Crime & Counterpoint (20 page)

“I can’t believe this,” Carter railed in a whisper, standing with Zach in an alcove on the quiet sixth floor. “Why didn’t you just call for backup like a
sane
person
?”

Zach remained silent, but not out of contrition. “I had to find out what was going on.”

“Well, you’ve screwed yourself again,” Carter spat back. He gave his head an exasperated shake, fishing in his pockets. “I told you not to do anything stupid…” His voice trailed off angrily as he withdrew a hotel card key and handed it to Zach. “Here. Take this. Go up to my room and
stay
there until I can get you a new shirt.”

Mutely, Zach bucked. All he wanted to do was return to his den and lick his wounds. Make new ones. David Ericson was dead to him.

“Now, I gotta spend the rest of the night sorting this out,” Carter grumbled. “I called Rick. Police are on their way. But I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to Judge Blankenship.”

“Those men aren’t dead, Carter. They’re going to talk eventually.”

“You said they had a gun?”

“A Russian 5.45mm PSM. It’s still in the elevator.”

“And you think they’re affiliates of the Brother’s Circle?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Okay then. We might have something solid to work with here.” Excitement thrummed in Carter’s voice, and he started pacing. But then, another thought occurred to him, and he stopped abruptly. “Hold on. What were you even doing headed up in the first place?”

Zach flicked the plastic card against his slacks, knowing the answer to this point would sink him in court. Unwillingly, he replied, “I got a tip.”

Carter threw up his hands. “Come on! Cervenka again?! We just talked about this!”

“He’s giving me legit leads.” Zach looked away. “And besides, if I don’t cooperate…”

“I know. I know. The security footage. Don’t remind me.” Relenting with a heavy sigh, Carter glanced at the distracting splatters of blood on Zach’s previously perfect tie. “Alright. Forget it. We’ll get them held for questioning. Your dad. That girl. Just get yourself up to my room and wait.” Shaking his head, Carter started walking away as Zach headed in the opposite direction towards the stairwell. “Maybe I’ll add your name to the reservation,” he grumbled.

“Don’t bother.”

“Just shut up, Zach.” Carter glared over his shoulder, still walking. “You’ve lost your say.”

Shelley’s feet ached, and she just wanted to sit down. In a giant ballroom full of chairs, who could imagine such a simple desire would be so difficult to satiate?

But at last, she found her way to a table at which Mrs. Weston sat regally, looking like a queen.

Abigail smiled, wreathing her face in gentle wrinkles. She held out her mildly-gnarled hand. “Come, my dear. Join me.”

Shelley was all too glad to comply and took Abigail’s hand as she lowered herself into a blue satin-covered seat. She smelled her neighbor’s lilac and ginger fragrance and felt immediate comfort.

Abigail frowned at Shelley’s fingers. “My dear girl, you’re frigid.”

Shelley shrugged. “I don’t feel it. It’s a pianist thing… I think.”

Smiling, Abigail lifted her gaze to the sparkling chandelier beaming flecks of light onto the dance floor.

Watching her, Shelley suddenly asked, “How come you never moved to Florida? Or returned to England?”

Abigail’s eyes, so like Zach’s, filled with mirth and a hint of melancholy. “Well. It’s not complicated. I’m the youngest in my family, you know, and really I left to get away from them.” She chuckled. “Plus, I’ve been gone so long. I think it would take a great deal of adjusting to return to Brighton. And as for Florida” – she paused and smiled – “I’m a bit of a rebel at heart. I like to go against the grain.” At Shelley’s sparkling amusement, she said, “Oh, you don’t believe me? Where do you think Zach gets it from?”

Shelley looked up at the illustrious cove ceilings, a soft smile on her face. “So he’s keeping you here.”

“That’s a big part of it. But this is where Robert died. I don’t want to be so far from him.”

Shelley glanced at her, feeling strong empathy well within her. She squeezed Abigail’s hand and said, “I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to go anywhere either.”

There was a glimmer of moisture in the corner of Abigail’s eyes. She nodded her agreement, and then wanting to change topics, straightened and surveyed the party. “Where the devil has my grandson gone?”

