She's Got the Look (20 page)

Yeah. As much as he hated to admit it, he
had
considered the possibility that the deaths were connected. But he hadn't wanted anybody
else
to know he had considered it…not even Dex. He wanted Melody well and truly out of this thing, completely untouched by the three strange cases that were, in a small way, actually connected to her. Through the damn list.

“The Atlanta police ruled it an accident,” he explained. “A bizarre one. Traynor died in the locker room of a big country club when he decided to stick something
other
than his finger through a small hole in the wall.”

Dex wasn't successful at hiding a flash of amusement. “A
really
small hole?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Poor guy.” Schooling his features back into his normal, reserved expression, Dex continued, “So did somebody on the other side of the wall get a little offended and take a butcher knife to…it?”

“No,” Nick said, marveling yet again over the stupidity of his fellow man. “He, uh…
bumped
into some frayed wiring. Since he was still wet from his shower, the poor dumb bastard went and electrocuted himself.”

Dex closed his eyes and shuddered. Even Nick shifted in his pants, as he had when he'd first read the report…the whole thing—not the skimpy details released to the public.

“And the chef?”

Rubbing a weary hand over his eyes, Nick leaned against the side of his desk. “You saw him. It looked pretty basic to me. The guy was throwing meatballs into the air and catching them in his mouth like some people do with grapes or peanuts.”

“But meatballs don't go down as easy,” Dex said.

“Exactly. It was late, he was alone and drunk. Accidental choking.”

There was that stupidity quotient again. It must have been what kept the gene pool thinned out since the black death had pretty much been wiped out and there were no more mastodons running around to take care of natural selection.

Dex frowned and crossed his arms, looking as confused as Nick about this convoluted set of circumstances. Could there possibly be a connection between the men on Melody's list, or with Melody's
underwear,
and three weird deaths, for God's sake? Or was it all some huge, bizarre coincidence?

If this were a book or a movie, Nick would roll his eyes and say there was no such thing as that much coincidence. But in his life as a marine and as a cop, he knew coincidence was alive and kicking and more bizarre than any fictional scenario an author could dream up.

“What did Rosemary say about this whole mess?” Nick asked, curious to know how Melody's friends were handling the situation.

“She's worried. She's been going over to Melody's apartment, trying to talk her into coming to stay at her place.”

“She sure has the room,” Nick said, his voice deceptively quiet. He had never talked to Dex about Rosemary's wealth…but the size of her house made it pretty obvious. “Speaking of Rosemary…everything okay? You find out what's bothering her?”

Dex's mouth tightened a bit. If Nick didn't know him so well, he might have missed that small sign of tension.

“She really wants me to get to know her father. She's having a family dinner tomorrow night.”

He said the words
family dinner
like someone else might say cannibalistic feast.

“Well, have fun,” Nick murmured, wishing his friend luck.

“About Melody…I guess she's as stubborn as Rosie. She's staying put in her apartment.”

Stubborn. Yeah, the woman
was
that.

“Does Rosemary really think there's any kind of connection here?” Nick asked. Though Rosemary was a pain, she was sharp, and she knew Melody better than just about anybody. Though, not as well as Nick wanted to know her.

“She thinks it's
probably
a strange coincidence, but if it turns out not to be, we should look at Melody's ex-husband.”

“Her ex?” Nick had been curious, but he hadn't gone down that road yet. Melody's ex-husband seemed more like a cowardly heavy-breather than a killer.

“Yeah. I guess their split was pretty…unpleasant, and Melody initiated it. Rosie thinks this Dr. Todd guy might be angry and desperate enough to plot some pretty wild revenge.”

“Like murder?” Sounded crazy. But he'd heard of stranger scenarios. “Is the guy unbalanced enough to kill guys his ex-wife once fantasized about?”

“If so, you'd better start wearing your vest, since there's only two of you left on that list,” Dex said. His tone was serious, but his lips quirked. “Speaking of which, three down and only one to go before you win by default.”

“Bite me.”

