Cause For Alarm (31 page)

R
ichard took one last glance at Julianna's front door, then started across the porch. He hated to leave Julianna while she slept, but he couldn't stay. It wouldn't look right for him to be here overnight; he had his reputation to think of, the firm's, his campaign.

He hadn't been able to sleep anyway. Every time he'd closed his eyes, he had seen Kate's face, her wounded expression as she had told him he was no longer welcome in his own home.

God forgive him, he hadn't gone after her. He had stayed with Julianna. She had held and comforted him; she had understood his confusion and pain. Comforting had become passion, then urgency. She had taken him into her hands, then mouth, and when, finally, she had taken him inside her, Kate and his ruined marriage had been far from his thoughts.

They weren't now. How was he going to face her? he wondered, looking up at the starless sky, feeling small and gutless. Hardly half a man, let alone a whole one. He'd had the perfect life, the ideal marriage. He had blown it all to hell.

No. He hadn't blown it. If he wanted her back, their marriage back, by God, he would have it. She was his wife; she would forgive him. He deserved that much from her. After all the things he had given her and the way she had shut him out these past months, she owed him this one little mistake. She owed him forgiveness.

He took his cellular phone from his pocket and punched in their home number as he angled across the small patch of lawn to his car. She answered on the first ring, her voice gravelly with sleep or tears, he wasn't sure which.

“Kate, it's me. Don't hang up, I—”

“I've got nothing to say to you.”

The phone went dead as she hung up on him. He made a sound of surprise. And anger. She was his wife, by damn, and she
would
talk to him. He pressed redial, but before he hit Send, a figure separated from the shadows beside the house.

“You've taken something that belongs to me,” the man said softly. “And I want it back.”

Richard strained to see the man's face, still cloaked in shadow. What he could make out didn't strike a chord of recognition in him. “You're confused, buddy,” he said, annoyed. “Get lost.”

The man took a step closer, emerging from the darkness. “You took my sweet flower and soiled her. Now you have to pay.”

Richard expelled a sharp breath. “I don't know you. I didn't take this ‘flower' you're talking about. I'd suggest you go sleep it off. Now, get the hell away from me.”

Instead, the man came closer, his movements nearly soundless. Richard saw that he had light hair and eyes as flat and cold as death.

A prickle of unease moved over him. “Didn't you hear me? I said to get the fuck away from me before I—”

“What?” The man laughed. “Call the cops? It'll be all over with before they get here.” He eased closer. “Let me tell you a story. About a beautiful young girl. And the man who loved her. She was the world,” he murmured, glancing toward Julianna's door. “His everything. He protected and cherished her. He taught her about loyalty and trust. In return, he gave her all that she desired.

“But she was susceptible to evil, to outside forces, ones intent on extinguishing her sweet, bright light. Ones who would turn her into a common whore.”

Julianna, Richard realized. He was talking about Julianna. This must be the man she had told him about, the one she feared from her past.

Richard narrowed his eyes. “If you're talking about Julianna, I'm telling you now, it's over between you two. She doesn't want to see you. Not ever.”

This time it was Richard who took a step closer, hoping to intimidate. “Leave her alone. If you don't, I'll have you slapped with a restraining order so fast it'll make your head spin. You got that, you freak?”

John smiled. “Self-righteous son of a bitch, aren't you? I look at you and I see the slime of the earth, a man without honor. Without loyalty.” He swept his icy gaze over Richard, his contempt all but palpable. “What of your beautiful wife and baby daughter, alone in that big old house? Who's protecting them while you're off fucking my Julianna? Who's taking care of them?”

Richard's blood ran cold at the implied threat to his family. This man knew about his family, where they lived, that they were alone and vulnerable.

Fear choked him, and he took a step backward. “I'm calling the police,” he said, punching 911 on his cell phone. “If I were you, I'd—”

Richard heard a loud pop, like a firecracker exploding, then felt a burning sensation in his chest. He lifted a hand to the spot, then brought it away wet.

