Cold Target Part 14

"Yes," Fuller said shortly, anger smoldering in his eyes. "I didn't go near the--" He clamped his mouth shut. "You have no right, anyway. I hear you went on homicide."

"You might say I have a special interest in this particular case," Gage said. "If you're lying to me ..."

"I'm not, Detective. I have to go. I have a date."

Fuller tried to push past him, and Gage grabbed his arm. "I hope to h.e.l.l she knows what she's getting into."

"Leave me alone, Gaynor, or I'll--"

"You'll what? Report the fact that you have a protection order filed against you?"

"Leave me alone."

"I'll have an eye on you for a long time," Gage said. "And if anything else happens to Ms. Rawson, I'll come looking for you. So you'd better start praying nothing does."

He turned abruptly. He had done what he could. From now on, Meredith Rawson would have to take care of herself. He didn't need the aggravation.

He would try to interview her father for the Prescott case. He had sent all the evidence that still existed, including the victim's clothes, to the lab to check for DNA. If none of it produced anything, he would move on to another case.

Charles Rawson opened the door to his home and entered. He glanced at the grandfather clock just inside the foyer. After nine. He neatly laid his briefcase on the table at the front of the hall. Mrs. Edwards would take it upstairs.

It had been one h.e.l.l of a day. The case would go to the jury tomorrow after a four-week trial. He doubted that the jury would deliberate more than a few hours before returning with a verdict in favor of the plaintiffs. He expected to lose the company's retainer shortly thereafter.

He headed for the library and the scotch. Pouring himself an unusually large gla.s.s, he sat down in the chair in the corner and took a long swallow, wis.h.i.+ng the warm liquid would dull his senses.

Everything in his life was going to h.e.l.l.

He knew he should visit his wife. Part of him wanted to. But she wouldn't recognize him, according to the doctor, and if she did, she wouldn't want him there.

He would honor one last wish.

He thought back to the day he had first seen her. 'Really' seen her. She was only seventeen, but he'd thought she was the most beautiful vision in the world.

She was the daughter of the senior partner of the law firm he'd joined three years out of law school. She'd been only fifteen when he'd started, and he'd dismissed her as a child. But two years later, she appeared at one of the Mardi Gras b.a.l.l.s he'd attended, and he hadn't been able to take his gaze away from her. She'd been breathtakingly lovely.

He'd known then he had to have her. And he would do anything to get her.

He had.

He swallowed hard and s.h.i.+fted his mind from pointless regret. His secretary had taken a call from a Detective Gaynor who wanted an appointment with him. When his secretary had refused to relay the message without a reason, the detective mentioned reopening the Oliver Prescott case.

Charles thought he'd buried that years ago.

He could avoid the detective for several days, but that might arouse suspicions. A quick interview with responsive answers should end the matter.

Charles would call him tomorrow.

And then there was Meredith. Dear G.o.d, how could he slow her down? Convince her that her search was quixotic? And if he couldn't, would he lose her completely, too?

He took another long sip of scotch. He didn't like drinking by himself. He always feared he would become like his own father, who drank himself into stupors. 'Discipline. That was what was important'.

A drink of scotch when he arrived home. A gla.s.s or two of wine with dinner. He usually drew the line there.

Tonight he could drink the entire bottle.

He looked at his right hand. His fingers were clenched in a tight fist. He tried to relax them and was immediately sorry. They were shaking.

'BISBEE'.

The library staff now greeted her as an old friend.

One reason, of course, was the common love of books. Her son could already read the simplest of books, and he did so vigorously. And since she still didn't sleep well at night, she ran through books at a fast rate.

But though she checked out books for both herself and her son, she had another, more urgent reason to haunt the library. She wanted to search the New Orleans newspaper for news of a murder and her disappearance.

Worried that someone might check the computer to see why she used it so frequently, she also turned to papers in Chicago, Kansas City, Atlanta and Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C. She would occasionally visit papers of Los Angeles and even Detroit. She was, she told the librarian, a news addict.

Once she reached the New Orleans paper, she skimmed through the front page, the local news and the society section. She stopped at a story about a symphony function. Among the attending dignitaries was her husband.

How had he explained her disappearance?

She saw nothing else of importance. Her gaze went again to Harry. Her son was sitting at a table not far from her, reading a book.

He was such a good little boy. Curious and loving. He had asked about his father last night. How long could she continue to put him off?

