Mercy

  “That’s another thing,” Cameron said. “How come Monk won’t report to any of us? Why does he have to go through Dallas? He’s getting his money from all four of us, and we should be able to get hold of him any time we want. Hell, I don’t even know Monk’s cell phone number.”

  “I think Cameron’s right. Why can’t we talk directly to Monk?”

  “The two of you are obsessing over a minor detail,” John said. “Dallas brought Monk in, remember? Maybe our killer doesn’t like meeting with the four of us because he doesn’t trust us.”

  “Bull,” Preston said. “Dallas just likes running him. It’s a stupid power play if you ask me.”

  John was irritated. “I don’t give a damn who he gives his report to as long as he gets the job done.”

  Dallas was standing in the doorway listening to the conversation. “You want Monk’s phone number? Two-two-three–one-six-nine-nine. Happy now, Cameron? What about you, Preston? Want to know his home address? Even I don’t know that, but I could put a tail on him and find out . . . if you want that information too.”

  “Tell me you’ve got good news,” Preston said, ignoring the sarcasm.

  “If you’re asking me if Monk has the package, the answer’s no.”

  “He still hasn’t found the damn papers?” Cameron asked incredulously.

  “The package has to be in the hospital,” Preston said. “It’s the only place Monk hasn’t been able to search thoroughly.”

  “Then get him back in there,” Cameron demanded.

  “I told Monk to stay on Renard,” Dallas said. “He can’t be two places at once, and besides, he already looked through her locker at the hospital. Remember what I told you, Cameron? He even had an aide helping look around the ER. He can’t just waltz in there and start opening drawers. Use your head.”

  “I don’t like assumptions.” John made the statement as he rocked back and forth in his swivel chair behind the desk. “I’m not convinced Michelle Renard didn’t take that package with her when she left the hospital. Just how thorough do you think Monk was when he went through her house and her clinic? Maybe he was in a hurry . . .”

  “Bull,” Dallas said. “He’s a professional, and he did his job. Why wouldn’t he be thorough? He’s going to make a hell of a lot of money the second he hands over the package. He wants to find the files as much as we do.”

  Turning to John, Preston said, “God damn your wife. She put us in a hell of a situation here.”

  “Get real. We killed her, remember?” Dallas said.

  Cameron buried his face in his hands and leaned forward on his elbows. “John, you’re the one who got us into this nightmare, you son of a bitch.”

  John remained calm. “What’s done is done. We have to think about the future.”

  Cameron shouted back. “What future? If we don’t get those papers, it’s over.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  There were six messages on Theo’s cell phone. He went to Michelle’s library to listen and make notes while she started dinner. When he was finished, he called Noah Clayborne and asked him to drive over from Biloxi.

  “Is dinner ready? I’m hungry,” he asked when he came into the kitchen.

  “No, dinner isn’t ready,” she said. “This isn’t a bed-and-breakfast. You’re going to help.” She picked up the knife and began chopping celery and carrots. He leaned against the sink watching her.

  “Damn, you’re good.”

  “That’s what all the boys say.”

  “You’re like a robot with that knife. Quick, precise . . . impressive.”

  “You do know how to turn a girl’s head.”

  He grabbed one of the carrots and popped it into his mouth.

  “What do you want me to do? I’m starving.”

  “That double cheeseburger didn’t do the trick?”

  “That was just an appetizer.”

  “You could light the grill for me. There are some matches in the drawer to your right.”

  “Is the grill in the backyard?” He was looking suspiciously out the back window, squinting to see into the twilight through the screened-in porch.

  “Of course it’s in the backyard. What’s the matter?”

  “Do I have to worry about another Lois out there?”

  “No,” she assured him. And then, as her daddy would say, the devil got hold of her and she couldn’t resist adding, “Of course, Elvis could be in the neighborhood. You might want to take the broom out with you, just in case.”

  He stopped in his tracks. “Elvis?”

  She tore a sheet of aluminum foil and was piling vegetables in the center. “Our local celebrity. Last time anyone reported seeing him, he swore Elvis was sixteen feet long.”

  “You named an alligator Elvis? What’s the matter with you people?”

  “We don’t name all of them,” she defended. “Just the impressive ones.”

  “You’re joking about Elvis. Right?”

  She smiled sweetly. “Sort of.”

  “It’s sort of damned cruel to torment a man who has an obvious phobia about alligators, Mike.”

  “I would prefer it if you called me Michelle.”

  “I would prefer it if you didn’t joke about alligators.”

  “Okay. Deal.”

  “So how come I can’t call you Mike? Everyone else does.”

  She was carefully folding the edges of the foil when she answered. “I don’t want you to think of me as a . . . Mike.”

  “Why not?”

  “It isn’t very feminine. How many men do you know who would want to get involved with a woman named Mike?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  “I don’t want to ‘never mind.’ Are you saying you want to get involved —”

  She interrupted him. “No, that isn’t what I’m saying. Just don’t call me Mike. Now, go light the grill, and stop looking at me as though you think I’ve lost my mind. If you get scared, scream and I’ll come out with a broom and save you.”

