Obsession (Southern Comfort) (42 page)

“Yeah.”  Mac huffed out a breath.  “I do.”
   

“Speaking of said investigation. 
Any progress on the video of the unidentified man purchasing the doll?”

Mac rolled his eyes.  “Harding told you.”

“He owed me,” Kathleen said.  “I fed him some information when it was his loved one in danger.”

“I wasn’t holding out on you because I wanted to,” Mac muttered.

Kathleen laid a hand on his arm.  “I know that.  Rock and a hard place.”

That brought the ghost of a smile.  “No luck so far,” he admitted.  “The angle is bad, the film is grainy, the customer paid in cash.
  We’ve been pursuing some other leads, but…”  He shrugged, to indicate they were basically grasping at straws.

“The fact that it was a man… Mac, there were footprints.  At Justin’s house, after
a break-in.  And outside my window, the night it snowed.  They were made by a men’s athletic shoe, size twelve and a half.  I don’t know what that does to the theory that Justin’s stalker is a woman.”

Mac frowned. 
He thought about it for several long moments, then pulled out his phone.  After swiping his finger across it a number of times, he stared at the screen, then turned it so that Kathleen could see it.

“Men’s athletic shoe,” he said.  “Whether it’s a size twelve and a half or not, I can’t say.  We might be able to measure the floor tiles to get a comparison.”

The image was obviously taken from the surveillance video in the toy store.  Setting aside the emotion that caused her to clench her teeth – after all, this was the man who’d allegedly threatened her newborn niece, or at least had a part in it – she scrutinized the still.

The man wore a long coat that looked several sizes too big for him and a hat that obscured his features, but Kathleen was focused on his shoes.  “What do you think he is?” she said, looking at his height in relation to the counter.  “Five-ten, maybe?  But his feet are huge.”
  She shook her head.  “Could be a twelve and a half, but like you said, it’s tough to tell.”

“I’ll see if we can get
some more solid measurements.”

“Do you have the video?”

“Not with me.  But at this point, I can’t see why the LT wouldn’t agree to let you have a look.  Maybe you’ll see something we missed.”

Kathleen started to hand the phone to
Mac, then jerked it back toward her.

“What?”

“I’m not sure.” She squinted at the screen, and pulled up the memory – clear
er than this photograph – of the night she’d stood outside the theater in the cold.  “Either it’s a really odd coincidence…”

“Or?” Mac prompted.

Kathleen finally looked up.  “Or that man is wearing Justin’s coat.”  

“HEY.” 

Justin looked up, blinking his eyes to clear them. 

“I’m sorry,” Anne said softly.  “I didn’t realize you were sleeping.  Your eyes were sort of…” She slitted her own to demonstrate.

Justin chuckled, rubbing a hand through his hair.  “You know how they say that people sleep with one eye open when they’re on guard?  Well, physicians learn to sleep with both eyes open, I guess. At least partway.”

Anne held out a Styrofoam mug.
  “I brought you some coffee,” she said.  “I wasn’t sure how you take it, so I brought a little of everything.  Although please don’t think I’ll be offended if you don’t want it.”

“No, that’s great.  Thanks.”  He accepted the cup.
  Discarding the packets of sweetener, he opened up the little cup of creamer and poured it in. After the first sip, he checked his watch, and frowned.  “My brother was supposed to be bringing me some, actually.  You haven’t seen a younger, slightly brawnier version of me walking around anywhere, have you?”

“I’m afraid not.” She smiled.  “Though I’m intrigued by your description.”

“Oh.  Well, James and I rather resemble each other.  Physically, anyway.”

“Natasha…”
she paused.  Swallowed past the thickness that crept into her voice.  “I can’t say that my sister and I have ever resembled each other, physically or otherwise.  Well, apart from coloring, and I guess we both have our mother’s eyes.  But she’s fairly petite and rather, um, shapely – or at least she is when she’s healthy – whereas I’ve always been more stork-like.”

Justin’s mouth curved.  “I’d hardly describe you that way.”

“Well, I’m tall,” she pointed out.  “For a woman, anyway.  And when I was younger, I was certainly gawky.  All legs.”

Justin glanced at the legs in question.
  Not in Kathleen’s league of course, but certainly attractive.  “That’s not really a bad thing.”

She
flushed, looking up shyly from beneath her lashes.  “Thanks.” 

Because he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the direction the conversation
was going, he focused on his coffee.  After several moments of awkward silence, he pulled his phone from his pocket.  “If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” he said “I’m going to check in with my brother.”

“Of course.”  She waved a hand, then reached into her purse to pull out the novel she’d been reading off and on over the course of the evening.

Sitting his mostly empty cup aside, Justin headed down the hallway.  He didn’t want to invite censorious looks by using his phone near any of the more sensitive equipment.

He found a quiet corner
by one of the exits, and then checked to see if he had any texts or messages from either his brother or Kathleen.  They’d both gone back to his house earlier – Kathleen to check out the scene, James to talk to the detective in charge.

There were certain to be inve
stigators and technicians around – and, as he frequently reminded himself – Kathleen herself was a cop.  However, he’d be lying if he denied that he was feeling a little uneasy about them being there.

Not that he thought the shooter was likely to be hanging around the scene.  But h
e’d been less than a yard away from Natasha when the bullet struck, and familiar as he was with the aftermath of violence, watching it happen in front of you gave one a whole new perspective.  It wasn’t an experience he cared to repeat.

There were no messages from James, but there were two from Kathleen.

Something came up. May be a while before I can talk.  Stay put. And don’t give your brother grief if he seems to be hovering.  I asked him to.  I’ll explain later.

