Waters Run Deep (6 page)

He grabbed the files and bagged evidence and carefully placed them back into the cardboard box, setting it on the short filing cabinet. His office needed organizing. In fact, his whole house could use a good cleaning. His housekeeper, Gloria, cleaned the toilets and changed the sheets once a week, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of the cold-case boxes lining the wood floor of the living room.

Damn it. Radrica Moore’s killer would go unpunished.

He shoved the lid onto the box. Then he hesitated. He didn’t want to give up. Wouldn’t be fair to Radrica. To her mother, who still mourned the death of the thirteen-year-old honor student. He pulled off the lid and propped it against the box, staring into the contents.

There was very little physical evidence in the case. The body of the African American girl had been found in stagnant water of the flooded timberland just off the Mississippi River, badly decomposed. The cause of death had been inconclusive, though the coroner found evidence of possible defensive wounds. The Rapides sheriff’s department classified it as a homicide, but had nothing else to go on.

Nate padded into his kitchen, opened the fridge and surveyed the contents: six pack of Abita, leftover barbecue from the Wing Shack and a package of luncheon meat he didn’t remember buying. He grabbed an Abita and shut the door.

As he cracked open the beer, he shifted his thoughts from the cold case lying dead in his office to the incident at Beau Soleil that afternoon. Even though the boy had been found safe and sound, something bothered him about the whole deal.

Annie Perez.

Maybe that’s who had him at attention.

And not in a way he welcomed.

When he’d reached the reunion between the “missing” Spencer and his over-the-top mother, he noticed how easily Annie faded into the background—purposely, it seemed.

She’d skirted the gathering, melding herself into a quiet statue on the perimeter, but her eyes had been searching the group of people gathered as if weighing some unseen force.

But maybe that’s who she was. Cautious, still and serious. Nothing wrong with being quiet, even if intensity flowed out of every pore of the woman.

Desire snaked into his belly.

Exactly what he didn’t need. He lifted the bottle and took a swig, swiping a hand across his mouth. It had been a while since he’d dated. Maybe too long. He’d been busy this past summer with more requests for help on cold cases than he could handle. The state budget had police and sheriff departments cut to the bone, and word had gotten out about his talent with homicide cases that had no pulse. His consulting jobs were freebies, and sometimes when things were slow, Blaine gave him leeway. Not that it really mattered. He didn’t work them for the money anyway. He worked them for the satisfaction of getting what he’d never have—

completion.

He walked back to his office and stared at the database open on the computer screen. The Annie Perez he’d met earlier today hadn’t been a real-estate agent in California. Didn’t mean she hadn’t been one someplace else, which was why he reserved judgment on the woman and stopped poking around looking for info on her. He had no real reason to check her out—she’d done nothing wrong. Still, something told him it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get to know her a little better.

The only thing he couldn’t figure out was whether his interest was strictly professional. He really didn’t want to think about it being anything more. He was good at hunches; bad at lying to himself.

* * *

She rolled over and looked at the mule sleeping peacefully on his back, mouth slack, brown hair sticking up like Billy Idol and jammies riding up over a plump little tummy.

Little devil should be on a soccer team.

She yawned in the bleary light escaping into the room through the heavy brocade drapes over the long windows. Had to be around 6:00 a.m. Her internal alarm clock woke her whether she needed to sleep longer or not. Leftover habit from high school when getting up had rested squarely on her shoulders.

She slipped out of bed, brushed her teeth, pulled on shorts and running shoes. Spencer would likely sleep until seven-thirty or so. Plenty of time for a quick exploratory run. She’d head out to the highway and get a lay of the land and be back before Spencer demanded his Fruity O’s. But first she needed to let someone know she was leaving. After yesterday afternoon, she wanted the boy to be covered.

She nearly ran into Carter Keene in the kitchen.

“Up early,” he said, dumping creamer into his coffee. He glanced at her briefly before picking up a spoon. “Have you checked on Spencer?”

“He’s in my bed still asleep. Are you the only one up?”

“Yep. I need to get this movie in the can as soon as possible. The studio has another one lined up. Filming in Maine starts in December, so time is of the essence. We’re already behind.”

