Beneath the Silk (18 page)

An iron hand locked around her arm and pulled her away from the wall, then hurled her into a wooden shelf. This time Sunni screamed, her knees buckling to send her to the floor. Dazed, she lay on her side unmoving. Knowing that someone was looming over her, she closed her eyes and waited for a solid blow to come, waited for the worst. But it wasn’t pain she felt seconds later, it was a smooth, leather-gloved hand stroking her cheek.

Sunni wanted to fight the hand, to fight to stay awake. Only she couldn’t move, couldn’t fight the dizziness that broadsided her in waves, keeping her paralyzed and helpless.

Twenty minutes later, she slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Jackson strode into the lobby at Masado Towers fifteen minutes later than he wanted to. His mood was sour and his jaw set, his mind on the difficult task of telling Sunni that Elizabeth Carpenter had been found in a rental car that had been missing for as long as Milo Tandi had been dead.

He crossed the little stone bridge as he pulled Silks’ key from his pocket. He unlocked the door, stepped inside and, in the act of relocking the door, heard the noise. The door forgotten, he spun around and scanned the darkness, his Diamondback .38 already in his hand.

The light from Sunni’s office drew his attention first and he headed for the room, all his senses honed razor sharp. Outside the open door, he stuck close to the wall, the .38 cocked and ready for a confrontation.

He went in fast, but there was no one inside. No signs of a struggle. No blood.

He let out a sigh of relief, then left the office and followed the noise to the back of the shop. He entered the hall and found the door where the noise was coming from. He eased open the door and crept inside, identifying the noise as wood splintering.
Mac…

He kept his back against the wall as he moved for
ward, his
free hand sliding ahead in search of a light switch. He found it seconds later and—his
gun at the
ready—flipped the switch.

The sight of Sunni lying lifeless on her side three feet away nearly dropped him to his knees. Jackson had never come apart on the job. He’d learned early on that to be a good homicide detective there was no room for wasted emotions. Action is what saved lives—that, and crystal-clear thinking. But emotion
was climbing all over him
as he knelt beside Sunni’s
limp body. “Oh … no, Sis.”

His throat closed
off, his heart broke open.

On instinct his shaking fingers settled on her neck. As pale as she was, he never expected to find a pulse. But the minute he did, all of his skill and expertise surged forward.

Within seconds an ambulance was on its way and Jackson was assessing Sunni’s injuries—none of which looked serious enough to cause unconsciousness.

Chapter 11

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S
he was a diabetic.

An invisible knife took Jackson’s wind as if the expensive Hibben that rode his hip had been unsheathed and buried deep into his chest. As many times as he said the word, he still couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe she’d tricked him so completely.

He stared down at Sunni lying in the hospital bed, and again the ordeal he’d walked in on at Silks a few hours ago chilled him to the bone. Yes, someone had
made an
attempt on her life, that was his fault. But if he had known she was a diabetic he would have…

What would he have done?

He turned away from the bed to stare out the third-story window. A moment later, the same dozen questions that had been attacking him for the past two hours revisited him. How could this be happening? Why hadn’t she told him? Why hadn’t Clide? How could he have missed the signs?

Hell, the signs had been there—the orange juice she consumed by the gallon. The snacks he’d found in the drawers in the bedroom…

“Jack…”

Her husky voice made him jump. He hadn’t
expected it to be
so strong. He turned and found her sitting up. When he didn’t say anything, she glanced around the room, then tossed the white sheet aside.

“No, don’t get up. The doctor’s keeping you here until morning for observation.”

“That’s ridiculous. I feel fine.”

“But you’re not fine … are you?”

His sharp tone made her flinch. “Okay, Jack. So you know I’m a diabetic. My secret is finally out.”

Secret…
The word stung him, and in reaction, he grunted, then turned back to the window.

“Jack? I bottomed out, okay? It happens. Not to me very often, but—”

He spun around. “If I had gotten there ten minutes later you would be dead right now. Dead!” His loud, angry voice bounced off the walls.

“Are you blaming that on my diabetes, or the creep that attacked me in the storage room?”

“Dammit, don’t be cute. Dead is dead. You know what I’m talking about.”

“I know I could have died, yes. But I didn’t.”

“You should have told me you were a diabetic. I would have definitely done my job differently had I
known you were
a walking time bomb.”

“A time bomb? I
have diabetes, Jack,
not some
horrible disease.”

“Who’s been feeding you that lie? You got a tooth fairy for a doctor? News flash, baby, diabetes
is
a disease. The number one death-causing
disease
in the country.”

He wanted to hurt her. Wanted to punish her for
tricking him into
thinking he’d been doing his job a hundred percent.
And he wanted to hurt her for
playing with his emotions, too.

She’d misrepresented herself, dammit, and he would never have allowed himself to care as much as he did if…

Jackson tried to rein in his temper, but his pain was colored by anger and it was too close to the surface. “Oh, yeah, you have a disease,” he taunted. “A disease that’ll most likely kill you someday. Probably sooner than you think if you keep taking chances like you’ve been doing lately.”

His cruel words sent the color draining from her face as if he’d just slit her throat. “All right, Jack, have it your way. I have a
disease.
I’m going to
die.
So … now that we’ve got that settled, where’s Mac? Is he all right?”

The tears that shimmered in her eyes never fell. Jackson felt like scum. No, he
was
scum. He wanted to take the words back, wanted to go to her and hold her. He wanted to tell her he was sorry. Sorry she was sick. Sorry that he’d been late. So damn
sorry.

