Chapter 9

Lane had been trying to catch Murray Bay at home for most of the day. So far, no luck.

Each time he called, the housekeeper politely informed him Mr. Bay was not at home but was expected later. She always asked if she could take a message. Lane always said no.

He didn’t want Bay to know he was coming. Wanted to catch him off-guard.

At around seven o’clock, on his fifth phone call, Lane’s persistence paid off.

The housekeeper told him—a bit frostily—that Mr. Bay had arrived home. May she tell him who’s calling? Again, Lane declined. He drove half a block and was on the porch ringing the doorbell in a matter of moments.

“Murray Bay, please.” Lane said and, before she could offer to ‘tell him who wished to see him,’ Lane showed her his shield. “I’d appreciate it if you’d just take me to him.”

The woman’s lips tightened, but she nodded. “Right this way.”

She led him through a marble-floored foyer into a massive room. A skylight in the center of the vaulted ceiling gave the elegant room a muted glow. At the far end of the room was a fireplace with a marble mantel. Paintings on the wall and statuettes placed randomly on tables and shelves were so indecipherable and so unappealing, they must have cost a fortune.

Murray Bay stood at a bar that took up most of one wall. Behind him was enough liquor to keep ten fraternity houses happy for at least a week. He wore a tux and was pouring something clear out of an Indigo-colored bottle.

A woman in a pearl-studded black evening gown rose from a white satin-covered sofa. She was about Murray’s height and age, but slender, with short gray hair and a pencil-straight spine.

Murray Bay said, “Detective?” at the same time his wife said, “What is the meaning of this?” directing her question more to the maid than to Lane.

“The gentleman insisted I bring him straight back.”

Althea Bay dismissed the woman with a quelling glance and turned to her husband. “You know this man?”

Bay nodded jerkily and gulped from the stemmed glass.

“I spoke to Mr. Bay a few days ago about a case I’m working on.” Lane rescued him momentarily. “There’s been a new development I’d like to discuss.” He looked at Bay. “You’re a difficult man to catch at home.”

“We were at a charity function,” Bay said. “This is Detective Brody, dear. Detective, my wife, Althea.”

“How do you do?” The woman said politely. Then to her husband, “What case is he referring to?”

Murray stared at Lane blankly for a few seconds, then said, “There’s an embezzlement case involving a business associate. Detective Brody is speaking to some of the companies they do business with.”

“Yes,” Lane agreed. “Should we talk in here or—”

“No,” Bay interjected loudly, then his face turned a shade of pink, and he went on in a more modulated tone, “My study. I have paperwork we may need to look at.”

Bay refilled his glass and led Lane from the room after giving his wife a quick peck on the cheek.

They went into a darkly-paneled, masculine room with bookshelves running the length of one wall and a large desk in the center. Bay sat behind the desk and Lane took the chair facing it without an invitation.

“You had to come by my house?” Bay asked, his fingers strangling the glass.

“As I said, there’s been a development.” Lane pulled out a notepad, pretending to consult it. “Do you know a Garrett Ramirez?”

Bay’s eyelids flickered. “No. Doesn’t ring a bell. Why?”

Lane frowned as if perplexed. “Well, we think he knew something about the murder at Highland Lily, but we can’t ask him.”

“Why not?”

A slight hesitation, then, looking directly at Bay, “Because. He’s dead.”

Bay’s face paled, and he blinked rapidly a few times. The flesh on his cheeks quivered. An anguished cry tore from him, and he clamped both hands over his mouth. The eyes above his white-knuckled grip were tormented.

“I guess you just now remembered him?” Lane said quietly.

Dropping his hands, he whispered, “What happened?”

“He was murdered. They found the body Thursday night. You didn’t read about it in the paper?”

He shook his head, not speaking.

“We think it had something to do with the killing at the bed and breakfast. It appears Mr. Ramirez saw something that night.”

“No. He didn’t see anything.”

“You sound certain.”

“I am.”

“How do you know?”

Silence.

Lane shifted forward in his chair, leaning toward Bay. “Look. The time for bullshit is over. You already lied to me and it might have cost your… friend… his life. I know he stayed with you that night. I have two murders to solve, and you don’t want your wife to know you had a lover. I personally don’t care who you have sex with, Mr. Bay. I just want to catch the killer. I’ll get the information one way or another. If I have to involve your wife, I will. If you come clean with me now, we might be able to keep it between us.” Lane slapped the notepad against the edge of the desk and Bay jumped. “I don’t like being lied to. You get one more shot.”

