Killing Her Softly (25 page)

Annabelle nibbled at the whole wheat toast she'd ordered from room service. In between thoughts of Quinn and trying to stop thinking about Quinn, she'd gotten perhaps a total of three hours sleep last night. She'd never obsessed over a man the way she was doing with Quinn Cortez. It was as if the man had somehow infiltrated her mind and had taken possession of her heart. She didn't love him. How could she? But she felt something for him. Something powerful and all-consuming.

He was not the kind of man she wanted or needed. He was nothing like Chris, who'd been kind and gentle, trustworthy and honorable. But what she had felt for Chris bore little resemblance to the raw emotions Quinn evoked in her. There was something primitive and wild in the way she felt about Quinn, a hunger that went soul-deep. The tender emotion called love that she'd shared with Chris had absolutely nothing to do with the savage desire she felt for Quinn.

Unease quivered in her stomach. She dropped the toast to her plate, scooted back her chair and stood. Crossing her arms over her waist, she clasped her elbows and hugged herself.

Pick up the phone, call Griffin and ask him for Quinn's cell phone number. Then call Quinn. Tell him you don't care about all the other women. Tell him that you want him, that you 're willing to have an affair.

No! You can't do that. You aren't that kind of woman. If you appease your sexual desire by becoming just one more of Quinn Cortez's women, you
'11
regret it for the rest
ofyour
life.

She had spent most of the nine and a half years that Chris had lived after his car accident completely celibate. They had shared kisses and hugs and even intimate touches, but sex hadn't been possible for Chris. Aunt
Perdita
had encouraged her to have an affair and even Chris had told her that he would understand if she turned to another man for what he couldn't give her. She had waited five years before having a one-night stand with an old friend someone she reconnected with on a business trip and had seen only rarely since then. Afterward the guilt had eaten her alive. Only Aunt
Perdita's
warning that if she told Chris it would serve no purpose and would hurt him terribly had kept her from confessing her sin. After that one infidelity, she had returned to her
nunlike
existence until she'd met Lance Holt two years later. Lance's wife had been a paraplegic for three years at that time and he had been completely faithful to her. Annabelle and Lance had met through her work with the Christopher Knox
Threadgill
Foundation and they had become instant friends. They'd had so much in common, shared the same grief and carried a similar emotional burden. Mutual admiration had fired their passion, never love. Each had understood the other's need for physical gratification without the complications of romance. Their on-again-off-again, six-month affair had ended amicably when Lance's wife died. Her death had set Lance free to live again. And to love again.

Annabelle hadn't been with anyone in four years. She could tell herself that it wasn't Quinn she wanted it was just sex. That any man would do. But that wasn't true. She'd had numerous chances for one-night stands and brief affairs. And if she'd wanted a serious relationship, even marriage, she could have had her pick of men.

Face, it—you want Quinn Cortez. And only Quinn Cortez.

Why him? Of all the men on earth, why did her body yearn for him? Why did her heart cry out for him?

The police think he could have killed Lulu,
she reminded herself.

He didn't kill anyone. Not Lulu. Not Kendall. Not Joy Ellis.

That's what she wanted to believe, that he was incapable of murder, that he was innocent. If he was a murderer, she'd know. On some deep, purely instinctive level, she'd sense it, wouldn't she?

Not necessarily. He's a high-priced lawyer who has gotten filthy rich by using his silver tongue to influence juries. He's a charming womanizer. A real lady-killer.

Annabelle's gaze fell on the newspaper lying beside her breakfast plate. She had read every word of the article and felt heartsick about the ugly picture the reporter had painted not only of Lulu, but of Kendall and of Quinn. He hadn't stepped over the line between truth and slander, but he'd certainly stretched that line as far as he possibly could. In the hopes of protecting Uncle Louis, she had phoned his house and given instructions to the servants and his nurse to continue making sure her uncle never got his hands on a copy of the
Commercial Appeal.
Especially not this morning's edition.

Annabelle tensed when she heard someone knocking at the door. Her first thought was that her early morning visitor was Quinn. She wanted it to be Quinn.

Please, God, let it be Quinn.

Pulling the lapels of her lavender silk robe together and tying the fabric belt, she hurried to the door and peered through the viewfinder. Her heart sank when she saw Chad George on the other side.

Putting on a happy face, she unlocked and opened the door. "Good morning, sergeant. Won't you come in?"

