Last Whisper (12 page)

“Three in about the last ten minutes,” she slurred. “I think I’ll have another.”

“I think three is enough.” She glared at him. “At least give that third one a chance to settle. You don’t want to get a headache.”

“My head is fine,” Brooke announced, then hiccupped.

“Let me see that card,” Sam said suddenly, as if he’d just snapped out of a stupor, his eyes alert, his voice strong. Vincent handed over the bag. Sam read the card through the plastic, then looked up, his expression ferocious. “How did Tavell manage to get this to Brooke when we have surveillance on the house?”

Vincent absently rubbed a paper towel over his black hair, now curly rather than wavy because it was wet. “I already talked to the guys outside, Dad. They’re very young and inexperienced and knew practically nothing about the case. They checked the delivery and saw only a white rosebud with what to them seemed like a harmless message. I guess it’s not fair to get angry with them.”

“It’s fair to get angry with their lieutenant for not filling them in on the particulars of the case,” Sam announced loudly. “Does he think they’re mind readers? Or does he just not rate the stalking of a young woman by an escaped murderer high on his list of priorities? In
my
day—”

“Things were a
lot
different,” Vincent interrupted, his voice weary, his expressive eyes revealing even through Brooke’s slightly beer-blur-induced gaze that he was trying to stem a mantra he’d heard a hundred times. “Should I give this bag to the guys outside?”

“No,” Sam said firmly. “I’ll call Hal Myers. They’ve assigned him to this case, thank God, because he knows what the hell he’s doing. I’ll ask him to pick it up and see that the evidence is logged in properly. I’ll also tell him to have a talk with the lieutenant, set him straight about a few things!”

Sam strode toward the phone in the other room and Vincent muttered, “I’m sure the lieutenant would appreciate being reprimanded by one of his men.”

“This Myers person won’t actually do what your father tells him to, will he?” Brooke managed. “You know, piss him off so bad he won’t do anything?”

In spite of the circumstances, Vincent had a hard time not smiling at Brooke’s suddenly earthy language. “Will Myers be stupid enough to tell off the lieutenant? No. But he’ll hear chapter and verse from Dad about what he
should
say and do. Hal Myers is a good guy, though. He’s also an excellent cop. I’m glad he’s on this case. He’s one of Dad’s oldest and best friends. He’s incredibly patient with Dad. A lot more patient than I am, I’m afraid.” Vincent sighed, then stooped down in front of her. He was still wet with perspiration, but the smell was merely strong, not in the least foul. His cheeks were reddened by the sun, but the slight lines around his beautiful eyes looked deeper as he frowned up at her. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I am perfectly fine, as you can see.”

“Yes, you’ve only slid halfway out of your chair. I shouldn’t have left you here alone.”

“I wasn’t alone. Your father was here.”

“Asleep.”

“And two policemen.”

“Who didn’t know what they were doing.”

Maybe it was a loosening of inhibitions by the three beers she’d drunk with record speed, but Brooke, who rarely touched people except to lightly shake hands with customers, reached out and stroked the side of Vincent’s worried face, running her cool fingers from his flushed temple to his chin. “It was a
rose
, Vincent, not a
snake
. Nothing bit me. The rose didn’t let out a puff of anthrax. I didn’t touch a card dipped in poison. Let’s see, what kind of insecticide is it that’s so deadly upon touch? Par’fion.”

“Par
athi
on, and that’s good, because I’m the one who put the card in the plastic bag,” Vincent said.

“And you got no signs of twitching, nausea, or ca’vulsions.
In fact, you look like you’re just blooming with healf.”

“You know, I’ve never dreamed of women finding me handsome or sexy. I’ve always wanted them to think I look
blooming
with health.”

Brooke smiled. “I meant it as a comp’ment.
I’m
all right, Vincent. The note just shook me up for a minute. I haf myself under control again.”

“Thanks to your own strength and three cans of Budweiser beer.” Vincent grinned. “You know, you’re an awfully ladylike-looking young woman to let out such resounding burps. Were you on a burping team in college?”

Brooke’s face went pink, but she laughed. “Oh, I forgot the burps.”

“Good old carbon dioxide rushing out.”

“I’m sorry,” Brooke said, smiling shamefacedly. “They were pretty loud?”

“Well, yes, they were. I thought that second one was going to crack one of the windows.”