Bay sighed and took a long swallow of his drink. His voice subdued and thick with tears, he said, “That Thursday night, I woke at around ten-thirty. Garrett was gone. I called him and, in about ten minutes, he came back to the room. He’d been outside smoking. He never said a word. Acted like everything was perfectly normal.”

“Maybe he just didn’t want to tell you about it.”

Bay smiled, his eyes getting a misty, faraway look. “Garrett loved drama. Craved it. Craved attention. Believe me, if he’d seen anything, he’d have been bursting to tell me about it. Also, Garrett found me somewhat tedious. He’d have done anything to liven up one of our evenings together.”

“He told some people that he did see something. Maybe he just didn’t want to worry you.”

Bay shook his head. “After you came to see me, I told Garrett about it. He got this gleam in his eyes and told me how he’d seen the desk clerk outside when he went for a smoke. He was excited that it was probably not long before the guy was killed. I told him to keep his mouth shut, that he didn’t know anything, anyway.” A small smile touched his mouth. “He probably kept building it up in his head and came up with this fantasy about seeing something. But, he didn’t. Believe me.”

“Looks like someone believed he did. Might have gotten him killed.”

“Oh, God. He’s gone.” Bay’s face scrunched and the sobs came again. This time, his entire body shook with them.

Lane stood. “Let me know if you think of anything that might help us find who did it.”

Bay nodded, but Lane could tell his mind was somewhere else.

On the way out, Lane passed Mrs. Bay. “Good evening,” he said, wondering how her husband was going to explain sobbing over a business associate’s embezzlement.

Lane’s phone rang as he walked across the street toward his car.

“Tony,” he said into it, “I was just going to call you.”

“Get something from Bay?”

“Just that it appears Ramirez didn’t know shit after all.”

“Why did he run his mouth?”

“According to Bay, he was into drama.”

“So, making shit up got him dead. Ain’t that a bitch.”

“That is indeed a bitch. So, why were you calling me?”

“Cobra called. Said he was at a party and Lovell and his girl were there.”

Cobra—creatively nicknamed because of a snake tattoo that covered most of his neck—was a snitch they used from time to time.

“No shit?” Lane said, pumped that they might finally find the bastard. “Where? When was this?”

“Downtown. Earlier this evening.”

“Get an address?”

“He couldn’t remember. Probably too stoned. He said they’re not there now, anyway. Got into a huge argument. Lovell beat her pretty good. Started screaming at her about her big mouth friend poppin’ off to the cops and how it was gonna get her killed. Lovell started ranting and breaking things. Said he’d shut that crazy bitch up for good. Then he took off with the Detweiler chick begging him not to hurt her.”

Lane had reached his car and was fumbling in his pocket for his keys. He stopped, freezing as the implication sunk in. “Monroe Donovan,” he breathed.

“That’s what I was thinking. You might want to head over there.”

“Where are you? You close?” Finally pulling his keys out, he unlocked the car and jumped in.

“No. I’m nearly to Wichita. Gotta pick up the kids.”

“Shit.” Lane’s heart pounded hard against his chest as he pushed the car past the speed limit. At that moment, he knew how Murray Bay felt. “I’m heading that way. I’ve gotta go. I’m going to call her.”

“Let me know—”

Lane disconnected and dialed Monroe’s number. It rang until it went to her voice mail.

Shit.

He was half an hour away. He stepped harder on the accelerator.

****

When he saw me, Matt Lovell came to his feet. His eyes were wild, Manson-like, his hair frizzy and tangled, making it look as though a tumbleweed surrounded his head.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded, trying to keep the tremor from my voice.

He started toward me. “Thought it was time me and you had a little chat.”

I pulled the spray bottle out and pointed it at his face. “Stay back.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “You think I’m scared of a—”

I extended the bottle and pressed the trigger. Nothing happened.

The damn nozzle was turned to Off. Why didn’t I think to check? Before I could switch it to On, Matt slapped the bottle out of my hand.

He grabbed my arm and dug his fingers into the soft underside. I yelped, and tears sprang to my eyes. My arm went numb, then a burning, sharp pain coursed from my fingers up through my shoulder.

