No One Left to Tell

  “I saw the news. What did the Muñoz woman know?”

  He wanted to snarl at the note of rebuke but did not. “I fixed it. Don’t worry.”

  “That’s what you always say. What did you do to fix this?”

  “The bar owner is dead.”

  “What about Ramon’s friend?”

  “He’ll be taken care of, too.”

  “No loose ends?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Good. And speaking of loose ends, I found the last one.”

  The hairs rose on the back of his neck. “What do you mean? Where?”

  “She was gone for years. Moved out of the country. Now she’s back.”

  He swallowed hard. Nothing good would come of this. “What do you plan?”

  “To kill her, like all the others. Then there will be no loose ends. No one left to tell.”

  “Look,” he hedged. “Maybe it would be better to leave that alone for a little while. At least until all this Elena Muñoz hoopla dies down.”

  “But I’ve already started. I can’t back away now.”

  “Of course you can,” he snapped and instantly regretted it.

  The voice on the other end grew cold. “You snip your loose ends and I’ll snip mine. Call me when you’ve taken care of everything.”

  The phone clicked. “Dammit,” he muttered. But there was nothing to do about that now. For now he’d follow instructions and make sure his loose ends were snipped.

  Tuesday, April 5, 1:20 p.m.

  Grayson Smith hadn’t left her. He’d held her hand the whole way to the hospital. Had stood next to her when a police officer took her statement, and again when Detective Perkins showed up to take her statement a second time.

  Now he stood in the doorway of the little ER room in which they’d placed her, his arms crossed over his chest, filling the space. Guarding me.

  “Just like Peabody,” Paige murmured.

  She’d been instructed to stay still until her throat could be stitched. But even lying flat on her back, she could easily see him. He was a big guy, tall and broad.

  The man who’d attacked her had been even bigger. What would I have done had Grayson Smith not come along when he did? I’d be dead. Except that he hadn’t just “come along.” He’d followed her and she wasn’t sure how to process that. Yet.

  “Who is Peabody?” Grayson asked.

  “My dog.”

  His brows lifted. “Why am I like your dog?”

  “He stands between me and the world.”

  His face settled, satisfied at her answer. He stroked my hair. My face. Cradled my head. Held my hand. Calmed me. She wanted to trust him.

  Well, he did save my life. That racked up major brownie points right there.

  “Why does your dog guard you?” he asked.

  “Long story.” One she did not want to retell.

  His eyes narrowed in speculation. “All right. Then why do you hate hospitals?”

  “Same reason,” she said quietly but firmly.

  “Excuse me.” It was a woman’s voice, unflurried and familiar. Grayson stepped aside to let Dr. Burke through. Burke gave Paige a wry look. “You’re a busy girl today.”

  Paige grimaced. “I just wanted to walk my damn dog this morning and take a nap.”

  Burke sat on a low stool and rolled it to the edge of the bed before looking over her shoulder. “That’s not the same guy you were with this morning. Who is this one?”

  “Grayson Smith,” Paige said, noting Grayson’s jaw go tight. “He’s a prosecutor.”

  “He’s cute,” Burke said with a wink. “You planning to keep them both?”

  Paige laughed, then sucked in a pained breath when Burke removed the temporary dressing. “Ow. You did that on purpose.”

  “You can’t laugh and cry at once,” she said. “I’ll do a local, but it’s still gonna hurt.”

  Paige controlled her anxiety. Until Burke produced a syringe with a needle that looked about fourteen inches long. “I don’t want… I… I need to go.” She tried to sit up.

  Burke gently pushed her down to the bed. “Stay put, Ninja Girl. It’s going to pinch.”

  “Look at me,” Grayson said. He crouched by her side, his hand out. His eyes were steady, his face calm. “Squeeze as hard as you need to.”

  Paige focused on his eyes, greener under the fluorescent light of the ER than they’d been in the garage when he’d leaned close to ask her about Elena Muñoz. A thought nagged at her mind, but scattered when Burke’s syringe pierced her skin. She took Grayson’s hand and tried not to cry. It wasn’t the pain. It wasn’t.

