Without Malice (The Without Series Book 1) (22 page)
Read Without Malice (The Without Series Book 1) Online
Authors: Jo Robertson
January
Frankie Jones became the worst kind of recalcitrant patient – a medical doctor forced to become dependent on others.
Slater insisted she recuperate with him at his ranch home at the foot of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Tending Cole Hansen as he gradually mended filled the boring days. Cruz visited Frankie nearly every day – she insisted he kept her sane.
Cruz insisted he found Dr. Frankie Jones distracting.
Very distracting.
“I want to move back into my father’s house,” Frankie declared one day when the snow fell lightly on the distant mountains. “Do you think I should?”
Cruz thought she looked lovely in the evening light, in spite of the weight she’d lost. “Would you feel safe there, after what’s happened?”
She shrugged and abandoned the topic. “What’s going to happen to Cole now that he’s nearly well? Will
he
be safe out there?” She gestured vaguely in a southward direction.
“As much as anywhere,” Cruz answered. “He can’t hide out at Slater’s house forever. I’m working on finding him a transitional house and Slater has a job lined up for him.”
“Good.”
His glance dropped to her mouth, thinking of kisses, getting distracted.
“I’ve given notice at Pelican Bay. Put the Crescent City house up for sale.”
“Oh?”
“I can’t go back there,” she explained. “There’s so much of the story that hasn’t been written yet.”
“Like Anson Stark and his role in the attacks on you.”
“Yes,” she answered reluctantly, “and I – well, I want to be near my father.”
Frankie wasn’t ready to reveal her father’s connection to the man his gang members called the Professor, but she wanted to be honest with Cruz. “And – and I need to find out what really happened when my mother died.”
She had shared what little she knew of her mother’s death, her father’s conviction for her murder, and his sentence of fifteen to life for second-degree murder.
Cruz tried to imagine the strain of that event on a seventeen-year-old girl, but he couldn’t. “Where did you go after it happened?”
“My mother’s sister – Aunt Elaine,” she replied shortly. “Of course, she was completely convinced – still is – that Dad killed Mom. She didn’t make life easy for me.” She turned away from his steady, dark eyes and gazed out the window to the lightly snow-dusted trees surrounding Slater’s property.
Halfway through her story, Cruz got up to make cups of hot cocoa. When they’d settled down again, he asked thoughtfully, “Do you think Stark had anything to do with your mother’s death? Is that possible?”
“I don’t know. Dad won’t say. It happened so long ago, and what reason would Stark have to harm her? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Maybe not to you when you were seventeen, but we might be able to uncover reasons from an adult perspective,” Cruz argued.
Frankie leaned forward and took one of his hands in both hers. She liked his saying “we,” as if they were a team. “We’ve got more – more dangerous concerns.”
He returned the pressure, bumped knees with her. He enjoyed the contact, however slight. “Keeping you safe is my only concern.”
She shook her head. “They’re pinning everything on Jeffrey Rawley, but I keep thinking about those organs that were removed. The skill and precision that took. I can’t see Rawley in that role.”
“Then who’s the conspirator on the outside helping Anson Stark?” Cruz asked.
So far there had been no more deaths in Bigler County or the surrounding ones.
“We’ve got our killer, Frankie. We know he killed Dickey Hinchey because we have physical evidence from his apartment. Blood evidence, DNA. Angie ID’ed him as her kidnapper.”
Frankie was convinced Jeffrey Rawley hadn’t committed all three murders. He was responsible for the kidnapping of Angie Hunt and the death of Dickey Hinchey, but she didn’t believe he killed the Hightower girl or the woman murdered in Sacramento County – the two victims whose organs were so methodically removed.
“The District Attorney isn’t going to pursue another line of investigation,” he continued. “If he does, he runs the risk of damaging the case against Rawley.”
“So any further work on the case will have to be done by the three of us,” she declared.
He laughed. “Good luck with getting Slater on board. Rogue agents in a civilian capacity?” He rose, took Frankie by one hand and tugged her to her feet. “Let’s take a walk.”
They wrapped themselves in coats and scarves. The temperature was mild despite the snowfall. They followed a well-trodden path into the woods, Cruz still holding her hand. He wasn’t going to let go. Not right away. Not any time soon.
“I want to move back into my father’s house,” Frankie repeated after a while. “I need to feel at home somewhere. Here I feel so ... unanchored.”