Brooke bent over laughing. “Oh, lord, my grandmother and mother wanted me to act like a lady. If they ever heard me burp like that, much less knew I’d done it in front of a young man . . .” She shook her head.

“Oh, I don’t think they’d be too horrified under the circumstances.” He hesitated, then told her the truth. “Besides, you’re usually such a lady, almost prim, I thought seeing you burping to beat the band was kind of cute.”

“Oh yeah, just darling. I think I’ll start burping around clients at the office. Aaron will fire me in a heartbeat.” She stood up, weaving slightly but still smiling. “You’re right. I don’t need another beer.” She headed for the bedroom. “But I do think I’ll lie down for a little while.”

“Okay. Some rest would probably do you good
and
make your head stop spinning, which I know it is by now. Meanwhile, I desperately need a shower. How about if I order in a giant greasy pizza for dinner?”

“Oh, lord, that sounds absolutely heavenly!” she yelled in a slightly slurred voice.

Vincent couldn’t help but break into a grin. For the first
time, she didn’t seem like a vulnerable little creature
or
a nuisance. She seemed like the strong kind of sassy chick with a sense of humor and a less-than-perfect demeanor Vincent had always liked.

Plus, she looked great. Brooke’s back was turned to him, but she raised her hand in a little wave. Her jeans were cut low and tight on her firm body, she wore a metallic belt with a semitransparent gauzy blouse, her blond hair was slightly tousled and hung halfway down her back, reminding him of old pictures of Brigitte Bardot, and Brooke was barefoot, her toenails painted a bright, saucy red.

Maybe having her around wasn’t so bad after all.

After the rose incident, the young surveillance team nearly frisked and shone bright lights in the eyes of the pizza delivery boy who arrived three hours later. Brooke caught a glimpse of them at the front door when Vincent paid him. The guy couldn’t have been more than eighteen and looked terrified. I’ll bet he never delivers pizza to this address again, she thought in amusement.

Brooke and Vincent dived into the pizza while Sam slowly ate his chicken hoagie. “Chicken,” he said, giving the sandwich a baleful look. “Used to be I never had to give cholesterol a thought. Now mine stays high no matter what I eat.”

“Just a little above normal,” Vincent corrected. “It would go through the roof if you started eating all the wrong foods.”

“But I’d feel satisfied at the end of a meal.”

“And you’d end up in the hospital having spear-tipped tubes run through your arteries to unclog them.” Brooke and Sam both winced at the exaggerated image. “Besides, Dad, you loved chicken until you were told you should eat it instead of beef.” Vincent turned to Brooke. “Ready for another piece of pizza?”

“One more.”

“How about a beer?” Vincent teased. “I got a whole twelve-pack for you.”

She grinned. “That was terribly considerate, and I do usually drink at
least
twelve beers with my pizza, but tonight I think I’ll stick with Coke.”

Half an hour after they’d straightened the kitchen and Sam retired to the living room to watch his favorite television show, Vincent passed by the guest room and looked in to see Brooke packing her tote bag. “What’s going on?”

“I’m going home.”

“Going home!” Vincent’s eyes widened. “Why?”

“Because I need to be in my own place. I’m a disturbance here.”

“A disturbance? What gave you that idea?”

“Seeing how upset your father was after the flower arrived. He hasn’t stopped talking about it and he barely touched his dinner.”

“When he gets excited, he says the same thing over and over. It drives me nuts, but it doesn’t mean he’s upset. And he was just carping at dinner because he couldn’t have pizza.”

Brooke looked at Vincent reprovingly. “Those were what my mother used to politely call ‘fibs.’ Nice try, Vincent, but I have eyes. I can tell my presence and all the uproar surrounding me is making your father nervous. And you, too, for that matter.”

“I’m
not
nervous!” Vincent burst out. Elise barked in fear of his loud voice and drew nearer to Brooke, who raised an eyebrow at Vincent.

No, you don’t sound a bit nervous, he thought. You’ve been cool as a cucumber all day—unable to write, yelling at those policemen outside, treating that delivery boy as if he were dropping off a bomb instead of a pizza.

“Okay. I
am
a little hyper today. But after all that’s happened, I think there would be something wrong with me if I
were
‘cool as a cucumber,’ as you put it.” Vincent stepped into the room. “Brooke, you aren’t safe in your apartment.”

