The Switch (24 page)

"Certainly." Trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice, she said, "So you're going anyway? Couldn't the Dallas office handle the interview with her?"

"I'm sure they could, but I'd have to brief the agents down there beforehand. It's almost more time-effective for me to do it myself. Besides, I want to speak with her personally, get a feel for what Gillian Lloyd was like."

"Poor lady," Lucy said, shaking her head. "I hope she's up to it. She's had to deal with one shock already this week."

"I wonder how she'll handle learning that her sister's murder might have been part of a conspiracy." He was already on the telephone, making arrangements for travel to Dallas.

"What sort of conspiracy?" Lucy asked.

While on hold, he replied grimly, "It's up to us to find out."

"Melina?" Jem tapped on the bathroom door and repeated her name. "Are you all right?"

She swallowed a sob and forced normalcy and lightness into her voice. "I'm fine."

"Can I bring you anything? Another glass of wine?"

"Nothing, thanks." If he realized that she was crying, he might insist on comforting her, when what she desired most
was to be left alone.

"Call me if you need me," he said through the door.

She continued to painfully contain her sobs until she was reasonably sure he had gone away, then she resumed what she'd been doing for the last fifteen minutes—crying her heart out. Tears streamed from her eyes, trickled down her cheeks, and dripped into the chest-high bathwater. Her body shook with sobs that caused violent ripples beneath the surface.

The sense of loss was all-encompassing—mind, body, soul.

She felt it keenly in every aspect of her being. And yet, her sister's death sometimes seemed unreal to her. It was impossible to accept in spite of the memorial service that afternoon.

But it was real. She'd seen the body.

When she glimpsed the future, she saw only weeks and months of grieving ahead. She dreaded having to live through them. The prospect of it was daunting, exhausting. Since the loss was real, she wished she could sleep through a year or two and awaken only after the worst of the pain was already behind her.

Eventually her tears abated and her sobs caused only minor ripples in the bathwater. Depleted, she rested her head on the tub's rim and closed her eyes.

The ringing telephone woke her from a light doze. She started to let it ring but then decided she'd just as well take the call now as have to call someone back later. She reached for the cordless she'd brought to the bathtub with her.

"Hello?"

Simultaneously Jem answered another extension. "Hello?"

"I'm calling Ms. Melina Lloyd."

"Here. I've got it, Jem." She waited for him to disconnect, then said into the telephone, "I'm Melina Lloyd."

"I apologize for disturbing you, Ms. Lloyd. I understand you held a memorial service for your sister Gillian today."

"Who is this?"

"My name is Lucy Myrick. I'm with the FBI."

Everything inside her congealed. Lingering tears dried instantly. She became very still, so still there weren't any residual ripples in the bathwater. She could hear the tiny bubbles popping in the fragrant foam surrounding her. She wanted to draw the mound of bubbles closer, like a cloak. The water suddenly felt cold, while only moments before she'd been steeping in its relaxing heat.

But it wasn't shock that had paralyzed and chilled her. Oddly, she'd been expecting this call, or something like it. Somehow she had known that the murder wasn't so easily explained. Even as Lawson was closing the case file, she had known gut-deep that there was more to it, that the detective's investigation was incomplete, that he had only discovered the obvious, that mystery still surrounded her twin's murder.

She swallowed dryly. "What can I do for you, Ms... I'm sorry."

"Myrick. I'm calling on behalf of Special Agent Hank Tobias. He would like to speak with you tomorrow. As early as possible."

"About what?"

"What time would be convenient?"

"It must have to do with my sister's murder."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because my taxes are paid up and I haven't incited any riots. Yet," she snapped. "Don't play coy with me, please, Ms. Myrick. My sister's murder is the only crime I've been affiliated with this week. Why else would the FBI be calling me?"

"I'm sorry for upsetting you. Truly. Yes, Mr. Tobias wants to see you about your sister's murder."

"Detective Lawson of the Dallas police is the investigator assigned to the case. He would have more information than I do, particularly the technical aspects."

"Actually what Mr. Tobias wants to talk to you about is more personal."

"More personal than being stabbed to death with a kitchen knife?"

Ignoring her sarcasm, Myrick continued smoothly. "Your sister was a patient of the Waters Clinic, correct?"

"That's the business of the FBI? Since when?"

"What time tomorrow would be convenient for you, Ms. Lloyd?"

On the verge of snapping again, she stopped herself. Lucy Myrick was only a mouthpiece. Even if she knew the particulars of the meeting Tobias had requested, she wasn't going to divulge them. "Nine o'clock? Here at my house?" She gave her the address.

"He'll be there. Accompanying him will be Agent Patterson from the Dallas office."

"Where is Mr. Tobias coming from?"

"Washington."

"D.C.?
"

"That's right. Mr. Tobias will see you tomorrow morning at nine, Ms. Lloyd. Good night."

Thoughtfully she depressed the button to disconnect, then tapped the phone against her forehead. The FBI? All the way from Washington? Curious about the Waters Clinic? "What the hell..."

"Melina?" Jem tapped on the bathroom door.

"Be out in a sec."

So much for the relaxing bath, she thought as she rinsed off and stepped from the tub. Of all Jem's suggestions, the bath was the only one that had appealed to her. She would have preferred to be alone tonight, but he'd poured his heart and soul into babying her.

As promised, he'd made her sip a glass of wine and listen to soft music while he prepared dinner. The wine and music, combined with the hypnotic sound of the rain falling outside, had lulled her. She hadn't thought she was hungry, but the
angel-hair pasta dish Jem served was delicious. After dinner, she'd offered to clean up, but he wouldn't hear of it and had insisted she soak in a bubble bath.

