Everything But The Truth (16 page)

“Could you untie her too?”

“No,” they both said in unison. Before she had a chance to argue, she heard a horn blare.

“That’s Donatelli. Let him in,” Harrington told Nick.

Nick immediately hurried to a wall beside an overhead door and pushed a button. The door slid up with a groaning purr, and a big black sedan pulled inside.

Even though the warehouse was cool, she began to sweat. Her palms were sticky, and her stockings clung to her legs. Afraid to move, she remained on the grimy floor, clutching her bag tightly between her fists.

The rear door of the car opened, and a big barrel of a man stepped out. His eyes were even colder than Harrington’s. “Take a ride around the block, Antonio,” he told the driver. The car backed out, and Nick pushed the button to lower the door.

Donatelli took a puff on his cigar, dropped it to the concrete floor, and squished it with his foot. Then, he started their way, Nick hovering close behind.

Donatelli didn’t look happy. “Is this the broad?” he asked Harrington.

“Yeah, but she’s not the one we chased at the church.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah, positive, Mr. Donatelli.”

“You got a name?” Donatelli asked, looking down at Peyton.

Her mouth was too dry to swallow, let alone speak. So she nodded up at him instead.

“Well, I haven’t got all night. What is it?”

Clearing her throat, she got to her feet and said, “It’s Pepper. I’m afraid there’s been some kind of mistake. Your friends here—”

He raised a hand, silencing her at once. “Where’s Sinclair?”

“Who?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, and then turned to his men. “Why aren’t one of you two outside watching for Sinclair?”

“He’s not here,” Nick said. “She came alone. I watched her get out of the cab.”

“Yeah? And the driver couldn’t have let him off a block down the street?”

Nick’s expression turned glum.

“You morons,” Donatelli said, then swore at them. He turned his attention back to Peyton. “Where’s Sinclair?” he asked again. “And don’t give me any song and dance this time or your friend over there is gonna be wearing a bullet in her head, thanks to you.”

“I swear to you. I don’t know where he is.” A movement on the catwalk above caught her eye, but she was careful not to stare. It had looked like a man crouched low.
Could it be Reeve?
If it were, how in the world would he have found her? It couldn’t be him. Suddenly, all hope faded away and her eyes filled with tears. “Please, Mr. Donatelli, don’t hurt Jane. She’s just a kid. Let her go.”

Harrington interrupted. “She’s not too bright, Mr. Donatelli. She seems to think we’re gonna let her walk.”

“I was bright enough to fool you,” she said. Seeing Harrington’s face register what she meant, she turned to Donatelli again. “Please. Let Jane go. It’s me you want.”

Donatelli angled his head to look at Nick and Harrington.

Harrington said, “We thought she was just some hooker. We didn’t know.” Then, meeting her eyes, he called her an unpleasant name.

“So, you’re the one who saw Louie Jacobi waste the priest?” Donatelli asked.

Shaking her head violently, she said, “I didn’t see
anything
. When I got there, Father Mike was already dead. Mr. Jacobi and Mr. Harrington could have been trying to help him, for all I know.”

“Yeah,” he said, his cheeks puffing out as he smiled. “That’s a good one.” Spreading his suit jacket, he pulled a cigar case from his shirt pocket and shook out the cigar. He ran it under his nose, sniffing, his face registering approval. Then he reached inside his jacket pocket for a set of gold nippers and clipped the ends. “Tell you what. You tell me where Sinclair is, and I’ll let your friend go.”

He wanted to exchange Reeve for Jane. “I can’t tell you that, because I don’t know where he’s at.” Even if she did, she wouldn’t tell him. Remembering the same lie she’d told Nick on the phone, she said, “When Jameson came looking for us at the cabin in the Catskills, I ran and I haven’t seen Reeve since.”

“Reeve, huh?” he asked. “You two on a first name basis?”

