Читать книгу In The Enemy's Arms - Pamela Toth - Страница 9

It took Mari a moment to process what Bryce had just said. A moment ago, she had thought he might attempt to kiss her.

“You want me to what?” she asked, shocked by his statement. Thank God she was already sitting down or she would have fallen.

“Listen, Mari—” he began.

“Dr. Bingham,” she corrected coldly, cutting him off. “What do you expect me to do about my patients, Detective? I have appointments and responsibilities. I can’t just walk out of here because you snap your fingers.”

His frown deepened and a muscle twitched along his jaw. “I’m sorry, but I’ve already been here for too damn long.” He stabbed his finger at her. “You’ve got two choices, Doctor. Have someone else cover for you or reschedule your patients, but I’ve been waiting long enough. Either way, you’re coming with me.”

As though he had cinched a noose around her neck, his statement made the muscles in her throat tighten. She could barely speak.

“Am I under arrest?” she croaked. She should have seen this day coming and consulted with an attorney to find out about her rights.

How could Bryce shift so easily from acting like a human to being a robocop? Why had he bothered to comfort her if his intention was to drag her through the clinic in handcuffs?

His eyebrows rose, as though her question had surprised him. “No, I’m not going to arrest you. There are just too many interruptions here for an interview.”

As though to prove his point, the phone on Mari’s desk chose that moment to ring. It made her flinch. Out of habit she reached for the receiver, but then she snatched back her hand.

“My voice mail will take a message,” she said, and then she bit her lip. What did he care? “Interrogating me would be a big waste of time,” she argued forcing the words past the lump in her throat. “As I told you before, I don’t know anything about the missing drugs. Why can’t you believe me?”

“You may know more than you think.” His expression was impossible to read, but then he had always been good at hiding his feelings from her.

What information could she possibly give him that he didn’t already have? And how could she convince him, once and for all, of her innocence?

A chill went through her. What if he was lying about not arresting her?

“Should I call my attorney?” she asked, shoving her trembling hands onto her lap so they were hidden by her desk.

He leaned over her, his gray eyes chilling in their intensity. How could she have ever thought his gaze was warm? He was probably searching for some sign of her guilt. “Do you need a lawyer?”

Feeling trapped, Mari opened her bottom drawer and took out her purse. She glanced down at the phone as she weighed her options. If she said yes, would that make her look guilty?

“I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Of course not.” His face remained unreadable.

“I need to call and make arrangements from here for someone to cover me.” Milla had been supportive, and Mari could count on her to be discreet.

He nodded. “Just say that we need you to come down and give us some background information on Orcadol.”

Once again he had managed to surprise her, suggesting a way to lessen her humiliation. She was about to thank him when she recalled that his suspicion was the very reason she needed a cover story.

Wordlessly she had Milla paged, resisting the urge to drum her fingers on the desktop while she waited for the midwife to respond.

“How are Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins doing?” Mari asked when Milla finally came on the line.

“The hospital chaplain is with them now,” she replied. “He’ll help with the arrangements.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.” Quickly, Mari outlined what she needed, her gaze on Bryce the whole time. If her scrutiny made him uncomfortable, he didn’t let it show.

“Is this because of your friendship with Dr. Phillipe?” Milla asked when Mari was done. “Can’t they test him if they don’t believe that he’s drug-free?”

Ricardo Phillipe was a friend of Mari’s who had been connected with early Orcadol development. He was also involved in planning the experimental research facility.

After a car accident in which Ricardo had been critically injured, his wife and small daughter both killed, he had developed a drug problem that led to him losing his license to practice medicine.

Mari swiveled her chair so she was facing the wall. “I’m sure that’s not an issue.” She lowered her voice even further. “I really can’t discuss it now.”

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry,” Milla replied. “Is there anything else I can do? Can I call someone for you?”

“No, but thanks. I’ll talk to you later.” Mari knew that Milla was fiercely loyal, but she wasn’t so sure about the rest of the staff, not anymore.

And what would her patients think when the news got out that she’d actually been taken downtown for questioning? What about the investors who hadn’t already pulled out of the research facility project? Would this ruin any chance she had left of securing the financing to build it?

