CHAPTER NINE
TIPPY FACED THE POLICE the next morning. She held Cash’s hand while she gave them a statement. It was the first step to recovery, she told herself. Just one more little obstacle to get through. They took photographs as well, with a digital camera, for evidence of the treatment she’d received at Stanton’s hands.
Cash sat with her the whole time, going through endless cups of coffee. It was a straightforward procedure, but it took longer than he’d expected. He went with the investigators back to their precinct to write out a statement of his own. He couldn’t tell the whole truth, but he told as much as he felt comfortable with.
“What about Tippy’s mother?” he asked the lead investigator after they’d talked for a few minutes.
“She said her mother was behind the kidnapping, in order to get money from her,” the older man said.
“That’s right. She’s a drug addict.”
The investigator’s pale eyes shimmered with anger. “You’d be amazed how many we get here, most involved in burglaries or holdups or murders. We had a guy last week, eighteen, got high on acid and beat his grandmother to death. Never remembered doing any thing, but he’ll go to prison for life if they convict him.”
“I know,” Cash replied. “I’m in law enforcement my self. I’ve spent the last few months rooting out drug money. You probably know where it comes from.”
“Yeah,” the other man nodded. “From respectable citizens who want to make a lot of easy money and don’t care how.”
“Bingo.”
“I’ve always thought I’d like to work in a small town,” the detective mused. “Is the money good?”
Cash chuckled. “If you like beer. It won’t get you champagne.”
The older man’s eyes twinkled. “I hate champagne.”
“Then you might want to try it. You can do a lot of good on a small scale.”
There was a brief pause. “I heard some things about you from my lieutenant. He was in covert ops in the Gulf War.”
Cash’s eyebrows lifted. “Was he really?”
“He’s got a nephew named Peter Stone. Lives in Brooklyn.”
Cash gave him a wry look. “My, my, what a small world we live in.” He grinned.
The lieutenant grinned back.
HE GOT A CAB BACK to the hospital. Tippy was sleeping again when he went into her room and sat by the bed. He was anxious about her. The interview must have been as much an ordeal for her as the wounds had been when she first got them. It was painful and she had a long way to go before she would recover from her in juries, to say nothing of the emotional scars that had been added to the ones she already carried. He hated the guilt. It was his fault. His fault…!
“Why…do you look like that?” she asked drowsily.
“Like what?” he asked.
Her lovely green eyes opened as wide as she could get them to. He was so handsome. She loved looking at him. She knew that he only felt guilty because he’d let her down, but it felt like heaven to have him this close and concerned about her.
“You look…lost.”
He leaned forward. “I can’t get away from my past,” he said after a minute. “Everywhere I go, people know about me.”
“That can’t be a bad thing.”
“Can’t it?” He studied her hungrily. “I’m sorry about that interview, but they can’t go forward without evidence.”
“I’ll have to testify against them, too, won’t I?” she asked.
He nodded. “But I’ll be right with you. Every minute.”
She managed a weak smile. “Thanks.” She shifted, grimacing again. “I’ll bet you’ve had worse than this—concussion, cuts and bruised ribs, I mean.”
“Broken ribs, broken teeth, gunshot wounds, cigarette burns, bruises all the way up and down…”
She caught her breath.
“…Facial cuts and fractures,” he added. “But mine had to have stitches, and there wasn’t time for plastic surgery.” He touched the faint white marks on his cheeks.
“I was certain that he’d done major damage to my face,” she said huskily. “There was so much blood. But the doctor said they were relatively minor cuts. They didn’t destroy nerve or muscle. I was lucky.”
“Extremely lucky,” he agreed. “But I’m…sorry,” he ground out the word, “that I wouldn’t listen to you.”
She drew in a few quick, shallow breaths to avoid the pain of deep ones. “You thought…I was chasing you. It’s okay.”
His eyes closed hard. “I don’t trust people.”
“I know that. Neither do I, much.”
He looked at her with cold memory in his eyes. “They say bullets are dangerous. But the most dangerous thing on earth is love. It guts you, if you let it.”
She put a hand to her ribs and groaned when she couldn’t get her breath.
He got up from the chair. “Here.” He took her spare pillow and put it gently on her chest. “When you have to cough, hold the pillow close. It makes it easier.”
She tried, and it did. “How did you know that?”
“Two broken ribs. One punctured my lung,” he said simply. “It took weeks to get back on my feet. I had pneumonia as a consequence.”
Her eyes opened wider. “That’s what the doctor was worried about, with me. He says when you breathe…shallowly…the stagnant air doesn’t get forced out of your lungs and it can lead to infection.”
