Sleeping With Anemone Part 17

"Safer for you. Defensive driving is one of the skills I learned in Ranger training."

Hard to argue that one, but I had to give it a go. It was only a ten-minute trip, after all. With a forlorn sigh, I said, "I really miss driving my Vette."

Marco glanced at me and his gaze softened, no doubt because of the heart-wrenching look of sadness on my face. He handed me the keys. "I guess it won't hurt."

Defensive whining was a skill I learned in kindergarten.

I got behind the wheel, pulled the seat forward, adjusted the rear- and side-view mirrors, and turned on the engine. I ran my hands along the steering wheel, familiarizing myself with its feel. I patted the dash, whispering, "That's my baby. Listen to your engine purr. Mama is back!"

"Seat belt," my caveman said.

"I was just about to do that," I said sweetly.

"Watch that post behind you."

The post I'd been watching for a year now and had yet to hit? I backed out of the s.p.a.ce in one smooth motion, glanced at Marco to see if he'd noticed, then drove across the lot and paused at the street to check for cars.

"Careful. The road looks icy."

I gripped the wheel tighter but didn't reply. Make that, I didn't trust myself to reply. How did Marco think I made it to work each day? Blindly hitting posts and sliding across icy streets? Had he always been that bossy and I just hadn't noticed?

"Why aren't you wearing that flower pin on your beret anymore?"

"My mom still has it."

"I kind of liked it."

"You did?"

"The red brought out the blush in your cheeks."

He noticed a blush in my cheeks? "Thanks. That's really sweet of you to say so."

How had I ever thought Marco was bossy? He was merely watching out for my well-being in that self-a.s.sured Army Ranger way of his. I had to stop being so critical and start appreciating his finer points. Maybe if I weren't under such a cloud of worry, it would be easier.

To demonstrate my appreciation, I started to reach across the seat to take his hand, but he made a sound through his teeth as though an accident were imminent.

I yanked my hand back. "What?"

He pointed to the cross street. "Two hands on the wheel at an intersection. Defensive driving, remember? Taking your focus off the road for even a second is long enough for someone to charge through and broadside you."

I was on the verge of pulling off the road and letting him drive when his phone rang. He slid it out of his pocket and checked the screen for a name. "It's Reilly," he said, then pressed the phone to his ear.

Good! That would distract him for a while. Maybe I could get all the way to the shop before he finished.

"Hey, man," he said to Reilly, "I was going to give you a call later. Thanks for stopping by the place last night. We really appreciated it."

Did not.

"So what's up?" Marco asked. He listened for a moment, then said, "You've got to be kidding. I don't believe it! How the h.e.l.l did it happen?"

"What happened?" I asked.

Marco covered the phone with his hand. "Dwayne Hudge is dead."

That was a distraction, all right.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

Dwayne Hudge was dead? No way. He couldn't be. The cops had him locked up in the county jail. He was surrounded by guards. They had the wrong guy.

"Thanks for letting me know. Keep me posted, okay?" Marco flipped the phone closed. "d.a.m.n. The detectives never even got to question him."

"I don't believe it."

"That he's dead?"

"That the body they have is Hudge. He's in jail, for heaven's sake. He's got guards." I glanced over at Marco to see him giving me a look that said, Do you seriously think I could be wrong about this?

"Hudge is dead, Abby."

"Did he hang himself?"

"He was stabbed."

"Oh, my G.o.d! In jail? Who stabbed him?"

"No one is saying. One minute Hudge was leaning up against the bars of the holding cell; next minute he was on the ground, bleeding out. By the time someone alerted the guards, and they got to him, he had no pulse. Whatever weapon was used, it hit his carotid artery."

"Aren't the inmates searched for weapons before they're processed?"

"Of course they are. Sometimes, in a prison situation, someone manages to slip in a s.h.i.+v, but Reilly said the guys in the holding cell were clean." Marco hit the dashboard with his hand. "d.a.m.n it. Twenty guys were in there with him at the time, and all of them swear they saw nothing."

"If none of the men in the holding cell had a weapon, then obviously someone outside the cell killed him."

"Except that the only people outside the cell were the jail guards. Some are former cops."

"But someone at that jail has to know something or have seen someone."

"You're right. The detectives are going to have their hands full. But the coroner should be able to determine the weapon from the edges of the wound. That could help ID the murderer."

"Do you think it's possible someone wanted Hudge silenced?"

"Someone being the mastermind behind the kidnapping? Sure, it's possible. Probable, in fact."

"So now the only person who knows who hired Hudge and Charlotte is Charlotte's sister, which means the cops better find her soon before she's the next one murdered. And what's to stop the killer from coming after me next?"

Marco reached across to rub my shoulder. "Me. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Abby. My main job right now is to keep you safe. We'll let the detectives worry about Charlotte's sister."

When he put it like that, how could I argue? "Thanks, Marco."

"I'll make sure someone is with you this evening while I'm out, too."

Not another sitter! "Honestly, Marco, I'll be perfectly safe in my apartment."

He pointed toward the curb. "Pull up in front of Bloomers. I'll escort you in."

Before I could protest that he was being a little too protective, he was on the phone with Lottie. "Abby is feeling a little nervous so I'm going to walk her to the door. Be ready." He glanced over at me. "Okay?"

A moment later, Lottie and Grace were standing guard in the doorway, checking up and down the sidewalk for any signs of danger, while Marco hustled me toward the shop. I felt absolutely ridiculous.

Still, I glanced up at the roof.

No sniper.

