Key West (47 page)

But wouldn’t she wait to see Chris and Sonnie that morning? They hadn’t waited to see her...

Where would she go so early in the day?

Sonnie should call Chris.

And tell him what?

Panic wouldn’t accomplish a thing. She would go back to her own place and give some thought to organization. A call to her parents was long overdue. What should she tell them about Romano?

On an overcast day, the purple bougainvillea was blindingly brilliant. Nothing moved. Not a suggestion of a breeze did anything to cool off the mounting heat.

She didn’t have to go home. There was no reason not to go to the street and keep on walking—except for the need to overcome irrational fear, and to deal with the presence of one small, bug-eyed dog who looked at her as if she were his salvation.

“Okay, Wimp, let’s get you fed, you nuisance.” She liked having him with her. He asked nothing but that she love him and make him feel safe. Odd how some simple needs crossed so many boundaries.

She went inside and promptly called her parents. Their worry oozed along the lines. They both wanted her to come home at once, and they urged her to listen to Billy’s friend, the good doctor, whom they respected. Neither of them mentioned either Romano or Frank, and Sonnie chose to avoid the topic, too. They almost certainly wouldn’t believe her if she told them what Romano had done to her.

As soon as she hung up, the phone rang. She picked up again and Aiden’s unmistakable voice said, “Sonnie. You heard from Chris?”

“No. Did you try his phone?”

“Idiot’s got it turned off.”

“I haven’t heard,” she said, calling on simple discipline to stop herself from defending Chris’s intellect. “What’s going on?” Chris hadn’t turned on his phone, that was all. It didn’t mean something had happened to him.

“I got something, that’s all,” Aiden said. “And I want Chris to check some things out. Do you know a guy called Cory Bledsoe?”

“At the club. He’s the athletic director. Or he’s supposed to be. Romano’s been covering for him. He left for some reason.”

“Yeah? But you don’t know him personally?”

“I’ve met him. Nice enough man, if you don’t mind the way he hovers.”

“Any talk about him?”

Sonnie considered. “Well, he does have a bit of a reputation as a ladies’ man. But I don’t know any specifics.”

“Could be unimportant. I’ll get hold of Chris eventually. If you hear from him, please let him know I called.”

“Will do,” Sonnie said, and hung up once more.

Wimpy had left on a sniffing expedition. Sonnie reminded herself that every inch of this house had been examined, and went to the kitchen to heat a mug of coffee in the microwave.

She scoured the sink until the buzzer went off, then climbed the stairs, mug in hand. A nap sounded better than she ever remembered. Yesterday’s ordeal had taken a lot out of her, and she hadn’t had much sleep last night.

Mostly she didn’t feel like doing anything but waiting for Chris.

With the coffee on her bedside table, she plumped up her pillows and stretched out with her head propped. Better than a nap, just being comfortable and having the time to think about Chris was an irresistible idea.

Yet again the phone rang, and when she picked up Chris said, “Why didn’t you go to the Nail?”

She must have summoned him up just by thinking about him. She smiled and said, “I decided to take a nap instead.”

There was a short silence before Chris said, “Tired you out, huh?”

“You wish you were here?”

“You’ve got it. I’d like to be there with you. I’d like to keep informed of where you are, though, Sonnie. Are you staying there, or do you plan to go to the Nail?”

“Not till this evening. Aiden called. He said to tell you that if I heard from you. He tried to contact you but your phone was off.”

“It has to be for now,” Chris said, but didn’t elaborate more.

And Sonnie didn’t press him. “Aiden asked questions about Cory Bledsoe but he didn’t tell me why.”

“Shit.” Chris said, “I need to talk to Aiden. Listen, don’t leave your house before you hear from me. Got that?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Later.” He hung up.

Chris was fine.

Sonnie took a mouthful of coffee that was growing cold and rested against the pillows. The palms beyond the balcony had grown tall in the years since she and Frank had bought the house.

Frank was dead. That was a thought that didn’t make sense. He’d been so vibrant, so self-assured. Frank smiled at everyone—even Sonnie if there was someone around who might see. How sad. They had seemed blessed, bound to have a golden life together. So soon he’d let the pretense fall away, and she’d found out he liked to have her on his arm—or perhaps to have her name and connections on his arm—but he hadn’t even liked her at all. She’d become a nuisance to him.

