Authors: Louise Hendricksen
B.J. capped his pen and looked from one to the other. “That it?” When both she and Nathan
nodded, he lay his pen in the grooved ledge of the easel and made eye contact with Amy.
“Gotta go to a meeting, kitten. Be home around eleven."
“You get anything on that blood?"
“Oh yeah, I damn near forgot.” He snatched up the felt pen again. “Type AB, Rh-negative.
I'll do a PGM later. Got a Y-factor on the chromosome comp. The house wrecker is
definitely a man."
“Hey, that's terrific, Dad.” Amy got to her feet and hugged him. “Sure narrows the
odds."
B.J. patted her back, shook himself loose, marched over to Nathan, and stuck out his
hand. “Thanks."
With a look of surprise, Nathan shook the proffered hand. “I didn't accomplish much."
“You gave us the nudge we needed.” B.J. swung around to Amy. “Get some rest,” he said
meaningfully.
“Is type AB blood rare?” Nathan asked after B.J. had gone.
Amy reseated herself beside him. “Only about six percent of the population has it.” She
frowned. “But nothing we've found today will be of any value if we don't come up with a
suspect."
“Wish I could do more.” Nathan set his elbows on the table, interlaced his long, slender
fingers, and rested his forehead against them.
Amy waited a long moment before asking what she knew she had to have the answer to. “Why
did you come here today?"
He let out his breath. “Oh, Amy. Six years ago I left home because my father called me an
arrogant fool. I traveled halfway around the world, and I am still an arrogant fool.” He
nodded his head in silent condemnation. “What gave me the right to think I knew what was
best for you,” or for Angela? I loused up your life and hers too."
She longed to put her arms around him; instead she reached over and began to rub his
back. “I'll survive."
He leaned into her hand. “I'm not sure Angela and I will. I thought I could forget you. I
didn't."
Amy continued to lightly massage his back; gradually his muscles relaxed under her
touch.
His head rested once more on his folded hands. “Night after night, I run, trying to wear
myself out so that I can sleep. But when I do, you're there in my dreams. I'm afraid
I'll say your name ... maybe I already have. Maybe that's why,"
“Shh, things will get better after...” Her voice faltered. “After you have children.” But
even while she said the words, she rejected the thought. The thought of him having
children with anyone but her.
“I doubt that will ever happen.” He ran a hand over his face wearily. “We don't ... she
can't...” He groaned. “I've really messed up our lives."
She swallowed into a dry throat and tried a different tack. “What you feel for me is only
sexual attraction. You'll forget."
He twisted around and stared at her. “Have
you
forgotten?” When she didn't answer,
he took her face in his hands. “Have you, Amy?"
She couldn't escape his fierce gaze, and knew he'd know if she lied. Her throat tightened
and a fine trembling began inside her.
“Amy?"
The softness of his voice undid her. “No, I haven't forgotten."
“Are you speaking for your body or your heart?"
The trembling progressed to her legs and she pressed her hands against her knees. “I
can't answer that, Nathan."
He flinched. “I
need
to know."
“My heart.” A tear wet her cheek. She wiped it away with her fingers and raised her chin.
“But I could be wrong. I thought I loved Mitch when I married him.” She regretted the
words as soon as she saw his expression. He knew what a mistake her first husband had
turned out to be.
Nathan brought his chair closer and enfolded her in a loose embrace. “I don't trust
myself with you,” he said. He rested his cheek against hers. “I want to kiss you, touch
you, make love to you.” He pressed her cheek harder, rocked her from side to side. “And
never ever stop."
Amy was silent, wondering if she was hearing him correctly.
“I didn't know, Amy,” he continued. He drew back his head to gaze at her. “I swear I
never knew I could feel this way. The burning need never goes away. It makes me
crazy."
“I know."
“You too?"
She nodded. “Sometimes I think I can't stand it another day, but I do."
He laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “Once, I even called here late at night just to hear
your voice on the answering machine."
He kissed her, touched her hair, her eyes, her mouth like a blind man memorizing a face.
His hands moved restlessly over her back and she sensed his growing urgency, but didn't
have the will to stop him.
