Shocking Pink (29 page)

A
s Andie had promised Raven she would, she went to see Julie the very next day. She caught her friend having morning coffee, not yet completely awake. She looked like hell warmed over. Andie told her so.

“Thanks. Same to you.” Julie smiled and swung the door wider. “Come on in. Excuse the mess. I’m rebelling against that whole cleanliness-is-next-to-godliness thing.”

Andie stepped inside and followed the other woman to the kitchen. Julie hadn’t been kidding about her place being a mess—the tiny apartment was in total disarray. Clothes and magazines and empty Coke cans were strewn about. Dishes were stacked in the sink, take-out cartons littered the counter. Once upon a time, Julie had been a neat-freak. In fact, she had always taken great pride in how she and her things looked.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Julie?” Andie asked, eyeing her. “You don’t look yourself.”

“I had a little too much to drink last night.” She dragged a hand through her hair. Andie noticed that it shook. “Want some coffee? I just made it.”

“Sounds good.”

Julie took a mug out of the cabinet, filled it with coffee and slid it across the counter to Andie.

Andie reached for the mug, then stopped, her heart leaping to her throat. A raw-looking, reddish mark ringed Julie’s wrist. Not quite a bruise. More like a…

A rope burn.

Andie struggled to find her voice, struggled to find enough calm to speak without an edge of alarm or condemnation. “What happened to your wrist?”

Julie lowered her gaze. Her eyes widened a bit, as if seeing the mark for the first time herself. She drew her hand away. “I don’t know.” She lifted a shoulder. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” Andie reached out a hand. “Let me see.”

Julie folded her arms across her chest. “It’s fine. Really.”

Andie searched her friend’s expression, a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. “What are you doing, Julie? What have you gotten yourself into?”

“Nothing. For heaven’s sake.” She turned her back to Andie and refilled her own coffee cup. “One little bruise and you’re ready to call out the cavalry.”

Julie was lying. And, true to form, not very well. “Let me see your other wrist.”

“I said it was nothing,” she snapped. “Drop it, okay?”

“Raven’s right, isn’t she? You’re involved with someone. Who is he, Julie?”

“So that’s why you’re here,” she said, ignoring Andie’s question. “I should have known she didn’t believe me. I should have known she would send you running over here, like some trained watchdog.”

Andie stood and went around the counter. She caught her friend’s hands and held them out. Identical marks circled both of her wrists.

“These are rope burns.” She looked Julie dead in the eyes. “Aren’t they? Don’t lie to me.”

Julie wrenched her hands away, wincing. “It’s my life, okay? Not yours, not Raven’s.”

“We’re not trying to run your life, we care about you. You’ve been hurt so much, you’re vulnerable and…” Andie sucked in a quick breath. “What you’re doing is dangerous, Julie. Really dangerous. You should know that. Mrs. X ended up dead. Or have you forgotten?”

“I haven’t forgotten, I…I think about her, Leah Robertson, all the time. I think about them, you know?”

“I know,” Andie said softly. “I do, too.”

Julie passed a hand over her eyes. “Do you ever wonder if it wasn’t chance that we were there, that we were the ones who saw them?”

Andie drew her eyebrows together. “If not chance, Julie, then what?”

“Maybe it was us because…because it was our own futures we were seeing.”

“Stop it, Julie. You’re scaring me.”

“But why was it us, Andie?” She searched her expression, her own desperate. “Why?”

“Because it was, that’s all. It doesn’t have anything to do with us except when we allow it to.”

“You’re right, of course.” Julie smiled, though to Andie it looked forced. “Sometimes my imagination gets the best of me. It always has.”

“Is it your imagination? Tell me the truth, Julie. Who is this guy? What are you into?”

“Just a guy, okay. And I’m not into anything dangerous, Andie. Harmless games, nothing heavy. I promise you, I’m not that stupid.”

Andie hesitated, wanting desperately to believe her. “You’re sure? Those marks on your wrists don’t look harmless to me.”

