Guilty Pleasures (34 page)

“Not again,” came the whisper. “Only once for that. Now you pay.”

He’d been right. This was Bogota payback time.

The sound of an engine startled him. It grew louder, then cut out. A car had driven up the driveway.

Again he swung around.

A forced, rasping whisper, “It’s time. Long, long past time,”

The memories broke over him.
“It’s time, friend. We’ve been waiting for you—and now we have you
.
"
And there’d been gunfire. And his ankle exploded.

Low to the ground, the shadows coalesced. He lunged, but the shape dissolved
.

A single, yipping yell sounded, and the night burst to life. The thud of feet, the rush of wind and rain against a powerful body.

Roman had closed in.

The fight was short and vicious. It stopped when Nasty fell over what he knew was a body. “He’s down,” he shouted. “Light, Roman.”

A beam hit what lay at Nasty’s feet.

They both dropped to their knees.

A man lay on his side, his head turned into the mud as it shouldn’t have been able to turn.

“Shit,” Roman muttered.

Nasty looked at him, and then at the trees on all sides. He took his flashlight and searched.

Lightning broke again, farther away again.

Another crackle came. Branches breaking. Crashing as someone made an escape.

“Shit!” Roman said, not lowering his voice this time. “The bastard got away.” He looked at the man on the ground. “And he left us a present. This is the one who got dropped by the house. D’you know him?”

Supporting the lolling head, Nasty rolled the body to its back. A wound opened the neck from ear to ear. With a gloved hand, Roman wiped mud from the face.

Nasty focused his beam. He glanced up at Roman. “Poor creep.”

Roman raised one dark, arched brow.

“I don’t think our present is going to help us much,” Nasty told him. “Something tells me this guy’s luck has always been bad. Mostly his own fault. Allow me to introduce you to Bobby Crow’s dad—Sam Dodge.”

P
olly waited until Dusty, swearing so volubly she was grateful Bobby was deeply asleep, clumped downstairs in the wake of Rose and Nellie. At the sound of a car arriving, Rose had come from her room talking serenely about how quickly “the dear sheriff” could be relied upon to respond to her when she called. That had been minutes after Polly heard Dusty talking to a man she hadn’t heard coming up the stairs. She assumed he’d come up the stairs since he’d suddenly been there, speaking in low tones, using a word that stood out from the rest— Nasty. Then the conversation had stopped. She’d decided the second man had left.

Now they were all somewhere downstairs, and they would soon come looking for her and Bobby. They’d find Bobby and take good care of him. If Nasty had come back, he’d have
checked on her. That meant he was still out there. Polly wouldn’t wait any longer to make sure he was safe.

She told Spike to stay, slipped from the room, and closed the door softly behind her. Swiftly, she made her way to back stairs that led down to a passage outside the kitchen. In some earlier age the servants must have slept in the third-floor bedrooms and used these stairs to go about their duties.

The kitchen was in darkness. Rose and the others would be in the living room. With the big flashlight from Bobby’s room in hand, Polly let herself outside and flinched when rain beat her face.

She’d heard thunder but hadn’t even thought about rain. Her T-shirt was instantly soaked, and her jeans. Water dripped from her hair down her neck.

If she called out, the sheriff and Dusty might hear and try to stop her.

Nasty was out there somewhere, and she refused to allow him to be alone—risking his own safety because he was worried about her.

The floodlights could have gone off for any number of reasons. That’s what they’d decide. And it had to be Festus who’d found out where she was and managed to locate a telephone number.

Festus was sick. He was not a life-and-death threat.

The police were in the house. Even a crazy man would run away now.

“Xavier!” Polly started forward, shining her light first one way, then the other. “Xavier, where are you?” She didn’t care how mad he got at her. There was no way she’d allow him to risk falling down in the dark because of her.

He could hurt his ankle again.

“Xavier! Where are you? The police are here—they’ll want to talk to us.” She stepped gingerly on mushy grass. He could be anywhere out here. “Rose called the sheriff. He’s with her now, and Nellie. Dusty’s there, too.”

She’d go to the front of the house.

“Stay where you are.”

Nasty. Relief made her weak, and giggly. He wasn’t far away—in the trees. She trained the flashlight on tall, straight trunks, and ran. “You stay where you are. You’ll fall over something in there. Wait till I get to you. I’ve got a flashlight.”

“Do not come any nearer.”

She stopped, frowned, set her lips firmly, and carried on. “Stop giving me orders. And playing these silly games. You’re going to have an accident.”

The rumble of more than one male voice reached her, but she refused to listen. Scrambling, climbing over fallen limbs, she hurried in the direction from which she’d heard Nasty speak.

When she saw him he wasn’t alone. He came toward her with a tall, dark-haired man beside him.

