Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (131 page)

They left the booth.

“Now, you’re pretty sure that the man you saw tonight is the same man who killed—who you think killed those other women?” the detective asked Roberta.

“As sure as I can be.”

“After we met the other night, I did some checking. I called around up to Tahoe. It seems that last summer a young woman disappeared from Sand Harbor. She was at one of the outdoor Shakespeare performances they have up there in August. In the middle of a thousand people, she just up and disappears.”

“Any others missing?”

“Still checking.” Avondale took the sketch from the artist. “Okay. We’ll circulate this.”

It was nearly three a.m. when Jake and Roberta walked out into the crisp early morning air. The body was gone, but the crime scene investigators were still going over everything, gathering evidence.

“Stay with me tonight,” he said.

“I think I’d be more comfortable at home.”

“Then I’ll stay at your place.”

She leaned into him as they walked, grateful for his sensitivity.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Roberta awoke at her usual hour. She vaguely remembered Jake kissing her good-bye and mumbling something about lunch. With only three hours sleep, she felt groggy, disoriented, and dead tired. She had dreamed of Carl Masser, Carl wandering aimlessly in the woods calling for Maggie.

Roberta called the center. After giving Sophie an abbreviated account of the previous night’s activity, she informed her she’d be in late.

“We’ve a lot of catching up to do,” Sophie said. “And I don’t mean with work. I wanna hear everything. Holler when you come in. Oh, by the way, Donald’s been looking for you.”

Donald? Shit. Donald’s timing was rotten. Well, she’d deal with him later.

“Get some rest,” Sophie urged before disconnecting.

Robbi managed to sleep another two hours, though she awoke feeling no more rested. Grudgingly, she opened her eyes to the bright summer day. There was so much to think about, none of which was pleasant—except for Jake.

Minutes later she stepped into a steaming shower. Standing under the needle-sharp spray, the water cascading over her face and hair, she tried to force away all but the memory of Jake’s lovemaking. But try as she might, her mind refused to release the image of the dead woman cuffed to the metal door. She shook her head to clear it, and succeeded only in replacing the mask of death with the hideous face of the killer; those black eyes bored into hers. A wave of nausea washed over her.

As Roberta reached down to shut off the shower, the light in the room suddenly dimmed. With the water beating down on her back, Roberta jerked her head around. Through the shower curtain she made out an obscure figure silhouetted in the doorway. She froze, the blood in her veins icy, racing. Before getting into the shower, she had made certain both doors were locked. No one else had a key.

Anxiously, she looked around for something to use as a weapon. Plastic shampoo and conditioner bottles, a sea sponge, and a pumice stone—
Christ.
The figure moved closer.

Acting instinctively, Roberta simultaneously reached up and twisted the shower nozzle as she yanked open the shower curtain. The water shot out into the room, hitting the intruder in the face. He yelled, a string of curses followed.

From the sink she snatched a can of hair spray and sprayed wildly, aiming for the face, eyes.

“Robbi! What in Christ—!” a drenched Donald Bauer blurted out as he lunged for the shower and quickly shut off the water.

He turned to her, his wet face questioning.

The silent scream at the back of her throat became a painful knot. Anger erupted, canceling the intense terror of a moment before. Her heart pounded; she felt lightheaded.

“Donald, you…you dumb, stupid ass, you…you—Don’t you have any goddamn sense?
”
she said as she sank to her knees in the tub, gripping the porcelain edge.

“Ah, words I’ve been longing to hear all these lonely months,” he said, shaking water from his arms and hair.

“How—what…what in God’s name were you thinking?” She turned, glared up at him.

“Hey, babe, I’m sorry.” Donald knelt and began pushing the wet hair from her face. “I only wanted to surprise you. I guess I wasn’t thinking. I forgot they still show
Psycho
reruns.”

“I c-could have h-hurt you,” she sputtered, water from her hair running into her mouth. “If I’d had my gun, you could be lying there dead this very minute.”

“I’m sorry. Baby, I’m sorry. I tried to reach you yesterday to tell you I was coming in this morning. I talked to Sophie. Then I decided to surprise you. I used my key. C’mon—get out of there.” He helped her out of the tub, covered her with a towel.

“You’re soaked,” she said. The entire front of his shirt and slacks were wet. His short dark hair glistened with beads of water.

“Yeah.” He pulled his shirt from his pants. “Is my robe still here?”

She hesitated. “In the closet.”

He left the room and returned moments later with two matching terrycloth robes. He began to undress.

“I’ll make coffee,” Roberta said, quickly slipping past him and out the bathroom door.

“Hey, hon. Rob?”

She sensed his eyes on her back as she hurried down the hallway toward the kitchen. Her mind worked frantically. God, what was she going to do? Donald was the last person she’d expected to see—although he was a sight more welcome than the alternative, and she shuddered at the thought. What absurd timing. Last night with Jake so fresh in her mind.

Well, now that Don was here, the matter would have to be settled. She had made up her mind that it was over between them on the night Karen, his friend the U.N. interpreter, had answered his phone. And now, with Jake in her life—damn, dammit all.

Maybe Don had come to break it off face-to-face? Of course, that was it. Lord knows he hadn’t been attentive lately. He would tell her about Karen and she would tell him about Jake and they’d exchange friendship kisses, promise each other to keep in touch, and get on with their separate lives.