He said, “Mac’s spending the night at the vet’s. He has a pound of wood between his teeth. When I got there, he’d nearly eaten through the door. He’s scheduled for minor surgery in the morning.”

“But he’s going to be all right?”

“He isn’t going to feel like brushing his teeth for a few days, but he’s a survivor. Were you ever going
to tell me?”

The question had her looking
away.

Jackson swore, shook his head, then laughed bitterly. “I told you once before, lying makes messes messier.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Baby, you can’t begin to know how much I understand.”

She jerked her head back to look at him. “Meaning?”

He should tell her about his father, but he wasn’t going to. What was the point? “Meaning, if I had known you were a diabetic, I would have—”

“Kicked me out of the shower? Is that what you would have done, Jack? Having regrets already?”

Regrets. How could he regret sleeping with the most beautiful woman in the city? The sex between them had been mind numbing and completely over the top. He’d never experienced anything like it. No other woman even came close to what he had shared with Sunni last night. No other woman had made him shake one minute and soar like a rocket the next. No other woman had kept him up all night, unable to get his fill of her. And when he’d worn her out, he’d lain awake for hours just watching her and touching her.

It was just a damn good thing he hadn’t gotten carried away and spoken out loud what he’d been thinking and feeling. They had known each other barely a week. No promises had been made. He was in town to do a job—keep her alive while he found Milo’s killer. His agenda was still the same.

“This afternoon Elizabeth Carpenter’s body was recovered from Diversey Harbor.”

“She’s dead. Oh, no.”

“I think it’s likely she was killed by the same guy who killed Milo. Probably the same person who showed up at Silks tonight. Can you give me a description of your attacker?”

“It was dark. I couldn’t see. But I did hit him with the paperweight from my desk. I heard him grunt, so I know I hurt him. I think it was a man because the noise he made was low and rough. He was also very strong and wore gloves. He lifted me and tossed me like I weighed nothing at all. He was taller than me, but not
as
tall as you. Did you call my father?”

“No. But I will. He’s—”

“Don’t.”

“Why?”

“My parents don’t know. They don’t know I have diabetes.”

Her admission shocked him. “They don’t know?”

“I wanted the time to be right. I wanted… I don’t know what I wanted. Maybe not to have to tell them at all.”

Jackson swore. “How could you keep something this damn important from them? They deserve to know.”

“Don’t you think I know that? They’re coming for the Christmas holidays. That’s when I had planned to tell them. That’s when I
will
tell them. But not now. Please, Jack.”

“Sick people need
someone to take
care of them.”

“I’m not sick. I don’t need a nursemaid. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“Didn’t look too capable lying on that storage room floor tonight, white as a ghost.”

“That’s a cheap shot, Jack.”

“I think it, I say it. Remember?” He pulled on his jacket.

“Jack, wait. Promise me you won’t call my father.”

“There’s a guard outside the door, compliments of the CPD. He’ll be there all night. As far as your father’s concerned, I’ll sleep on it and let you know what I decide in the morning.”

A brisk knock on the door sent Jackson to answer it. When he swung it open he was surprised to see it was Joe. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see the prettiest lady in the hospital,” he said. “She awake?”

“She’s awake.”

Jackson stepped aside and watched his friend walk into the room carrying a dozen yellow roses in a cutglass vase. “Did I come at a bad time?”

“No.” Both Jackson and Sunni spoke at the same
time.

Joey’s black eyebrows arched as he studied first Jackson, then Sunni. Finally he set the roses on the metal table next to the bed, then took Sunni’s hand. “You all right?”

“Yes.”

“I just wanted to come by and—”

“Show your concern?” she inserted.

“I’m your alibi, remember?”

“Did you make sure
Detective
Williams saw you?” She glanced at the roses. “They’re beautiful, Joey. Thank you.”

“Persian yellows. Hard to find. I called all over. Well, my secretary called all over. As far as Detective Williams is concerned, he missed my entrance. But I’m sure my coming and going will be documented by the guard out front. It’ll keep our alibi story solid.”

Jackson saw Joe wink at Sunni, and a moment later the vision of his friend kissing Sunni on the terrace revisited him with detailed clarity. He headed for the door. “I’ll be back in the morning
to
take you home. Doctor said not before eleven.”

“Jacky, wait up. How about a cup of coffee?”

Jackson paused, his hand on the doorknob. “I don’t feel like coffee right now.”

“Come on. There’s a coffee shop downstairs.”

“If we’re going to talk and drink, it won’t be coffee and it won’t be in a sick-house that smells like antiseptic and death. You want to talk, meet me at the Shedd. I got business there.”

“Okay.”
Joey touched Sunni’s cheek. “You take it easy and get some rest.”

Jackson watched her nod, watched her gaze find him over Joe’s shoulder. He opted to say nothing. Everything between them had pretty much been said.

* * *

“She’s not sick like your father, Jacky. There’s no similarities.”

Jackson sat at a corner table in the main lounge at the Shedd. The smoke-filled room was making him hungry for a cigarette, but the two half-naked, blond dancers on the glitzy, lit-up runway didn’t interest him in the least. “Is that why you showed up at the
hospital?”

“I like Sunni. I want her safe,” Joey supplied. “It made sense to show up bearing gifts to keep the alibi
story looking legit.”