Trust Me (31 page)

"I'm Juanita Lowe with The Sacramento Post," a short, stout woman announced when they could see again.

David dropped his hands.

Skye looked flustered but quickly composed herself. "You're doing a piece on the fund-raiser?"

"Not on the fund-raiser per se." Ms. Lowe's eyes cut between them.

"I'm planning to do a series on The Last Stand."

"That's wonderful." Skye smiled that same fragile smile he'd seen earlier. Damn it, he wished she could understand how torn he felt.

"Many of my past clients are here if you'd like to talk to them," Skye was saying.

"I'd rather start with you, if that's okay. Do you have a few minutes so we could discuss the shooting last night?"

No wonder Ms. Lowe was interested in Skye. She wanted the inside scoop on the latest excitement.

Unable to resist trying to protect her, David said, "Ms. Kellerman isn't in a position to speak about that yet."

Ms. Lowe's shrewd eyes swept over him with predatory interest.

Obviously, she didn't appreciate his involvement. "And you're..."

"David Willis."

"Ms. Kellerman's husband?"

He winced. They'd been so caught up in their attraction they hadn't exactly been dancing like casual friends, or even colleagues. This question suggested that the journalist had definitely noticed. "No, just a friend."

"Oh, of course. Ms. Kellerman isn't married." She smiled slyly. "But your name sounds familiar. Have we met?"

"I don't think so," he said, but it took her only a second to place him.

"You're the detective who originally investigated Ms. Kellerman's case, aren't you? I wrote for the 'On the Spot' section before I moved to the crime beat, but I followed Burke's trial pretty closely. You were mentioned quite often, as I remember."

Too often for David's taste. Sometimes the media worked to his benefit by quickly disseminating information. But they also disseminated the kind of information he'd rather not take public. In his experience, journalists couldn't be trusted. "I could've lived without that," he said.

"It's great that the two of you turned out to be such close.. .friends, but--" she looked at Skye and assumed a more innocent air "--isn't it up to Ms. Kellerman to tell me whether or not she'd like to speak to me? After all, 196

she's the one who faxed over a press release earlier this week."

"I'd love to stay and chat, but I was just on my way out," Skye said and started for the exit.

David knew Skye wasn't capable of putting on the public persona she needed right now. What they were feeling was far too intense.

"It won't take more than a few minutes," the journalist called after her.

The wan smile that curved Skye's lips as she turned back made David feel guilty about the complication their involvement posed. "I'm sorry, Ms.

Lowe," she said, "but I have a terrible headache. If you're still interested in an interview, why don't you give me a call at the office sometime this week?"

Juanita Lowe frowned but nodded toward her cameraman, who snapped another picture as Skye walked away.

Skye didn't so much as glance back or wave. She stopped briefly to say goodbye to Charlie Fox. Then she passed into the hall.

David wanted to go after her. He hated that their conversation had ended the way it had, interrupted by this journalist. But, as long as Lowe was watching, he was better off keeping his distance. Telling Skye about Lynnette wouldn't change anything; Lynnette would still stand between them.

"How long have you and Ms. Kellerman been seeing each other?"

Juanita Lowe asked.

David smiled as blandly as possible. "Now you're interested in doing a story on her private life?"

She shrugged. "You've scared off my quarry. I might have to take what I can get."

"Who on earth would care whether or not we're involved?"

Her eyebrows went up. "Your wife?"

"Fortunately, I'm not married," he bluffed.

"The department?"

Most of the guys at work, including the chief, wouldn't be any happier to see him with Skye than Lynnette would, but he wasn't about to give Lowe any traction. "Sorry. She's a victim from one of my old cases--a case that's been closed for three years. That's hardly a conflict of interest," he said and strode to the exit himself. He hoped he'd disguised his emotions sufficiently, that Ms. Lowe would forget about what she'd seen. But the picture on the front page of the paper the following morning told him she'd decided to exact what revenge she could. It showed him with Skye in his arms, both of them wearing an intense expression, certainly nothing one would expect to see on the faces of acquaintances at a charity ball. The caption read: 197

Detective David Willis of the Sacramento PD and victims' advocate Skye Kellerman dance at last night's fund-raiser, which netted $121,500 to assist victims of violent crime.

