Up In Flames (25 page)

“Well, Neddie told me that these guys tried to hire him to kill a man because the guy knew too much and wanted to come clean. They were afraid he’d turn evidence on them or something, so they wanted Neddie to kill him, then sink his car in the river.”

Mick jerked around, staring at her. A limp piece of uncooked bacon dangled from the fork in his hand.

“Neddie refused. Not only because he was out of the business and trying to go straight, but because he said he sympathized with the other guy. He said they were alike, both of them wanting to be legit, and there was no proof the guy would rat. After all, Neddie said he’d never ratted anyone out before.”

This is it,
Mick thought with a surge of triumph.
This is the link.

“I told Neddie about how I’d learned to escape a car that had gone into the river, and he said I couldn’t have escaped if I’d been dead before it went in.” Delilah tilted her head at Mick, her beautiful, light blue eyes filled with a heavy sadness. “Is that what happened to Neddie? You said he was murdered, and I know he drowned. Did someone kill him, then drive his car into the river? The paper didn’t give all the details. I didn’t know you were a cop, so I didn’t think you’d know, either. After all, it was supposed to be confidential stuff for the ongoing investigation.”

For the first time that he could remember since becoming an officer of the law, Mick didn’t even consider what was right or wrong. He set a cup of coffee in front of Delilah and pulled out the stool next to her. Their bare knees touched, his on the outside of hers. “Neddie’s wrists,” he explained carefully, “had bruises on them, evidence that he’d been tied up, though there were no ropes or anything on him when his body was found.”

Delilah reached for his hand, and Mick squeezed her fingers.

“He had a wound on the back of his head, too. The coroner said he’d been struck with a blunt object, knocked out just before the car went off the bridge—or possibly as the car went over. It’d be impossible to tell for sure, but as you just said, he wasn’t given the chance to escape the car and swim to the surface. We’re thinking whoever did it hoped the car wouldn’t be found until time and the natural effects of water and cold had done enough damage to disguise a deliberate murder.”

“He had a suicide note in his pocket?”

Mick nodded. “Yeah.”

Her lips quivered, and she drew a ragged breath. “That’s exactly what Neddie described, what he said the men wanted him to do.” She blinked away a sheen of tears, and whispered raggedly, “I used that whole scenario in my book.”

“The book you’re working on now?”

“Yes. In the last book, the hero got away by keeping his head and doing the things I’d learned from submerging myself in a car.”

Mick shuddered. He could
not
think about that now. Somehow he’d figure out a way to temper Delilah’s more dangerous inclinations, without stifling her.

“But in this book,” she continued, oblivious to his turmoil, “he was knocked out, a suicide note planted on him, and the heroine had to save him.”

Just like Delilah to twist things around, Mick thought. But then, if any woman were capable of a rescue, it’d be Delilah Piper. He wouldn’t underestimate her on anything, once she set her mind to it.

It was an enormous long shot, but Mick asked, “That whole scenario is too damn close to the truth to be comfortable. Does anyone know what’s in this book?”

She nodded. “Tons of people, I’m sure. Remember I told you I was on the news, discussing my current project? We talked about that whole scene. I...I was laughing about it, bragging that it could happen, and that a woman might indeed be a hero. I never once considered that I could be putting Neddie in danger.”

“Neddie didn’t know about the interview?”

“I don’t know.” She covered her face. “He died shortly after that. He...he might have died because of
me.
Someone could have heard that radio program, someone who knew we’d become friends, that Neddie coached me on my research.”

“And they might have assumed he’d told you too much, and that you could repeat it.” If Mick thought he’d felt fear before, it was nothing to what he felt now. Someone wanted to shut her up, to make certain she couldn’t repeat details that might be incriminating. But he didn’t know who, and until he did know, until he could get the bastards, her life was at stake.

Delilah rocked slowly back and forth in her seat as the ramifications settled around her. “I’m to blame.”

With a new fury, Mick tipped up her chin. “
Wrong.
Don’t even go there, babe. When you live the type of life Neddie did, then you run the risks. That’s just how it is.”

“He was changing.”

“Maybe just a little too late.” Mick pulled her into his lap. “Did Neddie give you any names, anything that might connect him with the killers?”

She thought hard, staring down at her hands. Slowly her gaze rose to his. “You know, he did say something, but I’m not sure it’ll help.”

“At this point, it’d have to be more than we’ve got.”

She nodded, her brows drawn. “He said the guys who wanted to hire him should have known better, because they’d been in prison with him in ’86, all of them convicted for car theft.”

It took several moments for it to sink in, before Mick allowed himself to believe. “Bingo.”

“You think?”

