Take a Chance on Me (80 page)

If Hairy had been physiologically capable, he would have laughed. Poor Big Alpha.

"Let's go home, little buddy."

Hairy grinned up at him. Yeah. Let's go home.

* * *

Aaron woke up gagging.

His arms were imprisoned painfully at his sides. His head was tilted back at an unnatural angle. The metal felt cold and hard in his mouth and he could taste the blood pooling in the soft upper palate.

Dimly, he realized he could choke to death on his own blood in this position.

He felt his eyes fly wide in terror, but he couldn't see much—other than the open-pored, scarred skin of the Ugly One, too close in the light of the motel reading lamp. The Ugly One must be holding the gun.

Aaron couldn't see the other man at all, the one who held his arms.

"Time flies when you're having fun, doesn't it?" The Ugly One's breath was sickeningly sweet, like peppermint over rotted flesh. "We get every fucking penny, or you die. We get half of it Friday or we torch your precious little Z. Do you understand?"

Aaron tried to nod but the gun barrel scraped against the tender flesh of his mouth with the slight movement. Another stab of pain ripped through him. All he could think was, Not the Z! Anything but the Z!

Aaron felt himself being turned on his side. He heard the cracking thud on the back of his head just as the world went black.

Chapter 10
I Feel for You

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"What are you, friggin' nuts?" Stephano's laugh nearly shook the picture frames off his desk. "You want me to authorize the payment of eight thousand dollars to a pet psychic?"

"For God's sake, Vinny—I said psychiatrist, not psychic!" Thomas looked to his captain, then Lieutenant Regina Massey, then back to his boss. "She's a doctor of veterinary medicine who specializes in animal behavior. It's a new and very specialized field of study."

"Uh-huh." The captain's eyes glazed over. "You know, Tobin, I think I'd have a better chance of justifying eight grand so me and the wife could go to Bermuda and sit around drinking banana daiquiris. The answer would have to be no."

"Then I'll pay her myself."

In truth, it was a possibility Thomas had already considered. He owed Slick everything he could do for him. Besides, he saw it as an investment in his future—his future with Emma.

"So would that be a problem? Kind of like my own private consultant?"

Stephano's two eyebrows bunched together over the bridge of his nose until they formed a unibrow of thick, black consternation. "What? Are you doing her or something?"

Thomas straightened in his chair. "Jesus, Vinny. You're a pig."

Stephano's expression relaxed. "Oh. She's an ugly pet psychic."

"No!" Thomas shot up out of his chair, then sat back down, bewildered by his own behavior and painfully aware of Reg's amused expression.

He rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Look. She's a lovely lady and she's damn smart and she thinks there's a chance we can get Slick's dog to tell us what he knows about the murder."

The captain smiled with sudden understanding. "Oh, I think I've got it now—a 'Ruh-roh-Shaggy' Scooby-Doo thing, right?"

Massey and Stephano cracked up.

Thomas knew going in that this wouldn't be easy. He was prepared for this. He took a deep breath.

"The dog was there. He's, the only material witness we have." Thomas ignored the ongoing laughter.

"The dog probably saw everything, heard everything, smelled everything. We just need to find a way to find out what he knows. Dr. Jenkins can do that."

Regina cleared her throat before she spoke in that smooth, hot-chocolate voice of hers. "All right, counselor." She grinned at Thomas. "Let's just say your pretty Dr. Dolittle can perform this miracle. But just think for a minute—how in heaven's name can we introduce any of it as evidence? Are we going to put the puppy on the stand? Have him put his paw on the Bible and swear to tell the truth so help him…"—she started to snicker—"dog?"

"Very funny, Reg." Thomas had to wait a moment for the guffaws to die down. "Work with me here—

you got witnesses lining up and begging to talk to you about the Slick homicide?"

"No," she said, giving him the look he knew from experience translated into smartass. She sighed. "The three other residents in the building were at work. Nobody in the area saw or heard anything."

"All right." Thomas felt he was getting somewhere. "So, what if the dog can lead us to someone—

something—that is admissible in a court of law? What if he can narrow it down enough that we get a break in the case?"

