Send Me a Hero Page 3

  Good heavens, the woman was a legend. Or at least the news of the Miller murder-suicide had been highlighted in Atlanta newspapers for months after her parents’ deaths. He stared at the yellowed edges of the old newspaper article, and his heart twisted at the sad expression on Veronica’s face—a seven-year-old girl with the weight of her mother’s and father’s deaths on her mind. Her big, dark eyes glistened with pain and turmoil, and a single lone tear streaked her cheek as she clutched an elderly woman’s hand.

  They stood beside a gravestone, Veronica with a small bunch of fresh daisies almost crushed to pieces in her tiny hand. A few mourners hunched in the wind on the dark, dreary day, a day much like this one had been. Police and reporters had been present, too. The poor child hadn’t been able to grieve without being hounded by the press. Or the police. What kind of effect had the gossip and media attention had on her?

  He leaned back in his chair, studying a picture of her folks when they were alive. The hot coffee burned his throat as he gazed at a tiny Veronica being cuddled by her father. It was the only picture where she was smiling. He realized it wasn’t the color of her eyes, but the deep sadness that had drawn him to believe her.

  Annoyed with himself, he stood and paced across the room. Why was this story getting to him? He balled up several pieces of paper and spiked them toward the trash can. She was a grown woman now, not a child. An independent adult—a respected tax attorney. He had to remain uninvolved.

  Maybe his recent stay in the hospital had something to do with his reactions. Months of lying in bed and going to rehab to regain the use of his leg, reliving the moment the bullet had pierced the lining near his heart—a near-death experience did something to a man. And losing his partner—he would never forget the devastation he’d felt when he’d awoken to find Reid gone. He’d died because he trusted the wrong person. Nathan had come as close to dying himself as he’d ever come. In those dreadful months of recovery, he’d realized something. There wasn’t a person in the world who cared about him. Not one.

  His family had all been gone for years, and he’d never let anyone get close to him. For the first time in his life, he’d begun to think about his future. Not just his future as a detective, but his future…alone. But this wasn’t the time to pursue a relationship. And work definitely wasn’t the place.

  He slam-dunked another piece of paper into the trash can and sank back in his chair. His stint in the hospital had obviously turned him into a melancholy wimp. Police work and marriage didn’t mix. He’d seen dozens of marriages fall apart because wives couldn’t stand the hours, the danger and fear of losing their husbands. And the combination of a policeman getting involved with a victim was lethal. He had a job to do and he intended to do it.

  He shuffled the papers and zeroed in on a column a few weeks after the reported murder-suicide. The journalist suggested that Veronica had suffered severe trauma from the incident. The psychiatrist treating her had released very little information, except that she had repressed the horrible memories of that fatal night. And that she might never remember the details. Serious long-term effects might reveal themselves in her later years. Schizophrenic behavior often resulted from childhood trauma. So did paranoia. Illusions of someone threatening the person were common. Suicide in cases like this was prevalent, most likely in the teens or early twenties. He couldn’t ignore the facts: Veronica fit the profile, even her age, which was twenty-seven.

  Nathan scrubbed his hands over his eyes, and leaned on his palms. Things were not looking good for Veronica’s case. He had to admit Ford might be right. He couldn’t do anything else tonight. The lab wouldn’t be open until morning. It would take time to study the evidence and match blood types.

  If Veronica had stabbed someone with that knife, the person’s blood should show up. And if they couldn’t find any evidence to support her claim, well, he’d discover the truth about her, too. He stood and dragged his weary body toward the door. He might as well get some sleep. Tomorrow he had work to do. And he had to forget about the alluring Veronica Miller as a woman. Whether she was delusional or someone was threatening her life, she obviously had personal problems.

  And that was looking on the bright side. After all, she just might be a lunatic.

  VERONICA BRUSHED DOWN her straight black skirt and smoothed her teal silk blouse over her bandaged arm, grateful the blouse’s collar hid the small cut on her neck. She walked into her office, hesitating momentarily as she always did when she entered the huge Victorian house that had been her father’s office years ago. Of course, it had undergone major renovations, but she’d hoped being in his work space might jog her memories. So far it hadn’t.

