I'm Watching You (2 page)

"It's about time you got here. I've been calling you
for an hour," Ruby said, shaking the phone at her.

"My power went out last night. The house phones didn't work
and my cell phone didn't charge. What's with the police?
What's going on?"

"They came because of the body."

Images of her mother lying dead in her backyard flashed in her mind.
"Body?
Please tell me it wasn't one of
ours."

Ruby touched Lindsay gently on the arm. "No, no, honey. It
wasn't one of our residents. All our people are off to work or
school."

Relieved, Lindsay closed her eyes. She had to choke back a sudden rush
of tears.
"Who?"

Ruby shrugged. "I don't know. But the body is male. I found
him when I was taking out the garbage this morning. He was propped up against
the trash cans behind the toolshed, his suit buttoned up and his hair combed as
if he were headed to Sunday church."

Lindsay moved down the hallway into the kitchen and looked out the
window over the sink. The backyard was filled with a half dozen cops gathered
at the yellow tape. Most were uniformed but in the center stood a plainclothes
detective. His back was to her.

The cops blocked Lindsay's view of the corpse. "Did you
recognize him?"

Ruby folded her arms over her chest.
"Who?
The dead guy?
No, ma'am. And I didn't look
in his face either. The devil can steal your soul if you look the dead in the
face."

Lindsay dropped her purse on a well-worn kitchen table that was covered
with nicks and flecks of paint from a child's weekend craft project.
"I've seen my share of death. Maybe the devil has stolen my
soul."

"Don't even kid about that."

"Do the police know who the dead guy is?"

"If they do, they're not telling me. A detective just
arrived minutes ago. I told him everything I know, but he was pretty
tight-lipped when I asked questions. He's the one who said to stop what I
was doing and track you down." Ruby's sharp gaze traveled over
Lindsay. "Are those the clothes you wore yesterday?"

Lindsay glanced down at the faded jeans and pink cotton top. She
smoothed a wrinkle from her shirt. "Yes."

Ruby cocked a dark eyebrow. "Where have you been? Lord, I hope
you've been with a man."

The idea made Lindsay blush.
"Nope."

"Too bad.
You certainly could use a man in your bed.
That no-account husband of yours hasn't paid you any attention this last
year."

"We're separated, remember?"

"No man in his right mind would leave you."

Lindsay was unwilling to get into another discussion about her failed
marriage or her monastic, workaholic life. "I taught a yoga class
yesterday afternoon and then went home to work on this grant. I fell asleep in
my clothes on the couch. The power went out sometime last night and the alarm
didn't go off." If not for her roommate, Nicole, who'd been
awakened by a barking dog, she could have slept a couple more hours.

Ruby grunted. "Well, if you ain't got a man, I'm glad
you at least got a good night's sleep. You work too hard. You're
burning the candle at both ends, if you ask me."

This last year, since she'd separated from her husband, she had
stayed particularly busy, even by her own standards. "You'll be
glad to know that I slept like the dead."

Ruby grimaced and glanced toward the heavens. "Don't be
making fun of the dead. The devil will come and get you."

Lindsay pushed her hand through her hair. "Sorry. Morbid jokes are
a holdover from having lived with a cop."

Ruby frowned. "Your husband is a cop?"

"Yeah."
This was another topic she did not
want to explore. "I'm going to talk to the police. I want to get
those squad cars away from my house before everyone figures out we're a
shelter."

Ruby's heavy feet trailed behind Lindsay. "Don't waste
your breath. I tried a couple of times to talk to that
'detective.'" The word
detective
sounded like an expletive. "He said to stay out of his crime scene. He
even locked the back door and pocketed the key from the deadbolt so no one
would go in or out that door."

That ticked Lindsay off. Sanctuary was her creation. "This cop is
on my turf now and he is going to tell
me
what's going on?"

Grinning, Ruby shook her head. "Sometimes I think you'd
rather fight than eat."

She smiled. "Somebody's got to lead the charge."

Ruby snorted. "Honey, you've got too many causes. About time
someone worried about you."

