Slow Burn (31 page)

“Good night, Spencer,” he said, and headed to the daybed in the family room.

She followed him. “There
is
a guest bedroom,” she said softly.

“I like it down here. Good night, Spencer,” he repeated firmly.

She turned around and left him.

 

The week was long and tedious. Spencer insisted on going to work, and wherever she went, David went, too. He spent most of Wednesday baby-sitting her out on South Beach, standing back and listening while she explained to a group of suited gentlemen what could and couldn't be salvaged in their hotel, and just what it would cost them. They looked grim at first, until she told them her research had shown that the entry hall floor tiles had been imported from a castle in Spain—they were worth a large portion of the price the men had paid for the hotel just in themselves. By the time she was done, the men were not only happy with the money they had already spent, they even seemed happy with the money they intended to hand over to Montgomery Enterprises.

Sly was quiet until the end of Spencer's speech. Then he leaned against a wall near David. “You're worth your weight in gold,” Sly told him. “I wish you'd let me pay you. No client should demand this much time.”

David shrugged. “Danny was my best friend.”

“And what about Spencer?”

“Spencer is a friend, too.”

Sly snorted, straightening as he saw that the men were about to leave. “Marry her. Get it over with.”

“Can't. Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Because she won't marry
me.
”

“Make her. Damn it, force her to be happy if nothing else will work!”

David grinned. “Sly, give me a chance. Let me catch a killer first. Danny isn't really buried yet. Not for either of us.”

Sly seemed to accept that. He joined the group, with David behind him.

 

The whole group had a late lunch at a café on the beach, watching the roller skaters drifting by, along with muscled beach bums, half-naked beauties, a few less than perfect bodies and a few senior citizens out enjoying the sun. Spencer was in the midst of the executives, and Sly was quietly watching her like a hawk. David thought it was safe to put in a call to Oppenheim.

The lieutenant seemed resigned to hearing from him. “Well, we arrested Ricky, but he didn't stay long.”

“Figures. What about exhuming Vickie Vichy?”

“I'm working on it. I'll let you know.”

“Thanks.”

He returned to the lunch. They talked through the cocktail hour, and it was getting late when they left the beach, Sly, Spencer and David driving across the causeway together, all three fairly quiet.

“Did your cousin finish paying that money back?” Sly asked Spencer suddenly from the back seat.

Startled, Spencer met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “He, uh—”

“Did he or didn't he?” Sly asked impatiently.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“What did he know?” David demanded.

“Oh, Jared just took out a little unauthorized loan,” Sly said lightly. “I guess he thought I didn't know about it. I thought it was something he and Spencer should settle themselves.”

“And it
is
settled!” Spencer said firmly. She spun around, frowning. “Sly, you don't intend to fire him, do you?”

“I would have if he hadn't confessed to you. Despite your mother and his father and the whole damned bloody family!”

“But—”

Sly shrugged. “But he confessed. And I let everyone make one mistake. It's been my way my whole life. One mistake, and a chance to fix it.”

“It's fixed,” Spencer said uncomfortably, meeting David's eyes in the mirror. They were cobalt, narrowed. Furious.

And that damned pulse was ticking away in his throat again.

They took Sly home first. Then David took her home, walking into her house in ominous silence.

Then he exploded. “Spencer, goddamn it, how many times do I have to tell you! I cannot win this thing with you constantly playing against me. Why the hell didn't you tell me about Jared?”

“There was nothing to tell,” she said, moving into the kitchen.

“Then there was Willie!” he snapped.

“Willie?”

“Yeah—like you just happened to be in the graveyard! You were fooling around with a snitch who could have gotten you into real trouble, who almost did get you killed. And you didn't come clean—”

“You didn't ask about Willie!”

“I damned well
did
ask about the source of your information!” he told her.

Then he went still suddenly.

“What?” she murmured.

“I want to know what Jared was up to,” he said flatly.

“He borrowed money.”

“A lot of it?”

“Yes.”

“Without asking?”

“But he put it back. David, you can't believe that Jared killed Danny! They were friends, too. Related. Jared's kids called him Uncle Danny!”

“Some men, Spencer, would kill their own mothers!”

“Not Jared,” she insisted.

“When did he borrow this money?”

“About eight months ago.”

David exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “Then…”

“Then what?”

“Then you're
probably
right. Whatever is going on must have started before David was killed. I'm going up to the office. Good night.”

Spencer watched him start up the stairs. What if I wanted to go through the files, too? she thought. She almost shouted the words at him. But she didn't. Instead she bit her lip and went to make herself a cup of tea. Finally she gave up and went to bed.

