Authors: Lisa Logan
“
She does,” Ridelle said. “Maybe she thought she could bargain her way out of the murder or something.”
Dominique frowned. “By admitting she’d done something almost as bad to set it up in the first place? That would make things worse for her, not better.”
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I don’t know. But something led the cops to Quakertown.”
Fran’s already pale complexion drained. “The cell phone.”
Doe eyes narrowed on her. “What about it?”
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When Lanie called you, it was late. We figured it was after she’d already been released. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe they traced the call.”
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Traced it to what?” Ridelle looked back and forth between the two women. “It wasn’t to a land line. With a cell, you could be anywhere when someone calls. And the phone was even signed up under a different area code.”
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Fran has a point,” Dominique said. “What if they have a way?”
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Then they still don’t know who we are or where we live, exactly,” Fran said. “So we’re okay for now. But I’d ditch that phone pronto.”
Dominique studied her fingernails, as though some secret answer to their mystery was hidden within. “Let’s do it.”
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Okay.” Ridelle groaned as she got to her feet, knees cracking and popping with the effort.
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Wait.” Fran’s gray eyes widened, churning like a stormy sea. “What if it wasn’t an accident?”
Ridelle frowned down at her. “What wasn’t?”
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Meeting that cop.”
They stared at one another, a thick silence whispering all sorts of unpleasantness.
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What if he knew who you were?” she went on after a moment. “What if he’s trying to get close to you, see if you let something slip?”
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Close enough to stick his tongue down my throat?”
Dominique pulled herself up to her statuesque height. “I think that unlikely. If police suspected Ridelle, he’d have questioned her, not bought her a drink and rubbed her up on the dance floor.”
Fran sighed. “Are you sure, Dom? Really sure? He could be undercover.”
The woman shrugged. “As certain as I can be. But telling her he’s a cop kind of blows the undercover angle. I still think we should find a new home for that phone—at the bottom of the Delaware. Just in case.”
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What if he’s tailing her?” Fran stood up now as well.
Dominique eyed her for a moment. “Give Frannie the phone. You do have it with you, I presume?”
Ridelle nodded, pulling the device from her handbag. Frannie took it with a curled lip, holding it as though tainted with the plague. “Why me? What am I supposed to do with it?”
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Take it to Twyla. Andy works in Jersey, so she’s got a built-in reason for leaving the state if anyone is watching. She can dump it around there. Oh, and have her wipe the hell out of it first, to lose any fingerprints.”
Without a word, the three headed for the front door. Ridelle paused as she grabbed her scarf. “What if he calls? I gave him my home number.”
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Be nice.” Dominique batted her eyes beguilingly. “See if you can’t wriggle him between your thighs. Bet if he’s got something specific on you, that’s not a place he’d want to visit. Wouldn’t that be unethical?”
Pulling on her coat, she turned to them both. “Meanwhile, don’t act so cagey. No more late-night, panicked meetings. No discussing anything over the phone, and I mean anything more interesting than our latest manicures. For all we know, he doesn’t suspect Ridelle at all.” She glanced at the girl, raising a brow. “Let’s not give him a reason to start.”
Warren stared at the phone, tapping the card in his hand on the desk. Nearly four days had gone by since the night he’d discovered the most amazing pair of cocoa brown eyes he’d ever seen, and he hadn’t called her. Normally, he’d have made the big follow-up call to a beautiful woman the next day, hopefully before his charm had worn off and other guys had swooped in. But he’d been too busy running down a variety of dead ends on the Harrison case, along with one or two others he was working. Women like Ridelle didn’t stay dateless for long. She might wind up another dead end now that he’d waited so long.
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You gonna call her already, or am I gonna have to do all the work around here today?” Liebowitz slurped his name brand coffee with audible gusto.
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I was just thinking.”
His partner snorted. “Thinking’s got nothing to do with it. Can’t believe you stopped off at a bar and scored when you were supposed to be working the case.”
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I didn’t score, and since when can’t a cop have a few minutes off duty every now and then?”
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Since he didn’t bother to take his partner along in case she had a friend.”
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She was alone. And all we did was dance.”
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I’ll bet. At least you got something out of that trip. Sure as hell not any new leads. Could’ve at least questioned her while you were doing the take-me-now tango.”
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She didn’t know anything but what the papers printed.”
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Yeah well, while you were off greasing your pistol, I got a statement from the cab driver. Backs up Lanie’s story about a woman paying her fare to the bar on the night of the murder.”
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But no description of said female.”
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Better than what you got.”
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Highly debatable, friend.”
The phone in front of Liebowitz jangled. As he grabbed for the handset, Warren jumped to make his own call while his partner would be too busy to eavesdrop. To his disappointment, an answering machine picked up on the fourth ring.
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Hi, it’s Ridelle. I might be here, I might not. Either way, you know the routine, and keep it short. This thing cuts off after thirty seconds. Ready, set, go.”
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Hi Ridelle, it’s Warren Ross. Up for dinner tomorrow night? If Atlas has time to put down that big blue ball, of course. If you like Thai, I’ll bring take out from the best place in the city.” He recited his number and clicked off to find his partner watching. “Yeah? What are you looking at?”
Liebowitz grinned, waving a scrap of paper. “Looks like it’s my turn to score.”
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What is it?”
