Unscrewed (24 page)

“On her glass.” He chuckled. “
In
her glass. Didn’t want to take no chances.”

“She drank it.”

“Girl could empty a fish tank and still be desert-dry. And that stuff is potent when taken by mouth. Had you drunk your Scotch like a good girl, you’d be dead as my elephant-hide boots.” He shrugged. “It’ll be a little slower now, but we’ll get the job done.”

“What about Rivera? He’ll—”

“Rivera? Miguel’s boy?” He laughed. “I saw him pull up the drive that night. Looked just like his old man when he stepped out of his car.” He shook his head, reminiscing. “All earnest and righteous. Sali, she’d hit the floor just minutes before. I was just riggin’ the stove so’s L.A.’s finest could find a convenient cause of death. They get testy when they’re baffled. And this stuff of Danny’s is a puzzler.”

“You hit Rivera. Knocked him out.” I could see it now. Could see him standing behind Rivera. Not Daniel, but Peachtree. Damn. A little late and kind of important. “With your cane. The heavy one I saw in the picture.”

He laughed. “Folks think I’m done for. But I still got some starch in me. Felt like ol’ times. Swingin’ for the bleachers. Gerald, he was just turning toward her. In a big rush. I was behind the wall. Plenty of room. He dropped like a rock. Thought for a minute he might be dead, but it’s just as well he wasn’t. Miguel would probably have raised holy hell.”

“What about Salina?” Keep him talking, and keep breathing. Really had to keep breathing. “Senator Rivera wasn’t attached to
her
?”

“She was plannin’ to leave him. Hell, she’d always been screwin’ someone else. I knew it all along. I suspect he did, too. Hard to love a gal who’s crushin’ your balls in both hands. Easy to kill ’em, though.”

My knees buckled. I straightened them with a snap. “They’ll figure it out,” I said. “They’ll know.”

“You think I’m an idiot? You think I’m gonna leave you lying on my deck for the crows to pick at? Naw. I’ll shove you back in your little car. Take you down that windy road, let you run into a tree. It’ll be terrible sad.”

“Eldwardo.” The name came to me in a blast of lucidity. If I could just make it outside. “Your gardener knows I’m here.”

The room boomed with his laughter. “I don’t know no Eldwardo. We’re alone here, little girl. Just you and me.”

“I heard you—”

“Talk to someone who ain’t there? Yeah, you did. Thought you could outsmart me, didn’t you? Come here, asking questions. All innocent. All sweet. But I can smell a tramp a mile off. Just like Sali.” He shook his head. I had stopped moving without knowing it. I stumbled back into motion, almost hit my knees.

“I gave her the moon. Woulda given the sun and the stars, too. Just had one little favor. One thing.”

“I can’t breathe,” I said.

“I know. It’s a shame. That’s what she said.
‘Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.’
Well, then she should have talked to Miguel, shouldn’t she? Should have told him to keep things quiet. A little bit of cancer in the lab rats. Well, men ain’t rats, are they? But Miguel said he was going public unless there was more testing done. She coulda changed his mind. Once she spread her legs, ain’t no man could keep his head on straight.”

“Help me.” My knees hit the carpet. The impact shattered my system, cracking against my lungs, sparking memories through my oxygen-starved system. “Rivera!” I screamed. The word was a harsh croak.

Peachtree froze in his tracks. “What the hell are you playin’ at, girl?”

“He’s here.” My lungs were giving out for good.

He glanced out the window. “There’s no one here.”

My mind was off-kilter. “Of course he is. He always is. Rivera!” I screamed again, and staggered to my feet. The room spun. I closed my eyes. “Every time someone tries to…” I was falling again. My shoulder hit the floor. I rolled onto my back. “When someone tries to kill me.”

I could feel Peachtree bending over me. I was by the fireplace. I could see the variegated brick, the hearth, the tools.

“Lying little bitch,” he snarled, but suddenly my fingers closed around the poker. I swung it with all my might.

He shrieked and stumbled back, holding his ear.

I scrambled to my feet, but my legs were numb. I fell, half crawling, half running toward the door.

