Slow Burn (6 page)

“Well, they're watching for you now, Spencer, so please, can we talk later?”

She gritted her teeth, and leaned back. She came against a wall of dirt. Very damp dirt. She looked up at the night sky and realized that she was six feet under. It wasn't a comfortable feeling.

It was very dark. She could barely see David, but she could sense his movements, at least. He'd reached into his jacket. For his gun, she was certain. But then she heard him talking. Softly, barely a whisper.

Number sequences, the name of the cemetery, the address. “Southeast of the main mausoleum,” he said at last.

He was on a very small cellular phone, she realized, and stared at him incredulously.

“A phone, no gun?” she said softly.

He replaced the phone and pulled his gun, arching a brow at her. “Six of them, one of me. I'm good, Spencer, but, hey, cut me a little slack here, huh?”

She started to answer then went still again as they both heard trees rustling nearby and felt the tremor of the earth near them. Loose particles fell around them. Spencer felt the blood draining from her face.

David motioned to her to get down. She shrank against the wall of the grave, hunching as low as she could. Someone came nearer and nearer, very near. So near that he was looking into the open grave…

Suddenly David pressed away from the opposite wall, catching the man's ankle as he had caught hers, causing him to plummet wildly into the grave. He landed with a hard whack, sending dirt flying into Spencer's face. In the darkness she barely saw him raise his head. A moonbeam caught the light of his eyes against their frame of knit ski mask, making them glitter. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Spencer heard a click as David cocked his gun.

“Rise slowly, quietly—and carefully,” David warned.

The figure began to follow instructions. Even as he did, Spencer could hear the sound of sirens in the night. Closing in. But she was still standing in an open grave—empty other than the living, she prayed—with David and a grave robber. The space seemed to be way too small for the three of them.

She became aware of shouting, the grave robbers calling out in anger, warning one another, some cries in English, some in Spanish. Lights were flaring, and there were other calls now. “Halt, police! Stop, or we'll shoot!”

The cemetery suddenly seemed ablaze as the beams of flashlights cut across it.

“Can we get out of here?” Spencer asked David.

David shrugging, keeping an eye on the robber who was sharing their hole in the earth. “Since the police have just warned everyone that they'll shoot, we might be better off down here for a few minutes.” He grinned. “Then we can let our friend crawl up first.”

Was it seconds, minutes or eons longer? Eventually someone called out, “Delgado, where are you?”

“Here!” David cried.

In a few moments a uniformed officer was staring down at the three of them, perplexed. Spencer realized that she knew him. She had danced with him one year at the policemen's ball. His name was Tim Winfield. “Mrs. Huntington?” he inquired incredulously.

“Give the lady a hand up, Officer Winfield,” David suggested.

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

Tim Winfield was young but strongly muscled. He clutched Spencer's hands, lifting her easily out of the grave. He kept staring at her once she was standing by his side.

“Now you,” David told his captive. He looked at the young cop. “Might want to give this fellow a hand, too, Winfield. But keep an eye on him while you do.”

David hopped out of the grave even as Tim Winfield pulled the ski-masked culprit up to ground level. When they were all standing, a plainclothes man Spencer hadn't met before came forward. She might not know him, but David did.

“Lieutenant,” David acknowledged.

“Mr. Delgado,” the cop said, offering him a handshake and staring at Spencer. “We've been after these guys for a long time. Thanks for the call.” He stared again at Spencer, taking in her black outfit, smiling.

“A new investigator on the payroll, David?” the lieutenant inquired, amused as he assessed Spencer. He was tall and lean, with thinning brown hair, but he had a decent enough smile.

Officer Winfield gasped, letting out a choking sound, then pretending to cough.

“No, Lieutenant Anderson, this is Mrs. Huntington. Mrs. Daniel Huntington.”

“Oh!” the lieutenant said, looking at Spencer in a new light. He was, she knew, wondering what the hell she was doing dressed up like one of the grave robbers.

“Spencer likes to walk at night. In strange places,” David offered.

“Dangerous places,” Anderson said, looking Spencer over very seriously once again. “How did you know that something was going to go down here tonight?” he asked David suddenly.

“I didn't,” David answered flatly, holstering his gun as a uniformed cop came to take the grave robber away. The cop instantly began to read the man his rights.

“Then—”

“It was Spencer,” David said politely. “You see, I followed her here,” he told Anderson, watching Spencer from the corner of his eye. “It seems that Mrs. Huntington doesn't believe that either I or Miami's finest are really doing our jobs to the best of our abilities.”

“Mrs. Huntington,” Anderson said, and now he sounded worried, “you can't take these things into your own hands, you know.”

“I don't actually want them in my own hands—” she began, but Anderson interrupted.

“What were you doing here, then? Who tipped you off? What is going on?”

“I came here because…” She paused. She was never going to tell them about Willie. Never. And it didn't matter. Audrey had drawn the same conclusion. Anyone could have. “I came because I thought the grave diggers might show up here. I didn't want them digging Danny up.”

“And how did you intend to stop them, Mrs. Huntington?”

Spencer opened her mouth, then shut it. They were both staring at her. David was delighted to see Anderson harassing her—he wouldn't have to do it himself.

“Yes, Spencer, just what
was
your intent?” David asked, his tone irritatingly polite.

