She clicked open her car door and got out, grateful to be home, grateful to be safe, grateful that Ella would live, would even be okay. She wished she could be mad at her.
Ella’s keys weighed heavy in her pocket. Tomorrow morning, she’d go feed the cat. Tomorrow morning, she’d try to figure out what to do with the piece of paper Ella had given her. The sky was brightening, the moon a fading memory in the dark blue sky. It was already morning.
Headlights glared around the corner, then stopped at the stop sign up the block.
“Hey, Officer.” Jane met Jake halfway on the sidewalk. Then took a step closer. “I’m good. I’m fine. Thanks for, ah, babysitting me. Always good to have a cop around.”
“Your tax dollars at work.” Jake glanced at her front door. Took a step closer to her. “Your tax dollars also allow me to see you inside. If you so desire. It’s our after-hours special.”
They stood, less than arm’s length away. Jane felt his force field, drawing her, in the murky light from the streetlights, and the thin whisper of the wind, and the gray clouds separating to show a glimmer of the winter stars. Jake. She remembered his touch, the urgency in his voice as he’d grabbed her from the fire. Why couldn’t she fall into his arms, grateful, needing him, giving in, forgetting all the rules of the world and caring about only their own rules? “Jake, I-”
Did they have to be careful, even here? Was the watcher in the brownstone seeing the two of them? What if he was the one who-She was too exhausted to think about it. About anything but Jake.
“You-we-” Jane took another step closer, reached out her hand, dared to brush an imaginary snowflake from Jake’s jacket. Maybe now they could-His phone beeped, and she warmed with reassurance when he ignored it. “It’s been quite a day.”
She heard a car’s engine shift, and looked up to see the headlights at the stop sign move closer.
“Yeah, it has. Quite a day. And now we both smell like fire.”
Jake had to leave, needed to leave, couldn’t possibly leave. He should be at Bethany Sibbach’s house at the crack of dawn, before Phillip got a look at baby Diane, and there was no way he could make it though another day on no sleep. Today’d been tough enough. Putting it mildly. Dolly Richards’ license plate list-including the gray van’s-were safely in his notes. But Jane. She’d been through so much. He didn’t even know why Ella had called her. “You were nuts to go into a burning building, hon-Jane.”
“You went in, too, you know.” Jane’s voice was a whisper. Her touch lingered on his jacket. “To get me. So you’re just as nuts. But I keep thinking what might have happened if you hadn’t.”
Headlights pulled into a parking space in front of the brownstone across the street. Jane pointed to the car.
“Your hotshot surveillance guy’s probably seeing him, you know,” she whispered. “And, more importantly, he’s seeing us. Don’t want him to report you, right? You here with me in the middle of the night. Standing like this. How’d you explain that?”
“Police business, ma’am.” Jake looped her arm through his, pulling her even closer. “All on the up and up. In fact, I won’t have done my duty until I go upstairs, check your whole apartment. Maybe-stay awhile. Make sure nothing untoward happens. Make sure you’re safe. Doing my sworn duty.”
Jane smiled that smile up at him. He could feel the weight of her body against his. He was exhausted, she was, too. If he went inside, they’d probably fall asleep instantly. Very romantic.
“Hec.” She was looking over his shoulder now, and her face had changed.
“Heck what?” Heck?
“No. H-e-c. Underhill. The Register freelancer. Getting out of that car across the street. In front of surveillance-guy’s building,” Jane said, her voice low. She shrugged. “Alex told me he lived in my neigh-”
“What?” Jake turned, following her gaze as she paused, mid-sentence. She was staring at the man across the street.
He felt her hand clutch his arm.
“Jake?” she whispered. “If you want to do your sworn duty, come with me.”
70
She was right.
Had to be. Where had Hec Underhill been all those times she tried to find him? “He’s always out,” the guy in the photo lab kept telling her. Hec obviously knew she was working on the Callaberry Street story. He’d known exactly which house Brianna Tillson’s body was in. Knew she was looking for pictures of the bad guy. Knew she’d been banished from the paper. He had her cell phone number and could easily have made the threatening calls. And she herself had told him she was going to Connecticut with Tuck. But why would-
“Hec!” Jane kept her voice cheery, waving, as she and Jake approached. He had those cameras strung around his neck. Keys in his hand. She needed to see where he lived. See if he had a camera pointed at her windows. Problem was, Jake still thought Hec was a good guy, working with the cops, and there was no time now to explain her theory. She’d play it by ear.
Hec turned, standing by his car, out of the glow of streetlight. A dark shadow. But Jane recognized him easily enough. She heard Jake’s phone beep again, and this time he took it out of his pocket.
“Hey, Hec,” Jane began. “What brings you here this time of night? Big story?”
Message from DeLuca. “Photo,” the subject line said. Photo? Must be the picture of Leonard Perl, finally, from the Florida Department of Motor Vehicles. Jake opened it with one thumb. Hec Underhill was a new freelance Register photog, he remembered. And hadn’t he just seen him at-where was it?
Those cameras around his neck. Right. The pushy guy who’d shown up at Lillian Finch’s right after they’d found Brannigan. Jake had been on his way to Jane’s supposed breakin. He’d directed the guy to Hennessey. Forgotten about him. What’s to remember?
Jane was already chatting with Underhill. They were colleagues, of course. Jake checked his phone, where the faxed, then e-mailed, photo from DeLuca was slowly downloading.
Keeping half an eye on Jane, he looked at the emerging photo of Leonard Perl.
Then at Hec Underhill.
Then at the photo.
Same person.
Why was Jake staring at his cell phone? Jane had to keep up the chit-chat with Hec until Jake joined her. Hec was blathering about some news story he’d been shooting, complaining again about his imminent retirement and his crap assignments.
Jane nodded, pretending to be fascinated. If Hec was the surveillance guy, he could have broken into her apartment, somehow. He wouldn’t tape himself! He could have even watched, among the bystanders, as she raced into her building the morning of the breakin.
A breakin that had happened.
Hec was even wearing a Celtics hat. But he couldn’t have been the guy in the black pickup, because he’d talked to her on the phone from the Register. Damn. What was taking Jake so long?
“Yeah, but you know, the news must go on.” Jane decided to risk it. “In fact, did you hear there was a breakin at my apartment?”
“Yeah. I live right there.” Hec pointed to the brownstone. “Police have any idea who did it?”
Gotcha, Jane thought. She was tempted to say yes, just to see what he’d do, but gestured toward his apartment instead. “Oh, interesting. Did you see the cops from your apartment that morning?”
“Hey, Jane.” Jake stepped up to them, close, almost putting himself between her and Hec. He was holding his cell phone with one hand, with the other adjusting something under his jacket.