“Rivera!” I shrieked, but something tangled in my hair and I was yanked off my feet.

My head cracked against the floor. Peachtree was standing over me. Blood was oozing from his ear, but the poker in his hands stole my focus. It was raised above his head.

“Bossy bitches. Gotta make life so damned hard,” he rasped, and swung.

I rolled sideways. The poker scraped across my back, but I was already scrambling away on all fours. The dining room table was ahead of me. I scurried between the legs of a chair, got stuck at the hips. His hand grazed my back, snagging my waistband. I shrieked and reared up. The chair went with me. Then I was falling, careening over backward, the chair on him, me on the chair. It cracked in two.

He was cursing. I wished I had so much breath to waste. He tried to grab me, but splinters of wood were everywhere and the table was in sight again. I galloped beneath it on hands and knees I couldn’t feel. He roared after me, trying to snatch my feet. But I was safe for a moment, gasping for each painful breath, fighting the haze that pulled at my mind.

His face appeared not three feet away, peering at me.

“Come on out of there, girl,” he said. He was breathing hard, too. “We’ll talk.”

“Talk?” My voice sounded like sandpaper on concrete. “You think I’m crazy?”

“Crazy.” He wiped the blood from the side of his head, then straightened, maybe to save his back. “Crazy like a fox. Crawl outta there now. Listen, I know when I’ve been beat. We need another smart cookie on staff. We’ll cut you in.”

“You’ll…cut me…” I croaked.

Peachtree chuckled and bent again. And in that instant I remembered the table setting above me.

I reached up, felt something against my fingers, and yanked it into my lair.

“In my day, women weren’t—” he began, and then I struck, stabbing with all my might. My weapon turned out to be a corkscrew. It sank into his foot, rattlesnake handle quivering between the straps of his sandals.

He shrieked. I spun around, striking my head on chair legs and scrambling for the far end. Freedom. The door. I knocked the last chair out of my way. I could hear him coming for me, cursing, moaning, stumbling, but I was almost there.

And suddenly the sky fell. I was slammed to the floor, my lungs pinned beneath the weight of the world. In some dim region of my mind maybe I knew he’d planted a chair across my back. Maybe I knew he was crushing the breath from me. Maybe I knew he was stepping on the chair, forcing the last gasp of breath from my lungs.

But at that moment the door flew open. The weight left my back. I managed to lift my head. Rivera stood framed by the sky behind him, expression darker than hell, legs spread, hands holding a gun. My first thought was that I should get me one of those. My second was that he looked kind of like a pirate.

“Gerald…” Peachtree’s voice shook. “I’m glad you’re here. This woman—”

“Move so much as a finger and I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off,” Rivera growled.

There was the sound of running feet. “Rivera!” someone yelled. “Lieutenant! Put the gun down.”

“I would, Captain.” Rivera’s voice was low and steady. “But maybe we better make sure Peach here doesn’t kill Chrissy first.”

There was some cursing. A couple snapped questions. After that I’m not sure exactly what happened. Somebody yelled. Something about paramedics. Some running feet.

The chair was lifted from my back.

“McMullen.”

I could hear Rivera’s voice, but it did indeed sound like it came from the end of a long tunnel.

“Damn it, McMullen, open your eyes.”

I did. Funny, though, I’d thought they were already open. Rivera’s face looked pale and fuzzy, except for his left eye. That was bloodshot and surrounded by skin the color of a bad banana.

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the universe, and very possibly the smartest,” he said.

Or maybe that’s not what he said. I’ve never been sure about the side effects of those drugs. My lips moved, but nothing came out.

He yelled something to the hazy mob behind him, then leaned close, ear to my mouth. “What, honey?” I was in and out of consciousness. But I really think he did call me honey in a voice gruff and soft, like he cared that I was dying. “What’d you say?”

It took all the strength I had, but I managed to speak. “Damn, you’re slow,” I croaked.

