Final Words (16 page)

* * * * *

As Emma drove her SUV out of the Medical Examiner’s parking
lot a short while later, she looked in her rearview mirror. Jason sat in his
Mustang behind her, talking on his cell phone.

“He’s probably telling his partner what a nutcase I am,” she
muttered and then pulled into the light Saturday morning traffic along Bay
Street.

A phone call from Jason’s partner had caused him to cancel
breakfast. Just as well, Emma thought. Neither she nor Jason seemed eager to
address her claim again. Still, during the short drive back to her car, her words
about his sister had hung between them. Emma hadn’t wanted to push the issue if
he wasn’t ready to hear about the message from Rose. And he obviously was no
more ready to hear it than she was to let him walk out of her life. They hadn’t
wholly addressed that issue, either. After her confession this morning, she
wondered if they would ever have the opportunity.

Opportunity.

The word echoed in her mind as she spied the Bay View
Cemetery ahead. A line of cars waited behind a gate to pull out of the small graveyard
that faced Trinity Bay. Through the oaks and willows that shaded the plots, she
saw a green canopy near the rear of the cemetery.

Opportunity.

With that word still bouncing around inside her head, Emma
turned into the cemetery. Last night that young man who’d nearly drowned on the
beach had given her more questions. This could be her “opportunity” to answer
some of them.

Jason pulled his Mustang to the right shoulder of the road
and shifted into park. He waited, watching Emma park near the back of the
cemetery. He’d pulled out of the ME’s parking lot less than a minute behind
her, on his way to meet Charlie and had spotted Emma driving through the
cemetery’s main gate. Wondering why she’d come here, why she sat alone in her
car, he looked around, taking in the vehicles lined up to leave the cemetery
grounds. Was she paying her respects to someone? After living in Clear Harbor
most of her life, she no doubt had known some of the people buried here. Her
own parents were still alive and she’d had no siblings but maybe her
grandparents or aunts and uncles…

As the last car departed, Emma got out of her SUV and walked
some distance back along the narrow lane. Stepping onto the grass, she
approached the canopy that had shaded the recent funeral. The lid of the casket
beneath that canopy stood open.

A knot of fear formed in Jason’s gut. What the hell was she
doing?

Clasping her hands behind her, Emma approached the canopy.
The sun blazed overhead, warming the grass and flowers on the graves so that
their scents mingled and grew heavy on the air. Several funeral sprays stood
around the area shaded by the canopy. Made mostly of carnations and stock
flowers, they added to the heavy perfume as she stepped past them. She glanced
around but no one approached her. The cemetery staff who waited several
discreet yards away would, she knew, take her for a mourner who had arrived
late. They would maintain their distance and give her whatever time she needed.

But when she reached the open casket, she found two men
sitting in folding chairs on the other side of it.

“Oh.” Emma stopped as the men rose. “I’m sorry. I thought
everyone had left.”

The taller of the two men clasped a Bible against his chest.
He nodded solemnly toward her and his gray eyes revealed his sympathy. “We didn’t
realize anyone was still here.”

“I…wanted to pay my respects,” Emma said. “Alone.”

“I understand. Take your time.” The man touched his
companion’s elbow and the two of them walked out of the shade of the canopy.

Emma faced the coffin. The upper lid stood open and she
could see the elderly man nestled inside. The mortician had applied just enough
makeup to give the old man’s skin a natural hue. Considering his apparent age,
Emma assumed that the man had died a peaceful, natural death. There would have
been no question as to the cause, no need to call the Medical Examiner, no
purpose in an autopsy.

Emma lifted her hands but then hesitated. Her heart hurt.
Spirits
of the departed should appear to those who loved them
, she thought.
Not
to strangers like me.

Taking a deep breath, she placed her hands over those
gnarled fingers that were clasped together in death, felt the lack of
temperature in the flesh, felt the utter stillness. For a long moment, she held
her breath and waited. Then she lifted her head and looked around.

She was alone.

Jason watched Emma from behind a small concrete mausoleum.
Her body relaxed and even from that distance, he saw relief pooling in thick
silver tears in her eyes. She’d either found something she’d wanted to find or
had realized that something wasn’t here in the first place. Lifting her hands
from those of the dead man, she turned away.

Jason eased back behind one of the small stone buildings. He
remembered what she’d said about Rose and the dream that she’d taken for some
kind of near-death experience.

Despair filled him and he looked around the cemetery. Both
his parents and Rose had been cremated and their ashes scattered over the bay.
Brian’s body had been shipped to his parents’ home near Austin while Tyrone had
been buried in a small family plot near the Louisiana border. Jason had never
had a reason to visit the Clear Harbor cemetery. It seemed a peaceful place.
Was Emma merely enjoying a peaceful moment or had she known the deceased? Or
was she so obsessed with death that she couldn’t pass a funeral without
stopping? Had her accident affected her that deeply?

