See Jane Die (24 page)

She forced a small smile. “Just jealous. Of our friendship. My relationship with Stacy. That you're both helping me.”

“Cut him some slack. He's going through a tough time.”

“And I'm not?”

“You're not the one who's locked up.”

“Stop being so nice. He doesn't deserve it.”

“I could beat him up for you?”

She hiccuped a laugh. “The way you did Billy Black?”

Billy Black had been an obnoxious jerk who had made humiliating Jane his life's calling. Finally, Dave had had enough. He had called him out, floored him with one punch, embarrassing him in front of the entire junior class.

“Luckiest punch I ever threw. I was sure he was going to kick my ass.”

She laughed again, then sobered. They sat quietly for several moments.

Suddenly, Dave turned toward her. “The thing is, Jane, love and hate are equally strong emotions. Both with the power to create. And destroy. They cause us to react. In this case, lash out. Become jealous.”

She reached across the console and covered his hand with hers. “You always know the right thing to say.”

“Super genius.”

“Stupor genius,” she corrected.

They fell silent. One moment became several; Dave broke the silence first. “I always thought we would end up together, Jane. As far back as I can remember thinking such things, you've been a part of my life.” He paused. “Or maybe it's just that my life started the moment I met you.”

The things she had been about to say lodged in her throat. She looked away, uncomfortable with his confession, the emotion behind it.

And confused by her own response—a mixture of longing and regret.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn't have said that.”

She returned her gaze to his. “No. Don't be. I…truthfully, I always thought we would end up together, too.”

She curled her fingers more tightly around his. “We tried dating, Dave. Why didn't it work?”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided smile. “Don't know, babe. Time wasn't right. We weren't right.” He paused. “Then you met Ian.”

She had. Shortly after her grandmother's death. He had swept her off her feet. It had been the most heady experience of her life. She had never thought a man like Ian Westbrook would fall in love with her. Their affair had been as passionate and romantic as it had been brief.

After her grandmother's death. After she had inherited her millions
.

The realization took her breath.

She and Ian had been married before the fact she was a wealthy woman had even set in
.

“What?” Dave asked, frowning.

“Nothing.”

He saw right through her, she could tell by his expression. But he respected her need for privacy.

Later, as Jane stood in the shower, hot water sluicing over her, she made another realization:
She didn't know her husband well, not at all
.

Despite the steaming spray, Jane was chilled to her core.

Friday, November 7, 2003
12:01 a.m
.

B
lood swirled around her. Jane fought to stay afloat. She treaded water, kicking her feet, though they felt heavy, anchored by a weight she couldn't free herself from. Her head dipped under the water. The scent of the blood filled her head. Then the taste. Metallic. Earthy
.

She choked on it. The roar of the powerboat filled her ears
.

He was circling back. Making another pass at her
.

To finish the job
.

Jane awakened with a gasp. Disoriented, she darted her gaze around the moonlit room. From tossing and turning in her sleep, the covers had become twisted around her legs, anchoring her.

She dragged herself into a sitting position, then gasped as pain knifed through her middle. She ripped the blanket away.

A cry spilled from her lips. Blood soaked her nightgown. The bedding. Her legs.

She was drowning in it
.

She stared a moment. Confused. Light-headed.

Pain tore through her again, realization with it.
The baby. She was losing the baby
.

No!
Whimpering, she crawled across the king-size bed. She found the phone, dialed 911.

The dispatcher answered. Jane struggled to explain what was wrong. She realized she was babbling, sobbing. Pinpricks of light danced before her eyes; her fingers began to tingle.

To a roar in her ears, her world went black.

Friday, November 7, 2003
12:35 a.m
.

S
tacy screeched to a stop in front of Baylor Medical Center's emergency room doors, leaped out of her car and darted inside. The EMT who had answered the 911 call was a friend of hers. He had called her from the ambulance, though he had told her little of Jane's condition.

She hurried to the information window and stopped. “Jane Westbrook. I got a call she was here. How is she?”

The nurse peered up at her though her trifocals. “Westbrook. And you are?”

“Her sister. Detective Stacy Killian.” She flashed her shield.

The woman nodded. “Have a seat, Detective. Dr. Yung is with her now. I expect it'll be a few minutes.”

Stacy couldn't sit. She paced the half-full waiting room. A sign above the couch warned against the use of cell phones.

She stepped outside, dialed headquarters. She checked in, explained the situation, then turned off her cell.

As she stepped back inside, a young Asian doctor called her name.

She crossed to him, held out a hand. “Dr. Yung. Detective Stacy Killian, Jane Westbrook's sister. How is she?” Her
voice trembled slightly and she realized how frightened she was. Of losing Jane. Her sister. Her only family.

The realization left her feeling weak-kneed. What would she do if she lost her?

“She's stable. Resting.”