29

I
T WAS DARK in my world. I blinked to make sure my eyes were open. A green light blinked back at me. Hospital. Alone. I tried to reconnect with the days past. There’d been a lot of screaming again. Not so much running. More crawling. I took a deep breath. It hurt my lungs, but I didn’t feel like I was going to pass out. A favorable sign. I vaguely remembered an ambulance ride. Someone had checked me in. Nice of them. Still, it would have been even nicer if that someone had stayed around a while. Laney was already on location. I wondered foggily how much time had passed.

“What the hell’s wrong with you, McMullen?” Rivera’s voice came from the end of the bed. I lifted my head. The darkness shifted erratically. I laid my head carefully back down and smiled at the ceiling.

“Well…I can’t breathe very well. Feels like someone’s sitting on my chest. My head hurts.” I paused to take inventory. I imagined it was a good sign that I could remember the word “inventory.” “My knees sting. My back is sore—”

“Are you a fuckin’ nut job, or what?”

I didn’t jump right in on that one, wanting to give it the sagacious consideration it deserved, but fell asleep instead. Might have been for the best.

Sometime later, I awoke with a start.

“Told you he wasn’t guilty,” I grumbled. I could feel crusty drool on my cheek. I glanced around, hoping Rivera hadn’t noticed.

“Mac?” Laney was beside my bed. Seemed like she was holding my hand. I noticed that there were two bouquets of spring flowers and a stuffed Eeyore along one wall. The room remained relatively stable.

“Told him his dad wasn’t guilty,” I rasped.

“Are you okay?” Her voice sounded squishy.

I scowled. “Is someone sitting on my chest?”

“No.”

“Not so bad, then,” I said. My words were slurred. “But my head still hurts and my back aches like a son of a—”

A tall figure approached from my right. I jerked my gaze in that direction. A little too quick.

“Senator!” I said, and tried to straighten my hair. A tube protruded from my right hand and disappeared past the edge of the bed.

“This is Julio Manderos,” Laney said.

“Oh.” I felt like a stroke victim, but probably looked more like someone who’d had an unhappy meeting with a lightning bolt. “Sure.” My hospital gown was twisted uncomfortably around my waist. But it was probably too late to look sexy anyway. Maybe I’d go for coherent. “Hi.”

He smiled. His expression was as sad and gentle as I remembered. Taking my pierced hand carefully in his, he caressed my fingers. Belowdecks, a little conductor sat up with a jolt.
Hey, there’s some good-looking guy stroking our knuckles. Respiration, quit lollygagging. Endocrine, get cracking.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

I glanced desperately toward Laney. “Not dreaming,” she murmured.

I nodded uncertainly and turned back toward Julio.

His eyes crinkled endearingly at the corners. “And you are incredibly brave.”

I turned toward Laney.

She gave me a “Could be true” shrug.

“Kind.” Bending over the bed, he gently kissed the tender skin beside the needle.
The conductor cracked his baton over Endocrine’s head.
“And very, very wise.”

Laney raised a brow and tilted her head. I decided to ignore her from there on out.

“I called your office. Your secretary said I could find you here.” He looked sad again. If his eyes were any more expressive, he could save his mouth for things more important than speech. “I came by to apologize. Had I been half so noble as you, your head would not ache as it does.” Reaching out, he skimmed his knuckles across my brow. “I am sorry. I should have told the police that which I knew, but I was too much the coward.”

I cleared my throat. “There wasn’t much you could have done.”

His eyes smiled again, thoughtful and wise. “Not so much as you, I suspect. Still, Salina was my friend…in a manner of speaking.” I didn’t ask what manner. He drew a deep breath. “I did not love her as she deserved to be loved. As every woman deserves to be loved. But I should have done what I could to find her killer. Instead, you have taken the burden upon yourself.” He had returned his attention to my hand, stroking the scraped skin. “Poor brave child.”

I squirmed a little. The conductor was aces at his job. “I’m not exactly a child, Mr. Manderos.”

He laughed. The sound was sweet and low, like the little packets of sugar substitutes. “That is good to know, Ms. McMullen,” he said, perching carefully on the edge of my bed. “Good indeed, for I was hoping I might call on you from time to time.”