She wished he were alive and happy. Once they’d divorced he’d have had no difficulty finding a much more suitable woman to share his life.

A
bang, bang, bang
startled her. She sat up and saw at once what was making the noise. Outside on the balcony, Frank’s chair rocked madly back and forth, hammering at the frame on the French door.

Sonnie jumped from the bed and went to open the doors. She had to push the chair away in order to go outside.

She gripped the chair to pull it away from the doors, but stopped and looked at it. The last time she’d noticed it, it had stood farther along the balcony—well away from the windows. She couldn’t have seen it without coming outside.

And there was no wind now.

She gave it a push.

It rocked, but not much. Frank had chosen the long runners that guaranteed soft motion. He’d had the chair made because he liked to sit out here at night—on his own. There hadn’t been a chair for Sonnie, not that she minded. She’d been glad for him to find peace wherever he could.

Even if the chair had been moved while the cleanup from the fire was under way, that wouldn’t explain why it started rocking all on its own, and rocking so hard it banged the window.

Sonnie leaned over the balcony railings and scanned the area for signs of an intruder onto the property. She didn’t see anyone.

Her heart beat faster. If she mentioned the incident to anyone they’d say it was petty and unimportant. It
was
petty and unimportant, and she wouldn’t mention it. She hauled the chair well away and back out of sight of the bedroom and returned inside. She locked the door and sat on the bed again.

At any other time or in any other place, she would be deciding who might take pleasure in childish pranks.

But these weren’t pranks.

She crawled under the quilt. The air conditioning was on and the house was cool. It felt good—safe—to be warm. The house was locked up and Chris and Aiden were in touch. She had nothing to fear. And she was regaining enough confidence to feel sure of herself.

Consciousness slipped slowly, comfortably away. Images crowded her mind, mostly of Chris. Christian. They could go away and forget everything here.

Her warm, safe feeling grew deeper.

One sound penetrated. Just a faint sound somewhere above her head. She turned onto her back but didn’t open her eyes. A soft, soft sobbing. A baby sobbing.

Sonnie did open her eyes then. Awake? She didn’t know. The noise stopped. Had she ever heard it at all?

Twilight sleep claimed her again and she went with it. She was healing. If she weren’t, she wouldn’t be able to stay here like this and think logically about what was happening to her.

A baby’s distant sobs sounded again. When she opened her eyes, she didn’t hear them anymore.

She wasn’t coping at all. As long as she was around other people she felt almost normal, but not when she was alone. Maybe she did need treatment. What could it hurt?

“Go. Go. Go.”
Her mouth dried out. She gathered the quilt to her neck. A man’s voice high in the room—stuttering the word.
“She’s waiting. Go.”

Sonnie resisted the urge to cover her head. She did settle even lower in the bed. Νο, she would not give in to this. And she would not blame other people for the condition she was in.

She located the bottle of sleeping pills in the bedside table and went to the bathroom for water. The glass was missing so she returned to take the medication with cold coffee.

She almost dropped the mug. She’d forgotten she was holding it. And she recalled being told the medicine was strong and she’d have to lie down when she’d taken it. Sonnie did so and felt herself begin to float.

Her eyelids were too heavy to open, so she didn’t try. When she parted her lids again, the light from outside had begun to dim. She was still so tired, her limbs so heavy.

A baby cried. A brokenhearted baby sobbed. Neglected and alone.

Sonnie began to cry, too. If her mind had been destroyed, but enough had been left intact to give her periods when she felt she was normal, she would suffer like this as long as she lived. No good to anyone. She should go away where no one knew her, and no one could be worried for her.

The child’s noises went away, and Sonnie felt herself going away, too.

A scream tore through the house. Sonnie sat up and covered her ears. “Stop it,” she cried. “Chris, I need you.”

Another scream somewhere overhead, and an explosive sound. Metal wrenched from metal, and sliding rubber. She smelled burning rubber.

She leaped from bed and her legs wouldn’t hold her. She slid to the floor. The noise was all around her. Bigger and bigger. The screaming went on and on.