The comment didn't even phase his partner. “You going to follow up on the ex?”

Nick nodded slowly, thinking over the ramifications. Of the ways in which Melody Tanner really could be caught up in this situation. “What if this person wasn't doing it out of jealousy, but rather out of some kind of revenge? Wanting to set Melody up for it? If she hadn't had those walk-in clients Friday, she probably wouldn't have had an alibi.”

“Which makes her ex even more interesting.”

Nick nodded, agreeing completely. Melody probably wouldn't like it, but he had no choice. He was going to have to pry into her past, her private life. And see what he could dig up about her divorce from Dr. Bill Todd of Atlanta.

“I don't want to do this to her,” he murmured, realizing it was entirely true.

“I know.”

“God knows I wouldn't want someone poking around in the charred remains of my marriage.”

Dex remained silent.

Nick sighed heavily, dropping his head back and looking up at the ceiling. He really had no choice. He was going to have to investigate what had probably been a very painful and ugly time in her life.

“But not now,” he whispered.

“Hmm?”

He straightened, giving his partner a look that dared him to argue. “I said not now. Tomorrow's soon enough.”

And it was. Whatever ugly circumstances surrounded Melody's divorce, they'd still be out there tomorrow.

For tonight, however, he just wanted to
be
with her. Without any of the other garbage that had been surrounding them practically from the moment they'd met.

Just…be with her.

 

I
T HAD BEEN
a few days, but as time went by, instead of starting to recover from what had happened to Jonathan Rhodes, Melody still couldn't get it off her mind. She'd never known anyone who'd been murdered. Never known anyone who'd
known
anyone who'd been murdered!

Sure, like everyone in America, she'd seen cop shows and movies where bodies flew, blood spattered and victims fell prey to ax-wielding psychos wearing hockey masks. But she'd almost become immune to the concept—even to the word.
Murder.
Somewhere along the way, she'd stopped grasping the enormity of it.

She grasped it now, though. Between the time Rhodes had left her studio Friday afternoon—with her underwear tucked into his pockets or down his pants,
eww
—until that night when she'd gone to confront him, someone had gone into his apartment and shot the man dead.

Oh, yeah, she definitely grasped it.

The media was all over the story, particularly Channel 9's Angie Jacobs and Drake Manning, who were the last reporters to socialize with the dead man. That had been at Rosemary's party, where they'd been chatting so normally with Rhodes and with Melody. At first, the duo had played up the connection, accentuating their own personal grief. They'd each taken on the role of distraught former friend.

Until the underwear stuff had started coming out.

That'd definitely changed things. Both reporters had backed off on the personal angle, going in for the kill and digging up anything they could on the former congressman's “perversions.” Jonathan Rhodes had gone from prominent attorney and friend to twisted sicko and pariah between two eleven-o'clock newscasts.
Rabid dogs.

Melody had stopped watching the coverage. And now, finally, on Tuesday evening, she was almost starting to feel herself again. At least she wasn't jumping at every noise in the old building in which she lived. She was the only tenant—since the unit right upstairs from hers was vacant—and every creak or moan in the foundation of the old townhouse had startled her all weekend.

Now, though, she realized as she made herself a light dinner, she was doing okay. At least she was finally putting the image of her blood-streaked underwear from her mind and not stewing so much over where her peacock panties had ended up.

Oh, she was still mad about it. But it was out of her hands. She had to think that whenever the police caught up with Jonathan's killer, they'd find out what had happened to Melody's underwear, too. Hopefully
not
after it had been worn by another sicko guy with a penchant for silk and feathers.

Pouring herself a glass of wine, she took a sip and began to fill a pot of water. She'd decided on penne pasta for one. When she heard a knock on her front door, she smiled and added more water to the pot, figuring it would instead be pasta for two. It appeared she was once again going to have a dinner guest. That was no surprise. Ever since Friday night, Tanya, Rosemary and Paige had taken to popping over for any number of reasons, none of which were the
real
reason.