“I’m not safe anywhere.” Brooke folded her nightgown
and stuffed it into the tote bag. “Last night a message was left at my apartment, so I came here. And who should wake me up in the middle of the night looking in my window? Zach Tavell. Then he had a rose and another message delivered
here
.”

Vincent would expect himself to put up an argument—he wouldn’t want to see any young woman put in jeopardy. But he recognized that he was deeply upset at the thought of Brooke leaving—more upset than he would have believed possible even this morning. He should just cool it and let her do what she wanted, he told himself. After all, she was an adult. And who said he knew what was best for everyone? He was acting stupid and it was time to stop, to back off, to let her do what she damned well pleased. But he couldn’t stem the words of protest streaming from his mouth.

“Brooke, in your apartment, you’re alone. Here, you’re with two men.”

“One of whom is . . . not up to peak capacity; the other I’ve known for twenty-four hours. It’s unfair and selfish for me to expect you to protect me.” Brooke stopped packing, looked at Vincent, and sighed. “You don’t know how much your concern means to me, especially since you hardly know me. And I’m not being polite—I’m being totally sincere. But you have your father to look after. Good heavens, he’s why you came home in the first place. As for me, I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

“You just think you are.”

“Don’t contradict,” Brooke said firmly. “Look, Vincent, I lost my father when I was eight, my grandmother wasn’t well even then, and my mother was emotionally immature—far too immature to be taking care of a child. God, on a whim she married a man she knew nothing about, a man with an assault record, a man who
killed
her when I was only eleven!”

Brooke hated the tears she felt rising in her eyes and quickly blinked them away. “Vincent, I am not a little girl, even though I seemed like one yesterday after Mia’s murder. I am levelheaded, strong, and able to take care of myself in ways you probably can’t even imagine.” She looked
unflinchingly into his deep green eyes. “I am largely responsible for Zach Tavell getting a life sentence in prison. He’s going to pay me back for that. If I run, he’ll just follow me. So, instead, I’m going home, to go on with my life and let him
try
to destroy me. And I do mean
try
because he can’t do it. Somewhere deep inside, I’ve always known this time would come. And I’ve prepared for it. But I’ve prepared to fight the battle
here
, in Charleston, on
my
turf.” She paused. “Vincent, I won’t let Zach win again.”

Vincent stood quietly for a long moment, staring at a female he’d thought of almost as a vulnerable girl until five minutes ago. Now he realized she was a woman, and a forceful one at that. Still, he was certain she was getting carried away with her strength. But she wasn’t in the mood to take orders, especially from a near stranger.

“Okay. I can see that arguing with you is useless. I just hope you win this battle, Brooke,” he finally said in a calm voice, although inwardly he was more disturbed than he could have imagined. “I hope more than anything that this time, you win.”

Elise seemed happy to enter the familiar apartment and ran immediately to her doggie bed to squeeze one of her squeaky fuzzy toys. Vincent was obviously not so happy. He commented that the apartment door felt flimsy, the window locks looked small and inadequate, and from the corner of one he could see the fire escape, which was close enough for a stalker to break in without breaking a sweat or pulling a muscle.

“This is my home and I’m staying in it,” Brooke told him firmly, never flinching from his disapproving gaze.

“Do as you please. I’m not saying anything.”

“You’ve just made several criticisms of the place and
you’re looking at me like I’m a dope for coming back here.”

“I’m not looking at you like you’re a dope.”

“Yes, you are.”

He sighed gustily. “Have it your way.”

“She should stay here if she wants to,” Stacy said from the doorway. “Did you miss this place, Brooke?”

“I thought my coming back was best for several reasons.”

“And Vincent doesn’t agree.”

Vincent gave Stacy a long, cold look. “My opinion wasn’t solicited by Miss Yeager because, as she has told me in no uncertain terms, she does what she pleases.” He glanced at both of them. “Good night, ladies. Enjoy your evening.”

He slammed the door behind him. Stacy looked at Brooke and grinned. “Looks like you’ve made quite an impression on the world-famous writer.”

“A bad impression.”

“Oh no. A very good one or he wouldn’t be so upset that you’ve deserted his presence.” Stacy frowned. “That’s what makes me worry about him. He just met you yesterday and already he’s obviously attached to you. I’m afraid you’ve attracted another Robert.”