“I’m sure. I’m in control of this.” She laughed and gave her a hug. “Promise me you won’t tell Raven.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Please, Andie. I’m in love with him. I am. And he loves me, too.”

Andie bit back a sigh. She had heard those exact words from Julie many times before, too many to count. Julie looked to being loved by others as a way to validate herself, her behavior. She looked to love as a way to feel good about herself. It was all part of her addiction.

This time it was Julie who caught Andie’s hands, Julie who begged. “I can’t bear for her to know. She’ll be so mad at me. She’ll be disappointed that I…that I let her down again.”

“Raven loves you, Julie. She’s worried, like I am. And she’ll be glad that you trusted her enough to—”

“No, she won’t.” Julie shook her head again. “She’s not like you, Andie. She expects me to be better than I am.”

Andie’s heart broke for her friend. In that moment she hated Reverend Cooper, hated him with every fiber of her being. The man should be in jail for the psychological abuse he had heaped on his daughter. But the law only acknowledged physical attacks, though blows to the spirit were every bit as damaging, maybe more so.

“You are good, Julie. Do you hear me? You’re strong and smart and kind. You deserve to be loved.” Her friend’s expression said it all, but Andie didn’t give up. “You deserve to be loved,” she repeated. “You deserve kindness.”

“So, be kind to me. Keep my secret, just for a little while. You’ll understand when you meet him.”

Andie searched her friend’s gaze. “When Julie? When will I meet him?”

“Soon. I promise. So, will you do it? Keep this from Raven?”

Andie sighed. She didn’t like having to lie to one friend to keep the confidence of another. It made her feel uneasy and disloyal. Indeed, Raven would be furious—and hurt—if she found out. And she would, eventually, find out.

But Julie was right. Raven expected more from Julie than she was able to give. When it came to friendship, Raven kept demanding standards.

“All right,” she said, heart sinking. “I’ll keep your secret. For now.”

“You’re the best!” Julie hugged her. “Thank you! Thank you. You and Raven are all I’ve got. I don’t want her to be mad at me.”

“No, we’re not all you have. You’ve got you, Julie. And that’s a pretty wonderful thing.” She reached out and cupped her friend’s cheek, a sense of urgency pressing in on her, a sense that Julie was on a clock. And that her time was running out. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. You’ve got to promise you’ll be careful with this guy. That you’ll play it smart.”

“I will. I promise.” Julie smiled and hugged her. “You’ll see, Andie, this guy’s the one who’s going to change my life forever.”

N
ick couldn’t stop thinking about Andie Bennett. He had enjoyed their evening together—the easiness of their conversation, the sound of her laugh, the way she had treated Mara, with warmth and respect, something adults didn’t always show children.

Most of all, he had enjoyed the way he caught her looking at him, as if she wanted to eat him up. That look had gone straight to his head, from there dead south.

It had been a long time since he’d had dinner—or anything else—with a woman who had looked at him like that. From that moment on, he’d been able to think of little but how she would feel in his arms, his bed.

Why hadn’t he kissed her?
He’d wanted to. More than he’d wanted anything in a long time. She wouldn’t have said no. Hell, she had all but sent him an engraved invitation.

Nick frowned. He’d called himself a number of names in the week since then, jackass among them. But the fact was, it hadn’t felt right. Not the time or the moment, not being with her.

It wouldn’t work.
They
wouldn’t work. Not that he was looking for a relationship, he wasn’t. Which was precisely the problem. Andie Bennett wasn’t the type of woman who jumped into bed with somebody on a whim. And certainly not a still-married, Italian cop with a ready-made family and a bad attitude.

Nope, Andie Bennett would want a lot more than a few laughs and a quick trip to paradise. She would expect a lot more.

He smiled to himself and passed a hand across his jaw, realizing he needed a shave. And when had he become such an expert on Dr. Andie Bennett? For all he knew, she slept around as a matter of course. For all he knew, still-married, Italian cops were her specialty.

Yeah, right. And so were little green men from Mars.

“Nick, buddy, heads up.” His partner tossed a couple of reports on his desk, then folded himself into the chair opposite Nick.