She visited the website of another newspaper, then closed the browser and rose. She held out her hand to her son. "Let's go. It's time to eat."

"Tacos," he said happily.

"I think I can manage that."

She checked out several books for herself and a pile for Harry.

One of the librarians smiled at her. "I saw him with the books. He's reading already?"

"Some. He knew his alphabet four months ago."

The librarian beamed at both of them. "Did you find everything you wanted?"

"Yes, thank you."

"I hope you like Bisbee. We're always delighted to have new residents, especially nice ones who love books."

There was a sincerity in the woman's voice that warmed Holly. She had always been admired because of her looks, because of her family's position, then because of her husband's career. She realized now how pleasant it was to be liked for herself, to be an individual rather than a mere adjunct of someone else. She had married far too young. She'd had no chance to explore the world on her own.

She was startled now at how much she wanted to do just that, especially this region. She was fascinated by the history, by the stark beauty of her new environment, by the courage of the settlers who had defied any number of dangers to live here. It gave her heart.

"I do," she said. "I like Bisbee very much."

Holly and Harry left the library. The small diner where she planned to get tacos was next to Special Things. She would stop in there and see how her sculptures were doing. She also wanted to thank Marty for including them in the gathering of friends.

The sun was hot and she was grateful for her comfortable clothes. She wore mostly T-s.h.i.+rts and shorts or jeans purchased at a discount store.

They walked to Marty's store. The gallery owner smiled as Holly entered with her shopping bag full of books. "Hi. When are you going to have some more sculptures for me?"

"I have some ladybugs and a dancing pig."

"I'll send someone to get them," Marty said. "And by the way, I'll need your Social Security number."

The simple comment was like a slam from a sledgehammer. She hadn't thought that would be necessary.

"Why?"

"You're an independent contractor but I'm responsible for reporting any money I pay out."

"I'm sorry. I never can remember the number. I'll get it for you."

"No hurry," Marty said.

"I never worked. My husband did the taxes. I..." She knew how stupid that sounded.

Something flickered across Marty's eyes.

Suspicion?

Holly wished she was quicker on the uptake, that her mind was more facile.

Marty shrugged. "We'll let it go for now. I really don't need it until the end of the year." Then her gaze searched her face. "You need a phone, you know. In case of an emergency."

"Money is a little tight right now and--"

Marty cut her off. "Tell you what. You live in my house. I'll get one there in my name. You shouldn't be without one."

Grat.i.tude flooded Holly. "Thank you. I'll pay the bill...."

"You need a phone. Just keep supplying me with your garden creatures," Marty said, waving aside any additional explanations.

Holly could only nod wordlessly.

"Liz?"

Holly looked at Marty.

"If you need anything, I'm here."

Holly nodded, moved beyond words at the conditions-free offer. She wanted to stay in Bisbee. She wanted it more than she could remember wanting anything. Somehow, she would do it. Both she and Harry needed roots. Friends.

"Let's go get those tacos," she urged Harry, who was investigating some carved birds.

As she left the shop, her quickened heart slowed. She took a deep breath. She had just decided. She wasn't going to run again.

*Chapter Nine*

'NEW ORLEANS'.

The newly purchased S&W .38 revolver was a hefty weight in Meredith's purse as she entered her mother's room. But she felt safer, more in control.

This was her last stop before returning to the hotel for badly needed rest. She was exhausted. Physically and emotionally.

The private duty nurse put down the book she was reading as Meredith entered and shook her head to Meredith's unspoken question.

"No change."

The room was full of new flowers. Mostly from her father, she supposed. He seemed to think that flowers were a subst.i.tute for his presence.

"I heard what happened," the nurse said.

"It seems no place is safe these days," Meredith said.

"Do they know who did it?"

"No."

"It makes me nervous to be in the lot."

Meredith didn't say that she didn't think the attack in the hospital parking lot was a random crime. "I would suggest calling someone from security when you leave at night."

"I plan to do that from now on," the nurse replied.

"Good." It was a good policy any time. She looked at her mother. 'No change'. "I want to be alone with my mother."

"How long?"

"An hour."

"I'll get my dinner, then," the nurse said.

"Thank you."

The door closed quietly behind the nurse, and Meredith sat and took her mother's hand in hers. "I'm here," she said.

Her mother's face remained expressionless, her body still, various tubes running in and out of her arms. Did her mother have a living will? Meredith hadn't discussed using extraordinary means with her father. He would make that decision. He had the legal right.