From the hallway, coming toward her, she heard whistling. A tune that sounded like “Oh, Susanna,” but knowing Donald it could’ve been anything.

Standing at the counter, she turned. Donald, feet bare, wearing the terry robe, strolled into the kitchen.

He stopped whistling, grinned sheepishly, and said, “Didn’t want to scare you again.”

“I don’t usually scare that easily,” she answered.

“Can we start again? Pretend I just walked in the house?”

She smiled. “In your bathrobe?”

“Pretend. Hi.”

“Hi.” They stood staring at each other.
He’s waiting for me to rush into his arms.

She turned back to the counter.

As she reached to get the mugs, she felt him at her back. His arms slowly wound around her. She tried not to stiffen.

“Donald…?”

“God, how I missed you,” he breathed in her ear. “Until I saw you standing here, that hair, that body, I’d forgotten how gorgeous and sexy you are.”

Oh, God.
“What do you think of the house? I’ve put a lot of work into it. Did you notice?”

“Yeah, it’s nice.” He kissed her neck. “Should have no trouble selling it.”

“What about the furniture?” She had spent months going from shop to shop, picking out special pieces, refinishing and reupholstering. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, sure, it’s great. Well suited for the West…for Sparks.” He cupped her breasts. “Sell the house furnished, babe. I’ve got a decorator all lined up for our place.”

“Donald, we have to talk.” She pivoted in his arms.

“Later. I’m sick of talking. We’ve been talking on the phone for six months. I want to get all tangled up with my girl and just touch and feel and squeeze—no talking.”

“We haven’t talked that much lately. And I think—”

“Save it.” He silenced her with a kiss.

She closed her eyes and tried to respond to his kiss. But after several moments she realized she felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. She might as well have been pressing her lips to the palm of her own hand. She felt warm, pliable flesh, but nothing else. No heat deep inside, no stirring of passion, not even a slight buzz. Guilt. She felt guilt.

Footsteps sounded on the back steps.

She opened her eyes, saw Jake standing at the back porch, his hand raised to knock. Their gaze met and locked.

Roberta’s stomach rolled. She pulled away from Don. He followed her gaze to the back door.

Jake lightly rapped at the door.

“Who’s that?” Don asked. “Whoever it is, his timing stinks.”

Roberta couldn’t agree more. The timing was off for everyone today. “It’s Dr. Reynolds.” She moved out of his arms. “A friend of mine.”

“Were you expecting him?”

“Not exactly.”

“Why don’t you go get some clothes on? I’ll see what he wants.”

She shook her head, crossed the room and opened the door. “Hello, Jake.”

He gave her a thin smile, nodded.

She stepped aside for him to enter. Once inside, she introduced him to Don.

“Don’s just come in from the East Coast.”

“New York, isn’t it?” Jake asked Donald, glancing at Roberta. “How do you like life in the big city?”

“No comparison. Once the city gets into the blood, it’s there to stay.” Donald, standing behind Roberta, laid a hand on each of her shoulders and squeezed affectionately. “Robbi’s going to feel the same, no doubt about it.”

Jake turned to Robbi. “I didn’t mean to barge in on you, Roberta, but Detective Avondale called. He tried to reach you, but there was no answer. He wondered if you could take a couple minutes to look at some pictures—mug shots, I guess.”

Donald looked from Jake to Robbi. “Detective? Mug shots? What’s going on?”

‘He doesn’t know?” Jake asked.

“I didn’t have a chance to tell him.” She saw Jake look from terry robe to terry robe, then nod knowingly.

“Well, give Avondale a call.” Jake extended his hand to Don again. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Say, Dr. Reynolds, if you ever need a financial advisor…” Don patted the breast of the robe, grinned. “No cards on me. I’ll leave some with Robbi.”

“Yeah.” Jake turned and went back out.

“Jake…” Robbi called out as the door closed softly. With an utterly sick feeling she watched him walk down the driveway and out of sight.

Don turned to her. “What was that all about?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ll make time.”

She poured coffee, then filled him in on everything from the time of the accident until that morning. She left out, however, her relationship with Jake. That would come soon enough.
You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.

Share-and-tell time came sooner than she expected.

“What’s your relationship to the doctor?” Don asked.

She started to rise. He gripped her arm and pulled her back down. “I thought shrinks were supposed to appear impassive—you know, looked detached as all hell no matter what’s going on under their skin? Talk about wearing your heart on your sleeve. Is it one-sided, or has my little Robbi been sleeping in someone else’s bed?”

She stared at him. Then looked away.

“Ohh-kay,”
he said. “So where do we stand? I’m a forgiving guy. People fuck up, get lonely, make mistakes. You’ve had a helluva month. The shooting, the accident. This killer running loose. You’re not superwoman. But look, I’m willing to forgive and forget.” He caressed her bare arm. “See, already forgotten.”

She realized then how very little she knew about Donald. He was going to forgive her. Nice. What about him? What about his insensitivity, his withdrawal when she needed him most, his affair with Karen the male intimidator.

Roberta laughed a short, dry laugh. “How good of you.”

He studied her face briefly. “What the hell’s that mean?”