Untitled (28 page)

   "Wasn't even there."

   "But he could have been. Earlier. He could have—"

   "So could a thousand other people. No." Fatigue washed over me like a wave, and I yawned. "It's no use, Eve. You say Lorraine didn't have anything to do with Sarah's murder."

   "No way." She nodded. "I tried to bring it up in conversation, you know, about how some men cheat on their wives and how it ruins relationships. Lorraine never batted an eyelash. I don't think she knows. And besides, I told you, she's too nice."

   "And we didn't get any reaction to the bracelet—"

   In horror, I looked at my wrist. It was bare.

   Eve patted my arm. "Not to worry. I've got the collar. I sent it home with Doc."

   I breathed a sigh of relief. "Nobody reacted to the bracelet," I said. "Not Dougy and not—"

   "Of course Doug didn't." Eve was indignant. "I told you, he didn't have anything to do with Sarah other than being her boss. No way did he buy her that collar."

   I was too tired to argue. "So we know it wasn't Dougy. We know it wasn't Lorraine. We know it wasn't the senator."

   "That leaves Dylan Monroe." Eve was insistent.

   "Maybe."

   "Maybe?" She made a face. "He's the only suspect we have left."

   "Or not."

   At the sound of Jim's voice, we both looked toward the doorway. "I've just been in the waiting area," he said, walking into the cubicle. "And the TV was on. The reports are all over the news. I don't think you'll be proving anything about Dylan Monroe. He was found earlier tonight, you see. Shot dead and dumped in the Potomac. And that's not all."

   As if that wasn't enough?

   I braced myself for the rest of Jim's news.

   "According to the report I just saw, there were notes and things found in his apartment. And more on his computer at work. It seems that Dylan was conducting an investigation of his own into Sarah's death. I don't know about you two . . ." Jim looked from Eve to me. "But my guess is that he found something. Something somebody doesn't want anyone else to know."

   As hard as I tried, I couldn't reason my way through any of this. Facts swam through my head. Dylan was looking into Sarah's murder? It didn't explain why he'd threatened her, but it sure went a long way toward helping me figure out why he'd been so uncooperative. Dylan had his own agenda and his own investigation to conduct. No wonder he was less than helpful.

   And now he was dead.

   My head pounded like a high school marching band drum line.

   "It doesn't make sense," I groaned. "None of it makes sense."

   "And none of it has to. At least not tonight." Jim stepped between Eve and the bed. "You're staying here. You'll rest, and in the morning, your head will be clearer. Until then, don't worry about it. Nobody else is going to bother you."

   
As if.

   No sooner were the words out of Jim's mouth than I saw Tyler and the senator jockeying for position outside the cubicle. The senator got through the doorway first, and Tyler didn't look happy about it.

   The senator took Eve's hand. "Did you tell her?"

   Eve's cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. "I was going to wait until morning. You know, when Annie's feeling better."

   "Great. Wait until Annie's feeling better." Tyler moved forward. "Until then, if you'd all just excuse yourselves, I've got a couple more questions to ask her."

   I sighed. "And I'm so tired, I can't keep my eyes open."

   "And we really should tell her now," the senator said. "If the news gets out . . ."

   Tyler snorted. "If this guy's bothering you . . ." he told Eve.

   "This guy . . ." Douglas Mercy's eyes snapped. "Is a United States senator, detective, and I think the least you can do is control your jealousy."

   "Jealousy? You think that's what it is?" Tyler snickered. "I'm here to tell you, Senator, I was just trying to do you a favor. This woman is—"

   "What?" The senator stepped up, toe-to-toe with Tyler. He raised his chin, and his hands curled into fists.

   Even muzzy-headed, I knew trouble was a-comin'. Fortunately, so did Jim, and he hadn't been bonked on the bean. He stepped between Tyler and the senator.

   "It's been a long night," Jim said. "I think you'll both agree."

   "Which is why Eve needs to get out of here." Tyler never took his eyes off the senator. "My car is right outside the door," he said, and we all knew he wasn't talking to Douglas Mercy. "You go on ahead; I'll get you home."

