Part 9 (2/2)
”Oh, gosh, they're going to be able to tell I was crying,” she exclaimed dismally, referring to Margaret and Emma, who were probably starting to get worried about her by this time and could be counted on to converge on her as soon as she came in.
”Is that so bad?” Bradley closed the door and started the car.
”You have no idea.” The family dynamic worked like this: she didn't cry; instead, she stayed strong for them when they cried. They would be upset-no, frightened-by this evidence of weakness in her. She looked at her red-rimmed, swollen eyes and pink nose with dismay. The coil she'd pinned her hair into was all lopsided, and at least half of it had fallen down to straggle around her face. Not the cool, calm, and in-control image she wanted to project. As the Mazda pulled away from the curb, she grabbed her purse and busied herself making necessary repairs.
Which also provided her with the perfect excuse not to look at him. Because much as she was trying, she still couldn't get that ginormous erection out of her mind.
”You never answered my question: do you think Jeff knew where George hid his money?” Bradley was back in interrogator mode again, and because it kept her from having to deal with him in a more personal way, she almost-almost-welcomed it.
It helped that the question was easy enough to answer.
”I'm almost sure he didn't. George didn't confide in Jeff.” Glad of this chance to at least outwardly reclaim her composure, Riley kept her answer matter-of-fact. She tucked the last pin back into her hair, slicked on a bit of lip gloss, called it a day, and flipped the visor closed.
And glanced Bradley's way in time to catch his gaze moving from her mouth to the dark street beyond the winds.h.i.+eld. She had the impression that he'd been watching her use her pinky to smooth the gloss over her lower lip.
Looking at his hard profile, she felt a sudden acceleration in her heartbeat. He was aware of her watching him, she knew: she could tell by the slight tightening of his jaw, by the barely perceptible elevation of tension in his body. As she registered those things, the interior of the small car started to feel way too warm. Riley would have suspected a malfunctioning air conditioner, but she could hear the rush of it blowing out through the vents, feel its cold breath on her skin.
Not that it helped.
”I'm kind of surprised at that, seeing as how Jeff was his only son.” There was absolutely nothing in his voice to tell her that he was aware of her in the same (unwelcome) way she was now aware of him.
Still, she knew. The evidence was unmistakable.
Fortunately it seemed like he was no more interested in traveling down that path than she was.
”Jeff wasn't always... reliable.” Drugs and alcohol would do that to a person, as Riley had learned. When he wasn't under the influence, Jeff was sweet and fun and loving, but when he was-well, he had become a different person. Riley said none of that. Instead, years' worth of memories of her ex-husband crowded into her head. A lot were good, many more were bad, but the fact remained: eternity could pa.s.s, and she still would never, ever get over the horrible manner in which he had died.
My fault. Her stomach tied itself into a painful knot.
”Who would George have confided in? His wife? An a.s.sociate?”
Bradley's questions were no longer in the least bit subtle.
In this cat-and-mouse game he hopefully had no idea they were playing, that meant advantage: Riley.
”Not Margaret,” Riley said. ”If he confided in an a.s.sociate, I wouldn't know.”
”He have a girlfriend? A mistress?”
”I don't think so. But I wouldn't know that, either.”
He didn't reply, and Riley got the impression that he was deep in thought. She looked away from him, out the window. The houses were of the same type as they had been on the previous street, as they were on Margaret's street, as they were throughout the subdivision: small ranches and split-levels. They were almost to Margaret's house now.
Riley was both glad and sorry.
”So when did you disable Jeff's phone?”
The tone of his question was so casual, such a throwaway, that it took Riley a second to internalize the question itself, to accept that, maybe, Bradley might still be harboring a suspicion or two where she was concerned after all. The question also confirmed that she'd been right all the way down the line: he, or his agency, had tracked Jeff's phone just like her attacker had. That was the real reason he'd been on his way to her apartment, she had no doubt.
She definitely was not the only one with an agenda here.
She replied easily. After all, there was nothing tricky about telling the truth.
”Right after I called 911. That's when it really hit me that Jeff had been murdered. Then I just got completely paranoid about being followed, and I took the battery out of his phone.”
”I'm surprised it occurred to you to do that.”
”Are you kidding? Do you ever watch TV?”
He gave a little grunt. ”Not much.”
Riley got the impression that she had allayed his suspicions once again, and gave herself a mental thumbs-up.
Then they turned the corner that took them onto Margaret's street. Riley took one look at the quartet of news trucks gathered outside the house, at the gaggle of reporters, at the klieg lights and crowd of gawking neighbors, and felt her stomach drop. Her eyes widened in alarm.
”Something's happened,” she said.
”s.h.i.+t,” Bradley said at the same time, and turned down the nearest side street. It was, as it happened, the street Riley had parked on earlier in an effort to avoid the cameras. As Riley stared at the fresh swarm of media, he added, ”Relax. They're probably here because the word's out that you were attacked in your apartment tonight.”
”Oh.” In a way, that was a relief. She frowned, and started to say, Margaret would have called me, then bit back the words because in the nick of time she remembered that she'd popped the battery out of her phone, too.
That thought was quickly followed by another: Margaret will be going nuts.
”I have to go in.” Riley looked worriedly at the gathering on the street.
”Yeah.” Bradley was already parking, pulling over to the curb not far from the spot Riley had vacated earlier. He cut the engine and the lights. A house blocked their view of most of the activity in front of Margaret's house, but the glow of the lights was impossible to miss.
”Probably your best bet is to go in through the back door,” Bradley said. He looked at her. ”You up to cutting through some yards?”
Up to retracing the route by which she'd left Margaret's house?
But of course, he didn't know that-she didn't think.
”Yes.”
He got out, retrieved her suitcase from the trunk, and joined her where she stood waiting beside the car. He handed her keys to her.
”Come on, I'll walk you,” he said.
The knot of dread that had settled in her chest as she got out of the car was due to far more than the prospect of sneaking across a number of dark yards alone, but still his offer was welcome.
She nodded, and they started walking, staying in front yards to avoid fences, keeping close to the houses to make use of the denser darkness of the buildings' shadows. Instead of pulling her wheeled suitcase as she would have done, Bradley carried it by its handle as if it weighed nothing at all. His other hand curled around her upper arm. She was glad it was there, and not only because, with her knees still not being completely reliable, she needed the support.
The thing was, the feel of his warm, strong hand gripping her arm had become familiar by this time. Like his presence beside her in the dark, she found it comforting. She discovered that she hated the thought that he would shortly be going away.
The closer they got to Margaret's house, the more unnerved she became by the situation she knew she was walking into.
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