“Call on me?” My voice squeaked. I cleared it and tried again. “Call on me?”

“Perhaps we might have dinner together from time to time.”

“You’re still conscious,” Laney said, reading my mind.

“Certainly,” I said. “I’d like that.”

Leaning forward, he kissed my cheek. He smelled like kindness and sunlight. “Thank you, for being that which you are.”

I watched him rise to his feet. The room shifted with him. I glanced at Laney.

She laughed. “Go to sleep,” she said, and I did.

E
ddie Friar stopped by the next day. He looked like a caramel sundae. Good enough to eat. I refrained, which, considering the hospital food, was no small feat. A wooden basket with fuzzy chicks sticking out of a bunch of foliage had joined the flowers, and there was an array of colorful cards.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“My back hurts, and I can’t stay awake more than ten minutes at a time. My butt is getting sore, and I’m starting to hallucinate about ice cream.”

“No pirates?”

“Just one.”

He laughed and dropped a book on my stomach.
The Princess and Her Pirate,
by my favorite author.

“Eddie,” I said, feeling a little teary-eyed. Probably from lack of sugar. “You do love me.”

“You bet your sore ass I do,” he said, and dropping into a chair, he put his feet up on my bed.

We’d been talking for a few minutes about the vagaries of the human psyche—in other words, the fact that it was just plain bad luck that people kept trying to kill me—when Cindy Peichel walked in. She was carrying a peanut fudge parfait and not smiling.

“Hi,” she said.

I sat up a little straighter, took the offered treat, introduced her to Eddie, and waited to see if she was one of the many who wanted me dead.

“Go ahead and eat,” she said. “I was in a Thai hospital for a week after an accident with an elephant.” She sat down in the only available chair and stretched her mile-long legs out in front of her. “Lost five pounds and the will to live before they’d let me back with the herd.”

I was munching peanuts and slurping ice cream. “You went back?”

“There are only about fifteen hundred of them left in the wild there. Less than half what there were only twenty years ago.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled. It’s hard to talk while sucking in ambrosia.

“I’m not sure it’s your fault specifically.”

“I’m sorry about some other things, too.”

She seemed to consider that for a moment. “After I confronted him, Daniel admitted he’d been cheating on me.”

I wondered if she’d been holding some kind of tranquilizer gun when she’d done so, but the thought was vague.

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

She nodded. “So you don’t really work for Sharpe, huh?”

I shook my head, chewed, and swallowed. “I’m a psychologist.”

“A psychotic or a psychologist?”

I choked on a peanut and hoped rather wildly that Eddie would save me if she tried to kill me.

“Just joking,” she said, her face absolutely solemn. “Danny’s pretty broke up about Peachtree. Shocked. You know, after we heard what happened, read the article, saw your picture in the paper. I put a couple of facts together. Found out you were here.” She nodded. “I just came by to thank you.”

I gave another feeble cough. “For?”

“I don’t like lies.”

“Sorry again.”

“I meant
his
specifically.”

I nodded, still feeling badly about my part in the fiasco. “Daniel seemed like a nice guy.”

“Other than the fact that he was screwing someone else?”

“Yeah.” I winced. “Other than that.”

She exhaled quietly, slumped back in the chair, and watched me. “In most ways he’s extremely intelligent. Articulate. Environmentally conscious. He’ll do some good in the world.” She looked thoughtful.

“So you’re staying with him?”

She laughed. It was the first time I’d seen her do so. “So I’m going to let him
live.
Stay with him? You kidding? I’d rather be run over by a herd of pachyderms.”

“You would know.”

She looked at me. The expression almost seemed fond. “Finish that up,” she said, “so I can recycle the dish.”

I did as ordered. She stood up. “I owe you one,” she said.

“One broken engagement?”

“Something like that.” She took the plastic dish before I’d had a chance to lick it out, and reached for my hand. I gave her my untubed one. Which was a good thing, because she had a grip like a mountain gorilla. Okay, I’m just guessing.

“How you feeling now?” Eddie asked when she was gone.