“Exactly. That’s why they’re giving you antibiotics and making you drink so many fluids.”
She managed a smile. “You know a lot.”
“I’ve broken most of the major bones in my body at one time or another,” he said simply. “If I hadn’t been in such good physical condition, I could have died at least twice.”
Her pale eyes searched his dark ones. “Rory thinks you’re the greatest.”
He moved restlessly. “I like him, too.”
“You really don’t like people getting close, do you?”
He shook his head. “I’m not comfortable sharing things.” His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “It was too soon, what happened.”
“Yes. Much too soon, and my fault,” she added.
“It takes two, Tippy,” he said quietly. “We both jumped in without looking.”
Her eyes searched over his face like loving hands. “I bought baby clothes,” she said with a painful laugh. “Stupid.”
“Rory told me.”
She closed her eyes. “Everything happened at once. The job became unbearable with the new second AD,” she said, remembering the arrogant little second assistant director and what he’d cost her. “My mother made threats. I lost my baby.” She ground her teeth together and a tear she couldn’t stop rolled eloquently down her pale cheek. “I started drinking.”
She felt his hand grip hers, hard, and hold on.
“Rory told me that, too. He’s worried about you. Listen, I know about drinking. I’ve done my share of it. You can’t keep it up. You think it will stop the pain, but it only worsens the impact when you sober up.”
“I found that out.”
“It doesn’t even numb the pain, after a while. I ended up in rehab,” he added matter-of-factly.
“After…your wife left?” she probed gently.
He nodded curtly, averting his eyes.
“You loved her.”
He glanced at her and frowned. “I thought I did,” he said involuntarily. “Maybe it was my pride, more than love.”
She smiled gently and closed her eyes. His big, warm hand felt so comforting. Her long fingers curled into it trustingly as the medicine finally began to work again, numbing the pain, driving away the fear…
She was asleep. He watched her with turbulent eyes. His emotions, once so easily controlled, were beginning to get the best of him. He’d let her get right next to his heart, right under his skin. But he still didn’t quite trust her enough. He’d hurt her badly. He’d chased her out of his life, and then had to come back to save her. She felt gratitude certainly. But she’d been traumatized by her recent experience, and he couldn’t be sure of anything she said or did at the moment.
The doctor said it would be four to six weeks before she was well enough to work again. Her stitches were easier, they’d be out within five days. But it would also take longer for her emotions to stabilize. Meanwhile, he would take care of her, protect her, spoil her. Then, when she was whole again, they’d take stock of their situation.
That was what his mind said. But his body was tormented as it recalled the sweetness of her body against his in bed, the hunger of her kisses, the aching pleasure she’d given him in the darkness. He’d never touched skin so warm and perfect, he’d never wanted a woman so much. That one night had haunted him. It would haunt him forever. If he lost her…
He let go of her hand and sat back in his chair, worrying. He’d faced that problem already. He’d gone back to his job and tried to put her out of his mind. But he’d never succeeded. He’d felt like half a man ever since.
Now she was hurt and she needed him. Rory needed him. He’d never had to take care of anyone, not like this. He’d cared for wounded comrades in battle. He’d cared for buddies under the gun in covert raids. He’d saved civilians from peril in the course of his duties. But he’d never been needed on such an intimate level in his life, except by his mother, when he was very young. He hadn’t been able to protect her from death. But he’d saved Tippy.
He studied her sleeping face hungrily. Didn’t they say that a saved life belonged to the rescuer? He thought about having her in his house, providing for her, taking care of her. He thought of Rory living with him, looking up to him, coming to him for comfort, for reassurance, for affection. Rory had only had Tippy. There hadn’t been a man in his life, except at military school.
He felt suddenly afraid of the responsibility, uncertain of his ability to shoulder it. He’d never had to consider the welfare of another person in his adult life. He hadn’t been responsible or accountable to anyone except himself. That was going to change. Tippy was going to be dependent on him for weeks. So was Rory, while his sister was unable to take care of him.
Life was taking on a new form. He wasn’t sure he was going to like the changes. But they would be interesting.
Only a few years ago, his life had been in flux. He’d wandered from job to job, never comfortable, never happy. He hadn’t fit in with his co-workers. He hadn’t found anything that made him secure.