Lillian Cunningham was the Public Relations director from New York who Mari had recently hired to improve the clinic’s reputation. Lily would have a fit when she heard about this! Just because she happened to be in love with Mari’s father didn’t mean she would cut Mari any slack, either. Lily was one of the best in the business, but she wasn’t a miracle worker.

After Mari told Milla goodbye and replaced the receiver, she grabbed her purse and scooted back in her chair, praying her shaky legs would support her.

“I’m ready,” she told Bryce. What on earth did he think he had on her? His flinty expression told her nothing.

Bryce didn’t bother with chitchat on the way to the station that was housed in the Merlyn County Courthouse complex. The fairly new tan building in downtown Binghamton contained all the county’s administrative offices.

As soon as he parked in an official space, Mari got out of his sedan without a glance in his direction and marched up the front steps. His legs were longer than hers, so he was able to catch up with her in time to pull open the heavy glass front door.

“Come with me,” he said once they were inside. The departments were clearly marked, but he wanted her to lift her head and make eye contact with him.

When she did, she looked as though someone had drained the fight out of her. It was no surprise, after what she’d already been through. She also seemed nervous, again, no big surprise, and—if he was any judge of character—shell-shocked.

Because he knew her to be strong-willed and smart, the last observance startled him. Anyone who managed to successfully complete medical school, an internship and a residency had to be both.

After the conversations he’d had with her over the last few weeks, including their confrontation at the hospital picnic, she must have been prepared for today, unless she wore blinders and went around with her fingers stuck in both ears.

The girl he’d once known very, very well was a lot more savvy than that. Maybe she was merely attempting to play on his sympathies.

There had been a time he would have cut off his hand to spare her the slightest hurt. He had outgrown that kind of foolishness when she ran a spike through his heart and walked away without a backward glance.

He was still plenty attracted to the total package that made up Mari Bingham, even in her loose-fitting scrubs. His reaction to her pissed him off royally. It wasn’t his heart he was risking this time around, but his entire law-enforcement career. He’d better get himself focused or he’d wind up back behind the wheel of a patrol car on graveyard shift. Or working as a nighttime security guard for a local warehouse.

Lightly he cupped Mari’s elbow. She stiffened, but she didn’t pull away. Maybe she was more scared than she let on. Most people were nervous the first time they ended up in this kind of situation and the level of their anxiety had nothing to do with their guilt or innocence.

Wordlessly, he led the way into his home-away-from-home.

“Detective, I’ve got your messages here,” said the civilian receptionist as he approached the counter.

Christine had been hired straight out of high school with an admitted “thing” for cops and their guns. Her jaw worked her ever present wad of gum as she smiled widely and waved several pink slips in the air.

He nodded without breaking stride. She was barely eighteen, but she had already managed to corner him in the break room after shift one evening! Every time he thought about what could have happened if anyone else had come in when he was peeling her off him, he broke into a sweat.

Another phone rang, the new watercooler belched like a scuba diver’s tank and the stereo system pumped out classic country. All conversation in the room shut down abruptly the minute its occupants noticed Mari. Just as they had everywhere else in the county, whispers and rumors connecting her with the Orchid black market had been circulating through the department.

Escorting her through the open squad room, Bryce ignored the detective seated at a desk covered with crumbs and candy wrappers, the two uniforms standing by the coffee machine and the one on the phone. In the far corner, a female officer and a teenage girl in camouflage and combat boots had stopped arguing to gawk. As he hustled Mari past Sheriff Remington’s office and the storage closet-slash-break room, conversations started up again.

A long-haired creep wearing cuffs leaned against the wall. He skimmed his slimy gaze over Mari, but his knowing smirk vanished when he saw Bryce’s glare.

Bryce itched to throw a coat over her, right after he buried his fist in the little prick’s ratlike face. Before Bryce could take her into one of the rooms they used for interviews, Hank Butler waved his phone receiver in the air.

“Collins! Got a second?” he called out.

Bryce waved his free hand in response as he pushed open the first door. Whatever Hank wanted could wait.

Except for the requisite scarred table and beat-up chairs brought over from the old building and the two-way mirror on one wall, the interrogation room was as sparse as a cell. No point in making anyone who was brought here feel comfortable.

Mari glanced around. “Charming.”

