“Yeah, well, you might regret that.”
“How so?”
“The stuff we talked about earlier.”
“The mayor?” Rachel said. “He doesn’t scare me. Does he scare you?”
“He gets my attention.”
“Good. He’s someone who should get your attention. Especially if he’s asking around about you. I told you, he’s a ruthless man who has got to go.”
“I thought judges weren’t supposed to be political beasts.”
“We’re not, generally speaking. But there are exceptions. Thing is, in this town we’ve never had any good alternatives to the mayor. He keeps the streets clean, taxes low-or at least someone else’s fault-and rules with an iron fist. So everyone shuts up.”
“And now?”
“Now we have someone. A real alternative.”
“Let me guess. Mitchell Kincaid.”
Mitchell Kincaid was fifty-three years old, black, and good-looking. He graduated from Northwestern Law School, which, in academic circles, made him very smart. He was also about to launch a run for mayor, which, in Chicago circles, made him incredibly stupid.
“Mitchell is what this city needs,” Rachel said.
“And you really think he can take down Wilson?”
“I’ve gotten to know Mitchell pretty well. Been on some boards. Fund-raisers. He’s transcendent.”
Rachel glowed when she said it, in a way I found both exciting and disturbing. Exciting because she was in my apartment, wearing nothing except a pin-striped button-down oxford. Disturbing because she was glowing for another man, one who wasn’t even in the room.
“Transcendent, you say?”
“I’m serious, Michael. He’s a good man. And an honest man. He can unite and he can lead. You’d like him.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. And he’d like you. In fact, I’d like the two of you to meet.”
“Not right now, I hope.”
Rachel stretched her body against mine. “No, Mr. Kelly. Right now, I’d like you to show me the rest of your place.”
“You mean the bedroom?”
She got up with a smile. Led the way like she’d been there before. I followed. Willing to go pretty much wherever.
CHAPTER 20
M y eyes snapped open just as my alarm clock clicked over. From 3:03 to 3:04 a.m. Rachel’s body was warm against mine. Her breath, rhythmic and even. I slipped out of bed. My piece sat in its holster, draped across a chair. I pulled the gun out softly and looked over. Rachel hadn’t moved. I slowed my breathing and listened into the night. Someone was in the flat. I knew enough to know that, almost before I woke up. It’s a sixth sense. Comes maybe from being a cop. Or maybe from creeping enough places myself. Either way, someone was in the flat. The only question remaining: Did they know I was awake?
The door to my bedroom was open about a foot. A crescent of light carved up the floor. I held my gun in two hands, muzzle up, and came up on the dark side of the door. I watched the light as I moved. There was a creak from the living room. Might be a random sound. The stuff you hear only when it’s quiet and you’re about to fall asleep. I didn’t think so.
I went in quickly, slipping open the door and shouldering into the room. I sensed a body to my right, just as something exploded next to my ear. I fired once, heard the tinkle of broken glass and then footsteps. Whoever I had shot at was not exactly dead. Instead he was running down the hallway toward my kitchen. I gave chase. He hit my back door, went down the stairs, and into an early morning that was still night. I was about to follow when I heard my name. I turned. Rachel was in the hallway, naked, holding her chest. I caught her before she hit the floor and felt for a pulse. Nothing. Rachel had been shot. I hit my cell phone and began CPR.
CHAPTER 21
I sat in my bathrobe on the living room couch and drank coffee. Vince Rodriguez sat in a chair and looked out my front window. It was a little after five in the morning. Still dark out, but there were signs of life: a Trib van dropping off bundles of papers, a green garbage truck, the occasional jogger.
“Going to need to get the window fixed,” the detective said.
I grunted and rubbed my palm across my forehead.
“What was he looking for?” Rodriguez said.
I looked around the flat. The intruder had gone through my desk and bookshelves. Nothing seemed to be missing.
“Whatever it was,” I said, “he didn’t get it. Think we can keep this quiet?”
Vince looked over at me. “Is that what you want?”
“Yeah.”
“What about her?”
Rodriguez looked up as Rachel Swenson came out of the bedroom. She had insisted on getting dressed in her own clothes before talking to us about anything. I told her Vince had seen everything there was to see when he arrived. She didn’t much give a damn.
“How’re you feeling?” I said.
Rachel rubbed her chest where the rubber bullet had struck her.
“Hurts like hell.”
“Supposed to,” Vince said.
“Left a big bruise.”
“Supposed to.”
“Stopped my heart.”
Vince shrugged. “Nothing’s perfect. I got here in less than ten minutes and your vitals were fine.”
“Thanks, Detective.”
Rachel sat down and sipped at the hot whiskey I had made for her. I wasn’t sure if she was more pissed at getting shot, being seen naked by one Vince Rodriguez, or having said detective know she and I were shacked up. At least for a night. I had the feeling it was an unhappy combination of all three. Rodriguez turned back to me.
“I can keep things quiet, Kelly. The question is why?”
“Let me answer that,” Rachel said. “I’m a federal judge. Maybe you haven’t noticed that, Detective. Probably not a great idea to be found naked, shot with a rubber bullet, at three a.m. in the home of a private investigator. Agreed?”
Vince nodded toward the judge. “Agreed, ma’am. None of this goes any further. And I’m sorry. Now, let me ask you this. Either of you get a look at the guy who broke in?”
I shook my head. “Only thing I know is that he was big. Six feet. Maybe a little more. Carried what looked like a revolver in his right hand.”
Rodriguez looked over at Rachel, who shrugged.
“All I know was he shot me.”
“Either of you cut yourself?” the detective said. Neither of us had.
Rodriguez picked up a couple of small yellow envelopes and held them in front of his face.
“I pulled a print off the sill. And a smear of blood. Guy must have nicked himself running out of here. Probably not enough points on the print for a legal match. But there it is.”
“What about DNA?” I said.
“If you want to run it, yeah, you could get a profile. Problem is, you don’t have a suspect.”
Rodriguez slipped the envelopes into his pocket and waited.
“Whoever he was,” I said, “he thinks I have something valuable. And was willing to take a risk to get it.”
“Which means what?” Rachel said.
“Which means,” Rodriguez said, “Kelly thinks he has someone on a hook. Just needs to reel him in. Of course, there’s always the chance Kelly’s the fish that winds up in the bottom of the boat.”
Rachel held the mug up close to her cheek as she spoke. “Enlighten us, Michael. What, exactly, are you trolling for these days?”
I sipped my coffee. Rachel jiggled her foot and waited.
“Whatever we talk about stays here,” I said. “At least for now. Agreed?”
The judge looked at Rodriguez, then back at me and nodded.
“Just a guess,” I said, “but it probably has to do with the body on Hudson.”
“What body?” Rachel said.
I looked at my friend the cop, who picked up the thread.
“We asked Kelly to help us out with a death we’re investigating.”
“A murder?” Rachel said.
Rodriguez held his hand flat and then tipped it back and forth, ever so slowly. “Could be. Probably.”
“Definitely,” I said. “Guy’s name was Allen Bryant. Looks like he was drowned. Then had his mouth filled with sand.”