“Do you think that’s wise? Stark’s men found you there once.”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She ran her fingers through her loose hair. “I can’t let Anson Stark control my entire life. I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder, afraid all the time.”
“You know, Slater would be all right with you staying here indefinitely.”
“I know, but I – ”
“Or you could stay with me,” Cruz interrupted. He leaned close to her, their legs touching now, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Even though my apartment is the size of a postage stamp.”
When she didn’t pull back, he tipped his head to one side. His breath was warm and sweet on her face, his mouth inches from hers. She understood he was waiting for a signal from her. A yes.
His lips grazed hers and he pulled back, looking into gray eyes, usually calm and clear, now stormy and filled with an emotion Cruz hadn’t seen before, but recognized as passion. “My place is small,” he added inanely, “but no one would ever suspect you were living there.”
Frankie wrapped her arms around his waist, smoothed her hands up his broad back, and tilted her head, pulled him closer. “Or – or maybe we could find a place together. You could protect me there.”
He laughed softly. “Or
you
could protect
me.”
Their breaths mingled and became a whirlwind she lost herself in. This was crazy – too soon, too impetuous – all the things she wasn’t.
He kissed her, tentatively at first, and then with greater pressure. His tongue traced the seam of her lips and she opened for him. The whirlwind grew into a hurricane of emotions, her head swam with feeling, raw and gripping, and she stood on tiptoes to place her hands on either side of his face.
She felt as if she were home at last.
Epilogue
“Reverse the orders,” Anson Stark said, his sallow face as hard as marble. “They don’t know enough to hurt us.”
“Both of them – Jones and Hansen?”
“Yes.”
Griff looked skeptically at the Professor’s carved profile. “You sure? I know you don’t like leaving loose ends.”
Stark smiled slyly, the first time Griff had ever seen that particular expression on his boss’s face. “Ah, but I’ve left no loose ends, my friend. None at all.”
Griff frowned, looked puzzled and not at all sure of what was going on. As the Professor had always known, the brute was good for muscle, but little else.
He leaned against the SHU corridor and clarified for his slow-witted lieutenant. “Dr. Frankie Jones is like her father. She knows when to fold her cards. She won’t bother us anymore.”
Griff nodded, turned to leave, but Stark’s voice halted him.
“And, Griff, be sure our next physician understands the, ah,
terms
of his employment. I don’t want a repeat of the Dr. Jones fiasco.”
After Griff left, Stark was returned to his SHU cell and lay down on his bunk, contemplating the concrete ceiling.
Yes, indeed, Dr. Frankie Jones was very much like her father.
Roger Milano returned to Folsom Prison where he recovered in the hospital ward there. He wouldn’t die. He experienced only mild relief at the prognosis. Actually, he didn’t much care one way or the other. The only thing that concerned him was the future of his daughter.
He’d bet his life Anson Stark was behind this – all of it.
But he wouldn’t bet Frankie’s life.
After another week in the clinic, he was transferred to a cell, not his former one, but a new one where he had a different cellmate, an old-timer named Douglas Houser. The other inmates called him Doogie, for obvious reasons.
The man was older than Roger by several decades, and had spent most of his life in jail or prison. One look at the man’s tired, faded eyes, and Roger knew the man was there both as informant and bodyguard. Although what good the short, wiry fellow would be for protection Roger doubted.
On the third day with his new cellmate, Roger received a message inside a library book which he hadn’t ordered. The inmate librarian handed the book through the bars, lowered his voice, and said only, “Page 187.”
Police code for homicide was 187. When Roger opened the book to the designated page, a brief note said, “‘Tis in my memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it.”
Shakespeare, of course, the play
Hamlet.
The bloody bastard always did like his Shakespeare, and the warning was clear to Frank.
His silence was the price for Frankie’s safety.
Watch for the exciting sequel to “Without Malice”
Coming 2016
“Without Fear”
Follow Jo Robertson on her website at
Other Books by Jo Robertson
The Watcher
The Avenger
The Traitor
Frail Blood
Weak Flesh
The Hitman Series
“The Hitman’s Holiday”
“The Hitman’s Heart”
“The Hitman’s History”
(To Be Read in Order)
Willing Seduction, w/a Temple Rivers
Improper Seduction, w/a Temple Rivers
###