"I'm better off taking care of myself." She'd
said those words so often in the last year that she almost believed them.

Lindsay headed out the front door and went around the side of the house
to the loose slats in the privacy fence. She bent the slats back and slipped
through unnoticed.

The closest cop to her was a patrolman. He stood at the lip of the
yellow tape and faced the crime scene, his back to her. He was slender, a
little gawky, and appeared fresh out of the academy. He couldn't have
been much more than twenty-one.

A humid breeze tunneled through the backyard's still, hot air and
carried with it a host of smells.
Blood.
Waste.
Gunpowder.
Death.

From this angle she couldn't see the body beyond the circle of six
cops who stood around it.

She approached the uniformed cop. She cleared her throat. "Do you
know anything about the victim?"

The young cop whirled around and glared down at her.
"Where'd you come from?"

"That house." She crooked her head toward Sanctuary and then
nodded to the crowd of cops. "Do you know who was murdered? I hear it was
a man."

The young cop started to answer,
then
caught
himself. He puffed out his chest. "Ma'am, this is a police crime
scene. You are not supposed to be here."

His attempt to intimidate her barely registered on her radar.
She'd stared down far scarier people than this kid. "Look,
Officer..." She glanced down at the bronze name badge on his chest.
"Bennett. That house is Sanctuary Women's Shelter and I'm the
director."

"I don't care who you are. You can't be here."

Her tone had sounded brittle and she was reminded of Ruby's
frequent advice to soften her delivery. She remembered something about catching
more flies with honey than vinegar.

With a conscious effort, she smiled and relaxed her stance. "I
really need to know who was killed in case it involves one of the women staying
here. It's my job to keep them safe."

The cop's frown deepened. "Even if I knew, I couldn't
tell you."

His attitude annoyed but didn't deter her. "How'd the
guy die?"

"I can't say."

"Do you know the time of death?" She edged around the cop.
If she got a little closer she might find out more about the victim.

He shifted and blocked her path. "No one gets in that crime
scene."

She leaned around him. Even from this angle, most of the crime scene
remained blocked by the broad shoulders of the detective, who had now removed
his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and donned rubber gloves and booties.
She couldn't see his face but noted his military short black hair and
crisp white shirt. His hands rested on his narrow hips.

He must be the bossy detective Ruby had mentioned. Lindsay summed him up
in a nanosecond: an alpha male, a by-the-book tight-ass, and a bully.

She suddenly felt very weary. She'd been dealing with bullies far
too long. But if he was the one she needed to talk to, then so be it.

Reading her thoughts, the officer said, "The detective in charge
is going to talk to you when he's ready."

She pushed her hand through her hair. "This detective got a
name?"

"Detective Kier."

She swallowed. "Zack Kier?"

A smug smile lifted the edge of the officer's lip.
"That's right."

Zack Kier was her estranged husband. They'd not spoken in almost a
year.

She glanced toward the plainclothes detective again. Since when had Zack
moved from undercover narcotics to homicide? When had he cut his hair, shaved
the beard, and taken to wearing suits? Her Zack had worn his thick, long hair
tied at the nape of his neck. He had preferred faded jeans, T-shirts, worn
boots and a well-worn black leather jacket.

Everything about him had changed in the last year. And nothing had
changed.

She should have recognized the rigid, controlled stance, which had
always announced his unwavering commitment to police work. He also still tapped
his index finger against his belt buckle when his hands rested on his hips.

Raw emotions she'd struggled to bury this last year enveloped her
in a rush.
Love.
Hate.
Fear.
Betrayal.
All ripped through her and for a moment left her
speechless.

Lindsay's knee-jerk reaction was to retreat. She'd have
preferred avoiding this meeting with Zack and sidestep the messy tangle of
emotions that were sure to follow.

Then she caught herself. Her therapist had pointed out that she had a
habit of running from emotions that were personally painful. He had told her
she had to learn to face her feelings for Zack. When she'd expressed her
doubts, he'd reminded her that she'd risen above her father's
brutality and her mother's death. Zack and their marriage should be no
exception.

Still, Lindsay had to swallow before she could shout,
"Zack!"

