Murder in the Clear Zone Page 7

  For a while, Charlie let her cling to that dream. Later, he told her the truth; they would be in foster homes until they were eighteen. People only wanted to adopt babies.

  Then they were moved to the Grimes’s foster home—a hellhole with Fred Grimes as the devil himself. Paula wouldn’t have made it without Charlie and nearly didn’t after he left. She squared her shoulders. All that was behind her.

  Paula heard the hum of an engine. It was Bard. He parked in front of her house and waved as he got out of the car. She quickly took the gun out of her waistband and tucked it behind the stack of magazines. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want him to know she was packing a weapon.

  As he hurried toward her, part of her wanted to jab the garage door button and drop the barrier in his face. Another part longed to race into his arms. She stood motionless. “Come to collect for the security services?” She wore her rancor like a badge.

  His brow furrowed. “Forget it. Tacked it on my expense account. I need your initials on this estimate of related moving costs.”

  She grabbed the form out of his hand, and without more than a bottom-line glance, she scribbled P.L. “Look, Mr. Nichols,” she said as she handed the document back to him, “I don’t need your charity.”

  Paula got a small measure of satisfaction when Bard warily glanced at Ivanhoe. She’d bet he was relieved to see Iv caged.

  “The security guard wasn’t charity,” he said. “The county owes you that.”

  “They owe protection to everybody in this project. Until they provide it for everyone, I want no part of it. I won’t be bought off.”

  Paula studied Bard’s face. It captivated her the way his expressions of displeasure reached his eyes a split second before his mouth.

  “I’m working on getting protection for everyone. I want to keep folks safe as much as you do. Can’t you just accept that I care?”

  A glance at his strong, angular face plunged her deeper into confusion. She forced herself to concentrate on the tape that held the lid of Charlie’s box firmly closed. She wiped her perspiring hands on her jeans to get a better grip and yanked hard, but the tape wouldn’t give.

  Bard came close. The scent of his musky aftershave floated around her. When he gripped the tape she’d been struggling with, his hand brushed hers. A warm stirring shot through Paula. Her gaze met his. Under the shelter of the garage his eyes had darkened, becoming a deep sea-green. It wasn’t the fear of long ago fierce green eyes that caused her to tremble. It was Bard’s compelling stare.

  He easily ripped the tape from the box. “I didn’t come here to fight. I was worried about you.”

  She’d expected him to go on the defensive. Instead, he remained kind. That was sneaky. She didn’t know how to fight kindness.

  “Come on,” he said, “for the sake of solving our common problems, can we put aside our doubts about each other?”

  She lifted a tool chest out of Charlie’s box and slammed it down on the workbench.

  Bard shook his head. “Look, I can’t have an argument with you on an empty stomach. How about offering a starving man a piece of toast and a cup of coffee?”

  “I can’t stop going through these boxes now. But the coffee’s made and the toaster is on the kitchen counter. Help yourself.”

  He grinned and headed for the house. Paula watched Bard’s agile gait for a moment. If it took feeding the man to get him out of her hair for a while, she was all for it. She returned her attention to the job at hand and noticed a flak jacket wrapped around something square at the bottom of the box. She removed the cloth and lifted out a black leather journal the size of a five-year diary. Her heart pounded. It made sense that Charlie kept this. He’d always believed that if he didn’t write it down, it hadn’t really happened. She drew the journal to her breast and clung to it.

  Chapter Ten

  Bard shook his head as he entered Paula’s kitchen. He wasn’t sure if he’d been brushed off or made a member of the family. Since his sugar level was waning and he needed a boost of something sweet to keep his temper on an even keel, he decided not to analyze her motives. He poured coffee for two and made four slices of toast. After buttering the toast and lathering on boysenberry preserves, he carried a food tray out to the garage.

  Paula leaned against the work bench, thumbing through what appeared to be a book-sized journal. His breath caught at the sight of her. Curly tendrils had escaped her upswept carroty hair and clung damply to her long slender neck. The smudge of dirt on her nose hid a few freckles. He fought an urge to bend and kiss away the dirt. Furtively, she slid the journal under a jacket. She either knew or suspected the contents might reveal something important and didn’t want him to know the journal existed. Damn, she still didn’t trust him.

