The Crush (28 page)

"Based on what I knew then, or on what I know now?"

"On what you knew then."

Rennie gave the question the same degree of consideration she had given that final and fateful vote. "Based strictly on what I knew then and the charge the judge gave us, I would be compelled to vote for acquittal again."

"Then your conscience should be clear, Dr.Newton. You can't be held responsible for Lozada's attack on Wick."

Ruefully she said, "Tell your husband that."

"I already did."

Rennie was taken aback. Grace smiled her gentle smile and reached out to press Rennie's hand. "I'll go now. But when Wick wakes up please tell him that I was here."

"I'll be going soon too, but I'll leave word with the nurses to be sure and tell him."

"Do you know when he'll be moved to a regular room?"

"In a day or two, if he continues to do well. I'm watching him closely for any sign of infection."

"What can I tell my girls?"

"You have daughters?"

"Two. Very lively ones."

"How nice for you."

"They begged to come with me tonight, but Oren didn't want them to leave the house."

Rennie didn't need to ask why. Wesley feared for their safety, feared Lozada might not be satisfied with an attempt on Wick's life. He had posted policemen at various places throughout the hospital, and now she noticed two more on the other side of the glass wall of Wick's ICU. No doubt they were Grace Wesley's bodyguards.

"My girls adore their Uncle Wick," she was saying. "If there were a poster of him, it would be on the wall of their room along with their other heartthrobs."

"Tell them their Uncle Wick is going to be all right."

"We have you to thank for that. The girls are dying to meet you."

"Me?"

"I told them all about you. Afterward, I overheard them talking together. They've now decided to become surgeons. They want to save people as you saved Wick."

Rennie was so touched she didn't know what to say. Grace must have sensed that. She let her off with a quick good-bye. The two policemen flanked her as they walked to the elevator.

There was no trace of the roses when Rennie returned to the nurses' station. Inside the circular enclosure sat several desks, computer terminals, monitoring machines, file cabinets, and general clutter. She didn't know where to begin looking for what she needed, and apparently she looked at a loss.

"Can I help you find something, Dr. Newton?"

"Uh, yes."

Several drawers were searched before a tin of medicated lip balm was located. Rennie took it with her into Wick's ICU. He was still sleeping, breathing evenly. She sat down in the chair at his bedside, but it was at least a full minute before she uncapped the small tin and released a pleasant aroma that hinted of vanilla.

She had noticed earlier that Wick's lips were dry and cracked. This wasn't an unusual side effect of surgery and loss of fluids.

In fact it was quite common. But Wick's lips had looked exceptionally dry. She had thought an application of lip balm might help. What was wrong with that?

Who was she arguing with?

She rubbed the surface of the salve with the pad of her index finger, making several tight circles in it, until the friction and her own body heat warmed and softened it. She dabbed the salve on his lower lip, then the upper one, barely making contact, touching him so gingerly it hardly counted as touching.

When both lips had been dotted with the fragrant salve, she withdrew her hand.

Hesitated. Then she touched his lower lip again, except this time she didn't break contact.

Slowly, she spread the balm from one corner of his mouth to the other, then back again. She did the same with the upper lip, following the masculine contour, staying within the shape of it with the painstaking care of a child who would be scolded if she colored outside the lines.

And just as she was about to retract her hand again, he woke up. The eye contact was electric.

Neither said anything. They remained perfectly still, with her index finger resting on the seam of his lips. Rennie held her breath, realizing that his deep and even breathing had also ceased. She strongly felt that if either one of them moved, something would happen. Something momentous. Exactly what, she didn't know. In any case, she didn't dare move. She wasn't certain she could. His blue gaze had an immobilizing effect on her.

They remained frozen in that tableau for ... how long? Later she couldn't remember. It lasted until Wick's left eye closed against his pillow. She actually heard his eyelashes brush against the pillowcase. She didn't resume breathing until after he had.

Then she pulled back her hand, clumsily recapped the tin of lip balm, and left it on the bed tray. She didn't look at him again before leaving the ICU. "Call me if there's any change," she instructed brusquely as she returned his chart to the nurses' station.

At the elevator, the policeman on guard held open the door and addressed her shyly.

"Dr. Newton, I just wanted to say ... well, Wick's a great guy. A few years back, one of my kids got hurt. Wick was first in line to donate blood. Anyhow, I wanted to tell you thanks for pulling him through this morning."

Rennie attributed the tear to exhaustion. She hadn't realized how tired she was until the elevator began its descent. She leaned against the rear wall of it and closed her eyes. That was when she felt the tear roll down her cheek. She wiped it away before reaching the ground floor.

As she moved through the hospital exit, another policeman surprised her by following her out.

"Is something wrong?"

"Wesley's orders, ma'am. Doctor," he said, correcting himself.

"Why?"

"I didn't ask, and he didn't say. I figure it's something to do with Threadgill."

The officer walked her to her car, checked the backseat, looked beneath it. "Drive safely, Dr. Newton."

"Thank you, I will." He continued watching her until she had gone through the gate.

She had driven several blocks before she noticed the cassette. It was protruding from the audio player in the dashboard. She stared at it, mystified. She never played cassettes, always CD'S.

At the next stoplight, she pulled it out to check the label. There was none. She could see the tiny spools of audiotape through clear plastic. Dismissing the sense of foreboding that came over her, she inserted the cassette and punched the arrow indicator for Play.