"It's still a lot of money out of your pocket." She cocked her head and frowned. "You still think you're responsible for Slick's death, Tommy?"

He hissed. "There's a good chance I am."

Thomas left his chair and retreated to the window. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked out over the lush green lawn of the state police headquarters.

After a quick glance back at Stephano, he said, "I forced the guy to stay in the game when he wanted out—a few days later, he got himself killed."

"But his murder may have had nothing to do with him being an informant," Regina said. "We're still pursuing the domestic dispute angle."

"But there's a chance it was related to his being my informant." Thomas spun on his heels to face Regina .

"What if the real reason he wanted out was that he feared for his life? What if someone had found out what he was doing for us and started blackmailing him?"

After a moment, Thomas returned to his chair and sat down heavily. He rested his elbows on his knees and looked up at Regina .

"So, yeah, Reg—it's worth it to me. You know my dad left behind a decent estate and that I'm no slouch when it comes to the market. I won't miss the money. It's the least I can do for Slick. He was a decent guy…"—Thomas looked down at his hands—"and the best informant the team ever had."

Regina smiled wistfully. "Must be nice to be able to throw away a wad of cash like that."

"It won't be thrown away."

"Okay. Fine." Stephano waved his hand around impatiently. "I don't see how it would violate departmental policy, but Jesus, Tobin, you don't usually do crazy shit like this."

Thomas smiled. "Tell me about it."

* * *

Emma canceled her afternoon appointments and was home by one-thirty. She gulped down a peanut-butter sandwich and a glass of milk, changed into her riding pants, pulled on her boots, and headed out to the barn to tack up the horses. She'd take Vesta, of course, and Leelee would ride good old Bud, a twenty-year-old Quarter Horse so laid-back that he could be ridden safely through a cruise missile attack. Bud usually had a calming effect on Vesta, and Emma was hoping that today he'd mellow out Leelee as well.

The girl had locked herself in her room last night and was still furious in the morning. As Beckett blithely threw waffles into the toaster and hummed to the oldies radio station, Leelee and Emma engaged in a tense standoff over the breakfast table.

Leelee's expression—the few times she even acknowledged Emma's presence—was sharp and accusatory. Emma knew her own face must have broadcast all the guilt she felt.

What had she been thinking, making out with Thomas like a horny teenager? She'd been thinking nothing, obviously. Thinking had nothing to do with what happened last night with Thomas—it was all impulse and instinct and animal lust.

Lust the likes of which she hadn't even known was possible.

So Leelee continued the silent treatment all morning, her mouth pulled in a thin white line of disapproval as she went about her routine. The performance reminded Emma of the way Thomas had looked the day they'd met.

This afternoon's plan to get Leelee to open up wasn't particularly original, but it stood a decent chance of working. She'd wait for Leelee at the bus stop with the horses. She'd take the girl's backpack and give her a leg up on Bud, not allowing her a moment to escape.

Then they'd ride down to the creek. They'd talk. They'd hash it out. And they'd have themselves some damn quality time whether Leelee wanted it or not!

Emma waited at the end of the lane, keeping Vesta calm with gentle murmurs as Bud stood next to them like he didn't have a care in the world—probably because he didn't. Bud had lived a fine life for a horse.

He'd been a colt when he arrived at the farm twenty summers ago, Emma's birthday present the year her mother died. From the moment she laid eyes on him, Emma knew the chestnut horse with the soulful eyes was special. And he'd proceeded to ease her sorrow, loosen the knot in her heart, just by being who he was.

Bud had introduced Emma to the magical bond that can grow between companion animal and human being. Bud had been her inspiration for doing what she did for a living. Bud had been her rock.

She glanced over at the horse and he nickered, just as a flash of bright yellow moved through the trees.

The diesel brakes whined and hissed as the bus came to a slow stop at the mailbox.

"You're on, Bud," Emma whispered to the horse, watching Leelee descend the steps. "Do your stuff."

