Cold Target Part 34

She had started to relax with him at Whitaker's ranch. Perhaps, he realized now, because he had done all the talking. He'd enjoyed teaching her about the land he loved. But he also remembered how reluctant she was to repeat that ride. Or go with him for supper.

He wasn't vain enough to think a woman should fall into his arms. But he would have been stupid not to recognize the attraction that had sparked between them. Something held her back. He'd thought it was her loyalty to a dead husband.

But there were small things ... like Harry's unusual silence about his father, and his mother's worried expression when anyone talked to him.

Doug didn't like the thoughts. He liked her more than any woman he'd met for a long time. He had begun using cologne and dressing with more care. He'd smiled more since meeting her.

She was unquestionably a very pretty woman, although she seemed to try to hide it. She rarely used lipstick and dressed in oversized shirts and loose jeans or slacks. But the bone structure of her face was exquisite and she had a shy smile that lit all of the outdoors.

Now he recalled her expression when she'd first met him. He'd seen echoes of it since. Fear. It had been fear. The kind of fear that an abused wife usually harbored. He had seen it far too many times to mistake it.

Could she be running from an abusive husband?

His protective instincts couldn't quite shroud a warning: If she was running from a husband, what about Harry? Had she violated a custody order?

He was jumping to conclusions, but they were conclusions reached from years of experience in domestic disputes. It would explain much that had puzzled him.

He rifled through a pile of bulletins for missing women and kidnapped children. As he discarded each one, he breathed easier.

Still, his instincts were usually right. She was afraid of something.

He would go by her house tomorrow. Perhaps take some offering. Candy. Cookies for Harry. His niece loved making chocolate chip cookies and he could drop off a package. Perhaps he could get Liz to confide in him.

He would also continue looking. A fugitive wife or not, she might well need help. He was d.a.m.n sure going to try to give it to her.

'NEW ORLEANS'.

Meredith woke up in Gage's arms. They had not made love, but he had accompanied her upstairs and had lain down with her, his arms around her. Comforting. Protective.

She'd been cold. So very cold. She had lain awake for a long time before drifting into a listless sleep. Questions. So many questions.

Who killed her father and why?

And Lulu Starnes?

And had whoever tried to run her down in the hospital garage really meant to kill her? If so, why hadn't they used the gun that shot out the garage lights?

Nothing made sense.

Her mother! Should she tell her about her husband's death? Would some subconscious part of her mind understand? Meredith was suddenly aware that her mother's care was now in her hands. Guilt twisted inside that she had not stayed at her mother's side nor had she had any success in finding her sister.

Did her mother understand on some level that Meredith was trying to fulfill that one last wish, trying frantically to do so before her mother died?

Why did one thing seem to be connected with the other? A lost daughter. Death.

She'd finally slipped into sleep. She didn't know how long she slept but when she woke, Gage's arms were still around her. She turned and looked at him. He was awake and looked as if he had been for some time. She wondered whether he'd slept at all.

"Hi," he said in the low lazy drawl that had so attracted her from the beginning. He was still fully clothed except for shoes, and his hair was tousled. Golden bristle covered the lower part of his face. His eyes were fully awake.

"Hi," she said as a wet nose b.u.mped her arm.

Nicky.

He chuckled. "Get use to it. The perils of having a dog." He rolled over to the side of the bed. "I'll take him out, then make some coffee," he said. "Why don't you stay here and get a little more rest?"

"I can't." She looked at the clock. It was nine.

"All right."

She liked the way he accepted her comment. He didn't push. Didn't baby her. Didn't try to manage her. She left the bed and went into her bathroom. She stared at what she saw in the mirror. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. Her hair stuck out in all directions. Her T-shirt looked as if it had just emerged from the bottom of a clothes bin.

Funny she could regard herself so pa.s.sionlessly when the only world she knew was collapsing around her. She imagined she was still in shock. She supposed that was one of the mind's protections.

She took a quick shower, shaking the cobwebs from her mind. She pushed away grief by making a mental list of things that had to be done. First was a visit to the police department. She would tell them everything she knew, including the information about her sister and how it might be related to two deaths.

She would have to formally identify the body, make funeral arrangements, prepare information for the obituary. She shuddered. His death wasn't really real to her. She suspected it soon would be.

Her search for her sister would have to wait.

She went back to her bedroom and changed into a dark blue linen suit she'd just purchased for court. She added just a hint of lipstick and went into the kitchen where the smell of brewing coffee met her. Nicky was contentedly eating a piece of toast.

She would have to get food for him. She added that to her growing list.

Two slices of toast popped up from the toaster. A gla.s.s of orange juice was on the table.

"I was going to make an omelet," Gage said, "but your fridge is dismally empty. It's obvious you do not have growing boys in your household."

"And you're a growing boy?"

"d.a.m.n, I hope not. But I am a hungry one. What about breakfast on the way to the police station?"

She wasn't hungry. But she hadn't had anything to eat since a quick bite at noon the day before. She needed her energy, and her wits. She took a cup of coffee. "Before we go to the police department, can we go by Lulu Starnes's home?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"You're the detective on the case," she said.