The accompanying article focused on the story of a burn victim who'd been helped by The Last Stand. It didn't mention David, which made Ms.

Lowe's annoyance with him all too obvious.

"Thanks a lot," he muttered as he sat at his kitchen table, glaring down at it.

"What's wrong, Daddy?" Jeremy asked, yawning as he came into the room in his pajamas.

David quickly folded the paper, put it aside and got up to rinse out his coffee cup. "Nothing, bud. How'd you sleep?"

"Good."

"What do you say we go out for breakfast?"

"To Carolina's Country Kitchen?" he cried.

"If that's where you'd like to go." It wasn't David's favorite restaurant, but Jeremy was fond of Carolina's biscuits and gravy. And getting out of the apartment was better than sitting around, wanting to call Skye. He'd tried to reach her once, late, after he'd returned home. She hadn't answered, but she'd been on his mind ever since. If he wasn't remembering what took place in the bathroom, he was worrying about the results of acting like an overexcited teenage boy.

He sighed as he grabbed his car keys. With his luck, he'd gotten her pregnant....

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Chapter
18

Skye squinted at the bright sun pouring through her windows. Her first thought was that it was sunny and not foggy, as it had been for weeks.

Somehow that seemed significant, uplifting, and indicative of a break from the gloom of the past few days. Her second thought was that she'd made love with David last night. That seemed significant, too, more significant than anything else, but also surreal. Particularly since they'd taken a risk she'd never taken with any other man.

Who would've supposed that after more than three years of restraint, she and David would succumb to their attraction so unexpectedly?

She put a hand to her stomach, wondering if she could be carrying his child. She expected pure panic at the possibility. He was so loyal to the son he already had, and to that son's mother, she'd likely be a single parent.

Definitely not what she'd hoped for her future. But she wouldn't use any loyalty he might feel toward a new baby to win him over. Either he loved her and wanted her--or he didn't. And if he didn't, it wasn't as if she was a young girl without options. She was nearly thirty years old, had a home and enough experience and skills to make a living. She also wanted a baby. She hadn't allowed it to become a major issue, but she'd felt that way for a while.

But would she be able to do the kind of work she did now if she had a child?

Rubbing her eyes, she told herself it was premature to even try to answer that question and turned her thoughts in other directions as she hurried to get ready for work. It was Sunday morning, which she typically spent at home, cleaning, reading, surfing the Internet or catching up on paperwork for The Last Stand. But after the shooting, she didn't want to be here at all. The delta house no longer symbolized the peace, comfort and safety of her childhood.

Don't think about the shooting. Skye tried to concentrate on basic activities--such as having a shower, applying makeup and choosing clothes--

but it was no use. She kept imagining the breathless excitement of David's hands seeking the most intimate parts of her body--and worrying about the possibility of a baby.

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There's no baby. It almost always took more than one encounter. The possibility of conception was remote, anyway, since she was so late in her cycle.

She wouldn't let herself dwell on the very slim chance that she was pregnant, she decided. But when she stopped at the grocery store on her way to the office to buy some apples, she found her gaze trailing after a mother carrying a baby. As she waited at a traffic light after leaving the grocery store, she caught herself staring wistfully at a little girl in the backseat of the car next to hers. And, for the first time in her life, Skye noticed the existence of a children's furniture store on Howe Avenue that had obviously been around for years.

"What are you staring at?"

Skye roused herself from the trancelike state she'd fallen into during the past few minutes. Jasmine was at her office door. As far as Skye knew, she hadn't shown up at the fundraiser. But it was possible she'd come late, after Skye had left.

"Nothing, really," she said. "Just taking a break. I've been on the phone all morning, calling our volunteers."

"What have you found out?"

