Legacy

I turn to look at him, understanding full well the implications of a murder suspect attempting suicide. “I know what you’re thinking, Detective Harris. You don’t know Gloria the way I do. This isn’t her style.”

Then he surprises me by saying, “I don’t think so, either.”

One of the paramedics hands Harris a plastic bag with the discarded pill bottles. Aspirin, cold remedies and some kind of decongestant. The guy was right. If Gloria was attempting suicide for real, those were weird choices considering she had Valium.

The ambulance attendants lift Gloria onto a stretcher. Harris moves out of the way, giving me no opportunity to ask about his last remark. Obviously, I’m not the only one who feels there’s something off about this scenario. Of course, we may both be wrong and Gloria took stuff she thought would only make her sick, not dead. She may not have gauged just how “sick” that would be.

But right now, the attendants are securing Gloria to the stretcher, pulling a blanket up around her shoulders. They act as if they’re ready to take her downstairs. I stop them with a hand on the cot.

“Aren’t you going to clean her up?” I ask, hardly recognizing that it’s my own voice making the suggestion.

They cast questioning glances at each other, then at me.

“You know who she is, don’t you? She wouldn’t want to be seen like this.”

I can’t believe I’m actually feeling sympathy for her. It’s good that she doesn’t realize it. Still, the two attendants aren’t making any move to do anything. I take the wet cloth from her hand and wipe the mess off her mouth and chin, dab the makeup smears off her cheeks and do my best to smooth her hair. Her eyes follow my hands, but there’s no spark of life, no animation.

“What’s wrong with her?” I ask, alarmed at her lack of responsiveness. She should be grabbing at my hand or yelling.

One of the attendants shrugs. “Combination of the effects of the drugs and shock,” he says. “She’ll come around soon.” He takes a card from a pocket. “We’ll be taking her to County General. She’ll be examined and held overnight for observation. You can check on her tomorrow morning.”

I slip the card into a pocket of my jeans and watch as they wheel Gloria out. Harris follows, then one by one, the room empties until I’m the last person left.

I look around at the mess, pick up the phone and call housekeeping. Whatever they pay maids in this place, it isn’t enough.

CHAPTER 40

WHILE I WAIT FOR THE MAIDS, I GATHER UP GLORIA’S jewelry case and handbag and put them in a small Louis Vuitton canvas bag I find in the closet. I’ll take it to her at the hospital when I see her tomorrow.

Tomorrow. If she’s allowed to come home, who’s going to babysit her? I’m not going to do it. I hate like hell to be considering it, but I think it’s time to enlist the help of the one who got me into this predicament to begin with. David. He brought Gloria into our lives. Much as I hate to throw them together, I don’t know anyone else to ask.

The thought makes me twitchy with aggravation, but David is the one who came ru

I glance at my watch. It’s eleven thirty. Enough time to make the trip up to his cabin before keeping my house-breaking appointment at Chez O’Sullivan. If David was answering his damned phone, I wouldn’t have to go at all. Still, seeing him in person is better. If he gives me any trouble, I’ll drag him back by the hair.

I take a last look around the bedroom, wondering if there’s anything else I should take. I open the drawers next to the bed, checking for stray jewelry or cell phones or stacks of cash. I find none of those. I do find three hotel telephone message sheets. The ones she palmed yesterday?

The first is from her agent. I wonder how getting arrested for murder affects your marketability?

The second and third are from Jason. Marked urgent. Dated yesterday.

Did she return his calls?

The maids arrive, interrupting my train of thought, and I take my leave. The lobby is still crowded with reporters and hotel guests drawn to the commotion. Until this moment, I don’t think anyone knew where Gloria was staying. Now the whole world knows.

I leave the hotel by a back entrance and start for my car. I’m fifty feet away when I spot her.

Tamara. Sandra’s muscle-bound werewolf pal.

Sitting on the hood of my car.

Sitting on the hood of my car.

She’s dressed in leathers, and even from this distance, I can see the long, thin scratches made from the studs on those pants when she scooted herself up on the hood.

A surge of white-hot fury races along my spine.

She’s Sandra’s friend. She scratched my car.

I’m not sure what makes me angrier.

I move so fast, she never sees me coming. I hook my hands under her arms and lift her off the car, turn and dump her on the sidewalk. She makes one, short, startled yelp as her ass hits the concrete. She bounces once, like a big, dumb Nerf ball.

Two kids are skateboarding on the other side of the street. One lifts his fist in a salute. “That was awesome, dude,” he yells.

Yeah. Awesome.

My eyes never leave Tamara’s face. If she’s here, where is Sandra? My blood races, senses leap to high alert. In one blinding moment of rage, the vampire takes control.

I look around.

Tamara is stumbling to her feet, scrambling backward, out of my reach. The fall knocked the wind out of her. Her mouth is open, her eyes wide. No sign of the bully who challenged me in Culebra’s bar.

“Where is she? Where is Sandra?”

Tamara is having a hard time catching her breath. She’s got a hand to her throat and one to her chest. She’s gulping air, her face contorts with the effort.

I wait. I’m trembling as much as Tamara. The uncontrollable panic I felt last night is battling with the anger. Fear is wi

I grab Tamara, shake her until her teeth rattle. “Where is she?”

Tamara flinches. She raises both hands and tries to push me away. She can’t. Finally, she gives up, drops her hands. “She’s not here,” she says.

I don’t let go. I squeeze and slide my fingers up her collarbone until they’re around her throat. “Where is she?”

Tamara’s eyes flash. She’s recovering. I sense it—the shift from being caught off guard by my attack to getting pissed because I coldcocked her. I tighten my grip until color floods her face and she’s gasping again for air. No way am I going to let her regain enough strength to fight me. I remember her from the bar—she outweighs and outmuscles me—and I remember Sandra’s strength last night.

She’s pulling at my hands. Her eyes are wide again, pleading.

I relax my grip. Not much, enough for her to be able to draw an uneven breath. I lean my face close to hers.

“I’m going to ask you one more time. Is Sandra here?”

She shakes her head.

“Then why are you?”

She gestures to my hands, a plea to let her go.

My turn to shake my head. “Not likely.”

A movement behind me and to my left draws my attention. I take a quick look. The skateboarder and his buddy have circled around and are coming back. They’re whooping and pointing at us like we’re an opening act for pro wrestling. It’s drawing the attention of people coming out of the hotel.

Great.

I keep one hand on Tamara’s arm while I open my car’s passenger door with the other. I shove her inside. Then I snatch up Gloria’s suitcase, run around to the driver’s side and throw myself into the seat. In a second, we’re hauling ass away from the curb.