That last question made him more determined than ever to
find the driver who had run her down. She needed that closure.

He needed that closure if he had any intention of moving
forward with her.

Emma closed the door of her SUV. Relief still clung to her.
Now she was certain she knew the whole truth. She could not communicate with
all the dead but only with those who came to her autopsy table. Away from the
morgue she could find peace.

A bead of sweat trickled down her ribs. Starting the SUV,
she turned on the air conditioner and adjusted the vents to aim the chilling
blast at her face and torso. What would Jason think if he’d seen her here? He
hadn’t told her she was crazy when she’d delivered Rose’s message although he
certainly hadn’t believed her story.

For a moment she considered calling him and trying once more
to explain. Maybe he would understand if she told the story just right. Now
that the initial shock had passed, maybe he could listen. In spite of his
alleged reputation, he appeared to be a man who could tune in to her emotions,
a man who could be sensitive to her needs, a man who would go out of his way to
avoid hurting her.

Jason had told her he’d changed and she wanted to believe
him. Then she thought of Alan. In spite of his insistence that he had, Alan had
never changed.

She sighed. Maybe Jason hadn’t really changed, either. Emma could
not open herself to another man like her ex-husband. She didn’t know if she
would ever be able to open herself to another man at all. Especially not until
she learned more about her special gift.

Not until she learned to trust herself a little more.

Heat wrapped sticky arms around him as Jason stepped out of
his air-conditioned car onto the black-topped parking lot behind the Oasis
Strip Center. Through the open door, the last trace of Emma’s perfume
evaporated from the vehicle’s interior along with the cold air. For a second,
he wondered what would have happened if Charlie hadn’t called and interrupted
their morning. That strange conversation…

Jason stood still for a moment. He wished his concerns over
her state of mind could evaporate as quickly as the cool air from his car. She’d
confessed to attending therapy sessions because of her accident. After hearing
her claim of receiving a message from Rose during some kind of near-death
experience—not to mention her trip to the cemetery—he wondered what deeper
secrets she held.

Closing the car door, he glanced around. Heat shimmered off
the vehicles lining the back of the narrow lot. Two patrol cars, one CSI van
and Charlie’s minivan hugged a fence that separated the strip center from one
of Clear Harbor’s older neighborhoods.

Amalia Campanero’s neighborhood, he realized as he looked
over the old frame homes beyond the fence. They were also only five or six
blocks from the Stripple Brothers warehouse, where Emma had been attacked by
Craig Potter.

Jason wondered again if something stronger than her job
linked Emma and the two murder cases. She claimed to have received a dream
message from Rose. Did she believe something like that had happened with Amalia
Campanero and Dennis Turner?

Shoving his hands into his jeans’ pockets, Jason ambled
toward the crime-scene investigators working around a rusted trash dumpster
that hugged the building’s back wall. Charlie had called earlier to tell him
that a Smith and Wesson handgun had been found behind a butcher shop three
blocks from the Campanero home. Its caliber matched the gun that had killed
Amalia.

Charlie stood apart from the investigators, talking to a man
wearing a blood-stained butcher’s apron. That man, bald and sweating in the
brutal heat trapped in the concrete lot behind the strip center, gestured with
a clenched fist at the trash container and then turned and stalked through an
open door into the building.

“What’s his problem?” Jason asked when he reached Charlie.

“This is the third gun dumped in his garbage this year.”
Charlie drew a handkerchief from his hip pocket and mopped at his sweaty brow. “He’s
tired of talking to cops.”

“Maybe he should get a lock for his trash can.”

“He’s had five.” Charlie gestured toward a tattered old
mattress sticking out of the rusted container. “Apparently, many people
consider this a community dumpster.”

“Murderers included, huh?”

“Murderers included.” Wiping his face again, Charlie turned
toward the men and women working the scene. “There’s a footprint in that patch
of dried mud in front of the dumpster.”

“You think it might belong to Campanero?”

“It might. The night of the Campanero murder, Mr. Blake, the
butcher, hosed down the outside of the dumpster. It didn’t rain for several
days before then and Blake hasn’t washed the dumpster since then. Any prints
must be from that night.”

Jason gestured toward the evidence bag resting on the hood
of Charlie’s minivan. The gun inside it glinted dully through the plastic. “You
may not need a footprint, if there are viable fingerprints on the gun.”

“There’s a partial on the grip.”

“That might be enough. Maybe the lab will find more.”