“I wasn’t on the decorating committee,” Bryce drawled, dragging back one of the chairs. “Have a seat. Want anything? Coffee?”

“I’ve heard about cop coffee. I’ll pass, thank you.” She might be nervous, but she held her head high. His father used to say her nose was in the air.

“What, no lie detector?” she asked, turning her head. “No rubber hoses, no holding cell?”

“Someone’s already in it,” he lied, “but I guess you could share.”

She sat down gingerly, as though she expected the chair to collapse beneath her. Folding her hands on her purse, she stared past his shoulder.

She might not want coffee, but he needed a shot of something. Right now the sludge in the bottom of the pot was the strongest liquid available.

“Be right back,” he said. It wouldn’t hurt to let her cool her heels for a minute, soaking up the atmosphere while he found out what the other detective wanted. Bryce had waited long enough at the clinic.

Leaving the door ajar, he glared at the guy in handcuffs. As he slid his gaze away, Bryce recognized him as a low-level dealer, one who’d probably end up in jail or dead on the street. Guys like this one got busted all the time, but it never seemed to do much good.

Mari stared at the big mirror and tried not to fidget. Someone might be on the other side, observing her behavior and taking notes. Despite her exhaustion, she scraped back the wobbly chair and walked over to the wall, where she very deliberately studied her reflection. She’d watched Law and Order often enough to know the setup, but let the detectives think she didn’t.

The face staring back at her looked awfully plain, but the lip gloss in her purse seemed too frivolous for the occasion. She limited her primping to tucking some of the loose strands of dark hair behind her ears.

Through the door Bryce had left open, she could hear a couple of male voices. Their conversation sounded guarded, almost secretive, as though they didn’t realize they were being overheard. She had enough problems of her own, so she didn’t pay much attention to their low-pitched discussion.

It seemed like days since she had lost the poor little neonate, weeks since she’d had a good night’s sleep and eons since this cloud of suspicion had first settled over her life.

Feeling slightly dizzy, she sat back down in the hard chair. Where was Bryce? Probably getting even with her.

Let him play his macho games, she thought, smothering a yawn. She would just put her head down for a minute so the room would stop spinning before he came back.

Bryce approached Hank, masking his annoyance. The other detective was overweight and out of shape, with powdered sugar smearing one flabby cheek.

“What did you want?” Bryce asked shortly.

“Got any leads on those vandalized cars out at Ginman’s Lake?” Hank asked with an innocent look on his florid face.

“You called me over for this?” Bryce demanded. Everyone in the department knew Hank Butler was lazy. “It’s your case, Hank. Why don’t you drive out there and ask around? You might learn something.”

Scratching the stubble that bristled along his double chin, the older detective leaned back in his chair, gut straining the buttons of his wrinkled shirt. His little pig eyes glanced past Bryce.

“Didn’t you and the doc used to date back in the day?” Hank asked, trying to sound cool. “I’ll bet you can’t wait to get her alone, huh? Work some kind of deal?”

Bryce ignored Hank’s baiting. He saw that a greasy-haired lowlife had been brought out of the other interrogation room. He and the other dealer had their heads together while the deputy refilled his coffee mug.

“Why are they here?” Bryce asked a deputy.

The deputy glanced over his shoulder. “Street cleaning,” he quipped.

The coffee looked fresh, so Bryce poured two cups. Both of the dealers watched resentfully when he walked past them and shouldered open the door to the smaller room.

“Sorry to be so long,” he said, nudging it shut with his foot.

He stopped abruptly when Mari’s head popped up from the table. As long as he’d been in the department, this was the first time he could remember having a suspect—especially one who was sober—doze off before an interview.

“You okay?” he asked. She’d been pale before, but now she was as white as the foam cups he was holding. “Need some aspirin?”

She blinked and worked her mouth as though her tongue was stuck. “I’m just peachy, Detective. This has been a red-letter day for me.” Her hazel eyes brimmed with resentment. “Could we get on with it, please?”

Here was his chance. Her emotions were high and she was clearly exhausted. She was more likely to slip up and reveal something she would normally have kept hidden, like the truth behind her relationship with Ricardo Phillipe.