But what should have been,, the most relaxing part of the evening had turned stressful with Lucy Myrick's phone call.

When she left the bathroom, wrapped in a comfy flannel robe, Jem was waiting for her in the adjoining bedroom. To cover her anxiety over the call, she smiled. "You were right. That was just what I needed."

"Who was that?"

"Who?" she asked, playing innocent. Why weren't the lamps on? He'd turned them off and lit candles all around the room. She switched on the nightstand lamp.

"On the telephone."

"Oh. I didn't know her. A client of Gillian's. She'd been out of town and only heard the news this afternoon when she returned."

She hadn't made a conscious decision to lie to him about the telephone call—there wasn't anything to decide. She wasn't going to tell anyone, not even Jem, about the FBI's interest in Gillian's murder until she knew the nature of their interest herself.

"I should have grabbed the phone sooner so your bath wouldn't have been disturbed."

"I was getting pruney anyway. It was time to get out." "Time now for the grand finale."

"You've been busy," she remarked, taking in the candles and the turned-down bed.

"As long as I was here," he said casually. "Some of the floral arrangements were getting stagnant. I carried them all to the kitchen and would have taken them out except for the rain."

"Thanks. I'll put them in the outside trash can in the morning."
After my visit with Tobias, special agent, FBI.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside him.

She hesitated. "Don't feel obligated to follow through on your promise, Jem. It's getting late."

"Not that late."

"But you must be as exhausted as I am."

"I'm not going to argue with you, Melina. I said I was going to give you a neck and back rub, and that's what I'm going to do."

Short of engaging in an argument that would create bad feelings and drain her of what small reserve of energy she had left, she sat down near him on the edge of the bed and turned her back. "Five minutes. Then you're outta here and I'm off to beddy-bye."

"After five minutes, you'll be begging for more."

She wasn't entirely comfortable with this situation. In fact, she wasn't comfortable with it at all. It felt wrong. Although he was keeping the mood platonic, he worked the collar of the robe down around her shoulders for better access to the back of her neck. When he laid his hands on her skin, she could tell that they had oil on them.

"Still wearing the pendant, I see."

He'd insisted that she accept it. "Gillian would want you to have it," he'd said.

At first she had refused. But then she relented, and now she was glad she had. The piece of jewelry would serve to remind her of her vow for vengeance. If ever her resolve were to weaken, she could rub the red stones and be reminded of the words scrawled in blood on the bedroom walls. Thinking of them now made her muscles tense, and Jem felt it.

"You need this. Your muscles are tied in knots."

She angled her head away from his lips, which were uncomfortably close to her ear. "That shouldn't come as a surprise, considering."

"You've had hell, all right." After a beat, he added, "But Gillian's dead, Melina. We must learn to deal with it. Relax." His thumbs dug deeply into the base of her neck. It felt good and she told him so.

He chuckled. "Told you I was good." "Not a false claim at all."

"Gillian loved my neck rubs." "I can see why."

"They were often foreplay."

To her mind, the statement was grossly inappropriate. But rather than make an issue of it, she turned it into a joke. "More information than I needed, Jem."

He laughed with her. The kneading motion extended down onto her shoulders. "You know, it's funny, Melina." "What?"

"That I could fall for the switch you and Gillian pulled the
night before she was killed. As her
fiancé
, you'd think I would be able to tell the difference between you."

"You never suspected it was me who answered the door with a towel on my head?"

"Never had an inkling. Not even when I kissed you."

"I stopped you when you tried to deep-kiss me. I wouldn't have let you deep-kiss me."

"It was deep enough." His hands stopped massaging and rested on her shoulders. "Deep enough to get me excited." She bolted from the bed and spun around to face him,
clutching her robe at her throat. "That's a revolting thing to say."

He laughed. "I was teasing." Extending his hand, he appealed to her. "Melina, please. You didn't think I was serious, did you?"

"What I think is that it's time for you to leave. Past time." "Melina. Come on. It was a joke."

"It wasn't funny."

He hung his head. "No, I guess it wasn't." When he looked

up at her, he was trying to appear boyishly repentant, an expression she found precious and offensive. "I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted. Now please say good night so I can go to bed."

She turned and left the bedroom, her brisk footsteps and posture implying that he should follow. He did, pausing only to retrieve his suit jacket from the back of the sofa where he'd left it earlier. She opened the front door and held it for him. "Thanks again for making dinner," she said stiffly.

"Why do I get the feeling that we're ending this sad day on a sour note?"

"It is a sad day, Jem. A very sad day. I want to spend the remainder of it alone, basking in my sadness. Since those cops showed up on my doorstep, I haven't had a moment alone. I need to grieve."

He nodded. "Some things are too private to share." "Thank you for understanding."

When he pulled even with her at the door, he paused. "I'll come by in the morning to check on you."

"I'm going to the gym tomorrow morning."

"Are you sure you're up to a workout?"

"The exercise will be good for me."

"Then I'll catch you later in the day."

"Call first." She was finding it increasingly difficult to tolerate him. She just wanted him to be gone. Now
.

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. It was all she could do to keep from recoiling. "Good night."

He stepped out into the rain and jogged to his car. She closed the door, bolted it, then leaned against it and took several deep cleansing breaths. They weren't good enough. Hastily returning to the bathroom, she frantically showered off his touch and the oil he'd used. She scrubbed until all traces of it were off her skin.