The Crush Part 17

had a pleasing place in Fort Worth, but this house appealed to him more. It was a typical two-story ranch-style home with a native stone and cedar exterior and a deep porch running the length of it. Casual but cla.s.sic. And a lot of house for one person.

Or was it occupied by only one person? Maybe Toby looked after more than the horses. Wick had a.s.sumed the mentioned Corrine was Mrs. Robbins, but she could be an elderly aunt or a wire-haired terrier.

"Have you known Toby and Corrine long?"

'Yes."

"Do they have children?"

"Three. Just had their fifth grandchild."

Good. They were a pair, and it was doubtful that Grandpa Toby was a sleep-over at Rennie's ranch house.

"Aren't you afraid to stay out there by yourself?"

"Why would I be afraid?"

He raised a shoulder. "A woman alone. Remote location."

She hastily gathered up her shoulder bag and scooted back her chair. "People are waiting on the table. Anyway, it's time I got back to Fort Worth. Thanks for the sundae."

She made for the exit. Wick nearly mowed down a family of four in his rush to follow her out. By the time he reached her Jeep, she was sliding into the driver's seat.

"Hey, slow down. What'd I say?"

"Nothing."

"Then why the sudden split?"

"I need to get back, that's all."

"Rennie, Olympic sprinters don't move that fast.

What's wrong?"

She jammed her key into the ignition, then turned to him, eyes blazing. 'Your insinuation that I need protection."

"I insinuated no such thing."

"Were you hoping for an invitation to come out and protect me?"

"I was making conversation. You're reading a bunch of c.r.a.p into an innocent question." They wrestled over control of the door. "Listen, if we're talking about fear, let's talk about mine."

'Yours?"

'Yeah. You scare the h.e.l.l out of me." She stopped tugging on the door and looked at him for an explanation.

'You're richer than me, smarter than me." He glanced down at the door handle. "Nearly as strong as me, and I'm afraid you could probably beat me in a foot race."

She ducked her head and he saw a trace of a smile. He pressed the advantage. "Have dinner with me, Rennie."

"What for?"

"Well, for one thing, as soon as this sundae wears off I'll be hungry."

'The sundae was my dinner."

"Okay, we don't have to eat. We could go to a movie.

Take a walk. Anything. I'd just like to spend time with you."

She turned the key in the ignition and started the motor. "Good-bye, Wick."

"Wait a minute." He added a soft "Please," which

stopped her from reaching for the door again. "Why are you always rus.h.i.+ng away from me?"

"I told you. I'm not--"

"I know, I know, you're not in the market. Do you see somebody?"

"Yes."

Don't let it be Lozada, he thought.

"Patients," she said. "I see patients."

"You have dinner with them every night?" He gave her his best sad-puppy-dog smile, but it didn't earn him even one of her half-smiles.

She turned away and stared through the winds.h.i.+eld for several ponderous moments. "You're very engaging, Wick."

"Thanks. But... ?"

"But things should have stayed where we left them last night."

"That was nowhere."

"That's right."

"Well, I wasn't content with that."

'You'll have to be. I tried to make it clear then. I'm telling you again now. I can't, I won't, see you again. There would be no point." Turning back to him, she added, "And I won't change my mind."

He searched her eyes for a long time. Finally, he extended his hand toward her face.

She whispered, "Don't."

But he didn't touch her. He lifted a strand of hair from her cheek and tucked it beneath her hat. His fingers lingered there just above her ear for several seconds before he withdrew his hand. Softly he said, "I'll follow you home, see that you get there safely."

"I don't want you to do that."

"I already know where you live."

"You won't be invited in, Wick."

"I'll follow you home."

He backed away and closed her car door. She drove off without even a wave. Nevertheless he kept his promise. He followed her all the way home and when she rolled her car into her garage, he tooted his horn twice as his goodbye.

