Lethal Confessions (28 page)

She shrugged the discomfort away. She had more important things to talk about, like getting her sister to take the baseball killer situation seriously.

“Justin seems happy,” she said. “He obviously liked your surprise.”

M.L. giggled—the same infectious giggle she’d had since childhood. “He’s totally over the moon. I almost didn’t pull it off, though. I told him you were bringing a date, some new guy you really wanted us to meet. Justin sulked about that, the big baby. Anyway, you saw what happened when you strolled in with Luke. I almost cried. I’m never going to forget that you did this for me, Amy.”

Amy smiled. Justin’s eyes had bugged out like some cartoon character when he saw Beckett come in behind her. “That’s great, and I’m glad, but is anything really going to change between you two? I always worry about you guys.”

M.L.’s eyes filled with sadness. “You’re right to worry, because it’s getting worse every day. Justin’s wasting his talent, and I can’t stand it anymore. He’s always going on about how I’m not supportive. Well, I’ve tried to be supportive, and I’ve tried to kick his ass, too. I’ve tried everything. But he’s lazy, and he won’t admit that his talent isn’t enough at this level. So, I think we’re going to be stuck down here in the low minors forever. Until Justin has to give up and go sell cars or something.”

Amy nodded sympathetically but stayed silent. For once, her sister was being realistic and honest.

“Everything always came so easy for him,” M.L. said softly. “But now he’s playing with the big boys, and it’s a hell of a lot harder than it used to be. So, he gets pissed off and sulks. Or gets lost in a bottle instead of sucking it up and working harder.”

Amy had sensed that flaw in Justin long before M.L. married him. But there was no talking her sister out of chaining herself to a charming young stud who everyone said was sure to be a baseball star. “I hate to say it, but maybe Justin has to hit rock bottom before he finds himself.”

Not that she really believed that. Justin was too full of self-pity to take a hard look at himself.

M.L. shook her head, grim resignation etched into her lovely features. “Amy, if he hits rock bottom, I’m not going to be around to see it, and neither is Cooper. I’m not going to spend my whole life like this. No way.”

Actually, that day couldn’t come soon enough for Amy. M.L. would get over Justin. And, as much as Amy didn’t want to see Cooper hurt, nothing would be worse than growing up in a house where his parents waged a grinding and never-ending war of attrition. Maybe M.L. was finally starting to get ready to stand up for herself and her son.

Amy chafed at having to bring up the baseball killer on top of everything else, but she had to do it. Before Justin and Beckett came back inside. “Chère, I hate to add to your burden, but I’m worried that you’re not taking these murders seriously enough. If this psycho really is targeting wives of Florida State League players, and there’s a damn good chance he is, I’m afraid you fit the profile.”

Her sister snorted, but her big blue eyes slid sideways as they always did when M.L. became uncomfortable in a conversation. “What profile? That I’m married to a ballplayer?”

Amy shook her head. “You know what I’m saying. Justin plays in the same league as Kasinski, Noble, and Rist. You live close to where the last two murders took place. Plus, you’re roughly the same age as the three victims.”

M.L. started to get up, but Amy reached over to grasp her hand. “Look at me. I know there are dozens and dozens of other women who fit the profile, too, and we’re going to try to get all of them to take extra care. But, right now, the person I’m most concerned about is my little sister.”

M.L. shook her head impatiently. “I saw the pictures of those girls in the paper today. They were all gorgeous, skinny young hotties. Do I look beautiful like that anymore, Amy? I don’t think so,” she said bitterly.

“You’re being silly,” Amy shot back. “First of all, you
are
beautiful. Second, it’s irrelevant, anyway. There’s nothing in the killer’s M.O. to suggest that the appearance of the victims had anything to do with what happened to them. Those murders had nothing to do with sex. The women weren’t sexually assaulted.”

M.L. shrank into the beanbag chair, suddenly looking worried. “I just thought that since I’ve gained this weight, and my hair is always a mess…”

“You have to be careful, Chère. Extra careful, all the time. Especially when Justin’s away. All the murders happened when the husbands were out of town.” Fear mixed with a sense of urgency made her voice sound harsh. But if anything ever happened to M.L., Amy could never live with herself.

