Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (134 page)

“Roberta, where are you going? Wherever it is, I’m right with you.”

Shaking her head, she pushed him away.

Unsteady in her high heels, she raced down the stairs to the main floor. She rushed to the rear of the casino. At the exit she paused to dig her car keys from her purse, then she was pushing through the glass doors, impatiently plowing through a knot of people coming in.

________

The headliner show had just ended and valet parking was swamped. Jake stood outside under a violet lit portico and waited for the attendant to bring his car.

To his left a flash of bright green caught his eye. He turned to see a woman with reddish hair running across the street to the parking lot. Roberta?

What would make Robbi run out of a party as if the devil were after her? A fight with her dinner companion? Another vision?

What should he do? Try to catch her before she reached her car? Wait for his car, then drive to her house, assuming that would be her destination? Go back inside and ask her coworkers why she’d run off? Or ignore the whole thing and get on with his life?

He saw her climb into her Jeep, start the engine, and speed away, tires squealing.

Jake stepped to the valet booth, shoved his parking stub under the glass, and demanded his keys. An attendant had already gone for his car.

Jake paced, his gaze directed toward the valet lot. Dammit, where the hell was his car?

________

On the way home her mind raced. It would take her less than five minutes to get her revolver, change clothes, and throw together a few things. How long would it take him to find out where she lived? Her phone number was unlisted, and it was certain no one at the center would tell him—unless they were forced.

Oh, God.

Her first instinct was to go to the police. Avondale would be thrilled by this new development; he’d love to use her to get to the killer. She shuddered violently. No, no way in hell would she take that chance. She could still see the look on that monster’s face when he realized who she was.

For the protection of the workers at the center she had to tell the police, but she didn’t have to tell them where she was. Let Avondale stake out the house and the shelter. She would be long gone.

She turned into her driveway and slammed on her brakes at the back door. After shutting off the engine and lights, she took several moments to control her breathing. She was hyperventilating, on the verge of passing out again. Cupping her hands tightly over her mouth, she inhaled slowly until the lightheadedness eased.

She looked around. The long drive to the street was deserted. To the right of the Jeep was the tall dense hedge between her neighbor’s yard and her driveway. A light wind had shadows dancing all around her. She opened the car door and listened. Leaves skittered along the concrete. A rustling sound had her heart pushing up into her throat. The wind wasn’t that strong. The hedge behind her stirred. In the side mirror she saw a large figure moving behind the Jeep. Then the view in the mirror became totally obliterated.

Roberta tried to close the door, but it was jerked open, the handle ripping from her grasp. The man reached in for her. She tried to scramble backward, to get to the passenger door. Her arm was seized cruelly. She screamed as he hauled her, kicking, from the car.

A massive hand covered her mouth. His other arm wound around her waist. Too hysterical to take stock of the situation, she turned on the big man, fighting for her life. He pinned her arms to her sides as they struggled at the back of the Jeep.

Suddenly they were both bathed in a flood of light. The big man loosened his grip just enough for Roberta to push at him. She spun away, falling against the side of the house. Jake’s car shot up the drive and hit the assailant before he could reach her again. The man flew across the hood of the T-bird and tumbled over the front fender to the passenger side of the car. The car came to a screeching halt within inches of her Jeep.

Terrified, adrenaline pumping like crazy, she looked around for him. He was there on the other side of Jake’s car. He would rush her again any second.

Jake hopped out of the car. He swooped down, grabbed one of the scalloped bricks used to trim the flower bed, and, waving Roberta back, he ran around behind the car, brick raised.

Roberta saw him bend down.

“Jake,” she whispered, “is he dead?”

“Gone,” he answered.

When Jake started toward the tall hedge bordering the neighbor’s property, she cried out, “Jake, no! Let him go!”

Robbi rushed into his arms, trembling, gasping for breath.

Silently, with an arm securely around her, Jake pulled open the passenger door. “Hurry, get in.”

“I have to get some—” But she didn’t finish the sentence. She realized there was nothing as important as getting away from there, and as quickly as possible. Her worst nightmare had come true—the killer knew about her and he wanted her dead.

________

From his condo Jake phoned Avondale and told him the killer had come after Roberta. He briefly explained the circumstances.

“Dammit, we need to talk to Miss Paxton. Is she there with you?’ Avondale wanted to know.

Jake looked down at Roberta sitting on the floor in her party dress, legs crossed in front of her, hugging her knees.

Roberta held out her hand for the phone. Jake gently touched her cheek before handing it to her.

“Detective Avondale?”

“Miss Paxton, you can’t—”

“Just listen. He was in a cocktail lounge. The bar was large and had a good-size dance floor with a sound system, no band. The bartender wore a white dress shirt and black bow tie. The place was full of neon signs, you know, the kind that beer and liquor companies use for advertising. It had oak decor, high tables, and stools.”

“What was he wearing?” Avondale asked.

“The same dark jacket—sports jacket—and a plain dark T-shirt. He was clean shaven and looked much younger without the beard.”

“How young?”

“Late thirties.”

“Miss Paxton, come down to the station and have a look through the mug shots, if—”

She gently pressed the cradle buttons and handed the phone back to Jake.