All the other cops turned first and stared at her while Zack's
body stiffened. For a moment he seemed frozen, but then he turned slowly and
stared at her from behind aviator sunglasses.

Instinct screamed
run
. She stood her ground.

The sunglasses hid Zack's sharp blue eyes, but she knew even
without the shades his expression would have been unreadable. He'd always
been so good at hiding his emotions. It's why he'd made a great
undercover cop and a lousy husband.

"Zack, can you tell me who the body is?" Her voice sounded
surprisingly controlled--a minor, but appreciated miracle.

For a moment, Zack tensed and she expected him to walk toward her. Their
relationship was unconventional and damaged, but they had a history and that
had to be worth something.

He drew in a breath but didn't move toward her. "I'm
not ready to interview you yet, Lindsay. Go back inside and wait for me."

Zack sounded so controlled.
So together.
He'd anticipated seeing her.

That realization angered her. He could have given her a heads-up and
called her on her cell.
Crap
. She remembered her cell
was dead and so was her home phone. Maybe he had tried to call.

Still, the insight didn't soften the sharp emotions digging at
her. "Well, I'd like to talk to you now, detective."
She'd laced the words with attitude, knowing he'd hate it.

Zack's left hand flexed. She recognized the gesture. It signaled
he was irritated. Good.

Speaking to the young cop, Zack said, "Officer Bennett, escort Ms.
O'Neil away from my crime scene now."

The curt dismissal had her squaring her shoulders. "This is
shelter property, Detective Kier. You can't shut me out. Whoever was killed
on my property affects my residents."

Zack didn't answer. Instead, he turned back toward the body.

Honey not vinegar
.
Honey not
vinegar
.

With effort, Lindsay drew in a breath and softened her tone.
"Look, Zack, my assistant found the body and it's in our backyard.
Can't you give me any information?"

"Not now, Lindsay," Zack said. He crouched by the body,
pulled off his sunglasses, and chewed the earpiece as he stared at the body.

Barely a few moments together and already it was clear that the
emotional wall between them was as thick as it had been a year ago. It was hard
now to believe that they'd ever been close.

Lindsay always felt most alone when she tried to connect with him and he
shut her out. "Detective, can you at least move the marked police cars?"
she asked. "Sanctuary doesn't need any more bad publicity."

He didn't respond.

Officer Bennett took Lindsay's arm. "Ma'am, you need
to leave this area."

She snatched her arm free.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah.
I'm going."

Monday, July 7, 9:25
A.M
.

For the past two days, Detective Zack Kier had
been running down leads on a suspicious murder in the county's east end.
He'd pieced together enough information to prove that the woman who had
fallen to her death had committed suicide, and that it was not a murder. He had
been ready to clock out and start a stretch of three days off when dispatch had
reported a homicide at Sanctuary Women's Shelter.

He'd taken the assignment without hesitating or clearing it with
his supervisor. The action would no doubt come back to bite him in the ass but
he didn't care. He'd needed to make sure Lindsay was okay.

He'd not only seen her, but he'd also managed to piss her
off.

Now, it wasn't even ten o'clock and Zack was juggling what
was going to be a high-profile murder and Lindsay.
Shit.

Zack decided to focus on the lesser of the two evils--the crime
scene.

The responding uniformed officer had roped off a generous perimeter
around the body and had done a good job keeping everyone out and the area secure
until Zack had arrived.

A monthlong drought had left the ground bone dry, so the chances of
retrieving footprints, DNA, weapons, the victim's hand, and anything else
left behind by the killer were all good. But they'd have to work fast. Thick
rain clouds that looked ready to burst hovered above.

"Officer Watt," Zack said, speaking to the older officer
behind him. "What do you have so far?"

In his midfifties, Watt's gray crew cut emphasized a perpetual
scowl. Usually, he had little to say, but when he did speak smart detectives
listened. "Call came in from a Ruby Dillon. She found the body just after
eight. Ms. Dillon spent the night at the shelter. She was in charge of
supervising the overnight residents and getting the four female residents off
to work and the two male children to summer school. The place was empty when
she came outside to dump the trash and discovered the body."

