A Righteous Kill (45 page)

“Your opinion is noted, Agent Ramirez,” Corelli cut him off. “But we can’t rely on Mr. Winthrop’s drugged testimony as fact. He said the gun went off. We can’t be certain he was the one to shoot Ms. Steinman when he was attacked. We can’t verify that the .38 involved belonged to him, as he has no registered firearm under his name. We can’t wake him long enough to
properly
question him. Hell, we can’t even be sure he’s not involved with the killer.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” A burst of temper drove Luca to his feet. “He’s not even on the suspect list!”

“Maybe that’s because the suspect list is narrow and weak!” Corelli shot back.

Reinhardt put a hand on his partner’s shoulder, drawing him back from where he and Luca bent so far over the table, they were almost nose to nose. Maybe their relationship was more like his and Vince’s than Luca had originally thought.

“You’ve done some exemplary detective work, Agent Ramirez,” Reinhardt said, trying to toss buckets of water on a fire already out of control. “But in light of all the circumstances, we feel it will serve this case better to step back and cast a wider net.”

“Fuck the circumstances!” Luca growled.

“Sit down, Ramirez,” Trojanowski ordered.

Luca ignored him, staring Corelli down. “John the Baptist is one of those people on my list. It’s the priests or the professor.
Maybe
Reese Donovan. Cast the net wider and you’ll only end up with more dead bodies,
starting
with Hero!”

Trojanowski also stood, his heightened color beginning to telegraph his own temper. “Ramirez! My office.
Now
!” He turned on his heel and stalked out of the glass door propped open to circulate air. The other few agents at the table sat absolutely still, watching the drama unfold before them, unwilling to take sides or make waves. All motion and sound pollution had ceased on the entire floor, as well, heads popping over their cubicles to see what Luca would do.

Luca held Corelli’s glare for a moment longer, valiantly battling the urge to haul off and pop the guy in the gigantic schnoz with a career-ending but ultimately satisfying fist to the face. Instead, he shoved off the table with both hands and stalked toward Trojanowski’s office.

“How the hell could you do this to me?” Luca went directly on the offensive once the door was slammed behind him. “How could you call in those DC douche monkeys to take over
my
case? We were closing in, Hank. Mark my words; they’re going to royally fuck it up.” He slapped the metal door frame in frustration. “Dammit, I was
this close
!”

“You were too close,” Trojanowski said softly from behind his desk. “You
are
too close.”

Luca stalled, his heart lurching as he pinned Trojanowski with a scrutinizing stare. What did he know? Had he found out about what happened between him and Hero?

Trojanowski let out a long sigh as he wiped his forehead and then leaned to prop his weight on the desk with one hand. “I don’t know if it’s become too personal between you and John the Baptist, the fact that he may be targeting you, or something to do with Ms. Connor, but you’ve let this case get to you.”

Luca stood silently for a moment, struggling to get himself under control. “It didn’t affect how well I did my job.” He kept his voice low and chose his words carefully.

“That’s debatable.” Trojanowski considered him a moment, his eyes softening. “I didn’t get to where I am without knowing and facing the many dangers of this profession. You’re a good agent, Luca. One of my best. I chose to see your fire and your ability to take risks as a strength I could use, rather than a weakness, and I’ve been right nine times out of ten. But Dammit, your
head
isn’t in the game anymore because your heart is.”

Luca dropped into the chair in front of his boss’s desk mostly because he couldn’t think of what else to do.

“I don’t want you to let this fuck with your head too much, Ramirez. It happens to every agent at one point or another in his career. We all have that one case that defeats us a little. I had to do something before it puts you down, entirely.”

Luca huffed, but couldn’t bring himself to deny anything.

“Is it the woman?” Trojanowski asked. “Hero?”

Luca’s head snapped up and his boss chuckled.

“Yeah.” He wiped his hand across his balding pallet again and heaved another sigh. “It’s usually the woman.”

Luca blinked at him, stunned. “Sir?”

“What? You think you’re the first type-A, gun-toting, danger-loving, alpha dog to fall ass-over-end in love with the damsel in distress?” Trojanowski actually laughed out loud. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Luca’s shoulders pulled back and stiffened as though an electric rod was just shoved through his spinal column. “I’m not ass-over-
anything
,” he insisted. “Especially love.”

