The Crush Part 19

"Seeya, Oren."

He turned toward the staircase but was drawn up short. Rennie was standing on the top step.

Oren and Thigpen spotted her at the same time.

Thigpen muttered something that Wick couldn't hear for the roaring in his ears. Oren, who ordinarily stood tall and proud, lowered his head like a kid whose mother had caught him with a dirty magazine. The stuffy atmosphere became even more claustrophobic, the stale air too thick to inhale.

Her eyes moved from one of them to the other, landing on Wick.

He took one step toward her. "Rennie--"

"You lying son of a b.i.t.c.h."

He decided that for now silence was his best defense.

Besides, he felt they deserved her fury.

She crossed the room and raised the night-vision binoculars to her eyes, looking in the direction of her house. Wick discerned a slight sagging of her shoulders, but it lasted only until she returned the binoculars to the table and came around to face them. That was when she saw the photographs Thigpen had taped to the wall, the ones of her in various stages of undress.

Her lips parted silently and color drained from her face, but again her initial reaction was quickly replaced by righteous outrage. "Which of you has the highest rank? Who is responsible for this?"

"I am," Oren replied. "How did you know we were here?" He looked suspiciously toward Wick.

Wick returned a look that said You know me better than that.

Interpreting the exchange, Rennie said, "I a.s.sure you that Mr. Threadgill was a master of deceit. You can be very proud of him, Detective Wesley."

"Then how did you know--"

"It's my turn to ask questions," she snapped. "What possible explanation do you have for watching my house?"

"You left us with a lot of unanswered questions about Dr. Howell's homicide."

"And you expected to find answers to those questions by spying on me?"

"We thought we might, yes."

"Did you?"

"No."

"Have you also been eavesdropping on my telephone calls?"

"No."

"Spying on me at work?"

"To some extent," he admitted.

"You have invaded my privacy in the most despicable way. Your superiors will be hearing from my attorney first thing tomorrow morning."

"My superiors approved this surveillance, Dr. Newton."

"This isn't surveillance. This is window-peeping. This is--" She threw a disgusted glance at the photos, then, too angry to continue, headed for the stairs. "You'll be hearing from my lawyer."

She jogged down the stairs.

"Well it's. .h.i.t the fan now."

Wick wasn't interested in Thigpen's editorial. He rushed down the staircase behind Rennie and caught up with her on the sidewalk in front of the house. He hooked his hand around her biceps to stop her. "Rennie."

"Let go of me."

"I want to explain." She tried to wrest her arm free, but he wouldn't release her. "Listen, I need to say this."

"I'm not interested in anything you have to say."

"Please, Rennie."

"Go to h.e.l.l."

"I'm not proud of myself."

She stopped struggling and looked up at him. She gave a brittle laugh. "Oh, but you should be, Officer Threadgill. You played the role of the handsome stranger so convincingly. But then I wasn't much of a stranger to you, was I? You knew me from the pictures on your wall in there."

"I don't blame you for being mad at me."

"Don't flatter yourself." She jerked her arm away from him. Her eyes blazed. "I don't care enough about you to

be mad at you. You aren't important enough to make me mad. I just wish I had never met you. And I don't want to see you again. Not by accident. Not by design. Never."

Wick didn't try to detain her. He watched her turn and jog away. He continued watching until she disappeared around the corner.

Chapter 14.

He felt like getting drunk.

To accomplish this unambitious mission, he'd chosen a bar in Sundance Square. In this popular watering hole, Wick sat hunched over his second or so Wild Turkey.

This bar wouldn't have been his first choice. He would have preferred a seedier tavern where the drinks were suffer, the music sadder, and the customers unhappier. But this lively hangout was right across the street from Trinity Tower, where Ricky Roy Lozada lived like the f.u.c.king millionaire that he'd become by killing for hire.

Lozada's affluence contributed to Wick's misery, and heaping one misery onto another somehow seemed appropriate and warranted tonight.

Because of the proximity of Lozada's luxury digs combined with his overall feeling like s.h.i.t, Wick estimated that it was going to take a couple more bourbons before he started feeling even a little bit better.

"Hey, cowboy, how come you're drinking alone?"

The young woman who plopped down on the stool beside his had dyed black hair and a red T-shirt with you bet your a.s.s they're real spelled out in letters of silver glitter.

"I'll warn you right now, miss, I'm not good company tonight. That's why I'm drinking alone."