“I think it’ll be easy enough to check prison records. That might do it, with your testimony. Especially if the fingerprints from the apartment next to yours match up. We should have those today.”

“Is that why they tried to kill me? They knew Neddie had been talking to me? They knew he’d...told me things?”

Mick hugged her. God, she was precious to him. And she was also smart, so there was no point in hoping to protect her. Besides, he didn’t want her feeling guilty for Neddie’s death, not if he could help it.

“The bruises on Neddie’s wrists showed that he put up a hell of a fight, that he tried to work himself free. But he didn’t make it.” Mick kissed her temple, her ear. “Could be they promised to let him go if he named everyone he’d talked to.”

She shook her head, adamant in Neddie’s defense. “No, Neddie would never have done that, not if he thought they’d hurt me.”

Her innocence amazed him. “How long did you know him, sweetheart?”

“A few months. But we were friends, Mick,” she said staunchly.

“That’s not enough time to really judge.”

She leaned back and gave him a level look. “It’s longer than I’ve known you.”

Mick scowled, not appreciating that comparison at all. “He was an admitted murderer. A car thief. Those things are not synonymous with ethics, and any man could cave when his life was on the line.”

“I won’t believe that.”

Mick decided to let it go. She’d been hurt enough, and disillusioning her now wouldn’t accomplish a thing. “Let’s finish up breakfast and shower, then I’ll call Faradon. He should be up by then, and if not, well, he’ll get up.”

“You really think any of this will make a difference?”

“I know it will.”

“I hope so,” she said. “I want this behind us. I want us to take walks in the park and go to the zoo, and I want to get back to my research.”

Mick groaned. He didn’t know if he could live through her special brand of daredevil study.

But he knew he didn’t want to live without her, so he supposed he’d find a way to get used to it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The phone rang while Mick was in the shower. He’d insisted that Del go ahead while he cleaned the kitchen, and when she’d protested, he claimed it had to be that way. If he showered with her, they’d never leave his house.

She accepted that he probably was right.

With her hair still wet and her feet bare, Del picked up the phone. “Dawson residence.”

“Faradon here. Is this Ms. Piper?”

“Yes,” she said shortly. Detective Faradon still wasn’t one of her favorite people, not after the interrogation she’d been through.

“We got the fingerprints back and have some photos to go with them. We’d like you to come to the station and take a look, see if you can ID anyone. How soon can you be here?”

She bristled at his demanding tone. At the very least, she felt the man owed her a few apologies. “Actually, Mick and I were coming in, anyway.” She didn’t mention her new “evidence” because she wasn’t convinced it would help. Mick could explain everything.

There was a pause, then he asked, “How soon?”

“Mick is about done showering now. I’d say we’ll leave here in the next fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he said, and rudely hung up.

A few minutes later Mick came out looking nicely rugged and sexy as sin in faded, well-worn jeans and a soft gray T-shirt. He wore scuffed, lace-up black boots. As Del watched, he checked his gun.

She inched closer. “Can I see?”

He glanced up. “What? My gun?”

Nodding, she said, “A Smith & Wesson, right? Semiautomatic?”

Mick held the gun out of her reach. “No one touches my gun but me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to fire it. And I do know a little about guns.”

“Research, I suppose?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then you know enough to understand how dangerous they are.” With a dexterity that proved how quickly he was healing, he tucked the gun into a holster at the small of his back, and smoothed his T-shirt over it. “And,” he said again, “
no one
touches my gun but me.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

He caught her before she could turn away, and kissed her neck. It was shameful, but she immediately softened, just as he’d probably known she would.

“Who was on the phone?” he asked against her throat.

Sometimes it was annoying, loving Mick. She couldn’t seem to stay angry with him, especially when he kissed her. “Your buddy, Faradon.”

“He’s not my buddy, he’s just the lead investigator on the robbery and shooting.” He kissed her again, this time nuzzling beneath her ear. It felt like her toes melted. “What did he want?”

Struggling to get her brain in gear, she succeeded in saying, “He has fingerprints and photos, and he wants us to come take a look for a positive ID.”

Stepping back from her, Mick looked at the chunky black watch on his wrist. “Hell, it’s barely eight o’clock. He’s at it early.”

Feeling hopeful for the first time, Del asked, “Do you think that means we’re close to having this wrapped up?”

Mick took her arm and headed for the door. “Even with an ID, we’d still have to get hold of them, but it’d sure make it easier to track the bastards down. It’s tougher to hide when everyone knows who you are. There’s also the possibility that Rudy’ll be more willing to talk once we have names.”

The sun never did quite rise. Instead, as they stepped outside, they saw that fat purple clouds had rolled in, leaving the air heavy with the scent of rain. In the distance, lightning flickered.