  “Men don’t scream, and you, Michelle, have a sick sense of humor.” He glanced out the window again and then said, “Ah, hell. Alligators come out at night, don’t they? I’m the one who’s lost his mind. What am I doing in this . . .” He was going to say godforsaken place but caught himself in time. “. . . wilderness.”

  She’d guessed where he’d been headed, though. The glint in her eyes told him so.

  “I don’t know. You tell me. What are you doing here?”

  “I came to fish, remember? I didn’t figure on alligators getting in my way.”

  “So far, none have,” she pointed out. “And you didn’t come here just to fish.”

  “You’re right.”

  “And?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe I’m looking for something. Okay?” Now he sounded antagonistic.

  She turned back to the sink. “Tell me what it is. I’ll help you find it.”

  He went outside without answering her. She couldn’t understand where the sudden tension had come from. One minute they were joking, and the next Theo had turned dead serious. On the surface he was a laid-back, take-everything-in-stride kind of man. Still waters . . . she thought. There was a good deal more to Theo Buchanan than his good looks.

  She decided to lighten up. If he wanted to tell her what his agenda was, then he would. She wasn’t going to nag him like a fishwife.

  It was such a lovely, sultry evening that they ate dinner at the wrought-iron table on the porch. The conversation was superficial and strained, but it didn’t interfere with Theo’s appetite. He ate like her father, with unbridled gusto. When he was finished, there wasn’t a single leftover.

  “If I ate like you do, I’d have to widen the doorways,” she said.

  He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. “It’s so peaceful here, listening to the sounds of the bullfrogs and crickets.”

  She didn’t want to give him an upset stomach by getting him all riled up again, so she didn’t mentio
n that the sounds in the distance were coming from the alligators. Since she’d grown up in the swamp, she didn’t even notice it. She had a feeling city boy would freak out, though.

  He insisted on doing the dishes. Since she didn’t have a dishwasher, he had to do them by hand. She put the seasonings away while he washed the silverware, then grabbed a towel and started drying.

  “How come you aren’t married?” he asked.

  “I haven’t had time.”

  “Are you seeing anyone now?”

  “No.”

  Good, he thought. He had no intention of hanging around Bowen, but while he was here, he didn’t want any other man getting in his way. And that made him a heartless son of a bitch, he thought.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked. “You’ve got the most ferocious look on your face.”

  I’m a selfish bastard. That’s what I’m thinking. “I’m wondering why you don’t have men chasing you. One look and any man would know . . .”

  “Know what?”

  He grinned. “You’ve got the goods.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What a romantic way to give a girl a compliment.”

  “Hey, I’m from Boston, remember? Men are raised to be blunt. Are there any men around here you’re interested in?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Just curious.”

  “I think Ben Nelson would like to get something going, but I’m not going to encourage him. Ben’s nice, but there isn’t any chemistry between us. You know what I mean?”

  “Sure I do. Like the chemistry between us.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” He handed her a plate to dry, noticed it was still streaked with soap bubbles, and snatched it back to rinse again. “You’ve been wanting to jump my bones since the minute I walked into your dad’s bar.”

  He’d hit that nail on the head, but she wasn’t about to admit it. “Jump your bones? I think not.”

  “I’m simply calling it like it is.”

  “And how did you come up with that notion?”

  “I saw it in your eyes.”

  “You couldn’t have.”

  “I couldn’t?”

  She smiled. “You were too busy looking at my legs.”

  He didn’t appear the least chagrined. “They’re fine-looking legs.”

  “I’ll admit there is a certain physical attraction, but that’s perfectly healthy.”

  “Is this a lead-in to a lecture about hormones?”

  “That depends on how long I’m going to have to stand here and wait for you to finish washing that bowl. You don’t do a lot of dishes, do you?”

  “Your point?”

  “You’re taking forever.”

  “I’m slow and easy with everything I do.”

  It wasn’t what he said but how he said it that made her heartbeat escalate. Was he slow and easy in bed? Oh, Lord, wouldn’t that be something?

  “You were married, weren’t you?” She blurted out the question.

  “Yes, I was. I wasn’t very good at it.”

  “Your wife died.”

  “That’s right.”

  She reached up and put another dish away in the cabinet. “That’s what Daddy told me. How did she die?”

  He handed her a salad bowl. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I’m curious,” she admitted. “If you think I’m being too intrusive, I won’t ask any more questions.”

  “No, it’s okay. She died in a car crash.”

  “Oh, Theo, I’m sorry. How long ago did the accident happen?”

  “It wasn’t an accident.”

  There was absolutely no inflection in his voice. He might as well have been talking about a leaky faucet.

  “No?”

  He sighed. “No, it wasn’t an accident. You know what? This is the first time since it happened four years ago that I’ve said it out loud.” She could tell by his demeanor that he wanted her to change the subject, but she wouldn’t accommodate him. It wasn’t morbid curiosity on her part. If it had taken him four years to be able to admit the truth, then maybe it was time he got it all out.

  “It was a suicide?”

  “Yes and no.”