Peyton realized she’d made a huge mistake. Maybe a deadly one. “No, I—”

He snapped his fingers. “That’s enough,” he told her, pulling out a gold lighter. Placing the cigar between his lips, he held the flame to the end while he puffed. He returned the lighter to his jacket pocket, took a step toward her and blew the smelly smoke in her face.

It was all she could do not to choke.

“I’m going to ask you one last time before I make you watch your friend die. Where’s Sinclair?”

Sucking in a huge breath, she looked up at the catwalk and said, “He’s right behind you.”

When Donatelli and the others grabbed for their guns and turned around to look, she swung her bag at the side of Donatelli’s beefy head. The sound of Reeve’s gun, connecting with his skull, made a sickening thud.

Gunfire exploded immediately.

She turned to run in the opposite direction, then hearing Jane scream, she headed for the center of the room. Bullets sprayed the walls and ricocheted from the floor. Donatelli and his guys had scattered to take cover behind the mounds of tires and were firing up at the catwalk.

Dragging Jane’s chair across the floor was difficult, but she’d managed to move her a few feet when she heard Reeve’s voice boom through the air. “Peyton, get down!”

She ignored his warning and dragged the chair a few more feet. Seconds later, a sharp pain ripped through her side. Doubling over, she tried to move but couldn’t.

“Peyton!” It sounded like Jane’s voice, but she wasn’t sure. Her vision blurred. She could barely stand, but she knew she had to get Jane out of there. Grabbing for the chair again, she tried to move it, but couldn’t. She didn’t have the strength since she’d been shot.

Oh, God
,
I’m going to die.

“Reeve,” she called out, but her voice was no more than a hoarse whisper.

A moment later she was knocked to her feet. She knew it was Jane who had kicked her, made her fall, then rocked her chair forward to fall on top of her. Maybe to protect her, but she wasn’t positive. It was all a blur.

All she could say for sure was there was so much noise. Guns firing everywhere around her, and then it was silent.

Chapter Sixteen

“Peyton?” Reeve knelt down, gathered her head in his lap and swore. “Peyton? Open your eyes, sweetheart. Look at me.” Swearing again, he yelled, “Somebody get an ambulance!”

There was so much blood. He had to stop the bleeding. Ripping his windbreaker off, he tossed it on the floor. Then, he yanked the T-shirt over his head, wadded it up, and pressed it to her side.

“C’mon, baby, open your eyes. It’s me. Reeve.” Tears welled up in his own eyes. “Did anybody call a goddamned ambulance!”

Matt appeared at his side, looming over him. “Reeve, they’re on their way. Donatelli, Harrington and Montero…” he said. “They’re all dead.”

Nodding, he looked back at Peyton. He loved her, and she might die. She was the best thing to happen to him since Emily.
And she might die.

Maybe he wasn’t supposed to fall in love. Maybe he was destined to live the rest of his life alone, with the exception of Kevin.

She twitched in his arms, and her breath was so faint it scared him. “Peyton…baby, please don’t die on me. I need you.”

Suddenly, her lashes fluttered and her eyes opened a fraction. “Reeve?” she whispered.

“Yes, sweetheart. It’s me. You’re going to be okay.”

“Jane,” she said.

“She’s okay. Don’t try to talk.”

“It…hurts,” she groaned out.

“I know, baby. Hang on,” he told her, but he’d been talking to deaf ears. She’d passed out again.

It seemed like hours before the ambulance came, and when it finally arrived, he announced he was going to the hospital with her.

“You can’t,” Detective Walters said. “The brass is on their way, and they’ll have questions.”

Reeve ignored the man. He knew Matt had commissioned Walters’ help, and for that he was grateful, but he was still going to the hospital.

“Let him go,” Matt said to Walters and patted Reeve on the back. With that, Reeve was gone.

The sirens came to life as the ambulance sped through the dark night, the screeching noise a constant reminder of the seriousness of the situation.

While sitting beside Peyton and holding her hand, he did something he hadn’t done since Emily was sick. He prayed.