She called the hospital to check on her post-op patients and was told that the doctors on call had nothing untoward to report. The spleenectomy patient's condition had been upgraded from fair to good. He was doing well. Following that call, she was officially off duty for the remainder of the night. Ten minutes later she was soaking in a tub of hot bubble bath. She breathed deeply and focused on relaxing, but when she closed her eyes she saw an image of Wick Threadgill and smiled in spite of herself. It was impossible not to like him. She liked him more than she had liked anyone in a very long time. That was why she would never see him again. Her capacity for romance had ceased to exist. It had died along with Raymond Collier that fateful afternoon in her father's study. She had killed that part of herself as surely as Raymond had been killed. Or had it died? Maybe it had only been successfully suppressed. She had denied common yearnings so effectively and for so long that she had convinced herself those yearnings no longer existed for her. What was natural for most women didn't apply to her. She didn't need love and romance. She didn't need anyone or anything in her life except her work. Work was what she desired, so work was what satisfied her. That had been her mantra, her anthem.

It had begun to ring hollow. Her resolve never to marry and have a family had seemed courageous in her twenties. Now she wondered. Had she spited only herself when she made that decision? Over the years the line between independence and loneliness had become so fine that there was now little distinction between the two. This man, this lanky Wick Threadgill with the long legs and unruly blond hair, had stirred longings that she had thought long dead. She hadn't wanted to say good-bye to him this evening. She liked his company but feared what she felt when he looked at her in that certain way. His kisses were probably as potent as his smiles. Not that she would have allowed a kiss. But it would have been nice, when he replaced that loose strand of hair, to have turned her head ever so slightly and to have rested her cheek against his hand. Just for a moment. Just to-Her telephone rang. She sat up, scattering mounds of bubbles across the surface of her bathwater. Maybe it was Wick. He was just arrogant enough, persistent enough, to try again. But it could also be Lozada. The caller ID registered no number. She hesitated, then cleared her throat and answered.

"Rennie, are you all right?"

Chapter 13.

Lozada thrilled to the sound of her light, rapid breathing.

Only f.u.c.king or fear caused a woman to breathe like that.

He would enjoy it either way with Rennie.

"Why are you calling me again when I specifically told you not to?"

"I was worried about you, Rennie," he said. "I'm calling to make certain that you're all right."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because of the company you keep."

He hadn't been able to believe his eyes when she'd arrived home followed by Threadgill in his pickup truck.

He could dismiss their meeting at the wedding reception as a bizarre coincidence. But two days in a row? It stunk to high heaven of police tactics.

Threadgill had given two short honks of his horn as he drove away. The only reason the b.a.s.t.a.r.d was still alive was because he hadn't gone inside the house with Ren

me. But where had they been? How long had they been together? An hour? All day? What had they been doing?

Lozada had considered several ways he could kill Wick Threadgill. Which method would inflict the most pain? He wanted Threadgill's death to be painful, yes, but it must transcend normal pain. He also wanted the death to be ignominious. He didn't want to leave Wick Threadgill a martyr, a dead hero.

He couldn't repeat what he'd done to brother Joe.

That would be unoriginal, and Lozada was known for his creative flair. He would devise something unique, something special. Perhaps he would incorporate one of his scorpions. The fear factor alone would be ingenious.

However it came about, killing Wick Threadgill would be his masterpiece, the benchmark of his career. He must take his time and think about it very carefully.

Of course if Threadgill had gone inside with Rennie, he would have been forced to act immediately, killing them both. Threadgill for his poaching. Rennie for her infidelity.

It had then occurred to him that she might be entirely innocent. What if she were unaware that Threadgill

was a cop? Threadgill could be using her in hope of getting to him. That was what he'd wanted to believe. To make certain of it, he'd placed this call.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Lozada,"

she said. "Furthermore, I don't care."

"I don't approve of your friends."

"I don't give a d.a.m.n what you approve or disapprove.

For the last time, leave me alone."

"I don't like your keeping company with cops."

Her silence was sudden and total, indicating surprise.

"I especially don't like your spending time with Wick

Threadgill. He's a loser, Rennie. Unworthy of you. Unworthy of us."

A few seconds ticked past. When she spoke, her voice was thin. "Wick . . . ? He's a . . . ?"

Lozada's grin spread wide. He'd been right. She hadn't known. "Poor darling. I thought you knew."