Dr. Phillipe had lost his license for illegal drug use. Mari’s association with someone having his shady past was too big a coincidence for Bryce to ignore. If he was ever going to solve this case, he needed answers. His professional instincts tugged at him like a bulldog on a short leash.

Carefully, he set her coffee where its aroma would tempt her. Taking the chair across the table, he flipped open his notebook and stared down at his own scribbled handwriting while she blew softly on the steaming cup.

When he looked up, the sight of her sweetly puckered lips made him forget what he was about to say. They stared at each other as color stained her pale cheeks.

“Do you ever wonder what went wrong between us?” The question spilled out before he could stop it.

Her gaze shifted to the mirror behind him. “Detective, is the reason you brought me down here to interrogate me about my past? Because if it is, I can assure you that the department will be hearing from my attorney.” She scooted back her chair, clutching her purse, and started to rise.

“Please sit down. We’re not done,” he ordered. Damn, but it hurt that she could dismiss her past so easily, as though he had never been a part of it.

She was right about this not being the place to discuss it, even though the room behind the two-way mirror was empty. What had he been thinking?

He ran his finger down the lines on the notebook page, refocusing, and then she made a small sound of distress.

She turned her face away, but not before he saw her eyes fill. The sight of a woman’s tears still turned him to putty, especially Mari’s tears. He had never wanted to make her cry. How things changed. As he stared, mesmerized by her profile, the only sounds in the room were the ever ringing phone and muted voices from the squad.

Realizing that he had been holding his breath, Bryce closed his notebook with a slap. Perhaps he was getting too soft, but he just couldn’t do it. He was determined to unlock the secrets of this case, but if Mari held the key, it wouldn’t be today.

“I’ll take you home,” he said abruptly. “Let’s go.”

If he had hoped to see gratitude shimmering in her pretty eyes along with the surprise that she quickly masked, he was doomed to disappointment.

“You’ve wasted my time, Detective, barging into my office and dragging me down here.” She got to her feet, head held high. “Next time you’ll have to make an appointment like everyone else.” Tucking her purse under her arm, she walked out.

Kicking himself for his moment of weakness, Bryce stood in the doorway and watched her leave. He was getting soft, all right. Soft in the head.

She moved quickly, with no sign of the fatigue that had appeared to weigh her down earlier. Had she been conning him? She was already halfway to the reception desk when his frustration spilled out.

“One more thing, Dr. Bingham,” he called across the room. “Don’t leave town.”

When he saw her shoulders stiffen, regret slapped at him like a cold, wet rag. It wasn’t Mari’s fault that his temperature still spiked whenever he saw her, that he resented the raw lust that surged at inopportune moments or that he hadn’t managed to put the memory of losing her behind him.

One thing was as clear as the window to the street. She wasn’t about to mistake the drug investigation for some kind of courting ritual, or to jump into the sack with him for old times’ sake. After today he’d bet she would rather slice him open with a rusty scalpel than look at him, so he needed to get his hormones under control before he questioned her again.

As Bryce watched her depart, his stomach a tangled ball of frustration, Hank Butler shoved back his chair and lumbered to his feet. After he had made a point to leer at Mari as she disappeared out the door, he hitched up his wrinkled slacks to the bulge of his gut and sauntered over to Bryce.

“Gonna visit the doc when she gets sent up?” he drawled. “After a few months of 24/7 with a bunch of broads, she might be happy to see you.”

Bryce walked away from him without bothering to reply, but he doubted Hank was right. After this was over, he’d never look good to Mari Bingham again.

“Where to, lady?”

Mari slumped against the seat of the taxi and gave the driver her home address. She had planned on returning to the clinic, but she was just too wrung out to deal with anyone else right now.

As they drove through the downtown area, she fixed her gaze on the passing scenery in order to keep her mind carefully blank of the day’s events. The cab passed the white clapboard building that housed the public library where she had studied with her friends back in high school, a couple of restaurants she’d eaten at more times than she could remember, The Cut ’n Curl, where she had gotten her first perm and a few bad haircuts, a clothing store and a run-down bar that had both seen better days. Scattered among the familiar downtown businesses were several empty storefronts with For Lease signs in their windows and a few pedestrians on the sidewalks.

