The Crush (29 page)

It was a possessive and condescending smile.

It announced that the abused one's free will had been taken away, and that, through some perverse reasoning, she should be happy about it, even grateful for her abuser's tolerance.

That was Lozada's smile for her.

He tipped the wineglass toward her lips again, but she couldn't endure that smile any longer and swatted the glass away. The wine sloshed over his hand. His eyes narrowed dangerously. He raised his hand, and she thought he was about to strike her.

But instead he lifted his hand to his mouth and licked off the wine with obscenely suggestive strokes of his tongue.

His evil smile turned into a soft laugh.

"No wonder you didn't want it, Rennie.

It's cheap. A terrible vintage. One of my first projects will be to introduce you to really fine wines."

He reached around her to set the glass of wine on the counter. His body pressed against hers and held. His nearness smothered her. She couldn't breathe and she didn't want to. She didn't want his cologne to be recorded in her olfactory memory bank.

She willed herself not to push him away. A flashback to the photo of Sally Horton enabled her to remain still and endure the pressure of his body. Lozada probably wanted her to struggle. He would welcome an excuse to assert himself as the dominator. Abusers thrived on reasons to justify their cruelty.

"You're trembling, Rennie. Are you afraid of me?" He leaned even closer. His breath ghosted across her neck. He was erect and rubbed himself against her suggestively. "Why would you be afraid of me when I want only to make you happy? Hmm?"

Finally he moved back and, with an air of amusement, took a long look at her, from the top of her head to her shoes and back up.

"Maybe before we tackle wine education we should start with something more basic. Like your wardrobe."

Placing his fingers on her collarbones, he stroked them lightly. "It's a sin to hide this figure."

His eyes lowered to her breasts and lingered there, and somehow that was worse than if he had actually touched them. "You should wear clothes that hug your body, Rennie. And the color black to offset your pale hair. I'll buy you something black and very sexy, something that shows off your breasts. Yes, definitely. Men will want to fondle you, but I'll be the only one who will."

Then his eyes returned to her face and his tone became teasing. "Of course you're not looking your best today. You've been working very hard." His fingertip traced the dark crescents beneath her eyes. "You're exhausted. Poor dear."

She swallowed the gorge that had filled her throat when he described his fantasy. "I am not your dear."

"Ah, the lady speaks. I was beginning to wonder if you'd lost the capacity."

"I want you to leave."

"But I just got here."

That was a lie, of course. It had taken him at least an hour to place all the lighted candles in her living room. Where had he been hiding when she searched the house?

As though reading her mind, he said, "I never give away trade secrets, Rennie. You should know that about me." He pinched her chin playfully.

"We do, however, have a lot to talk about."

"You're right. We do."

Pleased, he smiled. "You go first."

"Lee Howell."

"Who?"

"You killed him, didn't you? You did it as a favor to me. And the attack on Wick Threadgill. That was you too, wasn't it?"

He moved like quicksilver. He raised her blouse with one hand and ran his hand over her breasts and around the inside of the waistband of her skirt.

She shoved against his chest with all her strength.

"Get your hands off me." She slapped at his searching hands.

"Stop that!" He grabbed her hands and pulled them hard against his chest. "Rennie, Rennie, stop fighting me." His voice was gentle; his grip wasn't. "Shh, shh. Relax."

She glared up at him.

In a deceptively soft and reasonable voice, he apologized. "I'm sorry I had to do that. A few years ago the police used an undercover policewoman to try and trap me. I had to make sure you weren't wearing a wire.
Forgive me for getting a little rough. How's this?
Better now?"

He let go of her hands and squeezed her shoulders, his strong fingers flexing and relaxing rhythmically, massaging her like an attentive husband who'd just learned that his wife had had a long and tiring day.

"I'm not working for the police."

"I would be terribly disappointed in you if you were." His hands squeezed a little harder. His expression turned malevolent. "Why is it you've been spending time with Wick Threadgill?"

She made a face of dislike. "I didn't know he was a cop. He deceived me to use me."

"So why did you work so hard to save his life?"

Wesley's words of warning came back to her.

Sally Horton had been an innocent pawn in the blood rivalry between Wick and Lozada. She had died for the role she had unwittingly played.

"That's what they pay me for," she said flippantly. "I don't always get to choose my patient. In this case, fate chose me. I drew the short straw. I couldn't let him bleed out there in the emergency room."

His eyes searched hers. He curved his hand around her throat. His thumb found her carotid and stroked it. "I would be very unhappy if you were to cheat on me with Wick Threadgill."

"There's nothing between us."

"Has he ever kissed you?"

"No."

"Touched you like this?" He caressed her breast.

Her throat was too tight to speak. She shook her head.

"That cop has never been this hard for you, Rennie," he whispered, pressing himself against her.

"He never could be this hard for you."

"Hands in the air, Lozada!"

Oren Wesley barged in, followed by two other officers, service pistols drawn and aimed. The three fanned out into a semicircle around them.

"Hands up, I said! Now, move away from her!"

Rennie was dumbfounded. But as Lozada complied with the order his face became a placid mask. Within seconds he'd been transformed into an identical replica of himself, the kind of perfect effigy that would appear in a wax museum. He revealed no anger, surprise, or concern. "Detective Wesley, I didn't know you stayed up this late."

"Assume the position."

