Tell Me No Lies (11 page)

And the name Luka Kole had been key.

"So, Detective, what do you want me to do about our friend here?" Newcomb wiggled the bag with the rat, eyeing Hank with amusement.

"What have you done so far?"

"Not much. Turns out the florist's people made the call. The old woman wasn't much help. But I questioned the guys who called. No one saw or heard anything until they were leaving. They opened the door and whammo welcome home, Ricky the Rat."

"Did you get their names?"

"Yeah, sure. But they had another job to get to, so I let them go."

"All right. Turn in the, uh "

"The body."

"Yeah, turn it in. I'll take it from here."

"Anything you say, Detective." Newcomb turned to go, and Hank walked him out, stopping on the other side of the door.

"Show me where you found it," Hank said.

"Well, they'd already taken it down when I got here, but mere's a nail hole in the door. Kind of small, like a finishing nail or maybe a strong thumbtack. Anyway, figured that's where they strung him up." He showed Hank the hole. "This kind of thing gotta be kids."

"Probably." Hank thought of Trey. Was this the kind of stunt he'd be pulling in a few years if Hank didn't get through to him?

Newcomb left, and just for grins, Hank went to his car, opened his trunk, and took out the crime scene field kit all detectives carried. If it had been more serious, he would have called for a uniformed techie, but he thought he could handle this one on his own.

He dusted the door for prints and found hundreds of par-tials. Multiply the number of people who had gone in and out of the party the night before times fingers on two hands and he'd get months of latent analysis that would probably add up to nothing.

Same for footprints. He searched the grounds for tracks and other trace evidence, but found nothing useful.

After replacing the field kit, he returned to the house. Alex was coming back from wherever she'd stashed the old lady.

"She all right?" Hank asked.

"I gave her a sleeping pill."

"Your grandmother scares easy."

Resentment flared in Alex's eyes. "She's old and set in her ways. She's spent a lifetime caring for other people and deserves her peace and quiet."

Well, well, well. Quick to the defense.

"And she's not my grandmother. She's my housekeeper."

Not even a relative. And here he thought Alexandra Jane was such a cold fish.

As if trying to prove him right, she turned that haughty tone on him. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Detective? If not, I'd appreciate your leaving."

But Hank had no intention of leaving. Yet "You're not interested in who might have harassed you?"

"I'm sure it was a prank, nothing more."

Hank agreed with her but didn't say so. Instead, he studied her, and she returned his gaze, unflinching. There were tiny lines around her eyes, lines of weariness. Must have been a tough day for his ice princess.

"Thought you'd like to know," he said. "I checked out the names you gave me. You're clear."

"Well, I'm infinitely relieved." A little sarcasm there? "Now if you'd please " She gestured to the door, but Hank didn't budge.

"I tried calling you earlier to let you know. You weren't home."

"I went in to the office."

"You weren't there either. I tried."

"I'm a busy woman, Detective."

"I told you not to go anywhere I couldn't reach you."

"I don't have to check in with you every minute of every day."

"Where were you?"

Briefly, her mouth compressed into a thin line. She didn't like being interrogated, and who could blame her?

"If you must know, I was with Miki Petrov."

Doing what? A flash of ridiculous jealousy ran through him like fire. "He's the Russian end of your oil deal." As if he didn't know.

"That's right."

"How did that happen?'

"How did what happen?"

"How did you hook up with Miki Petrov?"

She got all stiff and proper. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Everything's my business until I figure out who killed your father."

A blink of surprise, then recovery so quick he wasn't sure she'd reacted at all. "You mean Luka."

Man, she couldn't even refer to him by their rightful relationship. "Yeah. Who else?"

"Look, you've verified my movements at the time of the murder. I already told you Luka and I were estranged. I don't see what my relationship with Miki Petrov has to do with any of this."

"Maybe nothing. Maybe something. You lied once, you could lie again. So humor me."

She looked away, toward the living room, where the furniture was back in place, everything neat and calm as if the party the night before had never happened.

"Can we sit down? I've had a long day."

She did look tired. "How about some dinner?" The words were out of his mouth before he knew he was going to say them. That damned soft spot working overtime.

He thought of everything he should be doing going home to Apple House, helping Mandy with her homework, talking to Trey about what happened in school, helping his mother put the kids to bed and he knew he was going to let them down. But he was a cop for one more week and he had a lead to explore.

"I'm not hungry."

"Come on." He flashed her his trademark grin. "You gotta eat."

She was stiff as a tree limb, neck rigid on bunched shoulders. Suddenly his hands itched to massage those tight muscles, to feel her soft, pale flesh beneath his fingers. Lead hell. If he was AWOL from Apple House, it would be for more than professional reasons.

7

Alex repressed an urge to scream. She'd already endured a meal with one man she detested, now here was another badgering her with food.

Oh, but not quite. She glanced at those teasing green eyes and an unwelcome pulse started thrumming.

"I'll take you someplace you've never been before."

Damn her, she should loathe him. Why didn't she? "Are you making a pass at me, Detective?"

He gave her an innocent look. Too innocent "I'm following up on a lead. Think of it as your civic duty."

"But I'm a liar."

He shrugged but didn't deny it. "A challenge."

"And you like a challenge?"

"I don't like mysteries."

That stopped her. Green eyes aside, which would be safer? To stay away and hope he never solved mis one, or to bring him closer and control what he knew?

Years of keeping her distance had honed her instinct for detachment But before she could refuse again, he spoke.

"Look, I don't think you killed anyone. But you could help me find out who did." For once he was neither bullying nor flirting. His voice was quietly sincere, his face sober. Earnest.

