Picture Me Dead (28 page)

“It will be incredible,” he told her. “I think it was just hard for an old-timer like me to see such talent from an upstart.”

“Upstart?”

“You're supposed to protest that I'm not an old-timer.”

“How old are you?”

“Nearly thirty-six. Thirteen years on the force.”

“You always knew what you wanted to be?”

“Nope. I was supposed to grow up to be a lawyer. In some ways, I was like that asshole football player you dated.”

“You
are
a chauvinist.”

“Not at all, not anymore. Except….”

“Except when it comes to me?”

He hesitated even longer then. Before he spoke, he gritted his teeth and shrugged. “There's something about you that reminds me of Nancy.”

“She was a cop. A homicide cop. Your partner. And you loved her.”

“Right. But I know—I
know—
that she went off on her own, and that's what got her killed. She made a mistake.”

“A male cop can make a mistake.
You
could make a mistake,” she reminded him.

He smiled. “Yeah, I could.”

“But you stay out there.”

“You bet.”

“So…?”

“You know what?” He turned to her, face bronze against his pillow. “Cops can be assholes. Male, female, gay, straight, you name it. Macho guys with big guns, women with chips on their shoulders…cops are human. Some guys have gone bad, really bad. But most cops really are the good guys. I met one when I was a kid. He straightened me out, and I saw that he could make a difference. That's what this job is to me. Making a difference. I see guys doing it all the time, sometimes just in small ways. I know there are times when we won't get the answers. Doesn't mean we stop trying. If you'll keep it a secret, I'll even admit I'm obsessed with the Bordon case. And I know our Jane Doe is connected somehow. I'm sure I have the missing piece of the puzzle somewhere. I just don't know what it is. Maybe that's why I understand your conviction about Stuart, why I'll ask some questions and do some investigating on my own. But when your drawing hits the papers tomorrow, I'm willing to bet we get an identification on Jane Doe, and that means I'm going to be busy as all hell, so you'll have to understand if it takes me a little time.”

She drew a line down his cheek with her fingertip. “I'm grateful for whatever you can do.”

He caught her finger. Teased it with his tongue. “Hey, you wouldn't be here because you think I'm a good investigator and can get you answers, would you?”

She felt her lips curving into a smile. “I'm here because I think you're very good at something else.”

“Great. Just after my body.”

“Brains or body. Pick one,” she told him. “And hey—am I here because I can draw? Or because I'm convenient and have the right body parts?”

“Convenient, the right body parts…and hair. I'm a sucker for a redhead.”

She laughed, and he drew her closer. His knuckles moved down her back; his fingertips teased the flesh of her hip. A thought crossed her mind.

Or am I here because I remind you of Nancy?

She didn't ask him.

As his lips joined his fingertips against her naked flesh, she didn't want to think at all.

 

The alarm hadn't gone off. Ashley was certain it was still night, but the pounding at Jake's door would have roused the dead.

“What the hell…?” he muttered, jumping up and reaching for his trunks.

“Jake!”

“It's Marty,” Jake murmured briefly, before heading out of the cabin.

Ashley sat up, still crawling out of the depths of sleep, blinking. She heard Jake undo the locks, heard Marty burst in.

“We've got it,” Marty said.

“What?”

“The newspaper has barely hit the streets, and we've got an identification on Cinderella.”

 

Nathan Fresia sat in the hospital chair, his head sunk into his hands. The depths of his despair were almost overwhelming.

Lucy had been admitted to the hospital, as well. Her blood pressure had risen sky high, and she was a prime candidate for a full-scale heart attack. She was sedated, sleeping in a different wing of the hospital. He felt torn. He should be with her, but she had insisted that he be here, that he not leave their son's side.

“Mr. Fresia?”

He looked up. Dr. Ontkean, the neurologist in charge of Stuart's case, was standing quietly before him.

He must have looked really horrible, because the doctor knelt down before him. “Mr. Fresia, the important factor here is that your son is a real trouper. His will to live may actually pull him through.”

Nathan nodded, realizing that, despite everything, he needed to be grateful. Stuart had been brought back to life. Not to consciousness, but he was still hanging on.

“Your wife's cardiologist has assured me that as long as she gets some real rest, she's going to be fine, too.”

“Thank you.” He heard the words, though it didn't sound like his voice speaking at all.

The doctor cleared his throat. “But now, I need your help. We nearly lost your son last night because a plug was pulled out of the wall. There are just too many people coming through to see him. Thank God he is the fighter he is—he hung on breathing on his own for a long time. We don't even know how long, but…it's a good sign, and also a good warning. This is an intensive care unit. He can't have a parade going through, do you understand?”

Nathan nodded. “Yes, yes, of course.”

“Mr. Fresia? You need some sleep yourself.”

“I can't leave my boy. I won't leave my boy.”

Ontkean nodded. Maybe he had kids himself. “Sleep in the recliner, then. I'll check with you later,” he said. He departed.

Nathan listened to the sound of the respirator and closed his eyes, thanking God.

And kept his vigil.

 

“Jake, I—” Marty broke off suddenly. “Oh, jeez, you're not alone. Man, I'm sorry.”

“What?” Jake said. He followed the direction of Marty's eyes and saw Ashley's bra on the floor. He swore silently to himself.