Shrugging negligently, Lozada leaned forward upon the kitchen table. His hands were splayed near a basket of fruit where the bananas were getting too ripe. It was a bizarre thought to register when a would-be rapist and reputed killer was being patted down in her kitchen, but Rennie found it a welcome distraction.

The policeman who had the honors retrieved a small handgun from Lozada's pants pocket. "It's registered," Lozada said.

"Handcuff him," Wesley instructed.

"He'll have a knife in an ankle holster."

While one of the policemen was dragging Lozada's hands to the small of his back for cuffing, the other knelt and raised his trousers leg. He slid a small, shiny knife from the sheath. Lozada's expression never changed.

Wesley looked across at her. "You all right?"

Still too astonished to speak, she nodded.

One of the policemen was reading Lozada his Miranda rights, but he was looking at Wesley over the cop's head. "What am I being arrested for?"

"Murder."

"Interesting. And who was the alleged victim?"

"Sally Horton."

"The chambermaid in my building?"

"Save the innocent act for the jury,"

Wesley said, giving Rennie a glance. "You also stabbed Wick Threadgill in attempted murder."

"This is a farce."

"Well, we'll see what turns up in our investigation, won't we? In the meantime, you'll be a guest of the county."

"I'll be out by morning."

"As I said, we'll see."

Wesley motioned with his head for the other pair of policemen to escort him out.

Lozada smiled back at Rennie.

"Good-bye, love. See you very soon. I'm sorry about this interruption. Detective Wesley loves to grandstand. It's compensation for other deficiencies." As he drew even with Wesley, he said, "I think your dick was buried with Joe Threadgill."

One of the policemen shoved him hard in the back. They disappeared through the door into the living room. Rennie sagged against the counter.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

"You said you wouldn't arrest him until you had solid evidence. Does that mean--"

"All this means is that I wore my sergeant down. He agreed to me bringing Lozada in while we're running our traps. If we get real lucky--and luck seems to be in short supply when we're trying to nail Lozada--something incriminating will turn up."

"I take it nothing has so far."

He gave a noncommittal shrug. "We can't hold him indefinitely without arraigning him, but we'll drag it out for as long as possible.

Unless we can collect some hard evidence to support Wick's allegation, it would amount to a pissing contest in court. If the DA would even take it to court."

"He would have to, wouldn't he? If Wick identified Lozada as his attacker?"

"The DA'S office might be reluctant to take only Wick's word for it to the grand jury.

They would factor in the history between Wick and Lozada, which sorely reduces Wick's credibility. Besides, they're not too fond of him over there."

"The DA'S office? How come?"

A cop poked his head through the door and spoke to Wesley. "He's on his way to lockup."

"I'm right behind you."

The policeman withdrew. Rennie followed Wesley into her living room, where the candles still burned. Their scent was cloying. She went to one of her front windows and opened it so the room could air out. Several patrol cars were pulling away from the curb in front of her house, strobes flashing.

Pajama-clad neighbors had congregated on the sidewalk and were talking among themselves. Mr. Williams was in the middle of them, holding center stage and gesturing theatrically.

"How did you know Lozada was here, Detective? Are you still watching my house?"

"No. We got a call. Your neighbor.

A Mr. Williams. Said something weird was going on."

God, this was a nightmare.

Wesley stood in the center of the room, taking a slow look around. The roses didn't escape his notice. When he finally came back around to Rennie, he said, "I talked to a hospital board member today. He said you had accepted the position vacated by Dr. Howell."

Her chin went up a notch. "I gave them my decision this afternoon. After my meeting with you. I didn't see that accepting made any difference.

You were going to continue believing that I hired Lozada to kill Lee whether I took it or not."

He gestured toward the roses.

"Congratulations."

"This wasn't a celebration, if that's what you're thinking. All this was here when I arrived home from the hospital. He broke in again."

"You didn't call to report it."

"I didn't have a chance."

He looked down at her rumpled clothing.

"He was terrorizing me," she exclaimed. "He has this, this mad notion that I'm going to become his lady love." She told him everything that Lozada had said to her, even the most embarrassing parts. "He manhandled me. He thought I might be wearing a wire."

"A wire?"

"When I mentioned Lee Howell's murder, he searched me. He was afraid I was working for you to try to trap him."

"Well, we both know how wrong that is."

Disliking his snide tone, she said,

"Detective, I did not invite him here. Why would you automatically assume that I had?"

"Did you break something?"

"In the bathroom. He'd left another of those bouquets in my bathtub. I was so angry I knocked it over."

"Mr. Williams was in his backyard waiting for his dog to do his business. He heard the crash and tried to call you, see if you were okay."

Wesley spied the cordless telephone on the end table.

Rennie picked it up, then held it out toward Wesley. There was no dial tone. It had been disconnected for so long that the obnoxious beeping alert had played itself out.

"I guess he didn't want to be disturbed," she said quietly.

"I guess not."

She returned the telephone to its usual place on the table, then drew her hand back quickly. "Should I have touched that?"

"He doesn't have fingerprints. Anyhow, it doesn't matter. We already know that Lozada was here, and this isn't a crime scene."

"Since when did breaking and entering stop being a crime? He came in and made himself at home."

"Yeah. Mr. Williams told the nine-one-one dispatcher that he looked right at home. After reporting the disturbance, he said,