"Felicia Martinez said a man approached her, asking for my address.

He told her he had a box to deliver to my house. He said it was a thank-you from someone I'd helped."

"The volunteers don't have your address, do they?"

"It wouldn't be too hard to find around here. I could've used an old box with a shipping label to carry something in, or asked one of them to drop something off--" A sheepish expression came over Jasmine's face, causing Skye to stop midsentence. "What?"

"Actually, now that you mention it, I think your address might be in my Rolodex."

"See? There are ways."

"So did Felicia give him that information?"

"She says not. But she didn't tell me about the encounter before I asked, either. So that's a concern."

"She probably thought it was nothing."

"That's exactly what she thought."

"Did the man have giant piercings in his earlobes? A goatee?"

"No. She described him, but it wasn't anyone I recognized."

"Someone handed over your address."

"And I'm sure it was just as innocent. Information provided as a courtesy."

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But how did this man, whoever he was, know whom to approach?

Was he watching the office?

Skye gazed down at the list she'd been using. She was so grateful to their volunteers; she couldn't believe any of them would purposely betray her. They were a team, working for the same cause. They trusted each other.

And now Burke, or someone else, was using even them against her.

She set the list aside because she hated thinking about the possibilities. "When'd you get back from Ft. Bragg?"

"A few minutes ago."

"You spent the night there?" If so, it didn't look as if she'd gotten much sleep. Skye could see the smudges beneath Jasmine's eyes despite her dark coloring.

"I had to. It was really late by the time I finished dealing with the police."

"How'd that go?"

Her friend's eyes moved to the photographs on Skye's wall, then darted away. Obviously, the faces of those killers created too much of an emotional trigger for her right now. "The police have the right guy," Jasmine said.

"Did he work at the lumber mill?"

"Yes."

"And did he kill the other little girl, too?"

"Whitney Jones? He's denying it, of course. But I'm sure he's the one."

"What makes you think so?"

Jasmine shuddered as if the experience of meeting him had been harrowing. "He's just.. .twisted. I could sense it from standing in the same room with him. And--" her chest rose as she drew a deep breath "--I'm convinced these two girls aren't his only victims."

"There's more?"

"Maybe. The police are putting out the word, asking other departments to go through their records."

Skye studied her friend for several seconds, concerned by the drawn look on her face. "I hope they're grateful for your help, Jas. These kinds of cases always take so much out of you."

"It's not just the case, Skye," she said. "Not this time. I mean, you'd have to be inhuman not to react to such a heart-wrenching situation. The families of these little girls.. .well, it brings back so many terrible memories.

But..."

"What?" Skye prodded. Jasmine usually wasn't so reticent.

"I had a frightening dream last night. I can't tell if it really means 201

anything, but I had to see you."

"A dream?" Skye sometimes teased Jasmine about her psychic abilities, but she believed in them, even if she didn't understand how it all worked. She knew Jasmine had given the police important clues--such as telling the Ft. Bragg police their perp worked at the lumber mill. She's alive and in some sort of warehouse. There are a lot of loud noises and traffic, a wrecking yard nearby.... She's buried by some train tracks next to a rice paddy.... He held her nose and mouth, then pushed her face in the dirt while he tied her hands behind her back....

Skye had seen how often these pieces of information panned out. But something told her she'd rather not believe in Jasmine's abilities now.

"About what?"

"You."

Feeling edgy, nervous, Skye shook her head. "But.. .that isn't how it usually works, right? I mean, you've never had a dream about me before.

You touch some object that belonged to someone who's missing and you get feelings about where they might be or what might've happened to them."

"This was different." Agitated, Jasmine raked her fingers through her long black hair as she stepped farther into the room. "I'm not sure whether I should be worried. Maybe it was a dreamjust like everyone else's dreams.

But it was so vivid, Skye, so much like.. .like the visions I've had before.

The ones that do come true. I'm afraid to discount it."

After what had occurred on Friday night, Skye was afraid to hear it.