Smoke Screen (10 page)

“You look sensational!”

“Thanks. It’s new.” She held out the skirt of the halter dress and executed a curtsy. “I treated myself. I may not be able to pay the rent this month, but what the hell. Does the full skirt make my butt look big?”

Dutifully he and Jay chorused, “No.”

“Liars. But thanks.”

Soon after she’d passed the bar exam, a job for an ADA had come open in the district attorney’s office. Candy had applied for it and had hung on with bulldog tenacity until she was hired. At first, she was little more than a gofer, but it hadn’t taken her long to distinguish herself. She was ambitious and self-confident, and didn’t take any crap from her male counterparts. She didn’t acknowledge a glass ceiling for women in the judicial system—except to say that she planned to shatter the goddamn thing.

She wasn’t a natural beauty, but when she took the time and trouble, as she obviously had tonight, she could be moderately attractive.

“Hey, buddy, I’m glad you’re here.” Jay reached past Candy to shake Raley’s hand, then threw one arm around his shoulders and gave him a hug, thumping him on the back. Raley, who was several inches taller than Jay, awkwardly leaned into the hug.

But he found himself moved by Jay’s demonstration of affection and, remembering the reason for the party, said thickly, “No, I’m glad
you’re
here.”

They released each other quickly but maintained eye contact and fond smiles.

Candy regarded them suspiciously. “You two aren’t going to swap spit, I hope.”

They laughed. Jay said, “When Hell freezes over,” then motioned with his head. “Bar’s this way.”

It took them ten minutes to navigate the living room. As soon as he’d thrust a plastic cup of beer at Raley, and seen to it that Candy had a margarita, Jay deserted them to welcome arriving guests, and to meet the tagalongs they’d brought with them.

Candy spotted another lawyer from the DA’s office across the room. He was standing with his back against the wall, looking like he was facing a firing squad. “He’s married,” she told Raley, “but I understand he and the missus are separated. I don’t see her, do you?” Obviously it was a rhetorical question because Candy didn’t wait for an answer. “He’s kinda cute, in a nerdy sort of way, don’t you think?”

“Oh yeah.” Much more nerdy than cute, in Raley’s opinion, which he wisely kept to himself. “I’ll bet you’re smarter than him.”

Not hearing his sarcasm, or disregarding it, she said, “Oh, no question of that.” She turned to him and peeled back her lips. “Do I have anything in my teeth?”

He inspected them and shook his head. “You’re good to go.”

“See ya.”

She headed off in the general direction of the lost-looking prosecutor.
Poor bastard,
Raley thought, mentally chuckling. He was in for a night of it.

Feeling adrift, Raley stepped out onto the patio, where the noise level was a trifle less earsplitting. The concrete pad was bordered on three sides by narrow strips of grass and enclosed with a privacy fence. Tonight the gate was open. Jay’s guests were free to spill out onto the common area of the apartment complex. None of the other residents seemed to mind the party racket. Raley was sure Jay had extended a blanket invitation as a preemptive strike against complaints.

And who was a neighbor to call to complain about noise? The cops? Any police department employee who wasn’t on duty tonight was here swilling beer and margaritas, noshing on chips and salsa, cheese cubes, and onion dip.

Raley looked through the open gate, planning his escape. He’d already told Candy he would leave well before she was ready to go, and she’d agreed to find her own way home. If he left through the gate, he could circle around to where he’d parked his car without having to go back through the apartment, avoiding an argument with Jay, who would urge him to stay.

He finished his beer and tossed the empty cup into a trash can, then started for the gate.

“Hi.”

He turned to make certain the greeting was intended for him. It was. But he’d never seen the young woman smiling up at him. “Your name’s Raley?”

“That’s right.”

Her smile widened. “Raley Gannon. I asked.” She pointed with her thumb over her shoulder, indicating that she’d asked his name of someone in the crowd.

“Oh.”

It wasn’t a brilliant comeback, but it was all he could think of to say. She was a stunner, from the tousled mass of blond hair to her red toenails. In between were a pair of high-heeled sandals, a white miniskirt, and a red tank top with
FCUK
spelled out in rhinestones. She was carrying a frozen margarita in each hand.

“You looked thirsty.” She handed one of the drinks to Raley. He took it, but she noticed him looking at the glittering letters stretched across her breasts. She laughed. “It stands for French Connection UK. Like England? It’s a line of clothing.”

“Oh, right.”

“Eye-catching though, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Makes you do a double take. At least it did you.” And she gave a little shimmy that caused all four letters to jiggle. Her breasts turned seismic.

