Sleeping With Anemone Part 16

My intercom buzzed, startling me. I debated about pretending I wasn't home, then decided I'd be safer letting my visitor know someone was in residence. I answered with a terse, "Who is it?"

"Reilly," came the crackly reply.

I started to buzz him in, then decided I'd better play it safe. "Give me your name, rank, and serial number."

"Sergeant Sean Reilly, and you don't know my serial number, so how would you know whether I was telling the truth?"

"Badge number, I mean."

"You don't know my badge number, either. Would you just let me in? I'm freezing my a.s.s off out here."

Yep. It was Reilly. I buzzed him in, then waited by the door. Once he was visible in the spygla.s.s, I unchained and unlocked the door. "What's up, Reilly? Why aren't you in uniform?"

"Marco asked me to stop by after bowling tonight."

Unbelievable. Marco had called a sitter after all. "Listen, Reilly, you don't need to stay. I'm fine by myself. Marco is being a worrywart."

Reilly rubbed his chin. "The thing is, I owe him a favor and I'd like to pay it off. So I'll stay a while and then get out of your hair, okay?"

Hmm. As long as he was there, maybe I could get him to divulge more information. "Sure. Come on in. Would you like a beer?"

"Sounds great."

"Hey, take a look at my computer screen, would you?" I called from the kitchen.

I grabbed a Bud Light from the fridge and took it to him. Reilly had already seated himself in front of my monitor and was reading the information I'd pulled up.

"You're researching Charlotte Bebe? Why?"

"Because I thought if I located her sister, she'd tell me if Raand was behind the kidnappings."

"Just like that she's gonna admit that she or her sister was involved in an illegal activity?"

"Haven't I persuaded you to tell me things you really didn't want to?"

He scowled at me. "Pull up a chair."

I did so, and then watched as he typed in a Web address.

"Okay, here's the site you need-GDS2, a desktop search tool."

I leaned in to take a closer look. "Wow. That's good to know."

"But you're wasting your time with this search because the prosecutor has already decided to go after Raand. And between you and me, I wouldn't be surprised if the guy isn't in chains this time tomorrow. Done and done."

"What will the charge be?"

"Conspiracy."

"Does the prosecutor have enough on Raand to charge him?"

"Are you kidding? Our DA? You know what he's like. He could indict a ham sandwich, as the saying goes."

Boy, did I know that. In times past, District Attorney Darnell had gone after both Marco and me based on circ.u.mstantial evidence. From a prosecutor's standpoint, it was always politically advisable to find the likeliest suspect and arrest him-or her-quickly, so the jittery public felt safe again. Unfortunately, that meant once a person was in Darnell's crosshairs, guilty or not, look out.

"What if Raand isn't the guy?" I asked.

Reilly gave me a perplexed look. "You can't stand the guy. Why are you even bringing that up?"

"Because I keep thinking about the incompetence of the kidnappers, and somehow I don't see Raand hiring them."

"Maybe he had someone else hire them. You know, delegate?"

I sighed. "Marco mentioned that, too."

"But you're not convinced, so you'll keep poking into things until you tick someone off."

"I might be convinced if I knew what the evidence was."

Reilly pushed back the chair, grabbed the bottle of beer, and made himself comfortable on the sofa. "Any games on TV tonight?"

I plucked the remote from the coffee table and held it out of reach. "Can't you tell me one little thing, such as whether you saw anything in the file about a note from Raand?"

"Why do you do this to me? I knew I should've found another way to repay Marco, but no. I have to be Mr. Nice Guy."

"How about Charlotte Bebe's autopsy report?" I asked. "I mean, there's no harm in saying what the cause of death was, is there? Please?"

Reilly sighed. "If I tell you that, will you drop the subject and give me the remote?"

"Yes."

"Ma.s.sive trauma to the chest and head."

"Caused by-?"

"A vehicle."

"Type of vehicle?"

Reilly glowered. "The tread pattern and size of tire are the type normally used by a van or SUV."

"A van like the one Dwayne Hudge drove?"

"No way of knowing."

"But it wasn't semitrailer tires, right?"

"Right."

That was proof enough for me. Hudge ran down his partner. He must have truly believed Charlotte and her sister were going to double-cross him. That meant finding Charlotte's sister just became my number-one goal.

Reilly held out his hand, so I tossed him the remote. "Here you go."

I went back to the computer, typed Bebe in the GDS2 search box, and came up with a long list of names, none of them local. I stared at the list, tapping my fingers on the desk. Now what? Track down each one of them? I sighed in frustration.

A ding alerted me to an incoming e-mail, so I clicked on it and saw a letter from one of the PAR members, wanting an update on the dairy farm protests.