Blood.

Dear Jesus, Kate.

Head swimming, he lifted his disbelieving gaze to the man's. The man smiled. And pulled the trigger again.

K
ate opened her eyes slowly. Her head pounded; her eyes burned. She glanced around her, momentarily disoriented. Then she remembered. Richard's betrayal. Nick Winters' frightening visit. Curling up beside the crib, shotgun clutched to her chest.

The pounding in her head became louder, more insistent. Kate realized someone was at her door. She eased herself into a sitting position, then stood, wincing as her joints and muscles screamed in protest. Her entire body ached from sleeping on the nursery's wooden floor. She felt like a prize fighter's punching bag.

“I'm coming,” she muttered, peering at her wristwatch, wondering who would be calling so early. It wasn't Richard, she knew. Not only did he have a key, he was arrogant enough to think using it would be okay.

Emma stirred, but didn't waken. Thank God. She would take care of whoever was at the door, then make herself a pot of strong, black coffee. Maybe then she would feel halfway human.

She reached the front door and glanced out the sidelight. Two men she didn't know stood on her porch. Both wore suit jackets and dark sunglasses. Like a couple of guys out of a bad TV show.

She cracked open the door. “Can I help you?”

“Mrs. Ryan?”

“That's right.”

“Mandeville police.” The man on her right held up his shield. “I'm Detective Owens. This is Detective Dober. Could we have a few minutes of your time?”

Kate moved her gaze from one to the other of them, heart in her throat. She swallowed hard, past the fear. “What's this about?”

“May we come in?”

She shook her head. “Not until you tell me what this is about.”

The men exchanged glances. “Mrs. Ryan, do you know where your husband is?”

 

A half an hour later, Kate was on her way to the morgue to identify her husband. She sat in the back seat of the detectives' Ford, silent, shaking hands clasped in her lap. Emma was with the next-door neighbor. The woman had taken one look at Kate and had agreed without questions to watch the child.

Kate turned her face to the window and watched the world go by, the sights familiar but foreign. She struggled to keep from falling apart, struggled to come to grips with what the detectives had told her. It looked like a robbery, the police had said. Richard's wallet, watch and wedding band were missing. He had been found beside his Mercedes, cell phone in his hand. He had been shot twice, at point-blank range.

The police had questioned her extensively about the last time she had seen her husband, about his whereabouts and the last weeks of his life. Did she know of anyone who might want him dead?

As humiliating as it had been, she had been completely honest with them. About discovering his infidelity. Their fight. That she had told him not to come home.

She had seen their expressions change as she talked, sympathy becoming suspicion. She had a motive, she realized. No alibi. A hysterical laugh passed her lips, and she saw the detective who was driving—she couldn't remember whether he was Owens or Dober—glance at her in the rearview mirror. Dear God, her husband had been murdered, and she had to deal with finding a lawyer.

As if in a waking nightmare, Kate followed the detectives into the morgue. She was aware of a strong odor, like apples fermenting in a cellar. An antiseptic, she realized. Or formaldehyde. Masking the scent of death. Mixing with it.

One of the detectives slid out the refrigerated drawer. She stood dumbly by, waiting for him to lift the white sheet, sweat beading on her upper lip and slipping between her breasts. Down her spine.

He did. A cry rose to her throat. She brought her hand to her mouth, holding it and her sickness back. She nodded and spun away, breath coming in short, shallow pants.

The detective with the gentle voice led her out of the room, then the building and into the bright fall day. There, she sank to a step, dropped her head into her hands and wept.

 

The next forty-eight hours were a nightmare for Kate. She had Richard's family and their grief to deal with, her and Richard's friends and colleagues to tell, their shock to contend with, The Bean to run and funeral arrangements to make. Emma to care for. The shadow of suspicion hanging over her, the detectives' seemingly endless questions.