“I’m always careful,” M.L. said. “Besides, we’ve got a really good security system.”

“No security system is perfect.”

M.L. didn’t try to argue the point, so Amy pressed her advantage. “Maybe you should think about staying with Mama and Papa when Justin’s away. Or with me.”

Her sister emphatically shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine here. But if it’ll make you happy, I’ll keep the security system armed all the time.”

“But—”

“Please don’t get on my case anymore, Amy,” M.L. snapped, pushing up from her chair and heading toward the kitchen.

The conversation was over, and Amy knew she’d be wasting her breath to keep trying.
Calice
, her sister was a hardhead.

Unfortunately, it ran in the family.

Amy deliberately left her car idling in the HQ lot, hoping Beckett would take the hint, say goodnight, and head for his car. But he hadn’t moved. Her palms grew damp as she clutched the wheel, dreading that she might have to say something very direct to make him leave. Part of her—a big part—wanted him to stay, to lean over and…

But, damn, she knew if he made a move like that, it would turn out badly for both of them.

At least he’d pried some useful information out of Justin while they chugged beer and smoked those disgusting cigars out back. According to her brother-in-law, Johnny Franks was an arrogant rake who got off bedding other men’s wives.

But she and Beckett had hammered that topic to death by now, and there was no reason for him to remain in her car.

He sprawled in the passenger seat, his legs so long that his knees nudged up against the dash. Amy fought to keep her focus on the trees in the distance, afraid that if she let her traitorous eyes stray where they wanted to stray, she’d be lost. Claustrophobia from the cramped, air-conditioned confines of the car tightened her chest. She stabbed at the window control, suddenly anxious for some fresh air, but only a warm, humid wind poured in from outside. The interstate buzzed with nighttime traffic a short distance to the east.

“Thanks for doing this, Beckett,” she said, hoping he’d take the hint. “M.L. really appreciated it.”

She felt Beckett’s eyes roam over her again, but kept her gaze forward.

“I had a good time, Amélie.” His deep voice, resonant in the close quarters, sent a dangerous prickle of heat racing down her back. “I really enjoy spending time with you.”

Criss
, what was she supposed to say?
Me, too, Beckett
? The truth would sink her, and she wasn’t sure her emotional life jacket was buoyant enough to let her resurface.

“Until we catch this killer, you’ll have plenty of opportunity for that,” she said in a joking voice.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him subtly shift toward the console. The next thing she knew, his hand rested on her bare right shoulder, stealing her breath away. At the brush of his calloused fingers, heat rushed through her body with the speed of a crackling wildfire.

“Isn’t it time to stop fighting what’s happening between us?” Beckett’s low voice practically dripped with southern-flavored sex.

No!
She’d made that mistake once, and it wouldn’t happen again. No matter how much her body cried out for his touch.

She edged away, frustrated by her reaction and determined to be annoyed by his arrogance. Of course, he’d think it was futile for a woman to resist him. Who could resist a sinfully hot and famous athlete? Especially one with brains and courage to go along with the tantalizing physical package?

She
could and would, because Beckett would use her just like Gabe had used her. Then he’d toss her away when he tired of her, just like Gabe had consigned her to the dumpster. Bedding a cop, especially one with a pretty nice rack and a reluctant attitude, would no doubt be great sport for Beckett, but that’s all it would be.

Some women might settle for that kind of sport, but not Amy. Not in this life.

“Beckett, I’m flattered. But the answer is still no.” She allowed herself a brief glance into his searching eyes. “It’s not in me.”

She turned her head away, but he didn’t move his hand. His fingers tightened a bit on her shoulder, making her feel naked and vulnerable.

Then the heat of his hand disappeared as he moved away. “Okay,” he said, opening the door.

Amy watched, dumbfounded, as he took two quick strides and slid into his car. He didn’t even glance toward her as the Mustang roared out of the lot. It looked like her instincts had been dead on, and how depressing was that?

Monday, August 2

9:40 a.m.