****

Peyton had slept for nearly three days, drifting in and out of consciousness. But she was a fighter, and she was going to make it. Reeve hadn’t left her room the first twenty-four hours following her surgery. The doctors had almost lost her on the operating table, and after hearing that, he hadn’t been able to leave her side.

Then this morning, she’d opened her eyes and said she was hungry.
It figured that the first thing out of her mouth would be about food.
She sure had an appetite. Chuckling, he pressed the elevator button for the fifth floor.

He still couldn’t get over what she’d done. Going to that warehouse alone was one of the stupidest things she’d ever done, also one of the bravest. Thinking about the way she’d stood up to those guys, while trying to save Jane, made him laugh now, but at the time he’d wanted to choke her.

There wasn’t going to be a trial. With three men already dead and Louie Jacobi pleading guilty—just to avoid the death penalty—there was no point. Peyton was a free woman.

He’d made a quick run to Albany after seeing her this morning. He’d showered, shaved, grabbed some fresh clothes, stopped in to see Brad at the tavern, and called Kevin at camp—just to say he loved him. Then, he’d headed back to the city.

Matt and Barbara had invited him to stay with them while he was in town, and he’d taken them up on their offer.

Matt had also offered him a job, which he’d promptly turned down. Since Captain Murphy resigned—only to save facing charges—Matt had been promoted to captain, and he wanted Reeve to come back to the department.

After the incident in the warehouse, Reeve decided he didn’t want to risk his life every day. He wanted to live for a long, long time. The tavern was doing well, and he and Brad made a good income from it. This time, he was hanging his gun belt up for good, as the saying went.

He hadn’t been able to spend any time alone with Peyton once she’d awakened. There’d been a constant parade of nurses, doctors and technicians. They wheeled her to this room and that room, running tests and doing X-rays. Until he’d finally excused himself.

He wanted to tell her he loved her, that he wanted to marry her—as long as Kevin approved. But why wouldn’t he?

He couldn’t tell her something like that in front of all those people. So, he’d decided to wait until tonight.

Clutching a fistful of daisies, he hurried off the elevator and down the hall toward Room 512. He’d had the florist wire a few silk butterflies to the bunch, knowing Peyton would like them. As he walked, he brought the flowers to his nose and sniffed. He couldn’t smell anything except the odor he hated. That tangy scent reminded him of medicine, pine cleaners and Emily…dying. Until four nights ago, he hadn’t set foot in a hospital since her death.

Approaching the nurses’ station, he recognized one of the nurses who’d been taking care of Peyton. “Hi, Marsha. How’s the patient tonight?”

“Much better, Mr. Sinclair,” she answered, smiling.

Marsha had traces of gray in her short dark hair, was a little on the chunky side, and was one of the sweetest women he’d ever met.

“Of course, she was so happy to see her parents,” Marsha said. “They’re with her now.”

“Oh,” he said, knowing he sounded disappointed, and not really giving a damn. “That’s uh…wonderful news.”
Just great.
He wondered if he’d ever get a moment alone with her again. “I’ll just stick my head in and say hello.”

There was another person in the room with Peyton and her parents, he noticed while standing outside her door. A man. He was tall, thin and blond. Not bad looking if you liked guys with pretty faces. Reeve didn’t, and he especially didn’t like this one. Not when he was sitting next to Peyton and holding her hand.

Rapping on the door twice, he stepped inside the room. Dozens of floral arrangements and plants were lined up on the window ledge and the counter along the far wall. Instead of a medicinal smell, the room smelled like a funeral home.

“Reeve,” Peyton said, greeting him with a smile, and leaning against the elevated bed. Although she was still hooked up to an IV, her face had actually regained some of its color.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m going to live, but I won’t be wearing any bikinis with this scar,” she said, pointing to her side.

“I was always fond of one-piece suits anyway,” he joked.

