You Don't Know Jack (14 page)

Doors slamming in my face seemed to be the theme of the day. But I felt a smile spreading. I was definitely onto something, and I was going to pursue it with a vengeance.

A chill wind blowing off Puget Sound greeted me as I emerged from the nightclub and wedged into the crowd of foot traffic hiking downhill toward the waterfront where I'd parked. Rush hour was fierce on any Friday afternoon in downtown Seattle. Today was no exception. I was too excited to let that bother me. I shrugged deeper into the collar of my coat. My mind raced. No matter what else this day produced, I was onto something that might help Apollo. I couldn't wait to tell Duke.

Oh, Lord, Duke. Dinner. A fancy restaurant. What to wear? Usually I'd phone my BFF and hash out the pros and cons of the contents of my closet as they related to what I hoped to gain from the date. But since he was no longer speaking to me, I was on my own. The red dress? No, that was for seductions. The blue pencil skirt and Oxford shirt? No, that was too "serious secretary". My standby black number seemed the most appropriate.

The light was still green and several other pedestrians and I rushed to the corner, then pulled up short as the light changed and cars began whipping through the cross walk. I felt hands slam into my back, felt myself tumbling into the traffic, heard my name shouted and saw the flash of a speeding car coming straight at me. Screams. Burning rubber. I went airborne. Then nothing.

Men to the left of me. Men to the right. I had died and gone to man-o-holics hell where sex starved women are forever tormented with temptation.

On my right, Stone Maddox — rough, unpolished, earthy — stirred memories of erotic encounters. On my left, his older brother, Duke — smooth, refined, mysterious — stirred fantasies of erotic encounters. The known and the unknown. Oh, the torture. Oh, the possibilities. "If you want me to choose between you, forget it. I'm pretty sure it's against the rules... and besides, my head hurts too much."

"Jack, are you okay?" Stone said, not at all offended or bemused by my statement, but rather looking extremely concerned. The hand he placed on my arm was pure, solid, warm male flesh.

Hmm, maybe I hadn't died. Maybe I wasn't in hell. Maybe it only felt like hell. I looked around. I was on a metal framed bed with a plastic covered mattress in a curtained room. A hospital? I tried to sit up, provoking myriad shooting pains through my skull, in my ribcage area and both legs. Instead of a scream, I choked out, "Where am I?"

"Emergency room," Duke answered, drawing my attention from Stone.

Oh, God, they
were
both here. Oh, God, what had I said about choosing between them? Oh, God, the pain in my head.

I winced, shifting my gaze between the brothers. "What happened to me?"

"Don't you recall?" Stone asked as though my not recalling was worrisome.

"If this is a quiz, the least you could do is offer me multiple choice. Like... was I hit by Mack Truck? In a car crash? Stomped by the Incredible Hulk? All of the above?"

Stone was not amused. "You stepped into traffic and were hit by a car. You're damned lucky to only have a few bruises and a slight concussion."

Great. One minute he was worried about me, the next he was pissed off. "I
stepped
into traffic? You think I have a death wish?"

"I told you it had to be an accident." Duke coming to my defense felt less flattering than it should.

"Uh, guys?" They both gave me their full attention. "Don't talk about me like I'm not here."

They exchanged a look I couldn't decipher, but that spoke of years of familiarity, something I, a single child, had never experienced. I felt a twang of sibling-envy. It was a twang too many, upping the ache in my noggin. I tried to concentrate on what had happened. On why Stone believed I'd stepped into traffic. "Were there any witnesses to my, er, let's call it 'an accident' for now, okay?"

Stone sighed, a resigned sound that said I wasn't going to like his answer. "Several. Including me."

"You?" He'd seen my "accident" and still thought I'd stepped into traffic? Oh, God, I had to quit frowning. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. "I did not!"

"I believe you, Jack B." Duke smiled at me, while Stone shot visual daggers at him.

"Jack," Stone said, pulling my gaze from Duke's. "What do you remember?"