Charlie narrowed his eyes and stared at Jason. “You seem
edgy.”

“I’m okay.” Jason wandered closer to the dumpster.

Charlie followed him. “You were with Layne Simmons the last
time I saw you.”

The disapproval in Charlie’s tone brought Jason’s head
around. “She left the bar right after you did.”

Humor played at one corner of Charlie’s mouth. “I’m just
expressing curiosity.”

Turning his back on his partner, Jason hunkered down to
study the footprint that scored the dried mud. “Keep your curiosity to
yourself. I’m trying to work.”
And trying not to think how I’d rather be
with Emma in spite of her weird obsession.

“We can’t do anything until the crime scene guys finish
here.” Charlie nudged Jason in the back with his knee. “I heard something
interesting. Seems you were a hero down on the beach last night.”

“I thought you didn’t listen to station gossip.”

“This was more than gossip. It was on the nightly report.
Dr. St. Clair was involved.”

“So?”

“She was at your beach house.”

“Again, so?”

“At least tell me if you’ve broken your dry spell.”

“You’ve spent years trying to turn me into a gentleman,
Charlie. You can’t have it both ways. I won’t kiss and tell.”

“Kissing, eh?” Charlie nudged him with his knee again. “So
something did happen last night?”

Something happened all right. I think I’m falling for a
woman with mental problems.

Rising, he headed toward Charlie’s minivan. “Why don’t I
take the weapon in so the ballistics guys can start on it?”

Following, Charlie clapped Jason on the back. “I understand
Dr. St. Clair will be attending Judge Daly’s retirement party tonight. You are
going, aren’t you?”

Something tickled his stomach. “Hadn’t planned on it.”

“You should go. Dance with her.”

“Lay off, Garcia.”

“All right, all right.” Charlie winked. “Come to the house
tomorrow afternoon. Veronica bought me a new gas grill. And if you want to
bring a friend…”

Rolling his eyes, Jason grabbed the bagged gun and headed
for the Mustang.

And tried not to think about how Emma would feel dancing in
his arms.

But then in mid-stride he thought, why not? He had questions
that only she could answer. A social situation like Judge Daly’s retirement
party might just help her relax enough to answer some of them.

* * * * *

Emma leaned against one of the Grecian columns that
separated the ballroom from the terrace at the Clear Harbor Country Club. Her
posture might not have been erect enough for her semi-formal attire but leaning
took some of the weight off her left leg. Although it had been months since her
accident, her ankle still bothered her when she stood for too long a time,
especially in heels of any height. Tonight, despite the lowest dressy shoes she
could find, her ankle ached as if she’d been standing for hours.

Stress didn’t help either. She was wound as tightly as a
spool of thread.

Glancing inside, she saw that Edgar had gotten caught up in
a conversation with a group of county commissioners. Despite his smile, he
looked miserable and she immediately stopped her inner complaint about her own
discomfort. She appreciated the fact that she didn’t have to court the local
politicians as her boss had to do. She was simply welcome to tag along and
enjoy the social activities that came with Edgar’s position. And getting
invited to Judge Nora Daly’s retirement party was definitely a social activity.

Feeling a warm breeze against her face, Emma turned into it.
Straightening, she drifted around the column and into the moonlit night.

Several couples took advantage of the fair weather and
music, dancing or wandering arm-in-arm along landscaped pathways below the
terrace. Watching them and thinking unexpectedly of Jason, Emma experienced a
surge of loneliness. She’d seen a few folk she knew from the police department
so she assumed that Judge Daly had invited the detectives too. He and his
partner, Charlie Garcia, might be here.

But what did it matter? She didn’t want to get involved with
another man yet.

That excuse is getting old.

The breeze lifted strands of hair that had worked loose from
her chignon. Leaning back against the column again, feeling the cool stone
against her bare shoulder blades, Emma closed her eyes and lifted her face to
the breeze. It whispered against her skin, perfumed with azaleas and a hint of…

Old Spice?

She opened her eyes and caught her breath. Jason stood
beside her, one shoulder leaning against the column in imitation of her stance.
A black string tie brought an air of casualness to his black suit and stark
white shirt. That warm breeze ruffled his thick hair and carried his scent to
her again.

“Hello,” he said quietly.

Broad shoulders, a sexy tilt of his lips, that silky male
voice… Emma’s heart muscle seemed to tighten like a fist.

“I thought you might like to know we found the gun that
killed Amalia Campanero,” he said.

“That’s…great.” Clearing her throat, she shifted her weight
so that she stood a little straighter. Light fell more evenly over his lean
face and she was startled by the sharpness in his expression. The intensity of
his gaze made heart beat faster.