Feeling guilty for staring, he looked into the margarita. “I was about to leave.”

Her evident disappointment was flattering. “You were? How come?”

“I, uh, I have some work to do.”

“On Saturday night?”

“Yeah, I—”

“I don’t hear any fire trucks.”

He gave a quick tilt of his head. “You know I’m a fireman? What gave me away?”

Shyly she ducked her head, peering up at him through her eyelashes. “I asked that, too. I wanted to have an icebreaker. You know, something to talk to you about? I wasn’t surprised to learn you were a fireman. I thought you must be something, you know, manly like that. With your build and all. But a fireman. Wow.”

He took a sip of his margarita. It was cold and delicious, a perfect combination of sweetness and bite. “A fireman is all I ever wanted to be.”

“So do lots of little boys. But you actually grew up to become one.” She licked salt from the rim of her glass and smiled at him.

He smiled back.

“Is it fun riding in the truck?”

“Well, if we’re going to a fire or an emergency—”

“Oh, I know it’s dangerous and all. But still, it’s gotta be a kick.”

Self-consciously, he grinned. “Yeah, it can be a kick.”

Someone jostled her from behind and she fell against him. “Oopsy-daisy.” Her breast—the one with the
F
and the
C
—mashed against his arm as she regained her balance. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Did I cause you to spill your drink?”

“Just a little.” He sucked drops of melting margarita off his hand and took another drink. Then another.

“The house is impossible,” she said, “but it’s getting crowded out here, too.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Without his making a conscious decision to relocate, Raley fell into step behind her as she made her way through the gate and out onto the expanse of lawn that connected the units of the complex. In the center of the compound was a swimming pool with a hot tub that would hold twenty, a clubhouse for residents’ use, twin tennis courts with basketball hoops at each end, and several gathering places, some enclosed with lattice walls, others open-air for sunning on chaise lounges.

She placed her hand on his arm and bent down to remove her sandals, sighing as her bare feet settled into the grass. “Ooh, that’s better.”

“I’ll bet. Those heels look lethal.”

She laughed. “They’re killers, all right, but they make your legs look good.”

Her legs looked good without them, too. He forced his eyes back up to her face. Had she told him her name? If so, he couldn’t recall it. He was about to ask when she posed a question to him. “Do you wear those wide, red suspenders?”

“They’re part of our gear.”

“They’re such a turn-on.” Again her tongue flicked salt off her glass. Her lips were very red, her tongue pointed and pink.

He glanced past her, back toward Jay’s patio. He didn’t realize they’d walked that far. At this distance, Bon Jovi was little more than thudding bass. His pulse seemed to be keeping time with “Wanted Dead or Alive.” “Uh, as I said, I was about to leave.”

“Oh. I didn’t mean to keep you.”

“No, it’s okay, I—”

“I thought it would be nice to finish our drinks out by the pool. Where it’s cooler.”

He hesitated, but at that moment, cooler sounded very good. “Okay. Sure.”

He walked with her toward the pool, along the way taking several missteps. “The margaritas are strong,” he remarked.

“I was about to say the same thing. Want to go swimming? It would clear your head.”

A question about swimsuits wafted through his brain, but it was too elusive to grasp. “No. I think I just want to sit a minute.”

“Me, too. Let’s go over here.”

She led him toward one of the areas enclosed by vine-covered lattice. There was seating enough for a small group, but when he sat down on a chaise, she sat down on it, too. “Lean back. I’ll switch on the fan.”

He lay back onto the angled cushion and watched as she walked to a support post where there was a switch plate. A flick of her fingers and the overhead fan began to turn, creating a welcome breeze. His eyes closed, but he didn’t realize they had until she rejoined him on the chaise and he pried them open to see her smiling down at him.

She leaned over him and ran her cold glass across his forehead. “Better?”

He mumbled something but wasn’t sure that what he’d said were actual words. Her breasts were sort of in the way of his lips.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Fiancée.”

“I figured. Men like you are always taken.”

“Men like me?”

She smiled as she undid several buttons on his shirt. “Strong, handsome firemen with hair on their chests.” Her fingers combed through his. “So where is she?”

“Uh, Boston. Business.”

He jumped when she grazed his nipple with her fingernail and was about to tell her not to do that—he really was—when she said, “I’ve never been to Boston. Too cold. I like hotter climates, don’t you?”

Hallie was in meetings that were long but informative. See? He wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t remember.