Now, he had a job in a tiny little town that seemed hardly significant. But he was surprised to find how much it fulfilled him. It gave him a feeling of satisfaction he’d never had when working in the military or in big city police departments. He checked on elderly residents, to make sure they were all right and set up neighborhood watches. He spoke to grammar school classes about drug prevention. He assisted local and state authorities with drug raids. He reassured citizens who were robbed. He comforted people whose children at tacked them in drug-crazed frenzies and helped them cope with the terror and emptiness of being both victim and parent. He stood beside frightened women who had to go to court to testify against brutal husbands. He instigated patrols in dangerous areas. He taught gun safety and self-defense classes for local citizens. He badgered the acting mayor, Ben Brady, to go before the city council and fight for better patrol cars and a bigger budget for night surveillance on crime-ridden neighborhoods.
Brady wouldn’t do it. He was more concerned with his uncle—state senator Merrill—and his re-election campaign, than any city business. Cash was sorry their last mayor had been forced to resign after a heart attack. Certainly, Brady was going to have a hard time keeping the mayor’s job, since a former well-loved mayor, Eddie Cane, had entered the race and was Brady’s only competition to keep the job. They were both Democrats. It wasn’t going to be much of a surprise at the primary in May. And the man who won it would be virtually unopposed at the November general election.
Nobody much liked Brady. He was narrow-minded and he did anything Senator Merrill—or the senator’s daughter, Julie—told him to do. Cash knew things about them that most people didn’t. Very soon, there was going to be a political scandal in Jacobsville that would raise the roof at city hall. But aside from that problem, the other councilmen and the city manager liked Cash and worked well with him on his projects, well, except for the two who were loyal to Brady—but Cash privately thought Brady intimidated them. His officers had warmed to him over the months. They were beginning to feel like family. Jacobsville felt more and more like home. He’d been an outsider his whole life until now.
His eyes returned to Tippy’s sleeping face. This woman had gone from active enemy to intimate friend in a space of months. He’d become part of her life, and she’d become part of his. He didn’t understand his own feelings anymore. He’d been crazy about Christabel Gaines. Her innocence, her kindness, her sense of humor, her independence and strength of will had attracted him. But Christabel had never known the sort of life he’d led. She would have been sympathetic to his nightmares and his horrific past, but she’d never have understood them. Tippy would. She hadn’t been through wars, but the traumas of her youth had predisposed her to understand his.
Funny, he thought, how he’d been so positive that she was a sophisticated, sexually liberated sort of woman when he first met her; he’d been sure she was a man-eater. But her real personality was one of fragility, vulnerability, yet she was no shrinking violet. She was strong and fiercely protective of people she cared for. Her turbulent upbringing had been one of pain and terror.
He didn’t know if he could ever share his past with her. It was far too brutal and cold. But if he could, he didn’t think it would repel her. She had an empathy that he’d rarely encountered, and that annoying sixth sense that gave her an unwanted insight into his deepest feelings. He hated having her read his mind. She saw far too much.
He laughed softly to himself. He was getting fanciful. It was late, and he needed a night in a real bed, not in a chair. But when his eyes slid softly over her body in the bed, he knew he couldn’t leave her. He didn’t want to consider why he felt that way.
HE’D DRIFTED OFF WHEN the last nurse went off duty. When he was aware of his surroundings again, the new nurse was shaking his shoulder gently.
“Sorry,” she said when his eyes came open. “But we have to give Miss Danbury her bath.”
“Oh. Sure.” He got up, stretched and yawned, and gave Tippy a quick glance. She looked far worse this morning. Her bruises were breaking out like measles, and the cuts were very red. She looked less like a model than the star of a horror film. He hoped they wouldn’t let her see a mirror. “I’m going to find a hotel room and catch an hour or so of sleep, then I’ll be back. Okay?” he asked gently.
She hesitated. “You don’t have to come back…”
“If I don’t, you’ll check yourself out and go home,” he murmured.
She flushed. “I would…not!” she exclaimed, wondering how he’d guessed her thoughts.
“It works both ways, doesn’t it?” he mused enigmatically, thinking privately that he could read her mind a little, too. “Don’t let her out,” he told the nurse firmly. “I’ll phone the nursing desk on this floor as soon as I’m checked in and give you a number to call if she puts a foot outside this room. Better yet, I’ll give you my cell phone number.”
“Yes, sir,” the nurse said with a grin.
Tippy glared at him. “That’s not fair. I can heal at home as well…as I can…heal here,” she said, hating the spaced words, because it hurt to talk and breathe.
“You wouldn’t make it to the elevator with those lungs,” he pointed out, “not to mention the aftereffects of that concussion.”
“He’s right,” the nurse said, chuckling at her glare. “Now, now, we’re going to start giving you breathing treatments this morning. We don’t want pneumonia.”