 

Thursday morning Cecily came by. She breezed into Spencer's office with a huge smile.

“Don't forget, my father-in-law is having a barbecue tomorrow night.”

“Right,” Spencer said, staring at her.

“What's wrong?” Cecily asked defensively. The her voice fell to a hush. “If you're mad at me over the money Jared borrowed—”

“I'm not mad at you over the money, Cecily. I'm furious because you had no right to step into my life the way you did and give David hints about—about a condition you think I might be in!”

“I didn't give him a hint,” Cecily said, pouting. “I said it straight out, plain and simple!”

“Cecily…”

“Spencer, I was right, wasn't I? Trust me, I can tell things like that. I've been there!”

“Cecily, what would make you tell David?” Spencer demanded.

“I…” Cecily sighed and plopped down into a chair. “I thought that if you were either fighting with David or fooling around with him more, you wouldn't be so prone to notice what was going on with the accounts.”

“Cecily!”

“Oh, Spencer, it was stupid. But we were all in a panic, Jared, Jon, me…Don't you understand, Spencer? Jared is
your
cousin, not
Sly's
blood relation.”

Spencer sighed deeply. “All right, Cecily.”

“You won't hurt Jon's feelings and skip tomorrow, will you? It's right after work.”

“I'll be there.”

“Thanks, Spencer. And…thanks for being so understanding about everything. He's not always perfect, but Jared isn't bad.”

“It's over, Cecily.”

Cecily stood, started toward the door, then paused. “Well?” she said.

“Well, what?”

“Was I right?”

“Go away, Cecily.”

Audrey stepped in. “Excuse me, Spencer. Sandy is on line three.”

“Thanks.”

Cecily waved. “I know I'm right,” she said, grinning, and disappeared.

 

Spencer worked late that night, trying to catch up on some research. She had managed to forget her own life for a while until she looked up to find David in her doorway, staring at her.

“Don't you think you ought to quit working so hard? Give the baby a rest, for God's sake.”

She felt her cheeks redden. “Would you please speak a little more softly?”

He lifted his hands. “Why? There's not a soul left in the office.”

“Oh!” She glanced at her watch. It was almost eight o'clock.

“You really should feed that child, you know.”

She had to smile. “Does that mean you're starving?”

“Sure as hell does.”

“The Taurus? It's close, great seafood, and it's quick.”

He nodded. Spencer set her work aside and stood, then grabbed her purse and found her keys so she could lock up the offices. “Sly didn't say good-night.”

“Yes he did. Your nose was too deep in a book.”

They left in his car and drove straight to the restaurant.

 

It had been a long day. Too damned long, what with the bedlam Spencer Huntington and Delgado were creating. If he had just been left alone to take care of things in the first place…

The phone rang. He picked up the receiver; the voice on the other end was already speaking.

“There's going to be a barbecue tomorrow night at Jon Monteith's house. I'll be there. Make sure you are, too. And whatever you come up with, make sure it's not too messy, for Christ's sake. There are going to be little kids there. Make it look like an accident. You can do that.”

“I'm getting sick and tired—”

He broke off at the strangely evil sound of husky laughter. “Do it. Because if you go down, you'll go down big!”

The line went dead.

“T
hey make the best fish oreganato in the world here,” Spencer murmured, looking over her menu. She smiled at the waitress waiting by her side. “I'll have white wine and the snapper oreganato.”

“
I'll
have white wine and the snapper oreganato,” David interceded. “
She'll
have a coffee—no, coffee has caffeine, right? She'll have a ginger ale and the fish.”

“David—” Spencer began.

“Don't drink, Spencer.” He hesitated. “Please.”

“I forgot, all right?”

He eased back in his chair, watching her. “Shouldn't you have gone to a doctor by now?”

She smiled ruefully, leaning forward slightly. “David, I spent lots of time with doctors. Danny and I were like a couple of babes in the woods, in a way. We were so sure that something was wrong. I'm not trying to be negative, or pretend that I'm not pregnant, but I don't want to get excited or plan for…for a child until I'm certain.”

“But you took the test.”

“I know. But they usually tell women not to test so early. Most miscarriages occur almost immediately, which is one of the reasons women are supposedly just late sometimes. It's important to see a doctor early, but not this early.”

He was quiet, watching her. “So, in other words, you
may
get excited—eventually.”

“Of course.”

“Even if it's my child, not Danny's?”

Spencer hesitated, then spoke evenly and softly. “I would love to have had a child with Danny. He was a wonderful man, and there should have been something left of him in this world.”

