Malice. Lisa Jackson
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pride. He tried not to wince, but his knees stung where his skin had been scraped off. No doubt bruises were already forming. He sensed the ooze of warm, sticky blood run down his shins.
“I was watching from over the top of the gate. Looked to me like you were attempting a swan dive into the concrete.”
“Very funny.”
“I thought so.”
Bentz wasn’t in the mood to be ridiculed by his smart-assed partner. Make that his smart-assed younger partner. With hair that gleamed black in the afternoon light, reflective sunglasses covering eyes that were as sharp as they had ever been, Montoya was younger and more athletic than Bentz. And not afraid to remind his older partner of it.
When he walked, Montoya damned near swaggered and the diamond stud in his earlobe glittered. At least today he wasn’t wearing his signature black leather jacket, just a white T-shirt and jeans. Looking cool as all get-out.
It bugged the hell out of Bentz.
“Olivia at work?”
Bentz nodded. “Should be home in a couple of hours.” His wife still worked a couple of days a week at the Third Eye, a New Age gift shop near Jackson Square that had survived Hurricane Katrina. She’d completed her master’s in psychology a while back and was considering starting her own practice, but she hadn’t quite made the transition to full time. Bentz suspected she missed the hustle and bustle of the French Quarter.
Montoya found Bentz’s cell phone near a huge ceramic pot filled with cascading pink and white petunias. “Looking for this?” He dusted off the phone, then handed it to him.
Glowering, Bentz muttered, “Thanks,” then jammed the damned phone into his pocket.
“Bad news?” Montoya asked, suddenly sober.
“Jaskiel doesn’t think I’m fit for duty.”
“You’re not.”
Bentz bit back a hot retort as a dragonfly zipped past. Considering his current state, he couldn’t argue. “Is there a reason you came all the way out here, or did you just want to give me a bad time?”
“Little of both,” Montoya said. This time his teeth flashed white against his black goatee. “They’re reassigning me. Making Zaroster my”—he made air quotes with his fingers—“‘temporary’ partner.”
Lynn Zaroster was a junior detective who had been with the department a little over two years though she was barely twenty-six. Cute, smart, and athletic, Zaroster was filled with enthusiasm. She was as idealistic as Bentz was jaded.
“Change of pace for you.”
“Yeah.” Montoya’s smile faded. “Sometimes I feel like a goddamned babysitter.”
“You’re afraid this might be permanent.” Because Bentz was being pushed out of the department.
“Not if I have my say, but I thought I’d tell you myself. Rather than you hearing it from someone else.”
Bentz nodded, wiped the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his shirt. From inside the house, through the open window, he heard the sound of Olivia’s parrot, which, like the dog and this little cottage, she had inherited from her grandmother. “Jaskiel’s been hinting that I should retire.” His lips twisted at the thought of it. “Enjoy what’s left of my life.”
Montoya snorted. “You’re not even fifty. That’s a whole lotta ‘left.’ Thirty—maybe forty—years of fishing, watching football, and sitting on your ass.”
“Doesn’t seem to matter.”
Reaching down for Bentz’s crutch, Montoya said, “Maybe you could retire, draw a pension, and then get your P.I.’s license.”
“Yeah…maybe. And you can keep babysitting.” Ignoring the preoffered crutch, Bentz started inside, the little dog hurrying ahead of him. “Come on, I’ll buy you a beer.”
“Have you gone off the wagon?” Montoya was right beside him, hauling the damned crutch.
“Not yet.” Bentz held the door open. “But then, the day’s not over.”
CHAPTER 2
Bentz was slipping away from her.
Olivia could feel it.
And it pissed her off. Yes, she was sad, too, she thought as she tore down the road in her old Ford Ranger, a relic with nearly two hundred thousand miles that she would have to trade in soon.
She loved her husband and when she’d vowed to stick with him through good times and bad, she’d meant it. She’d thought he had, too, but ever since the accident…
She braked for a curve on the long country road winding through this part of bayou country on the way to her home, a small bungalow built near the swamp, one she’d shared with Grannie Gin before the old lady had passed on. She’d lived in it alone for a few years, but eventually, when she and Bentz had married, he’d moved from his apartment to the bungalow tucked deep into the woods.
His daughter had lived with them for a while, though that hadn’t worked out all that great. Kristi was a grown woman and had needed her own space. But they’d been happy here for the past few years.
Until the damned accident.
A freak occurrence.
Lightning had cleaved an oak tree and a thick branch had come down on Rick, pinning him and nearly severing his spine. Even now she shuddered thinking of those dark days when she hadn’t been certain whether he would live or die.
He’d clung to life. Barely. And in that time she and her stepdaughter had finally bonded, clenching each other’s hands in the hospital when the doctors had given Bentz a dire prognosis.
She’d thought she’d lose him, expected him to die. And in those heart-rending days, she’d regretted not having a child with him, not having a part of him to carry on. Maybe it was selfish. But she didn’t care.
She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the rearview mirror. Worried amber-colored eyes stared back at her. She didn’t like what was happening.
“So do something about it,” she said. She’d never been one to hold back. Her temper had been described as “mercurial” on more than one occasion. By Bentz. The first time she’d met the man, she’d gone toe-to-toe with him, reporting a murder she’d witnessed through her visions. That had set him back a bit. He hadn’t believed her, at first. But she’d convinced him.
Somehow now, she had to convince him of this as well.
She put the truck through its paces and tried not to dwell on the fact that the warmth in their home had seemed to fade after he’d woken from the coma. He’d become a different man. Not entirely, of course, but somehow changed. At first, she’d passed off his lack of affection as worry. He’d had to concentrate on getting well. But things hadn’t gone as she’d expected. As the weeks had passed and he’d gained strength, she’d noticed a sense of disillusionment in him. She’d told herself his mood was sure to change the minute he was back to work, doing what he loved, solving homicides.
But as the weeks passed she became concerned. Though they had talked about having a baby together, he’d become less and less interested. Bentz had always been a passionate man; not as hot-tempered as his partner, Montoya, but steadfast, determined, and courageous.
In bed, he’d been an eager lover who had derived some of his own pleasure from hers.
But all of that had changed.
She didn’t doubt that he loved her; not for a second. But instead of mellowing with age, their relationship had grown…stale, for lack of a better word. And she didn’t like it.
She flipped down her visor. Sunlight dappled the warm ribbon of pavement meandering through this lowland and a jackrabbit hopped into