“Don't worry about it. Cinderella. Who is she?”

“The night guys got the call right after the morning edition was published,” Marty began. But before he got any further, they both heard a sudden scream coming from the direction of Nick's place.

They both started instantly for the door.

 

Len Green parked some distance from the lot that belonged to Nick Montague, exited his car and walked silently toward the building. He meant to take a circuitous route around the back of the establishment. The sun hadn't really hit the horizon yet, and there were plenty of trees and bushes for cover. He was sure he could make it to Ashley's door without being seen.

Then he stopped dead in his tracks as a blood-curdling scream split the morning air.

 

Ashley's cell phone was ringing. She could hear it, but she had no idea where she'd dropped her purse last night. All she knew was that her clothes were strewn all over the living area, and both Marty and Jake had gone racing out the front door at the sound of the scream.

She scrambled quickly, forgetting her shoes and her underwear, hopping her way into her jeans and drawing her shirt over her head even as she reached the door and pelted barefoot across the deck. She leapt to the dock, then saw that Jake, Marty, Nick and Sharon were out on the terrace.

As she raced toward the foursome, Sandy, scratching his white head, emerged from his houseboat.

“What? My God, what?” Ashley cried, reaching them.

It felt as if they were all staring at her. Except, of course, Jake, who was staring at Sharon.

“Ashley!” Sharon said.

“Was that you screaming? Why?” Ashley demanded.

“She was worried,” Nick said flatly.

“Worried?”

“I saw your drawing in the paper,” Sharon explained. “I recognized the woman immediately. I went to your room, but you weren't there…and then I screamed. I was so scared.”

“Why were you frightened for Ashley?” Jake asked.

“We didn't even know you took the job,” Nick said, staring at his niece. Ashley felt her heart sink. No, of course, he hadn't known. He'd raised her. He'd been a best friend. And she hadn't told him about one of the most important decisions of her life.

“I'm sorry.”

“Is her name on the drawing?” Marty asked, bewildered. But he, too, stared at Ashley. She wondered if she should just have a sign made for her forehead:
Yes, I'm sleeping with Jake Dilessio.

“I'd recognize Ashley's work anywhere,” Nick said with dignity, and a touch of reproach.

“I would, too,” Sharon added.

“Nick, it just happened yesterday,” Ashley explained.

“Who is the woman?” Jake demanded, his tone impatient as he cut into the conversation.

Sharon's eyes turned to him. “Her name is—was—Cassie Sewell.”

“And you recognize her because…?”

“She was a Realtor down here for a little while. She came down from the center of the state several months ago, and I met her because we were both involved in the sale of a place out by the Redlands.”

“Why wasn't she reported missing?” Marty asked.

“Well, from what I heard…” She took a deep breath, then went on. “I almost had a deal, then the whole thing went up in smoke because the sellers felt they weren't being represented properly. And when I tried to get hold of her, a fellow she worked with told me she'd just come in and quit. She said she was changing her lifestyle or something. Fred Hampton, a guy in the office, said it was like she had fallen in love. That's all I know. Naturally, I wasn't that fond of her—she blew a deal for me—but when I saw her face…and Ash's drawing…”

“What's the name of the company she was working for?” Jake demanded.

“Algemon and Palacio,” Sharon supplied.

Jake turned to Marty. “I'm heading straight over there. You head in and see what the night guys have.”

“Right,” Marty agreed.

Jake turned and started back for his boat. Nick and Sharon stared at Ashley, who braced herself to hear what her uncle had to say.

But he didn't speak. He simply turned around without a word and headed back toward the bar.

“It—it's all right, dear,” Sharon said.

“No, no, it's not,” Ashley said, shaking her head.

She hurried after Nick. He was behind the bar, pouring coffee. He knew she was there, but he still didn't speak.

“Nick, I'm sorry.”

“You're twenty-five. You want to keep your career—and your love life—private, it's your concern.”

“Nick! Please!”

She walked around the bar and put her arms around him, resting her head against his chest as she had since she was a child. “I'm so sorry. I didn't get a chance to talk to you last night because you'd already left to see Stuart. And then, when I came back…”

“Oh, yeah. When you came back.”

He moved away from her.

She was quiet a minute. “I thought you liked Jake Dilessio.”

“I did. That was before he was sleeping with my niece.”

She held very still. “Nick, like you said, I'm twenty-five. And…well, you must have known that I…I have had…”

“Sex?” he said bluntly, turning to stare at her. “Well, yeah, I guess I knew. There was that jock when you were in high school. I'm not an idiot, you know. And yes, you're twenty-five. It's just that…well, hell! I'd like to think I mean a little more to you than a cop who just moved in down the dock.”

“Oh, Nick. I know I should have talked to you. I realize you must have been doubly shocked when you saw the drawing. But everything happened so fast.”

“Want to tell me about it now?”

She stared into his eyes, nodded and took a seat at the bar. “Would you pour me coffee?”

“Yeah.”

He brought her a cup.

“Nick, it was amazing.”

“I don't want to hear the details on your night with the cop.”

“Not that—the job. I accepted, just like you said I should. And then, before I even officially started, they decided to take me down to the morgue to do the sketch. It all happened so fast, Nick.”

“Like this thing with Dilessio?” Nick said softly.

She exhaled. “Yes.”