Dangerous Curves (11 page)

T
he birds were going
to drive her crazy. Dominique chewed on a sugar biscuit trying not to let the sound of chirping birds—
what the hell were they anyway? They didn't look like lovebirds
—bother her. She and Kevin sat in Clay and Jackie's cozy kitchen as she tried to focus on the seemingly mismatched pair. Jackie was as small as her husband was large; she had quick sudden movements while he seemed more careful and methodical.

“I requested the police report and investigated the scene and still don't have anything to tell you,” Clay said. “No mechanical car failure, no witnesses.”

“But—” Dominique said.

“But?”

“You suspect something, right? I could tell by the way you looked in the hospital that something was on your mind.”

“Of course finding the bruising from a bullet changed everything. The police are trying to find out who may have wanted to kill Cassie or…” He shifted his gaze to Kevin. “Or you.”

Dominique noticed the subtle accusation in his gaze and sighed. “Kevin still doesn't remember anything so you can stop being angry. Tell us what you really think.”

Jackie nudged her husband. “Go on.”

“Did you pick anyone up?” Clay asked Kevin.

Kevin shook his head. “No. Why?”

“Because the way the bullet hit Cassie it seems that whoever fired the gun may have done so from the back seat.”

Kevin swore. “That doesn't make sense. I wouldn't have picked someone up. Only Cassie and Marcus were in the car. Do I look like the type who'd pick up hitchhikers?”

“It may not have been a hitchhiker. Maybe somebody you knew.”

“Or someone Cassie knew.”

They all fell silent knowing they couldn't ask her.

“But she doesn't have enemies,” Jackie said.

“Neither do I,” Kevin said, his tone soft, but certain.

“Maybe an ex-girlfriend or a married lover—”

“I don't sleep with married women. Or women with boyfriends. I don't need the complications.”

Dominique rubbed her temples, trying to find calm and ignore the incessant chirping of the birds. “None of this makes sense. It was a pretty bad crash. If someone had been in the car, I'd be surprised that person was able to walk away from it.”

Clay studied her for a moment. “You're not just his driver are you, Ms. Carter? What's your involvement in this?”

“I'm—”

“She's helping me investigate,” Kevin said, standing. “If you find out anything more, let me know.”

“
W
hy didn't
you want me to tell them the truth?” Dominique asked Kevin in the car as they drove home.

“We will, but not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want to solve this before he does. I'm sick of being the last to know.”

“But he could help us.”

“He's given us enough to start with.”

“And—”

“He still doesn't fully trust me. Do you think they'll be this open once they know who your father is? The less people know about your connection the better.”

C
lay stared
at the bird cage as their birds, Laura and Howard, ate.

“What are you thinking?” Jackie asked him.

“I'm not sure yet.”

“His driver's interesting.”

Clay turned to look at her. “She's more than interesting.”

“Are you going to tell Drake about this?”

“Do you think I should?”

“I don't know.”

“That's okay.”

“What?”

“It's okay that you don't know everything. I don't want this to obsess you. We may never find out what really happened. Can you live with that?”

“No.”

“What?”

“I'm not burying another sister before I get justice,” Clay said, referring to his sister who'd been killed. “I'm going to find out who did this.”

“You're not burying anyone. Cassie will live.”

Clay returned his gaze to the birds who were no longer chirping, desperate to believe what his wife had said. His cell phone rang, waking him from his melancholy thoughts.

“Who the hell did your sister piss off?” Detective Nicolas Douglas said without preamble.

Clay couldn't help a smile. “I thought you didn't believe in hell.”

“Do you want to hear what I have to say, smartass, or do you want to talk about your Jewish book of fairy tales?”

“What is it?” Clay said, not in the mood to get into a discussion about religion with him.

“The car was tampered with.”

Clay hung his head. “Shit.”

“No, that's not the bad part. It was tampered with
after
it was in police custody.”

He straightened. “What?”

“Yeah, the accident deconstructionist noticed that there were brake marks before the crash, but records show the brake line had been cut. The car's been contaminated. Someone doesn't want us to know what really happened. Someone with connections.”

“Or deep pockets.”

Nicolas laughed without humor. “My innocent little choir boy, they're usually one and the same.”

D
rake stared
at the little face in the window, a painful twist in his heart
. Don't do this to me
, he silently begged his daughter, Ericka. For the past couple days she'd started to cry every time he left for work. She'd never done that before. Even after the accident she'd been fine, asking when Mommy would be home, but that was it.