“Who is he?” Her voice rose to a silly squeak, but she didn’t care. “Xavier?”

“Xavier?” the other man repeated, smiling. “This must be your Polly.” He was exceedingly good-looking.

“I told you to stay with Bobby.” Xavier closed in on her, his face set in unkind lines. “What are you doing out here?”

“The police are in the house. So is Dusty. Bobby’s safe. I had to be sure you were safe, too.”

“You should have done what I told you to do.”

She smarted. He bore down on her. The other man avoided looking directly at her. “This isn’t a naval maneuver,” Polly said when she found her voice again. “And I’m not one of your men. That means I heard your lecture on following orders, but it doesn’t apply to me. Who is this man?”

“Roman,” Nasty said. “Roman Wilde. A friend of mine. We were SEALs together.”

She studied Roman Wilde’s face and concluded he wasn’t just handsome, he was formidably handsome. “Don’t they allow any ugly people in the SEALs?”

The two men looked at each other. It was Roman who
, laughed first. “She’s funny. I think you found a keeper, Nasty. I always knew you would in the end.”

Her light picked up something else, something on the ground a few yards behind N
asty and Roman. Someone. “Who
is it?” she asked in a tiny voice. “Is he dead?”

Nasty strode to put an arm around her shoulders. “This isn’t for you to deal with, sweetheart. I’ll get you back to the
house.
It’s just as well the sheriff’s here. It’ll save us some time.”

“Who is it?” She clutc
hed his sleeves. “It’s someone I
know, I isn’t it?”

“Let’s go in the house.”

Polly dug her heels into the thick layer of wet pine needles that covered the earth. She shrugged away from Nasty’s arm. When he moved, she raised the flashlight and trained the beam on the fallen figure. Thick, dark hair curled despite rain and mud. Even at a distance she knew the face. Sightless eyes aimed in her direction. The slack mouth hung open, and a ghastly
neck wound gaped above a blood-
soaked shirt and jacket.

“Oh, no.” She pushed Nasty’s restraining arm aside. “Oh no, Sam. You didn’t deserve this.”

“No,” Nasty said. “No, I don’t think he did. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Get someone,” she told them. “I’ll stay with him.”

Roman said, “I’ll go. Be right back.”

Polly forced herself to look
away from the horrible wound
in Sam’s neck. “Who would do that to him?”

“We’re going to find that out,” Nasty told her. “I want you to go with Roman. I’ll stay and wait for the cops.”

As he spoke, he replaced his knife in a sheath on his left forearm.

Twenty-five

“
R
ain messes with the blood and stuff,” the sheriff said, talking to Roman as the two came into Rose’s kitchen.

Nasty watched Polly’s face, her downcast eyes. He’d been watching her since they’d finally returned to the house. Dawn showed signs of breaking, although the downpour continued. Polly had worked hard to avoid looking at Nasty.

Sheriff Bullock was a short, wiry man with the ready tongue of kindly, small-town law. He remembered Roman from his previous time in Past Peak. Once he’d discovered that Dusty and Nasty had also been SEALs, the investigation had become an endeavor among friends.

“Lucky we could get a medical examiner up here so quickly,” Bullock said. “Not much happens around here. Clancy Depew’s our coroner. He’s a dairy farmer. Good guy for most of what we need, but not for that.” He jabbed a blunt thumb over his shoulder.

“That was Sam Dodge,” Polly said coldly, but without spirit. “He wasn’t much of a person, really, but he was a person.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bullock said, rolling onto his toes. “Old friend of yours, you said.”

“Not exactly. We knew each other a long time ago.”

“Addict then, too, was he? The M.E. mentioned tracks in the guy’s arms.
Old and new. A mess of tracks. I
reckon it was something to do with that. Probably killed because he owed money. The M.E. said he thinks the victim was unconscious when they used the knife on him.”

Polly sucked in a breath.

Nasty couldn’t believe the man would spill information that
way. He was grateful Bobby was still in bed, and that Rose
and Nellie had been easily persuaded to return to their rooms.

Too bad Polly refused to budge, even after she’d been told she wouldn’t be needed again for a while.

“How about some tea?” Dusty got up from a chair near Polly’s and went to fill a kettle. “I bet Rose has got some of that nice herbal stuff here somewhere.”

Nice herbal stuff? The last Nasty recalled, Dusty considered tea “swill.”

“Hit over the head, he was,” Bullock said, leafing through his notebook. “Dragged off into the trees before they slit his throat.”

Polly let her head hang forward. She sat with her knees drawn up, her heels on the rungs of the chair.

And she thought he’d taken his knife to that piece of garbage. Nasty pinched the bridg
e of his nose and felt Roman’s
sharp eyes on him.