“It’s awfully hot tonight, though.” She lifted her hair off her neck with both hands, held it up, then dropped it. When she did, her hands skimmed over her breasts, and she seemed to like the feel of them, because her right hand stayed. It cupped her right breast, and her thumb began to idly stroke her nipple beneath the shiny
F.
The circular movement of her thumb was hypnotizing, and so was what it was doing to her nipple.

But as seductive as it was, he had to blink hard to hold it in focus. Jesus, he was drunk. His body felt heavy. He wasn’t sure he could move his legs, and didn’t particularly want to, because that would have meant dislodging…uh…

Had she told him her name?

Anyway, moving would have meant dislodging her, and he was liking the feel of her hip against his thigh.

How had he got so drunk on one beer and half a margarita? He had a much higher tolerance than that. Years of college drinking had conditioned him…

Where was his margarita, anyway?

“Your fiancée left you all alone?”

There was something he should say to that, but damned if he could think of what it was.

“That was pretty stupid of her.”

He didn’t remember disposing of his margarita, but he must have because his hands were otherwise occupied. One was on…

Shit, what
was
her name?

One of his hands was on her leg, being guided beneath her short skirt and up the inside of her thigh, and the other was being pressed against that tight, hard nipple, which had been bared to him.

Her breath was humid against his face. “Stupid of her, but lucky for me.”

That pink, pointed tongue he had noticed earlier…was it licking the salt off his lips? Something below his waist was feeling damn good, but wrong. Wrong.

This isn’t right. This isn’t
right!
Why am I doing this?

W
HEN
R
ALEY STOPPED TALKING, THE CABIN WAS SILENT
except for the occasional drip of the kitchen faucet. Eventually he looked across at Britt. “That’s the last thing I remember. Her tongue was in my mouth and her hand inside my pants, and I was thinking,
What the hell am I doing? I need to stop this.”
He shook his head as though to clear it. “After that, nothing.”

Britt drew a shuddering breath. “That sounds familiar.”

“I thought it would.”

“I don’t remember anything beyond wanting to make it to Jay’s sofa without falling down. Everything past that is completely blanked out.”

“Have you had any flashbacks?”

“I wish I could say yes.”

“You may,” he said. “Some of it came back to me, the way you remember dreams days after you’ve dreamed them. An image flashes and then vanishes before your mind can fully register it. A group of words you know you’ve heard but which make no sense. Like that.”

He reached for his water bottle and drained it, then folded his forearms on the tabletop and leaned across it toward her. “Don’t you think it’s awfully coincidental that we had similar experiences, and in both instances, Jay was behind it?”

“You think Jay set you up with that woman and had her drug you?”

“What do
you
think?”

The question wavered between them like smoke from a snuffed-out candle. After a time, Britt said, “I don’t want to think that of Jay.”

“No. Because he was a hero. And heroes don’t do things like that. Especially not to their friends.”

She pictured Jay, smiling and disarming. He always had a mischievous twinkle in his eye, but was he capable of treachery on the level that Raley had described? She couldn’t conceive of it. Not the Jay Burgess she knew.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

While lost in thought she’d been absently rubbing the goose egg on the back of her head. Raley had noticed. “It’s caused a dull headache. Do you have a Coke or something?”

He got up, took a canned drink from the fridge, and passed it to her. She opened it and took a sip. “Jay may or may not have had a hand in what happened to you,” she said. “But it doesn’t make sense that he drugged me so I would be an agreeable lover, and then smothered himself by holding a pillow over his face.”

“No. Somebody else came in and did that.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who do you suspect?”

“We’ll get to that. Let me tell you what happened that morning when I woke up in Jay’s guest bedroom.”

“He didn’t live in the same town house as he does—
did
—now.”

“No. His old apartment had two bedrooms, each with an attached bathroom, separated by a kitchen and living area.”

“Right. The bedrooms were on opposite sides of the apartment.”

Immediately after the words cleared her mouth, she realized she’d given herself away. She looked at him quickly to see if he’d realized the implication of what she’d said.

Of course he had. He said, “No surprise there.”

Her expression wasn’t contrite or apologetic. If anything, it was challenging. “So what? Jay and I dated when neither of us was attached, the affair was over soon. In fact, it was so short-lived it could hardly be called an affair. It was harmless.”

“Harmless, huh? When you’re now suspected of murdering him?”

A long silence stretched taut between them, then she said, “Tell me about the morning following the party.”

He pressed the tips of his fingers into his eye sockets, then dragged his hands down his face, over his bearded cheeks and chin. “I have no memory beyond what I’ve told you. But till the day I die, I won’t forget the absolute horror I experienced when I woke up.”