The morning crying fits were something new and they bothered him. But he had to soldier through. Marcus was doing well with his therapy and although he still refused to speak, he went to school and didn't show any anxiety when driving in a car.

Drake backed out of the driveway, then glanced at the window again. That was a mistake.

He saw her mouth open in silent screams, tears streaming down her face. He swore, then sighed.

When he walked through the front door she rushed up to him, burying her head in his trouser leg.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Henson,” Ruth said. “She usually calms down.”

He looked down at her. “Ericka, shh, I'm here.” He pried her from his leg and knelt to her level. “Now what's wrong?”

She stopped crying, but didn't speak, her eyes and nose red.

“You know Daddy has to go to work. I know Mommy,” he took a deep breath and started again. “I know Mommy is usually here with you, but she's away right now getting better. You like Ms. Quinn, you have fun together and you can tell me all about it when I get back.”

She stiffened her chin. “Not Mommy.”

“I know she's not Mommy, but she's here to look after you like she always has, so be good.”

Her eyes began to well with tears again.

“Ericka.”

“Not Mommy, not Mommy!”

“Ericka, stop it,” Ruth said.

Drake held up his hand. “This isn't like her.”

“She's throwing a tantrum.”

“She's—”

“She's nearly three.”

“And she's frightened,” Drake finished. “ I wish I understood what she wanted.” He lifted Ericka up in his arms and stood. “I'll take her today.”

Ruth stared at him alarmed. “But she'll calm down once you're gone. She—”

“Put some of her things in a bag for me,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

Moments later, he strapped Ericka into her car seat. “We're only doing this today,” he told her.

Ericka smiled, now in a better mood, all trauma forgotten.

He got in the driver's seat, briefly wondering if he was making a mistake. Ruth was probably right, she'd likely calm down after a few minutes. But it still bothered him that the behavior had started at all. Ericka was a very genial child. She took to anyone. Even at six months, she would go to anyone who was kind to her. She'd never displayed this kind of tantrum before. At a stop sign, he opened his glove compartment and reached for his carton of cigarettes. He had one in his mouth and was about to light it when he remembered Ericka in the back seat. He looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Your mother would kill me.”

She smiled, then giggled as if he'd said something funny.

He sighed and put the cigarette away. He'd have to wait.

“
H
ey
, what's this?” his brother Eric asked when Drake walked into the office of his restaurant, The Blue Mango, carrying Ericka in his arms.

“She was upset,” he said, setting her bag on an empty chair.

Eric took his niece and kissed her loudly on the cheek then gave her a raspberry on the neck, making her giggle. “How's my princess?”

She told him, but neither man could make out exactly what she was saying. He set her down on the ground and handed her her favorite toy—a plush dragon.

“She looks fine to me,” Eric said.

“You should have seen her awhile ago. Miserable and crying.”

“About what?”

Drake sat behind his desk and shrugged. “I don't know. She wouldn't stop crying until I took her. She's started doing that the last few days. Ruth says she stops when I leave, but it just was too much for me. I'll only do this for today.”

But the next day was no better. He decided to try tough love and left her, but once he reached the office, he called her. She still sounded tearful.

“It's a stage she has to grow out of,” Ruth said. “She really is fine when you're gone.

“Hmm.”

But for the next two days the pattern continued and his instincts told him something wasn't right. So that evening he called his brother.

“I need you to see something. Come over early tomorrow for breakfast.”

“Okay.”

Drake half hoped that Ericka would be fine. Through breakfast she eat and smiled and talked animatedly with Eric, but the moment they both stood to leave, her face crumbled.

“She's fine after a while,” Ruth quickly assured Eric when she saw him looking at Ericka with concern. “Trust me, she's all smiles and giggles in a couple of minutes.”

They nodded then left.

“You see what I mean?” Drake said as they sat in Drake's car staring at the little girl crying in the window.

Eric frowned, then jumped out of the car.

“What are you doing?”

He jogged up the front steps. “Sorry, I can't watch that.”

“Did you forget something?” Ruth asked when she opened the door.

“I'm taking Ericka with me.”

“Some children have separation anxiety, and she'll grow out of it.”

“Fine, I'm still taking her with me.”

“I don't think you should. You and Drake, I mean Mr. Henson,” she quickly corrected when she saw his eyes narrow. “Are spoiling her.”

Eric adjusted his glasses and waited.

Ruth wisely surrendered and turned to get Ericka's things.