The blond man scowled at him and stood. “David Wilkins,” he said, thrusting his hand forward. “Peyton’s fiancé. And these are Peyton’s parents, Bob and Ann Delaney.”

Reeve shook all three hands offered, but didn’t remember much of what was said after that. All he could think of was that Wilkins had claimed to be Peyton’s fiancé, and she hadn’t denied the claim. Not even when he’d looked her in the eye.

He’d asked if she was still involved with Wilkins the first night they’d made love, and she’d said no. Had she lied to him?
It sure looks that way
.

“So, you’re the young man who was protecting our daughter,” Mrs. Delaney said. She was slim and had honey blond hair, with just a tad of gray at her temples.
An older version of Peyton
.

“Yes,” he said. “But as you can see, I didn’t do a very good job of it.”

“You can say that again.” This from Wilkins.

Reeve shifted his eyes to look at the man. He definitely didn’t like this guy.

“David, please,” Peyton said, tugging at his sleeve. “What happened wasn’t Reeve’s fault. It was mine.”

After several minutes of idle chit-chat, Mr. Delaney stepped forward, clearing his throat. “Could I have a word with you in private, Mr. Sinclair?” The man was thin, with a wiry sort of build and gray hair.

Reeve glanced at Peyton, then said, “Sure,” and followed the man out of the room.

When Delaney started up the hall, Reeve had no choice but to walk beside him.

“I’d like to pay you for what you did for my daughter.”

Reeve stopped short. “I don’t want your money.”

“But it was my understanding that you’re no longer a cop. So, what you did was—”

“I can’t take your money, Mr. Delaney.”

“Bob. Call me Bob.” Shoving his hands in his pants pockets, he resumed walking. “She’s our only child. Just the thought of losing her…” His voice drifted off for a moment. “Is there
anything
I can do for you?”

“No, Mr. Delaney,” he said, ignoring the man’s offer to call him by his first name. “Nothing.” Stopping in front of the nurses’ station, he looked the man in the eye. “But, you could answer a question for me.”

“Sure.”

“That man, Wilkins,” he said. “Is your daughter planning on marrying him?”

Delaney seemed to be contemplating the question. “Well, she and David dated a long time. Twelve years, to be exact. We all thought they were going to get married soon, and then a tragedy occurred…”

“Peyton told me about his sister.”

He nodded. “I see. I don’t think David’s ever gotten over Peyton.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, then looking at his shoes, he said, “New York City isn’t a place for my daughter. She’ll be much safer living back in Iowa.” He lifted his head and met Reeve’s eyes. “Yes, I think once she’s home, she and David will finally set a date.”

Set a date.
She was going to marry that jerk. Fuming inside, he said, “Thanks.” He made a pretense of looking at his watch. “I just remembered I have an appointment. Would you say good-bye to Peyton for me?”

Nodding, Delaney turned and walked away.

Still clutching the daisies in his fist, Reeve smiled at Marsha. “You look like a woman who loves daisies.”

She smiled back, taking the flowers from his hand. “They’re lovely, but shouldn’t you give these to Ms. Delaney?”

“Nah. She has too many.” Too many flowers, and too many men in her life. Turning, he walked away and headed for the elevator, knowing he wouldn’t be back.

****

She was going crazy. Peyton loved her parents, but after eight months of their constant hovering she just couldn’t take any more.

She didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. After all, she’d needed someone to care for her after each of her three surgeries. And no one else had offered.

Reeve hadn’t called once since she’d left the hospital and moved in with her parents back in Iowa. Nor had he bothered to say good-bye to her at the hospital. He’d simply disappeared the night he’d stopped to visit—daisies in hand—never to be heard from again. He’d never even given her the flowers.

The big oaf.

She’d never met a man so bull-headed and stubborn. Or so prideful.

Shoving an extra pair of shoes in the large suitcase on her bed, she forced the top down and tried to zip it. After her episode with Jane’s red spike heels, she never wanted to be short of shoes again.