Fractured (26 page)

Jason admired the shining fall of his partner's fair hair before he returned his attention to what he was actually
doing
. This was their problem. He was too aware of her, it made him less of a cop, and wasn't productive.

It was a thought to ask Metzger if he could transfer partners, but then he'd have to explain why and he wouldn't see her except in passing.
No go
.

The waiter came over. Jason ordered a draft beer, was told they didn't serve beer, and so opted for the simplest drink possible, just gin and a twist of lemon. He wondered how to play it. Carefully, that was for sure. If he acted strange, that would spoil the deal but undercover was not his usual persona. He'd done it once when he was coming up through the ranks but he hadn't enjoyed it particularly, and this was an entirely different situation even though the goal was the same.

So … focus. Lauren wasn't a drug dealer or a member of organized crime. She was potentially a psychotic killer.

“I'm glad I called too.” He made his smile slow and let his gaze drift downward to her chest because he knew she dressed to provoke just that response and this was about finesse. “You look great.”

“So do you, Detective.”

He laughed. “I'm wearing jeans and a shirt.”

“Not the clothes, but the man.” She took a sip of her drink, her eyes assessing. “Why'd you call me?”

Was this a cat-and-mouse test? He couldn't be sure. “Had a nice time the other night. Why'd you accept?”

“I like a little walk on the wild side now and then.”

“I think you've got that backward. I work
for
law enforcement.”

She leaned forward. “I know. It doesn't make you a safe choice necessarily.”

It was possible, given the circumstances, that she was absolutely right there. He took a sip of his drink before commenting. “Well, you know where I live and where I work. I think you're safe enough.”

“None of us are ever safe.” She laughed softly. “Besides, don't you carry a loaded weapon?”

“At all times,” he replied blandly, surveying the high glass windows. “This is a nice place. You come here often?”

“Never. A friend recommended it to me.”

Was she high? He wondered. The conversation had a slightly surreal feel to it and her pupils seemed a little dilated, but that could be the lighting. If they were aiming for mood, in his case it was wary and he was afraid she'd sense it. “Not quite like the corner tavern I suggested, is it? What can I say? I'm a peasant, I guess.”

“Well, it's a martini bar and you tried ordering a beer, so that might be true.”

He grinned. “I've never claimed to be cultured. How are things at the hospital?”

If she had any suspicion he'd checked on her employment, it didn't show. “Hectic.” She fished an olive from her drink with her fingers and popped it in her mouth. “How are things in the murder business? Keeping you hopping?”

“Pretty much, unfortunately. You'd think it was too cold here in the winter to go out and kill people, but that's not so.”

She pursed her mouth. “Yeah, but keep in mind that it happens on beautiful sunny summer days also, when you think you don't have a care in the world, are happy and full of life, and then suddenly, someone just takes it away.”

It struck him. Hard. That remark meant something.

His response was subdued. “For some reason, I think that's the voice of experience speaking.”

Looking convincingly pensive, she said, “A little bit, but let's move to a more cheerful subject.”

At that moment, right on cue, his phone vibrated. Jason pulled it out, and said apologetically, “Speaking of work, I'm sorry, I have to take this. I'll be right back.”

He walked toward the back of the bar, phone to his ear.

It was Ellie. “Since half the people in here are on their cells and my back is to her, I doubt she'll get suspicious. Grasso is watching your unattended drink. If she makes a move, we'll catch it. Go into the bathroom or something, okay?”

“Fine. Are we going to arrest her here?”

“I've been on the phone with Metzger and he says to bring her in for questioning if it happens, but otherwise he doesn't think we have enough and I think we all agree on that point. He'd like to be able to say we have a suspect, so he's got his proverbial fingers crossed but he wishes like hell it was someone else.”

“Send me a text about the drink, will you? Though I admit I hate to be the rude bastard who constantly checks his phone.”

“You could always be the dead polite bastard instead. I'll text. Check your phone if it beeps.” Ellie ended the call and he had to give an inward choked laugh.

Dead polite bastard.

But she had a point.

*   *   *

She didn't do
it.

Lauren simply sat there until Santiago came back, occasionally lifting her drink to her mouth, idly drumming her fingers on the table. Not a single move toward his glass, not anything more suspicious than resting her elbow on the table. When he returned, a provocative leg cross was in order apparently—which he noticed—and she said something, and lifted a brow.

“We're barking up the wrong tree.” There was a certain sense of resignation in Ellie's muttered words. “That was a wide-open chance. She passed.”

Grasso agreed. “One of two things just happened. Either she's a woman who is simply interested in Santiago, or she's playing a very careful game. Maybe she made us.”

“You're wearing a thousand-dollar suit.” Ellie didn't keep the skepticism out of her voice. “The average police officer doesn't do that, and women usually can tell the difference. I don't think she's even glanced at us.”

“This place isn't all that crowded. I find that interesting because I don't know about you, but I normally look around.”

“Maybe, but then again, you're a police officer.”

“If I were a murderer I'd look twice.”

“So would I, but hopefully most of them aren't as smart as we are.”

“Hopefully,” Grasso said with a hint of amusement as he leaned in. “I'm going to put my hand on your knee and I'd really appreciate it if you don't pull your service weapon and shoot me. You are about a decade younger than I am so we should be on an older man–younger woman sort of date. This is a trendy place, so let's pretend we are on one and we can talk without being heard.”

“Good thing you warned me.” She picked up her glass, which had iced tea in it, not whiskey, though it looked the same, and took a sip. “Or I really might shoot you.”

His touch was respectful at least, if a little too intimate, warm as he squeezed her knee. “Like I wouldn't hedge my bets to protect myself,” Grasso said dryly, his mouth near her ear. “You've taken out a killer before.”