His fingers curled over hers. “Spencer, there will always be something left of Danny in this world as long as
we're
in it. We'll never forget him, any of us who knew him. And we'll never forget his dreams.”

She nodded, pulling her hand away as the waitress brought their drinks.

The woman winked at Spencer. “You know, I can slip you a wine, honey.”

Spencer laughed, shaking her head. “No, it's all right. Thanks.”

“Let's go to the salad bar,” David said. “Vegetables are good for both of you.”

“What are you, the Galloping Gourmet or the stork?” Spencer demanded.

“A little bit of both.”

Somehow they managed not to talk about either Danny, the case or their own curiously twisting relationship. David talked about his sister. Spencer described her plans for the old house on the golf course.

When they got to her house, David told Spencer good-night and walked to the family room.

She hesitated, watching him. The room was dark; his silhouette was just caught by the pool lights. His shoulders looked so broad, his hair very dark, his stance very straight.

She was making a mistake, she told herself…. Ah, but the mistake had already been made.

She walked up behind him.

He knew she was there. “What is it, Spencer?”

“I don't want to sleep alone,” she said softly.

He turned to her. She couldn't quite see his features in the shadows of the room. “Spencer, you don't sleep alone,” he said softly. “Danny is still in that bed with you.”

“There is another room. With a real bed,” she said. When he was silent, she exploded. “Damn it, David, I'm not going to beg you! I'll be there. You can do what you want!”

She turned and left, hurrying up the still-darkened stairs to the second floor. She bypassed her room and headed for the guest room at the rear of the house, kicking off her shoes as she walked to the bed, shedding her clothing. She showered, dried, slipped beneath the sheets.

Waited…

He didn't come.

She felt like an idiot. But a tired idiot. Eventually she dozed.

 

She was asleep. Well, he was a fool. He'd figured that out a long time ago.

He hesitated, then walked into the room anyway. In the shadows, he could see her clothing strewn across the floor.

He shed his jacket and shirt, letting them fall on top of her things. He took off his shoes and let them clunk to the floor. She didn't move. He lost his trousers and briefs, and sat on the edge of the bed, shedding his socks.

Damn it. She was still sleeping like a little princess.

That thought gave him pause. He smiled slightly, slipped beneath the sheets, leaned over and kissed her.

It was hardly a sweet, fairy-tale kiss, but it did the trick. He tasted her lips, coerced them open. Plundered the sweetness of her mouth with his tongue. She murmured deep in her throat, her hands moving to his shoulders.

She was still groggy, but awakening quickly. He used the weight of his body to part her thighs and hiked himself just slightly above her. It was a tantalizing position. He was hard already, his sex just brushing the portal of hers. Her flesh was hot and silky, her thighs hugging his.

Her eyes opened fully. “David?”

“Who else would I be? Or do I feel like a damned ghost?”

She arched against him, angered by his mockery. But he set his hand gently against her cheek and spoke softly. “Spencer, you invited me here. I just want to make damned sure you don't start crying on me later.”

She hesitated, staring at him. Then she promised, “I won't start crying.”

He kissed her lips again as his arms went around her, pressing her against him. He lifted her buttocks while he sank deeply into her, and she locked her legs around his back, her body arched to meet his.

It was the best damned sex….

He brought them both to a writhing precipice, then denied them satisfaction as he withdrew from her tight flesh. He found her breasts with his palms, his fingers, his tongue, his teeth.

Her lips slid along his naked flesh. Bathed his shoulders, ran down his spine. Teased over his belly. Her mouth enveloped him. His fingers dug into her hair, a cry caught explosively in his throat.

Then he was inside her again. Frantic, fevered. Meeting the sky blue of her eyes. Touching the slick beauty of her secret flesh, her breasts…

Capturing her lips again. Playing with her tongue. Feeling the shudders that swept her.

Exploding in climax, his body expelling his seed, still feeling the warmth and vibrance of her as he came inside her, pulse after pulse….

Minutes ticked by. He was afraid he was hurting her. He rolled from her, withdrawing his spent sex, and laid his head on the pillow by hers.

Her eyes were open, and he touched her cheeks.

“I'm not crying.”

He smiled slowly. “It's a start.”

She smiled back and curled against him.

 

Spencer was amazed to realize first how late she'd slept, and then that David was gone.

She was even more surprised to discover that he had not only left the bed, he had left the house.

She was glad she had showered and dressed before ambling downstairs. Not that Jimmy was in her house, but he was right out on the porch, reading a detective novel. When she found him, Spencer stared at the title with amusement.
“Inspector Tyre and the Murder in the Attic?”
she asked.

He shrugged. “It's not half-bad.”