He smelled of stale booze and cigarettes and body odor. I tried not to breathe in.

“What do you want?”

“Tell me how much the cops know.”

“I have no idea.”

He dug his fingers in deeper. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying. God. Let me go.” I tried to pull free but couldn’t. “How would I know how much the cops know? You think they run their evidence by me?”

“What have you told them?”

“Nothing. I don’t know anything to tell them.” I lifted my chin and said defiantly, foolishly, “Trust me, if I knew something, I’d tell them.”

He pulled me closer, breathing his toxic breath into my face. “You need to be taught a lesson.”

“Like you taught Josie? What has she learned? To stay wasted so she doesn’t have to see what a loser you are?”

He released my arm and punched me in the face. The blow slammed into my mouth and jaw, sending me flying backward, and I landed hard on my butt. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth, and I reached a hand up to wipe it away.

“You better not say shit, bitch.” He slowly came toward me. “You better leave Josie out of it, too. She don’t need you.”

My cell phone rang and I looked to where it lay on the dining table.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned. “You and me ain’t done yet.” He reached for the snap on his jeans, still coming toward me. “I think what you need is a man.”

“No!” I crab walked backwards, trying to get away from him, but he kept coming. “Just leave, and I won’t say anything.”

He laughed. “That’s right you won’t say anything. Nothing except ‘Oh, Matt, give it to me again,’” he said in a mocking falsetto.

Reaching down, he grabbed me by my hair and yanked me to my feet. I stumbled against him, then recoiled, gagging. He now had his pants undone and I could see the filthy underwear he wore.

He reached behind him. When his hand came back around, he was holding a knife. I let out a scream. His hold on my hair tightened. “Shut the fuck up.” He ran the tip of the knife down my cheek and I felt blood again. It wasn’t deep, not a gusher, just deep enough to break the skin.

Tears welled and I jerked at his hold. “Get the fuck out!” I screamed.

“After I have a little fun, I’m gonna fuck you up. I’ll fuck your whole family up.”

I laughed, a tearful, desperate sound. “My brothers will kill you. After they make you cry like a little girl.”

He shoved me back and reached out to grab the front of my shirt, but I careened out of his grasp. Losing my balance, I once more landed on the floor, this time on my hands and knees.

A sound at the door caught my attention, and I looked up. Help had arrived. In the form of my eighty-two-year old neighbor.

“Marilyn? I heard—” Linus noticed Matt and his face became a thundercloud. “Hey, you listen here. I’m calling the—”

“You ain’t calling shit, old man.” Matt lunged toward him.

My fingers found the bottle of Tilex. I snatched it up and twisted the nozzle, coming to my feet.

“Hey, you shriveled-dick piece of shit,” I screamed.

Matt whirled, the knife held out in front of him.

I aimed at his eyes and squeezed the trigger. He dropped the knife, his hands going to his face, and let out an agonized yell. The room filled with a noxious odor. I squatted and scrambled for the knife. My fingers closed over it as Matt lurched toward me.

“You fucking cunt! My eyes…” he made a retching sound and stumbled blindly in my direction.

He removed his hands from his face and blinked rapidly, his gaze roaming over the floor, probably looking for the knife. When he didn’t find it, he lifted his head. His eyes were blood-red and pouring liquid, but they managed to focus on the knife I held toward his chest.

“Linus, you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he panted. “You?”

“I’m fine. Call the police.”

Matt swiped at his face with his sleeve, then backed away. He kept backing until he was at the door that led outside, grappling for the knob.

“I’ll see you again, bitch,” he rasped, then opened the door and fled.

I heard Linus talking to the police, and I let the knife fall from my fingers. I was just now starting to feel the effects of my injuries. My jaw ached and my face felt as though a thousand bees had embedded their stingers. Not to mention, my rear-end was throbbing.

“You all right, honey?” Linus came toward me, holding a kitchen cloth. Gently, he dabbed at the blood on my face.

“I’m okay. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Punk like that. I’da made mincemeat out of him. I was just about to when you sprayed him.”

I smiled, tears once again filling my eyes, coursing down my face. I hadn’t realized how frightened I was until that moment. Matt Lovell was a lunatic.

“Monroe? God. Are you okay?” I turned at the voice.