"Try me. I'll bet I can stand your company."

Wick shrugged and signaled the bartender. She ordered a bourbon rocks like his. She thanked him for the drink. "I'm Sally."

"Pleased to meet you, Sally. I'm Wick."

"So, why the long face, Rick? You have a fight with your significant other?"

He didn't correct her on his name. "In a manner of speaking."

"That sucks."

"Tell me."

"What was it over?"

"Our falling out? I did something dumb. Lied by omission.

Lost trust. You know."

"Guys do that," she said with the resignation borne of experience. "How come, I wonder."

"Nature of the beast."

"Must be, 'cause you're all the same." She took a big slurp from her drink and tried to lighten the mood with a smile. "Change of subject. What do you do?"

"When?"

"For work, silly."

"Oh. You guessed it. I'm a cowboy."

"Really? I was just joking. You're a gen-u-wine cowboy?"

"Um-huh. Just this afternoon I was working in the stable with horses, hay, currycombs. All that stuff."

In his mind he was comparing the Rennie who had so lovingly groomed her horses to the one who had soundly

rebuked a trio of Fort Worth's finest. Dr. Newton could not only skillfully wield a scalpel, she could slash with words just as effectively. He cleared his mind of these images and, playing turnabout, asked Sally what she did for a living. "I'm an exotic dancer." She gave him a wicked smile and executed a move that caused the shiny letters to shimmy. Wick wasn't impressed, but he let her believe he was. No sense in two people feeling like s.h.i.t. "Wow." Flattered, she giggled. "Where do you perform?" Her smile faltered. "Well, see, I'm not actually performing yet. I'm still auditioning. Right now I'm working at this temporary job. Over there. Cleaning condos." She nodded toward the high-rise. Wick's instincts were stronger than the bourbon. His mind instantly sprang to attention. Trying to keep his sudden curiosity from showing, he smiled at her. "Let me know when you get hired to dance. I'd like to see you sometime." She laid her hand on his thigh. "Maybe I could give you a private show? On the house." "Where? Over there?" He hitched his thumb toward the high-rise. "Do you live there?" "Oh sure." She snorted. "Like I could afford it." "Man, I've always wanted to go inside that place." He gave the facade of the building a wistful glance. "See if it's as fancy as it looks." "Oh, it's fancy all right. Only rich people live there." "Like who?" She took a wary glance around. "I'm not supposed to talk about the residents. If we're caught talking about the people who live in the building, we get canned, no questions asked." "Oh, sure. I understand." "It's a privacy thing." "Right." He turned toward the TV behind the bar and pretended to have a sudden interest in The Magnificent Seven, which was playing silently. "But you look trustworthy." Sally nudged his knee with hers beneath the bar. Regaining his attention, she leaned close enough for him to hear her whisper and to feel the weight of her breast against his arm. "You know the race-car driver?" Wick named a NASCAR driver who he knew lived in Fort Worth. Sally nodded vigorously. "Ten-B." "Honestly? What's he like?" "Nice. But that wife of his?" She made an ugly face. "A b.i.t.c.h royale."

"Any other celebrities?"

"One of the Cowboys lived there through last season, but he moved after he got traded. And there's some old lady on the fifth floor who used to be on Dallas, but I don't know her name or what part she played."

"Hmm." He pretended that his interest had waned again and glanced at the closeup of a stoic Yul Brynner.

The breast got heavier against his arm and Sally's hand inched a little closer to his crotch.

"Did you see on the news where that guy just beat a murder rap?"

Wick kept his expression impa.s.sive. "Murder rap? I don't think so. How long ago?"

"Couple of weeks. His name is Lozada."

"Oh, yeah, I think I remember seeing something about that. You know him?"

She scooted so far toward him he couldn't imagine how she was managing to stay seated on her own stool. "Me and him are . . . close. His condo is on the floor where I work. The penthouse floor. I'm in his place all the time.

And not just to clean." She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

'You're kidding, right? A murderer?"

"Shh." Again she glanced around nervously. "He got off, remember?" Then she giggled and added, "Now I get him off."

"Come on." Wick guffawed.

"I swear."

He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Does he do it different from, you know, regular guys?"

She considered the question seriously before answering.

"Not really. Pretty much the same. We've only balled a few times. Mostly he just likes for me to blow him. And this is kinda weird." She moved closer still. "He doesn't have any hair down there."