“You've taken out two.”

“Self-defense.”

“I'll buy that if you say so.” The popular opinion was that he'd done a bit of vigilante justice, but the world was a better place without the two men he'd killed, so she wasn't going to judge.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I don't encourage gossip but I listen to it.”

He whispered in her ear. “This is interesting; they're leaving together.”

It was maddening to not be able to swivel around and look. “What? He's got to know better than that.”

“One would think so, but then again, she didn't touch his drink. Don't panic yet.” He removed his hand and his voice was normal now, his brow slightly furrowed.

“I'm not panicking,” she retorted, laying several bills on the bar, listening to a saxophone solo. “I'm preparing us for a quick exit.”

“I have my keys in my hand. Walk out arm in arm?”

“Sure … yes … fine.”

He helped her on with her coat and she let him, anxious to get out the door. This case had been confusing from the beginning and she was not all that sure it was getting any clearer. Grasso opened the door and she stepped onto the chilly sidewalk in time to see Santiago getting into a black car, settling into the passenger seat.

BMW, check. Expensive car not usually seen in the neighborhood by the school
.

“This is great. We can't show up at another bar if that's where they're headed. If it's her apartment, we are really in trouble.” Apprehension tightened Ellie's throat. “Two minutes ago I was pretty sure she wasn't our suspect, but right now I've got a bad feeling. If she's our girl, why didn't she slip him the drug when she had the chance?”

Grasso's breath made frosty puffs and his gray eyes were somber. “Gurst is dead. Maybe she decided trying to buy it was too risky with all the publicity. I'm not happy either but she knows he isn't doped, which is how, if it even is her, she is able to kill healthy men considerably bigger than she is. He can handle himself. Let's relax and follow them. This martini bar is hardly something Santiago would choose. It's possible she suggested someplace where he could get a beer instead. Much more his style.”

“Maybe,” Ellie said tightly as they walked toward Grasso's expensive vehicle, which he'd already started with the push of a button. “And that worries me. What if she picked a martini bar because she has already figured that out about him, and this way, she can get him into
her
car?”

“That would be premeditated and well-thought out.” The lieutenant opened her door. When he'd walked around and was settled into the driver's seat, he added darkly, “The question is: Is she that smart?”

“We sure as hell haven't caught her.”

“Not yet.” He buckled in.

That was what she liked about Carl Grasso. He was a matter-of-fact person, not nearly as argumentative as Santiago, and yet just as focused. They had different ways of how they handled an investigation, that was for sure. Santiago was much more a seat-of-his-pants sort of cop, ready to go in guns blazing, but Grasso was more methodical.

At one time in their careers, they'd each crossed the line. Santiago was always a cowboy and got reprimanded when it happened, but Grasso had done much more collateral damage and yet walked away with nothing more than a transfer. He'd even kept his rank.

“I hope you have better success trailing them than we did with the car leaving the parking lot crime scene after the dealer was shot.” Ellie also fastened her seat belt, her eye on the luxury sedan. “In the movies they make it look so easy, but there are some pesky problems, like trying to not kill yourself and civilians by running traffic lights. Rays is in the blue compact parked on the street, right? At least he can go in if they choose another bar.”

“Always nice to have backup.”

“I agree.”

A thin veil of snow spiraled behind the departing vehicle and Ellie called Rays. “We think maybe they're going to another bar. She passed on the chance to spike his drink at Number Nine, so if they go in somewhere else, you get the honors. If she sees us twice she'll catch on, and she knows me anyway.”

“Got it.” He sounded collected but terse.

She pressed a button to end the call as they pulled out onto the street and watched as Rays followed in her side mirror. Ellie murmured, “I still have a bad feeling about this.”

Unfortunately, Grasso agreed. “I do too.”

 

Chapter 26

She came at him out of the blue.

Jason wasn't quite aware of what happened at first. He was on his guard, but not for this. All through a pleasant drink he'd been telling himself he was maybe wrong, no one like Lauren could possibly have anything to do with the murders. He'd looked into her eyes and she'd looked back and this was one giant dead end.

He'd thought he was just wrong.

Then she'd suggested they leave.

And almost the moment they were in the car, she'd done it. Leaned over with a laugh and taken him entirely by surprise.

It had hurt like hell; that much he was cognizant of as he swam dangerously close to losing it, his body still humming. Not once but at least twice. Right to the side of his neck.

Stun gun.

No wonder she hadn't bothered to put anything in his drink.

Their killer was evolving, and he wasn't too happy to be part of the process. His arms and legs were leaden and though he was aware he was still breathing, it wasn't an easy exercise. Slumped against the door he clung to consciousness, but only barely.
Dammit
 …

Lauren calmly got out at a service station, put gas in the tank as he tried to recover, and then got in and used the stun gun again. A matter of minutes, but she was a bright girl, he might have been able to come out of it a little anyway if she hadn't gone after it again.

Son of a bitch that hurts …

His world went away again.

She leaned over and whispered, “Where is he?”

What the fuck?
The most he managed was an inarticulate gurgle of sound that embarrassed him.

Her face inches away, she asked again, “What did you do with him?”

He wanted to ask what the hell she was talking about, but his brain seemed to be moving as slow as his body, and that was like a snail stuck in the ice, though if that had ever happened, he'd never heard of it. Apparently snails were smarter than he was.

Well, he wasn't completely stupid. He'd figured it out but had no idea what might happen next. On his guard, but not bright enough to avoid the bullet.

Pretty stupid still.…

*   *   *

“
What just happened?”

Parked across the street from the gas station with a steady stream of traffic going by, they didn't have a clear view of the car, but Ellie realized that she could no longer see Santiago, even though he hadn't gotten out of the car.