"Have You Seen Her?" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rose Karen)

Chapter Thirteen

Tuesday, October 4, 8:03 A.M.

"Good morning," Steven said, quelling the muttered conversation around the table. Everyone was edgy this morning. Harry and Sandra were squabbling, Kent looked like he could use a fresh suit, Meg stood looking out the window, and Nancy was fussing over everyone, something she did a lot more when she was stressed. Nancy was like Helen without the matchmaking, he thought and looked up with gratitude as she refilled his coffee cup. "Thanks."

Nancy gave him her motherly smile and moved on to fill the next empty cup.

"So where are we?" Steven asked his team. "Sandra?"

Sandra shook her head. "None of my contacts on the street have a clue. I did, however, get three very interesting proposals, but none of them looked like relationship material so I said no."

Steven's lips twitched as he took the report Harry pushed across the table. "What, you want stability and morality? Get your head out of the clouds, Sandra."

"Hell, who wants stability? I'd just settle for a guy who wasn't on parole for something too sick for the prime-time news."

"You need to get out of the gutter, Sandra," Nancy clucked. "Find yourself a nice accountant."

Steven rolled his eyes. So much for Nancy not matchmaking. You don't need a matchmaker anymore, he thought. You're having dinner with Jenna tonight.

Drawing on every ounce of discipline he possessed, he put Jenna and her big violet, passion-dazed eyes out of his mind and looked down at Harry's report. "The ketamine supply," he said.

Harry nodded. "Got back answers from all but two of the vet supply houses I queried on ketamine orders and deliveries. Only a few new customers in a hundred-mile radius and none with any irregular ordering patterns. No one has any unaccounted-for ket."

Steven scanned the list. "When do you expect answers from the other two supply houses?"

"I'll call 'em again today, Steven."

Steven gave him back the list. "Keep it up, Harry. I want to know how our boy got the stuff."

"I'd still like to know what he's using it for," Meg said softly from her spot by the window. "There are a lot of ways to immobilize a victim. Why ketamine?"

"I guess we'll find out when we find him," Steven said grimly. "Nancy?"

She shook her head from where she stood by the coffeepot. "I didn't get any hits on the like perps when I cross-referenced against the ketamine," she said. "Lots of crack, pot, and heroin, but no ket."

Steven sighed. "I didn't think you would. And other than the fact the two girls were members of the same parish and were both cheerleaders, I can't find any other areas of commonality. The Rushes didn't even go to church that frequently. Samantha was there last week, but Lorraine hadn't been to church in months." He pinched the bridge of his nose, annoyed the headache was already there. "I've retraced their known steps, talked to all their friends, but nothing matches."

"What about the cheerleading angle?" Sandra asked. "They would have competed against each other, gone to cheerleading camps together."

Harry looked at her, delighted. "Don't tell me you were a high school cheerleader?"

Sandra's expression went sour. "Don't go there, Harry. It was part of my misspent youth. I'm sure if I dug hard enough I'd find a few things you'd prefer were left alone."

Harry was undaunted. "Did you wear a little skirt and smile and everything?"

Sandra narrowed her eyes at him, then looked back at Steven. "You want me to check the cheerleading circles?"

Steven threw a warning glance at Harry who was still chuckling. "Beat the bushes, Sandra, see what you find. Kent? What about you?"

"Only that we found ketamine in Rush's tissue samples. But you knew that yesterday."

Steven's mind blinked back to yesterday and he remembered the man at the soccer match. The press. He suppressed a shudder at the thought. "Let's keep going, folks, we'll turn up something. And please, don't anyone talk to the press. Unfortunately that little jewel belongs to me."

Tuesday, October 4, 9:00 A.M.

"Well, you're early," Miss Wells said as she unlocked the library door.

Neil had been up since four A.M. pacing the floor of his tiny hotel room until he'd thought he would go insane. "I need to use your computer again."

"Well, help yourself," Miss Wells said. "Let me know if you need anything."

"I will," he promised. He sat down at one of the computers, brought up a search engine, and typed "Steven Thatcher and SBI." Then sat back to learn about the man who held the safety of Raleigh's young girls in his hands.

Tuesday_; October 4, 5:00 P.M.