As soon as we were in the shop, Marco left to park the Vette and Lottie locked the door behind us; then the women sat me down in the parlor to hear the news about Dwayne Hudge. Afterward, they both a.s.sured me that the man behind the kidnappings would be crazy to come after me now, knowing he was being sought by both city and county police. I agreed with them, and we all breathed sighs of relief. We weren't fooling anyone, of course, but none of us wanted to say so.

Marco was just putting away his cell phone when Lottie let him in the front door. He strode into the parlor and sat down with us at a table. "I've made arrangements to be here with you all day. My head bartender is back on duty, so that frees me up."

"I'm so sorry to put you through this, Marco," I said. "I'm sure you have things you'd rather be doing than hanging out here all day."

"No problem, babe. I'll keep busy. Ladies, if I get underfoot, let me know. I'll be as un.o.btrusive as possible."

Lottie patted his hand. "Don't you worry about that. We just want our Abby to feel safe."

"Coffee?" Grace asked, holding up the pot.

"Sure." He turned a chair around to straddle it, sampled the coffee, p.r.o.nounced it delicious. "I've been thinking," he said to me. "If Nils Raand is arrested, as Reilly believes will happen soon, Raand will use Uniworld's local counsel-Chinn, Knowles, and Brown. Dave Hammond won't be involved."

"Which means you won't, either," I said glumly. And since Marco had nixed Reilly and Morgan, that left one source-Charlotte's sister. But there was no way Marco would let me help search for her now.

"Speaking of Chinn," Lottie said, "we've got flowers to be delivered to Peter."

"Is he still in hospital?" Grace asked.

"Yep," Lottie said, "and no one's saying how bad his condition is."

"Poor man," Grace said. "He must have suffered quite a concussion. He's rather a large fellow, isn't he? Probably none too firm on ice. What a shame."

"Something's been bugging me all morning," Lottie said to Marco. "Nils Raand knows the cops are watching him, right? Especially after Tara was found at Uniworld. It sure doesn't seem to me that he'd be foolish enough to sneak into the jail and stab Hudge. Does it to you?"

"Or that he'd sit on a bench in full view of everyone on the town square to goad Abby," Grace pointed out.

"You're right," Marco said. "It doesn't make sense. But I doubt Raand would have killed Hudge himself. He'd most likely hire someone. In any case, you have to view this from a prosecutor's perspective. If the DA is convinced Raand masterminded the kidnappings, and then the remaining kidnapper is murdered, that would only reinforce his case against Raand. Remember, the DA is looking for a quick conviction. As Abby and I have learned, a determined prosecutor doesn't need much more than a motive to go after someone."

"Not that I'm a fan of Raand's," Lottie said, "but what if he wasn't behind the kidnappings? Wouldn't it make sense for the cops to widen their search for the murderer, just to make sure they look at all likely suspects?"

"It makes sense, but that's not how it works. Cops follow orders from the DA." Marco drained his cup. "Would any of you mind if I used the computer? As long as I'm here, I might as well make good use of my time."

"Go right ahead," Lottie said. "Just yell if you want anything."

"I'll be right on the other side of the curtain if you need me, Abby." Marco headed out of the parlor, but at the doorway paused to say to me, "I'll let you know as soon as I get someone lined up for this evening."

"Okay." I blew him a kiss, waited until he was out of sight, then turned back with a sigh. Another babysitter. My life was so wonderful.

Lottie leaned across the table to scrutinize me. "This is taking its toll on you, isn't it?"

I leaned my chin on my palm. "Is it that evident?"

"You do seem rather tense about the cheekbones, dear," Grace said, "as though you've been clenching your jaw a lot. Having nightmares, are you?"

I nodded sadly. "I guess I'm just not used to having a man around all the time, driving me everywhere, watching over me, telling me what I can and can't do. My dad worked swing s.h.i.+fts as a cop, so he wasn't home that much, and my brothers were always out playing sports. Most of the time it was just Mom and me."

Lottie and Grace glanced at each other. Then Lottie said, "I meant the kidnapping attempts were taking their toll. Odd that you thought I meant Marco."

I tried to laugh. "Oh, right. The kidnappings."

Grace leaned toward me, too. "Is there something you'd like to share with us, dear? Having second thoughts about furthering your relations.h.i.+p with Marco?"

"Absolutely not. Marco is a great guy. Look at the sacrifices he's making to keep me safe."

"It's perfectly natural to have a few doubts, love," Grace a.s.sured me. "Right, Lottie?"

"h.e.l.l, yes. Every path has a few puddles. Remember, sweetie, deep, abiding love doesn't happen overnight. It takes time-as long as there's more to your relations.h.i.+p than s.e.x."

That was a discussion I definitely wasn't ready for. Fortunately, the phone rang, so I thanked them for their advice and fled.

"Bloomers Flower Shop. How may I help you?"

"Good news," Mom sang out. "The brooches are done. I finished last night."

"You made more brooches?" I glanced at the doorway, where Lottie stood with a sheepish grin.

"I told her someone bought her last one," Lottie whispered.

"Didn't you get my message?" Mom asked. "I made a dozen more. I'll run them by during my lunch hour."

Yippee?

Two things happened at noon: Mom brought in twelve glossy anthurium brooches to replace the one she believed we sold, and Reilly stopped by to tell us Nils Raand had been charged with conspiracy, as predicted, and taken into custody. But instead of feeling any sense of relief that I no longer had to fear Raand, and that my mom had found an avenue for her creative talent, both events vexed me.

Vex number one: We now had a dozen more of the odd little brooches to sell. If no one bought them, Mom would be hurt. If I ended up buying them myself, then stas.h.i.+ng them in the bas.e.m.e.nt, Mom would be thrilled, but my conscience would poke me mercilessly, plus I'd be out a hefty piece of change. Neither scenario looked good, but I couldn't come up with any other to take its place.