“Drink this, Darcy.”
She felt something cold in her hand and, looking down, saw a bottle of mineral water.
“Thanks.” From her perch on the bed, she regarded Marlowe, then the now-closed bathroom door. “I’m okay. Shocked, but not in shock. It’s just…” The memory repeated in garish neon. “He’s fully dressed, Marlowe. Shirt, pants, tie. And yet the only visible blood relates to the bathtub. So he was what? Running a bath when the killer came in? Killer forced him into the tub?”
“It’s as good a theory as any. You’re sure you didn’t recognize him?”
“Positive. Believe me, I got a very good look at his face.”
Crouched in front of her, Marlowe trapped her chin so he could bring her gaze in line with his. “I called a friend of mine, Darcy. He knows Lugo hired me to find you. His name’s Val Reade.”
A single brow winged up. “Reade, as in the detective who punched an elderly woman in a bar brawl?”
“There’s a story attached to it, but yeah, that’s him.”
Another man’s face superimposed itself over Lugo’s. Light brown hair, a little curly, wholesome features. A faint smile appeared. “I was one of the reporters who cornered your friend after his disciplinary hearing. Wrong place, right time. Elaine needed two filler pages before deadline.”
“Did you write the article?”
“I started to. I had another piece to do about a political scandal in Alabama, so Elaine filled in the missing pieces.” The smile grew. “She’s not as diplomatic as me when it comes to matters of dubious police behavior.” A sigh rose when she looked at the bathroom door. “Frankie wasn’t big on murdering people.”
“Frankie’s not in control now, Darcy.” Marlowe ran his thumb over her jaw. “Are you okay here if I go back to the desk?”
“Marlowe, I’m an army brat. I’ve heard and seen true horror. This is—” she searched for a fitting word “—tidy by comparison.” Standing with him, she sipped her water. “Tell me, do all P.I.s erase rules like this?” When he merely glanced at her en route to Lugo’s computer, she took another drink. “Figured that.”
As he tapped the keys, she circled the room, letting her mind return to the attack at her house. She wanted to lay the blame at Vince Maco’s feet, but it was possible he’d hired someone to attack her so he could deal with Lugo.
She caught the distant wail of sirens and moved to the window. “You’ve got about ninety seconds before your ex-cronies arrive, Marlowe.”
“Let me know when you see the lights.”
The word accomplice sprang to mind, but she blocked it and rested a shoulder against the window frame. “Are you plucking out any clues as that information whizzes past?”
“Only the e-mail he didn’t send. Recipient unknown, text incomplete.”
“Sounds like he was interrupted. Or he thought the tub might be full and he went to check on the water level. What does it say?”
“That the target’s been located and the end is imminent.”
“Efficient, ominous, and more personal than he knew.” She thought for a moment while she watched the horizon. “It also shows he was doing his job, so why kill him? Vince is nasty, but as far as I know, he follows Daddy’s instructions.”
“As far as you know. Three years might change a person’s attitude.”
“I see headlights. Three sets, and another vehicle approaching from the opposite direction.”
The tapping continued. With each click, Darcy pictured Lugo’s face. With each click, the face came closer, grew clearer.
Pushing on her temples, she turned from the window. “The rules you’re ignoring are going to get you arrested in a minute.”
A man’s voice reached them from outside. “M, it’s Val.”
One last series of taps as gravel crunched in the unpaved lot, and suddenly he was behind her.
Val Reade strode in ahead of six uniformed officers. His eyes flicked from Darcy to Marlowe, then back again in mild suspicion. “Why do I recognize you?”
“Disciplinary hearing, three months ago. I was one of the people firing questions at you.”
His expression cleared. “Thank God. I was afraid I might have hit on you.”
“And been rejected?”
“It’s been known to happen on rare occasions.” His almost twinkling eyes moved to the man behind her. “Still in the tub?”
“Just as Darcy found him.”
Val motioned to the uniforms. “How hot was the water?”
“Room temperature.”
“Which borders on body temperature at the moment.” Val ran a hand through his brown curls. “That’ll hinder the medical examiner. Did you know him?” he asked Darcy.
“No.”
“Any idea who he was working for?”
“Possibly Frankie Maco. But that’s assumption, not fact,” she added at a look from Marlowe. “Frankie’s the only person I can think of who’d bear a grudge strong enough to send lawyers and P.I.s after me three years down the road.”
“I’ll check him out.”
“You?” Surprised amusement colored Marlowe’s tone. “The captain put you in charge of the case?”
Val scratched his neck. “The word shorthanded came up during his telephone tirade. For some reason, Blydon likes you. You called me, I called him, case is mine. Now, Darcy, you and I need to have a nice long talk.”
“About the discovery of Umer Lugo’s body, or the attack outside my home?”
He stopped scratching. “You were attacked?”
“Guy got away,” Marlowe said. “On a bicycle.”
“Has all the earmarks of a three-ring circus, doesn’t it?” Darcy remarked. “Except for…” She indicated the bathroom.
“That’s a big exception.” Pulling out his notebook, Val cast a level look at Marlowe. “And given the outcome, I hate to think who else might wind up in the same condition.”
HE’D MISSED HER. She’d been underneath him, pinned and struggling, ripe for the taking. Then, wham, she hadn’t been, because Lugo’s P.I. had decided to play hero. He’d ruined the perfect opportunity with a broadside tackle that had shocked, infuriated and freaking hurt.
He’d pay for the bruises he’d inflicted. He’d pay like the lawyer had paid, only not so easily, not without pain. Oh, yeah, shooting off vital body parts was starting to sound real good about now.
In the end, though, it was all about Shannon. No, wait, call her Darcy. Live the charade. Until the charade ended and life became death ever after.
“Gonna get you, Darcy doll,” he promised.
Shaping his thumb and index finger into a gun, he aimed at the TV set in front of him. He grinned as he pulled the imaginary trigger.
Then he pulled out his iPod, popped in his earbuds and bopped to the music of The King.
NIGHT MELTED SLOWLY into day. Marlowe spent most of both sweltering in the Center City police station.
Lugo’s laptop had been bagged and tagged. So had his suitcase and wallet. Pictures had been snapped, the body removed, the motel room taped. Forensics would be dusting and sweeping throughout the weekend, and both Lugo’s paralegal and his ex-wife had been notified.
It