Nick smiled. “What’s up, Bobby?”

“Same old shit. What about you?”

“Business as usual.”

“That so? Then why have you been sitting here, staring into space for fifteen minutes? One might even call it mooning.” His partner grinned. “What’re you mooning over, Nick? Or should I say who?”

“Kiss mine,” Nick said good-naturedly. He had made the mistake of telling Bobby about his dinner with Andie. Ever since, the other man had taken every opportunity to razz him about it.

Nick shuffled aside the reports, reaching for the Pierpont file beneath them. Before he’d gotten sidetracked by thoughts of Andie Bennett, he had been mulling over a couple of puzzling facts about Martha and Edward Pierpont.

“You aware of these?” Nick asked, referring to the four threatening letters Edward Pierpont had received in the last months before his death. He slid them across the desk.

Bobby scanned them. “Anonymous, right? No leads.”

“Right.” Nick frowned. “Got the last one two weeks before his death. It prompted him to buy a gun and keep it loaded by his bed.”

“What are you thinking?”

Nick lifted a shoulder. “That it’s odd. A little over a week after buying a gun to protect himself from an anonymous threat, he’s killed with that very gun.”

“By his wife.”

“Exactly.”

Bobby tossed the letters back onto the desk. “You thinking premeditated?” He shook his head. “She has the bruises. The kid corroborates her story. Pierpont was out of his head that night. The kid heard him say he was going to kill his wife. I’m not saying I buy into the self-defense shit, but premeditated? That’s a stretch, buddy.”

Nick let out a long breath. “Yeah, I know.” He glanced down at the file, something nagging at him. “But it still bothers me.”

Bobby whistled low, under his breath. “Don’t look now, partner, but you’ve got company.”

Nick looked up. Andie Bennett stood in the doorway of the crowded squad room, talking to one of the uniforms. The man pointed Nick’s way, and she started toward him.

He watched her approach, acknowledging pleasure at seeing her, acknowledging attraction. He caught Bobby grinning at him, and scowled. “Fuck you.”

“Sorry, buddy, I’m already spoke for.” Bobby reached into his breast pocket and tossed something at him. Nick caught it.
A package of breath mints.

“Just in case you get lucky.”

Nick dropped the roll of candy on his desk and stood. “Andie, hello.”

“Hello, Nick.” She smiled and turned to Bobby. “Detective O’Shea.”

Grinning now from ear-to-ear, Bobby stood. “It’s good to see you again, Dr. Bennett.”

Nick ignored his partner and motioned toward the chair. “Have a seat, Andie.”

“Thank you.” She took it and looked at him. “How’s Mara?”

“Good. She asked about you. She was upset with me that I didn’t wake her up to say goodbye the other night.” Bobby made a sound, a cross between a cough and a laugh, and Nick glared at him. “Aren’t there some criminals you’re supposed to be busting?”

“Not that I know of.” Bobby leaned back in the chair, folding his arms behind his head, making himself nice and comfy.

Nick cleared his throat. “No, I definitely think there’s something you’re supposed to be doing.”

Bobby widened his eyes in exaggerated innocence. “Oh, I get it. Crime. Bad guys. My job.” He stood and smiled at Andie once more. “I hope to see you again real soon, Dr. Bennett. Real soon.”

Nick watched him walk away, then turned to Andie. Her cheeks were pink. “You have to excuse my partner, he suffers from the delusion that he’s funny.”

Her lips lifted. “I could help him with that. Delusions are one of my specialties.”

He laughed and rested his elbows on the desk. “How are you, Andie?”

“Good. Fine. And you?”

“Same.”
Damn, she was pretty.
Nick fought the urge to drop his gaze to her mouth or any other part of her that might get him into trouble. “I meant to call, to see how you were doing. It’s been a crazy week here.”

She shrugged, brushing off his apology. “Don’t think twice about it.” She reached in her purse and took out a plain white, business-size envelope and held it out. “I got this today. I thought you’d be interested.”

Speaking of delusions—there went his, the one about her coming here today because she couldn’t resist him.