Suddenly, he stumbled to his feet, upsetting the chair in his haste. “I have to get out
of here. Catch a plane. Go back to where I belong.” He looked at her with desperation in
his eyes, hesitated, then rushed out of the room.
Amy hurried after him, saw him grab his coat and head for the front door. He couldn't
leave yet, she thought. She hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye. “Nathan,
wait..."
He turned to face her. “Do you have the medicine pouch I gave you?” When she nodded, he
added, “Promise me you will wear it."
She lifted her forlorn gaze to meet his. “I promise."
His dark eyes bored into hers. “Every day, Amy. There is danger in that town, and I
cannot be here to protect you."
Amy hadn't slept the night before, and as she drove to Wheeler, her mind
and body felt weighted down with hopelessness. Last fall when she and Nathan had parted,
he'd said the thought of being away from her created an ache so terrible he didn't know
if he could live with it. He was wrong. You went on living and the pain got worse, much
worse.
Gunmetal gray clouds that matched her mood hovered just above the Douglas firs. The
station wagon's windshield wipers labored to control the sheeting rain. She let out a
long sigh. A little sunshine might have made the day bearable.
Once at the courthouse, she got soaked while dashing from the parking lot to the
building's entry portico. Pushing open one of the double oak doors, she bumped into a
man with wavy red hair who stepped back a few feet and peered at her through rimless
glasses. “Uh ... excuse me, you aren't Dr. Prescott,” he shook his head doubtfully, “Are
you?"
Amy wiped the rain from her lashes and squinted up at him. His voice sounded vaguely
familiar. “Yes. Are you looking for me, or my father?"
“You.” He gestured toward a door off to the right. “The sheriff said you were on your
way.” He smiled and laugh lines fanned out from his blue eyes. “You're not exactly what
I expected ... I mean, people who do what you do don't usually look...” He turned pink
and stuck out his hand. “I'm Jed MacManus, Dr. Nguyen's attorney."
She shook his hand and said, “We need to talk."
“Yes, we do. I'm late for court now. But...” His flush deepened. “Could we, uh ... meet
at seven tonight at the Cove in Ursa Bay, and talk over dinner?” He gazed at her with an
anxious expression.
She regarded him with a puzzled frown. The two times she'd talked to him on the phone,
he'd sounded confident and able, yet here he was stammering like a schoolboy.
“Would that be all right?” he said when she didn't respond. “I, I have to be in the area
and ... since we're going to be working as a team, we really should get acquainted.
Don't you think?"
“Seven?” She calculated her day's schedule. “I might be able to make it. If not, perhaps
my father can."
“Your father?” He seemed disappointed. “Oh yes, of course, you practice together, I'd
forgotten."
“He knows as much about
this
case as I do,” she said. “You'll have to excuse me,
Mr. MacManus. I'm late.” She brushed by him and headed for the sheriff's office.
Deputy Pierce, wearing a sullen expression, showed her to the jail's visiting room where
Cam was seated and departed without a word.
Amy glanced at his retreating back and sat down across from Cam. “What's ailing the
deputy?"
“Jed chewed him out for mouthing off."
Amy's opinion of the attorney rose a few points. “Is MacManus a friend of yours?"
“Met him a year ago when his mother was brought into the trauma center. So, tell me, have
you learned anything?"
She drew a breath. It would be best to get the questions out of the way first. She
pressed her palm against her stomach, which had begun to act up again. “Do you lift
weights?"
Cam raised an eyebrow. “Occasionally. Why?"
“We found magnesium carbonate in the kitchen and bedroom."
He rubbed his forehead. “Antacids? Neither Mai nor I take them."
“Weight lifters sometimes use magnesium carbonate on their hands.” She avoided his gaze.
“Where do you go to work out?"
“Fenwick's, at the foot of Main. I play handball there twice a week. Well, I used
to."
Amy jotted his answer in her notebook, then looked up at him. “What part of Cambodia did
Mai come from?"
“She and Chantou seldom mentioned Cambodia. Once Mai said she thought her mother grew up
in Phnom Penh."
“Are you interested in archaeology?"