“They’re taking the bod
y away,” Roman said when Nasty
looked at him. “The property’s been cordoned off. There’s another team out there. They think our man made his way to the southern edge of the estate, then to the road. Probably had a vehicle parked beside the main highway.”

“How did Sam get here?” Polly asked.

They’d already been over this. “We don’t know yet,” Nasty
said quietly. “His car hasn’t turned up.”

Sheriff Bullock put his notebook in a breast pocke
t. “I need to go into the office and make some calls. When Rose wakes up tell her not to worry. We’ll take care of everything for her.”

Dusty said, “Thanks,” as
he rummaged through cupboards
for his herbal tea.

“You’re sure this mystery man is the one who killed Sam?” Polly asked. “Without finding him, or knowing exactly where he came from, or where he went?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Bullock said comfortably, buttoning
down his pocket flap. “Roman here saw him. And Mr. Ferrito. He attacked Mr. Ferrito, here. And he left quite a trail through the trees. You know what they say—even if a killer doesn’t bring anything to the scene with him, he leaves something behind afterward.” The sheriff delivered his borrowed wisdom with solemn sincerity.

Fortunately he couldn’t see how Roman raised his eyes. The man left by the kitchen door, and they listened to the clip of his heels on the path toward the front of the house.

The kettle boiled. Dusty poured water into four mugs and passed around a floral-scented brew. On any other occasion Nasty would have laughed. He didn’t laugh now, only made himself sip the disgusting stuff.

“Time you got some shut-eye, Polly,” Dusty said.

She didn’t answer.

“Okay,” Roman said. “What’s your best guess, Nasty?”

“Bogota,” he said shortly. “Dodge got in the way.”

Polly set her mug carefully on the table. “This man who got away killed Sam. You’re all sure of that?”

“Yes,” Roman said. He put his mug down, too.

“Why didn’t he kill you the same way?”

In other words, she really didn’t believe them. “Because he wants us alive,” Nasty told her. “Actually, it’s me he wants, not anyone else. He got to me first, and made it away after Roman arrived.”

“The man who called here asked for me.”

“I don’t think that—”

“It had to be Sam. He came looking for Bobby and me. Wouldn’t it be a big coincidence for someone else to come on the same night?”

“Not necessarily,” Dusty said, grimacing into his tea. “Definitely not in this case. We got a good idea what’s going on, and Nasty’s right, Dodge was unlucky. He got in the way.”

“Tell me what you know, then. The three of you. What you’re not telling that sheriff, or me.”

Nasty exchanged glances with the other two men. A case
could be made for there being no reason not to tell Polly, but they wouldn’t anyway. The habit of keeping information on a must-know basis died hard.

“You won’t tell me anything,” Polly announced. She gave Nasty’s hands—the dried blood—a long glance. “You ought to wash. I expect you got that on you when you found Sam.”

“No, he didn’t,” Roman said, so forcefully Nasty stared at him. “Not all of it. You should wash up, Nasty. Looks like the guy left quite a gash there. You need to take better care of those hands, buddy. I’m going to call Phoenix, then see if I can get some sleep before the questions pick up again.”

“I’ll come with you,” Dusty said, all but rushing to join Roman. “I’ll have a word with Phoenix, too.”

“Subtle,” Polly said as soon as the other men were gone.

“What does that mean? Or I should say, what do you mean?”

“Making excuses to leave us alone.”

He pulled up a chair and sat down on the opposite side of the table. “You’d have to be a fool not to feel the tension around here. And I’m not talking about anyone’s reaction to Sam Dodge’s murder.” Very deliberately, he laced his fingers on the table in front of him. “You think I’m some sort of monster.”

She swallowed, and her chin rose. “I don’t know what to think. Sam called here, then came—”

“It didn’t have to be Sam who called. It could have been the man who killed him.” How could he make her stop looking at him that way without going into minute detail about things he’d rather not say aloud? “It’s perfectly possible that whoever made that call asked for you because he knew you were with me. If he established you were here, he established I was here, too.”

“He didn’t kill you, though,” she said. Shadows underscored her blue eyes.

“Because he wants me alive,” Nasty said patiently. “It’s a long story, but if I’m right—and Roman and Dusty think I
am, too—then this started in South America when I was shot. I was supposed to be dead, and when I wasn’t, I caused a man named Emilio—a drug lord—to lose credibility. This is the way I’ve pieced it together, and I could be wrong. But tonight a man told me I’d got away once and it wouldn’t happen again—or words to that effect. He could only have been talking about my escape in Bogota.”

“Why would you be there? I didn’t know our troops did things like that.”

“You’d be surprised what our troops do,” he told her, unable to keep cynicism out of his voice. “Talk to Dusty and Roman when they’re in a talkative mood. The night you were pushed in the water there were two divers, not one.”

“Divers?”