  He handed her another bowl. “I don’t think she meant to kill herself. At least not that way. My wife was taking the slow route.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Alcohol and drugs.”

  She didn’t say anything but waited until he continued.

  “She mixed alcohol with all the pills and God knows what else already in her system. It was a lethal combination. At least that’s what the autopsy report indicated. She was out of control behind the wheel. She drove the car over a bridge into the bay. A hell of a way to end it, wouldn’t you say?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I doubt she even knew what was happening to her, and I thank God she didn’t take anyone else with her.”

  It took extreme discipline not to show any outward reaction to what he had just told her. Theo was a proud man, and she knew that if she showed any compassion or sympathy, he would close up on her, and she didn’t want that to happen.

  “Your friends and your family . . . do any of them know what really happened?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m pretty sure Nick guessed something was wrong, but he never said anything.”

  “Maybe he was waiting for you to talk to him.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  She didn’t know how far she should push. Leaning against the sink, she carefully folded the wet towel and asked, “Do you blame yourself?”

  He shrugged, as though the question weren’t important. “I’ve come to terms with what happened. It sure convinced me I wasn’t cut out for marriage. I put everything in front of it. I should have been paying more attention to her, though. I was so busy at work, putting in twenty-hour days, and I didn’t notice what was going on at home. Hell, I knew she drank, but I didn’t realize it had become a problem. I think that’s called ‘burying your head in the sand.’”

  “She made the choice. I know I sound unsympathetic, but you didn’t pour the pills or the alcohol down her throat. She did.”

  “Marriage is a partnership,” he said. “I didn’t hold up my end of the agreement. She was . . . fragile. Yeah, fragile. She needed help, but I was too blind to see it. Maybe I didn’t want to see it.”

  “I think it’s healthy that you’re finally able to talk about what happened. Now maybe you can get rid of it.”

  “Get rid of what?”

  “The anger and the hurt and the guilt.”

  “Don’t turn shrink on me.” He handed her a spatula to put away, then drained the sink. “There, I’m finished,” he said. “Do you have any more questions, or can we move on?”

  She wanted to ask him if he had loved his wife, but she didn’t dare. She had pushed him as far as he was willing to go. “Okay, we’ll move on. Dinner’s over.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I asked you to be patient until after dinner. Now I’d like you to tell me what you think about my clinic.”

  “I’m going to,” he promised. “I’ll be right back.” He left the kitchen and headed upstairs.

  “What are you doing?” she called up the stairs.

  “I’m gonna get my laptop and set it up in your library,” he called back. “I’ve got to check my e-mail.” He paused at the top of the stairs and looked down at her. “Hopefully, I’ll have some answers. Then we’ll talk.”

  Michelle went back into the kitchen and washed the countertops. When she was finished, she turned the light off and went upstairs. She stood in the doorway of her guest room. “I’m going to take a shower. It’s been a long day.”

  He was bent over the bed, unlocking his attaché case. He’d already unpacked his duffel bag. His clothes were folded on her dresser.

  The room was a mess. There were boxes piled high in front of the windows facing the backyard. She hadn’t bothered to dust or vacuum the area rug, and she was pretty sure there were co
bwebs in all the corners.

  “I’ve been using this room for storage,” she said. “And that old bed is going to give your back fits.”

  “You think so?”

  “You’re longer than the bed,” she pointed out. “And the mattress is lumpy.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I can sleep anywhere.”

  “I’m still feeling guilty. I guess you could have my bed. It’s king-sized.”

  “Yeah?”

  He stood and gave her the look. She recognized it instantly. She’d seen enough late-night movies and had been around enough men on the prowl to recognize it. Theo made the look sexier than Mel Gibson did, and God only knew, she’d always been a sucker for Mel.

  “Stop it.” She laughed after she gave the order. “Just stop it right now.”

  He raised an eyebrow. Oh, God, now he was doing Cary Grant.

  “Stop what?” he asked innocently.

  What could she say? Stop looking at me as though I just asked you to get naked and have hot, mind-altering sex with me?

  “Never mind,” she said. “So do you want to?”

  “Sleep in your bed? What an invitation.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You want to share your bed?”

  Oh, boy, did she want to. How long had it been since she’d been involved with a man? She couldn’t remember. Probably because it had ended in disaster and she had deliberately blocked the memory.

  Slow and easy. Oh, boy.

  Her throat felt like it was closing up on her. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  He took a step toward her. “How come?”

  If she were thirty years older, she would have thought she was having a hot flash. Her entire body felt as though it was on fire, and she was having difficulty catching her breath. Her endorphins were going crazy too. She was feeling light-headed. If he took another step toward her, she knew she’d start hyperventilating. And wouldn’t that be a wonderful turn-on. Men weren’t the only ones who needed to take a cold shower to squelch their sexual appetites. She felt like she needed to dive headfirst into her freezer.

  She blamed him for her scattered thoughts. He was the one giving her the look, after all.

  He was slowly walking forward, obviously giving her time to make up her mind. Her feet were rooted to the floor and her stomach started tingling. “It would complicate things.”