She should be taken out and shot for falling for it. "One drink."

He shrugged. "Fine."

"And I want to change."

His gaze flicked over her, a quick assessment that made her heart race a little too fast. "You look great, but have at it."

She rolled her eyes and pivoted, heading off to her room.

She showered quickly, scrubbing off the smell and feel of Miki Petrov, A quick stint with the blow-dryer took the worst of the wetness out of her hair, leaving the rest to air-dry. She redid her makeup, then reached into her closet for a pair of slacks. But her hand landed on something else instead. Slowly, she held it up.

She'd bought the skirt ages ago but had never worn it. Light and airy, it was pale blue with tiny green buds and pink roses splashed across it. The skirt looked fresh and feminine and suddenly she was eager to have it swirling around her legs. She didn't stop to ask why, and if a picture of Detective Hank Bonner rose in her mind, she quickly repressed it.

To distract herself she slipped it on, enjoying the glide as the material sashayed over her thighs. Rummaging in her dresser, she found the matching sweater, a soft, silky green the exact color of the buds. It slid over her shoulders and hips like a cloud, cool and smooth against her skin. For the final touch, she draped the three sisters necklace around her neck, the jeweled ornament settling nicely into the sweater's deep V.

Watch over me, little sisters.

A final peek in the mirror to smooth down her still-damp hair. She appeared soft and vulnerable, and she hoped Hank Bonner wouldn't think it anything more than a costume.

On her way out, she stopped in Sonya's room, saw that the housekeeper was asleep, and left her a note just in case she woke before Alex returned.

Then she walked toward the entry and the man waiting there.

Hank Bonner's brows rose in surprised admiration when she stepped into the room, and her face heated. Denying his reaction as well as her own, she spoke coolly.

"I don't want to be away long. If Sonya wakes up, she'll worry."

The edges of Hank's mouth tilted up ever so slightly. "You went to a lot of trouble for one drink."

She frowned; she didn't like being found out "I put on a skirt and sweater. I assume you've seen them before."

He cocked his head, that small knowing smile still in place at the corners of his mouth. "Well, I thought I had. Now I'm not so sure."

She definitely didn't want to respond to that. "Can we go?"

He opened the door and gestured her out

He wasn't kidding when he said he'd take her somewhere she'd never been. Buddy's was a burger-and-beer joint in Redpoint, twenty miles or so west of Sokanan. A wailing blues song was pounding out a beat as they came through the door. Guitars and harmonicas decorated the walls, tins of peanuts adorned the tables, shells crunched under their feet as they walked to a table.

He grinned as she surveyed the place. "Not exactly champagne and caviar."

"I do know how to drink beer, Detective."

He raised a brow and despite her protest that she wasn't hungry, ordered two burgers to go along with the beer. "Guess you'll have to prove that"

They'd barely sat down when a phone rang. Hank retrieved a cell phone from his pocket and spoke into it The music had just ended, so she could hear him, brusque and in command. "Bonner." A beat, then, "I'll be home soon, Mandy." The crispness in his voice had softened to marsh-mallow. "No, you won't Not tonight. Pickles is mere to watch out for you. And Nana. And when I come home, I'll make sure the nightmares have gone." Another pause. "Promise. I'll be there when you wake up. Put Nana on the phone, and go to sleep. You'll be fine." Despite the softness in his voice, his jaw was tense, a muscle working. "Don't worry about it," he said in a new, more adult voice. "Ma, it's okay. I don't mind." He sighed. "All right. I'll be there soon as I can."

He ended the call, put the phone back in his pocket, and took a long swig of the bottle the waitress had just brought

"Who is Pickles?"

His gaze slid over to her, the green eyes shuttered. "Bodyguard. Guardian of Sweet Dreams. In the shape of a huge purple dinosaur. Stuffed."

"Your daughter?" She tried to imagine him married with children. A flash of something like anger lit her up. What was he doing here with her if he had a wife and child home waiting?

"Niece."

Oh. "Where's her own daddy?"

"Dead." The word was curt, the tone a roadblock.

But the glimpse she'd had of another side of Detective Bonner had been revealing. The gruff kindness that had slipped out at Luka's apartment wasn't an act he put on for her. It was genuine. She pictured the little girl and her purple dinosaur, remembering a time when she, too, had nightmares. Something fluttered inside her chest, sadness and sympathy. And an urge to return the kindness.

"It appears you have a previous engagement, Detective. Maybe we should get down to business. How can I help your

"What do you know about Miki Petrov?"

A pulse jumped inside her. Why did he harp on Miki? Had he made a connection between him and Luka and wanted to trick her into confirming it? "Why? Do you think he had something to do with Luka's death?" A film of dread settled on the back of her neck, cold and unpleasant.

"I don't know. I'm going on gut here. I don't have anything that ties mem together except a newspaper article we found in Kole's wallet about Renaissance Oil."

"So you're fishing."

He shrugged. "I'm exploring possibilities. It's a long shot, but then, so were you, and look who you turned out to be."

She peered down at the table to hide a flush of embarrassment. So much to hide. So much she couldn't say.

"So tell me about Petrov. Who is he?"

She tried evasion by telling him what he already knew. "A
Novy Russky,
a new Russian. One of the new breed of Russian capitalists."

"And how does a capitalist get started in Russia? It takes money to start a business. Where did initial investment capital come from?"

"Back in the late eighties, early nineties, through tiny companies sponsored by the State that were allowed to operate as privately owned businesses. Anything from bakeries to construction companies to small lending operations. And there was always a huge underground economy."

'The black market."

She could see the wheels turning in Hank's head as he made connections. Too bad they were the wrong ones.