Intrusion (8 page)

My head swam with facts, figures and fears. Sleep was no luxury; it was a necessity.

I patted Candy’s back. “I’m going home. Tomorrow, after I’ve had some sleep, we’ll discuss this.”

“Stay here, Betts. Your place might not be safe.” Candy’s lip quivered as if tears weren’t far away.

“I can’t leave Della alone. Don’t worry. I promise to take a cab.” I hugged my friend and started for the door. Lucian Sand was right behind me.

“Don’t be absurd. My car is right here.” He kissed Candy’s hand and gave her a half bow. “I will take Mrs. Buckley to her door, I promise.”

Exhaustion claimed me, making me pliable for a change. I meekly followed him to his Porsche and climbed in. My eyes closed for just a second. When they opened we were parked outside my home on Commonwealth Avenue.

“How do you know where I live?”

He opened the car door and helped me out. “I know more about you than you’d ever believe.” He squeezed my hand as if he had a right to and guided me up the stairs to Della.

“I’ll take that disc now,” he said.

The man infuriated me. How dare he intrude on my life? Intrude? That’s way too mild. He had stomped into my life, demanding things I could never give. He had no right to do that, not when Kai’s memory was alive. I didn’t want or need a flesh-and-blood man. My husband’s spirit was enough.

Lucian stared at me with those mesmerizing orbs of his, blue green, how ridiculous was that?
Cold, imperious eyes that froze out anyone who defied him.
His accent deepened whenever things annoyed him. Just a touch of France peeked through.

“I need that information,” he said. “I mean it, Mrs. Buckley. It’s important.”

He blocked my path and stood there like a stone pillar. Admittedly, images of Michelangelo’s
David
flashed before my eyes, but that didn’t change anything. He really was a statue — cold, unyielding marble.

“Forget it,” I spat, reaching for my keys. “I’m not giving you anything.”

He moved slowly, ineluctably toward me. His eyes had changed. They were closer to mountain rain than glacial pools now.
Soft, gentle rain.
His fingers moved slowly down my arm, inflaming every nerve.

“So lovely,” he whispered. “In France your name would be
Elisa.
Much softer, no?
I think I will call you Elisa from now on, if you will permit me.”

I gulped, more than once. Sensation was foreign to me. I’d been numbed by grief for so long, unable to react or feel anything but Kai’s memory.

This can’t be happening. It isn’t real.

His lips brushed against my hair like the kiss of a sea breeze. Now I shivered.

“Don’t fear me,” he said.

The man was so damn cocky!

I tried to move away. Tried and failed. “Leave me alone. You don’t scare me. I’m not afraid of anyone.”

He tilted my chin toward him, watching me for a second. I was mesmerized, unable to look away.

“You were very brave tonight,
ma petite
. You fought so hard to live.” He drew me to him. “Only the living can give you what you need. The dead can’t hold you when you feel afraid.” His kiss was a gentle promise of much more. For a moment I forgot everything else and floated in a sensual sea of pleasure.

“Stop worshiping ghosts,” he whispered. “I’ll never leave you alone, my Elisa. That’s a promise.” Lucian Sand whirled around and vanished down the stairs.

~

 
“Tell me everything,” Candy said. “Come on. Don’t be shy, Betts.”

She’d called me as soon as I got home, eager to dish the dirt. I’d never admit what happened with Lucian Sand even to Candy, especially to Candy. My feelings were a tangled mass of guilt and rapture, utter folly for a married woman. My eyes stung.

That’s the problem, Lizzie Mae. You’re not married anymore
.
Kai’s
gone, sacrificed to Pan the mountain god.

I felt the flush of deep emotion. Not the sorrow I’d made peace with, but anger, pure, unadulterated anger at the man who had betrayed me by trading our whole life for cheap thrills. For the first time it hit me: I really was alone.

“Oh, my God, is he still there?” Candy’s voice was full of hope. “I get it. Don’t say a word.”