“Am I dreaming?”

“Not yet.”

“Anyone trying to kill me?”

“Not so far as I know.”

“Feeling pretty good, then,” I said. “Kind of sleepy.”

He stood up, kissed me on the forehead, promised to return, and left me to my pirates.

When next I awoke there were three dozen roses residing in a fat earthenware vase beside my bed. Someone was fussing with the arrangement. She turned.

“Christina.” It was Rosita Rivera, looking extremely well groomed and perky. I considered trying to mess with my hair, but there wasn’t much motivation and even less hope. “You are well,
sí?
”

“Sí.
” I tried to sit up. She helped me. Her hands were warm.

“I was very worried.”

“I’m fine.”

“Robert Peachtree.” She shook her head, scowling. “The one man I thought wise enough to keep his
pene
to himself, huh?”

“Go figure.”

“
Sí.
Go figure.” She sat down in the chair closest to me. “I did not know about the rats with the cancer, Christina. This I promise you.”

I nodded again. “I don’t think many people did.”

She grinned. “In truthfulness, the men I see these days will not have to worry about the baldness for some time.”

So young Manny was indeed her lover. I gave myself a mental high-five. Right again.

“My Gerald has been worried to sickness about you also,” she said, cutting my self-congratulations short.

I could tell when he called me a fucking nutcase,
I thought, but decided not to mention it to his mother.

“He blames himself.”

“Alpha personality,” I said. “He likes to be in control.”

“And you are not the one to be controlled,
sí?
”

I sighed. “Maybe in this case, it wouldn’t have been so bad to listen a little.”

“He wishes to protect you.”

“I guess so.”

“He cares a great deal. But he is like the small boy yet inside, and afraid to show his feelings.”

“You think so?”

“I do. A small boy inside, but a hunk of burning love on the outside,
sí?
”

My face was already hot before he stepped through the door. But this time I wasn’t surprised by his entrance. My hair was greasy and the hospital gown was twisted around my neck like a noose. Murphy’s Law ordained his imminent arrival.

“Gerald,” Rosita said joyously. “We were just now speaking of you.” Her smile dropped away. “What happened to your eye?”

He turned his dark gaze on me. The eye itself looked okay. But the skin around it had sprouted some pretty spectacular hues, like magenta and puce.

“Tell me the truth,” I said. “This time I’m really having a nightmare, right?”

He grinned. My stomach coiled up. He turned back to his mother. “What were you talking about?”

“How you are a hunk of burning love.” She touched his face with gentle fingers.

“I didn’t say that,” I said. “Not even in the nightmare.”

He laughed, squeezed his mother’s hand, and stepped toward the bed. “I brought you something,” he said, and passed over a pamphlet. It was a schedule for self-defense classes. I opened it up and glanced down the list.

“I have to work,” I said. Besides, I was too tired to think about moving.

“Are you fishing for private lessons?”

I snorted and stared at his eye. “Looks like I can kick your—”

But his mother was already clapping her hands. “That is the marvelous idea. Gerald would be the perfect one to teach such a thing. See his eye, he was most probably in a fight with a lord of drugs or perhaps the boss of mobs.”

I didn’t say anything. He laughed. “How are you feeling?”

“You should have told me not to get involved,” I said.

“I’ll remember that in the future. And maybe—”

Someone stepped into the room. We turned toward Senator Rivera in unison. Everyone stopped breathing.

“Ms. McMullen.” He gave me a nod. His voice was low and formal. There was a Styrofoam take-out box in his hand. I was just glad Cindy wasn’t there anymore. There’s nowhere to recycle that Styrofoam crap. She probably would have killed us all.

I cleared my throat and wished I could do the same with the tension. “Hello, Senator.”

“Miguel,” he corrected, and stepping past Rosita without a word, stood opposite his son. His back was very straight. “I was out of town on business, but I came as soon as I was able,” he said, and handed over the box with a slight bow. “It is tiramisu. Gennaro made it especially with you in mind.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“No.” He shook his head. His expression was sad. “It was kind of you…to prove my son innocent.”