Strains of piano music filled the car, along with the husky tones of a female torch singer.

"I've got a crush ..."

Rennie struck the controls with her fist, banging it against them repeatedly until the music stopped. She was trembling, primarily with anger, but also with fear. Having policemen posted around the hospital hadn't deterred Lozada from placing this tape in her car. How the hell had he managed it? Her car had been locked.

She groped inside her leather satchel in search of her cell phone, but all she succeeded in doing was dump the contents of her satchel onto the floor. She reasoned that by the time she stopped and found her phone she could be home. She would call Wesley from there.

She sped through two red lights after glancing right and left to check for oncoming traffic. She wheeled into her driveway at an imprudent speed. The garage door took an eternity to open. It had barely cleared the roof of her car when she drove under it. She used the transistor to reverse it, and it began to close behind her before she even cut her car's engine.

Leaving her spilled possessions on the floor, she clambered out and hit her back door at a dead run. She burst into her kitchen, then drew up short.

Flickering light shone through the connecting door to the living room. No light source in her living room produced that kind of light. So what was going on? Until she knew, the sensible thing to do would be to back out the door, reopen the garage, and run down the center of the street, waving her arms and yelling for help.

But she wasn't going to run screaming from her own house. To hell with that!

She left the back door standing open. She took a butcher knife from a drawer. Then she crossed the kitchen and entered the living room.

Candles, hundreds, it seemed, but probably closer to dozens, flickered in clear-glass containers of every shape and size. They had been placed on every available surface, filling the air with a heady floral fragrance and making the room appear ablaze.

On her coffee table was another bouquet of red roses. And from the CD player, music in stereo. Another version. Another artist. But the same classic Gershwin tune. Lozada's theme song.

She was breathing hard through her mouth, and she could hear the pounding of her heart above the music. She took a cautious step backward, rethinking the advisability of handling this herself. Maybe she should escape through the kitchen door after all.

She calculated the time it would take to get help. Back through the kitchen. Out the door.

Punch the garage door switch on the wall.

Duck beneath the door. Down the driveway and into the street. Or through the hedge to Mr. Williams's house. Calling for help. Involving other people.

Involving the police.

No.

She walked to the sound system and turned off the music. "Come out and face me, why don't you?"

The shouted words echoed back to her. She listened closely, but it was difficult to distinguish any sound except those of her own harsh breathing and hammering heartbeat.

She moved toward the hallway, but paused at the end of it. It stretched before her, dark and ominous, seemingly much longer than it actually was. And because he had made her afraid in her own sanctuary she became even angrier. Anger propelled her forward.

She moved quickly down the hall and reached for the light switch in her home office. The room was empty, with nowhere to hide. She pulled open the closet door. Nothing in there but her stored luggage and travel gear. Again, there was nowhere for a grown man to hide.

From there she went into her bedroom, where more candles flickered. They cast wavering shadows on the walls and ceiling, against the window blinds that, because of him, she now kept closed at all hours of the day and night. She looked under the bed. She went to the closet and opened the door with a flourish. She thrashed through the hanging clothes.

The bathroom was also empty, but her shower curtain, which she always kept open, was drawn.

Too angry now to be afraid, she shoved it aside. Another arrangement of roses rested on the wire shelf spanning her tub.

She swung at the vase and sent it crashing into the porcelain tub. The racket was as loud as an explosion.

"You bastard! Why won't you leave me alone?"

She marched back into the bedroom and went around blowing out the candles until she feared the smoke would set off the alarm. She retraced her steps through the living room but left the candles burning for now. In the kitchen she closed the back door and locked it, returned the knife to the drawer.

She found a half full bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge, poured most of it into a glass, then took a long drink. Closing her eyes, she pressed the cold glass against her forehead.

She debated whether to call Wesley. What would be the point? She couldn't prove that Lozada had broken into her home any more than Wesley could prove that he had murdered Sally Horton and attempted to kill Wick.

On the other hand, if she didn't report this and Wesley somehow found out about it ... Right. Much as she dreaded doing it, he should be notified.

She raised her head, opened her eyes, and saw her reflection in the window above the sink.

Standing behind her was Lozada.

She'd only thought she was too angry to be afraid.

Chapter 19

He took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face him. His eyes were so dark the pupils were indistinguishable from the irises.

"You seem upset. I wanted to please you, Rennie, not upset you." His voice was soft. Like a lover's.

Her mind was racing down twin tracks of terror and fury. She wanted to lash out at him for disrupting her systematized life. Equally as much she wanted to cower in fear. But either reaction signaled weakness, which she didn't dare let him see. He was a predator who would sense his prey's weakness and take full advantage of it.

He took the wineglass from her and pressed the cup of it against her lips. "Drink."

She tried to turn her head aside, but he gripped her jaw with his other hand and held it in place while he tipped the glass. She felt the wine cold against her lips. The glass clinked against her teeth. Wine filled her mouth. She swallowed, but not all of it. Some dribbled over her chin. As he wiped it away with his thumb, he smiled at her.

Rennie had seen that kind of smile all over the world. It was an abuser's smile for the abused.

It was the smile of a cruel husband for the wife he had beaten beyond recognition. The enemy warrior's smile for the girl he had raped. The father's smile for the virgin daughter he'd had castrated.