I closed my eyes and considered. I'd talked to Dinah, then Stone, found out the man arguing with Bruce was Lars' agent, and that Lars didn't want me to pursue that, or to look into the possibility that Bruce was cheating on him and had reason to want Lars dead. Right now, though, I didn't feel like sharing any of this. "I left the nightclub, got swept into foot traffic downhill toward where I parked. Oh! My car! Where's my car?"

"I've taken care of that, Jack." Stone reassured me. "Go on, concentrate, you were swept down to the streetlight."

"Yes, yes." It was coming back. "I spotted Old Yeller and I was hurrying to it and the light changed and we all pulled up. I was at the curb, anxious to cross the street, and the light seemed to be taking forever..." Memory was fading.

"So you stepped into the street?" Stone prompted.

I shot him a contemptuous glance that made me feel like my eyeballs might pop from their sockets. "No. I... I—"

"You were pushed, darlin'."
Lars voice cut me off, ringing loud and clear inside my head. His words sent a chill through me, and pulled the elusive memory into sudden, tactile clarity. I felt again the hands against my back, felt again the fierce shove.

"Did you see who did it?" I asked Lars.

"Did I see who did what?" Stone answered.

I cannot be held responsible for forgetting I was the only one who could hear Lars. Okay? Concussion. I blinked, focused on Stone. "I was pushed."

He went pale. Swore. Actually both men swore.

I felt vindicated. If only vindication healed what ailed me. But knowing someone pushed me just seemed to multiply my aches and pains.

"Do you have any idea who... ? Stone had gone all cop.

"Or why...?" Duke had gone all lawyer.

"Someone pushed me," I repeated, and as the reality of that began sinking in, my emotions spun. My investigating was rattling someone's cage, a dangerous someone, but it was progress. Right? Of course, on the other hand, I had investigated several men this past year who might possibly like to push me under a speeding car.

Bottom line: someone tried to kill me.

I started to shake. I was lucky to be breathing.

"Jack B!" The curtain wall parted with a metallic clink and a frantic Marilyn Monroe blond blew in on a cloud of White Diamonds, her signature scent. My mother rushed to my bedside, followed by my aunts. I'd hoped Stone had thought better of calling them. I would rather have spared them the scare until after I could assure them I was okay. But surprisingly, I'd never been more glad to see my family. Mom embraced me as though fearing she'd hurt me more than I was already hurt. Good thing, because her touch mined aches I'd been ignorant of to this point.

She pulled back and did a frantic search of my face, wounded by what she saw. And then my face started aching. I reached up to touch my cheek, but encountered a bandaid or ten. "Oh, sweetie, don't worry, it will heal good as new. The Crain women all have resilient skin."

Again, not feeling reassured. I stifled the urge to demand a mirror. I wasn't sure I could take knowing the extent of the damage yet. Maybe later, when my head stopped throbbing. "Can I go home?"

My mother ignored Stone and looked to Duke for the answer, branding him with her stamp of approval. But was she approving him for me or for herself? Mom considered any man thirty-four and younger off limits, but thirty-five and above was fair game. Duke was cougar prey. And it wasn't like I had any claims on him past or present. I hadn't slept with him or even thought of sleeping with him until this morning, and those thoughts were likely predicated by the suggestions made at the
Clip and Flip
earlier. Or by his sexy scent.

Stone didn't miss much and my mother's snub wasn't lost on him. I swear I saw a flash of hurt in his green eyes, but it disappeared so quickly I'd either imagined it, or wished it.

Leave it to Aunt Mamie to get to the point. "Has either of you been given any information by a doctor?"

Aunt Abby, named for Abigail Adams, had taken to chewing non-food items in her effort to shed the thirty-plus pounds she'd gained since going cold turkey off smokes. The soup du jour was her key ring.

Stone said, "She's free to leave as soon as she signs a bunch of paperwork."

Dollar signs swam before my eyes. Like so many of the unemployed and self-employed in this country, I had no medical insurance. This visit alone could wipe out Lars' contract money, which I had ear-marked for other things, like hiring a book doctor, gas, groceries, rent.