If she had been a serious drinker, she might have stopped in at Josie’s for a couple of belts before heading home. Even though Mari wasn’t on call tonight, the idea of parking her butt on a barstool while she inhaled secondhand smoke and listened to some boring drunk expound on his political views didn’t tempt her in the least.

Gradually the businesses were replaced by small houses. Some were run-down, with dirt yards full of junk and old cars. A few houses were neat and tidy. Children played in the dust or on the sidewalk. Their parents sat in the shade of deep porches and sagging steps. A radio blared. Dogs lazed in the heat. A row of sunflowers added color to the washed-out scene. Oak trees, maples and dogwoods cast long shadows as the sun sank lower in the sky.

The houses got bigger, surrounded by greener lawns, nicer fences and fancier flowers. The cars in the driveways were newer and the trees looked more stately.

Finally the cab driver slowed, turning onto Mari’s street. Half a block down, he pulled up in front of a brick building tucked between a white oak and a walnut tree. Four blue doors, one for each two-story condo, were trimmed with identical ornate brass knockers. White shutters framed each window. Matching planter boxes sprouted red and white petunias and dark blue lobelia, and a flag was displayed proudly.

After Mari paid the driver and entered her end unit, she dropped her purse onto the floor of the foyer and sagged with relief against the ivory wall. Lennox, her cat, looked up from the paisley couch where he liked to nap, ignoring his wicker bed.

Jumping down to the carpet with his ringed tail twitching, he meowed a greeting.

“Hey, baby. How was your day?” Mari asked as he rubbed against her leg.

She was about to drop her keys into a pottery bowl on a small table when she remembered that her car was still parked at the clinic. Her hand closed around the key ring and she swung back toward the door.

The quick spin made her feel slightly dizzy. What she needed right now, more than wheels, was something to eat. She’d splurge and call another cab in the morning.

Steadying herself, she bent down to pat Lennox. The gray tabby butted his head against her leg, purring loudly. He looked up with adoring green eyes.

He was the perfect roommate. His love was unconditional. He’d been fixed and—despite having six toes on each white paw—he hadn’t yet figured out how to work the TV remote.

When Mari headed for the kitchen, he followed. All she wanted was to toss something frozen into the microwave, pour herself a glass of wine and watch a mindless reality show on television until it was late enough to curl up in bed with her cat and fall asleep.

She filled Lennox’s fish-shaped bowl with food, gave him fresh water and nuked her own meal. When it was heated, she sat at her dining-room table, studying the vase of pale yellow roses from her grandmother’s garden. They were starting to droop and to lose their petals.

Mari felt pretty droopy herself.

As soon as she was done eating her pasta and shrimp, she disposed of her dish and settled onto the couch with her wine. Her feet were propped on the old trunk that served as a table. Normally the condo was her haven. She had done the decorating herself, using warm, rich tones and filling it with items she loved. Tonight, despite her exhaustion, she couldn’t relax.

Ignoring the television, she turned on the stereo. The soothing sound of cool jazz filled the room as she released her hair from its untidy bun and rested her head against the back of the couch. Lennox jumped up and settled onto her lap, rumbling with contentment. Eyes closed, Mari stroked his fur with one hand while she clutched her wineglass with the other.

She sipped her Merlot while she reviewed in her mind every procedure that she had followed in the neonatal unit earlier. It was terribly frustrating that her best hadn’t been good enough to save the Jenkins baby.

Until she was able to line up the necessary funding and build her new research center, the more critical cases in Merlyn County would still be at risk. Babies would die and families would grieve.

As Lennox slept peacefully, Mari let her mind shift gears, going from work to the investigation. Maybe she should have insisted on talking to Bryce and getting it over with, instead of fleeing like a rabbit that had been unexpectedly freed from a snare.

Orcadol was a controlled substance, an opiate and a powerful painkiller. In the wrong hands, it could be extremely dangerous. Whoever was stealing it needed to be stopped.

Until now, despite all the signs, it had been hard to convince herself of Bryce’s willingness, his obvious determination, to pin the recent thefts of Orcadol on her. After today, she had no choice but to accept that he would. At least she knew that he couldn’t possibly have any proof to support his accusation. She was innocent. In time, he would have no choice but to leave her alone and to pursue other leads.

