James’s eyes widened as he put two and two together. „You’re investigating that vigilante, the one killing criminals and lawyers.“
Mia’s back straightened at the implied accusation in James’s voice. „We are.“
„Seems like a quandary,“ James said. „He’s poppin’ off guys that deserve it, but still…“
„Still?“ Mia asked.
„Still, it’s killin’ all the same. I did it, in the war, because I had to. But it changes you. When you take the life outta somebody else’s body, it changes you.“
Mia looked lost for a moment and Abe knew she was remembering the firefight the night her old partner was killed. She’d shot a man that night, killing him. The punk’s pal shot both Mia and her partner. Mia was lucky to be alive. „Yes, Mr. James,“ she said, „it does. We need to find this guy. Please tell us anything else you remember.“
James was regarding her soberly. „My friend had a sweetheart before he shipped out to the Pacific. They’d planned to get married when he came back, but she up and married somebody else not two months after he left. Killed him, it did. Wait here.“
They waited in silence and a few minutes later James returned. „Here’s the letter he sent me. It’s dated December, 1943. Here’s her name, his sweetheart, that is. Genny O’Reilly. Said he’d just gotten her letter, but the mail took forever in those days. It could have been months before that she actually married the guy.“ He handed them the yellowed page. „I’d like it back when you’re done with it. Sometimes my memories are all I have left.“
Tuesday, February 24,
6:00 p.m.
Zoe’s boss, Alan Wainwright glared. „What were you thinking?“
Zoe glared back. „That if I got him drunk enough he’d let something slip.“
Wainwright sneered. „Like his zipper? My God, he’s the damn DA. Do you know how it feels to get reamed a new asshole by the mayor and the network execs?“
„Do you know how much our share has jumped since I broke the story?“ Zoe shot back. Today hadn’t been a picnic for her either, having to endure the catcalls and lewd ‘requests’ as she crossed the newsroom. It might as well have been a locker room. John Alden wasn’t the first man she’d used her body to get close to, but she picked men who would be discreet specifically because she didn’t want her story denigrated by sexual come-ons.
Wainwright paused, then smiled wolfishly. „Seven points.“
„So get off my fucking case,“ Zoe snarled. „I did what I needed to do. And I’d do it again.“ She grabbed her briefcase and headed for the door. All she wanted at this point was a hot bath and a glass of wine.
„Spinnelli told the mayor. Two guesses as to who told Spinnelli.“
Zoe froze. „Who?“ she asked, even though she knew only one person would warrant the smugness she heard in Wainwright’s tone.
„Kristen Mayhew.“
Zoe’s breath came out in a hiss and Wainwright chuckled.
„Just thought you’d want to know.“
Tuesday, February 24,
6:30 p.m.
Jacob Conti sat at his desk in the darkened room. He heard the murmured voices in the hall and knew Drake had come with a report, his second of the day. He knew the killer had struck twice since killing his Angelo, this last time leaving alive a witness.
He knew that his wife hadn’t left her bed since their son’s murder. He knew that in her few hours of lucidity she’d wept for her son in great heaving sobs that tore his heart out. He knew that she slept now, the doctor having given her yet another sedative.
He knew that his son’s body still lay nude and cold and butchered in the morgue.
More than anything else, he knew Angelo’s killer would pay-Drake slipped in and closed the door behind him. A moment of silence passed, then Drake’s voice came through the darkness. „Can we turn on a light, Jacob?“
„Whatever. It doesn’t matter.“
Light flooded the room. Jacob blinked his eyes against the sudden glare.
Drake approached with a frown. „You aren’t doing any good by sitting here in the dark.“
Jacob returned the frown. „Save the advice and tell me what you have.“
Drake drew a small notepad from his breast pocket. „She has very little family. A mother in a Kansas nursing home with Alzheimer’s who she visits religiously once a month and a father who says they haven’t spoken in years.“
„Why not?“
„He wouldn’t say, but I know there’s bad blood between them.“
„Then I take it he’s not dead. Yet.“
Drake shook his head. „I get the feeling his death wouldn’t be the club you’re looking for. I had a black rose and a note left on her mother’s pillow last night.“
Jacob’s lips twisted in a sneer. „Melodramatic, Drake.“
Drake shrugged. „It was meant to be. My man’s posing as an investigator following up on the flower and the note. If my man can’t dig anything up, there isn’t anything there.“
„Everybody’s got something. Even squeaky clean ASA Mayhew.“
Drake didn’t look convinced. „We’ll see. Your thug who attacked her Sunday night told her that if she didn’t talk, people around her would die.“
„Yeah. I told him to tell her that.“ He’d meant it, too. „So what?“
Drake grunted, still displeased with the maneuver. „So I built on that. She’s had no significant others in the last five years that I’ve been able to trace, but lately she’s been spending a lot of time with Detective Abe Reagan.“
Jacob scowled. „If Reagan’s guarding her, that’ll make her harder to corner again. Mayhew’s no dummy.“
„Which is why I didn’t want her attacked in her own home,“ Drake said angrily.
Knowing Drake was right just added to his frustration. „So what are you going to do about it?“ Jacob demanded. „I want that vigilante.“ He clenched his fists. „I want the man who beat my son to death and Mayhew knows who he is. She has to.“
„I really don’t think she does, Jacob. I think if she did, he’d be in jail.“
„I don’t want him in jail. I want him here.“ Jacob thumped his desk.
Drake’s brows lifted. „She’s spent time with Detective Reagan and his family.“
Jacob relaxed. Family always made for good leverage in any negotiation. „Good. I want an answer. I don’t care where it comes from.“
Drake’s grin was wolfish, stirring his own blood. „That ball’s in motion.“
Tuesday, February 24,
7:00 p.m.
Abe pulled into his parents’ driveway and shut off the motor, his hands shaking with a barely suppressed mixture of fear and fury. He looked over at Kristen who still peacefully slept in the passenger seat, her face slightly flushed, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. She’d been out like a light almost as soon as they’d pulled away from the station. She’d missed the trill of his cell phone, his muttered oaths in response to Aidan’s urgent summons. Then she’d missed the melodic chiming of her own phone. And again more epithets as he answered, listened to the mocking voice of the caller who refused to give his name.
His eyes flicked over the collection of cars in front of his parents’ house. Everyone was here. Sean and Ruth and Aidan and Annie. He and Kristen would simply add to the number that gathered in support.
She would blame herself. She would be wrong, but she’d blame herself nevertheless. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He shook her shoulder briskly. „Kristen, wake up.“
She turned in the seat, leaning into his arm, murmuring something unintelligible. She turned her face into his palm, so trustingly he felt his heart clench. When this was all over he was going to take her far away, to someplace where it would be just the two of them. Someplace where she could finally relax, take out those damn hairpins. Someplace where he could take her in his arms tenderly and teach her to unlock the mysteries of her own sensuality. Show her that she wouldn’t, couldn’t disappoint him. Ever.