Free Have Your Cake and Kill Him Too by Nancy Martin Page B

animal’s suffering. He took the lamb away, and we knew what he had gone to do. But he’d wept with us as he spoke, and his unchecked emotion lent a certain unforgettable melodrama to the whole event.
    But I knew Richard would take a different view, so I said merely, “He’s not a violent man.”
    â€œI thought you were going to say their blood is too blue for killing each other.”
    I pushed Pierpoint out of my mind and considered the victim instead. “Zell didn’t have blue blood.”
    â€œNo class, huh?”
    â€œHe hired his own granddaughter to be a Cupcake.”
    â€œThat’s pretty low,” Richard agreed.
    â€œThat’s Zell for you.”
    â€œI guess some guys just don’t fit in your world.”
    I turned sideways in the seat, conscious that Michael was between us again as clearly as if he’d opened the door and climbed into the car. “Are you trying to make a point, Richard?”
    Richard kept his gaze on the road. “I can’t believe I still need to.”
    â€œYou tried to interrogate him tonight.”
    In the light from the dashboard, Richard glanced at me. “Abruzzo told you that?”
    â€œFess up,” I said. “You’re working on the organized-crime story, aren’t you?”
    â€œYou know I can’t reveal details about my current investigation.”
    â€œThink I’m going to tell someone at my own paper who will scoop you? Or are you concerned I’ll tip off the mob?”
    â€œNora—”
    â€œJust tell me what’s going on, please. What is Michael involved in now?”
    Richard let a few seconds tick by. Then, quietly, he said, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
    â€œIt isn’t you who’s doing the hurting.”
    Richard contemplated his choices as he drove up the dark highway toward Blackbird Farm. I could see him weighing personal and professional matters.
    At last, he said, “Remember last December? Some cops were on a special detail to catch a ring of car thieves. The bust went wrong, and somebody shot a cop.”
    I remembered the incident all too painfully. Although I had spent part of that fateful evening with Michael, I hadn’t been completely sure of his whereabouts at the time the police officer was murdered.
    â€œYes,” I said. “I know about the killing.”
    â€œWell, the police never caught the shooter. He’s still at large.”
    â€œDo they know who it was?”
    â€œThey know who they want it to be,” Richard said. “And now I hear they’ve got a source who’s willing to talk—who’s passing information to them.”
    â€œInformation that’s trustworthy?” I asked. “Because a petty car thief might say anything. You have to consider the source. You can’t believe what you hear from—”
    â€œTake it easy,” Richard said.
    I bit back my panic. If someone in the Abruzzo crime family wanted Michael out of the way for a long time, creating a false testimony was the quickest way to put him back in jail.
    When he was a teenager, he had been able to survive a prison sentence. But I wasn’t sure he could live through it now. He loved to go fishing. To ride his motorcycle. He laughed, ate, drank wine and made love with more abandon than anyone in my acquaintance. In fact, I’d never known a man who enjoyed his pleasures so openly. As if he might never enjoy them again.
    In the quiet of the car, Richard said at last, “Am I crazy? Thinking you and I could have something, Nora?”
    I felt myself flush with remorse.
    Here I was, jeopardizing my future with Richard because I couldn’t make a clean break with a likely criminal. “Of course we have something, Richard. I—look, I’m sorry you doubt it. I’m sorry for a lot of things.”
    â€œYou protect him even though he’s a monster.”
    â€œHe is not a monster.”
    Richard