"And solvin' my murder, darlin'." Lars tossed in.

"Don't worry about your bill, Jack B," Duke said. "It's been paid, and as to dinner tonight, I've cancelled our reservation, but as soon as you're feeling up to it, we'll reschedule."

He made it sound like the business dinner he'd invited me to was an actual date. Stone was scowling at his brother.

My face went from sore to burning hot, but not about the dinner, I was dumbfounded that Duke had taken it upon himself to pay my hospital bill. What the hell? I've sworn off men. I can take care of myself. So, why does the Universe keep tossing knights with shining coins at me? Was I wearing a sign that said penniless damsel in distress?

I heard a growl. It was coming from me. Aunt Abby's eyes widened, and the key ring jangled to the floor. My mother's perfect eyebrows rose in horror as though recognizing bad behavior when she saw it

Auntie M lifted a hand, and warned, "Jack B..."

Why did swallowing my fury increase the throbbing in my head? I closed my eyes for several seconds, counted inhales and exhales until my breathing slowed, then I visually assured my family that I wasn't going to eviscerate any stupid males and in a level voice thanked Duke for his generosity, but firmly added, "I will pay you back every cent."

He nodded graciously. "It's not necessary, but if you must."

"I must."

Stone stifled a grin, then reached to his belt for his humming cell phone and checked the readout. "I have to leave."

"What about me? Can I leave too? And Stone, what about my car?"

"Your car is at your apartment. Sharkey has the keys."

"If you see a doctor on the way out, tell him I am leaving."

As he slipped through the curtain wall and disappeared, I pulled off the thin blanket and realized I was in a hospital gown. "Where are my clothes?"

"They had to run tests, dear," my mother said in a certain voice.

I cringed inside, hearing the unspoken question: Were you wearing clean panties?

"There was blood and road dirt on your clothes. Stone thought you'd appreciate something clean to wear home," Auntie M added, conveying the same unspoken question.

"We brought you clothes, Jack B," Aunt Abby said.

Clean panties, too, no doubt.

Sun spots blazed on my cheeks.

"I guess this is my cue to take my leave," Duke said, actually bowing. "If you'll excuse me, ladies."

They all twittered in response, and I'm not talking about the chat network. I would have rolled my eyes, but feared the pain might send them straight into my brain.

Two days later, I was stiff and sore and my face wore shades of gray and yellow and scab. Next year's newest color palate for spring makeup lines across the boards. I'd stayed with the Crain sisters for the past forty-eight hours, being pampered and catered to and led to believe no such thing as bogeymen existed. The media had disappeared from Logan Avenue, and the beauty parlor business was hopping again, more so than usual due to Apollo's notoriety and his absence leaving them shorthanded.

I wasn't well enough to help with shampooing and would only burden my mother and aunts if I extended my stay.

But alone in my small apartment, with only Ken the roommate for company, the fear of being nearly murdered played on my nerves, reinstating my belief in bugaboos. I locked the windows and doors, paced, paid bills, read e-mail, and paced. I tried to write. Impossible. My life was too much of a mystery to concentrate on the one in my manuscript.

I studied my suspect board. I'd had two days to think about who might have tried to kill me and decided none of the men I'd investigated in the past cared enough about the women who'd dumped them to come after me.

It had to be Lars' killer.

I double checked the locks and put the can of pepper spray — I ordered on-line two days ago, next day delivery — into my sweats pocket. It wasn't a gun, but it was a weapon — and it looked like a tube of lipstick. Totally me.

If I wanted to stay alive, I needed to solve Lars' murder and do it fast.

I added a new suspect to the board. Dinah Edger. Though I didn't yet know why she hated Lars, she did, and that meant she had motive, as well as means and opportunity. Plus, the murder, far from hurting her business, or the subsequent reopening of the nightclub, had earned Club Jaded Edge the honor of being the Seattle hotspot of the month.