Eyewitness. Part 3

Taking himself in hand as well as a no-nonsense grip on her arm-he growled, "Come on, let's get inside."

She went without protest until they reached the top of the steps. There she turned on him and in a low, stricken voice said, "Uh-oh. It's locked."

"So unlock it. Where are your keys?"

"I, um... I left 'em inside." "

" You what ? "

"Well," she returned in a bright little flare of anger, "I wasn't planning on coming back. "

He was beginning to recognize that quicksilver temper of hers. He noticed, too, that it came and went as spontaneously as her smile.

"Burning your bridges?" he asked softly. "Why was that, Mary-Joy ?"

She didn't answer. "I don't believe this," he muttered, and led her around to the side of the house, swearing under his breath.

"I don't believe it, either," she remarked sarcastically a few minutes later, pacing in annoyance behind him while he picked the lock on her kitchen door. " " A cop, breaking into my house. "

Doug just grunted and pushed the door open. He hesitated for a moment, listening, but the house had a cold, unoccupied feel he found rea.s.suring. " " You ought to have dead bolts," he remarked as he moved into the dark kitchen.

She made a soft, derisive sound and hit the light switch, revealing a room that was utterly devoid of personal touches, like a hotel room. There were no photos that Doug could see, no plants or knickknacks, no notes stuck to the refrigerator door with cute plastic magnets.

He told her to stay where she was while he went down the short hallway to the living room. He scanned it quickly without turning on the lights, then crossed to the window and drew the curtains. He was glad that at least the gla.s.s wasn't broken. He'd already taken note of the splintered door and the downward arc of bullet holes across the stuccoed wall where they'd followed their intended target into the pyracantha bushes. He thought again what a miracle it was she hadn't been hit.

When he went back to the kitchen, he found the target in question standing at the latch en sink, right in front of a nice, big, unshaded window. " " What in the h.e.l.l are you doing? " he yelled as he took her by both arms and jerked her to one side, out of range. " "You haven't been shot at enough for one night?" He leaned across the sink to peer out the window, trying to penetrate the darkness beyond. "What's out there?"

She gave him a withering look and rubbed at her arms as if she wanted to erase his touch. "Garbage cans. Fence. My neighbor's yard. They have a Doberman. Do you mind?"

She nudged Doug out of the way with an insolent elbow and went back to what she'd been doing when he walked in , which, he now realized, was using the dark window gla.s.s as a mirror. He watched for a moment while she scrubbed at a dirt smudge, then gingerly touched a b.l.o.o.d.y scratch near the corner of her mouth, pus.h.i.+ng her tongue against the inside of her cheek in an experimental sort of way.

"Ooh," she said. "Ouch. d.a.m.n: '

He winced along with her, a fact he observed but didn't try to a.n.a.lyze.

"Here, let me see." Once more he put his hands on her, conscious this time, as he turned her to face him, of the way the rounded bones in her shoulders fit the palms of his hands, the way her flesh felt-warm, resilient and alive. His fingers were much more gentle when they touched her chin and tilted her face toward the light. "That's a bad one," he murmured, suddenly feeling as if a truckload of gravel had been dumped in his chest. " " Got any peroxide? "

"What?" Her eyes were gazing straight into his, luminous and transparent as amber. In their depths he could see pain, confusion and fear. The edges of his vision caught just the slightest movement of her mouth, while his fingertips recorded its tiny quiver, like the practice stirrings of a hatchling bird's wings.

"Hydrogen peroxide," he repeated, lightly brus.h.i.+ng the cut near the corner of her mouth with his thumb. "You know-disinfectant?" G.o.d. she did have the most incredible mouth.

"I don't know...." When she spoke he felt the movement of her lips, the moist heat of her breath, humid and intimate as body-warmed silk. "Under the bathroom sink maybe." , "Stay right there." He gripped her shoulders hard and backed her up against the kitchen sink. " " Don't move-you understand me? "

Just to make sure she did understand he gave her one more shake, then dived out of the room. He managed to wait until he was halfway to the bathroom to let go of the breath he'd been holding and grab for a fresh one like a drowning man going down for the last time.

"You're the bossiest person I ever met!" Mary yelled down the hall after him.

Alone, she pressed her clasped hands to her lips and looked around the room-her own kitchen-like a wild animal newly caged.

What am I going to do ? The question kept ricocheting in her mind without hitting upon any answers. Oh, how badly she wanted to run-desperate instincts told her to run-but common sense told her it would probably be only a cla.s.sic case of hopping out of the frying pan and into the fire. Whatever this cop's game plan was, at least he didn't seem to want her immediately and irrevocably dead. Whereas, she had to believe the people in the tan Ford were still out there somewhere, probably just waiting for another chance.