Jenna carefully closed the door of Adam's car, then walked around the car and stared at the gas cap, rage making her body clench and tremble. The twenty-minute drive from school had taken sixty as Adam's car bucked and kicked and sputtered and threatened to leave her stranded. And with every buck, every kick, every sputter, every minute that went by she got madder and madder.

She could take vandalism in her classroom two days in a row. She could even take slashed tires, because they hadn't touched what was important. Adam's car itself.

But this time they had. Hopefully it was only water in the gas tank, something she could fix with a bottle of STP. And if it wasn't… she didn't know what she'd do, but it would be very bad.

Adam's car. His pride and joy he'd lovingly restored with his own hands. She could see him in her mind's eye, running his hands over the car's curves, and suddenly realized the memories of Adam's hands on his car and his hands on her were intermeshed. But instead of making her feel soft and tender inside, the realization made her even angrier.

Stupid juvenile delinquents whose parents hadn't bothered to teach them right from wrong. Idiotic kids who had no respect for other people's property. Who would do anything that was a means to their end. Who she couldn't touch because she couldn't prove they had anything to do with anything. She'd call Officer Pullman. He'd dust for prints and probably wouldn't find any that didn't belong to her or Casey. There was nothing, nothing she could do.

Her nails dug into her hands and she wanted to hit something. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so close to the edge of violence. Yes, she could. It had been the day she'd realized Adam was really going to die and there wasn't a damn thing she could do to stop it. That was the day she'd run for miles and still felt the murderous rage burning inside her, so she'd called a friend, Mark. Adam's best friend to be exact. Mark was also her sensei, her karate master. They'd sparred and kicked and thrown each other to the mat until all the rage was gone. He'd understood her pain and her rage and let her work it out.

She'd call Mark now. It'd been almost a week since her last workout and she was due.

Tuesday, October 4, 6:30 P.M.

Rudy slumped down in the leather chair across from his desk. "You wanted to see me?"

Victor Lutz frowned. "I called Blackman today to make sure you'd be playing this week."

Rudy looked worried. "I will, won't I?"

Victor wanted to slap Rudy's perfect teeth to the other side of his head. "Probably not."

Rudy shot up in the chair. "Why? I thought you said Blackman was fixing it."

"Apparently that was before your friends destroyed about five thousand dollars of school property. You're lucky Blackmail's afraid of me or you'd all be in jail, dammit," he hissed. "What the hell were you doing?

Rudy looked affronted. "I didn't do anything. The guys did. Just like you said to do."

Victor slapped the desk. "I said, target the teacher's belongings, not school property, you idiot!"

Rudy's face blanked and Victor once again cursed Nora's stupid genes. The boy had the IQ of a damn turnip. Victor leaned across his desk, hoping his face showed every ounce of frustration he was feeling. "Her belongings means things that belong to her. Like her tires. Like the little clay figures she keeps on the balcony of her apartment." His lips thinned. "Like her dog."

Rudy's eyes widened. "You've been to her place?"

"I've driven by. That's all. Now tell your stupid, brainless friends to stop vandalizing school property or you'll all be off the team."

Rudy raised a brow. "Kenny dumped water in her gas tank this afternoon."

Victor nodded. "That's closer. Too easily reparable, but closer. Now leave me alone and go make sure your friends understand what they need to do."

Dismissing his son, Victor resumed work on his ledgers when a pained cry split the air. Josh stood in the hall doubled over, his arms crossed over his gut. Rudy stood over him, flexing his fingers.

"He was listening. Again," Rudy muttered.

"Leave her alone," Josh moaned. "Dr. Marshall never hurt you."

Victor looked away. "Don't hit your brother, Rudy. You might damage your throwing hand."

Tuesday, October 4, 6:45 PM.

"She's not still mad at you, is she?"

Steven jumped, startled that Mrs. Kasselbaum had gotten the drop on him. He'd been deep in thought, standing in front of Jenna's door. Wondering how she'd look, how he'd get them past the awkwardness of their last meeting when he'd come so close to jerking her to her feet and-

"Well, is she?" Mrs. Kasselbaum demanded.

