Heartbreaker (Buchanan-Renard #1)

Heartbreaker (Buchanan-Renard #1) Page 13

“Laurant, I warned you that I was going to invade your privacy, remember? I’m sorry if it embarrasses you to talk about personal things, but you’re still going to have to,” he added. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your brother.”

“I’m not worried about that. It was just so . . . stupid,” she said, glancing up at Nick again.

“What was stupid?”

“I met this man in Chicago. In fact, I worked for him. We dated for a little while, and I thought I was falling in love with him. That’s what was stupid. He turned out to be . . .”

She was having trouble coming up with the perfect word to describe the man who had betrayed her. Nick came to her aid. “Slime? Scum? Bastard?”

“Slime,” she decided. “Yes, he was definitely slime.”

He turned a page in his notepad and asked her for the man’s name.

“Joel Patterson,” she answered. “He was head of the department.”

“And . . . ? What happened?”

“I found him in bed with another woman, a friend, as a matter of fact.”

“Ouch.”

“It’s not funny. At least it wasn’t funny at the time.”

“No, I don’t suppose it was,” he agreed. “Sorry, I wasn’t being very sensitive, was I? Who was she?”

“Just a woman who worked for the gallery. Their affair didn’t last long. She’s involved with someone else now.”

“Give me her name.”

“Are you going to check her out too?”

“I sure am.”

“Christine Winters.”

He wrote her name on his pad, then looked at Laurant. “Let’s go back to Patterson for a minute.”

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Still wounded?”

“No,” she answered. “Just still feeling stupid. Do you know that he had the gall to blame me?”

Nick lifted his gaze from the writing pad and gave her a sideways glance. “You’re kidding?”

His astonished expression made her smile. “It’s true. He told me it was all my fault that he went to bed with Christine. ‘Men have needs,’” she quoted.

“And you weren’t putting out, huh?”

“What a quaint way of stating it. No, I wasn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Excuse me?”

“You thought you loved him. Why didn’t you go to bed with him?”

“Are you justifying—”

“No, of course not. The guy’s a jerk. I was just curious, that’s all. You said you loved him . . .”

“No, I said I thought I was falling in love with him,” she corrected as she pulled the croissant apart and reached for the jam. “I was being very practical,” she explained. “Joel and I shared the same interests, and I thought we had similar values. I was wrong about that.”

“You still haven’t answered my question. Why didn’t you go to bed with him?”

She couldn’t skirt the issue any longer. “I was waiting for . . . I wanted . . .”

“What?”

“A little magic. A spark anyway. There should be . . . shouldn’t there?”

“Hell yes, there should.”

“I tried, but I couldn’t make myself feel . . .”

“Laurant, it’s either there or it isn’t. You can’t manufacture it.”

She laid the jam knife on her plate, then dropped her hands in her lap and slumped against the back of the chair. “I’m not very good with relationships,” she said.

“Did Patterson tell you that?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “He really messed with your head, didn’t he? What else did good old Joel tell you when he was busy blaming you for driving him to another woman?”

She could tell he was getting angry, and the fact that it was on her behalf made her feel good. “He said my heart was made of ice.”

“You don’t believe that nonsense, do you?”

“No, of course not,” she said. “But . . .”

“But what?”

“I’ve always been very reserved. Maybe I am a little cold.”

“You’re not.”

His denial was given with conviction, as though he knew something she didn’t. She would have asked him to explain, but their conversation was interrupted when the phone rang and Nick got up to answer it.

“That was Noah,” he said when he returned. “Pete’s plane just landed. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 11

Fifteen minutes after Noah’s phone call, Nick was driving her back to the rectory.

“Your transmission’s slipping,” he commented as they started the climb up Southwest Trafficway. “I noticed it last night, but I was hoping I was wrong.”

“I guess I’ll have to have it looked at again.”

It was another hot, humid day. The air-conditioning wasn’t cooling the car well at all, and so she rolled down her window.

“I think your compressor’s had it too,” he told her. “She’s got over ninety thousand miles on her, Laurant. It’s time to trade her in.”

“Trade her in?” she repeated, smiling. “It’s a car, Nick, not a woman.”

“Men like to bond with their machines,” he explained. “Good men coddle them.”

“Is that another one of the secrets you boys share?”

“Not boys,” he corrected. “Men. Manly men.”

She laughed. “Does Dr. Morganstern realize he has a nut working for him?”

“What makes you think he isn’t nuts?”

“Is he?” She turned serious when she added, “I imagine he’s heard and seen some terrible things, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, he has.”

“And so have you.”

“Yeah, well it goes with the job.”

“Tommy worries about you.”

They had just started up another steep incline and Nick was listening to the grinding sound as the transmission tried to shift gears. Wincing over the god-awful noise, he made up his mind to have a mechanic look her over before Laurant drove the car again. She was damned lucky she hadn’t gotten stranded on the highway.

He glanced at her over the top of his sunglasses. “Tommy wants me to get married and settle down,” he said. “He thinks a family will make my life more normal. It isn’t going to happen though. With the work I do, marriage isn’t in the equation, and having children of my own . . . that’s definitely out of the question.”

“Don’t you like children?”

“Sure I do,” he replied. “But I know I’d ruin them. If I had any of my own, I wouldn’t let them out of my sight. Yeah, I’d ruin them all right.”

“Because you’d be afraid that something might happen to them . . . because you’ve seen—”

He cut her off. “Something like that. What about you? Do you want to get married and have a child?”

“Yes, I do . . . someday. I don’t want just one child though. I want a houseful of them and I don’t care if it’s fashionable or not.”

“How many constitute a houseful?”

“Four or five or maybe even six. Does Dr. Morganstern have any children?”

“No, he and Katie weren’t able to have any, but they do have lots of nieces and nephews, and they always have someone camping out at their house.”