He looked around as if on a covert operation. She looked around, too, wondering why he overdramatized everything. Then she remembered. He was a director. Hazard of the job.

“So have you made any progress?” he whispered.

Carter hadn’t talked to Ace in over a week, so the report was left to her. “We’ve done background checks on several of the investors of the Goliath movie, but haven’t found anyone indicating a desire to harm you. Mad at you? Yeah. Enough to do something to Spencer or Tawny? No.”

He nodded, his gorgeous blond hair catching the weak sunlight, causing a sort of halo to frame his pretty-boy face. And Annie knew from the rumors surrounding Keene that he was far from angelic. “What about Rudy Griffin?”

“Ace has one of his best guys working on his current whereabouts. From what we’ve learned, Rudy was on location in Oregon when the first note appeared. Right now, we’re not sure where he is.” Rudy was a stuntman who’d been injured on the set of Goliath, a big-budget movie that not only had a lion’s share of production problems, but also tanked at the box office. Carter Keene had earned plenty of disgruntled non-fans on that one, but none more so than the stuntman who accused Keene’s production company of unsafe and substandard practices. His burned arm had inflamed his need to bad-mouth and threaten Carter.

Carter shook his head. “It has to be him. When I found that note, I knew he’d gone off his rocker.”

Annie nodded. “Rudy Griffin made threats, but lots of people make threats. Doesn’t mean they’ll carry through with them. This could be a random crackpot, and we may never find out who sent the notes.”

“But they feel so ominous…and personal.”

“They do. But we may be grasping at straws. Ace will be in touch if there is nothing more we can do. And by the way, I appreciate you not blowing my cover yesterday, Mr. Keene. It’s best I stay hidden for now.”

“Call me Carter, Annie.”

“I’d rather not.” Hadn’t Tawny reminded her of her place yesterday?

Annie could see he liked to call the shots, but he shrugged. “Whatever’s best.”

She nodded, headed toward the back door of the kitchen and peeked out the glass door of the mudroom. Sunlight streamed through the coal-black trunks of the live oaks, throwing golden confetti on the grass beneath. Perfect morning for a run.

Spencer.

Damn. She’d forgotten to ask Carter to send Brick to babysit the door to her bedroom. She turned back around to reenter the kitchen and heard a scream come from the other side of the door.

“Spencer’s not in his bed! He’s gone!” It was Tawny’s voice.

Annie intended to push through the kitchen door and tell Tawny the child was safe in her bed, but Carter beat her to it.

“Hell, Tawny, he’s asleep in the nanny’s bed. Don’t you bother thinking before you start carrying on? You need to try processing something in that brain up there before opening your mouth.”

Tawny closed her mouth and her eyes narrowed. “You’ve always enjoyed my brains, if I recall. Open mouth, too.”

Neither of them saw Annie at the door and for a moment, she felt like an interloper, but didn’t move. Maybe understanding the couple’s relationship would help her with the case. She’d not spent much time with Carter or Tawny.

“Oh, and you’re good at it, aren’t you, sweetheart? That’s what Mick’s been saying.” Carter’s voice held sneer, disdain and hurt.

Whoa. Carter thought Tawny was messing around with the lead on the production, the wickedly debauched Mick Manners, who was playing the deranged killer in Magic Man.

“Oh, you’re listening to someone other than yourself? You’re telling me the great and mighty director actually realizes there are other people in the world besides himself?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tawny shrugged. “You figure it out ’cause I got better things to do. By the way, after we wrap, I’m taking Spencer up to Mama’s for a visit.”

Carter snorted. “Why? So he can learn how to shuck corn and make crystal meth?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m going to teach him.” Her voice sounded venomous and offended. She took a steadying breath. “I promised Mama I’d bring him. She’s been stressed about Teri leaving Braden with her and going off with some guy from Georgia, so I thought I’d go up and make her feel better. She’s having to take care of Braden all by herself.”

“You haven’t sent any more money to Teri, have you? That won’t help her.”

Tawny put her hands on her hips. “You know very well I cut her off after the Fourth of July incident. I’m just paying for some stuff for Braden. That’s it.”