In truth, they were supporting her however they could. Not to mention trying to get back on her good side after their loose lips about the whole list thing.

Expecting to see Paige's wide smile and a homemade cake, or Tanya's jet-black hair and a bottle of Jack Daniel's…or Rosemary holding the latest editions of every fashion magazine, Melody walked to the front door and pulled it open.

No wide smile. No cake. No liquor and no magazines.

Just pure, living, breathing temptation.

“Nick,” she breathed.

“You should have asked who was here, since you don't have a peephole.”

Yes, she should have. At least then she might have been able to mentally prepare to see Nick Walker again in the flesh. Oh, such big, yummy flesh.

Feeling heat flood her cheeks, she instinctively reacted to his words…and her own hungry response to his nearness.

She shut the door right in his face.

Leaning her forehead against the doorjamb, she sucked in a few deep breaths, ordering her pulse to stop racing and her heart to stop doing that crazy, out-of-rhythm jerking in her chest.

He knocked again.

“Who is it?” she whispered, more in a stall for time than to make him laugh.

But laugh he did. “That's better. Now let me in.”

Lifting her wineglass to her mouth and gulping down a big sip of merlot, she slowly did as he asked.

“Hi,” he said.

Unable to help herself, Melody raked a thorough look over him, from bottom to top. Nick was dressed the same way he'd been on the day they'd met at the diner—in tight, soft, perfectly broken in jeans that rode low on his lean hips. A hunter-green T-shirt emphasized his thick arms and wide shoulders. His cheeks were a little stubbly since it was well after five o'clock, and his hair was rumpled, as if he'd run his hand through it in frustration at least ten times today. But what really did her in was that devastating half smile on his delicious lips as he stared at her from the hallway.

Oh, Lord. Oh, mercy.
Oh, yum.

Being away from the man hadn't lessened the driving, overwhelming hunger she'd felt for him from the moment they'd met. It had only made it more intense. She'd been an utter fool to think not answering his calls or trying to avoid him would make him easier to forget. After all, hadn't she already acknowledged—at least to herself—that he was unforgettable?

“This is a surprise,” she finally said, shocked to realize she sounded perfectly normal. Not all crazy-hungry-horny-desperate like she felt.

“I didn't call first since I figured you wouldn't answer, anyway. Are you going to invite me in?”

How about I just do away with the words and rip off my clothes here and now? Is that a good enough invitation?

Managing to keep her clothes on and her libido constrained beneath what was left of her dignity, she stepped back and ushered him in. He immediately looked around the living room of her apartment, his gaze assessing. “Nice.” He stepped closer to one wall, where a number of her framed photos were displayed. The ones she was most proud of. “Yours?”

“Yes.”

He peered closely at a shot she'd done of an old Jamaican woman in a brightly colored sarong, complete with beads and rooster claws around her neck. “I think I've seen her in Colonial Park Cemetery.”

“Probably. She holds services there. She didn't even charge me for the first shot. After that I had to pay her.”

Nick chuckled, understanding immediately. That was Savannah. “You're good.”

“I hope other people agree with you,” she said as she locked the front door. “So far, there aren't crowds lining up to let me prove it.”

He continued walking around her apartment, checking it out. “It's a lot brighter than most places around here. I like the woodwork.”

She followed his stare, seeing the short divider wall separating the living and dining rooms, so tons of light from the big front windows could spill throughout the apartment. Opening up the space by removing most of the wall between the two rooms had been her suggestion.

To the left, where there'd once been a closet, a pantry and a laundry room, there was now one big work space, eliminating the need for one wall and two doorways. Meaning more light, more air, more room to appreciate the beautiful aged oak floors that had been resurfaced and brought back to their warm luster.

“Brian and Rosemary's father let me have a say in the renovations up here as well as downstairs,” she said as she put her wineglass on the coffee table. “There were Spanish-speaking workmen tromping through here for the first few weeks I was in town and I had to camp out in the empty apartment upstairs for a while.” She smiled. “With Paige's furniture, as I'm sure you recall.”