Lane Brody stood in my doorway.

****

Monroe’s hair hung free and tousled around her shoulders. She wore a pale pink robe, loosely belted. It appeared she was nude underneath. Lane tried not to think about that as he rushed over to her. “What happened? Lovell?”

Monroe nodded, her face battered and tear-stained. Tight, hot rage expanded in his chest. He had never wanted to kill so badly in his life. Not even when he’d found another man fucking his wife.

The old man with the hand towel said, “Bastard ran out the back door. Cops are on their way.”

“Stay with her,” Lane said, then headed outside. Monroe’s yard wasn’t large. There were a few trees, but not many hiding places. He searched quickly, along the fence line, even as far as to the cemetery. Not a sign of him anywhere. Lovell was long gone.

By the time Lane went back inside, a patrol car and ambulance had arrived. An EMT was seeing to Monroe and the old man.

A patrol cop stood in her living room, notepad in hand.

Lane nodded to the cop, then said to Monroe, “What was Lovell wearing?”

She told him, and Lane keyed his walkie-talkie. When dispatch answered, he said, “I need you to broadcast a pickup for a Caucasian male, Matthew Lovell.” He gave the description. “Lovell was last seen in the vicinity of Tenth and Patrick. Might be on foot or might be driving a silver Nissan. Plate number unknown.”

When he hung up, the EMT was speaking to Monroe. “Everything checks out. Nothing broken, but you might want to go the hospital just to be sure. You could have a slight concussion.”

Monroe shook her head. “I’m okay.”

“Please,” Lane said. “Let a doctor take a look.”

“No. I’m okay. Really.”

Lane nodded at the ambulance attendant, and he left.

“This is my neighbor, Linus,” Monroe said. “Linus, Detective Brody.”

Lane shook the man’s hand. His grip was surprisingly strong. “Thanks for coming to her rescue,” Lane said.

“Little lady handled herself pretty good.” Linus gave Monroe an affectionate smile.

“I want a car on them tonight,” Lane said to the patrol cop. He turned to Monroe. “You two should stay together. It’s easier to keep an eye on just one house.”

“Linus can stay here,” Monroe offered.

“I got my pooch at home. And my meds. Why don’t you come stay with me?”

“No. I’m fine, really. I’ll lock up. The car will be right outside. Our houses aren’t that far apart. Matt doesn’t know which house is Linus’s, so he’s probably safe. I doubt if the chicken shit will even be back. He’s terrified of going to jail. Besides. Linus and I both have guns.” She smiled, then winced and put a hand to her cheek where a white bandage covered her wound.

“Okay. But call if you need me.” Linus gave Monroe a quick kiss on the forehead, then headed to the door.

“See him home,” Lane told the officer.

When they were alone, Lane stared at Monroe silently, attempting to push back the fear and stay focused. Like a cop.

“How did Lovell get in?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. I was in the shower.” As if just realizing she still wore a robe—only a robe—she tightened the belt and crossed her arms over her middle. “When I came out, he was in my kitchen.”

Lane clenched his jaw, picturing that asshole invading her home. Waiting for her when she came out of the shower… vulnerable, half-naked. He cleared his throat and said sharply, “Weren’t your doors locked?”

“I think so. I usually lock them.”

Lane shook his head. “And you couldn’t have called us? Called me, as soon as you saw him?”

Her bottom lip quivered. “I wasn’t… my phone was… I’m sorry. I couldn’t get to my phone.” She looked up at him, tears pooling in her eyes, making them look like liquid chocolate. “I’m sorry he got away.”

She thought he was angry because Lovell escaped. Good. Let her think that. Safer that way.

“Did he give you any indication of where he was staying?”

“No. Nothing. He wanted to know what the police knew. What I’d told you.”

“How would he know we’d even talked to you?”

Monroe shrugged.

“Unless your friend told him?”

“Josie wouldn’t do that. She might have told him you were looking for him, but she wouldn’t have told him I’d talked to the police. She wouldn’t.”

Lane didn’t think Detweiler deserved Monroe’s trust or loyalty, but he let it slide. He hoped he was right, though, that Monroe was mistaken, and that her friend had told Lovell the cops had asked Monroe about him. The only other logical way Lovell would know Monroe had spoken to the cops was if he’d been following her.

