. Me, I’m partial to how your butt moves in those skinny skirts you’re always wearing.”

Then his expression sobered and he ran a reassuring hand up and down my spine. “Are you okay? It was nearly the death of me when I saw that bastard making a beeline toward you.”

The quick retort I was about to make died on my lips. “Me? You were standing right next to me. Besides, it was a drunk driver, wasn’t it?”

Sam shook his head. “When the car passed under the intersection lights I caught a good look despite the tinted windshield. The driver was wearing a ski mask over his face.”

It was cold for Florida, but not that cold. I shivered and Sam’s arm tightened around me. “Still, he could have been gunning for you.”

He brushed his lips against my forehead. “I think tonight is connected to Saturday’s phone call. They’re both personal. You sure have royally pissed someone off, Red.”

I lifted my face and kissed him. “I have a funny way with people.”

An hour later the adrenaline buzz had changed into an edgy hunger. A need to celebrate being alive. The moment Sam closed the door after we stepped inside his townhouse, I turned and pressed my body against his. Even as I hauled his head down with one hand to kiss him, I used the other to trace my fingers along the bulge pressing against my stomach. His erection grew, hardened.