   "You'll do no such thing." The senator's eyes flashed lightning. He leaned around Jim, the better to aim a laser look at Tyler. "A woman returns home with the man who was her escort for the evening. I don't know about where you come from, but in the more refined segments of society, that's how it's done."

   "Refined, huh?" Tyler put a hand on Jim's arm to push him out of the way. "Well, if that's what you call it—"

   "Boys! Boys!" Eve stepped forward. "I think we need to settle this once and for all. Tyler . . ." She looked his way. "You're just gonna have to face facts, sugar. You don't have any claim on me. Not anymore."

Tyler's mouth thinned. "And this guy—"

   "This guy is who I'm going home with tonight." Eve wound her arm through the senator's. "And not only that, but we have an announcement. Tyler, Jim, Annie . . ." She looked at all of us and grinned. "Doug and I are engaged!"

       fistfight between Senator Mercy and Tyler . . . It was too much excitement for one night, and I was really feeling it. By the time I was taken up to a private room on another floor, it was past two, and I was completely wiped out. I knew Jim must have been tired, too, so after the nurses had me settled, I fully expected him to say good night.

   Which is why I was surprised when he plunked down in the chair next to my bed.

   "Staying for the night," he said.

   I attempted one shake of my head, then decided it wasn't the best idea. "Don't have to," I said on the end of a yawn. "Go home. Sleep. I'll be fine."

   "Yes, you will be." He sounded more certain of it than I felt. "And I'm going to make sure of it." He snapped off the light. "I'll be as quiet as a mouse, so I won't be any bother, and if you need anything, I'll be right here beside you."

   "Won't need . . . anything." My words wandered along with my thoughts, and sleep wrapped me like a wooly blanket. "Won't . . . bother you. Just . . . sleep."

   I couldn't see much in the dark, but I heard him slide forward in his chair. He kissed my cheek. "Good night, Annie," he said. "I'll see you in the morning."

   When I drifted off, I was smiling, but not for long. A weird dream engulfed me.

   In it, I was walking down a long church aisle in a pink matron-of-honor gown that was too tight and cut way too low for my curvy figure. Doc was barking louder than the organ music playing in the background. People in the pews were throwing flowers at me, and one of them clunked me on the head.

   It made a sound loud enough to jerk me awake.

   I stared into the dark. Had I been asleep for minutes? Or hours? I knew I wasn't in my own bed, and for a few scary seconds, I wasn't sure where I was or what I was doing there.

   Until I heard Jim's gentle, even breaths from the chair in the corner.

   Glancing that way, I breathed a sigh of relief, and automatically, I found myself smiling again. In the dim square of light that seeped into the room from the window, I saw that Jim's tartan bow tie was loose and hanging around his neck. His tuxedo shirt was unbuttoned at the throat. His head was thrown back against the high back of the chair, and there was a lock of hair hanging over his forehead. A wave of peace washed over me. I closed my eyes again.

   Until I heard a sound.

   The same sound that the dream flower made when it bonked me on the head.

   Since I wasn't asleep and no longer dreaming—at least, I didn't think I was—this didn't track quite right. Even in my mixed-up brain. Carefully, I lifted my head off the pillow so I could look around. I was just in time to see a woman step into the room and close the door behind her.

   "I'm awake," I whispered. "You don't have to worry about disturbing me if you need to take my blood pressure or something."

   Except for the dim glow of her white lab coat and a thatch of dark hair, I couldn't see much of the nurse. She didn't speak a word.

   She didn't check my blood pressure, either.

   Or my temperature.

   Or feel for my pulse.

   Instead, I saw a glint of light against the syringe she held in one hand. She moved toward the IV line attached to a bag of fluids that hung above my bed.

   "This will teach you to mind your own business," the nurse growled. While I was still wondering what was going on, she plucked up the IV line with one hand and put the needle of the syringe against it.

   I still wasn't sure if I was dreaming or not, but I wasn't going to take any chances.

   My head might be busted, but my lungs were working fine, and just to prove it, I let out a scream loud enough to wake the dead.

   Fortunately, it also woke Jim. More fortunately, he's one of those morning types who wakes bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready to take on the world.