“No, we don’t,” Cash said firmly.
“You’re enjoying this,” Tippy accused. “I feel like the Prisoner of Zenda!”
“That was Stewart Granger, who was much taller than you, and just as belligerent,” he pointed out.
“I am not belligerent!” she snapped.
Cash and the nurse exchanged glances.
“You stop that!” Tippy grated. “This is not…fair. Two against…one!”
“She can’t help it,” he told the nurse. “She doesn’t want you to see that she’s crazy about me. What she really wants is to follow me home.”
“I do…not!” Tippy raged.
“Yes, you do, and I’ll let you, the minute the doctor says you can be checked out,” he promised.
“I am not…a book!”
He chuckled. “Have a nice bath and do what they tell you to. If you’re very good,” he added, “I might bring you a present when I come back.”
She tried to glare and didn’t quite make it.
“I don’t take bribes,” she muttered.
“Rory said you like cats,” he told her. “Stuffed cats with sweet faces.”
“You’ll never find a stuffed cat around here,” she stated.
“Think so?” He glanced at the nurse, who was nod ding enthusiastically and mouthing “gift shop.”
Tippy started to argue some more, but she really did like stuffed cats.
He smiled at her. His dark eyes twinkled. She met his eyes and couldn’t manage another single protest. He affected her breathing as much as the badly bruised ribs.
And he knew it, the beast. He gave her a wicked wink and walked out before she could come up with a response.
“What a dishy man,” the nurse said as she went into the bathroom to fill the plastic basin she’d brought with her. “Lucky you!”
Tippy didn’t answer her. She wasn’t sure how much luck was involved in her present situation, or how long Cash’s conciliatory attitude would last. She was betting that it would give out about the time her wounds healed and she was ready to work again. By then, his conscience would be in better shape, too. She knew he was beating himself mentally for not listening when she’d phoned him after Rory was kidnapped. He was only doing penance. Once she was back at work, he’d forget her as easily as he’d forget a hangnail.
THAT EVENING JUST ABOUT supper time, Cash had gone to talk to someone he knew in law enforcement about the third kidnapper, who was still on the streets. He left a pretty marmalade stuffed cat with whimsical features by the bedside to keep her company. While he was gone, Tippy had an unexpected visitor.
A very large man, built like a wrestler, came in the door. An equally big man paused inside the door, mumbled something to the other man, and went outside to stand at the door.
The visitor approached the foot of the bed. He had thick wavy black hair and large brown eyes, in a broad face with an olive complexion. He was wearing a navy pin-striped suit that looked as if it might have cost as much as Tippy’s apartment. His white shirt was spotless, crowned by a blue plaid tie that emphasized his olive complexion.
He gave Tippy a curious scrutiny and his heavy brows drew together angrily.
“Who are you?” she asked uneasily.
“Marcus Carrera,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice. His brown eyes narrowed. “You don’t know me, huh?” he added, and a faint smile touched his wide, chiseled mouth.
“Actually, I’ve heard of you through a dear friend of mine, Cullen Cannon,” she added, and tried to smile back.
“Cullen was one of the most decent guys I ever knew.” He slid his big hands into his pockets. “One of the rats who did that to you works for me. He did this on the side, of course, and I didn’t know until this morning.”
Tippy pushed the button that raised the head of her bed a few inches. “Do you know where he is?” she asked huskily. “I’d like to take a baseball bat and have a little talk with him.”
He laughed, surprised. “No, I don’t,” he replied. “But if I find him, I swear I’ll have him delivered here in a net and I’ll furnish the bat.”
Her smile grew. “Thanks.”
His dark eyes didn’t miss a scratch or a bruise on the part of her that showed above the white sheet and tan blanket. “They’ve got the other two in the city lockup,” he murmured. “I talked to a judge and the assistant district attorney who’s handling the case,” he added. “They’ll have a better chance at getting sainthood than they’ll have at getting out on bond.”
“Thanks,” she sighed.
“I hate having anybody close to me messed up in something like this,” he said with pure disgust. “Even when I was on the wrong side of justice, I never would have approved of something like this.”
“Wrong side?” she asked.
The door opened and Cash came in, staring with narrow eyes at Tippy’s guest.
“Hello, Grier,” Carrera said pleasantly. “There’s a guy in the local lockup who swears you shot him.”
“Me?” Cash replied innocently. “I would never shoot another person. Honest.”
Carrera burst out laughing and held out a big hand.
“What are you doing here?” Cash asked, shaking his hand. “And is that Mr. Smith outside the door?”