Her own grief. Her guilt. She couldn't help wondering—
knowing
—that if she had been more forgiving, if she had allowed Richard to come home, he would be alive.

How was she going to go on? How was she going to live with that?

She was eliminated as a suspect only after Richard's cell phone records were received. That call he made to her, as well as Old Joe's midnight stroll with Beauregard, cleared her.

Blake, Marilyn and Beanie were godsends. They took over the day-to-day running of The Bean. In truth, Kate wanted nothing to do with it.

First Tess. Now Richard. Nothing meant anything anymore.

Except Emma. If not for her daughter, Kate feared she would curl up and die, too. That's why, when family and friends offered to take the child until Kate had a chance to find her footing, she refused. Without her daughter, she told them, she would never find her feet. Emma was all that anchored her to this world.

R
ichard was interred in his family's vault in New Orleans. The November day was cold and damp, the air heavy with moisture. Julianna stood outside the circle of mourners, neither family, friend, nor colleague. An outcast. The way she had always been.

Without Richard, she was alone now. Alone again. Tears stung her eyes and she fought to keep them from falling. She didn't want them to see her cry, didn't want them to think her pathetic. As pathetic as she thought herself.

The firm had closed for the day so that the employees could attend the funeral. They all snubbed Julianna. Somehow they had discovered Julianna's part in Richard's last hours, that the two of them had been embroiled in an affair.

Somehow.
Julianna shifted her gaze to Sandy, huddling with the other secretaries, suddenly one of them. Suddenly accepted.

Not so suddenly, not a surprise.

Chas Bedico had called her the day after the murder and coolly reminded her that she had been an employee of Richard's, not the firm's. He would appreciate it if she would remove her personal items from the office before regular hours began Monday morning. As a courtesy to Kate, he would pay Julianna anything that was owed her.

It had been obvious that he had known about her and Richard, too.

Just then, Sandy looked up and their gazes met. Her lips lifted in the smallest of smiles, but in that smile Julianna saw triumph. Payback. In that moment she knew with certainty what she had only suspected—Sandy had made sure everyone knew about her affair with Richard. No doubt complete with all the sordid details she could manufacture.

Payback.

Vision blurring with tears, Julianna dragged her gaze away. She hugged herself, losing the battle with her tears. They spilled over and rolled down her cheeks. Sandy didn't understand. None of them did. She and Richard had been so much more than lovers. They had been each other's destiny. Soul mates.

And now he was gone.

Julianna hugged herself tighter, struggling to keep from completely falling apart. She had nothing now. No lover, no job. She looked toward Kate, cuddling Emma in her arms, holding her tightly.

No baby.

As she contemplated the mother and infant, Julianna longed to hold her child, so badly her arms and chest ached. If only she could hold on to her the way Kate was, seeming to draw strength and comfort from her tiny body, her unconditional love. With Emma, she would never have to be alone and unloved again.

She had nothing. Nobody.

No, she amended, not quite alone. John was out there. Waiting, though she wasn't sure for what. Since she found the obscene package he had left for her on her bed, she'd heard nothing from him, though she had known he was near. She had felt his presence, like the charged quiet of a storm still an hour off. Watching. Biding his time.

Richard's parents opened their home for the mourners to pay their respects after the funeral. Julianna didn't attend. Instead, she drove aimlessly through the city before heading back across the Causeway, working to gather her scattered thoughts, to plan what she would do next, where she would go.

She had allowed herself a false sense of security; she realized that now. She had allowed herself to believe that some stranger had been in her home and had violated her things; had allowed herself to believe that Richard could protect her from John.

Instead, Richard was dead. Julianna's hands began to shake, and she gripped the steering wheel tighter. No one could protect her from John. No one but herself. She had to run—she would have already but she'd felt compelled to attend Richard's funeral. For herself and because she owed him that.