Steven turned to find the neighbor's door open the expected six inches. "No, ma'am." He showed her the plastic bag he held in his hand. "I just came to put a new deadbolt on her door. It bothered me that she didn't know exactly who had keys to her apartment."

Mrs… Kasselbaum opened the door a few more inches and nodded once in approval. "That's very wise. I'll make sure I get a key when you're finished. But she's not home right now."

Steven stared. "What do you mean she's not home? Her car's out in the parking lot."

"Car trouble," Mrs. Kasselbaum confided in a lowered voice. "I heard her telling the man she left with that she barely made it home from school. Something about water in the gas line."

Rudy and his friends struck once again, Steven thought grimly. He'd heard about the vandalism in her classroom from Matt, who'd heard it from a soccer buddy, who'd heard it from his older brother who apparently shared the general opinion that Dr. Marshall was "hot."

Wait a minute. "What man she left with?" he asked sharply. "Was it Seth?"

Mrs. Kasselbaum shook her head, an unmistakable gleam in her old eyes. "Oh, no. This was one of her karate friends. Young, very nice-looking. A Marine with a tattoo on his right arm. He's a black belt, too. I always feel safe when Jenna leaves with him."

Steven tried to force back the jealousy that clawed at his gut. The thought of Jenna with another man made him want to punch the other guy's lights out, black belt or no. A ridiculous reaction considering he'd known the woman less than a week. She was free to see whomever she pleased. She was her own woman.

No she's not. She's mine.

The thought came from nowhere, shocking him with its clarity and force. He shook his head hard, trying to clear it from his brain. Totally inappropriate reaction. Looking for some diversion, he stared down at Mrs. Kasselbaum. "How do you know he has a tattoo on his right arm?"

Mrs. Kasselbaum batted her eyes. "I asked him to show it to me. Mercy, but that man has a wonderful body." She fanned her face. "Made me wish I was twenty years younger."

Under other circumstances Steven might have smiled at the flirtatious Mrs. Kasselbaum, but he couldn't make his lips curve even the slightest bit. He was too angry. And hurt, if he'd admit it. She'd forgotten about their dinner and gone off with some Marine with a tattoo. So much for whatever electricity passed between them Sunday night. His temper simmered. So much for her so-called integrity. He clenched his jaw. So much for her being different than other women. He looked down to find Mrs. Kasselbaum looking up with alarm and realized his face must have shown every spark of anger he'd been feeling.

He forced a smile for Mrs. Kasselbaum's benefit. "I need to be going."

Mrs. Kasselbaum's face fell. "Oh, no, dear boy, please don't leave. That karate man doesn't mean a thing to her, I know. He's-"

Anger bubbled up and overflowed and he could feel his cheeks heating. Pity was the one thing he absolutely couldn't stand. "It's okay, Mrs. Kasselbaum," Steven said stiffly. "She just forgot. Just tell her I came by and give her this deadbolt if you don't mind."

Just then the lobby door blew open. Steven looked over the railing at the black-haired, white-clad, sandal-footed figure rushing in, waving to a car at the curb. She looked up, her hair sliding away from her face. Even from three floors up Steven could see her eyes widen and her jaw drop.

Aware of Mrs. Kasselbaum watching every move, he waited to see how Jenna would try to explain. What lies she would concoct.

Jenna closed her eyes and quietly blew out a breath, all the anxiety she'd worked out of her system returning with a vengeance. She'd forgotten about him.

After agonizing all day about what she'd wear, what he'd do, how she'd respond… Heat throbbed through her body, completely overriding the chill of the night. And she'd forgotten about him. She opened her eyes and lifted her gaze to where he stood, arms crossed tightly, staring down at her. Even from three floors down she could see he was angry.

She scrunched her brows together, searching his face. More angry than he has a right to be over a missed dinner, she thought, puzzled. Then Mrs. Kasselbaum appeared at his side looking decidedly guilty herself and it all became crystal clear.

Old biddy, she grimaced and started up the stairs two at a time, wincing every time her left foot took her weight. She'd wrapped it, but the pummeling she'd given poor Mark had made it throb almost as badly as when she first fell down. When she'd made it to her front door she threw a disgusted glance at Mrs. Kasselbaum who dropped her eyes to the floor.