  Looking innocent, Paula glanced at the tray. “Appears you found everything.

  “I’m getting quite comfortable in your kitchen,” he said with all the charm he could muster. I hoped you’d join me.” He moved a lawnmower out of the way and turned a large, empty cardboard box upside down to serve as a table.

  “The toast smells tempting. I was in such a hurry to get to all this,” she said gesturing to Charlie’s boxes, “that I forgot to eat this morning.”

  Paula reached toward the two folding metal chairs hanging on a long hook. Her yellow tank top stretched tightly across her breasts. The cotton lifted slightly, exposing an inch of ivory skin. Bard eyed her waist. His fingers itched to confirm if they’d meet if he extended them around that tiny middle.

  “Here, let me get those chairs.” Bard handed one to Paula, and they sat down, facing each other.

  He watched Paula take a bite of the toast. A dot of boysenberry preserves adhered to her lips. She flicked it off delicately with her tongue. If her intention was to keep his mind off the journal, it almost worked; his temperature skyrocketed, inflaming desires he had striven to keep in check.

  “Toast’s good, Mr. Nichols.” She darted a glance at the pile of cloth that hid the journal.

  “Something interesting under there?” Bard asked, arching his eyebrow. He lunged for the journal. “Let me take a look.”

  She grabbed it away. “No!”

  “Charlie’s journal, right?”

  ****

  Paula clutched the book that might hold a clue to all the killing. It wouldn’t do any good to lie, she thought. “It’s private.”

  “I understand,” Bard said in a deep voice that seeped within her and shot heat to her most sensitive areas.

  “You do?”

  “Of course. But if you need help with anything you find in there, I’m here, Paula.”

  His smile flamed the heat already turning her insides to jelly. Don’t let him into your heart. Don’t let him into your heart. Remember the last time.

  Still, she was impressed. He’d dropped the topic of journal, just like that, respecting her privacy. In her eyes, he’d just gotten a little taller. He finished his toast in silence, making her feel guilty. But she had no idea why. She didn’t owe him any further explaination.

  After minutes of ackward silence, Bard glanced at the journal. “Going through his things can’t be easy. But sometimes talking about our departed loved ones helps. Did Charlie have any hobbies?”

  Was this a trick to suck her in? Well, she could just tell him inconsequential things. And it might make her feel better to talk about Charlie. “He invented things.”

  Bard smiled. “No kidding. Like what?”

  “Once, when he was a kid, he invented a roach bomb that stunk up the whole neighborhood. It killed the roaches all right, but everyone within a two-block area had to be evacuated for eight hours.”

  Bard’s eyes twinkled. “Did he get in trouble?”

  “Big time. I tried to protect him by hiding the belt. Then we both got a beating.”

  “My God. Sounds rough. Way beyond tough love.”

  “Love wasn’t part of the equation.” She shuddered. The bruises and welts burned into her legs and back had
lasted for weeks. Then it hit her what she’d shared. She hadn’t meant to tell him about the beating. Darn, she was too vulnerable around him. She shrugged, pretending it didn’t matter. “But that isn’t what we were talking about. I was telling you about Charlie.” Bard opened his mouth to speak, but she hurried on, not wanting to give him a chance to dwell on their treatment in the group homes. “Most of Charlie’s ideas worked out well. And when he joined the army, he invented a unique clip for the rifles like the ones used in his security unit. Later, he sold other clever ideas to private companies.”

  “He sounds top notch. Have any pictures?” She showed him the color photo of Charlie with his arm around her.

  Bard studied it. “You can see that you two had a special relationship. Probably a lot better than some blood brothers and sisters.”

  Paula smiled. He’d said just the right thing. She appreciated he hadn’t pressed her to share more about the bad stuff.