“Yep,” he replied. “He worked for Kip Tennison, but when she married Cy Harden, she didn’t really need him anymore. He’s been with me ever since.”
“He’s a character. Does he still have the iguana?”
Carrera grinned. “He does. It’s five feet long now. He keeps it in his room at the resort on Paradise Island. If we ever have problems with unruly customers, I send him down with the lizard. It’s usually enough.”
“I’m not surprised. Why are you here?”
Carrera sobered. “One of my guys was in on this kidnapping plot. I didn’t know it,” he added quickly when Cash’s eyes started flashing. “I only found out this morning.”
“Do you know where to find the guy?”
“No, I don’t,” Carrera replied. “But I went to the assistant district attorney on this case and gave him every thing I had on the SOB.”
Cash did a double take. “Excuse me?”
Carrera glared at him. “Why are you shocked? I am not a gangster! I own casinos and hotels, now. That’s all!”
Cash cleared his throat. “Right.”
“Just because I did a few little bad things once…” Carrera began.
“Some gamblers from South Dakota were found in, shall we say, unspeakable conditions in a backwater of New Jersey—”
“If Tate Winthrop told you I was responsible for that,” Carrera interrupted.
“Actually, it was his boss, Pierce Hutton.”
“He lives in Paris! What does he know?” the older man muttered.
“Then there was the Walters man who embezzled funds from the elderly mother of one of your staff who mysteriously wound up in an oil barrel floating down the Hudson River…”
“Listen, I don’t own an oil barrel,” Carrera interrupted again, “and for the last time, I am a law-abiding citizen these days.”
“Have it your way,” Cash said. “What do you know about the guy who helped Stanton nab Tippy’s little brother?” he persisted.
“Not enough to track him down,” the other man replied darkly. “If I did…”
“You’re a law-abiding citizen,” Cash reminded him.
“Well, yeah.” Carrera pursed his lips. “But I know lots of guys who aren’t, who owe me favors.”
“You wouldn’t believe what sort of favors he usually asks for,” Cash told Tippy with a twinkle in his dark eyes.
Tippy gave the older man a piercing stare.
“Not those sort,” Carrera growled. He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I like exotic fabric. Actually, I like antique cloth better.”
Tippy was staring at him as if she wasn’t sure she was hearing correctly.
“I quilt,” Carrera said belligerently. “In fact, I win competitions. Some of my stuff is in an art gallery in the village right now.”
“He’s not kidding,” Cash told her. “He’s internationally famous for his designs.” Cash grinned. “Didn’t they find a body in one, once…?”
“Not in one of mine,” the older man shot right back. “I wouldn’t waste one of my babies on any hoodlum.”
Cash laughed. So did Tippy.
“I won’t stay,” Carrera said. “I just wanted to see how bad they hurt her. You’ll be okay,” he assured Tippy, motioning to his cheek, where two jagged white lines were visible against his olive complexion. “These went all the way to the bone, so they left scars. Yours won’t.”
“Thanks,” she said.
He shrugged. “I won’t stop hunting the guy. To answer your earlier question, his name is Barkley. Ted Barkley. He’s a mechanic. A real mechanic,” he emphasized. “He can fix anything, which is why I kept him around. He’s got family somewhere in south Texas, so if you take her back home with you, keep an eye peeled.”
“I’d like to know about the family,” Cash said.
“Thought you would.” Carrera pulled a folded piece of paper out of his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Cash. “That’s the same info I gave the assistant DA. The guy’s also handy with a gun, so watch your back. He’ll do anything for money, and I mean anything. Stanton may not have much, but that son of Montes is heavily into money laundering, and he’ll have people he can borrow it from. He won’t want you to testify at that trial. If he can have you killed, he will.”
Tippy caught her breath audibly.
“He’ll have to go through me to do it,” Cash assured her. “Stop worrying.”
Carrera gave him a measuring glance. “If you need help, you can call me.”
“I don’t have any exotic fabric on me.”
Carrera grinned and clapped Cash on the shoulder. “That’s okay. You can owe me.”
“Thanks,” Tippy said.
He winked at her and left the room.
“Is he really reformed?” she asked Cash when he left.
“He really is. I know something about him that I can’t tell you, but I can guarantee that he’s on the right side of the law.” He looked at her poor bruised, cut face with sad eyes. “Nobody’s going to hurt you again, ever. I swear it.”
She took that at face value. He was ridden with guilt and he felt sorry for her. It wouldn’t last. She knew it, even if he didn’t. She just smiled and said nothing.