Sonnie panted, and whispered, “Please stop. Let me go.” She was finished now. Taking in a big breath she shouted, “Let me go,” and huddled in a ball on the carpet.

The unmistakable roar of igniting flames brought her own screams to join the others. A searing current, a draft of intense heat engulfed her, stole her breath.

She collapsed and waited to die. She wanted to die now. Sensation faded.

Sonnie opened her eyes and thought, dimly, that a lot of time had passed. Near darkness pressed the windows. She should gather a few things and leave—and not tell anyone where she was going. She owed the people who cared for her that much. If she could find a way to get better, she’d return; otherwise they would never hear from her again.

The baby cried. Her throat sounded hoarse and she hiccuped. An exhausted plea for comfort.

Pain assaulted every joint, but Sonnie used the side of the bed to pull herself upright. This time the crying didn’t stop.

How many hours had she slept? Darkness had fallen. If the phone had rung, she hadn’t heard it.

She pressed her ears to try to drown out the sound of the baby, but she heard it just the same.

She staggered across the room and opened the door to the hallway. The baby’s cries became louder.

Now the noise wasn’t disembodied. It came from Jacqueline’s room. Sonnie felt weak and sick. She swallowed again and again, willing herself not to vomit.

Too light-headed to walk without holding on to the wall, she turned the handle on the nursery door and pushed it open carefully.

Grayness crowded every corner, but the white flounced bassinet almost shone in its dim surroundings.

The rocking bassinet.

Sonnie stepped, very cautiously, closer.

The desperate crying came from the baby’s swaying bed. Inside the bed, tiny arms and legs flailed.

Thirty

He’d meant it when he told Sonnie he thought they were nearing a resolution. What he hadn’t told her was that he wasn’t sure he was relieved at the prospect. The two scenarios that scared the hell out of him were that everything would come down and he’d be in the wrong place at the wrong time—or that Sonnie was mentally unbalanced.

Why didn’t he just say it like it was? He had no choice but to see this thing through to the end, but he knew the end might cost him his newfound hope for the future: Sonnie.

Chris had left his bike in the club’s employee parking lot. He went along a walkway to one of the enclosed pools and let himself in by an age-old but very skilled cop trick. He reached over the gate and released the lock from the inside.

He had called a few minutes earlier and asked for “Billy Keith in twenty-seven,” to which the front desk clerk obligingly replied, “Twelve, sir. I’ll ring for you.” Trusting people could be so helpful. Chris had let the phone ring until the clerk came back on the line and said, “I’m sorry. There’s no answer. We don’t have a mailbox system, but I can take a message for Ms. Keith and make sure she gets it when she comes back in.”

“She’s out?”

“Yes.”

“You sure of that?”

“Oh, absolutely, sir,” the man said. “She’s difficult to miss, if you know what I mean.”

“I do indeed.” So why had they both wasted time ringing the room? “Thanks for trying. I’ll call back.”

Chris walked along a pathway of crushed white rock as if he knew exactly where he was going. There’d probably never be a better chance than now to take a look at Billy’s room. He already knew that Romano wasn’t at the club today. Sonnie had checked and been told he’d gone to Stock Island and would be there overnight. That meant a look at his room could come after Billy’s.

A woman in a bikini and carrying what resembled a good-size vase filled with a blue, paper parasol—decked drink, pushed through a door from the building. Chris promptly strode in that direction and held the door open for her.

If her mouth hadn’t been full, she would doubtless have engaged him in deep conversation. As it was, she stared and sputtered and Chris escaped into a corridor papered with palm-strewn foil.

Seedy
was the word that came to mind. A new do would definitely be in order, not that Chris gave a damn.

He found room twelve so fast, he paused. This was all too easy.

The place hadn’t yet graduated to key cards.
Thank God.
Another ten seconds and Chris was inside.

With one hand at the clip-on holster he wore at his waist under a denim jacket, he planned his approach and started with the bathroom. He turned up nothing of interest, except for a stash of masculine toiletries. Dr. Lesley, no doubt. Just as well Detective Talon was ex. He’d definitely lost his touch. True, the doc hadn’t been very visible since he’d been here, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t around. And why wouldn’t he and Billy be sharing a room?