By the time she returned home, the sun was beginning its descent. The humidity of the day had lingered, lending the approaching evening a wet cold that penetrated clear to her bones. Los Angeles, she thought as she climbed out of her car and started for the porch. Palm trees, ocean breezes, moderate temperatures. Surely she could get lost in a city that size.

She unlocked her front door and stepped inside. She stopped dead, a cry of terror crossing her lips, coming out as a strangled whimper. John sat in a straight-backed chair facing the door, a gun laid across his lap.

He smiled, the curving of his lips bloodless. In that instant, Julianna knew that John had killed Richard. He meant to kill her next.

“Hello, Julianna.”

She took an instinctive step backward, hand behind her, searching for the doorknob, though she knew he would never allow her to escape.

He picked up the gun, and motioned with it. “Move away from the door, please. After all, we wouldn't want to disturb the neighbors.”

She did as he asked, heart beating so wildly she could hardly breathe.

“What's the matter, my sweet? Aren't you happy to see me?” He smiled again. “You can't be surprised. I know you got my gift.”

“You…killed…Richard.”

“I did. He took what was mine, Julianna. He
had
what was mine. That was unacceptable.” He waved her forward. “Come here.”

Eyes filling with tears, she did as he instructed. Her legs shook so badly she could hardly walk. She stopped before him, head bowed.

“Look at me, Julianna.” She lifted her gaze. “I want you to get on your knees.”

Her tears welled and spilled over. She didn't want to die on her knees, but followed his orders anyway, wondering when the bullet would come, where he would place it.

And she wondered whether death would be mercifully quick or agonizingly slow.

He stood. “I'm disappointed in you, Julianna. Very disappointed.” He lowered his voice. “After everything I taught you about love, about loyalty and commitment, you do this? You let me down this way?”

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

He shook his head. “Sorry isn't good enough. You disobeyed me. You stole from me. You took my love and threw it back in my face. How do you think that made me feel?” When she didn't answer, he nudged her with the gun. “How, Julianna?”

“Bad,” she said, voice faltering. “Awful.”

“That doesn't begin to cover it.” His voice thickened, as with emotion. “You broke my heart.”

She swallowed past the knot of tears in her throat. “Forgive me, John. I didn't mean to. Please…don't hurt me.”

He ignored her pleading and circled to stand behind her. “I could kill you now.” He bent and she felt his breath against the back of her neck, his lips against her ear. She shuddered. “It would be easy. Almost pleasurable after the way you've betrayed me.”

A sob rose to her throat. How could she have been so stupid to believe Richard could protect her from John, that anyone could?

“There,” John murmured, his voice warming, “you're getting it now. You're starting to understand my power. The power of right, of justice.” He laughed, and the merciless sound ripped along her nerve endings. “Those responsible must pay. Loose ends must be tied up. Like Clark Russell. Like your mother.”

She lifted her eyes to his, and he laughed again. “That's right, my sweet. They interfered in my business, they told you things you weren't meant to know. They had to be punished.”

“No,” she said, her voice lifting, then cracking. “No!”

“I'm afraid so.” He placed the gun's muzzle under her chin, forcing her head so far back that her neck began to ache. “It wasn't pretty, love. But it was quick. For you, she didn't suffer.”

Julianna began to cry, deep wrenching sobs of despair. Richard was dead because of her. Her mother. Clark Russell.
What had she done?

“Stop that.” He shook his head, frowning. “She doesn't deserve your tears, she wasn't a good mother. She wasn't there for you. I was there for you. I'm the one you should cry for. Me, Julianna. Only me.”

He released the gun's hammer and tucked the weapon into the waistband of his pants, then squatted in front of her. He cupped her face in his palms, his fingers digging into her flesh, demanding she look at him. “You're young and foolish. Susceptible to those who would ruin you. It's not your fault, I know that.”

He spoke slowly and patiently, the way he would to an errant child. “Because of your youth, I might allow you this one mistake. I
might,
” he repeated. “Just this one.”