No, she told herself, for the time being she was definitely safer where she was. She just had to be careful, that's all. Watch her step and bide her time.

And please, G.o.d, she prayed as she heard the sound of returning footsteps, don't let him see how scared I am.

The cop had paused in the doorway with a brown plastic bottle in one hand and a box of tissues in the other. He was frowning. He looked large and slightly uncomfortable. "No cotton b.a.l.l.s?"

"What would I want with cotton b.a.l.l.s?" Mary shot back. "What do you think this is, a pharmacy?"

"Don't get testy, I just thought women always had cotton b.a.l.l.s: He placed the bottle and tissues on the countertop as if it were a difficult and delicate operation. " You know-for makeup and. things: '

"Yeah, well, in case you hadn't noticed, I don't wear makeup: She watched warily as he unscrewed the cap to the brown bottle and saturated a tissue with clear liquid. When he reached for her, she hissed sharply and leaned away from him. " Hey, what do you think you're doing? "

"Hold still: His hand closed firmly on the back of her neck. " This isn't going to hurt. : '

For so big and strong a hand, it was surprisingly gentle. So were the fingers that held the tissue and began to dab ohso -carefully at the cut on her cheek.

Mary held herself very still, not because he'd told her to, but because all at once she didn't trust herself to move, or even to breathe. It was so quiet in that room she could hear the faint stirrings of his breath, and the sizzle of peroxide on her own raw flesh. And although he was right, and it didn't hurt at all, for reasons she couldn't begin to fathom she felt the hot sting of tears behind her eyelids, and a worrisome pressure in her throat.

"So," she said, rapidly blinking to fend off disaster, "I suppose your wife uses cotton b.a.l.l.s?"

His voice was preoccupied. "I'm not married."

"You mean, you lied to a cop?" She "tsk tsked" facetiously He stopped his doctoring long enough to give her a quick, hard look, which she met with somewhat dogged defiance. "Would you rather I'd told him the truth?"

She coughed and turned her face away, but with the pressure of just one knuckle against her chin he brought it right back to where he wanted it, which was helplessly pinioned under that penetrating blue stare. She opened her mouth to protest, but all he said was a quiet, authoritative, "Hold still."

And instead of the denials she'd primed herself with she surprised herself by obeying the command, and then by asking gruffly, "Hey, have you got a name? Or some Evidently she'd surprised him a little bit, too. His steady gaze flickered, then slid away. He cleared his throat and went to work on a new scratch, this one on the side of her neck, far down, near her collarbone. "Sorry. It's MacDougal J. T. MacDougal. Most people call me Doug."

" " Yeah? " His loss of composure fascinated her. She hadn't thought cops ever felt unsure, or embarra.s.sed, and the mounting evidence that this one did made her look at him in a whole new light.

It occurred to her that his face was very close to hers. She could see the little lines around his eyes, a tiny muscle quivering high up on his cheek, the way the whisker stubble bracketed his lips. There came to her suddenly a clear and unexpected memory of what he looked like when he smiled.

She s.h.i.+fted, mentally shaking herself, and said, "What's the J.T. stand for?"

"None of your business. Turn around."

Once again she found herself obeying him, moving under the firm but gentle guidanre of his hands. She tilted her head forward automatically when she felt the kiss of cool liquid on the nape of her neck.

"Must be something really awful," she murmured after a moment. "You wouldn't have to abbreviate it if it was just plain old John, or Tom.. " Her eyelids felt so heavy; it was all she could do to keep them from closing. There was something about the way he was touching her, almost as if he were ma.s.saging her neck, she thought. But. oh, how gently.

"Yow," she exclaimed, straightening as if he'd jabbed her. " " What was that ? "

"A bad one," he muttered, sounding so grim she wondered if he was angry about something. "You picked the wrong top to wear for a romp in the bushes, lady, that's for sure: '

"Oh, yeah? What's wrong with it?" Actually, it was one of her favorite tops, along-sleeved cotton knit in horizon taI pink, blue and lavender stripes, cut wide and short so that it barely reached the waistband of her jeans. Now, though, she could see that it was pretty well ruined, snagged in at least a dozen places and speckled with bloodstains. A little s.h.i.+ver ran through her.