He regarded her questioningly for a moment, then understanding lit his eyes. “The books
in the study belonged to Chantou. Mai said the subject fascinated him."
“I spoke with him at your wedding. He struck me as being an educated man. What do you
know about him?"
“Less than nothing.” Cam raised his shoulders in a shrug. “He read a lot. Kept up on what
was going on in Southeast Asia.” He folded his arms. “What has Chantou got to do with
Mai's murder?"
“Perhaps nothing.” Amy lay her notebook on the counter. “Mai was right to be paranoid,
Cam. Someone
was
spying on her."
“Oh, God!” Cam covered his face, “Why didn't I believe her?"
As gently as she could, Amy told him about the destructive search of the house, the
evidence they'd found, and, when she could put it off no longer, the results of the
autopsy.
When she finished, Cam sat as if stunned. “The man's a monster.” His lip quivered. “He
must be. Who else would do such a thing?"
Amy studied his face. “We think Mai knew him. Either that, or he had a key to the
house."
“Mai had the locks changed two weeks ago. He couldn't have had a key, unless,” his eyes
clouded, “she gave it to him” He gripped the edge of me counter.
Amy stretched out her hand in an effort to reach him. “We have to consider every
possibility.” She pushed a sheet of paper across to him. “We'll need a list of your male
friends and acquaintances."
He recoiled. “You think someone I
know
did that to her?"
“Cam,” she said gently. “Every day, you see what terrible things people are capable of
doing."
“Not my friends. Not people I know."
Amy got to her feet. “How well do we really know anyone?” she asked.
From the outside, Fenwick's Athletic Club looked like many other red
brick warehouses built in the early nineteen hundreds. Inside, in the U-shaped foyer,
clear Plexiglas extended from floor to ceiling, providing a view of each room. On Amy's
left, two men played handball; on her right, a group of women exercised to music.
Amy had watched the scene only a few minutes when a thin young woman with blonde hair
came toward her. She wore royal blue slacks and a matching blouse trimmed with a white
collar and cuffs. “May I help you?” she asked.
“I'm Amy Prescott,” Amy said, noting the FAC logo rendered in script on the woman's
collar. A blue plastic tag disclosed that her name was Daphne. “Do you offer low-impact
aerobics for expectant mothers?"
“But definitely.” The woman flashed a cover-girl smile. “It's an ongoing class and
they're just starting today's workout. You can sit in, if you'd like."
Wondering if her stomach was up to the challenge, Amy forced a smile. “Yes, I'd like
that."
Daphne took her name and led her down the hall to a room where a group of women in
various stages of pregnancy were sitting on blue vinyl mats. Amy took a seat on a vacant
mat beside an Asian woman.
“Hi.” Good humor glinted in the woman's dark eyes and wreathed her angular face. “I'm Hue
Quoy."
Amy answered her smile. “Amy Prescott.” The instructor began to speak, cutting off any
further conversation.
When the session ended, Amy followed Hue down a flight of stairs to the windowless
basement. As they started along a hallway, an Asian man with permed hair worn in an
elaborate pompadour came toward them. He was dressed in the club's blue and white
uniform and carried a stack of towels. He stopped near the group of women and a smile
spread over his delicately formed features.
“Good morning, ladies. Are all the mothers in fine health today?"
A chorus of answers came from all sides. Hue grinned and a tiny dimple flickered beside
her wide mouth. “They go bonkers when Kim's around.” She rolled her eyes. “They think
he's
so
romantic looking."
They entered the women's dressing room. Dark blue walls absorbed light from the single
overhead fixture and created a cave-like effect.
“Give me a few minutes to change and we'll walk out together,” Hue said, scuttling down
one of the rows of gray lockers that partitioned the room into long shadowy
alleyways.
Amy strolled past the lockers en route to the lavatories. She stopped beside a woman who
was changing her shoes and pointed to the combination locks attached to protruding
hasps. “Are these dependable?"
“Usually,” the woman said and giggled. “But they're stiff and I don't always get those
long steel prongs pushed in far enough.” She shrugged and turned her palms up. “Then
they don't catch."