Before Shelley could answer, two policemen with NYPD printed boldly on their black jackets appeared with a hotel staff member through one set of doors. Following the police, Carter materialized, pointing to someone across the ballroom. Unconsciously, Shelley held her breath as she watched. The hotel associate, dressed smartly, entered the reception while the police stayed in the foyer. She followed the associate’s path and saw her stop by Zach’s father.

“What on earth?” Abigail mused. “Are they arresting David?”

David Ericson gave what Shelley interpreted to be a casual, flippant smile to his nearest friends, amongst which was Ron Hightower III, and then patted Lexi’s powdered arm, departing with the hotel associate.

They walked out into the foyer, glass doors closing on them. But Shelley and Abigail could see everything through the panes.

David’s smile went away fast, and if not for the live music, Shelley was sure they would have heard him yelling. He turned red in the face, protesting the cops who seemed to be calm and congenial.

Shelley couldn’t sit still any longer. “I’m going to find out what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Abigail protested, concern in her voice.

But Shelley had no intention of being deterred. “No, it’s okay,” she said, already rising. “Carter’s there. I’ll be right back.” She checked for the location of her father –
good,
he was way over on the north end of the ballroom under one of the balconies occupied with kissing her mother. Shelley rolled her eyes.
Oh God
. And her brothers were all distracted by their dates. So she hiked up her dress and flurried to the nearest exit, escaping without notice.

“Shelley, get back in there,” Carter demanded as soon as he spotted her.

“I want to know what’s going on.”

David’s yelling provided a scathing serenade to their conversation. “This is ridiculous! I have nothing to hide!”

Carter pulled Shelley to the side. “Listen,” he said in an undertone for her hearing only. “Zach is in room 710.” He pulled out his wallet and gave her his credit card. “I need you to go down and get him a new shirt and tie.”

Her concern tripled. “Why?!”

He gripped her arm to silence her. “Just do it, please. And don’t tell anybody. Seven-ten,” he reiterated. “Can you remember that?”

Irritation firecrackered. “I don’t know, Carter,” she said acerbically. “
Can
I?” She pushed him away and tramped towards the stairs which led down to the main lobby. She caught sight of the time on a giant clock and realized it was almost time for her to leave. Carter was supposed to be her ride to the club.

She sighed tightly and decided she would have to get to the club herself as soon as she fulfilled her lord’s command. Her cheeks flushed with her budding ire. Nevertheless, with grace, she proceeded down the stairs, picturing Zach’s form and estimating what size shirt to get.

Come on, Carter.
Zach paced agitatedly, wearing a tread in the freshly-vacuumed carpet of room 710. He’d taken off his Bloomingdale’s-tailored jacket and discarded his off-duty Glock but still wore the bloodied shirt and tie.

The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to be there when his dad was questioned. No doubt, other cops would be sensitive to David’s societal position and treat him with commendable tact. But Zach had no qualms about crossing boundaries; he was willing to take jail time in order to make sure his dad suffered.

There was a tentative knock at the door, and right away, he knew it wasn’t his friend. Tense, he peeked through the eye-level hole. When he saw the warped, fish-eye form of Shelley, he cursed. Was Carter trying to punish him?

Unwillingly, he opened the door. Cool, fragrant air swept in, mostly filled with her. She was holding a new shirt and tie. “Where’s Carter?”

Her gaze swept slowly over the now-brown stains on the front of his shirt. She swallowed. “Busy.” Vacillating, she asked, “Do you need my help or do you have everything under control?”

He would have,
should
have said no. However, he stepped aside and gestured for her to enter.

She bit the inside of her lip and without meeting his gaze walked in. She didn’t go beyond the foyer, however, holding the plastic-wrapped white shirt like an offering. The tie was a provocative shade of dark teal, neatly folded and tagged J. Ferrar.

She had good taste, he grudgingly thought. But he said nothing as he pulled off his ruined tie and started unbuttoning his shirt.

She kept her gaze floor-focused. “Would you like me to wash your shirt?”

“No. I’m going to toss it.”

“Seems like a waste.”

“What do you care?” he returned bitterly. A grimace passed over her countenance, and he knew he’d wounded her. Good.

Surprisingly, she walked over to the bed, laid out the tie, and then started ripping open the shirt’s packaging. “I had to guess your size.”