Before entering, he studied her carefully, as if searching for any sign that she had been contaminated by Quinn Cortez.

Was Chad wondering if Quinn had spent the night, if he might still be here with her?

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes, of course. Why shouldn't I be?"

When Chad walked in, she closed the door and came up beside him.

"I
was concerned when you left with Quinn Cortez last night. I wanted to come after you, but. . ." He shrugged. "What you did was dangerous and foolish, Annabelle. You realize that, don't you? Quinn Cortez may have killed two women and you went off alone with him."

Three women,
Annabelle thought.
Three of Quinn's former lovers are dead. But he didn't kill them. I know he didn't.

"I
was perfectly safe. Quinn and I went to see Griffin Powell, the investigator we hired to look into Lulu's murder."

"You don't have much faith in the Memphis PD, do you? Do you have any idea how that makes me feel—to know you don't believe I'll bring in Lulu's murderer without any outside help."

He
would bring in Lulu's murderer? Chad had said that as if he thought he and he alone would apprehend the person who had killed Lulu and Kendall. It had been an arrogant statement made by an overly confident young man.

"Chad I'm sorry if I have offended you by leaving with Quinn the way I did last night. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision." She didn't owe Chad any explanations, but there was no point in antagonizing him. "As for hiring Griffin Powell—"

"I can't understand what possessed you to go into partnership with Cortez to hire a private investigator."

Annabelle sighed. "Both Quinn and I had contacted Mr. Powell and he refused to take the case unless it was a joint effort. Since we both want the same thing—to find out who murdered Lulu—we saw no reason not to join forces."

When Chad reached out and gently grasped her shoulders, she tensed; and when he smiled her muscles tightened even more. "Annabelle, Annabelle, you're far too trusting. Don't you think that Cortez would use you if he thought it would help him? You can't trust him. You don't dare. Everything points to him as the man who killed both Lulu and Kendall Wells."

"What do you mean everything points to him?"

Chad eased his hands down her arms, all the way to her wrists, then grabbed her hands and held them. "I'm not at liberty to discuss details. Just believe me when I tell you that he's a dangerous man and you have to stay away from him."

Annabelle's mind weighed everything Chad had said and came to the conclusion that there weren't really any details he wasn't at liberty to discuss concerning evidence against Quinn. That meant Chad had lied to her. But why?

He's jealous!

She pulled her hands from his grasp. "I won't be seeing Quinn again, unless it's absolutely necessary."

Chad's smile spread from ear to ear, his expression like a little kid's, one who had just been told he was being given the toy he'd always wanted but thought he'd never have. A sense of uneasiness settled over Annabelle. Chad saw her as that toy, as a prize, something to be won or lost. And he instinctively knew that Quinn Cortez was his greatest competition.

The only problem with his reasoning was that she was no man's prize. He could neither win nor lose her. There was no competition. No decision to be made as to who the better man was.

Annabelle's heart had already decided for her.

Chapter 17

Jim Norton hadn't seen Griffin Powell in several years, not since Powell's agency represented a local art dealer, Monty Addis, whose gallery had been robbed of several million in paintings and sculptures. On that case, he and Griffin had become the buffers between Addis and the police department. Neither had trusted the other. The police had suspected an inside job and all but accused Addis of stealing his own paintings. Addis had been very vocal about how inept he thought the police were and had told the press and everyone who would listen that that was the reason he'd hired renowned investigator Griffin Powell to find out who had actually stolen his property. As it turned out, Jim and Griffin figured out that Addis's wife and her current boyfriend were the culprits.

When Griffin had phoned Jim yesterday, he'd hadn't been surprised. He knew his old UT teammate was representing Quinn Cortez and Annabelle
Vanderley
. Now, those two were a real odd couple, if they actually were a couple. Being a fairly good judge of character—despite his judgment failing him when he'd married Mary Lee—he pegged Ms.
Vanderley
to be exactly what she seemed to
be:'a
rich, cultured blue blood. And Quinn Cortez might be rich and powerful and feared by his opponents in a court of law, but the man was, by nature, a ruffian. A more generous way to describe him might be as a diamond in the rough. All the fancy clothes, Rolex watches, Porsches and manicures would never turn Cortez into a gentleman.

Griffin's assistant, Sanders, opened the door to the suite and ushered Jim into the lounge. "Lieutenant Norton," Sanders announced then disappeared into one of the two adjoining rooms.