I replied, The dairy farm is set to open in two weeks, but I need someone to take over temporarily, as I am . . . What could I say? A potential kidnap victim? Under house arrest by my boyfriend? Banned from group activities? Sniper-phobic? . . . incapacitated. Please advise.

That was vague enough. I hit SEND, and went back to the search engine to see what I could find about Nils Raand. A half hour later, I'd uncovered nothing but what was on the Uniworld Food Corporation's Web site. In a single paragraph, it stated that Raand had started in the mail room and worked his way up the corporate ladder to management, where he was now in charge of Uniworld's Midwest Distribution Center. To me, it sounded way too hokey to be true, almost as if Nils Raand were a fictional character.

Maybe that was why I couldn't find anything. Maybe Nils Raand was an alias.

"Hey, Reilly, I know I promised to drop the subject, but isn't there any way you can take a peek in the Raand file for me?"

Silence. I turned to look and found him sound asleep, mouth open.

Some sitter.

Reilly was still asleep and Marco hadn't yet returned when I finally decided to hit the sack. I fell into a sound but not restful sleep, my dreams filled with snipers, chases down dark alleys, missing brooches, and screaming women. Oh, wait. That scream was real.

I shot out of bed and tore from my room, the morning sun temporarily blinding me as I stumbled into the hallway and collided with Marco, who had a towel around his middle.

"What happened?" I asked, squinting.

"I didn't know Nikki was in the bathroom. I went in to shower."

Didn't anyone know what a closed door meant?

I almost asked him that, but, seriously, all he had on was a towel wrapped around his hips. The rest of him was bare and hard-muscled and unbelievably s.e.xy. However, since I was unshowered and unbelievably hungry, I headed for the kitchen. "What time is it?"

"Almost seven o'clock." Marco opened the front door to retrieve the morning newspaper. I hoped the Samples across the hall weren't on their way out their door to walk their Chihuahua. Mrs. Sample was given to hysterics.

I got out the orange juice and set it on the counter. "Want some juice?"

"Sure, thanks." Marco came up behind me and slid one arm around my waist. "You're pretty hot in the morning, with your messy hair . . . bare legs . . ."

And morning mouth. I poured two gla.s.ses of juice, took a sip from one, and handed the other to him over my shoulder. While he drank it, I started measuring out coffee grounds.

The bathroom door opened; then a bedroom door slammed. Nikki was angry.

Marco downed his juice and set the gla.s.s on the counter. "I'd better get dressed and go apologize."

"I wouldn't do that. Nikki went back to bed and will be sound asleep in a few minutes. She was probably half awake when it happened anyway."

"No kidding?" Marco called from the other room.

Definitely kidding. Nikki would be angry until tomorrow morning. "Do you want toast with your coffee?"

I held my breath, hoping he didn't go through the mushy breakfast list again. Instead, Marco appeared dressed in jeans and a white unders.h.i.+rt, walked to one of the cabinets, and took out a box of instant oatmeal.

"I picked this up last night. Want me to make you a bowl?"

"Okay." Marco was really on the ball. I could handle having a guy around who paid attention.

He took out two packages and opened them into bowls. "The word on the street is that Nils Raand will be arrested soon."

"I heard that, too. From my sitter."

Marco was wise enough to look sheepish as he heated water in the microwave. "I guess I should have mentioned Sean was coming over last night."

"I guess. You didn't need to send Reilly here. He slept most of the evening, anyway."

"Reilly owed me. It was no big deal."

Maybe for them.

Marco kissed my cheek. "Have to keep my woman safe."

His woman. Aw. My caveman hero. "By the way, Reilly told me that Charlotte's cause of death was ma.s.sive trauma to the head and chest from tires like a van would have made, so it's pretty clear that Hudge ran her down."

"Yet another stupid move on Hudge's part."

"Also, I did some research on Nils Raand, but other than a short bio on the Uniworld Web site, there is nothing out there on him. Nada. I find that highly suspicious. And by the way, Reilly showed me a new Web site for digging up information on people."

"If it's the site I'm thinking of, I showed it to him."

"Oh." I poured him a cup of coffee. "You showed it to him and not me?"

Marco finished stirring the oatmeal, then handed me one of the bowls. He gave me another kiss, this one on top of my head, then picked up his cup and went around the corner to sit at the dinette table. Through the pa.s.s-through, I watched as he opened the newspaper and began to read as he wolfed down his breakfast.

He'd totally ignored my question.

"Marco?"

"Hmm?" came his mumbled reply.

I took back what I thought about him earlier, because he wasn't paying attention now.

"Okay if I drive?" I asked Marco, as we walked across the parking lot toward the Vette.

"Better if I do."

"Better why?"

"Just better."

New word for the minus column: autocratic. "How is it better?"