You Can't Hide (5 page)

Aidan frowned. “She could have been a user.”

She pushed herself to her feet. “Come here. I want to show you something.”

She led him out of the morgue and into the lab itself. The smell was better here. Aidan sucked in a deep breath, ignoring her wry chuckle. “So show me.”

She shook a few capsules from two different bottles onto a white piece of paper. One of the bottles he recognized from Adams’s apartment. The other bore the label of the hospital pharmacy. “Xanax from the pharmacy on the left and the pills you took from Adams’s nightstand on the right,” she said.

Aidan frowned at the pills. “They look the same.”

“That’s what somebody wanted her to think. Somebody emptied the capsules and refilled them with PCP.”

Aidan met her troubled gaze. “Somebody went to a hell of a lot of trouble.”

“Somebody wanted her to be out of her mind and totally suggestible.”

Aidan thought about the pictures, the noose in the gift box. The loaded gun they’d found in a second gift box, stuffed in a closet. The step stool on the balcony that hadn’t been there the week before. The lilies. “Hell.”

“Eloquently put,” Julia said. “Come back to the exam room. I want to show you something else.” He fol owed her and watched as she lifted Adams’s right arm. Deep, jagged vertical scars lined the inside of her wrists.

“She’s tried to kill herself before,” he murmured.

“At least once before.”

“We found a loaded gun and a noose in her apartment.” Both in gift boxes, both with the same little gold gift tag. Both tags said “Come to me.”

Julia sighed. “Somebody really wanted her to take her own life.”

“So it would seem. You told me to remind you about the lilies.”

“Yeah. She had pol en from the lilies in her nostrils.”

“We found one of the flowers under her pillow.”

“That makes sense then. I didn’t find any evidence of the pol en on her hands.”

“Could she have washed it off?”

“Perhaps, but with as many lilies as you said you found, it’s unlikely she wouldn’t have some under her nails if she’d handled all the flowers. Especially with those nails.”

Aidan stared at Adams’s long bloodred nails. “So she didn’t touch the lilies.”

“Probably not.”

“So somebody else brought them in.” His cell rang and he pul ed it from his pocket. It was Murphy and he sounded… furious. “Where are you, Aidan?”

“In the morgue. What’s wrong?”

“Latent came back with an ID on the prints CSU pul ed from Adams’s apartment.”

Aidan waited but Murphy said no more. “And? Murphy, what did Latent find?”

19

Karen Rose

[Suspense 5]

You Can't Hide

“Just get up here,” Murphy bit out. “Now. Dammit.”

Sunday, March 12, 12:30 P.M.

Tess studied her reflection in the mirror next to her front door. A good bottle of concealer was worth its weight in gold, the dark circles under her eyes all but invisible. It was the second Sunday of the month, time for brunch with her friends at the Blue Lemon Bistro. After studying Cynthia Adams’s file for hours fol owed by a short, unrestful sleep, she was tempted to call her friends and beg off but resisted. The loss of a patient could not be allowed to derail her life. She should know this by now. It was a routine lecture from her friend Jon, a surgeon who lost patients on the table. Hopeful y not too routinely.

Pushing the pendulum the other way, she’d decked herself out this morning, spending extra time on her hair, her makeup, even pul ing the price tag off the red leather jacket she’d been saving for a special occasion. Amy would swallow her tongue when she saw it, Tess decided. She’d beg to borrow it and as usual Tess would relent and let her. And as the sister she’d never had, Amy would keep the jacket until Tess raided her closet on a commando hunt to retrieve her things. It had been that way since Amy had come to live with the Ciccotelli family almost twenty years before.

Tess closed her eyes. Just the thought of her family stung, especially on Sunday. They’d be gathering around the table right about now, back home in her parents’ old house in South Philly. It would be loud and noisy and wonderful, packed to bursting except for her own chair in the corner of the dining room. In the old tradition of remembering the family dead, her chair would remain empty. Because in her father’s eyes, she was dead to the family. Most days she could shove the hurt back. Today it seemed worse, perhaps because she’d been reminded again and again throughout the night of Cynthia Adams’s solitary existence. No family. No one significant. No one to miss her now that she was gone. It reminded Tess that with the exception of her brother Vito who’d defied their father’s decree, she had no family either. And Vito was so far away. South Philly. It reminded her that she had no one significant because Phillip, damn him to hell, was a lousy two-timing weasel.