  A yawn escaped her. Last night she’d barely slept. She’d tossed and turned in the hotel bed, wondering why someone would attack her. It had never happened before. So why now? Could it have been a simple robbery attempt?

  In the wee hours of the morning, she’d slipped into a fretful sleep, and she’d awoken at dawn, still unrested. But she had to come to work today. Although she’d always been a failure with people, especially men, she was a whiz at numbers—a skill and service her clients paid prime money for. Work was her salvation.

  “Ms. Miller, Wayne Barrett is waiting for you in your office.” Veronica’s secretary, Louise Falk, gave her a sympathetic smile as she stopped to check her messages. “He’s on the rampage this morning.”

  Veronica smiled. “I expect so. He not only received my bill, but he just learned he owes the government a huge sum of money.”

  Louise sipped her coffee. The woman was tall and skinny and could drink five pots of coffee a day without getting jittery. Veronica envied her that. She and caffeine did not agree. She fixed herself some decaf tea and hoped she could enjoy it before Barrett exploded.

  “You want me to call 911 if he starts shouting?” Louise licked the sticky icing from a Danish.

  “I think I can handle him.” Veronica’s fingers tightened around her leather attaché case. “By the way, did you find the Avondale file?”

  Louise gave her an odd look. “You filed it yesterday before you left. Don’t you remember?”

  Veronica chewed her bottom lip. “Oh, yes, that’s right.” Massaging her temple, she searched her memory. She didn’t remember filing it. What was wrong with her? Normally she was organized, but lately she’d been misplacing things. First she thought she’d lost her keys, then she’d found them in her office desk. And now a file.

  “Well, good luck with Barrett,” Louise said, turning back to the computer.

  Veronica mumbled thanks, squared her shoulders, reminded herself of the assertiveness training classes she’d taken and strode toward her office.

  Wayne Barrett, big-time entrepreneur, offered a perfunctory greeting as she entered. He sat gripping a mug of coffee, tugging at his waxed mustache. A designer suit, red power tie, Gucci shoes—the man had money and liked to flaunt it. He even had his nails manicured. He said he could enjoy his wealth better if he held it with polished hands. She’d disliked the man the moment she’d met him.

  “Hi, Mr. Barrett.” Veronica placed her tea and briefcase on her desk, snapped open the sleek Italian case and pulled out a file. “I assume this is what you came to discuss.”

  Barrett perched in the red leather chair nearest her desk, crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward, Veronica was sure, to intimidate her. “Of course. You knew it wasn’t what I was expecting.” The anger in his deep baritone jostled her already taut nerves.

  But she refused to show it.

  Instead she met his cool gaze and calculating eyes with a confident smile. “I know. But when you withheld information about those bonds from me and your wife—”

  “My ex-wife,” Barrett clarified hastily.

  Veronica nodded, although she knew the divorce hadn’t been officially granted yet. “Yes, your ex-wife notified the courts of this money, and the government had to be informed. I’m sorry it worked out like this, but my hands are tied.”<
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  Barrett’s nostrils flared with anger. He stood and glared into her eyes. “I paid you to work this out. Walsh always took care of me.”

  Veronica leaned back in her chair, putting some distance between them. This man smelled like whiskey and it was only 8:00 a.m. He had the nerve to blame her for his loss, when he’d withheld pertinent information about his earnings from the government.

  “I found you every loophole available—within the law.” Veronica punctuated the last words, simultaneously tapping her pen on the desk for emphasis.

  “You know this will cost me two million,” Barrett said. “I thought you were the best tax attorney around. Walsh even recommended you.”

  Veronica refused to let him faze her. “I am a good attorney, but I’m also honest. I won’t go to jail to hide your earnings, Mr. Barrett. Or to save you from having to pay your wife and the government what you lawfully owe them.”