  It was fear. And she hated to be afraid. She bit back a whimper. Don’t cry.

  “I know,” he murmured. “It’ll be over soon. Just hold on to me. And breathe.”

  Paige obeyed, closing her eyes and squeezing Grayson’s hand as hard as she could. “Did you get suspended?” she asked Burke, her teeth clenched.

  “Yep,” Burke said. “After this shift I am in the proverbial doghouse until Thursday morning.” Her voice was conversationally chipper, but Paige felt horrible.

  “I’m sorry. I should have answered when the other EMT called to me this morning.”

  “You were in shock, so cut yourself some slack, Ninja Girl.”

  “Stop calling me that,” Paige gritted. “Ow. Are you almost finished?”

  “Nope,” Burke said cheerfully. “Only halfway done.”

  “Paige,” Grayson said soothingly. “Look at me. Where do you come from?”

  “Minnesota.” Paige ground out the word, knowing he was trying to get her mind off the pain and snooping at the same time. She had to hand it to him. The man was good. Really good. She had to be killing his hand right now, but he hadn’t complained.

  “Peabody, too?” he asked.

  “Yes. He was a gift from my friend. She trains dogs. Names them all after—” She grunted when Burke pulled too hard. “Dammit, that hurt.”

  “Sorry,” Burke said mildly. “I did tell you that it would.”

  “So,” Grayson said smoothly, “your friend names the dogs after… ?”

  “After cartoon characters. Peabody’s from Mr. Peabody and Sherman.”

  “I loved that cartoon,” Burke said. “Bullwinkle and Rocky and Boris and Natasha.”

  “Why did your friend give you a dog?” Grayson persisted.

  Paige took a moment to choose an answer that would satisfy him. “She thought I needed some company.”

  “Because of last summer?” Burke asked and from the corner of her eye Paige saw the doctor bite her lip, wincing her regret at having asked. “Sorry.”

  “How did you know?” Paige asked.

  “I looked you up after this morning,” Burke said. “It wasn’t hard to find. That you’d want a protection dog is perfectly understandable under the circumstances.”

  “So tell me the story,” Grayson said. “Since it was so easy to find.”

  Paige muttered a curse. “I was shot last summer, okay?”

  There was a long moment of silence as Burke continued to stitch.

  “And?” Grayson finally asked, very quietly.

  “Her friend was killed,” Burke said, just as quietly, and Paige closed her eyes again, the pain from the needle completely overshadowed by the tightness in her chest.

  Grayson smoothed a lock of hair from her forehead and Paige felt her throat closing again. She could deal with fear, she could deal with physical pain. But she didn’t do well with tenderness.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “What was your friend’s name?”

  “Thea,” Paige said roughly. “I can’t do this now. I can’t breathe.”

  “What’s safe?” he asked. “Baseball? Hockey? Championship poker?”

  “It’s okay,” Burke said. “I’m done. I read about your work in Minnesota. About your friend. I admire what you did, last summer and this morning.”

  Paige pushed the image of Thea to the corner of her mind. She’d think abo
ut her friend later. Not now, not here. She was feeling dangerously close to tears. I can’t break down. “I didn’t do anything this morning.” Or last summer. That was the problem.

  “Sure you did,” Grayson said gruffly. “Most people would have run away from a bullet-riddled vehicle. You ran toward it, to help another person. That’s a lot.”

  “It is.” Burke taped a bandage over the stitches. “Try not to get yourself attacked again.”

  “I’ll do my very best,” Paige said dryly. “Can I sit up now?”

  “Sure. I’ll leave care instructions with the nurse.” Burke turned to go, then paused. “If you want to teach again, call me. I have some contacts here who’d be interested in working with you.” With a wave she was gone, leaving Paige and Grayson alone.

  “What did she mean?” he asked.

  He still held her hand and Paige still grasped it too hard. She loosened her grip, but he didn’t let go. “Burke must work with abused women,” she said.

  “Which means you did, too,” he said, and she lifted a shoulder.