"As you can see. I'm home safely, Mrs. Kasselbaum. You can go back to your stories now."

Mrs. Kasselbaum looked up, bristling. "I was watching the evening news. Not stories."

"Whatever. You've caused enough trouble." Jenna raised a brow. "Don't you agree?"

"I tried to tell him the karate man didn't mean anything."

Jenna bit her tongue. Old biddy. "Mrs. Kasselbaum. Please." Finding her key, she opened her front door to where Jim and Jean-Luc sat obediently, bodies quivering, awaiting her slightest command. If only the whole world could be like dogs, she thought. Life would certainly be

simpler. Then she looked back to where Steven Thatcher still stood and her heart did a slow roll in her chest. Simpler perhaps, but not nearly as interesting. He still had his arms crossed over his chest. A plastic bag with the name of a local hardware store dangled from one of his big hands.

"Come in, Steven. Please."

Steven hesitated, looked over to where Mrs. Kasselbaum nodded vigorously, then back to where Jenna stood still.

She had said please. So he followed her into her apartment.

She shut her door and gestured to the dogs who in turn stood, nuzzled her hand, and went off to curl up on their dog beds in the corner. She met his eyes soberly.

"I'm sorry," she began without preamble. "Once again I've been rude."

His anger began to fizzle. "We never agreed on a time." He shrugged. "Maybe I'm early."

Her lips curved up. "Maybe you are. Can I explain what happened? It's not what you think."

"What do you think I think?" he countered.

She didn't look away and his anger fizzled a little more. "That I was off with someone else when I'd said I would go to dinner with you. That I'm unreliable and undependable and quite possibly a liar." She lifted a brow. "Am I close?"

Steven nodded. "Close," he admitted.

Jenna sighed. "Mrs. Kasselbaum told you she saw me leave with another man, right?"

"With a gorgeous body."

Jenna laughed softly. "I'm sure his wife thinks so."

"He's married?" Steven didn't know whether to be relieved or horrified.

"Very much so. I was a bridesmaid in their wedding." She walked over to the wall she'd covered with photo-graphs and plucked one off. "Mark and Susan. Mark was my late fiance's best friend. Our group of friends used to have so much fun," she said wistfully. "I don't see most of the old group anymore. But Mark is my sensei. My karate master," she added, "so I see him a few times a week." She took the snapshot and slipped it back on its nail on the wall.

When she turned around, a frown wrinkled her forehead. She paced by him to stare out the picture window to the parking lot below. "I've had a couple more bad days at school. Nothing too serious. Just a string of pranks. But tonight they did something to A-to my car. I was so… mad." She paced back, stopping to look up, concern in her eyes this time. "I'm glad none of those boys was around because I might have done something I'd truly be sorry for. I was so angry I needed to hit something. So I called Mark. I'd missed my workout on Saturday because of my ankle, so he picked me up for a sparring session."

Steven relaxed. "Did you win?"

Her mouth curved. "Against Mark? Of course not. But I got in my fair share and that's what I needed. I'm sorry I was late and forgot to call you."

"You wouldn't have gotten me anyway. I was out all day."

They each drew a breath and laughed awkwardly. Then the laughter pattered away, leaving the two of them staring at each other. Steven watched her eyes widen and dilate, her cheeks blush rose and her pulse flutter once again at the hollow of her throat. And once again his body responded, his erection hard and full against his zipper. She blinked then, the tip of her tongue stealing out to moisten her bottom lip and he bit back both the groan and the urge to let his own tongue follow the path hers had taken.

Jenna cleared her throat. "So… is my apology ac-cepted?" she asked, her voice barely more than a breathy murmur and he clenched his jaw.

She really wants this.

Steven, wait.

Shit. He hated when his conscience was right. Knowing it was for the best, he forced a grin and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Of course."

Jenna blinked. She'd been sure he was about to lean forward and kiss her. She'd all but lifted herself on her toes to meet him halfway. "Just like that?" she asked, feeling more than just a little bit vexed by his abrupt change of tone.

He nodded cheerfully and she wanted to smack him. "Just like that," he said. "But you do realize that it's now two to one. I'll have to apologize to even the score."

"I can think of a good one right now," Jenna muttered under her breath.