Luke had an extra spring in his step as he strode through the sliding glass doors of the Children’s Hospital. Overnight, fresher breezes from the north had broken the oppressive heat of the Florida summer. The influx of fresh air infused him with energy. He knew he was going to need it.

He’d been smiling all morning about Robitaille’s determined brush-off. If he’d ever seen a case of words jarring with non-verbal signals, he’d seen it last night in her car. As the detective’s luscious mouth was telling him he was wasting his time, her body was clearly itching to jump over the console into his lap. As she gripped the wheel, her hands had vibrated with tension.

Despite her involuntary signals, Robitaille was determined to keep their relationship at arm’s length.
Professional
. Luke respected her for that, but her dogged resistance just served to ratchet up his determination. With other women, any initial reluctance had always been a game—one he knew he’d win sooner rather than later. But with Robitaille, it wasn’t a game at all, but something a lot more serious. She just didn’t realize it yet, and that’s why he wouldn’t give up.

For the first time, he was afraid of making a mistake. Of pushing a woman too fast or too hard. Sure, he’d been glib with his “resistance is futile” approach, but when he’d said it his mouth had been as dry as sawdust.

Fortunately, her negative response had lacked all conviction. Her body had hummed with unmistakable sexual energy, and she’d clearly been shocked when he gave up so easily. For now, things were right where they needed to be.

Luke picked up his visitor’s pass at the security desk and hurried up to Alicia’s floor. In the two days since his last visit, she’d been ever-present in his mind, either front and center or hovering in the background. The meeting with the social worker had depressed the hell out of him, but he’d figured out a few things he could do for Alicia. Stuff that would brighten her day a bit.

Surprised to find her door closed, he pushed it open a few inches and peered inside. She seemed to be asleep, so he started to close the door, but its hinges set up a squeaking protest. Alicia’s eyes popped open at the noise and Luke cursed himself for waking her.

“Luke?” she said in a faint voice.

“Yes, it’s me,” he answered, pushing the door back open. “I’m sorry I woke you up, honey.”

She gave him a wan smile as he approached her bed. An IV bag dripped fluid into her left arm. A dull haze in her eyes had replaced the startling blue that he’d become used to.

Luke could hardly stop himself from gathering her frail body to his chest. He didn’t know quite what to say to her. Should he try to make a joke? She always laughed at his jokes, no matter how lame.

He couldn’t. Not now. Not with her like this.

“Are you hurting?” He pulled the reclining chair close to the bed and reached his hand out to touch her arm. Heat radiated from her pale skin.

Alicia slipped her hand into his. So little, so soft.

“I’m tired,” she breathed, so scratchily he could barely understand her. She swallowed hard, as if she had a badly-parched throat.

“You need some water.” He reached for the plastic glass on the table at the foot of the bed. Snaking his arm behind her back, he lifted her gently to a slightly more upright position so she could drink.

She sighed after taking a couple of sips through the straw. “They’re giving me some new medication.” She pronounced each of the last word’s four syllables distinctly and deliberately as she glanced at the tubing.

“And it’s making you tired and hot?”

“Doctor Halperin said it should help me get stronger, so that’s good.”

He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, bowled over by her courage and grit.

“I’m glad to hear that, kiddo, because you’re going to need to be strong, what with all the visitors that are going to be coming through here in the next while.” When Luke hadn’t been working on the murder case, he’d been on the phone to virtually all his close athlete friends in south Florida and even beyond.

Her eyes brightened a little. Not to their normal crystal clear blue, but some color poked through the haze. “What?” she said, squirming to scoot herself higher. “Who?”

“Giancarlo, for one. And he said he’d bring some other Marlins along with him.”

Alicia grinned.

“And the next time the Washington Nationals play in Miami, you’ll get a delegation coming up here.”

“That’s your team.” Her voice was getting stronger.

“My former team, but I’ve still got some pull there.”

Alicia got teary.

The lump in Luke’s throat threatened to choke him. If he didn’t watch out, they’d both be bawling. “One other thing. You’re probably going to have enough baseball and football paraphernalia in here to fill the room to the ceiling. I’ll have to make sure the doctor and your nurses don’t mind.” He glanced over at the giant teddy bear that stared directly at him from a small metal table in the corner.