Justin frowned.  He couldn’t say he cared for the fact that
Kathleen had basically ordered him to heel, like some sort of pampered lapdog with a pretty bow in its topknot, while she herself was out doing God knew what. 

But
, as he reminded himself yet again, she
was
a cop.  Even if he currently found that particular fact less than reassuring.

Suppressing his annoyance, he opened the second text.

I love you.

The final remnant of annoyance vanished beneath a tidal wave of warmth, and Justin leaned one shoulder against the wall, smiling.  How long had he yearned for just those words from her, without actively expecting to ever hear them?  Or read them, as it were.

I love you, too
he typed back. 
Even when you’re bossy.  Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.

Although really, if Kathleen decided that she wanted to boss him around in more… intimate circumstances?  That totally worked for him.

A yawn nearly cracked his jaw, and Justin blinked, his eyes feeling heavy.  The coffee apparently hadn’t done him much good.  Maybe he’d head back to the lounge and try to catch a few minutes sleep.

He started to pocket his phone, then thought about the other part of Kathleen’s message.  So she’d told James to hover, had she?  Justin snorted.  His brother appeared to be falling down on the job.

But concern began to niggle.  James’ character flaws were many, but reliability – especially when it came to his family – wasn’t one of them.  And he recalled his brother’s face earlier, drawn into tight lines, his worry and fear palpable.

He pulled up his contact list, and dialed James’ cell phone.

Knowing his brother wouldn’t check his voice mail, he didn’t bother leaving a message, but instead tried to reach him at home.  Maybe he’d had to wait a while to talk to the detective.  Justin knew that crime scenes were frequently a controlled sort of chaos, not unlike the emergency room.

No answer there, either.

The hospital cafeteria was closed, so maybe James had stopped off to eat first.  Left his phone in the truck.

Speaking of which, Justin glanced through the glass on the door, toward the parking lot. He couldn’t be sure, since it was a fair distance away, but he thought he recognized the distinctive shape – and color – of his Ford.

So maybe James was here, and he’d turned off his phone
.  Justin had seen some of the nurses browbeating people earlier about cellular devices.  Better go find him.  Perhaps James knew something about whatever it was that Kathleen had found.

He started to stand up straight, and found that it took a remarkable effort.  It wasn’t just his eyelids that felt heavy, but also his limbs.  Justin shook his head, then gathered up his energy and pushed off the wall, toward the door.  Maybe the cool night air would rouse him.

The door gave way with a squeak of hinges, and Justin stumbled as he leaned heavily on the push bar.

Something’s not right. 
His internal diagnostician warned him that this was more than simple fatigue.  Sometimes his life seemed like one big, endless blur of fatigue, and he knew how his body handled it.

This was not it.

Drugged,
the internal diagnostician said, and Justin thought: no shit.

He fell to his knees on the sidewalk
, everything around him seeming fuzzy, as if the world had been wrapped in cotton wool.

The coffee.  Anne had brought him coffee.  And it had seemingly been spiked with some sort of very powerful sleep aid.

Why?  As the answer became clear even to his drug-fogged brain, Justin tried to drag his phone from his pocket.  Fighting off the overwhelming need to close his eyes, he sat down so that he could focus his energy on operating the phone rather than keeping himself upright.

He tried to enter his passcode but his thumbs, unusually clumsy, didn’t want to obey his brain’s commands.

Damn it. 
He propped himself against the low wall that served as an elevated planter, and tried again.

The door behind him opened.

He heard a deep, feminine sigh.

Heels clicked toward him across the concrete.

“You were supposed to fall asleep
inside,”
a voice scolded, and then brown eyes peered into his, partly frustrated, partly censorious.

Then Anne shook her head.  “I’ll take that,” she said of his phone, neatly plucking it from his hand with her long, manicured fingers.  Then she brushed those fingers across his cheek.

“Go to sleep.”  She leaned forward, kissed him gently. “We can talk when you wake up.”   

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

THE
large, warm lump behind her groaned.

“You’re awake?” Shelley said
, twisting so that she could glance over her shoulder, much good as it did her.  “Finally.”

“What the hell?”  James’ voice was understandably groggy.

Shelley sighed, figuring he’d need a few minutes to get back up to speed.  A very few, she hoped.

“Natasha’s crazy-ass sister bashed you on the head with a gun,” she told him,
her voice sounding hoarse to her own ears “then made me help her load you into the back of my car – you weigh a freaking ton, by the way – and forced me at gunpoint to drive here.”

He grunted, and she felt him shift then fall still again, the movement probably bringing him pain.  “Why?”

“Because she’s crazy?”  If her tone was acerbic, Shelley thought she was entitled, given the situation.

“Yeah, but…”

He trailed off, taking a series of rapid, shallow breaths, and Shelley felt a flash of sympathy.  Only a flash, though.  She knew his head had to feel like a ripe melon that had recently been smashed, but
he’d just have to deal.  If they didn’t get out of here before Anne came back, they were both toast.

And why was she thinking in food metaphors at a time like this?  Maybe because she was trussed up like a
Christmas goose.

“From what I can gather,” Shelley told him in answer to his unfinished question “you were focusing on the wrong sister.”

There was a pause as this was assimilated.  “Oh.  Shit.  You mean… I don’t know her name.”

“Anne.”

“Anne.  Okay.  You mean Anne is the one who’s been stalking Justin?”

“Well, she didn’t exactly come out and say so, but I can’t say I’m surprised.  Bitch is a bunny-boiler if I’ve ever seen one.  She had access to my car keys,” s
he informed him.  “The extra set.  Because she’s been hanging around our apartment.  I even caught her in my room one night,” she said, almost to herself, as she recalled the night in question.  “And no doubt she’d love to pin running a cop off the road on me if she possibly could.  And whatever else she’s been up to,” she added darkly.