Zack patted his shirt pocket in search of cigarettes. The pocket was
empty. He'd quit smoking nine months ago, but cravings still plagued him.
"Did she hear or see anything last night?"

"Not a word. And none of the residents mentioned anything out of
the ordinary to her before they left for the day. It was an unusually quiet
night."

Zack studied the corpse's bloated features. He didn't need
ID to know who he was: Harold Turner.

Turner was well known at headquarters, because he wasn't
particular about whom he defended as long as the case translated into cash or
media attention. Turner had been in the news this past week for his defense of
drug dealer Ronnie T., who, after numerous delays, was on trial for tax
evasion. Now that Turner was dead, Ronnie T.'s trial could be
compromised. That worried Zack. Eighteen months ago, he had been one of the
undercover cops who'd gathered evidence against the affable Ronnie T.

Zack rose and removed a notebook from his breast pocket. He jotted
notes: interview Quinton Barlow, Harold's law partner. Examine
Turner's client list.
Talk to Mrs. Turner.

He glanced left and right at the surrounding houses. With his partner on
vacation, he would also be knocking on a lot of doors today.
"Any
other witnesses?"

Officer Watt shook his head. "Not yet."

Zack was careful to stay clear of the blood-caked grass and dirt around
the body's mutilated arm. The scent of decaying flesh made his stomach
clench. He'd been a cop for thirteen years, could look at any grisly
sight without flinching, but the smells always got to him.

"Do you have an ETA for forensics?" Zack asked Watt.

"They've been called twice and should be arriving any
minute."

"The sooner the better.
We're not going to have much
time with this one and I don't want any evidence compromised by the
weather, curious cops, or reporters."

"Understood."

Zack glanced at the shelter. "Also, make sure Ms. Dillon and Ms.
O'Neil don't leave the shelter unless I know about it. I want to
talk to them both."

"Sure."

Ms. O'Neil
. Lindsay.

Zack had not seen his wife since the meeting at the lawyer's
office almost a year ago when she'd served him with divorce papers. She
had let the attorney do her talking and had refused to acknowledge him, because
he had been drinking.

Hell, who was he kidding? He'd been drunk.
Shit.

Zack had worked undercover narcotics for three years before he met
Lindsay. Drugs had been a part of that world. He'd been careful to stay
clear of the drugs, knowing he got tested by the department regularly. But he
had started drinking more heavily during that time. Ego had had him believing
he could handle the booze. He'd been wrong.

When he'd met Lindsay, he'd cut way back on his drinking.
But then he'd started working more undercover assignments. The stress of
hiding his private life from the drug world grew along with the cravings for
booze. Soon he was chasing beers with shots of bourbon.

Lindsay had figured out what was happening very quickly. She had begged
him to stop drinking and to consider AA meetings. He'd assured her he
didn't have a problem. He'd seen the hope in her eyes. She'd
wanted to believe him but when he hadn't quit, she'd tossed him
out. He'd felt betrayed, furious, and he'd done the dumbest thing
he could have. He'd slept with another woman. Lindsay had found out and
there'd been no going back after that.

That day in the lawyer's office, he'd been royally pissed
because she'd not returned any of his phone calls. He'd said
terrible things to Lindsay, hoping to wound her the way her throwing him out
had hurt him. His words had found their mark. Unshed tears had glistened in her
eyes when she'd fled the attorney's office.

Zack would like to have said he'd joined AA right after that
meeting. But he hadn't. He'd stayed drunk another month before his
brother, Malcolm, had threatened to expose his drinking to the department if he
didn't get sober. Zack had agreed. With the help of his family, he had
sobered up.

After he'd been sober sixty days, he'd known he'd have
to leave narcotics. So he'd parlayed his arrest record and gotten a
transfer out of narcotics to homicide. He'd been in the new job eight
months.