But she did have friends. She glanced away from the mirror, to the last group picture they’d had taken at the Lemon. Amy and Jon. Robin, who owned the bistro. Jim, who’d left them recently for humanitarian work in Africa. Her heart squeezed as she studied his face, hoping he stayed healthy and safe. There was Gen and Rhonda and all the others that were probably already gathered at the Lemon wondering where the hell she was.

She straightened the picture on the wall and turned back to the mirror, quickly slashing her lips with Ravishing Red. It matched the coat and was the final touch to a look she hoped would raise a few brows. Maybe drive some interested men from the bushes. Her love life could use shaking up. Hell, her love life could use a complete blood transfusion. Or perhaps a medium, because it was all but dead. Jon told her that, too. Routinely. She really was grateful for her friends. Sometimes she just wished they were selectively mute. Bypassing the elevator, she took her normal skipping jog down the ten flights to the lobby where Mr. Hughes stood guard at the lobby desk as he always did. Seeing him seemed to return a sense of balance to the morning. “Good morning, Dr. Chick.”

Tess smiled at the doorman. “Good morning, Mr. Hughes. How are you?”

The old man’s chuckle was musical. “Can’t complain. Well I could, but Ethel says nobody wants to hear it.” Mr. Hughes was studying her through narrowed eyes. “You don’t look well, Dr. Chick. Are you sick again?”

She hefted her briefcase on her shoulder. It was heavier today, filled with Cynthia Adams’s file. “Just tired.”

“Riggin said you came in late. That you’d been crying.”

20

Karen Rose

[Suspense 5]

You Can't Hide

Riggin was the night man. That they’d been discussing her was annoying. It was nobody’s damn business what time she came in or her state of mind when she did. But one gave up privacy in exchange for security. She knew that. The puff of annoyance blew away on a sigh.

“Mr. Hughes, I’m fine. Can you just flag me a cab? I’m already late.” A cab would get her to the Lemon a lot faster than driving and looking for parking.

Mr. Hughes still looked concerned. “Where you going this morning, Dr. Chick? No wait. It’s the second Sunday, so you’l be going to the Blue Lemon for brunch.”

Her brows bunched as she passed through the door he opened. “Am I that predictable, then?”

There’d been a time when she hadn’t been.

“I can set my watch by you,” Hughes said cheerful y as he flagged the cab. “The Blue Lemon on the second Sunday, the hospital on Mondays, dinner with the doctor on Wed-” He cut himself off abruptly, his back going stiff. With a guilty look he met her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

With an effort she made her lips smile. “It’s all right, Mr. Hughes.” Her Wednesday dinners with the doctor were a thing of the past. Because the doctor himself was a thing of the past. That thinking of Phillip could still hurt made her angry, but she shoved both the anger and hurt back down as a cab stopped at the curb. Neither emotion was healthy. Neither would undo the past.

“The cab won’t be necessary,” said a hard voice behind her and Tess turned on her heel only to find herself staring up into the same cold blue eyes that had held so much contempt for her the night before. Eyes that hadn’t softened in the light of day.

“Detective Reagan,” she said, annoyed that he’d come
here,
invaded her space looking like he owned the damn world. Annoyed that in the light of day he was even more compelling. Annoyed that she’d even noticed. “How can I help you?”

Murphy appeared at Reagan’s side. Together the two of them formed a wall that blocked her view of the street. “We need to talk to you about Cynthia Adams, Tess.”

“I have her file right here,” she said evenly, patting her briefcase. “I honestly expected you to call hours ago.” She looked from Reagan’s stony face to Murphy’s careful y expressionless one and her annoyance rapidly slid into apprehension. Something was very wrong. Still, she kept her voice cool. “I’m rather busy now, gentlemen. I’m on my way to a lunch meeting. Can I call you when I’m finished?”

His jaw hard, Reagan offered her his cell phone. “Cancel it.”

Tess’s eyes flew to Murphy’s face. There wasn’t a whisper of familiarity or softness in his eyes. “What’s going on here, Todd?”

“We need you to come with us, Tess,” he said quietly. “Please.”

She tilted her head toward Murphy. “You gonna cuff me, Todd?” she murmured. Reagan opened his mouth, but Murphy gave him a sharp look and he closed it. “Tess, let’s just get this over with, okay? Then we can all go on with our day.” Murphy took her elbow and led her to his beat-up old Ford. “Please.”