He frowned and leaned an inch closer, close enough for her to smell his aftershave. He smelled really good. "What did you say?" he asked.

That you smell really good and why didn't you kiss me? her brain shouted. "Nothing." She plucked at the sleeve of her gi. "Look, I can be ready in fifteen minutes, if you still want to go to dinner."

She watched his nostrils flare and his cheeks darken. His brown eyes went from placid to smoldering in one hard beat of her heart. So he was interested after all. "I still want to go to dinner," he said and a shiver teased down her back at the sudden huskiness of his voice.

Mesmerized, she could only look up into his face. "Then I'll… just… go…" The words trailed off and she licked her dry lips but her feet still hadn't moved an inch. His eyes had grown even more intense and now a muscle ticked in his jaw. He swallowed and drew his hand from his pocket. Lifted it to her face and gently pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Brushed a fleeting caress against her cheek before burying his hand back in his pocket, leaving her cheek tingling.

She took a step back although what she really wanted was to jump up and wrap herself around his body.

"Take your time," he murmured and she all but groaned. "I'll wait."

Steven held his body rigid as he watched her back away. Releasing his pent-up breath did nothing to release the tension that wound him tighter than a spring.

She'd nearly set him on fire with a look and a few breathy words. Imagining what she'd be like writhing under him while he lost himself in her body…

He lifted his eyes to find two German shepherds regarding him with twin wary stares. Carefully he approached them, both to distract himself and to begin building a relationship with Jenna's animals. If this worked out he'd be seeing a lot of them.

He held out his hand and the one on the right sniffed him, then licked his fingers. The one on the left, not to be outdone, jumped up and licked his face. He guessed he was in. "Down, boy," he told the dog, whichever one it was, and amazingly it obeyed. He pulled at the dog's tag and frowned. "Captain," he read. He pulled the other's tag and found it said the same thing. "How come neither of you has a tag with your real names?" he asked them. Both dogs sat and wagged their tails. Apparently their training did not extend to articulation. "Well, at least you don't drool."

Steven took a look around him. Jenna kept a clean apartment, her taste running to rustic comfort. Her walls, however, were quite a different story. Nearly every square inch of wall space was covered and, as he discovered by taking a slow three-sixty turn, dedicated to a theme. One wall was covered in framed photographs, ranging in size from ten-by-thirteen portraits to snapshots. Another wall held awards and diplomas. The wall in her dining room was visually intriguing, bearing an assortment of colorfully painted masks. But the photo wall held the most appeal as he hoped it would provide some insight into the real Jenna Marshall.

She was, he discovered as he went from one photo to the next, a woman of diverse interests. There was the karate, of course. There were a half-dozen pictures of her teammates all lined up, sparring or board breaking. But she'd also played softball and volleyball, too. In fact, he saw, stooping down to see some photos closer to the floor, she'd coached a team of girls, a dozen grinning eight-year-olds wearing T-shirts from a local real estate office and proudly gathered around an impressive-looking trophy. And her volunteer efforts didn't stop there. He found five photos, one for each of the last five years, of Jenna with her arm around a kid under the sign proclaiming the Special Olympics. Admiration warmed him even as he heard the death knell of any last hope for a fleeting, no-strings affair.

She was a nice woman. A woman who formed attachments, supporting the same charities year atter year. She was just too nice. Too nice to even think of proposing a no-strings relationship.

Steven stopped short at the next snapshot. And she fished. Damn. He leaned forward, squinting. The fish she proudly held up for the camera was a good sight bigger than anything he'd ever pulled in. She was a nice woman who fished and who was kind to children and puppies.

And who made him think of hot, sweaty sex every time he laid eyes on her. Who at this very moment was in the shower. He squeezed his eyes closed, able to imagine only all too well. He had to make this stop. It was ridiculous, not to mention humiliating, acting like a randy sixteen-year-old. He rapidly searched for a photo with a more… deflating theme.

And found it. Jenna in the arms of another man, standing in front of a Christmas tree. Her late fiance, Steven supposed. He was a tall man with tousled dark hair and black wire-rimmed glasses. Kind of like a grown-up version of Harry Potter. Younger than she was now, Jenna looked up at the man with such unadulterated joy, Steven felt both jealous and wistful. To have a woman look up at him with such happiness in her eyes was something he'd never known, but that he'd always wanted. Something he'd never had, not even during the good years with Melissa.