  “Among others.” She sat up, swallowed against a sudden rush of light-headedness, then dropped her voice so that only he could hear. “You followed me. Why?”

  His eyes shuttered and carefully he released her hand. “You wanted me to see you, both inside and outside the courtroom. You might as well have dropped bread crumbs.”

  “Do you follow every woman who watches you in the courtroom?”

  “Only the ones who witnessed a murder hours before.” His already-stubbled jaw scratched her face as he leaned close to whisper in her ear. “What did Elena claim to have found?”

  “She didn’t claim it,” she whispered back fiercely. “She had it. I’ve seen it. Ramon couldn’t have killed Crystal Jones. His friend lied. The bar owner lied. Somebody didn’t want Elena to tell. But she told me.” She touched her throat. “And here we are.”

  He looked away, his expression grim. “I’ll take you home. Then we can talk.”

  Tuesday, April 5, 2:05 p.m.

  Grayson and Paige had just entered the hospital lobby when they saw two men and a woman standing outside, the woman giving one of the men a piece of her mind.

  Paige came to an abrupt halt. “Ah hell. This day just keeps sucking even louder.”

  “That’s Morton and Bashears. You know the other guy?”

  “My partner, Clay Maynard.”

  “Morton seems to be very unhappy with your partner.”

  “They have history. Morton’s partner was shot last year. A guy named Skinner.”

  A puzzle piece fell into place. “I thought I’d heard Maynard’s name before. He was involved in a case last year—a killer who left corpses for the ME. Maynard’s partner was a victim. What was her name?”

  “Nicki Fields. Clay helped the detectives ID the killer, but not before Detective Morton’s partner was shot and almost killed. I guess Morton is unloading baggage.”

  “The detective that led that case is a friend of mine.” He remembered Stevie’s terror when Cordelia was targeted. “When her child was threatened, Maynard told her what he knew.”

  Paige gave him a quick, odd glance. “Morton and Bashears came to see me this morning. Because I’m Clay’s partner, she distrusted me. Because she was primary on Ramon Muñoz’s case, I distrust her.”

  The words she’d whispered in the parking garage had been circling in his mind. Elena said the cops did this to her. Grayson shook his head hard. “No way. I’ve known Liz Morton for years. She’s a good cop. And Bashears has got every decoration there is.”

  “But I don’t know them. And I’m not talking to them.”

  “That’s obstruction of justice,” Grayson said severely, but she looked unimpressed.

  “This morning I was interviewed by Detective Perkins. A few hours later, Morton, who discovered the murder weapon conveniently hidden in Elena’s winter boot while her partner was questioning Ramon, shows up saying Perkins has been ‘reassigned’ and threatening to ‘nail me to the wall’ if she finds out I’m withholding information. Why would she even think I was withholding information if she didn’t know it existed?”

  “She found out you were a PI. You had last contact with a woman before her murder. Those dots aren’t hard to connect, Paige.”

  “Fine. Let’s say she made the leap because I work with Clay. A few hours later, somebody tries to kill me. You might connect the dots differently, but I’m taking no chances. I want to do the right thing, but I’d like to live to see my next birthday.”

  “All you know is that a sniper wanted Elena Muñoz dead. Maybe he knew about this alleged evidence. Maybe he came back to make sure you didn’t tell anyone.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “If that sniper wanted me dead, he’d have killed me back at my apartment. I was standing there like a statue for several seconds after he shot Elena. He could have shot me walking out of the courthouse or from anywhere in that garage. A knife to my throat is up close and totally personal. He didn’t have to risk it.”

  That point was more valid. “You’ve obviously thought this through. I still don’t buy that Liz Morton is involved in any way. Goes double for Bashears.”

  “Bully for you. Either way, I’m not telling her what I told you. I told you because I had to tell someone. Because I had to trust someone. I assume she’s here because I got attacked and I’m happy to answer her questions about that. Only that.”

  “And if I tell her?”

  Her eyes flashed. “Then we part ways. I’ll thank you for saving my life, you’ll go back to your office. And I’ll get hauled downtown in cuffs for obstruction, but I won’t tell them anything.” She started to walk toward the doors, toward Morton and Bashears.