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That was the bartender who was on duty at the Night Cap the night of the murder. Seems he just now remembered something about a different woman Harrison was hangin’ out with. Guess you’re not the only one doing the take-me-now-tango in bars. Now we just have to find out who else he was dipping.”
Ridelle rose to take her plate to the kitchen, beating down a stomach-turning roil of nausea as she did. The food wasn’t to blame, though she had choked it down to override her sudden lack of appetite. No, the problem here was the company.
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How was it?”
She flashed a weak smile. “Heaven. Thanks for bringing dinner.”
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Glad you like Thai.”
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I love it.” At least, she did when it wasn’t brought in by a cop who might be plotting her relocation to a twelve-by-twelve cell.
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Good. That’s one of my fifteen dating requirements.”
Despite herself, a grin twisted the corner of her mouth. “Fifteen?”
He stood, too, grabbing take out containers and sauntering to the kitchen, where he tapped a finger on the fridge. “By the way, number thirteen is this.”
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Refrigerators?”
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What’s inside.”
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Man, you’re a tough date.” To put it mildly
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Mind if I throw these in?” He held up a box of chicken curry and another of ginger beef.
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So you can inspect my innards to see if I pass?” Her plate in the sink, she turned with a sardonic expression and crossed her arms.
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I’m sure your innards are more than passable.” The smile burned into her cheeks. “But if you’ve got something to hide...”
Panic stabbed at her chest as he trailed off. Jesus, what was he playing at?
Down, girl. Don’t freak out.
She shrugged. “Be my guest. If something jumps out and bites, though, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The door opened to a guffaw of laughter, and after a quick perusal and shove to offload leftovers, he shut it again.
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Well? Do I pass number thirteen?”
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My kind of woman.”
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Sorry about the mess. Most of that stuff isn’t more than a couple of months old.”
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You’ve got more than a carton of yogurt and mineral water in there. I appreciate a woman who is willing to eat. Bonus points scored for the longnecks beers in the back.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been known to toss back one or two. Good for the complexion.”
His eyes still shining with mischievous delight, he took a step forward. Ridelle suddenly realized just how small the kitchen was—and how close he was to her. Her stomach rolled again, and she swallowed it down hard, fighting the urge to back away. This was no time to panic.
The cop thing aside, he was even more handsome than the smoky lights of the bar had revealed. He smelled clean and woodsy. The smile was back, startling her with an intensity she hadn’t quite remembered from the night they met. He was tall, but not to a neck-wrenching degree. And he looked at her as though no other girl could ever possibly exist. Only an insane woman would be in the least bit put off by such a package.
Or a guilty one.
She waved toward the living room. “Care to get comfortable? I could crack open one of those talls for you.”
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Sounds great. Been a long day.”
She reached in for a beer, thought for a second, and made it two. Hell, maybe this one and several more that sadly weren’t stocked in there might help her get through this date, if that’s what it truly was.
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May have caught a small break on that one case, though.”
Ridelle stiffened. “Oh?”
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Victim was apparently seeing some woman who wasn’t the wife or the mistress. A distinctive, manicured female with a wide-brimmed hat.”
Holy shit.
Ridelle almost dropped the beer in her hand. “That’s not possible.”
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What?” Warren shifted a curious gaze her way.
She forced words past the pounding in her throat as naturally as possible. “I just meant that if the woman wore a big hat, how could anyone really identify her? Wouldn’t that kind of hide her face?”
He held her gaze for a span of beats as she forced herself to join him on the couch. “Yeah, well, that does make it tougher. But it’s something, and gives me another possible player. Anyway, I’m sorry. Shop talk again. I’ll can it.”
Warren sipped at the beer she gave him. The gaze he turned on her could melt the one in her hands. “Great place you’ve got. Cozy.” His eyes took in the span of her, sitting beside him in a tight cotton sheath that navigated her curves without the benefit of a bra. But her mind was elsewhere.
Things were going from dire to desperate. Dominique had to be the woman in question, only the details were wrong. She’d never even left the bar with the guy. He’d rejected her advances. But some drunk idiot with the wrong memory could swing the compass needle far too close for Ridelle’s comfort. She had to talk to the group, now. Dominique especially. They needed a much better plan than “wait and it’ll blow over”. She couldn’t exactly toss Warren out so she could hold a tribal council, though. Her little comment had been stupid enough.
Warren slid a bit closer to her. “Ridelle.” His voice dropped to a low murmur. “I can’t stop thinking about you. About that kiss.” He leaned closer, reaching out for the back of her neck. Patting herself on the back for not giving into the desire to flinch, she closed her eyes and gave into his lips.
It wouldn’t be ethical if he was onto her, right? He wouldn’t fuck her if he seriously thought she was involved in this murder.
Shifting herself onto his lap, she straddled him and wrapped her arms around his neck. It was gratifying to hear his erotic moan and feel the erection burning against her through his trousers. Let him fuck her, and then she could relax. She’d know this wasn’t all a ruse.
Still, when her wish came true and Warren was buried inside her, panic built rather than dwindled. Stress and worry drowned any hope of experiencing true enjoyment, despite the fact that his technique was admirable. Despite the electric chemistry that had seized her on the dance floor, she found herself having yet another sexual first. She faked an orgasm.
Twyla slammed her car keys on the kitchen counter, grimacing as she felt a fingernail give way. She strode over to a drawer, fished out an emery board and filed the rough edges way harder than necessary.