Zack had wanted to call Lindsay after he'd gotten sober and
apologize for all the crap he'd put her through. But he'd been
afraid she'd reject him and he didn't fully trust his sobriety
those first few weeks. Days turned into weeks.
Weeks into
months.
He got stronger, more in control of the cravings that would
never really leave him. But now, nearly a year had passed since that day in the
lawyer's office, and here they were: married strangers.

He wasn't sure what he expected when he saw Lindsay, but he did
know that their first meeting wouldn't be easy under the best of
circumstances--nothing with his wife had ever been uncomplicated.
Intruding into his crime scene was classic Lindsay.

What he hadn't anticipated was her pale skin and the veil of
bravado that was as thin as her frame.

This past year had been hard on her too.

Zack's head throbbed. He shoved out a breath and buried the
remorse. He had a job to do.

The snap of rubber gloves had Zack turning toward the forensics tech,
Sara Martin. Tall, slim, and in her early thirties, she wore her long auburn
hair in a tight ponytail at the base of her neck. She'd slid crisp blue
coveralls over her clothes and booties over her shoes. In the three years
he'd known her she was always immaculate, always contained no matter what
the situation.

"Sorry it took me so long." Sara's sweet perfume
drifted above the blood's pungent rusty smell. "When my beeper went
off I was still in the shower. So what do we have?"

"Harold Turner."

She didn't look surprised. "It's a wonder he lived
this long. Guy had a ton of enemies." A digital camera dangled from her
neck and she switched it on,
then
started to snap
pictures. "Jesus, his left hand is gone."

"Yeah."

"What can you tell me about the murder?" Sara said.

"I just got here myself. But from the looks of it, Harold was shot
point-blank in the chest and his left hand severed. In which order, I
don't know yet. The medical examiner should be able to tell me."

Sara nodded, lowered the camera. "Blood-splatter patterns suggest
he was shot where he fell. The bullet to the chest would have been enough to
kill him."

She squatted and studied the body. "There seem to be no bruises,
no scratches, and no signs of trauma. And there'd be signs of all that if
the killer tried to take the hand first."

"Harold was a street-savvy guy and didn't trust easily. But
it looks like he came of his own free will with the killer. His car isn't
parked on the street."

That caught her off guard. "He rode here with his killer?"

"I think so. But that only narrows the search to about a million people,"
Zack said.

"What would make him get into the car with a killer?"

"Look at his left arm."

She frowned. "Track marks. You think he came for drugs?"

Zack understood the power of addiction.
"Wouldn't
surprise me."

She snapped more pictures. "With all the blood it will be a
miracle if the killer didn't get any on his feet. I'll search for
footprints." Sara glanced up at the sky and frowned before she lowered
her lens back to Harold's wrist. "Any sign of the hand?"

"Not yet. I've got officers walking the backyard searching
for it."

"Why take the hand?
Some kind of trophy?"

"Maybe."

She glanced around at the houses. "I'm guessing a silencer
was used. Gunshot residue will tell me if the killer was close."

"Work fast. I don't think the weather is going to hold."

Sara nodded. "Morning news says late morning thunderstorms coming
out of the west."

Not good. A scene like this could take days to process and it appeared
that they might only have hours.

"I'll leave you to your work. Thanks." Zack stepped
back, aware that tension had settled in his lower-back muscles. He wanted a
beer but that was out of the question. He'd have to settle for a long run
along the river.

"Hey, Zack."

"Yeah?"

Sara flipped her bangs out of her eyes, which were bright with
anticipation. "I'm having a party this weekend to celebrate my
promotion. Care to come?"

Over the last couple of months Sara had asked him out a few times.
He'd made the mistake of sleeping with her a year ago. Since then, he had
made a point of keeping their relationship professional and sidestepping all of
her invitations. He couldn't explain why but he felt he owed fidelity to
Lindsay until the divorce papers were signed. "Thanks, Sara, but I
don't think I'll make it."

She didn't hide her disappointment. "You sure you can't
come? Everyone at headquarters is going to be there. The party should be a real
crush."

"Sorry. I'm going to have to pass, Sara." He offered a
wan smile and took a step back.

Sara nodded thoughtfully and let her gaze drift from him to the shelter.
"When you see Lindsay, tell her I said hello."