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“I’ve got some low-fat wheat bread,” Kendall said. “I could fix you some toast.”
He glanced at Kendall, who sat on the bar stool next to him at the kitchen counter. How was it possible that she looked so awake and refreshed at seven-twenty in the morning, when it had been nearly three when they’d finally gone to bed. Her tan suit fit her to perfection and matched her heels and the clutch purse lying at the end of the counter alongside her burgundy leather briefcase. Everything about her was perfect, from her stylish short hair to her subtle makeup.
“Don’t bother. I’m not hungry.” He laid the bland protein bar atop his napkin and lifted the coffee cup to his lips.
“Did you get any sleep?” Kendall asked.
“Some,” he lied. He hadn’t slept at all. Only dozed a couple of times.
“Do I need to remind you to think like a lawyer this morning when you’re questioned and not like a suspect in a murder case?”
“Be calm, in control and logical,” he replied. “Don’t get emotional. And remember when to let my lawyer talk for me.”
“Good boy.”
“Honey, I’ve never been a good boy in my entire life.” Quinn Cortez had been a lot of things, to a lot of people, but being a good boy wasn’t one of them. As far as he was concerned, goodness was overrated. He preferred being rich, being powerful and being a winner. Maybe he’d sacrificed some important things along the way on his road to success, but he had to admit that if he had it to do all over again, he wouldn’t change a thing.
Not unless he could go all the way back to the beginning when Rico Cortez had married Sheila Quinn because he’d gotten her pregnant, then conveniently disappeared a few month’s after his son’s birth.
Kendall laughed. “I happen to like your cockiness, but how about downplaying it just a little this morning. And for God’s sake, act a little broken-up about Lulu Vanderley’s death, will you?”
“It won’t be an act,” Quinn said. “Not entirely. I’m not all broken-up, but…I want to make sure whoever killed Lulu is caught and punished.”
“Finding the real murderer will get you off the hook.”
“I want to see to it that her murderer pays for what he did. And not just for selfish reasons, but because Lulu didn’t deserve to die.” Quinn slammed his half-full cup down on the counter, splashing the black liquid onto his hand. He reacted to the heat instantly, raised his hand and rubbed it across his mouth.
“You really liked her, didn’t you?” Kendall reached over and patted Quinn’s arm.
He cut his eyes toward her. “Do you find that amazing— that I’d actually like a woman who’s my lover?”
“No.” Kendall gazed at him contemplatively. “What I find amazing is that you’d actually like a woman, any woman.”
“What the hell do you mean by that? I love women. All women. You should know that, honey. Ask anybody who knows me and they’ll tell you that Quinn Cortez is a ladies’ man.”
“You may love women—all women—but you don’t like them as a general rule. If you liked women, you wouldn’t treat them the way you do.”
“I’ve never had any complaints.” The flip response shot out of his mouth instantly.
“I’m sure no woman has ever complained about your prowess as a lover,” Kendall told him. “But what about all the hearts you’ve broken? Don’t you think there are dozens of women out there who would love to see the great Quinn Cortez brought to his knees and begging for mercy.”
“I thought you said that I didn’t hurt you, back when we—”
“This isn’t about me. It’s about your reputation. Don’t you realize that if Lulu told just one person that she wanted more from you than a passionate fling, the police could build a case around that fact—that she was clinging to you and you couldn’t shake her without killing her?”
“Lulu never once said she wanted more from our relationship.”
“She didn’t say that to you, but can you be one hundred percent sure she never implied to anyone else that she was in love with you or wanted a committed relationship?”
Quinn slid off the bar stool and stood. “I can’t be certain of what she might or might not have told someone else. But I’m telling you that Lulu wasn’t looking for a permanent relationship with me or anybody.”
“I hope her family and friends will verify that fact.” Kendall bit off a chunk of protein bar, chewed and washed it down with coffee.