“Am I being foolish for not letting Avondale protect me?”

“If he’s not a blithering idiot, he’ll assign some plainclothes to secure the complex. He knows where you are.”

“Do you own a gun?” she asked.

Jake shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Oh, God,” she moaned, burying her face in her folded arms. “What’s happening? And why is it happening to me?” She laughed dryly. “Why me? Why me? Poor little Robbi,” she finished in a cynical tone.

Jake was silent.

She raised her head, looked at him.

He stared at her for a long moment. Then, in a pensive tone, he said, “There’s a guy from New York—”

“It’s over.”

He waited.

She gave him a thin smile. “It looked pretty bad, didn’t it, that scene in my kitchen?”

He shrugged, then nodded.

“He came unexpectedly. We—Jake, I’d rather not go into it right now, but I want you to know that what you saw was our first and only embrace while he was here, which, incidentally, was less than an hour. I didn’t…we didn’t. It’s over.”

Roberta stared up at him. He stood in the middle of the room, tall, his hands in the pants pockets of his tuxedo, the black cummerbund emphasizing his narrow waist. An expression of profound compassion filled his handsome face. She let her gaze take in all of him.

“Do you know how handsome you look in a tuxedo?” she said, her voice low. “When I saw you come through the ballroom door, I said to myself, ‘Now there’s an incredibly sexy man.’”

“Yeah?” he said softly, as though she hadn’t changed the subject.

“Yeah.” She smiled.

“You’re a sucker for a guy in a tux?”

“Not any guy.”

He went to her, offered her his hand then slowly pulled her to her feet.

Her hands stroked the satin lapels, then moved inside his jacket to stroke the satin of the cummerbund. The hook opened and the pleated band fell away.

His hands cupped the sides of her face, fingers sliding through her hair. He kissed her, a soft, sweet kiss that only made her yearn for more. She felt a fluttering in her stomach that soon, with kisses that became hot, hungry, and probing, burned lower in her body.

He shrugged out of the jacket, let it fall to the carpet, and slipped off his shoes. She unbuttoned his crisply starched shirt and helped him strip it off. She bent, kissed his dark nipples until they hardened, running her fingers through the fine curly hair between them.

Wearing only the black dress pants, Jake swung Robbi into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

Afterward they lay quietly in each other’s arms. Even with disaster at the brink of her consciousness, Roberta felt a sense of peace and well-being.

Would it always be like this, this wonderful, this profound? Naturally there had been others before Jake, but none had touched the core of her as he did. No one had ever strived to please her as he did. His tenderness, coupled with an almost ruthless sexual abandonment, strongly bonded her to him in a way she didn’t understand, though she suspected that trust and love had a great deal to do with it.

She drifted between sleep and awareness, content in the arms of her lover. A little germ of fear flickered somewhere in the recesses of her mind, but she had only to snuggle closer to Jake, feel his arms tighten around her, and the fear remained nothing more than a benign smoldering ember.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Roberta awoke to the sound of birds chirping, water rushing along in the river below, and the rich smell of coffee brewing. She rose up on her elbows and looked around. The drapes were closed, the room cool, dark, and shadowy. The clock read 7:46. She was alone in the room.

She stretched, for the moment feeling glorious, content. She was at Jake’s; he was somewhere nearby. The killer knew nothing of Jake. He would never find her here.

A door closed softly somewhere in the condo.

“Jake?”

No response.

Swinging her legs out of bed, she lowered her feet to the floor and, holding the sheet across her torso, looked around for something to wear. Jake’s starched dress shirt hung on the doorknob. She crossed to it, slipped it on, catching a nostalgic whiff of him in the cloth. The stiff material felt abrasive against her tender nipples.

“Jake?” she called again, leaving the bedroom.

She wandered down the hallway, opening doors, calling softly. A guest room, a large bathroom with a platform tub and an oversized shower, a small den with a desk surrounded by built-in shelves loaded with leather-bound books, and the living room stood empty.

She padded barefoot into the kitchen, where water trickled from the faucet and down the drain.

She turned off the water, looked around. On the stark white countertop and floor tiles she saw tiny flecks of crimson. She knelt, touched a large wet drop on the floor. Blood?

Where was Jake?

Her throat constricted painfully.

Jake?

That monster knew nothing about Jake, nothing about this condo. How could he know? Where was Jake? He wouldn’t leave without telling her. Immobilized by fear, she crouched motionless, rubbing the blood on her fingers.

Something moved behind her. She felt a light touch at the back of her head. Robbi gasped, leapt to her feet and spun around, a strangled cry in her throat.

Wearing only a pair of tennis shorts and deck shoes, Jake stood in the middle of the kitchen, his hand out, a bewildered look on his face.

“Oh, God, Jake.” Robbi flew into his arms. “I thought I was alone. When I saw the blood and then felt—”

“I broke a glass … cut my finger on it,” Jake said, holding her face to his chest. “The only Band-Aids I have are in the first aid kit in my car. Hon, you’re shaking. I’m sorry.”

“I thought he’d found me. That he’d hurt you and…”

“He’s not going to find us. There are places we can go. He won’t have a clue. He can’t read your mind. Right?”