"Probably not for long. I called my partner just now. I am being sought by my superiors, probably so they can inform me that the case is being turned over to the detectives involved in your father's case."

"But you haven't been told yet."

He eyed her with bemus.e.m.e.nt. "Nope."

"Have you reached Mrs. Starnes's family yet?"

"Yes, a sister. She's in Detroit. She should be here later today."

"Then we should go to the house now. Will you get in trouble if you take me there?"

"As you said, it's still my case. What are you looking for?"

"Photos. Memorabilia. A diary. Anything that might tell us who the father of my sister is. We should do this now, before you get taken off the case."

"Okay. Then Byers's office. I told him you would be there this morning."

Her mind sorted through what she needed to do today. "I'll make some calls on the way." She paused. "What about Nicky?"

"I can take him home with me. Beast likes other dogs."

"In what way?" she asked suspiciously.

He grinned. "Not for dinner, if that worries you. I feed him well. And there's a kid next door who feeds him when I'm gone."

"Just until I go home," she said. She wanted someone with her tonight. She couldn't expect Gage to hang around. He had been kind last night, but...

She nodded. "Thank you."

"We'll go by my house first to drop off Nicky, then Mrs. Starnes's home."

Anything to delay visiting the morgue. Anything to delay reality. She had never considered herself a coward but now she felt like one. Only Gage kept her from falling apart and she wouldn't crumple in front of him.

'Lulu Starnes. Concentrate on Lulu Starnes.'

She waited while he fetched a leash and attached it to Nicky's collar. Though the dog had eaten the slice of toast, his tail was between his legs. Well, he had lost someone he loved. And so had she.

At Gage's home, Beast greeted Nicky with enthusiasm. The dog wagged his tail for the first time since she had taken him from the crime scene. Then the two dogs did what dogs do. Sniffed each other as they continued to wag tails. She decided he would be fine with Beast.

Five minutes later, Gage and Meredith reached Mrs. Starnes's home. The crime lab people had obviously left. Yellow tape indicated a crime scene. A police car sat in front.

A chill invaded her. She really didn't want to go inside again.

"Are you sure you want to go in?" he asked gently.

Once again he'd read her mind. "Yes," she said. "How?"

"It's my case and my crime scene until I'm officially relieved," he said.

There was quiet anger in his voice. She got out of the car and waited until he went over and talked to the officers, then returned.

He led the way to the door and stepped aside for her to enter.

She couldn't move for a moment. She remembered yesterday--or was it an eon ago?--when she'd walked in.

She felt Gage's hand at her back, bracing her.

She took a deep breath and went inside. She avoided the kitchen and started her search in a small room obviously used as an office. Bookcases stuffed with books lined three walls.

Meredith checked the desk. She knew that Wagner and Gage had probably already checked it. But she knew what to look for and they hadn't. A large calendar filled the surface of the desk, and she saw her name written neatly on it. A pile of what looked like bills were on one side. There was no computer.

Strange. She would have expected one.

'Photos. Lulu Starnes must have photos somewhere.'

Meredith went through the drawers but found nothing. Gage joined her, shaking his head to her unasked question.

Had the person who killed Mrs. Starnes already searched the house?

She forced herself to return to the kitchen. A tea kettle sat on a burner of the stove. Two cups were on the counter, along with tea bags. Had Mrs. Starnes started to prepare for her visitor? For Meredith? In her horror over finding the body, she hadn't noticed yesterday.

The breakfast nook was furnished with a small oak table. Two places had been set; a creamer was filled with soured milk. Was this where Mrs. Starnes had planned to talk to her?

If she had anything to show Meredith, perhaps it would be in this same area.

Meredith spied a pile of cookbooks on a baker's rack, along with some flowering plants. She went over to them. As she picked up the top volume, several photos fell out.

She sat down and studied them.

Her mother was in two of them. So was a younger Lulu Starnes.

Meredith gazed at the girl who had become her mother. Marguerite Thibadeau smiled through the decades, a mischievous grin spread across her face. She looked as if she owned the world.

Lulu Starnes, on the other hand, looked out of place. Only a forced shadow of a smile crossed her face. A young man stood between the two young girls, his arm draped lazily across her mother's shoulders. His face was turned toward her mother, and she saw only his profile.

It was not her father. The man was tall, lanky, with his dark hair in a ponytail.

Meredith stared at the photo for a moment. She had never seen that particular expression on her mother's face. Nor that consequences-be-d.a.m.ned set of her chin.

There was no question that the young man would never have met Meredith's grandfather's standards.

She looked at other elements of the photo. The three young people were standing in front of what looked like a tavern. The sign said PAULE'S.

She knew she had never seen it before. It looked as if it were located in some rural area.

"Find something?" Gage's voice broke her concentration.

"I don't know. Did you?"

"No. I called my partner. We're still on the Starnes case, although they are trying to take it away. They are talking about your father's death as an accidental hit-and-run."

"No!"

"The detectives aren't happy about it, either."

"After what happened to me?"

"Someone is pulling strings, and whoever it is has to be powerful. I trust the chief--it's not him."

"Then how ...?"