  A vein bulged in Barrett’s pale forehead. “Sometimes, Ms. Miller, there are worse things than going to jail. Remember, I know where you live.” He jerked his own briefcase from the floor and stormed from her office.

  Veronica exhaled a shaky breath at his implied threat. Could Barrett have attacked her the night before?

  The phone jangled, catching her off guard, and she almost jumped out of the chair. Forcing herself to steady her voice, she picked up the receiver. “Hello, Veronica Miller speaking.”

  “Veronica, this is Eli.”

  Veronica relaxed, grateful for the comfort of her godfather’s voice. She’d missed talking with him lately.

  “How are you, dear?”

  “I’m fine. Just got rid of a nasty client, but what’s new?”

  Eli laughed. His voice was rusty, and she realized age had crept up on him while they’d lost touch. “Tomorrow night we’re having a reception in honor of my son Gerald.”

  “Oh. What’s the occasion?” Veronica asked. Although she didn’t remember Gerald, Eli had kept her informed of all his son’s political activities through his letters.

  “It’s a kickoff for his campaign,” Eli said, pride evident in his voice.

  “Like father like son, huh?” Veronica said.

  Eli laughed. “Yeah, but he’s not stopping at senator. He wants to run for president.”

  “Wow.” Veronica was mildly impressed. “What time is the party?”

  “Seven o’clock. And bring a date if you want.”

  Veronica laughed silently. She hadn’t been in town long enough to meet anyone she wanted to date. She’d spent the first few weeks getting settled and reviewing a few of the accounts she inherited from Walsh. “Sounds great,” Veronica said. “I’ll be there.” She was tempted to tell Eli about her midnight visitor, but he sounded weary himself, and with Gerald’s decision to run for election and Eli’s own commitments to several state departments, he obviously had his plate full. Besides, living on her own had taught her to be independent. Eli had his own family and life to deal with.

  “See you then.” Eli coughed, then hung up.

  Hmm. Eli still hadn’t shaken the cold he’d had when she’d had lunch with him. Veronica reached for the stack of files on her desk. Paperwork should take her mind off her problems.

  Later that afternoon a light knock sounded at the door. Louise poked her head in. “This package arrived for you.”

  Veronica squinted in confusion at the brightly wrapped package. “For me?” Who would be sending her a gift?

  Louise placed the small package on the desk. “Maybe it’s from a secret admirer,” she said, slipping out the door.

  Veronica removed the small card and read it silently. “Something to remember me by. See you soon.”

  It had to be from Ron. But what did he mean he would see her soon? She’d told him she wanted time and space. For heaven’s sake, she’d moved to Oakland to get away from him.

  She examined the package. Pale blue paper with roses on it. Her hand trembled. Something about the wrapping seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She silently chastised herself for being so jittery. She’d probably bought similar paper and wrapped a gift with it for someone else.

  She must be getting paranoid from lack of sleep and nerves. Gingerly, she fingered the delicate baby pink bow and finally lifted it from the gift. The paper came away easily. She slowly opened the container and took out a beautiful music box in the shape of a hot air balloon. It was lovely. The familiar characters from The Wizard of Oz danced in the basket. Again, something about the gift tugged at the corners of her memory, but nothing materialized.

  Ron hadn’t sent the gift. She was sure of it. He was the most practical man she’d ever known, he would never have sent her something this frivolous. But if he hadn’t sent it, who had?

  As she stared at the little scarecrow and cowardly lion, the image of Dorothy in her red slippers appeared in her head. Dorothy tapping her ruby red slippers together chanting, “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.” A vague memory floated through her mind; her mother had read her the story as a child. She’d had the music from the movie. A chill slithered up her spine. Why did the childlike story make her feel so frightened? Had she been listening to the song the night her parents were killed?

  With shaking fingers, she slowly wound the music box and listened as it played. She hummed along in a low voice. “Somewhere over the rainbow…”

  An image of Dorothy being chased by the bad witch and the horrid monkeys took her breath. Her hands shook so violently she dropped the music box onto the desk with a thud. The song droned on. “Why, oh, why, can’t I?” Veronica covered her ears to drown out the sound. Why, oh, why, couldn’t she remember what happened that night?