  He returned the photo to her and suddenly stood “Thanks for the quick pick-me-up. I hate to eat and run but I need to talk to Deeter right away.”

  His abrupt decision to leave made her head spin. She stood and faced him. “Deeter may not talk to you. He doesn’t trust County people.”

  “He’ll talk to me. Don’t worry about that.”

  Even though Deeter was a rough-edged mountain of a man, Paula didn’t doubt that Bard could handle him.

  The toughness in Bard’s eyes gentled. “Remember, I’m here for you, Paula.” His piercing look made her knees go weak. “Whatever you need. Okay?”

  She nodded. Her heart skipped a beat. She’d tried to harden herself against his easygoing warmth, but she couldn’t.

  “I’ll be back around dinnertime,” he said as she walked him to his car. “Since you shared breakfast with me twice, I’ll bring supper. Like Chinese?”

  “Yes, but….” They were spending too much time together and she was starting to look forward to it. Don’t start depending on him, that’s how you get hurt. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be too tired by the time I finish here.”

  “That’s the beauty of it—you won’t have to cook, and you can help me sort the truth from Deeter’s lies. He won’t come right out and admit he hired those men to kill your birds.”

  “You think he’s behind that?” Deeter had been one of Charlie’s friends; they’d worked on cars together. She didn’t want to believe anything bad about him.

  “If not, he knows who is. Expect me around five.”

  Paula hesitated. She should say no. But she didn’t. She watched Bard slide behind the wheel. As he drove away, her traitorous heart went with him. She tried to convince herself that she didn’t reject Bard’s dinner offer only because she wanted to hear what Deeter had to say. But she knew that wasn’t all.

  Suddenly, Paula had the prickly feeling she was being watched. Her gaze swept the field at the end of her cul-de-sac. She saw no one. She rubbed her arms and studied the overgrown yard of the boarded up house across the street. Nothing moved. She raised her eyes and looked at the hillside in the distance. Still, she saw no one.

  She clutched the journal to her chest. A shiver slid down her spine. Never had she experienced a stronger feeling of being watched.

  ****

  Deeter left his black truck and stepped to the edge of the hill that overlooked the clear zone project and zeroed his high-powered binoculars in on the book Paula held. He adjusted the power to the most finite setting. The faded printing on the cover was impossible to read. It was either a Bible, a diary, or a small journal. He’d been in Paula’s garage several times with Charlie and knew Charlie kept his things there. He’d seen Paula digging in boxes and was certain the book came out of one of them. People often left notes for their loved ones in Bibles. Whether it was a Bible or a journal, his boss would want to know about it.

  ****

  Bard frowned. Deeter’s black truck wasn’t in front of his place on Dell Avenue, but he had to come home sometime. Bard decided to check back later.

  He drove slowly through the project. The boarded up houses with their wheat-colored lawns looked grim as hell. The intermingled well-kept homes with green lawns and blooming flowers failed to mask the undercurrent of danger. Charlie and six of Paula’s birds had been killed within the project boundaries, and Gary had almost died in this clear-zone jungle. Dammit. Either Gordon would get on the ball and process his request for police protection for the project or…. Or what? Was he willing to quit? He thought of the years he had invested. Then he thought of Paula. He’d be of little help to her if he walked off the project.

  Bard pressed down on the gas pedal and headed for his office. His tires squealed as he skidded into the parking space in front.

  He marched into his boss’s office, slamming the door against the wall as he entered. “Sign this request for security now.” He slapped it down on Gordon’s desk.

  “Get out of here, Nichols!” Gordon pointed toward the door. “I ought to fire you for storming into my office like this.”

  Bard grabbed Gordon’s pen out of the holder and thrust it at him. “Lives are at stake!”

  Gordon shot to his feet. Bard didn’t flinch. His blood boiled. The low murmur of cool air pouring through the ceiling vents turned to vapor as it touched his skin. “Sign it,” Bard said, his voice low and deadly.