Annie felt a pang of sadness for Tawny—nothing like family putting their hooks in and looking for a free ride. She took a step back, holding the door with the flat of her hand, letting it close slowly so she remained unseen. But her not-so-stealthy action caught Tawny’s eye. The actress raced across the room and pulled the door back before Annie could escape. “What the hell are you doing?

Hiding?”

Her words were accusing. Jealous. Oh, no.

“I’m going for a run, but I forgot to ask Mr. Keene if Brick could keep an eye on Spencer.”

Tawny’s hair was knotted and there were circles under her eyes. She gave Annie a disdainful lip curl then looked back at Carter. Her gaze held a question. “Maybe you better do your job and take care of my son before you pursue other activities.”

Ouch. The woman thought she’d caught them in flagrante.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Carter said from where he’d sunk on the old-fashioned banquette in the breakfast nook, but Annie didn’t miss the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. He liked her jealousy. “Annie passed through to let me know Spencer was safe in bed so no one would worry. That’s all.”

Annie stood stock-still, knowing she made for an easy target. She looked at Tawny, refusing to duck her chin or make any excuse. “Mrs. Keene, I’ll check on Spencer again before I go, but I’d like to go for a quick run before starting his day.”

Carter nodded. “Of course, that’s fine. I’ll tell Brick to keep an eye on him.”

Tawny echoed with “Fine.”

Carter refocused on his wife. “Be on location at eight o’clock sharp. Oh, and call Linda so she can work some makeup magic.

The camera picks up every line and wrinkle, and we’ve got night scenes, long day coming up.”

Annie pushed through the kitchen door but not before she caught the pain in the actress’s eyes. Tawny was a prima donna extraordinaire, but Annie didn’t like seeing the hurtful words the couple threw at one another, not when she’d seen the photographs scattered around the Hollywood Hills mansion of two people truly in love. Happy, laughing, loving couples were hard to find amid celebrity. Tawny and Carter Keene seemed to have had it.

At one time.

Annie decided to peek in on Spencer again. He still slept, and Brick already skulked in the hall, so she slipped out the side door and set off down the drive, the gravel crunching beneath her running shoes, the air already heavy with moisture. Sweat sluiced down her body before she hit the highway. By the time she’d gone a mile, her breathing was ragged and her legs heavy. Louisiana in September might kill her.

She rounded a curve, intending to do another mile even if she ended up with a toe tag, and nearly crashed into Tawny’s former roommate and current best friend, Jane McEvoy.

“Annie,” Jane breathed, leaning over and grasping her knees while gulping in deep breaths.

Annie stopped and mopped sweat out of her eyes, surprised the woman had remembered her name. They’d only met once.

“Morning, Ms. McEvoy.”

“Jane, please. And it’s killer out here, isn’t it? I’ve been here for almost a month and I still can’t get accustomed to the humidity.”

Annie glanced down the highway in the direction from which Jane had come. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

“Marathon,” the woman panted, pulling the breathable tank from her torso. “I’ve been training for months around the shooting schedule. Beau Soleil’s ten miles from the motel where the rest of us are staying, so it’s a perfect training run here and back.”

Annie nodded. Jane was okay. Much better than Tawny, but then again, Jane was a serious character actress appearing as an extra on police procedurals and the occasional big-screen film. With a wholesome look and a trust-inspiring demeanor, Jane was also frequently cast in commercials. As a close friend to the Keenes she’d snagged a part as the killer’s girlfriend. Something about being whacked in the first scene only to reemerge at the end of the film as the mastermind who faked her own death.

Annie checked her watch. No time for another mile. “I can’t handle that much running. Gotta get back to Spencer. Good luck with getting your miles in.”

“Glad he was found yesterday. Scary, huh? He’s such a rascal. I’m not surprised he slipped off. Tell him I’ll bring him a lollipop when I get a break. I promised him one when he beat me at Candy Land last month.” Jane straightened and glanced in the direction of Beau Soleil.

Annie nodded. “I’ll do that.”

“We should catch up. Maybe drinks in town? Tawny might come if Carter or that crazy lady will watch Spencer.”