  “Wait,” Grayson said and she stopped, hands clenched at her sides. “You said you came to the courthouse to see if you could trust me. What had you decided?”

  “I still didn’t know. Your saving my life tipped the scales in your favor.”

  “And if you hadn’t been attacked? Where were you going?”

  “Back to my place to find a defense attorney who’d handle this information properly and represent Ramon,” she admitted. “I guess I’ll still be contacting one. For me.”

  Paige was right, this did suck. He thought about Elena’s insistence that her husband had been framed. Her fierce determination to get evidence to prove him wrong.

  And then he thought about her brains, blown all over the interior of her minivan.

  Someone had wanted the woman silenced. Someone had wanted Paige silenced.

  Paige had come to him to do the right thing, but suddenly Grayson wasn’t sure what the right thing was. “I want to see this evidence you say got Elena killed,” he said.

  She didn’t blink. “I’m more than happy to turn it over to you.”

  “I’ll probably end up taking it to the cops.”

  “I know. And I hope the ones you take it to are trustworthy. Look, I want Elena to be wrong, but I have to proceed believing she was right.”

  He looked over his shoulder. Morton was no longer in Clay Maynard’s face, but the tension outside the double doors was still obvious. “Even if I say nothing, Morton and Bashears aren’t stupid. They’ll suspect something when they see us together.”

  “Let them speculate. Or tell them. It’s up to you,” she said and walked away.

  Morton’s eyes narrowed when she saw Paige. She entered the lobby through the double doors, followed by Bashears and Maynard. “Miss Holden.” Her gaze flicked to the bandage at Paige’s throat. “I trust you’re okay.”

  “I gave my statement to Detective Perkins.”

  “I know,” Morton said. “I have follow-up questions. Let’s find a private place to talk.”

  “Detective,” Paige said with an overly patient smile, “I’m tired and now my throat hurts like a bitch. Please just ask your questions and let’s be done.”

  Morton’s jaw grew tight. “I could take you downtown. We could talk there.”

/>   “Let’s take this outside,” Grayson said calmly. He rested his hand against Paige’s lower back, surreptitiously urging her forward. “Not so many cell phone cameras.”

  Once outside, Paige angled her body so that she could see both Bashears and Morton without turning her head. This put her closer to Grayson, who couldn’t stop himself from drawing a deep breath. Despite everything she’d been through that day, her hair still smelled really good. And despite being tall and lean, she was soft against him. His brain churned through the complications, but his body cut right to the chase.

  He wanted her. He’d wanted her from the moment he’d seen her on the TV screen. He wanted her more now. This was dangerous. She was dangerous. I need to keep my head clear. Be able to make the right call, even if it means she walks away.

  And if it put her life at risk? He couldn’t let that happen. There had to be a way. He lifted his eyes to find Liz Morton giving him a distrustful glare.

  “I didn’t know you two knew each other, Mr. Smith,” Morton said. “I was very surprised to read your name in the first responder’s report.”

  “Detective,” Grayson said, “Miss Holden narrowly escaped with her life. She’d like to get home and I’d like to get back to work. Can we move this along?”

  Morton gave a stiff nod. “Certainly. Tell me what happened, Miss Holden.”

  Paige sighed, then repeated the story she’d told Detective Perkins.

  “And you can’t describe his face?” Morton asked, her skepticism clear. “Really?”

  Paige didn’t try to hide her irritation. “Really, Detective. I’m a black belt, third dan. I’ve been competing in tournaments for years. I’ve fought dozens of opponents in the ring and most of the time I can’t describe their faces, either. I can tell you if they’re male or female, short or tall. Brown hair or blond. But eye color? No. Features? No.”

  “So, what can you describe, Miss Holden?” Morton asked.

  “Their hands. Their feet. Whatever is coming at my face at striking speed. I can tell you what kind of knife the man used today, down to the pattern on the hilt. But I cannot describe his face and I resent your implication that I’m lying.”

  She’s good, Grayson thought. Really good. Morton’s cheeks had gone a dull red.