Leelee was already scowling as her feet hit the gravel. She swung her backpack over one shoulder and shook her head, silently saying no to whatever Emma had planned.

Emma waited for the bus to leave before she dismounted from Vesta, flipping the reins over the split-rail fence. She brought Bud forward and held out her free hand for Leelee's backpack. "We'll leave this here."

She tossed the bag against the fence.

Leelee put on her utterly bored face and crossed her arms over her chest. "Let me guess—we're going to get in touch with our inner goddesses while communing with nature."

Emma couldn't help but laugh. The fact was, Leelee was a riot—pessimistic and surly, yes—but a riot all the same. She reminded her of Thomas.

"What I'd like is for you to get your little boo-tocks in touch with this saddle, please." Emma locked her fingers together and smiled at Leelee, waiting to give her a leg up. "Come on, Lee. It's just a ride. Besides, I know how much you want to go out and check on Mr. Martin's corn crop."

The jaded pre-teen mask fell away from Leelee's face, and she started to giggle. With a sigh she headed toward Bud, stopping to stroke his thick neck and accept his wet kisses. Then she placed her Dr. Martens boot into Emma's cupped hands and popped into the saddle.

"Okay. So where are we off to?"

It took a moment for Emma to mount Vesta —she was a moving target—but soon they were on their way down the lane, side by side at an easy walk.

"I thought we'd go over through the old Weaverton property and down to the creek, then back up along the Martins' field to the woods. Sound like a plan?"

Leelee remained quiet for a moment. Then she said, "I suppose you're going to talk to me about that man."

Emma risked a glimpse at Leelee. She was sitting rigid in her saddle, her gaze straight ahead, the afternoon sun glinting in the honey-gold twists of her hair.

"His name is Thomas."

"Thomas the Tongue," she said wearily. "I suppose he's the flower guy?"

"Yes."

"Are we going to talk about sex now?" With that question, Leelee swung her face to look at Emma, and her mouth was clenched tight, her eyes were hard and her cheeks pink.

"Would you like to talk about sex?"

"No, I would not. I'd prefer a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy with you, if you don't mind—you know, a nice change of pace from Mom. Besides, it's none of my business."

Emma let that comment sink in for a moment and weighed the possible responses. She wanted to do this right, this whole parental guidance and open communication thing. But what was right? This was one of those moments when she wished Leelee had come with an owner's manual.

"In a way, you're correct—it's not your business. But I told you I wouldn't make any decisions without you."

Leelee let loose with a snort of disgust. "Really? Looks like you were making decisions just fine on your own last night."

Emma didn't know what to say.

"And did you check out the guy's dog? It was totally woo-woo—like a midget hyena in a sweater. I'd give anything to have a dog like that—it was the funkiest thing I've ever seen. A little bit of L.A. right here in Mayberry, RFD."

Leelee's words hit Emma with a thud. When had Leelee seen Hairy? How long had she been standing at the door?

"How long were you watching us?"

"Long enough to see you work it, girl."

"That's enough, Leelee." Emma didn't know whether to slap her or pull her close and try to kiss away all the pain—twelve years of accumulated insecurity and loneliness—and that was the central challenge of Leelee. Yet another human being with a case of fear-based aggression. It reminded her of Thomas.

And then it dawned on her. She looked over at the young woman and nearly laughed out loud at the resemblance. Tall, golden, smart, funny, pessimistic, sad—if it weren't for the fact that Thomas had never met Rebecca Weaverton, Emma would be certain she'd uncovered the secret of Leelee's paternity.

Or maybe he had met Becca…

Leelee shot her a suspicious glance. "What?"

"I don't know—nothing, I guess."

"What, Emma? You're giving me this totally weird look."

She shook her head and chuckled. "I like him, Lee. That's what I was thinking. I've decided I like Thomas Tobin."

Leelee said nothing for several long minutes, as they headed toward the old Weaverton place. They rode in silence along the line of pine trees.

"Does he like you?"

Emma smiled a little. "Yeah, I think so."

"Well, he's a hottie, that's for sure."

"Really?" Emma was a bit surprised by that assessment.