“Of course he’s not here. You’re the one who has something to tell, Ms.
Ott
. Dr.
Rao
made a house call, after all.”

I heard her sigh over the phone line. Not a good sign.

“He was a perfect gentleman,” Candy said. “Damn it to hell. I think he was tempted, though. Don’t you just hate a man with scruples?”

“Hmm.
Did he mention anything about Tommy or CYBER-MED, anything that might be useful?”

It took her a moment to respond. I knew she was carefully editing everything that happened that night, sifting through minutiae.

“He asked a lot of questions, mostly about my work at Sweet Nothings.
Quite a few about you, too, Betts.
He seemed fascinated by our friendship, you know, how the four of us got together and stuff.”

“What about Tommy? Any clues about what was bothering him?”

“Nada.
Arun’s
quite a fox, but pretty boring, too. Sang the praises of Dr. Cahill like a church choir, how brilliant she is, what an innovator, blah, blah, blah. If she weren’t so old, I’d suspect something was going on between them.”

“Hmm. Don’t
count
her out. I’ll bet she has a lot of life in her.”
Time to change the subject.
“
Arun
isn’t married, is he? You don’t want to become a home wrecker.”

“He never mentioned a wife. In fact, he said all he did was work. You know how it is with a startup, sheer drudgery.”

I remembered our first year at Sweet Nothings. It had been the best time of my life.

“Betts!
You’re not listening again.”

“I’m exhausted. No more talk until tomorrow. See you then.”

I walked Della, undressed, and hit the bed like a granite slab.

~

The next day Sergeant Mark Andrews appeared at Sweet Nothings without an appointment. Judging by his snarls, the aggressively female surroundings brought out the beast in him. No
Francie
Cohen to act as spirit guide this time; Andrews had to tough it out alone. I normally brush off casual visitors, but one look at his face convinced me that there was nothing casual about this.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Mrs. Buckley.” He remained standing with his bony arms protruding from his pockets. “I thought you cared about your friend.”

Today was Della’s day to visit the office. She glided up to Andrews, tail wagging, and licked his arm. The cop jumped a mile,
then
relaxed when he recognized her.

“I like dogs,” he admitted as if it were a character flaw. “Wish I could have one.”

My feminine wiles are rather rusty. That’s Candy’s department. I pasted a perplexed smile on my face and said nothing. Fortunately, Candy slithered into the conference room, oozing genteel charm.

“Sergeant?
How nice to see you.”
She motioned to her assistant, who placed a steaming latte and a fruit plate in front of Andrews. “Help yourself. I know policemen never get time for decent meals.”

He grunted, torn between hunger and control. Hunger won out.
“Very kind of you, Ms.
Ott
.
I got an early start today.”

My partner wore a pink silk shirtdress that suited her perfectly. Tommy had dubbed it her “cotton Candy ensemble,” a deliberate fashion choice that dazzled onlookers. Candy used wardrobe strategically in a cynical play for control. Most men succumbed, but it had absolutely no effect on Andrews. He was far too busy wolfing down mango slices to care or notice.

“You were saying, Sergeant?” I glanced pointedly at my watch.

He brushed the corners of his mouth with a napkin. The gesture was surprisingly dainty. “Why didn’t you tell me about Lucian Sand?”

“Dr. Sand? What about him?” I closed my laptop, uncomfortably aware that my recent research was still displayed on its screen. I’d spent the past hour scanning the tedious academic treatises authored by Lucian Sand. At least he wasn’t a total fraud. He had won a slew of national awards and foundation grants. I sensed that something catastrophic had turned him from a brilliant computer nerd to a zealot obsessed by the security of implantable medical devices. The hot doc was prolific: he’d authored numerous articles on the topic and served as Director of LIPS, the Laboratory for Implant Patients’ Security. Was CYBER-MED really a rogue operation or one man’s warped crusade?
Hard to tell.