She caught her breath. He was offering her a chance. A way out of a bullet. She swallowed her fear, her grief. She focused on what he was saying, on what he was offering her. “What…how can I make my mistakes up to you? How, John?” She covered his hands with her own. “Tell me what to do, please.”

He smiled and trailed his thumbs softly, tenderly across her cheekbones. “I want my little girl back. My special one. I miss her, Julianna.” He brought his face closer and brushed his mouth against hers. “I want what we had before.”

At his words, their meaning, vomit rushed to her throat, threatening to strangle her. She choked it back by sheer force of will. Dear God, how could she give him what he wanted? How could she go back to the girl who had innocently loved John Powers with all her heart when now she saw that he was a monster? Dear God, how?

For a moment, she thought of telling him the truth, of telling him that she hated him, that he repulsed her. That she would rather die than be with him again.

She couldn't. Because that, too, would be a lie.

She didn't want to die. She wanted to live. And this was her only chance.

She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his chest. “I've missed you so much.” The falsehood tripped easily off her tongue, sounding not only natural but rich with emotion. She lifted her face to his and smiled tremulously. “I've missed being your little girl. I've missed being special.”

Beneath her hands, his trembled. That small display of his excitement sickened her. She fought to keep her true feelings from showing as he helped her to her feet and led her to the bedroom. To the bed.

There, he undressed her, his movements faltering. He laid her on the bed, then stripped and lay beside her. She lay unmoving as he fondled and petted her, knowing what he expected, what aroused him most. Knowing that if she fell out of character, even for a moment, she would be lost.

She squeezed her eyes shut as he slid his hands over her body, stroking and petting, unable to quell the shudders of distaste that rippled over her, unable to stop the tears that trickled from the corners of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

She was a lost soul.

John caught a tear with the tip of his finger and brought it to his mouth. “Are you frightened, Julianna?”

“Yes,” she whispered, voice trembling.

“You needn't be, my sweet.” He thought her answer, her trembling and tears a part of the game, she knew. She knew also that they pleased him. “I'll be gentle, you know I will. So gentle.”

He brought her hand to his erection. As he had hundreds of times before, he instructed her on how to hold and stroke him. As she followed his instructions, guttural sounds slipped past his lips, ones more animal than human. Hearing them made her physically ill. She wondered if a bullet wouldn't have been a better choice.

He rolled her onto her back and entered her. She cried out. In despair. And humiliation. Instead of a deterrent, her cries served as an intoxicant. He arched his back and with a shout of triumph, climaxed.

He collapsed against her, perspiring, his breath coming in short, quick gasps. “My angel,” he murmured after a moment, his lips against her neck. “My sweet, sweet, angel. I knew you'd come back to me. I knew it.”

She didn't trust herself to speak without revealing her true feelings, so she said nothing.

At her silence, he raised himself up on an elbow and gazed down at her, tears in his eyes. “Happy?”

She forced what he wanted to hear past her stiff lips and frozen smile. “So happy. I love you, John.”

He studied her expression, as if deciding whether she was telling the truth. If he decided she was not, he would kill her. Julianna knew this to be a fact.

One moment became several, still he gazed assessingly at her. Her heart began to race, her breath to come in shallow gasps. Her cheeks felt hot, her pulse quick.

After several seconds, he nodded. “I forgive you. But understand, you must be punished for your disobedience. You must pay for that disloyalty. Now there are loose ends to be tied up. Now it's messy.”

Her mother had been a loose end. So had Clark and Richard. Who was left?
She searched his gaze, dread settling in the pit of her gut. “I don't understand.”

“The baby, of course.” He trailed a finger down her cheek, following the path of her tears. “She has to die.”

Julianna's heart stopped.
Emma? No!

“Yes,” he said, as if he had read her thoughts. He shook his head regretfully. “You should have gotten rid of it when I told you to. Now it's more difficult. Now Kate's involved.”