He came over, other shirt discarded, nothing to cover his scars and muscle. She smelled his musk and the dangerous odor he seemed to carry with him always. Goosebumps spread over her arms and legs. It was like she could feel him. She didn’t dare look; as it was, she had a clear view of his chiseled torso through the giant gold-framed mirror over the bed. “You don’t seem to have very good luck with shirts,” she ventured as she pulled out the pins holding the crisp shirt in a perfect fold.

“Only when I’m around you,” he returned.

His icy intonation could have frozen a hot spring, but she refused to display her distress. “I really doubt that.”

Zach moved closer until he was right behind her, all but brushing against her. The powerful memory of her lips came rushing back to him, filling him with inexorable need. But that diamond ring rattled his cage.

Feeling vindictive, he put his freshly-destroyed hand on the small of her back, sliding across tortuously. “I forgot to congratulate you. Carter’s a good guy.”

“Yes, he is.” Her voice was stable, but he could see her breathing had shallowed.

“He must really trust you,” Zach said. He moved his hand along the curve of her hip now, feeling her through the satin, keeping that breath’s distance between them. Close enough for her hair to graze him. The desire to take her grew alarmingly. “Maybe I should tell him I was in your bed yesterday.”

Sharply, she looked at him through the mirror. And he was satisfied with her distress. Quickly, she held up the shirt, checking for any blood-drawing menaces. Finding no pins left, she whipped around. “Here,” she said brusquely, thrusting it to him.

But he caught her by the waist before she could run away. “Did
Jared
trust you, too?”

She gasped. Her eyes filled with pain and anguish. “Why are you doing this?”

He let the silence linger as his gaze drilled into hers. “I need help,” he said, quietly. His fingers climbed into her hair and drizzled down her neck and bare shoulder, sending pleasurable, feverish tremors down her body.

He was temptation itself. Sorrow filling her limpid orbs, she choked in barely above a whisper, “I know.”

He felt a tingling through his hands like an electric shock. And he knew he couldn’t hurt her. No matter what she’d done. No matter what she ever did. He dropped his gaze and let her slip through his grasp.

As she rustled off, he took the new shirt and donned it, barely aware that it was a perfect fit. His mind slogged through quagmire, and didn’t want to take another breath.

Moments later, he heard the water in the bathroom running. Curious, he went to see what she was doing while he started on the buttons. Pausing at the threshold, he pushed the door open fully so he could see her. She was washing out his shirt, the brown turning back to red and running down the drain with the water.

In the mirror, he saw her contorted face. Tears trickling, dropping one at a time onto his shirt as she scrubbed. Her hair jostling with her movements. The sight of her tore at his heart.

But he backed away silently and tried to harden himself to her – harden or he wouldn’t survive.

A minute later, he had his shirt fully buttoned, properly tucked, and tie in adequate place. He slipped on his gun and holster and then shrugged into his jacket so he could get the hell out of here.

Then,
she
came out, and the sight of her set his pulse fluctuating again. Likewise, she let her stirring, heart-rending gaze linger on him, and he felt her desire. She couldn’t hide it. Not now, anyway.

Anger blazed in his eyes. Why was she doing this? Why was she with Carter? But then it hit him – he wasn’t good enough. That’s why Rachael Dixon had left him, after all. He’d put three and a half years into that girl. Gave her his everything. And then she dumped him deceitfully for a doctor the second his football career tanked. But now look at her. She was dead. Because of him.

Shelley held out to him a laundry bag with his now stain-free but wet shirt and tie in it. “Put this in the dryer when you get home. On low.”

She lifted her hands to fix his tie. But after a few attempts, she gave up and decided it needed to be retied. “How did you get this right before?”

“My Grandmother.”

Softly, she smiled. “She’s wonderful, isn’t she?”

The genuine comment singed a hole in his defenses. “Yeah,” he said, keeping his chin up but acutely feeling the backs of her fingers brush his neck.

She tightened the noose and stood back to appraise him. “There. That’s better.”

“How are you getting to the club?”

His thoughtful question squeezed her heart. “I’m just going to take the subway.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

She cooled at the command in his tone. “You know what? I really don’t care.”

Then, with indignation, she swept out of the room. But he caught the door before it slammed shut, hit the lights, and stalked after her.