Griffin sat at the dining table, a cup of coffee in one hand and a folded copy of this morning's
Commercial Appeal
in the other. When he glanced at Jim, he tossed the paper down on the table and invited him over with a wave of his hand.

"Join me for breakfast," Griffin said. "I ordered a couple of Western
omelettes
and buttermilk biscuits. I seem to recall that's what you had the last time we ate breakfast together."

"You have a good memory." Jim walked over to the table, lifted the coffee pot and poured the cup sitting by his plate full of the hot black brew.

"I appreciate your meeting with me," Griffin said. "I assume you know I'm representing Quinn Cortez."

Jim pulled out a chair and sat. "And Annabelle
Vanderley
as well."

Griffin nodded. "Yes, and Ms.
Vanderley
."

"Those two are an odd combination, don't you think? For her it has to be kind of like sleeping with the enemy." Jim lifted his cup to his lips.

Griffin eyed him speculatively. "I wouldn't put it that way. Not exactly."

"Then there's nothing personal between them?"

"I didn't say that." Griffin removed the cover from his plate and set it aside, then picked up his fork and sliced into his
omelette
. "Whether or not there's anything of a personal nature taking place between Quinn and Annabelle is nobody's business, but theirs, is it? As for my working for both of them—it's a com-promise. Since they contacted me practically simultaneously, it was either say no to both of them or ask them to join forces."

"I'm surprised they agreed. Especially Ms.
Vanderley
. She doesn't seem the type who would be easily charmed by Cortez's Latin charisma."

"Why not? She's a woman."

Jim chuckled. "Shot you down, did she,
Griff
?"

"I'll never tell." Grinning, Griffin speared a slice of
omelette
and brought it to his mouth.

After removing the lid from his plate, Jim split open a biscuit, buttered it and then smeared it with blackberry jam. How the hell had Griffin remembered blackberry was his favorite? The guy had a mind like a steel trap. Back in their days at UT, he'd been one of those rare athletes who'd starred academically as well as in the sports arena. The big guy had graduated summa cum laude. Of course, Jim hadn't done too badly himself, graduating cum laude. But on the field and in the classroom, Griffin Powell had been The Star. Funny thing was, Jim had never minded being a runner-up; after all, every other guy at UT had been, too.

The whole world knew why Jimmy Norton hadn't turned pro. A running back with a couple of bum knees wasn't worth two cents to a pro team, even if he was otherwise in top physical shape. But no one knew why Griffin Powell hadn't gone on to pro-football stardom. The first time Jim had met up with Griffin again, a good eight years ago, he'd wanted to ask him what had happened to him. But a couple of subtle statements his old buddy made let him know right away that those mysterious ten years of Griffin's life when he'd disappeared from the face of the earth was an off-limits subject.

The two men shared their meal, occasionally talking about sports, the Memphis night life, Elvis, and the cool March weather. When they finished their
omelettes
and both were on their third cup of coffee, Griffin turned to Jim and narrowed his gaze.

Serious talk now,
Jim thought.

"I'm not asking for any favors," Griffin said. "And I certainly wouldn't expect you to reveal any confidential information. It's not my style to try to take advantage of an old friendship, so rest assured I'm not going to test your integrity."

"That's good because my integrity is about all I've got left and some people question whether I've still got that."

Griffin nodded. "A nasty divorce, alimony and child support payments, a kid you see only when your ex says you can, a career going nowhere and just enough money to get by."

"Humph." Smiling, Jim shook his head. "What'd you do, run a check on me?" He threw up a hand in a forget-I-asked gesture. "Sure you did."

"If you ever get tired of spinning your wheels with the Memphis PD, give me a call. The Powell Agency can always use a top-notch investigator."

"Is that what you think I am?" It had been a long time since anyone had praised Jim in any way, on the job or in his personal life.

"I know that's what you are."

"You heard about my breakdown a few years ago, didn't you? And the rumors about what some people think I did?"

Griffin nodded. "Yeah, I heard. We all have our breaking points. And what you did or didn't do—" Griffin shrugged.

"I'll keep the job offer in mind."

"It's an open-ended offer. No time limit."

Something to think about,
Jim told himself. Of course accepting a job with Griffin's PI agency would take him away from Memphis a lot and that meant taking him away from Kevin.

"Right now, this morning, what is it you want from me?" Jim asked.

After placing his empty cup on the table, Griffin turned all the way around in his chair and focused on Jim. "I want your opinion."

Scrunching his face, Jim stared at Griffin inquisitively. "My opinion?"