He lifted the picture from the wall and brought it close enough to see the couple holding hands. The man held Jenna's hand up to the camera, showing off a modest diamond ring. The man wore a Celtic band on his right hand- the same ring Jenna now wore on her thumb. Another spear of jealousy pricked, followed closely by shame. He resented the ring on her thumb. But her fiance was dead, unavailable. How low was he to feel jealous of a dead man?

Apparently pretty damn low.

"That was Adam."

Steven jerked guiltily, turning to find Jenna standing a few feet behind him. She'd done something with her hair, braided it up so that it looked old-fashioned and sexy at the same time-and left her neck completely bare. She'd changed into a simple black dress with tiny little buttons that ran throat to hem, sleeveless so that it showed off the definition in her arms. And unfortunately so long that it hid most of her incredible legs. Her stocking-clad legs. He wouldn't let his mind dwell on the fact that she was probably wearing real stockings with garters under that dress, instead, forcing his eyes to her feet on which she wore a pair of flats.

"No skyscraper heels tonight?" he asked, smiling.

She shook her head. "I seem to recall making a scout's honor promise, even though I didn't spit in my palm." She made a face. "That's just too gross."

They stared at each other for a long moment, then Steven cleared his throat, holding out the picture. I'm sorry. I got curious."

She picked up the photo. Steven watched her face for any sign of residual passion, but she just smiled a little and wiped the dust from the glass with her fingertips. "This was Adam."

"Your fiance."

"Um-hmm."

"You loved him." The words were out before he knew they were coming.

Her head snapped up, her violet eyes surprised. "Of course. He was a good man."

Steven felt his cheeks heat. "That's good to hear. I'm glad." Although a part of him wasn't and he wanted to squash that childish part like a bug. "Do you mind my asking what he died of?"

She met his eyes briefly before returning the photo to its nail on the wall. "Not at all. I've become something of a champion for the cause, although most men cringe to hear it. Adam died of testicular cancer." Steven winced and Jenna raised a knowing brow. "I told you that would be your reaction. But as the father of three boys, you have a responsibility for their health."

Steven felt his cheeks grow even warmer. He was fairly certain that testicles weren't on the list of approved first-date conversation. "1 suppose so."

"Did you know that testicular cancer strikes young men between eighteen and thirty-five?"

He didn't. "No."

"And did you know that if caught early it is very easily treated?"

He didn't know that either. "No. So, Adam's wasn't caught early?"

Jenna's eyes flashed. "No, it wasn't, because he was too damn proud or scared to go to the doctor. His was an unusually fast-growing variety, but it still would have been treatable if they'd caught it earlier. But by the time he went to the doctor it had spread to his brain. We had ten months after that. Ten damn months." She looked away and he could see her fighting for control. Finally she looked back, her eyes no longer turbulent, but not serene, either. "I'm sorry, Steven. It's a bit of a sore spot with me. I've tried to get the school to do more active education, but they refuse to corral the boys into a room and talk to them. I've brought pamphlets, but not a single boy wants to be seen taking one."

"I can kind of understand that," Steven said thoughtfully, taking another look at the woman standing before him. He could now add crusader to the growing list of her attributes. "Doesn't make it right, but I can understand it."

One side of her mouth tilted up. "Most men do. If you think of a way to get around it, let me know. I've got a box full of pamphlets in my closet, just waiting to be read. But enough about that. I'm starving." She pulled a jacket from the closet and shrugged into it. "Ready when you are."

He opened the door and breathed appreciatively when she passed through. She'd washed her hair with the coconut shampoo again and once again his mind ran through the connections-coconuts, suntan oil, beaches, bikinis. He let the door slam and said the first light-headed thing that came to his mind. "I'm up by two apologies now."

"No you're not," she returned and looked up into his face and grinned. "You apologized for your nosiness in there when you poked into my pictures. You're still only up by one."

Steven laughed out loud, the sound echoing in the empty apartment stairwell. "Jenna, you are incorrigible."

She nodded. "Thank you. I try very hard."