“Stable?” Stacy repeated, confused by his word choice. “What about the baby?”

“I'm sorry. She miscarried.”

Stacy felt the words go to the pit of her stomach. She hurt for Jane. She had wanted this baby so desperately. Losing it would devastate her.

“This wasn't an ordinary miscarriage, Detective. The placenta tore away from the uterine wall. She was hemorrhaging. She could have bled to death.”

“Dear God.”

“Luckily, an ambulance reached her within moments of the call. The EMT administered a fluid bolus en route to the hospital. Frankly, they saved her life.”

Stacy swallowed hard, thinking she would have to send her friend Frank a big thank-you.

“With this in her history,” the doctor continued, “her physician will no doubt keep a closer eye on her during her next pregnancy. That said, many women who suffer a placenta abruptio go on to enjoy normal, uneventful pregnancies.”

Cold, Stacy rubbed her arms. “You said she was stable. What does that mean exactly?”

“Out of danger. We had to give her a transfusion and will need to keep her at least overnight. To make certain she doesn't have an adverse reaction to the transfusion or develop an infection. Her regular physician will make the final call on the length of her stay and whether or not she needs a D and C. My guess is he'll order one because of the circumstances.”

“May I see her?”

“Certainly. I gave her pain medication, so she may be sleeping. We'll move her to a regular room as soon as one's available.”

He indicated where Stacy would find Jane. The door stood open. She tiptoed in. Her sister lay on her side in a fetal position, looking small and fragile hooked up to the IVs and machines.

She wasn't sleeping, but weeping softly.

Stacy whispered her name. She turned and met Stacy's eyes. At the despair in her sister's, a lump formed in Stacy's throat. “I'm sorry, Jane. So very sorry.”

And she was. For everything—the baby, Ian's arrest, the threatening letters. And for the distance she had allowed to grow between them. The jealousy she had felt toward her sister.

Stacy crossed to her. She bent over the side rail and gathered her in her arms as best she could.

“I want my baby,” Jane managed, voice trembling.

“I know, sweetie. I know.”

Jane began to cry, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. “I don't have anything left.”

“Yes, you do,” she said fiercely, tears sliding down her cheeks. “You have me. You have your life, your career. Ian will be found not guilty and the two of you will have other children. The doctor said you could.”

“What if he's convicted? What will I do?”

The bleakness of her sister's question broke her heart. Stacy drew away, met her sister's eyes. “It'll be all right. Everything. I'll see to it.”

Fresh tears filled her eyes. “I love you, Stacy.”

“I love you, too,” she said softly, voice thick with emotion.

An orderly arrived with a gurney. “We're moving you up to three, Mrs. Westbrook. I'll try to make the trip as comfortable as possible.”

He chatted as he made the exchange from bed to gurney. Within fifteen minutes, Jane was settled into her room. The nurse took her pulse and blood pressure, clucked reassuringly to them both, like a mother hen.

Before the woman had even left the room, Jane was dozing off. Ten minutes past that, she was deeply asleep.
Stacy decided it would be a good time to move her car and check her phone for messages.

Stacy exited the room. And found Mac waiting in the hallway for her. She crossed to him, grateful for his presence.

“How is she?” he asked.

“She lost the baby.”

He caught her hand, curled his fingers around hers. “I'm sorry.”

She looked at their joined hands. Hers trembled slightly. Even as she freed it, she acknowledged wishing she didn't have to. Wishing she could cling to him and cry. For her sister's loss. For her own.

“Thanks,” she said, voice thick. “With everything going on…She's taking it hard.”

“How about some good news?”

“I could use some.”

“I've located Doobie. Figured you might want to take a ride with me. Called your cell, got no answer. Dispatcher sent me here.”

Stacy smiled for the first time that night. “Let's go.”

Mac's Vice buddies had told him that Doobie had been hanging out at a bar in the Fair Park area called Big Dick's. They had suggested he go late: apparently guys like Doobie crawled out from under their rocks after midnight.

After moving her vehicle, they climbed into Mac's. As they eased onto I-30, Mac broke the silence. “You ever run a background check on Jackman?”

“Yeah. And came up empty. No arrests. No warrants.”

“You accessed the NCIC?”

“Yup.”

“You try Theodore Jackman?”

“And Teddy. Came up with zip.” Stacy was silent a moment. “I still think he's dirty.”

“If he's not in the NCIC it just means he hasn't been caught yet,” Mac murmured. “Or he's using an alias.”

“Thought of that. If he's been busted, his fingerprints will be in the system.”

“And getting one of his prints shouldn't be too difficult.” Mac exited the interstate. “Seems to me I saw him drinking a Coke the day I was in Jane's studio.”

He had been, Stacy remembered. In fact, now that she thought about it, she had seen several of the red-and-white cans in the studio. Since Jane didn't consume carbonated beverages, they all belonged to Ted.