She watched Nick for a moment. “Why do you keep looking in the rearview mirror?”

“I’m a cautious driver.”

“You’re checking to make sure no one’s following us, aren’t you?”

“That too,” he allowed.

“Where’s your gun?”

With his left hand he lifted the holster he’d wedged between the seat and the door. “Never leave home without it,” he said. “I’ll have to put it on when we reach the rectory. Rules,” he explained.

Propping her arm on the window, she stared out at the old buildings along the avenue. She was thinking about Dr. Morganstern, wondering what he was going to be like, if he would be reasonable when she told him what she wanted to do. She had already decided to go around Tommy and Nick—both were too emotionally involved to be practical about the situation—but she hoped that the doctor would understand and help her, with or without her brother’s cooperation.

“Laurant, we’ll finish making that list later,” Nick said. “We probably should have started it last night, but you were pretty wiped out.”

“About last night . . . I was wondering . . .”

“Yes?” he asked when she hesitated.

“I fell asleep while you were watching a game.”

“Not a game, the game. The Stanley Cup play-offs,” he explained.

“Did you watch all of it?”

“To the bitter end.”

“And then what did you do?”

He knew what she was trying to find out, but the devil in him decided to make her ask. “I slept,” he answered.

A long minute passed. “Where?”

He smiled. “With you.”

The tone of his voice was self-assured. His aim, no doubt, was to make her blush, and she decided it was high time she turned the tables on him. She was always prim and proper, but not this time. “So was it good for you?”

He laughed. “Sure was. I slept like a baby. Now I’m worried though. What’s your brother gonna say when I tell him I slept with his sister?”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Deal.”

They reached Mercy, and Nick parked the car in front of the church so that he wouldn’t interrupt the basketball game in progress. They spotted Noah and Tommy right away. They were standing nose to nose in the center of a group of teenagers. Tommy was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a white polo shirt. Noah had on torn jeans, a black T-shirt, and his brown leather shoulder holster and gun. The expression on his face was downright menacing. It didn’t take Laurant long to figure out why. Tommy was holding a whistle to his lips, and Noah was in his face, arguing over a call he’d made. Her stubborn brother had never been one to back down, and he was now giving as good as he was getting. His face was beet red, and he was being every bit as belligerent as Noah. The boys were clustered around her brother like a small legion of warriors ready to strike on command.

Laurant got out of the car before Nick had time to open the door for her. She saw him slip on his gun and tried not to let it bother her.

“I thought Tommy had to go to the hospital for more tests today,” she remarked.

“It’s after ten now,” he said. “They’ve probably already been there.”

“Shouldn’t you do something about that?” she asked with a nod toward Noah, who had just poked Tommy in the chest. Her brother retaliated by blowing his whistle in Noah’s face.

Nick burst out laughing. “Look at the boys’ faces.”

“They don’t like Noah shouting at their priest.”

“He’s just having some fun.”

“But I don’t think the boys understand that. Noah’s outnumbered.”

“You think so?”

She looked up at him. “You don’t think so?”

“He can hold his own,” Nick said.

“I’m going inside,” she said, waving to her brother as she crossed the parking lot. She saw Monsignor waiting for her in the open doorway and hurried toward him.

Noah spotted her out of the corner of his eye. He stopped shouting in midinsult and turned his back on Tommy so he could get a better view.

“What are you staring at?” Tommy demanded, still panting from the shouting match.

“Laurant,” Noah answered. “She’s got a great body.”

“You’re talking about his sister,” Nick reminded him, giving his shoulder a shove from behind.

“Yeah, I know. It’s hard to believe they’re related. She’s so damned pretty and sweet, and he’s such a jerk. By the way, your friend’s as blind as a bat,” he added. “He can’t even tell a ball’s out of bounds when the line’s two feet away from him.”

The shouting match started all over again.

Ten minutes later the three of them came lumbering inside. Tommy was mopping his brow with the edge of his shirt, but Nick and Noah hadn’t even broken a sweat. They were all laughing as they headed for the kitchen to get something to drink.

Laurant stepped back into the living room to get out of their way, shifting the heavy laundry basket she was holding to her other hip.

“I can’t believe you offered those kids beers,” Tommy chided.

“It’s hot out,” Noah defended. “I figured they’d want one.”

“They’re underage,” Tommy pointed out in exasperation. “And it’s not even noon yet.”

Nick winked at her as he passed her again, carrying a six-pack of Coke. Noah told Tommy to stay inside while he and Nick talked to the boys on the porch.

“What was that all about?” she asked her brother.

“One of the boys told Monsignor he might have seen the car the guy was driving Saturday, so Nick is talking to him.”

“Did the boy tell the police?”

“No, none of the kids talk to the police,” he explained. “But they all heard what happened, and as Frankie—he’s the leader of the pack—so eloquently put it, ‘Nobody’s gonna come in our ‘f’’ing parish and mess with one of our ‘f’’ing priests.’ ”

Laurant’s eyes widened. Tommy nodded. “Frankie’s a good kid,” he said. “But he has to keep up appearances. Being tough is important to all of them. Anyway, they started talking to their friends. They all hang out on the street, day and night, and one did remember seeing a strange van parked on Thirteenth Street, next to that empty lot. Nick’s hoping he can get a description of the guy driving. Keep your fingers crossed,” he added. Then, switching the subject, he asked, “What are you doing with the laundry basket?”

“I can’t stand waiting. I have to keep busy, so I asked Monsignor if I could help with anything.”

Tommy opened the door to the basement, turned on the light, and watched her go down the wooden steps.

Dr. Morganstern arrived five minutes later. She could hear him talking when she came up the stairs. The men were standing together in the front hall. His agents were a full head taller, and so was Tommy, but they were all deferentially “siring” him to death.