Mick cursed. “Did you want to grab a jacket or umbrella?”

“I won’t melt.”

She saw his surprise, then his smile, as he opened the car door for her. “I’d forgotten your affinity for rain,” he said.

When she raised a brow, he explained, “The day I finally met you, the day of the robbery. Everyone else had an umbrella, but you didn’t even seem to notice how soaked you’d gotten.” He slid his hand over her waist and squeezed suggestively. “I noticed.”

Del smiled at that. It was nice being reminded that the awesome attraction went both ways. If Mick had indeed noticed her when she looked like a used rag mop, then his interest was as keen as hers. Maybe more so, because she hadn’t paid him a bit of mind until the shooting.

Once he folded his big body behind the wheel, she told him, “I love running in the drizzling rain. It’s peaceful and it stimulates my muse.”

He started to make a nasty crack, no doubt about stimulating her, and Del elbowed him. They both laughed and she thought how nice it was, how right, to be with Mick this way. She wondered, once everything was settled, what would happen. When it was no longer necessary for her to stay with him for protection, would he ask her to leave? Would he ask her to stay?

Half an hour later she was still pondering that when the sky opened up. No slight drizzle this, but a raging summer storm full of power. The stuffy, humid air came alive with electricity, crackling and snapping all around them. Trees bent and dipped, leaves and debris danced across the rain-washed roadways.

Del slanted Mick a look. “Rainstorms are sexy,” she whispered.

“You’re sexy. Rain or no rain,” he replied, keeping his gaze on the road.

She grinned, about to tell him how she’d like to spend the afternoon once they finished at the station, when they were blinded by a sudden glare. In the darkness of the morning storm, an approaching car’s bright lights reflected off Mick’s door. He flinched, throwing up a hand, but it didn’t help. The car came from an empty side street, and rather than slowing, it accelerated to a reckless speed across the slick roadway, coming right for them.

Mick glanced out his window, gripped the wheel tightly and muttered with icy calm, “Hold on.”

The car struck the back side-panel, throwing them into a spin. Del’s seat belt tightened; she yelped in alarm, barely keeping her wits enough to twist around, trying to see what happened.

At the force of impact, Mick first overcompensated, and the car slewed off the road and into the mud before grasping the slick pavement again.

Del, assuming it was an accident—a result of the rainy conditions—wondered why Mick didn’t just pull over. She looked over her shoulder, wide-eyed, in time to see the other car straighten and shoot toward them again.

Mick’s hand flattened on the top of her head, and he shoved her down in the seat. “Stay there!”

The rear windshield exploded, glass flying everywhere. “Dear God!” Del held Mick’s thigh, her face pressed into his side. This couldn’t be happening! She tried to sit up, wanting only to protect Mick.

“Keep down,” Mick barked, again flattening her in the seat. It suddenly hit her who was after them and why.

Del felt another impact, this time to the rear fender of the car, and there was no way to steer out of it. The car swerved off the road, slinging mud and fishtailing, and finally colliding with a scrawny tree, jarring them both hard.

Mick’s head hit the wheel and he slumped.

“Mick!” She screamed his name, scrambling to get her seat belt off, to reach him. Her heart leaped into her throat, her vision clouded with fear. Before she could reach him her door was jerked open. The thunderous roar of the storm intruded, along with a spray of rain and turbulent air. Hard hands grabbed her, yanking her back. She fought them, seeing the trickle of blood on Mick’s forehead, the stillness in his body.

He needed help, a hospital! But already her feet were being dragged through the mud, and no matter how she fought, she couldn’t escape. The hands holding her only tightened with bruising force.

Someone grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back. “Do you want me to go back and put a bullet in him to make sure he’s dead?”

That voice was rough, familiar, and Del froze, choking on her terror. “No.”

“Then come along and be quiet.”

A hard shove landed her facedown in the front seat of the other car, and she barely had time to right herself before two men squeezed in around her. The battered car had been left running, idling roughly. The interior smelled of smoke and stale liquor. It was dirty, cluttered.

The man on her right pressed a gun to her ribs, hard enough to make her groan, and with enough intent to scare her witless. She recognized them as the same men from the jewelry store—the men who wanted her dead.

“What do you want?” she asked around her fear, wanting, needing Mick.
Dear God, please let him be all right.

“Shut up.”

The car lurched away, tires squealing, zigzagging with a distinct lack of caution for the weather and road conditions. Wet tendrils of hair stuck to Del’s face and throat. She swiped them aside and twisted to see Mick’s car as they made a screeching U-turn and sped away. Right before he was out of view, she could have sworn she saw him lift his head, but it was hard to tell with the rain streaking the dirty windows and the strobing effects of the electrical storm.