He came awake but didn’t open his eyes. He lay still, sorting through the days of the week in his mind, trying to determine which day it was. What was on his agenda for today? Was he on duty or off? When would he see Hallie?

Right,
he thought, as though his mind had snapped its fingers. This was Sunday. She was coming home.

With that happy thought, he opened his eyes. He was facing a wall, but it wasn’t his wall. It was too close to the bed to be the wall of his bedroom, and besides, it was the wrong color.

Where was he?

He took in more of the wall, the window, and realized he was in Jay’s apartment. Guest bedroom. He recognized it because he’d slept here a few times, when poker games went into the wee hours, when his own place was being painted and the fumes had driven him out. Jay had offered his guest room for as long as it took for the painting to be finished. Once, after a long dinner party, Jay had persuaded him and Hallie to sleep in this bed.

Those occasions he remembered clearly.

But he had no idea in hell how he’d got here last night. It was fairly late in the morning, judging by the light coming through the blinds. They were drawn, but bright sunlight rimmed the edge of each slat.

He rolled onto his back, and the motion caused him to moan. His head hurt like a son of a bitch and felt as heavy as an anvil. He wasn’t sure he could raise it off the pillow, but he was absolutely positive that he didn’t want to try. A motion that extreme would cause his eyeballs to explode. He had the mother of all hangovers, but he didn’t even remember—

He gave a cry of shock when he saw the hand.

It was lying palm up, inches from his thigh, as though seconds before it had been touching him.

That hand, lying supine and still, belonged to a woman.

He bolted from the bed. Or tried. The sheet was tangled up around his legs, causing him to stumble when his feet hit the floor. He landed on one kneecap, so hard it made a knocking sound against the hardwood floor. But in his shock, he barely felt it.

His heart was drumming, and when he heard his own gasping breaths, he willed his mouth shut in order to stopper them. He stood transfixed, but his brain was scrambling, seeking an explanation for the inexplicable.

The woman was dead.

The tanned skin had taken on the ashen hue of death. Her lips were the color of putty. Her eyes, partially open, were beginning to film.

His stupefaction lasted for maybe ten seconds. Perhaps even less. Then his training kicked in, and so did his innate compulsion to act. It wasn’t so much compassion, which denoted forethought and a choice to be valiant. With Raley, it was more like energy, spontaneity, instinct that propelled him to rescue something or someone without his even having to consider it.

He was beside her in a nanosecond, feeling for a pulse. He felt none. Her skin was as cool as marble. Nevertheless, he began giving her CPR.

“Jay!”
he shouted. “God dammit, where are you? Jay!” His shouts went unheeded. He could hear no noise in the house except his own labored breathing and his muttered urging for her to move, breathe, revive.

But both his efforts and his prayers were useless. He’d known they would be, but he’d had to try. He continued until his chest was bathed in sweat, until sweat was streaming down his face. Or were those tears of anguish stinging his eyes and rolling down his cheeks?

Finally, weakened by his own exertion, he gave up. He sat back on his heels and stared at her, still trying to grasp how this horror show could possibly be playing out, with him as the lead character.

He reached for the phone on the nightstand. It was an extension to Jay’s landline. He dialed 911. The operator answered.

“There’s been a death. Send an ambulance.” He hung up before the dispatcher could begin asking questions.

His heels made loud thudding noises against the floor as he ran from the room and down the hallway. Jay was in the kitchen, sitting on a barstool, a mug of coffee in his hand, the Sunday newspaper spread out on the counter in front of him. Earphones bridged his head, and his bare foot was tapping out the beat of the music being piped into his ears.

“Jay!”

Raley didn’t think he heard him, but he must have noticed the motion out the corner of his eye. He turned his head and immediately started laughing, which under the circumstances, was obscene. It didn’t occur to Raley until much later what a bizarre sight he must have been. Naked and bug-eyed, flapping his arms to get his friend’s attention.

As soon as Jay removed his earphones, he said, “The girl—”

“You look like the Wild Man of Borneo,” Jay chortled.

“There’s a girl—”

“I know, but I promise not to tell.”

“She’s dead.”

Jay bit back a laugh. His smile collapsed. “What?”

Raley turned and retraced his steps to the bedroom, trusting that Jay would follow him. He did. He stopped in the open doorway, stared at the body with dismay, covered his mouth with one hand. “Fuck me.”

“I tried to revive her, but…” Raley ran his hand over his head. “Jesus Christ.” Thinking he might faint, he bent at the waist, placed his hands on his knees, and sucked in several deep breaths.