“Bull shit.”

Luca’s palms began to sweat. “It’s not like that, Hank. The acting just became intense, somehow— it was too…”

“Real?” Trojanowski supplied.

“
No
,” Luca said quickly, shaking his head, unwilling to share with the man who could crush his career, but ultimately wanting to talk to
someone
about it. In the few days since Hero told him she loved him—and he’d rejected her—a pit of biblical proportions opened right where his heart should be and threatened to pull him inside out. The cavernous silence went beyond awkward to straight up excruciating. Twenty times a night he talked himself into going to her room and taking it all back, just so he could get back in her arms—
pants
. He meant pants. Because that’s all this was between them, at least on his part. An intense, rare kind of epic physical chemistry that would likely remain unmatched for the rest of his god-forsaken life. For her part, it was maybe a serious case of transference. But both of those things would eventually die, given the opportunity, and what would they be left with? A ridiculously incompatible pair of miserable people with the power to mutilate the shit out of each other’s souls.

Also, probably one unemployed FBI Agent.

Luca still couldn’t believe she’d offered him her heart.
I don’t want it,
he’d said.

He was such a fucking liar.

Luca’s eyes flicked to Trojanowski, still shocked as all hell that he wasn’t flipping out over this.

“Can’t say falling in love wasn’t something I considered, though I wrongly guessed it would be Vince. That girl’s one powerful piece of temptation. She’s sweet, brave, bendy, and has an ass you could bounce a quarter—”

“Jesus Christ, Hank.” Luca squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, a headache pricking behind his eyes. “Look, I’ll admit that, toward the end there, this case became more about keeping her alive than actually catching the killer. But, I’m going to say this one last
goddamned
time. I’m
not
in love with Hero.”

Trojanowski wore an expression of disbelief tinged with laughter. “I believe Shakespeare had an appropriate saying for moments like this. ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’ Or the agent, in this case.” He chuckled, obviously finding himself very witty.

Luca surged to his feet, saying some very choice words in Spanish that only fueled Trojanowski’s amusement.

“It’s Christmas Eve and no one wants to be working,” his boss said, pulling at his suit coat in a fashion that declared he was getting back to business. “But Corelli and Reinhardt think that JTB is going to maybe strike during Midnight Mass at St. Andrew’s. They want to station several agents there and set a trap for him. Ms. Katrova-Connor has already been briefed and has agreed.”

The fact that he’d been left out of the briefing by the DC agents lit Luca’s blood on fire. “They’re willing to risk the safety of the entire congregation?”

Trojanowski shook his head. “With a target on her back, Hero makes every Kmart, McDonald’s and Starbucks that she visits a possible crime scene. In this case, we’ll be ready.”

Luca decided not to point out to his boss that he just named three places Hero wouldn’t be caught dead. Er—fuck—bad analogy.

“The place will be swept for explosives beforehand and FBI Agents will be strategically located.”

Luca cursed. “You can’t sweep for explosives. You’ll tip off the priests. If it’s one of them, then he’ll know the plan.”

Trojanowski also stood, looking uncomfortable for the first time. “Corelli and Reinhardt think…”

“I doubt that,” Luca grumbled.

“They’ve all but dismissed the priests of St. Andrew’s as suspects.”

“They
what
?”

Trojanowski shrugged. “There’s no van on the premises or such vehicle registered in either name. The night the bull’s blood was left in Hero’s room, surveillance teams were sitting on both of them. According to them, no one left St. Andrew’s that night.”

Luca knew all of this. “Yeah, well, we both know what a cluster fuck the surveillance team caused. That still doesn’t mean—”

“Luca.” Trojanowski’s voice sharpened, all trace of friendly confidant disappearing. “Go get some sleep, something to eat, work out, whatever the hell it is you have to do to get your head in the right place, then report to the Katrova-Connor residence. As I understand, you and Di Petro are invited to a Holiday supper. Keeping in mind that you’re not only charged with keeping Hero safe, but the rest of her family, as well. Then you can thank the Almighty that you still have a job when you accompany them to St. Andrew’s for Midnight Mass.”