“Lulu’s family…” Quinn groaned. “I’d forgotten all about them. She has an elderly father and a half brother over in Mississippi somewhere. The old man still runs the Vanderley empire, with the help of a cousin. I can’t recall the cousin’s name. Abigail or Adelaide or something like that. I can hear Lulu saying, ‘Abi…Adel—Annabelle…’ That’s it, Annabelle. She’d say, ‘Annabelle is a real saint, a true martyr. I love her like a sister, but God, she’s such a bore.’ I suppose the Memphis police notified—”
Kendall stood, put her arms around Quinn and hugged him. “Don’t consider it a weakness to allow Lieutenant Norton and Sergeant George to see this I-actually-do-give-a-damn side of your personality.”
Quinn stepped back and looked directly at Kendall. “You think they’re going to charge me with Lulu’s murder, don’t you?”
“I think that if they don’t find another suspect and they can come up with the least bit of evidence against you, no matter how circumstantial, they just might try to pin this on you.”
On the way to the Criminal Justice Center, Jim Norton sipped on a container of black coffee as he maneuvered his seen-better-days Chevy truck along Poplar Avenue. He’d downed a cup of the high octane brew before he left his apartment in the Exchange Building, right after wolfing down a bowl of corn flakes. The alarm clock had gone off at six-thirty, but he’d hit the snooze button twice. He’d gotten all of maybe four hours sleep. He’d tried to get in touch with his ex-wife last night without any luck. He didn’t really give a damn where Mary Lee was or who she was with, but he sure as hell wanted to know where his son was. Spending the night with a friend again? Whenever Mary Lee needed to scratch an itch, she’d send Kevin to a friend’s for the night.
He could complain. He had in the past. But Mary Lee had pointed out to him that he was lucky she didn’t have sole custody. “What if you didn’t even have visitation rights?” she had asked him when he’d suggested she let him keep Kevin whenever she had a date. “All things considered, you’re lucky I let you see Kevin as much as I do. After all, if I hadn’t agreed to your getting some visitation rights—”
He’d just call her again later this morning—or at least try to—to make sure she hadn’t forgotten that he was supposed to pick up Kevin this evening and keep him until Monday morning. He’d made plans for them to spend tomorrow with his sister Susan’s family. Kevin enjoyed spending time with his three cousins, twin boys only a year older than he and a girl two years younger. Jim liked the idea of his son seeing what a real family was like. That’s what he’d wanted for Kevin—that all-American, mom-and-apple-pie life he and Susan had had as kids. But both he and Mary Lee had fucked up big time. And now, thanks to them, Kevin would never have what Jim had wanted most for his son.
He could blame it all on Mary Lee. And sometimes, especially when he’d had too much to drink, he did blame it all on her. But when completely sober and in the cold light of day, he knew he had to accept his share of the blame. Way back when he’d been a young hotshot with great ambition, he had neglected his wife and son. His arrogance and cockiness had gotten his partner killed, had put him in the hospital and had landed him in a heap of trouble with the department. By the time he’d healed physically and emotionally, he’d already lost his wife, even if they didn’t divorce until nearly three years later.
After pulling into his parking place and releasing his safety belt, Jim removed his cell phone from its holder and hit the button that instantly dialed his ex’s home phone number. Much to his surprise, she answered on the fifth ring.
“Mary Lee?”
“Yeah. Who were you expecting, the Queen of Sheba?”
“I tried calling last night.”
“I had a date.”
“Stayed out kind of late didn’t you?”
She laughed. “I stayed out all night. Just got in.”
If she thought telling him she’d spent the night with some guy would bother him, she was wrong. He had actually given a damn that she screwed another guy only one time. The time he’d caught her in the act. After that, she could have done it with every guy in Memphis for all he cared. He just hated that Kevin’s mother had gained a reputation as a…as a what? A slut who’d spread her legs for just about any guy?
Mary Lee had always been a little wild and God knew she hadn’t been a virgin when they got married, but he hadn’t cared. He’d been crazy about her. Hog-wild crazy. And she’d loved him, too. He knew she had.
