Defensive whining was a skill I learned in kindergarten.
I got behind the wheel, pulled the seat forward, adjusted the rear- and side-view mirrors, and turned on the engine. I ran my hands along the steering wheel, familiarizing myself with its feel. I patted the dash, whispering, “That’s my baby. Listen to your engine purr. Mama is back!”
“Seat belt,” my caveman said.
“I was just about to do that,” I said sweetly.
“Watch that post behind you.”
The post I’d been watching for a year now and had yet to hit? I backed out of the space in one smooth motion, glanced at Marco to see if he’d noticed, then drove across the lot and paused at the street to check for cars.
“Careful. The road looks icy.”
I gripped the wheel tighter but didn’t reply. Make that, I didn’t trust myself to reply. How did Marco think I made it to work each day? Blindly hitting posts and sliding across icy streets? Had he always been that bossy and I just hadn’t noticed?
“Why aren’t you wearing that flower pin on your beret anymore?”
“My mom still has it.”
“I kind of liked it.”
“You did?”
“The red brought out the blush in your cheeks.”
He noticed a blush in my cheeks? “Thanks. That’s really sweet of you to say so.”
How had I ever thought Marco was bossy? He was merely watching out for my well-being in that self-assured Army Ranger way of his. I had to stop being so critical and start appreciating his finer points. Maybe if I weren’t under such a cloud of worry, it would be easier.
To demonstrate my appreciation, I started to reach across the seat to take his hand, but he made a sound through his teeth as though an accident were imminent.
I yanked my hand back. “What?”
He pointed to the cross street. “Two hands on the wheel at an intersection. Defensive driving, remember? Taking your focus off the road for even a second is long enough for someone to charge through and broadside you.”
I was on the verge of pulling off the road and letting him drive when his phone rang. He slid it out of his pocket and checked the screen for a name. “It’s Reilly,” he said, then pressed the phone to his ear.
Good! That would distract him for a while. Maybe I could get all the way to the shop before he finished.
“Hey, man,” he said to Reilly, “I was going to give you a call later. Thanks for stopping by the place last night. We really appreciated it.”
Did not.
“So what’s up?” Marco asked. He listened for a moment, then said, “You’ve got to be kidding. I don’t believe it! How the hell did it happen?”
“What happened?” I asked.
Marco covered the phone with his hand. “Dwayne Hudge is dead.”
That was a distraction, all right.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dwayne Hudge was dead? No way. He couldn’t be. The cops had him locked up in the county jail. He was surrounded by guards. They had the wrong guy.
“Thanks for letting me know. Keep me posted, okay?” Marco flipped the phone closed. “Damn. The detectives never even got to question him.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“That he’s dead?”
“That the body they have is Hudge. He’s in jail, for heaven’s sake. He’s got guards.” I glanced over at Marco to see him giving me a look that said, Do you seriously think I could be wrong about this?
“Hudge is dead, Abby.”
“Did he hang himself?”
“He was stabbed.”
“Oh, my God! In jail? Who stabbed him?”
“No one is saying. One minute Hudge was leaning up against the bars of the holding cell; next minute he was on the ground, bleeding out. By the time someone alerted the guards, and they got to him, he had no pulse. Whatever weapon was used, it hit his carotid artery.”
“Aren’t the inmates searched for weapons before they’re processed?”
“Of course they are. Sometimes, in a prison situation, someone manages to slip in a shiv, but Reilly said the guys in the holding cell were clean.” Marco hit the dashboard with his hand. “Damn it. Twenty guys were in there with him at the time, and all of them swear they saw nothing.”
“If none of the men in the holding cell had a weapon, then obviously someone outside the cell killed him.”
“Except that the only people outside the cell were the jail guards. Some are former cops.”
“But someone at that jail has to know something or have seen someone.”
“You’re right. The detectives are going to have their hands full. But the coroner should be able to determine the weapon from the edges of the wound. That could help ID the murderer.”
“Do you think it’s possible someone wanted Hudge silenced?”
“Someone being the mastermind behind the kidnapping? Sure, it’s possible. Probable, in fact.”
“So now the only person who knows who hired Hudge and Charlotte is Charlotte’s sister, which means the cops better find her soon before she’s the next one murdered. And what’s to stop the killer from coming after me next?”
Marco reached across to rub my shoulder. “Me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Abby. My main job right now is to keep you safe. We’ll let the detectives worry about Charlotte’s sister.”
When he put it like that, how could I argue? “Thanks, Marco.”
“I’ll make sure someone is with you this evening while I’m out, too.”
Not another sitter! “Honestly, Marco, I’ll be perfectly safe in my apartment.”
He pointed toward the curb. “Pull up in front of Bloomers. I’ll escort you in.”
Before I could protest that he was being a little too protective, he was on the phone with Lottie. “Abby is feeling a little nervous so I’m going to walk her to the door. Be ready.” He glanced over at me. “Okay?”
A moment later, Lottie and Grace were standing guard in the doorway, checking up and down the sidewalk for any signs of danger, while Marco hustled me toward the shop. I felt absolutely ridiculous.
Still, I glanced up at the roof.
No sniper.
As soon as we were in the shop, Marco left to park the Vette and Lottie locked the door behind us; then the women sat me down in the parlor to hear the news about Dwayne Hudge. Afterward, they both assured me that the man behind the kidnappings would be crazy to come after me now, knowing he was being sought by both city and county police. I agreed with them, and we all breathed sighs of relief. We weren’t fooling anyone, of course, but none of us wanted to say so.
Marco was just putting away his cell phone when Lottie let him in the front door. He strode into the parlor and sat down with us at a table. “I’ve made arrangements to be here with you all day. My head bartender is back on duty, so that frees me up.”
“I’m so sorry to put you through this, Marco,” I said. “I’m sure you have things you’d rather be doing than hanging out here all day.”
“No problem, babe. I’ll keep busy. Ladies, if I get underfoot, let me know. I’ll be as unobtrusive as possible.”
