Noah looked away, suddenly as emotionally overwhelmed as he’d been the night before when he’d called Brock. “We’re a fine pair, Jack. Both of us are going home to empty beds. Yours just has a warm body in it.”
Jack got out of Noah’s car. “And on that bright note, I’m going home.”
Noah had pulled out of the parking lot behind him when his cell vibrated. “Webster.”
“It’s Micki. I just got the message you left about Eve’s keys. We didn’t find them at the scene. We combed the entire area with a metal detector. They weren’t there.”
“Thanks, Mick. I appreciate you looking.” He hung up, worried. Eve’s keys should have been there, somewhere. Somebody had picked them up. Which meant somebody had free access to Eve’s apartment. And to Eve. He shivered, suddenly much colder.
He did an abrupt U-turn. At least he could fix that.
Tuesday, February 23, 10:15 p.m.
“Here you are.” He’d brought the evening cup of tea to the woman in his bed. It was a nice habit. The woman liked the tea and on the nights he went out, he added a little something more to put her right to sleep. He could come and go as he pleased and she’d never know. Then when she woke, he’d be sleeping beside her. Anything ever went wrong, instant alibi. There was beauty in simplicity.
“Thank you.” She took the cup, frowning when the cat at her side jumped from the bed to wind around his legs. “Ringo likes you better. Why does he like you better? I’m the one who brought him in from the snow.”
Because I put him there, knowing you’d bring him in. Ringo the cat had belonged to Martha Brisbane but had curled happily in his lap as he’d made Martha clean her hovel at gunpoint. It had given Martha great pain to watch her cat bond with the man who’d promised to kill her. Who’d followed through on that very promise.
He’d decided to keep Martha’s cat. It was a memento he could enjoy in front of everyone. Visitors would pet the cat and only he would know from whence it had come. Letting the woman believe the cat rescue was her idea ensured her compliance without threat. He liked to save his threats for important things. He’d only had to strike her once and she’d learned quickly. But there were other, better ways of keeping a woman in line.
“Must be the liver on my hands,” he said with a smile. Or the blood. Metaphorically speaking, of course. He’d have more metaphorical blood on his hands very soon.
“Must be,” she said, still frowning at the cat. She sniffled a little. “Well, at least I can breathe when he’s with you. I think I have an allergy.”
Which was why she’d never choose a pet on her own. Not unless you counted as pets the snakes she kept in test aquariums in her research lab. And he did not. A snake was not a pet. A snake was a weapon of terror. Just ask Christy Lewis.
“I have work to do,” he said. “Drink your tea. And don’t wait up.”
Tuesday, February 23, 11:00 p.m.
On her knees counting beer bottles in boxes, Eve did the evening inventory with a disgruntled sigh. “Sal, I wish you’d talked to me before you did that booze run. We’re almost out of vodka.” They went through an amazing amount of vodka. Most of the cops she’d met came to the bar to drink. A lot.
Except for Noah, a recovering alcoholic who’d ordered tonic water for a year… So he could watch me. It should have made her uncomfortable. Instead, it hurt. A lot.
Sal’s shoes stopped next to her and she realized she was staring into the box, the heel of her hand pressed to her chest. “What’s wrong, Eve?” he asked quietly.
Everything. “Just tired,” she said, sitting back on her heels so she could see him.
Concern creased his forehead. “Go home. We’re light tonight. I’ll do inventory.”
Only three customers lingered, but David had called to say he was running late. “My ride’s not here yet, so I might as well finish. But thanks.”
“Jeff told me what happened, with that reporter. You have to be more careful.”
Her wrist still hurt from Buckland’s grip. “Sure. Like it’s my fault,” she muttered.
“I never said that,” he snapped. “Stand up. I can’t get down there to argue with you.”
Automatically she stood. Sal’s bad leg didn’t bend well. “I don’t want to argue with you,” she started, then stopped when he brought a bottle of wine from behind his back. She frowned at the label. “Nonalcoholic? What’s this?”
“Peace offering. I’m sorry about the pool, Eve. I don’t know why it hurt you, but it did, and I would never hurt you on purpose. Can’t you tell me what’s really wrong?”
Her eyes stung. This man had given her so much, so many chances. “Sal…” She looked away. “Did you ever want something so badly and know you could never have it? Something that everybody else has and you can only dream about?”
“Every damn day,” he said quietly and she looked at his leg before meeting his eyes.
He was surrounded every day by men and women living his dream and he served them, always with a smile. “I guess you do.” Hastily she scrubbed her wet cheeks.
“Honey, what do you want so badly that you think you can’t have?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Just to be normal, I guess.”
“We both know that’s a total bullshit answer. But you’ll tell me when you’re ready.” He put the bottle in her hands. “Forgiven?”
She kissed his cheek. “Of course. Thank you. I have a houseguest. We’ll enjoy this.”
“Uh… no,” he said. “It’s for you to take to Trina’s on Sunday. Web can have this.”
She looked at the nonalcoholic label, then back up at Sal. “You knew about Noah?”
“Of course. Back when he was in the academy he’d come in here, all swagger and bravado, just like all the young guys do. But after his wife’s funeral he changed, fell way down the rabbit hole. He climbed out, though, and didn’t come back here, for years.”
Eve’s breath caught in her throat. His wife’s funeral. Now she understood. Grief had driven him into the bottle. She wondered what had brought him out. Poor Noah.
“How many years?” she whispered.
“Nine or ten, at least. Then last year somebody retires, one of Web’s friends. He darkens my doorstep for the first time in years, doesn’t even take off his coat.”
Eve remembered it well. It had been the first time she’d seen Noah come through Sal’s door. He’d sat alone, the party going on around him, a tonic water in his hand.
Sal lifted her chin with his finger. “He stared at you all night. Didn’t think a soul noticed him, but I did. Anybody that pays attention to you has to go through me and Josie. But I knew Web. He’s a good man. And I was happy he was finally coming out of that cocoon he wrapped around himself when his wife died. Don’t close your doors so quickly, Eve. You’ve made so much progress since you first came here, don’t let it stop with the outside.” He touched the tip of his finger to the scar on her cheek.
She sniffled. “I guess I’m lucky you’re not a mean boss.”
“So you’ll take the bottle to Trina’s?”
No, she thought sadly, but she made herself smile at him. “Sure.”
He didn’t smile back. “Trina’s right. You are a lousy liar.”
She was saved a reply by the jingling of the door. Automatically she turned. Stopped. And stared as Noah came through the door. Her chest went so tight she could barely breathe and she drank in the sight of him, greedily, desperately, too tired to try to hide it. It didn’t matter. Everyone seemed to have known anyway.
Noah pushed the door closed and for five painful beats of her heart he looked at her.
She felt the bottle being taken from her numb hands. “Speak of the devil,” Sal said quietly. “I’ll just go in the back.”
Noah took off his hat and she could see the flash of his eyes. He was angry. Oh, no, she thought, panic rising in her throat. Not another one. Not another dead woman. Crossing the room, he tossed his hat to the bar without a glance.