“Were you able to connect it to her brother?” she asked.

“We matched four fingerprints from the gun to him. And we
found a shirt in the dumpster with the gun. It has bloodstains that match
Amalia’s blood along with male sweat that should match Campanero’s DNA. There
was a footprint too, that matched the shoes he was wearing when we arrested him.
But that’s just icing on the cake. We’ve formally charged him with murder.”

Relief bolted through her. Amalia Campanero would get her
justice. “I’m glad.”

He stood silent for another moment, his gaze locked with
hers. “You are glad, aren’t you?” he murmured. “For the victim’s sake.”

Emma swallowed. “Of course.”

Shifting away from the column, Jason straightened so that he
stood over her. Gold shards glittered in his eyes as he looked down at her dress.
His expression was different now, not so much sharp as it was hungry. And it
stirred an answering hunger in her.

Apparently he was thinking, as she had been, about that near
kiss on the beach last night. Emma was glad that he hadn’t taken advantage of
her vulnerability at the time. She was glad she still had something to look
forward to.

“There’s only one word to describe how you look tonight, Dr.
St. Clair,” he finally, quietly, said.

Emma was almost afraid to breathe. “What word is that?”

His gaze caressed the length of her body. “Hot.”

The word echoed its own definition through her body. Or
maybe the heat in his eyes sent that breath of warmth coursing through her.
Like smoke, it curled around her inner organs until she feared she might melt.

He stepped in closer. His left hand touched her right hip.
She stared up at his mouth, so close to her own that his breath stroked her
flesh. Some distant part of her mind realized they were swaying together in
time to the music.

“Dance with me,” he whispered and before she could think,
his hands settled on her waist and he pulled her close.

He turned her away from the column and the lights that
spilled from the ballroom. Emma knew that other couples strolled or danced
across the stone floor but she saw only Jason. Saw the desire in his eyes, felt
the possessive grip as his arm slid around her waist. And the way their bodies
moved so perfectly together… She hadn’t been aware of so much in a long time.
She hadn’t felt so right in even longer. Heart pounding, she eased closer to
him.

Desire sparked off the gold in Jason’s eyes. He lifted her
right hand and placed it against his neck, then slid his hand down her bare
arm, tickling lightly along a path to her waist. That hand slipped around to
join his right. No longer a simple dance, this was a floating embrace. Drawing
her closer still, Jason lowered his head. Emma expected his kiss and her
eyelids flickered downward. She didn’t care anymore whether or not she should
give in to what she wanted. Some primal part of her insisted that wanting had
its place. This place. Right now.

She lifted her face and his mouth found hers. Soft at first
and yet powerful. Hungry.

Pleasure speared her with each movement of his lips and she
pressed closer, wanting more, needing more, demanding more as she’d never done
before tonight. She shifted both of her hands around under his jacket to touch
the back of his white shirt. Damp heat seeped through the cloth. His hands
moved too, down her back to her hips and around to cup her bottom, to hold her
closer against his—

Nearby, a woman coughed with mock delicacy. Jason growled
low in his throat and lifted his lips from Emma’s even as he drew his hand
upward.

“Good evening, Ms. Zamora,” he said gruffly.

Rousing slowly from her daze, Emma looked to her left and
saw her friend standing a few feet away. Marta smiled but Emma recognized the
falseness of the expression.

“Emma, could I speak to you?” Marta asked.

“We’re kind of in the middle of something,” Jason said. His
grip on Emma shifted so that he held her almost possessively against his side. “Could
you speak to her later?”

Marta glared at Jason. “It’s important.”

Emma knew exactly what her friend wanted to talk about. She
also knew that Marta wouldn’t leave until she’d had her say.

A blush warmed her face as she drew free of Jason’s grip. “I’ll
be right back,” she said, offering him a smile as she took the few steps to
Marta.

Catching Emma’s arm, Marta whisked her toward the ballroom. “What
do you think you’re doing?” she whispered after they’d moved inside.

Heat rose higher in Emma’s face. “We were just dancing.”

“That was more than dancing. Another few seconds and I’d
have had to call the vice squad.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Marta tugged Emma around the column and took a deep breath
before whispering, “You’re a big girl, Emma, so I can’t tell you what to do.
But as your friend, I advise you to steer clear of Casanova there. Don’t let
your hormones blind you to his true nature.”

“Maybe you’re the one who’s blind to his true nature.”
Leaning around the column, Emma looked at Jason, who waited where she’d left
him. Hands tucked in the pockets of his trousers, he gazed back at her with
heated eyes. That expression sent a thrill bolting through her. With
difficulty, she turned to Marta again. “He isn’t what you think he is.”