"Well," she said dryly, looking away and flinching as she encountered her own reflection in the window gla.s.s, "I wasn't exactly planning on " romping in the bushes," now, was I? "

"Just out of curiosity," he countered in a tone as dry as hers, "where were you planning on going with that suitcase ? "

She hitched one shoulder in an offhand shrug. "Nowhere special. Just taking a little trip, that's all: '

"Yeah, right... Hold still, dammit: '

Mary's temper flared. "Yeah, that's right, MacDougal ," she snapped at him over her shoulder. "A vacation You ever hear of vacations?"

"Vacation..." Without stopping what he was doing, he murmured, "Gotcha, Mary-Joy. You shouldn't lie-you're not very good at it." She cast one wild, guilty look toward the unwashed dishes she'd left in the sink, the half loaf of bread and three yellow bananas in the basket on the countertop , but before she could begin an explanation, or even think of one, he went on in that same soft, expressionless voice, "You told me you weren't planning on coming back remember She couldn't think of anything to say to that. For a few minutes-a few dangerous minutes-she'd actually forgotten she was talking to a cop. Once again tears p.r.i.c.kled her nose and burned hot behind her eyes, but this time she could readily identify the causes of them as fury and frustration. What am Igoing to do? Cops-oh, how she hated them. Especially this one.

"Hold it up," the cop said, so abruptly it made her jump.

She gave a small, distracted gasp. "What?"

He spoke softly, patiently, as if to a not-very-bright child. "Your s.h.i.+rt is in the way. Hold it up, please, so I can see what I'm doing: '

She twisted around to give him an "over my dead body" glare just as he straightened slightly from his bent-over position , and thus found herself suddenly within point-blank range of his dark, much-too-perceptive gaze. For the s.p.a.ce of several seconds they stared at each other, breathing in quick, syncopated rhythms, and then, with a rasp of amus.e.m.e.nt she hadn't heard in his voice before, he said, "If I wanted to ravish your body, I don't think I'd need to be this creative, do you?"

I really do hate him, she told herself again, but this time it was without as much conviction. She gave a sigh and looked up at the ceiling-hoping, perhaps, for divine intervention -then hitched the back of her top up to her shoulder blades. The rest of it she gathered into a tight knot which she crushed in her fists and pressed against the apex of her rib cage, just below her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Cool air s.h.i.+vered her skin into gooseflesh and hardened her nipples so that she was uncomfortably conscious of them, and the way they chafed against the soft knit fabric of her s.h.i.+rt.

"That's better-thank you," MacDougal said pleasantly , and a moment later her skin quivered and flinched under his feathery touch.

"Tickles," she murmured. He didn't reply.

After a few minutes, curiosity overcame embarra.s.sment and she peered down over her clasped hands, trying to steal a look at her bare midriff.

"Holy sh-sheepskins," she exclaimed.

"No kidding," Doug said in a strangled voice.

d.a.m.n-the last thing he wanted to do right now was laugh. He didn't want things getting relaxed and friendly here, at least, not yet. He still wanted answers from this woman, and to get them he needed her scared and vulnerable awhile longer, and thinking hard about who the h.e.l.l wanted her dead.

"Here-I've done what I can back here. You can reach the rest." He thrust the peroxide bottle and a fresh tissue at her and went to lean against the counter a short distance away, arms folded across his chest, the picture of calm authority , patience and self-control.

The truth was, he was keeping his distance because he'd about reached the limits of his self-control, and he didn't think it would be a good idea if the woman in his tenuous custody felt his hands shake. He hadn't known it was going to affect him like that-almost but not quite touching her, scrutinizing that fine-grained skin at such close range he could actually see her pores, and the almost invisible golden down that dusted the b.u.mps of her spine. He knew that she had a small brown mole just about where her bra clasp would be, if she'd been wearing one. He knew that she smelled of soap and baby powder, and very faintly and unexpectedly of strawberries.

Although, he thought, it wasn't much better this way, watching her doctor the scratches on her bare stomach, seeing the way that soft concavity moved in and out with her breathing, then flinched and tightened when she touched it. He could feel his own muscles tense up in automatic response , and had to keep making a conscious effort to unclench his jaws.

He could see that she was conscious of him, too. And understandably embarra.s.sed, which actually he didn't mind at all. He knew he could have said something to make it easier for her, made light conversation to take her mind off things. But he didn't. Instead he deliberately watched her while he let the silence stretch and grow heavy. And still heavier. It was a tactic he'd used before when questioning suspects and witnesses alike, usually to very good effect. Because the fact is, silence makes people nervous. Most people don't like silences; sooner or later they have to try to fill them up. And in Doug's experience, there was no one who hated silence more than someone with a guilty secret.