“I just wanted to remind you that I’ll be picking Kevin up at six-thirty this evening,” Jim said. Now wasn’t the time to get into it with Mary Lee about Kevin spending too many nights at other people’s houses.
“He’ll be ready. He’s been looking forward to seeing you.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
“Jim?”
“Huh?”
“I saw in this morning’s Commercial Appeal where you and your partner are working the Lulu Vanderley murder.”
“Yeah.”
“Lulu Vanderley was somebody real important, wasn’t she? If you solve this one and bring her killer in, it sure won’t hurt your career, will it?”
“I don’t worry as much about my career as I used to,” he told her.
“You don’t worry as much or care as much about a lot of things.”
“That’s the way life is.” He took a deep breath. “Tell Kevin I’ll see him at six-thirty.”
Before giving Mary Lee a chance to say anything else, Jim hung up. One of these days he’d be able to have a conversation with his ex and not think about what might have been. “If only” was a game for idiots.
Annabelle emerged from her white Cadillac, hoisted her leather bag over her shoulder and took a deep, calming breath. On the drive over from Austinville, she’d made a dozen phone calls, using her On-Star system, which made phoning while driving an easy, risk-free task. She’d spoken to the president and two vice presidents at Vanderley, Inc., and helped their top PR person word a press release about Lulu’s murder. She’d also spoken to her uncle twice and it had broken her heart to hear the sound of his weak, trembling voice. Knowing that Dr. Martin had arranged for nurses to be at Uncle Louis’s side twenty-four/seven gave her some comfort.
Before leaving early this morning, she’d fielded numerous calls from local, state and even national newspapers and televisions stations. Her cousin’s murder was front-page news throughout the state of Mississippi and most of the South. Even now, a good twelve hours after hearing the news from Sheriff Brody, Annabelle was having difficulty believing it was true. Accepting the death of a family member was always difficult—she’d gone through the agony with her aunt Meta Anne’s and both her parents’ deaths and again when she lost Chris. When someone young died, someone only twenty-seven as Lulu had been, the loss seemed all the greater because you felt that the person hadn’t gotten a chance to live a full life. She’d felt that way when Chris died two years ago. He had been the center of her world for so long that shortly after the funeral, she’d fallen apart completely. But in typical Annabelle style, she hadn’t allowed herself to wallow in self-pity for very long. She’d pulled herself up by the proverbial bootstraps, dusted off her bruised and bloody emotions and thrown herself back into work. Thank God for work. It had been her salvation more than once over the years.
As she approached the Poplar Avenue entrance to the Criminal Justice Center, she recited the directions she’d been given over the telephone by the helpful police officer she’d spoken to an hour ago while she’d been en route. With her mind on other matters—finding the homicide division of the police department within this huge complex, as well as thinking about what she’d be told concerning Lulu’s murder— Annabelle failed to notice the small crowd gathering around her. Suddenly, someone shouted her name. She jerked her head up and searched for the speaker.
“Ms. Vanderley? Annabelle Vanderley?” A short, wiry man with a camera in hand moved toward her.
“Who are you?” she asked. “What do you want?”
“You are Lulu Vanderley’s cousin, Annabelle, aren’t you?” a small, slender blonde holding a microphone in her hand asked as she zeroed in on Annabelle.
“We’d like to ask you a few questions,” another reporter joined in the fray.
“I have no comment,” Annabelle told them. “The spokesperson for Vanderley, Inc. will make a statement at noon today at our headquarters in Jackson, Mississippi.”
“Is it true that Lulu was killed by her latest lover?”
“Was she raped and then killed?”
“How was she killed? Was she shot? Strangled? Stabbed?”
The questions bombarded her as the reporters drew closer and closer, shoving microphones and cameras in her face.
“Please, leave me alone.” She tried to move past the throng that seemed to be multiplying by the minute, but she was surrounded. Try as she might, she couldn’t find an escape route.