Nick took the envelope. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Yes.”

He opened it and pulled out the contents—a fifteen-year-old newspaper clipping, one he recognized. One he, Andie and her two friends were named in.

Murder Still Unsolved, Teens Questioned.

Across the article’s text someone had scrawled one word:
Liar.

Nick arched his eyebrows. “Interesting.”

“What do you think it means?”

“Whoever sent this seems to believe somebody didn’t tell the truth fifteen years ago. Any idea who that might be, Andie?”

She shook her head, looking frustrated, scared. “He said nearly the same thing that time he called. He said that I ‘knew everything, but I didn’t tell the truth.’” She frowned. “But I don’t know what he’s talking about, Nick. Fifteen years ago I told the police everything. So did Raven and Julie.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.” Her voice rose slightly. “I’m sure.”

“Can I hang on to this?” She nodded and he slid it back into the envelope.

A moment of silence fell between them. She lowered her gaze to the desk; it landed on the Pierpont file and the collaged letters, lying on top.

“Did you know about those?” he asked.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Martha mentioned them and that Edward was…unnerved.”

“Frightened, you mean.”

“Yes.”

“You know he’d bought a gun to protect himself?”

Again she hesitated, and again, he suspected, to decide whether answering broke her oath of confidentiality. She must have decided it didn’t. “Yes,” she murmured, “I knew.”

“How did you react to the news?”

“I was uncomfortable with it. For obvious reasons.” She shifted in her seat. “Why don’t we change the subject, Nick?”

He smiled. “For obvious reasons?”

She returned his smile, looking relieved. “Yes.”

“One last thing, though.” He leaned forward, trying his best to adopt his demeanor of the other night, to resurrect their friendly camaraderie—and feeling like a heel for it. “You don’t find it odd that he died by his own gun, only a week or so after having bought it?”

She stiffened. “I find it tragic, Detective.”

“You don’t think it’s odd that Martha Pierpont encouraged him to buy a gun, despite the fact that he was violent? Despite the fact that there was a teenager in the home?”

Andie drew her eyebrows together. “What?”

“Odd,” he repeated, “that Martha Pierpont encouraged her violent, abusive husband to keep a loaded gun by their bed? The store clerk who sold them the gun said she encouraged him to do it when he hesitated.”

She struggled, he saw, to compose her features. He wondered why.

“I don’t know anything about that,” she said after a moment, collecting her purse. She started to stand. “But I do know this conversation is inappropriate for me to be having.”

“Anything new with your kinky patient?”

She blinked, surprised by his sudden shift in conversation. “Nothing I can talk about. You know that.”

He got up, making a sound of frustration. “Dammit, Andie, I don’t like this. What if he’s the one who’s sending you these clippings? What if he’s the one who broke into your house?”

“I can’t give you his name.” She curled her fingers around the strap of her purse. “I can’t.”

“What if he’s a killer?”

The sentence landed heavily between them. She paled. “He’s not,” she said, her words lacking conviction. “I know he’s not.”

“How?” Nick took a step toward her. “How do you know he isn’t the one who sent the clippings? How do you know he’s not the one who called you, the one who broke into your home and left Mr. and Mrs. X’s music playing? How do you know he’s not Mr. X?”

Andie started to shake, though he saw that she tried to hide it from him. “I think I would know if he was,” she said. “I work with him, Nick. The therapy process, it’s…intimate. He couldn’t hide the truth from me.”

Intimate. He didn’t like the word, what it suggested. Not in connection with Andie and this guy.

Nick stood and came around the desk to stand directly before her. “You’re wrong about him. He could hide the truth, he could. I see it all the time. If he’s a killer, you’re keeping him from justice. And you’re putting your own life in danger. Do you want to die, Andie?”

“No.” She wet her lips. “Of course not. But I’ve taken an oath, I can’t break it.”

Nick leaned toward her. He caught a whiff of her perfume, something flowery and bright. It went straight to his head. “What’s that oath worth, Andie? Tell me, is it worth dying for?”