She grinned at her partner. “You might make a good cop one day.”

“Kiss mine, Killian.”

They drove the rest of the way without speaking. They reached the Fair Park area, found the bar and parked in the crowded lot. Judging by the knot of Harleys, Doobie wasn't the only one who hung out at Big Dick's. In addition to the bikes, several pickup trucks graced the lot, all with gun racks mounted in the back cab windows. The single, gleaming white Porsche Boxster seemed woefully out of place. Its vanity plate read
Poppy
.

Stacy looked at Mac. “Either we got a rich chick named after a red flower or a dealer.”

“I see why the Doobster hangs here.”

They entered the bar. It was smoky and loud. The sound system screamed contemporary country. A woman in a G-string danced on the small stage, gyrating around a white metal pole. She looked bored.

“I see now,” Stacy muttered. “Big Dick's. A titty bar.”

“Drug deals and a show, too. Imagine that.”

They wound their way through the club's patrons, making their way to the bar. They slipped onto a couple of stools. The bartender moseyed over.

“What can I get you?”

Mac laid a twenty dollar bill on the bar and leaned forward. “We're looking for Doobie. He been in tonight?”

The bartender, a man whose face suggested he had been in a brawl or two in his fifty-some years, narrowed his eyes. “Don't know any Doobie.”

Mac produced another bill. “Slimy little dude. I'm sure you know him.”

Stacy saw the instant the man made the connection:
cops
. He casually laid his hand over the twenties and slid them to his chest. “He hasn't been in,” he murmured. “Not tonight or the past few nights. Thought maybe he'd up and gotten himself busted.”

“Have him call Mac when he comes in. You think you can remember that…Dick?”

“No problem. You might try a couple of the other places down the way. Seems he likes Louie's and the Hideaway.”

“Thanks, we will.”

They exited the bar. When they hit the night air, Stacy hunched deeper into her jacket. “How'd you know that was Big Dick? He wasn't wearing a name tag.”

“Took a guess. He looked the part.”

Louie's and the Hideaway were clubs of the same ilk as the last. And, as they had at Big Dick's, they asked the bartenders about Doobie, then left.

As they exited the last club, Stacy jammed her hands into her coat pockets, frustrated. Exhausted.

He glanced at her. “Don't worry. We'll hear from him.”

“Soon, I hope.”

They climbed into Mac's sedan and rode to the hospital without further conversation. Every so often she saw him glance her way. As if in question. As if he had something to say but couldn't decide if he should.

The silence grated. She released a short breath. “Okay, Mac. Out with it.”

“With what?”

“Whatever you're thinking but not saying.”

He hesitated, flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I'm worried about you, that's all.”

“I'm fine.”

“Bullets bounce off you, right?”

“Pretty much.”

He made a sound of frustration. “Needing people isn't
a weakness. Being soft or scared or afraid isn't the same as folding.”

She ignored him. “Drop me at the door. I'm going to check on my sister before I head home.”

“You're the boss.”

She cringed at the sarcasm in his voice. When was the last time she had allowed herself to be soft? To need another human being?

To need a man?

Longer than she could remember.

Mac pulled up to the main entrance and stopped. He didn't look her way.

She grasped the door handle. “Thanks, Mac. For everything.”

“Stacy?”

She turned, met his eyes. Something in his gaze sent her pulse racing. “Yes?” she asked, the word coming out low. Like an invitation.

She cringed, wishing she could take it back. It left her feeling vulnerable. Exposed.

Silence that was anything but quiet stretched between them. It crackled with awareness. With things felt but left unsaid. For one crazy moment, she thought he meant to kiss her.

Then he looked away. “Nothing. You coming into the division this morning?”

“Probably not. But I'll check in for sure.”

“Okay. See you Monday. Or before, if I hear from Doobie.”

Even as she told herself it was for the best, that they were partners, that a relationship between them was impossible, she acknowledged disappointment. So bitter it stung her tongue.

She hid it as best she could. “See you then.”

She climbed out of his vehicle and hurried toward the hospital's entrance. When she reached it, she glanced back. And found that he hadn't moved. She swallowed hard, lifted her hand in a final goodbye and stepped into the building.

This time of night, the building was deserted. A tired-
looking woman manned the information desk, a paperback romance open in front of her.

Stacy nodded at her and headed for the elevator. She stepped into a waiting car, punched in her sister's floor number, then watched the illuminated numbers advance as they climbed.

She alighted on three. The floor was deathly quiet. The lights had been dimmed. Two nurses occupied the station, talking quietly to each other.

They nodded at Stacy, recognizing her from earlier. Visiting hours were over, but she was both a family member and a police officer. Stacy crossed to them, anyway. “I just want to peek in. Make certain she's okay.”