  As the music continued to play, she could almost hear her mother’s soft voice singing the words. Her mother had given her a music box just like this one for her seventh birthday, only a few days before her death. She hadn’t seen the music box in years. And nobody had known about it except her parents.

  NATHAN STOOD in the open doorway of Veronica’s office, one hand gripping the shiny doorknob, the other shoved in his pocket, and watched silently as Veronica stared at the small music box. She mumbled something about monkeys.

  “The monkeys, they’re after me.” Panic tinged her voice, and her eyes were glazed and haunted with shadows.

  “What’s wrong with her?” he asked the tall, lanky secretary. She’d opened the door for him when Veronica had refused to answer her buzzer.

  “I don’t know,” she said, her voice filled with concern. “She’s been acting a little strange lately, forgetting things. A messenger delivered a present for her a few minutes ago.” Louise pointed to the torn wrapping paper. “It must have been that music box. I’ve never seen it before.”

  Nathan closed the distance between himself and Veronica in a few quick strides. “Why would it cause her to react this way?”

  “I have no idea,” Louise said, wide-eyed.

  “I didn’t mean to do it,” Veronica whimpered in a tiny voice that jabbed at Nathan like razor-sharp scissors. He didn’t have a clue what she meant or even if she knew, but he needed to snap her out of this delusional state. He lowered himself beside her.

  “Ms. Miller,” he said, gently nudging her shoulder, “Ms. Miller, can you hear me?”

  An almost childlike cry escaped her. Although he told himself this was strictly business, that this woman might be psychotic, his heart wrenched. All he could see in his mind was a picture of a sad little girl with a handful of crushed daisies standing beside her parents’ grave. Lost and alone.

  “Ms. Miller…Veronica, can you hear me? It’s Detective Dawson.” He took her icy hands in his and turned her to face him. Gently he stroked some warmth into her chilled fingers and watched as her breathing began to steady. “Veronica, tell me what happened. I’m here to help you. You have to talk to me.”

  “I’ll get some water,” Louise said, dashing from the office.

  “Veronica, look at me.” He f
ramed her face with his hands and forced her to meet his gaze. Although her eyes still seemed slightly glazed, her pupils weren’t as dilated as when he’d first arrived, and she focused on him. He kept talking in a soft, comforting voice. “I came by to see how you’re doing today. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  Veronica’s limp body sagged against her chair. She glanced around her office, her desk, then back to him, still in a state of confusion.

  “Veronica, will you talk to me now?”

  “What…how long have you been standing there?” Her voice sounded weak and distant.

  “Not long.” Nathan replayed the details of her file in his head. The lack of evidence from the night before complicated things even more. He needed more details from Veronica. “We need to talk.”

  Louise rushed in and thrust a glass of water in Veronica’s hands. “Are you okay, Veronica?” Louise rubbed a hand over her own forehead and made a futile attempt to tuck the loose strands of her auburn topknot back into place. “You scared me to death.”

  Veronica looked at her in confusion, then seemed to visibly shake herself. “I’m fine.” She stared at Nathan, a dazed look on her face. “What did you say you were doing here?”

  “I came by to ask you some more questions. Who sent the gift?”

  “I don’t know,” Veronica said in a listless voice. “The card didn’t say.”

  “You shouldn’t have opened a strange package after what happened last night.” Nathan turned to Louise. “What did the messenger look like? Was it a courier service?”

  Louise bit her lip. “I…I didn’t see them. I went to the rest room and found it on my desk when I returned.”

  “What time is it?” Veronica asked, looking more and more confused.

  Louise and Nathan exchanged concerned looks. “It’s about four-thirty,” Nathan said.

  “Why don’t you go on home?” Louise suggested. “You don’t have any more appointments today. I’ll answer the phone and lock up.” Veronica nodded, and Louise made a hasty exit.