“He’s a wacko, that’s what.” Andrews’ cheeks turned pink.
“Complained to the Commissioner about my investigation.
Guess whose name came up, Mrs. Buckley?”

I’ve never been a good guesser. That’s why I refuse to play those games. I gave him that blank look you learn in Introduction to Advocacy. “Let’s deal with certainty, not speculation, Sergeant. What about my friend’s murder?
Any progress?”

Candy plowed right in. “Yes, Sergeant. Is there anything we can do to help?”

Andrews bared slightly crooked teeth in a grin. “Tell me about Mr. Yancey’s personal life.
Any ex-wives, girlfriends, or significant others?”
He cocked his head. “Oops. Forgot this is Massachusetts.
Any life partners?”

“Certainly not.”
Candy, that
most liberal of souls, bristled. “Tommy was into women in every possible way.”

Andrews leaned forward.
“Really?
Does that include his partner, Dr. Meg Cahill? I’m told she and your
friend were
exceptionally close.”

I forced myself to power down.
Tommy and that … that perky cougar?
Impossible.

“Mr. Yancey would have mentioned it. We shared everything.”

“Then you knew about the insurance?” Andrews looked smug.

“You’re not making sense, Sergeant. Stop hinting around. Just tell us.” Candy folded her arms and glowered like a bubble gum goblin.

He tented his hands. “You’re right. I apologize. Mr. Yancey’s life was insured for a considerable sum, five million dollars payable to CYBER-MED.”

Candy’s eyes bugged, but I wasn’t surprised. “That’s a lot, but it’s not exceptional, you know. Businesses usually have a key person policy.”

“Oh, yeah,” Candy said. “Why we had one here when …”

She looked guiltily at me, knowing the outcome. Kai had been one of the key partners in our business. When he died, Sweet Nothings collected two million dollars, a pittance compared with the enormity of our loss.
My loss.

Andrews was a bulldog, I’d give him that. He plunged on, heedless of the consequences. “Look, ladies,” he said. “I’m not trying to be a hard ass here. Just tell me this. What made Mr. Yancey worth five million bucks to CYBER-MED?”

I took a deep breath. Where to begin? Would a solid, meat and potatoes guy like Andrews ever understand Tommy?
His enthusiasm and impish sense of humor?
Rand Lindsay got it perfectly. Tommy inspired his coworkers. He made work fun.

“Startups are unique businesses,” I said. “No track record or hoary traditions. You sort of make it up as you go along. Tommy had a rare quality. He was a catalyst who inspired creativity. People loved him.”

Somehow I got through that speech without choking up. Everything about Thomas Yancey, his quirky humor, sloppy clothes, and piercing intelligence surfaced in a seismic wave that swamped me.

“Yeah.
Sounds nice,” Andrews said, “but since when is nice worth five million bucks? Maybe someone decided to cash in.”

That annoyed me. I toyed with smashing his bony face but settled instead for reason.

“Tommy did much more than that. He was their CFO, the numbers guy. Not the mundane stuff that accountants drool over. His specialty was strategic finance. There was no one better at it.”

Andrews played dumb. At least, I hope he was pretending. Otherwise, law enforcement in Boston is doomed.

“What does that mean, Mrs. Buckley, strategic finance?” He kept his pen poised over a shabby notebook, ready to capture every pearl of wisdom.

Candy threw up her hands.
“These MBAs!
Always dropping terms like that. They did it at Sweet Nothings, too, in the old days. Tommy, Betts and Kai had their own language. Me, I just dreamed up products and found customers.”

She earned a look of gratitude from Andrews, as if he’d found a friend in a foreign world. Like most of her stunts, it was a calculated move designed to snare an ally.

“It’s fairly simple,” I said. “Tommy plotted directions, strategies and ways to get financing. He had a talent — a gift actually — for making the right financial move at the right time. He was a genius.
A star.”