Del closed her eyes on another silent prayer. Mick
had
to be okay. The gun prodded her when they made a sharp turn, keeping her own danger in acute perspective. She felt icy cold inside and out, and couldn’t stop the racking shakes that made her teeth chatter and her head hurt.

Keep them talking,
she thought. “How did you know where to ambush us?” she asked.

Smirking, the man lifted his hand to his head, finger and thumb extended as if it were a phone. “This is Faradon,” he mimicked. “We need you to come to the station.”

Her stomach roiled. “You had us bugged again?” Had these disgusting men heard Mick’s heartfelt admissions about his past? She couldn’t bear it.

“Nope. I didn’t overhear the call, I
made
the call. Your protector was rather accommodating, sharing his home number with Faradon and asking him to leave any messages concerning the robbery on his message machine. He didn’t want you to know he was a cop, you see, but he still wanted to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. The son of a bitch was determined to get hold of us.” He shrugged. “He called his house and took his messages that way, and you went on in blissful ignorance, thinking you screwed a PI, not a cop.”

Reality sank in. One more lie Mick had told. Strangely enough, she felt more concern for his guilt, if he should find out, than she did for the lie. She understood him. She knew why he hadn’t confided in her. She’d meant it when she’d said she forgave him for that. “You got Faradon’s name and Mick’s number from a call he made at my place.”

“That’s right. So, no, Faradon isn’t expecting you. He won’t send out the cavalry.”

Del looked through the mud-spattered windshield and saw they were headed toward the river. Not the Ohio—no, that would be too obvious. This was a much smaller, much dirtier river. But it was deep. And fast. Mostly isolated excepted for the occasional fisherman. But not today. Today the river was deserted.

And she knew why they were going there.

Do not get hysterical,
she told herself, even as her breath hitched and her lungs constricted. She could smell the two of them in the stuffy, steamy interior of the car. She could smell her own fear and their excitement. Bile rose in her throat.

They pulled off the main road and drove through a patch of weeds and scrub. A ramshackle outbuilding sat to their right, and a long wooden pier, probably private, stretched along the shore, then angled out into deeper water. The car bumped onto it, tires thumping along the uneven, weather-worn boards.

Though they moved slowly now, edging nearer and nearer to the end of the dock, Del felt time speeding past her. A cabin cruiser docked to their right blocked them from view of the road.

Over the river, lightning danced, temporarily illuminating the sky and emphasizing the blackness of the deep, churning water. They meant to drown her, to kill her and sink the awful, dirty car with her inside it.

The driver laughed, reaching for her upper thigh and giving her a lecherous squeeze. “It’s a shame we have to end this so quickly,” he sneered. “Watching you with that cop makes me want to taste you myself.”

Del slugged him.

She didn’t think about it, didn’t weigh the wisdom with the folly. She simply snapped, then reacted on instinct. Using a technique she’d learned in self-defense classes, she brought her elbow up and back. Hard, fast. Right into his face.

“Fucking bitch.” The driver grabbed for his bleeding nose and temporarily lost control of the car. The other man grabbed Del by the neck, squeezing as he shouted orders.

In that single moment of chaos, everything became clear for Del, and she knew what to do.

She ignored the fist clamped around her throat, making it impossible for her to draw air, and instead put her efforts into a hard shove on the driver. He lost his balance, and Del wedged her foot down to the floorboards. She found the gas pedal and jammed down.

With a loud roar of the engine, the car lurched forward. The driver shouted, gripping the wheel, but Del had clamped both hands on it. They wrestled, but he sputtered blood and went blind with panic.

The hand at her throat let go to grab her shoulder. It felt like her arm had been wrenched from the socket—but it was too late. The old car went airborne off the far end of the dock, suspending time and sound and reality, then dumped hard into the icy river with an enormous splash. Hissing and sputtering, the car tipped, engine first, and began sinking.

Both men forgot about Del in their panic. They pounded at the windows, screamed as the blackness engulfed them and water began rushing in.

Del concentrated on regaining her breath. Her throat felt crushed; it hurt to swallow, even to breathe, but she did it, slow, deep. The gun had dropped onto the seat beside her, forgotten. She tucked it into her pocket. The man to her right got the window open, and a great gush of frigid river water knocked him backward into Del. His elbow caught her shoulder, his foot dug into her thigh as he scrambled frantically to get to the window again, bent only on escaping the car.

On her knees so that her head stayed in the pocket of air inside the car, Del inhaled deeply, then slithered to the back seat. Water closed over her face just as her fingers found the window handle.