  Gordon’s usually dull gray eyes sparked fire. Bard held his gaze steady, refusing to even blink. A tense second ticked by. Then to Bard’s surprise, Gordon broke eye contact and eased back into his chair. “Even if I wanted to,” he said, back-peddling to a more reasonable tone, “I can’t do that. This is a Corps Project, and they hold the purse strings.”

  “Then I’ll hand-carry the request to The Corps chief in L.A. Just sign it.”

  “Don’t push me, Nichols.”

  Bard clenched his fists, but he managed to keep his arms at his sides. “A man was killed and a boy shot!”

  Gordon sank deeper into his chair. “The widow’s gotten to you, hasn’t she? Made you want to play hero. Can’t you see it? Most of what is going on over there is her fault.”

  Bard paced to release pent-up energy. “No, it’s your fault for not taking action against the looting.”

  Gordon’s mouth twitched. “The woman made war against the County and The Corps. There are casualties in war.”

  “Okay, if that’s how it’s going to be, as of now, she isn’t in this fight alone.” Bard picked up Gordon’s telephone. “The newspapers will eat up a story like this. I can see the headlines now: ‘Corps and County Square-off Against Helpless Widow.’”

  Gordon jabbed his finger down on the disconnect button. The two men stared at each other. Green eyes drilled into dull gray ones. Seconds that felt like minutes ticked by.

  “You’ve chosen the wrong side, Nichols.” Gordon snarled then picked up his pen and quickly scribbled his signature on the form. “I’d fire you, but it’s too late to bring in a new man. But you’d better watch yourself when this project’s over.”

  Bard grabbed the form and stormed out of the room. Gordon would make his life hell now. But he couldn’t have slept nights if he hadn’t taken a stand. Besides, he had a personal stake in the project now—Paula.

  Chapter Eleven

  He slid behind the wheel of the Omni and gunned the engine to life. Cory had warned him that a woman like Paula could get into a man’s blood, and she had. But no matter what anyone said about the spunky redhead, he’d help her, not only with her move, but with her conflict with the County and the investigation into Charlie’s death.

  She shouldn’t have to wage this fight alone. He had a feeling that too many people had skipped out on her. That’s why she didn’t trust him. Somehow, he’d find a way to teach her to trust again. Bard didn’t know exactly when Paula had become his personal crusade; he only knew she had.

  He made a U-turn and headed toward the police department. The more he thought about it the easier it was to believe that his boss might have somethin
g to do with the attack on Paula’s birds. He’d said he wanted Paula moved quickly at any cost. The ambitious, political SOB did have a sadistic side. Once when they were out in the desert reviewing a project, Gordon turned a turtle upside down and watched its stubby legs tread air. Bard knocked Gordon aside and immediately put the turtle back on its feet.

  Later at an office party held at his home, Gordon kicked his own dog when it leaped eagerly over the fence to greet him. After several glasses of wine his wife confided that “Gordy” was all bluff. She believed he liked to shock people to watch their reaction. Bard didn’t buy it. But was Gordon capable of ordering another man’s death?

  Bard tabled his questions as he walked into the police station. The sergeant took him directly into the chief’s office. From there his luck went sour.

  “Our department is understaffed,” the chief said. He scratched his balding head while he scanned a computer printout. We got those rock concerts at Lytle Creek. But I can assign a couple men to handle the project area when they’re over.”

  Bard had seen the promotion for the series of summer concerts in the newspaper. “That’s a week and a half away,” he said. “These people need police protection now.” For an insane instant he wanted to haul the chief up by his collar and make him understand the danger. He clamped his arms to his sides. Getting himself thrown in jail wouldn’t help.

  The chief stroked his double chin thoughtfully. “I can have a cruiser swing by a couple times a night. That’s it, until the concerts are over. Handling the concert backlash is taking every man. I even had to get help from L.A. County last Saturday night when a gang riot broke out.”

  The finality in the chief’s tone made hanging around pointless. He’d accomplished zilch. A cruiser driving through the area a couple of times a night wasn’t going to keep Paula and her birds safe, protect the homeowners and tenants, or stop the looting. He started to leave the building when he thought of Cory.