She still didn’t understand why he had changed his mind so abruptly today, first holding her in his arms in a clumsy attempt to comfort her and then treating her like a common criminal. Taking her into an interrogation room, but then letting her go without asking a single question about the case. If his plan was to confuse her, it was working!

Mari finished her wine, catching the last drop on her tongue. Once upon a time she had believed Bryce to be a compassionate man—one who would stand by her and believe in her for as long as they lived.

That man, the one she had loved with all her heart, would have known without asking that she wasn’t capable of doing anything as heinous as stealing drugs in order to sell them illegally. He wouldn’t have doubted her, not even if he had been confronted with a mountain of proof.

She set her empty glass on the trunk she’d found at a flea market, tipped back her head and closed her eyes. She had certainly been wrong about Bryce, drastically so. Could it be possible that right now he was staring at whatever evidence he’d gathered and thinking the same thing—that he had been wrong about her?

As the liquid notes from Kenny G’s saxophone faded into silence, the phone rang. It startled Mari and woke the cat, who leaped away like a launched rocket. She let the machine take the call, but when she heard her brother’s voice, she grabbed the receiver.

“Geoff! How are you?”

“Right now I’m a little upset,” he replied. “Someone I know saw you going into the courthouse with that detective who’s been harassing you. I don’t figure the two of you were down there applying for a marriage license, Mari, so what gives? And why didn’t you call me?”

“I was going to,” she fibbed, picturing her brother pacing with his free hand clamped on the back of his neck. He did that when he felt pressured. “I didn’t want to interrupt your dinner and irritate Cecilia,” she added, trying to placate him. “You’re still on your honeymoon.”

“Cecilia would understand.” He spoke briskly, impatiently. “She knows how important you are to me. Now quit dodging the issue. What happened today?”

Quickly, Mari filled him in on the aborted interview.

“What can I do to help?” he asked. Despite Geoff’s many responsibilities at Bingham Enterprises and his recent elopement, he took his family duties seriously. In fact, until he’d met Cecilia, he had always been a bit of a stuffed shirt. Mari didn’t know the details, but she knew the other woman had turned his well-ordered life upside down.

“Well, you could give me a ride to the clinic in the morning,” Mari replied. “I left my car there this afternoon.”

“No problem, but you know that wasn’t what I meant when I offered to help.” His voice was edged with frustration.

“What did you have in mind?” she teased. “Assaulting an officer? I know you’ve been trying to loosen up your image, but getting arrested would be a little extreme, don’t you think? One felon in the family’s enough.”

“It won’t come to that, sis, but it’s time that we hired you an attorney. I know several good ones.”

Mari massaged her temple, willing away the headache she could feel coming like a thundercloud building up on the horizon. “I told you before, I don’t need an attorney,” she said quietly. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

He released a huff of breath that signaled his impatience. “Hiring an attorney isn’t an admission of guilt. You’ll need—”

Mari cut him off. “You said that before, but what I need is a ride to work tomorrow. That’s all for now, okay?” How could she explain that she just wasn’t ready to take that step? Not yet.

From everything she had heard about him, Bryce was a good detective. Despite whatever personal ax he might have to grind, sooner or later he would talk to a witness or uncover new evidence that would make him realize he had been looking in the wrong direction. When that happened, Mari’s personal nightmare would be over.

“I’ll pick you up in the morning on one condition,” Geoff said. He was a skilled negotiator, trained by their father to deal with important clients. Even though Geoff was younger than Mari, when the two of them were growing up he’d always managed to manipulate her into giving him what he wanted.

“What’s the condition?” she asked warily.

“Let me line up the best defense attorney I can find, just in case. You don’t have to worry about the bill.”

“That’s not the point. I don’t need—” Mari began.

“But your family needs to do something, okay?” Geoff said. “Something more than playing taxi while we wait for your detective friend to crack the case.”

She wanted an aspirin. “Okay.” Surely this mess would be cleared up soon—any day now—and her life would return to normal.

They set a time for him to pick her up in the morning, she asked that he give his bride her love and they said goodbye. After she hung up and took some aspirin, she turned on the television. Perhaps watching a tribe of ordinary people attempt to outplay, outwit and tearfully eliminate each other on some deserted island would put her own life back into perspective.