She smiled. “It's just that in your line of work…Never mind. Where's David?”

“He said he had to go into the office for a while. But don't worry. Juan and I are both here. See—he's out by the car. Someone would have to be really good to get us both at once,” he assured her.

“I'll bet. Well, come in if you want. I'll have coffee ready in a few minutes.”

He refused. He was being more than usually careful.

The day seemed to pass very quickly. David called at noon to tell her that he had found something curious in Danny's files. “And guess what?”

“What?”

“Oppenheim has arranged the exhumation order on Vickie Vichy.”

“Oh?”

“I may be called in to the lab later today.”

“Don't forget, I've got a family thing tonight.”

“I won't. I'll try to be there. Jimmy and Juan will keep watch outside. And Oppenheim is trying to keep the police close by, too. He's already apologized for having to call Harris in the other night.”

“Well, you know where I'll be.”

“Still not crying?” he asked softly.

She hesitated. “Still not crying.”

“I'll see you later. I promise I'll show up before it gets too late.” He hung up, then looked down at his files. He picked up the phone again. “Reva, I need some records. Anything and everything you can get. If you get me a birth date and a place, I can call in a few favors.”

“On who?”

Thoughtfully, David gave her the name.

“And cross-check all this with Gene Vichy,” he said.

 

Jon was glad to see Spencer, and he pulled her aside immediately. “Spencer,” he whispered. “Honey, we're just so grateful to you….”

“Uncle Jon, I've asked Jared to forget it, and I want you to do the same.”

“But if Sly knew—”

“Sly does know.”

“Dear God.”

“Uncle Jon, people make mistakes. Sly knows that.”

Jon exhaled, then smiled. “Spencer, even when you were little, all the kids used to say that you were real class. They were right, honey.”

“Uncle Jon, please…”

“Right. Want to help me with the burgers? You can tell me how things are going. We were all horrified to hear about the accident in Rhode Island. What have you found out? Have the police done much yet? How about David?”

Spencer stood beside her uncle at the barbecue, trying to bring him up to date. Then the kids arrived, and Ashley seemed almost shy, hugging her, smiling, hugging her again. She didn't leave Spencer's side until Cecily took the children into the house to change into their swimsuits.

Sly, Jared and Jimmy were in the living room, watching sports on television. Jimmy and Juan had drawn straws, and Juan had gotten stuck with the first shift, watching the front of the house for uninvited guests.

The doorbell rang. “I'd better get that. Excuse me,” Jon said. Through the open back doors, Spencer could see him answering the door. She was expecting David, and she was surprised to see Audrey, instead.

She started into the house, but Audrey was already hurrying toward her. On her way, she paused, scooping Ashley up when the little girl rushed over to say hello. She set Ashley down by the pool and kept walking toward Spencer, who was alone in the yard, waiting for her.

Audrey was smiling, a sheaf of papers in her hand. “I'm sorry to interrupt, Spencer, but I know how much that house you're buying means to you. And Sandy called, and—”

She broke off, lifting the papers slightly. Spencer stared at her, astounded.

Hidden underneath the papers, Audrey was carrying a gun. A gun leveled straight at Spencer.

Audrey's tone of voice didn't even change as she kept talking. “We have to talk. Not here. Follow the path down to the dock. Now.”

“Audrey, I will not—”

“Spencer, I can blow you away right here. But I'd kill the kid first. You know I don't bluff, Spencer. Let's go.”

“You won't shoot me—”

“Sweetie, I didn't have the slightest problem in the world shooting Danny. I won't bat an eye if I have to shoot you, too. Now move. Unless you want Ashley to die, as well. And I'll do it, Spencer. Don't even question it. What do I have to lose? They can only electrocute you once, no matter how many people you kill. What I don't have is time. Move!”

“Why?” Spencer demanded.

“Start walking and I'll tell you.”

“Audrey, if I'm found shot to death—”

“Oh, you won't be.” Her eyes glittered, and her mouth turned up in a small smile. “You're going to drown. Accidents will happen….”

 

Right after five, Oppenheim called David and suggested he come down to the coroner's office.

David did, watching with Oppenheim as the Dade County coroner cut into the body of a young man who'd been found in a river. He turned away, waiting for Cyril Burgess, the coroner on the Vichy case, to finish up so he could talk with them about Vickie.

A little while later, Burgess, portly and balding with an incredibly shiny head, came toward them grimly. He shook hands with both of them. “Seems you gentlemen were right. She
was
being poisoned. A little one day, a little the next. Nothing that would show up in a simple blood or urine test. But nothing accidental, either. It had to have been done by someone close to her. Probably someone who lived with her.”