This woman was no different; it was only a matter of time. He could see that it was getting to her by the way she carefully avoided looking at him, by the tiny frown that had formed between her eyebrows, the sheen of sweat on her upper lip and the bridge of her nose. She kept making small, throat-clearing noises and not saying anything. Then she did look at him-quickly-and away again, while the faintest tinge of pink crept across her cheekbones. And still Doug waited, letting the seconds go by while the tension grew almost audible, like a ticking clock.

When they finally came, the words were too loud and sounded rusty. "That name you called me by... what was it again? "

"Joy Donnelly," Doug supplied, without inflection. " " Yeah, that's right: She was trying so hard to be casual about it. She'd finished with the scratches on her stomach now, and was going after the ones she could reach on her arms and the backs of her hands with great concentration. Her features were composed and utterly still, but her mouth had a bruised look. Her eyes flicked upward, met his briefly, then dropped again. "I was telling you the truth, you know. That's not me."

"Suppose we take your fingerprints," said Doug placidl'Com are them with the ones we found in '

y P Joy s apartmelit. " i A tiny muscle high on her cheek betrayed her. It flinched, as if in expectation of a blow. She reached out slowly with both hands, like a blind person groping for something solid, and placed the bottle and tissue on the table. Then she carefully smoothed her s.h.i.+rt down where it belonged, rubbing distractedly at the wrinkles she'd made in it with her hands while she looked around once, quickly, as if she thought there might be some miraculous hope of escape. She swallowed several times, took a deep breath and opened her mouth... Doug's beeper went off.

In his opinion, which was shared by pretty much everybody he knew, there is no such thing as a good time for a beeper to go off. But then and there he decided that if anyone ever compiled a list of the all-time worst possible moments , this one would have to be right at the top.

The effect it had on Joy was both predictable and instantaneous Her mouth snapped shut as if it had a spring lock on it. Doug s.n.a.t.c.hed at the beeper, checked the number, then let his breath out in a gust of sheer exasperation and growled, "Can I use your phone?"

She nodded and gulped, "In the living room."

He thanked her and went. Inside he was swearing pa.s.sionately , making good use of what he could remember of Maurice the Mynah's vocabulary. d.a.m.n-he'd had her. He was sure of it. Now he was back at square one, and he had a bad feeling that time might be running out on him. And on Joy Donnelly.

Much as he hated to, he had to risk the light. He turned it on and found the phone, quickly dialed a number he knew by heart.

It was picked up on the first ring. "Shannon."

"Yeah, it's me," said Doug just as tersely. "What's up?"

"What do you mean, " What's up? " Talk to me, partner. Have you got her or not? Last I heard from you, you had her tracked to some rescue mission-what's the name?"

" Saint Vincent's. Yeah, I've got her. "

"Oh, man." Doug heard the rush of an exhalation. "So it's really her? You're sure?" i "I'm sure."

"So... tell me what's going on. I'm dyin' here. This is as much my case as it is yours, you know."

Doug let go of his own breath and briefly closed his eyes.

"Yeah, partner, I know. It's just that there's been a lot going on down here. There've been some, uh, developments"

Alarm crackled through the line. "What developments? What's going" " " Somebody took a shot at her a little while ago. "

"At Donnelly? You're kidding me. She's not-"

"She's fine. Pure luck, though. They meant business.

Automatic rifle, something pretty heavy-duty. I got there just in time to keep 'em from finis.h.i.+ng the job. "

There was the briefest of pauses before Shannon asked s with a hard edge in his voice, "So you got the perps?"

Doug almost smiled. Cut to the chase-that was the Jim Shannon he knew. Even after riding a PR desk in the chief's " office for so many years, for Jim the bottom line would always be simply, " Did you get the perps? " That was what was going to make him a d.a.m.n fine chief of police.

"No," he said with a sigh, the admission coming with the same reluctance he'd felt when he was a rookie, and newly partnered with the best detective on the force. Shannon had ahqeady won the first of his two medals of valor by that time; the second he'd earned saving Doug's life. "Just a partial plate number. Nothing on that yet."

"Good Lord." Therewas alonger, significant pause the implications didn't need spelling out. "What about Donnelly ? You get anything out of her? "

"Not yet. She's not real anxious to talk: Doug gave a i tired chuckle. " You couldn't have beeped me at a less opportune time, buddy. Another five minutes. who knows? " j " You're kidding-oh, man, I'm sorry. This sure makes me wish I was back in the thick of things. This case-I'm i going nuts here, know what I mean? "

" " I know. Forget it. This is one we both want. But sooner or later she's got to talk, and I think she knows it: '

"So... what now? You bringing her in?"