She stared at Anderson. “I—”

“Withholding information from the police is against the law, Mrs. Huntington. You must know that.”

“Withholding information?”

“Where did you get your tip?” Anderson asked impatiently.

Spencer inhaled deeply. “No tip-off, Lieutenant. My secretary happened to notice the way the last wave of grave robbings made a circle around the city. All she did was read the newspaper. Maybe the police should try taking that direction on occasion!”

“Mrs. Huntington, I'm afraid that we'll have to ask you to come down to the—”

“Anderson,” David interrupted, “I really don't think that will be necessary. There's nothing more Spencer can tell you, and you've got at least one of these ghouls to grill. Maybe your men have come up with a few more. I'll take Mrs. Huntington home.”

“You two know each other, huh?” Anderson said.

“Not that well—” Spencer began.

“For ages,” David interrupted.

Anderson grinned. “Well, you sure do dress alike. I guess I don't need anything more for tonight. I know where to reach you, Delgado. And Mrs. Huntington—”

“I haven't moved, Lieutenant. I'm still at Danny's address, and you can reach me at the same number. And I've been down to the station plenty of times, so I'll know where to go if you decide you
do
want something from me.”

“We just want you to let us do our jobs, Mrs. Huntington,” he said, taking her hand. She thought for a moment that he was going to kiss it. She almost wrenched it away.

“Come on, Spencer, let's go home,” David suggested.

They started walking. She resented his hand at the small of her back, but she resented Lieutenant Anderson more. Even as they started walking away, he called her back.

“Mrs. Huntington, it
is
illegal to trespass in graveyards at night, you know. Don't make a habit of it.”

She swung around. “Ah, but I did catch a few crooks for you before they could chop up any more bodies, didn't I?” she inquired sweetly.

Anderson suddenly seemed to have run out of taunts. Spencer turned and started walking again, David close on her heels. He caught her arm as they neared the wall and the row of patrol cars parked next to it.

“Spencer…”

She shook off his arm. She felt as if she were on-screen, in front of all those headlights. “So I shouldn't have been here, David. At least something happened.”

“Hell, yes, something happened. And we could have found pieces of you all over this place in the morning.”

“It's over, David. I just want to go home. Will you please leave me alone and let me go?”

She wrenched free and started walking again. He remained right behind her. She came to the wall and realized that the gates hadn't been opened, all the cops had jumped in the same way she had. She reached for the wall and found herself being assisted. David's hands were on her hips, and then his palm was on her rump, pushing her up. He leaped up beside her, dropping to the sidewalk on the other side and helping her down before she could protest.

“My car is over there,” she said, pointing.

“I'll follow you home.”

“There's no need for—”

“Spencer, it's past two in the morning. There's every need.”

“I'm sure I can get home safely. There aren't any more cemeteries between here and my house.”

“Actually, there is one, that small one in the Grove,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I'll follow you, Spencer.”

“I'm telling you—”

“God damn it, Spencer, I was Danny's best friend! I am going to follow you home. Let's go!”

She stiffened her shoulders and started for the doughnut store. He followed. Cops were everywhere, calling out curious greetings to David, staring at her, the ones who knew her offering awkward hellos.

Well, she was glad of the cops. She remembered thinking that they were so far away.

And they might have been. But David had been there. And his car was parked right next to hers.

She ignored him, ignored his car. But as soon as she was driving, she knew that he was right behind her. And that he would stick to her like glue. Well, she was grateful. It was a big city; night could be dangerous.

In her driveway, she slammed out of her car and walked to the driver's side of his. He rolled down the window. “Get in the house, Spencer,” he told her. “I'm not leaving until you do.”

“Why were you following me tonight?” she demanded.

“Spencer, I'm not leaving—”

“Good. We'll just both stand here all night.”

She jumped back, because he suddenly swung his car door open. “Give me the keys.”

“David!”

He took them from her and walked up the tile path to her door, which he opened, then stepped into the house. He looked around the foyer and up the stairway. She thought she saw a small smile curving his lips, and she wondered if he was sniffing at Montgomery elegance, Montgomery money. The house wasn't ostentatious in any way, she thought resentfully. It was sleek, warm, inviting.

She held out a hand. “My keys, David.”

He handed them over. “Don't forget to set the alarm when I leave,” he told her.

“I've been managing on my own for over a year now,” she informed him briskly.

He nodded and turned to walk out. She was appalled at herself when she suddenly slammed a fist against his back, causing him to turn with a look of surprise on his features.

She swallowed hard, determined not to back down. “What were you doing there?” she demanded.

“I told you. I was following you, Spencer.”

“Why?” she exploded.

He shrugged. “Sly asked me to.”

“You're—you're working for Sly?” she gasped.

He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged again. “Yeah, I'm working for Sly.”

“As of when?”

“As of this afternoon.”

“I don't want you following me.”

“Take it up with Sly.”

“Damn it, David—”

“Take it up with Sly, Spencer. He thinks you're in danger.”

“But I'm not!”

“And as of tonight, I agree with him. Hell, Spencer, you're a damned danger to yourself, if nothing else. Don't forget the alarm,” he said again.

“David, I'm telling you—”

“Don't tell
me,
Spencer. Tell Sly.”