As if from out of nowhere a tall, broad-shouldered man cut a path through Annabelle’s tormentors, slid his arm around her waist and all but shoved the reporters aside. When they complained, he paused, faced them and snarled. With her breath caught in her throat, Annabelle took a good look at her rescuer. The fierce expression on his face would have backed down the devil himself. The reporters continued to grumble, but didn’t make the slightest move in her direction.
Whoever this man was—her protector—he took her breath away.
“You heard the lady. Leave her alone,” he said, his voice baritone deep and rich.
Annabelle sighed with relief as she offered her white knight an appreciative smile. Who is he? she wondered. Could he possibly be a plainclothes police officer?
She studied him hurriedly, taking in his appearance. He was a devastatingly attractive man with wavy jet black hair and large dark brown eyes. Handsome, but not pretty. Suave yet rugged. He was dressed in an expensive navy blue suit. Tailor-made, unless she missed her guess, which meant he was rich. So he probably wasn’t a policeman. She doubted the base pay, even for a detective, was more than forty or fifty thousand a year. This man’s suit had probably cost several thousand.
He kept his arm around her waist, her body pressed against his side. Annabelle’s heart beat faster and her stomach fluttered. Sheer nerves, she told herself.
“Thank you so much, Mr.—”
“Cortez. Quinn Cortez.”
“I appreciate your coming to my rescue, Mr. Cortez.” Her gaze locked with his as they stared into each other’s eyes. He was looking at her as if he wanted to say something.
“These people can be real jerks,” he told her. “You’ve just lost your cousin—”
“How did you…Oh, you probably read about Lulu in the newspaper.”
A tall, dark-haired woman came through the crowd and walked straight up to Quinn. “I’m sure Ms. Vanderley will be fine now,” the woman said. “We have an appointment”— she tapped her gold wristwatch—“in five minutes. You don’t want to be late.”
He didn’t budge and made no move to release his protective hold on Annabelle.
“Please, don’t let me keep you from an important appointment,” Annabelle said. “I’ll be fine now. Surely they won’t follow me.”
His gaze caressed her, creating a fluttering sensation along her nerve endings. “Let me see you safely inside.”
Suddenly one of the newspaper reporters shouted out, “Ms. Vanderley, how well do you know Mr. Cortez? Obviously you don’t think he had anything to do with your cousin’s murder, right?”
What had the reporter said? Why would he think Mr. Cortez had any connection to Lulu’s murder?
Annabelle broke eye contact with Quinn and looked right at the reporter. “What are you talking about?”
“Did you and your cousin both have a romantic relationship with Mr. Cortez?” the same reporter asked.
When Annabelle glared at him, puzzled by his question, he added, “Seeing how chummy you are with Mr. Cortez and how he came rushing to your rescue, are we to assume that you two are close…friends?”
“I never—” Annabelle realized she wasn’t handling this media attack very well. Speechlessness and shock wouldn’t work in her favor.
“Ignore them,” Quinn whispered in her ear as he urged her into movement.
Escape was the best plan of action, so she allowed him to guide her toward the entrance.
“You didn’t kill Lulu, did you, Ms. Vanderley, when you found out she was sleeping with Quinn Cortez?” The blond reporter held out her microphone as she trailed behind Annabelle, Quinn and the dark-haired woman.
Annabelle turned and faced the reporter. “Go away. Leave me alone. I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t care.”
“You don’t care that your cousin was murdered or that Mr. Cortez might have been involved?” Someone in the crowd shouted the question.
“Let’s go inside and get away from them,” Quinn said. “Then I’ll explain what’s going on.”
“Explain now.” She jerked away from him.
“Don’t give them a chance to exploit you and me and Lulu,” Quinn warned.
She stood still as a statue and glared at him. “Were you and Lulu…were you—”
He spoke softly, saying the words for her ears only. “Lulu and I were lovers. We had a date last night. I’m the person who found her body.”