“One pushed you in and dragged you down. It had to be that way. He didn’t care if you drowned or not as long as I went in after you. Two of them tried to get me in a net.” He didn’t feel like spelling out every detail. “If they’d wanted to kill me, they could have. They didn’t even try. They wanted me alive. You were right when you said the man could have killed me out there tonight, too. But he didn’t, did he? He knocked the gun out of my hand and that’s what did this.” He flexed his right hand and closed his fist, opening a short, deep wound across his knuckles.

Polly burst into tears. She crossed her arms on the table and buried her face. Her back jerked with each sob.

Exhausted, Nasty got to his feet and took his chair beside hers. He patted her shoulder, stroked her hair. “You’ve had a rotten time of it, sweetheart. I’m sorry about Sam Dodge. Not because I think he was a good guy underneath it all, but because he was Bobby’s dad, and your boy’s going to take this hard.”

She kept on crying.

“And I’m not sorry we’re going to have to confront the fact that you think I’m a killer.”

A sob caught in her throat, and she raised her head just enough to turn and look at him.

“You saw me sheathing my knife. You saw blood on my hands. And you decided I’d cut Sam Dodge’s throat. You thought I could do that because I didn’t want him anywhere near you.”

“I guess I did.”

“So you don’t know me at all. And you don’t understand that someone can do what they have to do under official orders, but that they have the same standards as any other decent civilian when they aren’t under orders.”

She shook her head. “I want to understand. You haven’t helped me much. When I was attacked in my own home I needed to talk a lot more about it. You had other things on your mind. You just wanted me to do what you told me.”

He hadn’t thought of it that way.

“Why did you wait till now to tell me about the divers? I didn’t see anything. I can’t swim, remember? I was too busy getting used to the idea of drowning. You wouldn’t talk about that, either.”

“It’s conditioning, Polly. When you spend years keeping things to yourself, you don’t suddenly open up like a gusher every time something happens.”

She took a paper napkin from a holder on the table and wiped her face. “Crumb, I’m a horrible sight.” She blew her nose and pressed two fingers into her eyes. “All of this is happening. It isn’t over.”

“No. But it will be.”

“I was so confused about being pushed into the water. It didn’t seem to fit that Festus would have done it.”

“He didn’t.”

“And Festus wasn’t the man out there tonight?”

The idea was ludicrous. “No. Look at me, please.”

Polly reached to take his injured hand in both of hers. “Let me get this cleaned up.”

“Look at me.”

“I’m sorry.” She raised her eyes slowly. “How could I think you’d be capable of
something like that after…
?”

He let her falter.

“Can you really blame me completely, Xavier?”

Maybe he couldn’t. “Trust takes a while in the building. Just the way getting used to a complete change in lifestyle takes a while. I want to take however long it needs.”

She got up and led him to the sink. Warm water stung the wound on his knuckles, and he yelped.

“It’s got to be cleaned” she said, sounding serious but grinning at the same time. “Grit your teeth. You can do this.”

He did grit his teeth, and said “How about you?”

“I can’t do anything but go along with whatever comes. With you.”

“
’Course you can’t.”

“Don’t start with the pigheaded stuff again.” Blotting the jagged cut with a towel, she looked at him. “How am I going to break this to Bobby?”

“Carefully.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“Sure it is. Bobby never really knew Sam, but he’s canonized him in his mind. It couldn’t be right to drop the entire truth on a seven-year-old.”

“I can’t pretend Sam isn’t dead.”

“No. I’m not suggesting you do. But you can say he had an accident and died. You don’t have to pile on all the gory details. Best keep him here for a few days until things blow over. If we don’t, he’ll see it on TV—we wouldn’t be able to stop him.”

Tapping rattled the back door.

Nasty stuffed the towel into Polly’s hands and raised a finger to his lips. Taking his gun in hand, he stepped
to the door, and said, “Yeah?”

“Gavin Tucker. I’m looking for Polly Crow. The cops told me to come to this door.”

Polly and Nasty looked at each other. Nasty tucked the gun in his waistband and opened the door.

“Geez, Polly,” Gavin said, sparing Nasty only a brief glance before loping into the kitchen. “Are you okay, babe?”

“I’m fine. How did you find me?”

Gavin’s long, pale face showed signs of fatigue and
…
fear? “I heard it on the early news. Just a snippet about a guy called Sam Dodge being murdered up here.”

Nasty screwed up his face. “You couldn’t have heard that.”

“The hell I didn’t.” Pushing back his thin, brown hair, Gavin draped an arm around Polly. “Local sheriff gave sketchy details. That’s what they said. Sketchy. Hah! He did everything but give the address of this place. No problem there, though. Anyone in the studio when Dodge came by yesterday could find out where you are if they want to.”