"I know y'all will be questioning Quinn Cortez this morning about Kendall
Wells's
murder. Right now, it seems the only person with any connection to both women was Cortez."

"Yeah, it seems that way."

"Do you think Cortez killed Lulu and Kendall?"

"Ah, that's it, is it? You've already decided what you think, haven't you? But you're not a hundred percent sure you're right. Are you going by instinct alone or do you have evidence to back up your opinion?"

"We aren't exchanging confidences, remember? Not yet anyway."

Jim flicked his tongue over his front teeth. "Okay. You want my opinion on Cortez, I'll give it to you. He may be a womanizer and a shyster and under the right circumstances is probably capable of murder, but I don't think he killed either woman. The way I see it, he just didn't have a strong enough motive to kill Lulu, not even if she was carrying his baby. And what possible motive could he have had to kill his lawyer?"

"Thanks, Jim. I agree. I don't think Cortez killed Lulu or Kendall, but I do think his relationship with both women is what got them killed."

Uh-oh. A red warning light went off in Jim's brain. "You know something we don't know, don't you?"

"Maybe."

"Withholding evidence is—"

"I'm working on a theory," Griffin said. "If it pans out, I'll inform Cortez and Annabelle first and then call you. In the meantime, do what you can to keep the DA and Director
Danley
from railroading Quinn." When Jim gave Griffin a that's-asking-for-a-favor look, Griffin chuckled. "Hey, if y'all arrest the wrong man, how's it going to look to the press when we nail the real killer and prove Cortez innocent?"

*
   
*
   
*

Not in a million years had Quinn ever thought the day would come when he'd hire Judd Walker as his lawyer. If only a week ago someone had painted this peculiar scenario— the two of them sitting across the table from each other, sharing a pot of coffee and discussing Quinn's legal problems—he would have laughed in their face. Actually, he'd have said that it would be a cold day in hell before he'd ever hire Walker to be his lawyer.

Undoubtedly, hell had frozen over. One thing he knew for sure, his life had turned into hell now that he was under suspicion for two murders.

"Let's get one thing straight up front," Walker said. "You and I don't have to like each other for me to represent you and for me to do my very best for you."

Quinn grinned. "That's always my sentiments when I take on a new client."

"There's one difference, Cortez."

Quinn cocked an inquisitive brow.

"You've probably represented more than one person you didn't think was innocent, as most lawyers have. I'm not one of those lawyers. If I don't believe in a client's innocence, I don't take the case."

"Every person deserves the right to an attorney, even the guilty."

"I agree. But I don't have to be the lawyer to defend them."

"You're a man with scruples, high moral values and a trust fund from granddaddy moneybags."

Not seeming at all offended by Quinn's last comment, Walker laughed. "And here all this time I thought you didn't like me because I was one of only a few opponents who ever beat your pants off in a court of law. But actually you hate me because I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth and you weren't."

"Like you said we don't have to like each other. So,
what's it going to be? Will you represent me or not? Am I innocent or guilty?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning Griffin Powell thinks you're innocent and the man has unerring instinct."

"It's good to know that Powell believes I didn't kill Lulu or Kendall. But what do you think?"

"I think you're a very smart man and if you wanted to kill somebody, you'd do it in a way where no one would ever suspect you. Either you have no connection whatsoever to the two murders or you're living a double life. Or maybe somebody's setting you up."

Quinn's body instantly tensed at the thought that someone might be setting him up. Had someone killed three women in order to try to pin the rap on him? If so, who and why? "Powell told you about the third woman, didn't he?"

"Joy Ellis? Yes, he told me. He also told me that he thinks there's a possibility that he'll find others. Other murdered women who were once your lovers. He'll have to turn the information over to the police if they haven't already acquired it from their own sources by that time. Since he's representing Ms.
Vanderley
as well as you, all information he acquires will be shared by the two of you. Anyway, if Griffin discovers that there are other former lovers of yours who have been murdered, it may or may not work in your favor. The police may think you've killed all of them or they could start looking for another suspect, someone with a reason to want to frame you."

"God, I hope there haven't been any others."

"We'll face that problem if and when the time comes. For now, we need to concentrate on the two murders in which you are a suspect. Let's go over every minute of your time from when you left here yesterday until you arrived at Kendall
Wells's
house. Then I want you to tell me everything about your trip from Nashville to Memphis the night Lulu
Vanderley
was murdered."