"We'll be setting up in front and back. You know the drill. The last of the cowboys went out with John Wayne. You're no gunslinger. So call us if you hear anything."
Sam's face had been shaped by his years. Deeply furrowed laugh lines branded him a character. Red hair infused with gray stood on end, defying gravity. She had seen his stern grimace whenever he glowered at a suspect, but that expression melted away completely when he relaxed amidst friends. Like a stubborn cowlick unwilling to behave, his face sprang routinely into a crooked smirk. She knew firsthand that his scowl took much more effort. Sam's warm smile comforted her now, reminding her how much the man made her father laugh.
"I've got a thermos or two. How about I make some coffee for you and the troops." She grinned, not wanting to be alone so soon. "You can keep me company while it's brewing. We can talk while I clean up this mess."
"Whoa, what happened to your old man's photo?" He reached for the framed memento ruined by dried tomato sauce. "You trying a new recipe?"
"Not me. The bastard that broke in here added his own special ingredient." Working around the mess, Raven busied herself with the coffee prep as she spoke, filling the pot with water from the sink.
"But I'm glad we can talk about this, Sam. When you and Dad partnered, were there any hard cases that come to mind that could do such a thing?"
After prying open the lid to the coffee, she scooped out the dark, rich-smelling granules. Raven restrained a smile. Ever since associating Christian Delacorte with the pungent aroma of freshly brewed coffee, she couldn't think of Java without conjuring sensual images of him. Truth be told, everything reminded her of Delacorte these days. She had it bad.
"From the message on my bathroom mirror, the guy's connected to the Blair murder, too. My gut tells me the SOB knew my dad."
"Give me some time to think about that, baby girl. I can dig through some old case files, too." The man ridged his brow in irritation. "I hate it that this psycho has singled you out. The world sure has gotten twisted."
He pulled back a chair from the breakfast table and flipped it around, straddling the seat and resting his meaty forearms across the back. Shoving his glasses down the bridge of his ample nose, he lowered his chin to gaze over the top of the frames, his mustache animating his upper lip.
"You know, back when your daddy and I rode together, we didn't have all these high-tech laptops in our patrol cars and GPS for the dispatchers to know where we were every friggin' pee break."
With coffee gurgling, Raven sprayed down her countertops and waged war on the tomato splatter. She'd heard this commentary from Sam many times before. And if she closed her eyes, her father's memory rang clear. It felt good to remember him.
"Hell, these days, every cop has got a video cam in the dash, and a triple-encrypted communication system more like the CIA. We even got our own TV show and theme song." He shook his head and grinned, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.
"And don't you dare start singing it, LT." She pointed a threatening finger in his direction, like it was loaded. "It sounds like you miss the good old days."
"I'm not complainin', mind you. We need all that shit just to keep up. And the world keeps churning out sick bastards for us to clean up after. Talk about job security. And your guy is no exception. What he did to Tony really chaps my hairy butt. Pardon my French."
Raven stopped working with the mention of her partner's name, remembering how much Tony enjoyed the man's company. He'd often egg him on, trying to bait him for a rowdy discussion on the "good old days." But Sam was the most politically incorrect person she knew, from his chauvinistic terms of endearment to his colorfully inventive curses. It tickled her to think he was now asking her forgiveness for his "French." After being a cop for so long, she'd heard it all. Most probably, he only wanted permission to embellish.
"I find it ironic that we got ourselves a war on drugs funded in part by seized drug money. Which comes first, the whoppin' big golden egg or the tight-ass chicken? All I know is, that's gotta hurt. You know what I mean?"
She'd been right. He saved the best for last, mixing fables and old sayings in typical Sam fashion. Staring him straight in the eye, she nodded her head as if she agreed, then said, "No. Have no clue. And it scares me to think you do. But I love you anyway."
Fighting a grin, she poured hot coffee into two thermoses. As he stood, she shoved the containers in a crook of his arm.
"Draw the drapes and stay away from the windows." He smirked, drumming a knuckle on her forehead with affection to make his point. "And start leaving a light on inside."
"Why? I'm not afraid of the dark." Reacting too quickly, Raven lied about her fear of the dark, afraid to show her sign of weakness.
"Oh, it's not for you, darlin'. I call it target acquisition. If I have to come in here, gun drawn, I wanna see what I'm aimin' at."
"Okay, I'll concede the point."
"And just in case you hear any noises outside, I'm gonna have our guys take regular walks around the perimeter. It'll keep 'em sharp. You know what they say— the brains can only take what the tail end can stand." With a wink, he cheered her with a grin. "Thanks for the coffee, sweetness. And I'll get back to you on those old case files."
Before he walked out the door, he turned back, a serious expression on his face. "I probably don't say this enough, Raven, but your old man would have been proud."
She rubbed his shoulder, squeezing it gently.
"Thanks, Sam. For everything."
Down the block, well out of sight, Logan sat behind the wheel in the dark, clenching his jaw until it ached. The damned police thought a couple of cruisers would deter him. Nothing could be further from the truth. His men were well-trained and loyal to his command. To get at Raven Mackenzie, he was certain—nothing could stop him. And bloodying a few more blue uniforms held no significance. Retrieving his cell phone, he punched a speed-dial number. A man answered on the second ring. "Yeah, Vinnie. Call the party off for tonight. She's got visitors," Logan ordered. Earlier, he'd thought about sending someone else to do reconnaissance, but after seeing the young detective in the shower, he decided to do the job himself. He wouldn't share her with anyone.
"Krueger's gonna be disappointed. What now?" Vinnie asked.
Logan took a deep breath, then smirked to himself.
"I'm stickin' 'round here for a while longer, get a look at their setup. When I come home, I'll lay out a plan."
Short of formality, he ended the call. With the help of night-vision binoculars, he scoped out the area. Logan knew police protocols. He welcomed the challenge and thrived on the adrenaline rush. It wasn't just a question of making the hit, then finding a safe egress. It was all about the thrill of the hunt, the fear of his prey. And given his recent canvassing of the neighborhood, he'd already begun to formulate a game plan.
Taking Raven Mackenzie out of play was only a matter of time.
Raven's eyes had grown accustomed to the dark. Even though her bedroom was nearly pitch-black, the night light from the living room poured beneath her door, giving her comfort. A dim glow from an outside streetlight outlined the curtains, casting shadows into corners. All she had to do was close her eyes, but frustration got the better of her, manifesting in a heavy sigh.
Throwing the comforter off, she got out of bed and made her way toward the large window in her bedroom. Clad only in a large CPD tee, she pulled back the drapery and stared into the void. Immediately, her eyes trailed to the heavens, their attention stolen by the brilliant moon. Nearer the horizon, the lights of the city robbed the sky of its own brilliance, their beauty obscured by man's cheap imitation.
Outside her window, the hiss of brittle winter grass crunched under foot. Her body reacted to the implied threat. Raven peered though the darkness, careful not to jostle the drapes. Her eyes darted across the backyard. She held her breath, ruling out every familiar sound from in and around her old house, listening for the exception. Just then, a shadow moved to her right.