“Did Lovell say anything to you at all that will help us locate him? We really need to find him. You understand that, right? Especially now.”

“No, he didn’t,” she whispered, lowering her head. “I’m sorry.”

A slight tremble shook her shoulders. It took all Lane had not to draw her into his arms and still her shaking, to make her tremble for another reason.

Jesus. What was wrong with him? Sexual thoughts at a time like this?

“You might want to put some clothes on,” he barked.

Her head flew up and they met eyes. “Aren’t you leaving? I’d like to go to bed. And, I apologize, Detective, but I don’t wear clothes to bed.” Her face colored and she added quickly, “I mean, I wear pajamas. Not clothes.”

Lane sighed, feeling like an ass. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’m leaving. Just wanted to stay for a little while. Make sure the squad car’s in place and that you’re okay.”

She nodded. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine. Can I get you something?”

“No. But I think I need to sit for a minute.”

“Of course.”

He held gently to her arm and led her into the living room. She lowered onto a sofa and he took the chair across from her. Even with the fumes of the Tilex in the air, he could smell her scent.

The room was dim, lit only by a small lamp on the table next to her. They sat in silence for several moments. An odd, warm intimacy settled between them. Lane tried to think of something to say, but couldn’t. He just wanted to sit with her. Be with her. Know she was safe.

She sat with her back straight, her hands crossed and resting in her lap. She seemed tense, on edge.

“Hey,” Lane said, scooting forward in his chair and reaching out to place a hand over hers… foolishly touching her. “Are you sure you’re okay? You need to relax.”

Without thinking about it, he began to lightly brush the skin on the back of her hand, marveling at the velvety softness of it. Unable to stop himself, he compared Catherine’s dry cool touch to Monroe’s warm, silky one.

Monroe’s posture loosened, and she smiled tentatively. “I guess I am a little tightly wound.”

“That’s understandable after tonight.” His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat.

She nodded and unclasped her hands, turning them so that his fingers brushed her palms. Her breath hitched, and his breathing slowed, became labored.

Not speaking, they sat that way for several seconds, her staring down, him looking at her bent head. He didn’t think she was even aware of it, but her knees parted slightly beneath their hands, revealing a strip of flesh along her thigh. He was mesmerized by that glimpse of skin, knowing it would be as soft, maybe softer, than that he was touching now. It made him instantly hard.

“Monroe?” His words came out an intimate whisper.

“Hmmm?” she said without lifting her head.

“I think I’m in trouble here.”

Now she looked at him. “Why’s that?” she asked softly.

His gaze dropped to her mouth where the full lips were marred only by the small cut at the corner. “Because, all I can think about is what it would feel like to kiss you.”

Her eyes rounded slightly, as if she were surprised at his words. Didn’t she know what he’d been thinking, almost since the instant he’d met her? Wasn’t his desire for her blatant? Couldn’t she sense this overwhelming tug of attraction he was feeling?

She regarded him for a moment, then gave a small, knowing grin. “And you being married is where the trouble comes in?”

Lane barked a humorless laugh. “Yeah. That just about sums it up.”

“So, this is sort of like the trivia. One of those useless facts you gather? What would it feel like to kiss Monroe Donovan?” Her smile was teasing.

“No,” he said huskily. “Trivia facts are things I know. Kissing you, I can only imagine.” And have, he added silently.

Neither of them spoke. Lane stared at her mouth, fighting the urge to taste it. She leaned slightly forward, that teasing smile still in place, her gaze still locked on his, and he nearly groaned in anticipation.

Suddenly, the smile dropped from her face, and she jumped to her feet. Her breasts momentarily swayed in his vision, and he had to suppress a gasp.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She moved away, turning her back to him and clenching the hair on top of her head. “I shouldn’t have…”

He sighed deeply, hating himself for being an idiot.

Hating her for putting a stop to what had been about to happen.

“It’s the adrenaline,” he said tightly. “After the danger, it’s natural. I’m the one who should apologize.”

She faced him, but he spun toward the door.

“Lock up behind me,” he said over his shoulder. “Don’t open up for anyone except a uniformed officer.”

He didn’t need to add, ‘or me,’ because he damned sure wouldn’t be back. “Try to get some sleep,” he bit out. Even as he said it, he knew he wouldn’t.

“Thank you,” she said, but he was already heading out the door.