By the time he straightened up, Jay was standing beside the bed, studying the still form. “Looks like she’s been dead for a while.”

“I woke up. Found her. Like that.”

Jay wiped his mouth again. “Shit, man.”

“I know. I’ve called 911.”

Jay nodded absently. “Get some pants on.” Raley stared at him, not quite comprehending. “Get some pants on,” Jay repeated.

Staying in one spot, Raley pivoted until he spied his trousers in a heap of clothing belonging to him and the girl.
FCUK
spelled out in rhinestones, mocking him. He stepped into his pants, pulled them on, did up his fly, but each motion was mechanical.

“What happened?” Jay asked.

Raley looked at him blankly. “What?”

“What happened? Christ, Raley. I’ve got a dead woman in my house. In bed with you. What the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know!”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.” He motioned toward the corpse. “I don’t even know her name.”

Jay placed his hands on his hips and looked at him with consternation, then, hearing the distant whine of a siren, dropped the pose and went into action. His eyes skittered around the room until they lighted on a woman’s handbag.

He got it and began rifling through it, coming up with a wallet. He flipped it open. “Suzi with an
i.
Monroe.” He shot Raley an inquiring glance.

Raley shook his head. “If she told me her name, I don’t remember.”

“I never saw her before last night, either,” Jay said. “I looked around for you, and saw you out on the patio making chummy with her.”

Raley ran his hand down his clammy face. “Yeah, I vaguely remember that. She came up to me and started talking. She gave me a margarita. We walked out…out by the swimming pool, I think.”

Jay was looking at him with incredulity. “I had no idea you were that far gone.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Raley, you and this chick—” He broke off, shook his head impatiently. “We don’t have time for this now.” The siren’s wail had got louder. It was close now. Jay continued to plow through her handbag.

“What are you looking for?”

“She shows up at a party uninvited, a gate-crasher. What does that tell you? She’s a party girl, right?”

Raley was too befuddled to reason through whatever it was Jay was trying to communicate.

“Ah!” He withdrew a small folded square of aluminum foil from her bag. Barely pinching the corner of it between his fingernails, he held it up where Raley could see it, then dropped it back into the purse. He went down on one knee and examined the surface of the nightstand. “Un-huh.” When he came to his feet, he bent down close to the girl’s still face, examining it as a cop would. “She’s a cokehead,” he said, straightening up and turning to Raley. “Did you snort last night?”

Raley just stared at him, flabbergasted by the question. He and Jay had experimented with marijuana in college but found they got a better buzz from alcohol. Besides it was cheaper, and legal. Jay knew damn well he wasn’t a drug user.

Jay said, “I’ll take your whey-faced expression as a no.”

The siren reached its loudest, then stopped. Jay moved Raley aside as he headed for the door. “I’ll let them in. I’ve got to call the PD. I’ll take care of it, okay? Don’t say anything to the EMTs. You’re too shaken to speak, all right?”

“I
am
too shaken to speak.”

“Good.” Jay gave him a thumbs-up, then left to let the emergency responders in.

Raley knew them. They gaped at him when they entered the bedroom and saw their cohort standing beside the bed with the naked corpse on it. But they did their job without pausing to ask questions of him.

The next half hour passed in a blur. Later, when Raley tried to recall the sequence of events, they overlapped until they became a mishmash of memories, some indistinct, others sharp. Of the night before, he couldn’t remember anything except arriving at Jay’s party with Candy and planning a quick getaway seconds before the girl came up to him.

The EMTs summoned the county coroner, who arrived shortly and confirmed that the body in the bed was definitely dead.

At some point Jay handed Raley a cup of coffee. “I called Pat and George, told them briefly what the situation was. Lucky for us, they agreed to come over, even though it’s Sunday and neither is on duty.”

Pat Wickham and George McGowan, friends of Jay’s in the police department. Both were detectives who solved crimes against persons. Assault, rape, murder.

The thought panicked Raley. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Of course not. Nothing criminal anyway. You got shitfaced with a woman you didn’t know. Turns out she was a junkie. How were you supposed to know that? You didn’t know she was going to snort after swilling all those margaritas.”

“I only had one, and I don’t think I finished it.”

“More than one, friend.” Jay laid his arm across Raley’s shoulders. “I’ve seen you wasted, but not in years, and
never
as wasted as you were last night.”

Raley shrugged off Jay’s arm. “I’m telling you, I had one beer. Maybe half of a margarita. I couldn’t have got that drunk,” he insisted.