Part 23 (1/2)
His hand lingered, his fingers splaying against her skin.
She breathed deeply, forcing air from her lungs. She sat down abruptly, jerking her hand away from his.
He looked at her with veiled eyes and a small twist of his lips as he shut the door and strolled to the driver's side. Once inside, he started the car, all his attention on backing up and driving out of the lot. She saw his quick glances to the left and right and to the rearview window.
The glances reminded her too much of the last few days, of the terror and the fear. She turned her thoughts, instead, to the car. The interior was clean and neat. She'd noticed a briefcase in the back as she'd stepped in.
He reached over and turned on the CD player, and the low, soft sound of plaintive blues filled the interior.
The sultry music flowed through the car, increasing the intimacy levels substantially.
She didn't need more intimacy. His proximity was intimate enough. His large frame dominated the vehicle as did his sure, confident control of the straight s.h.i.+ft. A tangy scent told her he had recently shaved. Darn, but it was enticing.
She sat closer to the door than to him. The better to observe him, she told herself. But really it was cowardice. She didn't want that electricity to grow any stronger.
She looked outside. Dusk was settling around the city and traffic was moving steadily. She checked behind them.
”No one is following us,” he said, as if reading her mind.
”I wonder if I will ever stop looking back now.”
”When we catch him, you will.”
”Are you so confident?”
”It's not my case, but yes, I am. Your intruder wanted something. If he or she wanted something, then there's a clue.”
”You don't think the attack on me was just anger?”
”It could have been timed to delay you. Someone might have wanted to search your house. He certainly wanted to make an impression. The more I think of how your house looked, the less I think it was personal, committed out of rage against you specifically.”
”Why?”
”It was mechanical destruction. No pa.s.sion in it. No writing on the walls or mirrors. Things were sliced neatly, not in the jagged stabs that usually accompany rage. There was a purpose. A sane purpose.”
She shuddered slightly. ”And the anonymous calls?”
His shoulders shrugged. ”Perhaps someone is trying to tell you to stop doing something you're doing. Do you have any active cases that you think might irritate someone?”
”Every legal case irritates someone,” she observed dryly.
He grinned. ”Dumb question on my part,” he admitted. ”What about more irritating than usual?”
”That's hard to judge. I do a lot of domestic violence cases. I also volunteer at the women's shelter and advise women on their legal rights. I suspect you know how insane some of their husbands or boyfriends become.”
”A volunteer?” He sounded so surprised that she took it as an insult.
”You didn't think I would volunteer?”
”No, ah, I know your mother did. But you have a legal practice and ... h.e.l.l, I'm just digging a deeper hole, aren't I?”
”Almost to China, Detective.”
”Maybe I should be quiet.”
”Maybe you can tell me something about yourself.”
”What?” Suspicion punctuated his word.
”Where do you live?”
”I have a camelback house in the Garden District.”
Camelback. She smiled at the term and the fact that he lived in one. It was a housing style unique to New Orleans. Tucked among the Garden District's mansions were more modest streets with camelback and shotgun houses. The camelback featured a second floor but only at the back of the house, a design that at one time helped residents finagle out of a tax levied on homes with complete second floors.
Somehow she had imagined him in a cabin on stilts in a bayou rather than a camelback in the Garden District. He must have purchased it in the early 1990s when the city was in a housing slump. Those houses were expensive now. Anything in the Garden District was.
”Any family?” she asked. The question had plagued her. He didn't wear a ring but...
He threw her a quick glance, taking his gaze off the road for only a fraction of an instant. His gaze immediately turned back to the road. ”Only one brother now. I suppose you know about that.”
So he remembered their conversations. ”Yes. Is he still--?”
”In prison? Yes. He's up for parole in the next few weeks.”
She had her answer. 'Only one brother now'. She wasn't sure whether the fact that he had no wife or children was comforting or not.
”That must be difficult for you.”
”More for him,” he said shortly, his tone cutting off the conversation.
She said nothing else until they drove into the restaurant parking lot. The restaurant was crowded but she was recognized. She often brought clients here. The atmosphere was comfortable and nonthreatening, and the food was good.
In a few moments they had a table. ”Influence,” he remarked. ”I like it.”
”I come here often.”
They both ordered barbecue shrimp.
”Tell me what happened with Rick Fuller,” he said after they each ordered a gla.s.s of wine.
”Nan saw him at her children's school. He parked where she always picks up the boys. She thinks he made sure she saw him. Of course, he would just say he wanted to see his sons. But it terrified her. She took precautions driving back to the shelter, though she believes he knows exactly where she is. She's agreed to file for divorce but she doesn't want the house because she's afraid he will come after her.”
He worried with his gla.s.s of wine. ”I talked to him. He didn't like it. I'm not sure how far I can push him without his taking it out on Nan and the children.”
She knew the same fear. Perhaps she'd hoped he had a magic bullet to solve the problem. ”Surely his job--”
”If I talk to him again, he might well think his job is in jeopardy. He has to know that chances of promotion are slim now.”
She remembered what Gage had said a few days ago. 'If Fuller lost his job, he might well snap'. For the first time, she saw some uncertainty in his eyes. She liked it far more than a bluff a.s.surance. It meant he cared about Nan Fuller. Really cared. It wasn't just his job. That, she knew, was over. He was off Public Integrity. But he still cared. Something s.h.i.+fted inside her. ”Perhaps you shouldn't do anything now,” she said. ”Nan is going to move. We're asking the court to limit his access to the children. I'll talk to his lawyer.”