   Or in this case, the mystery nurse.

   The second Jim's eyes flew open; he knew something was wrong, and he wasn't about to take any chances as to what it was. He leapt out of his chair and tackled the nurse.

   We weren't exactly subtle, what with me screaming and the commotion Jim and the nurse made as they wrestled around the room knocking into the bed and the dresser across from it. A second later I heard footsteps racing down the hallway. The door flew open; the overhead lights went on. When they did, I saw that Jim had control of the situation.

   And of none other than Lorraine Mercy.

   "Dr. Mercy!" The floor nurse who'd turned on the lights looked from Dougy's wife to the syringe she still had in her hand. "What on earth are you doing here at this time of night? And what . . . ?" Don't ask me how the woman had the presence of mind, but before Lorraine could move, she snatched the syringe out of her hand and held it up for a better look. "Air?" The nurse looked past the syringe to me. "You weren't—"

   "She sure was." Jim was standing behind Lorraine with his arms wrapped good and tight around her. I was glad. When she looked my way, her eyes flashed with hatred. I gulped down a wave of nausea. "I saw her. She was going to—"

   "You little bitch!" Lorraine squirmed and kicked. She elbowed Jim in the ribs. His cheeks darkened, and he puffed out an
oof
of surprise, but no way was he going to let her get anywhere near me. His determination only made her more angry. "You were going to ruin everything," she spat. "You were going to tell everyone about Dougy and Sarah. Once word got out and the media got wind of it . . ." She screeched her frustration. "You were going to ruin my chance of ever being First Lady!"

   I sucked in a breath of complete surprise. "Then you were the one? The drive-by shooting? And the flowers coming down on us? You were the one who tried to kill us!"

   "Damned straight." Lorraine's eyes flashed. "I had to keep your mouths shut. And now . . ." She shot a nasty look over her shoulder at Jim. "You weren't supposed to be here. You weren't supposed to stop me. Nobody is supposed to stop me. And now you—all of you—you're going to ruin everything."

   It was Jim who had the presence of mind to set her straight. When she banged her heel into his shin, he never even flinched. "Ruin everything, eh? Sorry to tell you, Mrs. Mercy, but you just did that all by yourself."

   The truth slammed into Lorraine. Eyes burning, mouth thinned with fury, she went rigid. Then like a balloon pricked by a pin, she collapsed.

   "You were going to tell," she screamed, tears sliding down her cheeks. "You were going to ruin everything."

   She was still crying and screaming when hospital security showed up and hauled her away.

       me. So were Larry, Hank, and Charlie. And Heidi, Marc, and Damien, of course. Damien was the one who'd lured Jim to Bellywasher's with an early morning phone call about an emergency—the only thing, we'd figured, that would get him out of my apartment, where he'd been playing mother hen since my return from the hospital. (Just for the record, I was loving every minute of it.)

   As soon as he was gone, I slipped out with Marc. While Damien and Heidi kept Jim busy in the kitchen, we got to work. When we were done, I signaled from the restaurant, and they led Jim out, blindfolded, to the sounds of Larry, Hank, and Charlie thrumming their hands against the bar like a drum roll.

   "This is making me very nervous!" Jim laughed like it was no big deal, but I could tell he wasn't kidding. Not completely. I couldn't blame him. And I couldn't stand the thought of keeping the surprise a moment longer.

   "OK," I said. "It's time," and when I did, Monsieur Lavoie stepped forward and pulled the blindfold off Jim's eyes.

   "So, what do you think?"

   I would have liked to twirl around like a model at a car show, but even though it was two days after the incident at the fund-raiser and Lorraine's middle-of-the-night attack, I wasn't taking any chances. Not with my head, or with my broken arm. Instead of twirling, I made a Vanna-like gesture (with my good arm, of course) toward the walls of Bellywasher's.

   Jim's mouth fell open. He looked over the pictures that jammed the walls, and at the kilts and the old broadswords, the Scottish flag that had been hung above the door, and the thistle border that had been stenciled on every single wall just that morning. "It looks just like it did when Uncle Angus owned the place. Only there's even more junk!"