She slid in, conscious of Mr. Hughes still standing at the curb, his mouth agape. Ethel would have an earful of this before they hit the next block, she knew. “Can I make a phone call?” she asked acidly as Murphy pul ed into traffic.

He met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “To who?”

To whom,
she thought, but bit back what would have been a snarled correction. “To cancel my meeting, as Detective Reagan so hospitably requested.”

Reagan turned, pinned her with his angry eyes, even bluer in the daylight. “Just one call.” He lifted a sardonic brow. “Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Ciccotelli.”

She closed her fingers around her cell phone, fighting the urge to throw it at him, unsettled by the flash of pure fury that left her white hot and trembling inside. “Anytime, Detective Reagan.” She focused on punching numbers, wishing she weren’t visualizing punching Reagan’s stony face. Last night she’d felt sympathy for the man who’d been so obviously scarred by finding Harold Green’s last little victim. That was before he’d pul ed the bad cop routine on her.
He can
just go to hell and take all his issues with him.
His eyes watched her as the number she’d called rang in her ear.

21

Karen Rose

[Suspense 5]

You Can't Hide

Thankful y Amy answered on the third ring. “Where are you?” she asked without preamble.

“You’re late.” Tess could hear the activity of the Blue Lemon in the background as well as Jon’s worried voice asking what was wrong.

“I’m not going to be able to join you,” she said formally. “I’ve got an emergency.”

“Tess.” Amy stopped just short of her predictable whine. “We all said we’d hold this time sacred. We all have client emergencies.”

Tess met Reagan’s eyes in a stare of pure challenge. “Not like this one,” she said. “I’l come by if I can, but just go on without me.”

“Tess, wait.” Jon had taken Amy’s phone. “I got your message last night but I was out and didn’t get home until after three. Are you all right?”

She’d called him to go with her, to be a witness to what she’d hoped would be a consultation with a live patient. “I’m fine. The issue has been resolved.” By Cynthia Adams herself. It was only Reagan’s cold stare that enabled her to control the shudder at the memory of Cynthia’s body on the sidewalk the night before. She’d be in the morgue now, on a cold slab, a number on a toe tag, but at least she’d found some peace. At least Tess hoped so. “Jon, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later, okay?” She flipped her phone shut. “One call, Detective. Per your request.”

His eyes flashed at her sarcastic tone. “Thank you.”

“When will you tell me what this is all about?”

“We’ll talk downtown, Doctor.” Reagan shifted in his seat, dismissing her.
Downtown.
It had an ominous ring, just as he’d intended. The bad cop was playing mind games.
He’ll find he’s met his match.
She turned to the good cop. “Murphy?”

Murphy stared straight ahead, not meeting her eyes and for the first time she felt a twinge of alarm. “We need to do this officially, Tess. We’l talk downtown.”

Sunday, March 12, 1:25 P.M.

Aidan studied Ciccotelli through the two-way glass. She sat staring straight back at him, even though he knew she saw only her own reflection. She’d been on both sides of the glass often enough to know she was being watched. She knew what would come next, but she wasn’t flinching. Her eyes never wavered. She was a cool one, for sure. But it would take a cool one, to do what she’d done.

If she’d done it. All the evidence said she had.

It was improbable. Totally impractical. Damn near impossible. Murphy was sure she had not. But Murphy didn’t seem to be completely objective when it came to Dr. Tess Ciccotelli. It was hard to blame the man, Aidan had to admit. Sitting on the other side of the mirror was a knockout in tight, low-riding jeans, a turtleneck sweater that fit her curves like a glove, both black. Her black hair curled wildly. Today she looked like a modern day gypsy, masquerading as a “respected doctor.” She’d been going to a meeting, she’d said.
Ha.
Nobody went to a meeting dressed like that.

Hell, nobody he knew dressed like that. Or looked like that when they tried to. He gritted his teeth, annoyed at himself for his body’s reaction to the sight of what Ciccotelli had hidden under that conservative tan coat. She was a suspect, no matter how improbable. And if she turned out not to be a suspect, she was still a cold bitch. That she was a remarkably sexy cold bitch was just one of those little quirks of fate with which decent men had to deal. Beside him, Murphy dragged the heels of both hands down his face. “She’s got circles under her eyes. Looks like she had a sleepless night.”