“Where tweedle-dumb and tweedle-shit-stick are in charge?” Luca snarled.

“Precisely.” Trojanowski strolled to his door and opened it. “Are we clear?”

Luca stared at his boss for a full ten seconds, then turned on his heel and stalked toward the elevator.

Chapter Thirty

“In time we hate that which we often fear.”

~William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

By the time Christmas Eve dinner was over, Hero felt as brittle as paper
mâché
. Luckily for both her and Luca, Vince had somewhat stolen the show, charming her parents and siblings with his usual easy-going aplomb. Luca had rallied admirably, as well, summoning his dimples and smiles at the appropriate moments. He’d bought her dad a year subscription to his favorite car magazine and tickets to the Portland International Auto Show in February. Hero tried not to be bitter that Luca didn’t bat an eye when her
father
demanded they set a date for the wedding. Luca had thought her pop was kidding. She knew better.

Her family already loved him.

They loved a lie. And the shitty thing was, so did she. Even still.

Her favorite Shakespeare quote played through her head as she watched Luca cautiously open her present to him. “
Reason and love keep little company together nowadays
.”

He’d avoided touching her all night, but when he unwrapped the large, heavy box she’d hauled in for him, his hands seemed less coordinated than usual. She hadn’t pulled his name, but couples traded gifts in Hero’s family, too, and she’d bought him a life-time supply of yellow legal pads. He’d stared at them, rubbing his hands across their smooth newness with an unreadable expression.

Remembering himself, Luca had kissed her, but only on the cheek, which her family found amusing and her brothers thought was appropriate and respectful. His reaction to Andra’s gift had been much more passionate, but that was because she’d scored him an exclusive invitation to an early private sale and showing of the Salvatore Ferragamo spring shoe line at Saks Fifth Avenue.

As he hugged her sister in a way that set her family into peals of hilarity, Hero saw the reason the soft feelings of love and understanding still overrode the antipathy and wretched disappointment he evoked within her. He seemed lost and amazed. Like Christmas presents and laughter were strangers to him. Behind the soul of the lonely and dangerous man that he’d now completely locked away from her, she could picture the tough, mistreated street-kid with a yearning for home. She wondered which one she’d fallen in love with first.

It was eleven-thirty, and everyone filed from the entryway out to their cars to head to St. Andrew’s except Connor, who pleaded a migraine and stayed behind.

As the quick taps of Hero’s heels on the brick walk echoed her racing heart, Knox slid his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her in close.

“You okay?” he murmured, flicking a worried glance toward Luca who was behind them, talking to their father about—what else? — classic cars. Hero heard her pop invite Luca to attend the car show with him, and she had to blink away tears. Luca gave him an affirmative-sounding non-committal answer and she realized at that moment just how good he was at playing this game. Rown had warned her, hadn’t he? Why hadn’t she listened? Why did she always have to learn everything the hard way?

“I’m good,” she lied to Knox. “Just… overwhelmed.” She hoped he bought it. Knox had a way of being eerily perceptive, which came in handy in the ring.

He kissed her temple with a loud, cheerful smack. “Don’t think about the heavy stuff. It’s Christmas!”

Hero leaned on him, grateful for his sunny disposition, letting it lift her as it always had. “What are you doing tomorrow morning?” she asked him.

Knox grinned as wide as the Grinch, making his once-too-many broken nose look equal parts treacherous and endearing. “I just bought myself a mansion for Christmas. Want to come over and see the kitchen?”

Hero gasped. “You bought a
mansion
?”

He shrugged as if to say that it was no big thing. “Well, this last title fight earned me a seventh figure and… I got that cereal box promo gig check coming in so, you know, seemed like the thing to do.” He popped a toothpick between his teeth and chewed on it a little, causing his muscular jaw to flex and doing interesting things to the Celtic knot tattoo crawling up his neck. “Plus, it has a built in stone fire oven. I can make homemade pizza.” His eyes lit up like he’d just had a good idea. “I can make
real
naan! How do you feel about Indian Food for Christmas?”