Hard Evidence (15 page)

Hell of a life, Darcangelo.

He turned onto Wynkoop heading toward Union Station, aggravation grinding at his gut.

What was wrong with him? He'd never questioned his relationships with women before. Sex by itself had always been enough, the casual booty call a much better fit for his lifestyle than having a woman at home waiting for him, expecting things from him that he didn't know how to give. But now that life seemed somehow cold, empty, the thought of kissing some random woman, of tasting and stroking her, of putting himself inside her felt strangely… unappealing.

This was insane. He just wanted Tessa so badly because he hadn't had her. That was all. She'd come, and he hadn't. It was just unfinished lust. Blue balls. Hormones. Nothing more.

No, it was the scent of her that lingered on his skin beneath the reek of cigarettes and blood and strippers' cheap perfume. It was the sound she'd made when he'd first kissed her—a sexy, feminine sound somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. It was the look on her sweet face when she'd come—a look of surprise mixed with excruciating pleasure.

He'd felt a savage sort of satisfaction at that moment, knowing she'd believed she wouldn't enjoy it, knowing without a doubt that she had. Whoever her previous lovers had been—and judging from her response there couldn't have been many—they couldn't have been worth much in bed. If Tessa hadn't enjoyed sex with them it certainly hadn't been her fault. She was one of the most responsive women Julian had ever met.

His groin grew tight, and he felt himself getting hard.

Who the hell do you think you're fooling ?

He wanted Tessa. Not just a woman. Tessa.

Which was precisely why he was going to stay far away from her. He wouldn't touch her again. He would keep his pants zipped and his hands to himself.

He slid his truck into an alley a few blocks away from the train station. Then he checked his weapon, tried to block Tessa from his mind, and stepped out into the cool night.

Alexi stared at the jail report, rage making his head explode and his vision spotty. "Get out! Get out—all of you!"

He heard footsteps and closing doors, but his mind barely registered them.

Zoryo was dead. The Tiger was gone. He'd killed himself, strangled himself to keep his secrets. He'd proved his loyalty with his death.

Alexi crumpled the paper in his hand, slammed his closed fist down on his desk, an animal sound forcing itself way out of his throat. He stood, kicked his chair over, and tore his office apart, smashing glass, breaking wood, knocking books to the floor.

But it wasn't enough. He wanted Darcangelo's blood, wanted to feel it run over his hands, wanted to taste and smell it. He wanted to hurt him, to make him suffer until he begged to be shot. He wanted to laugh in his face and stretch the unbearable torment into long, endless hours. He wanted to destroy him.

Out of breath, his vision nearly gone, Alexi sat and felt in his top desk drawer for drugs that would make the migraine go away. He fumbled with the foil wrapping, popped a pill onto his tongue, and let it melt, the pain already excruciating.

How had this happened? Darcangelo wasn't playing by the rules. Somehow he'd tracked Zoryo down, locked him up, and questioned him without anyone in Alexi's organization knowing. Zoryo had been dead for a week, and Alexi hadn't heard a thing. There'd been no warrant, no APB, no arrest report to alert him. Nor was there an autopsy report to tell him what had happened to his childhood friend. There was only this internal record from the jail, a detailed account written by the jail captain and buried among hundreds of others.

He would miss his old friend terribly. No one could drink vodka like Zoryo. They'd known each other since the beginning, had come to America together. Though Alexi would be able to replace Zoryo in his organization—there were always men looking for the kind of opportunities Alexi offered—his friend was gone.

If Darcangelo could pull off something like this with one of Alexi's key people, he was more of a threat than Alexi had realized.

Alexi pressed a hand to his shattering skull, squeezed his eyes shut against the fluorescent light, and realized his fingers had gone numb. He stood, stumbled through the wreckage of his office to the light switch, flicked it off, then sank down on the sofa.

Zoryo's death wasn't the only bad news Alexi had gotten tonight. That stupid fool, Johnny, had shot a cop and was now being hunted. The fool had stumbled into a stakeout Darcan-gelo had set up, shot his way free, and was now on the run. Alexi would have to get rid of him. He could not leave any loose threads for Darcangelo to pull.

But what about Darcangelo? The bastard had no family, no friends to torment. His ties with his own agency were weak and frayed. The man lived alone, cared about nothing but his latest assignment. He hadn't taken a lover in three years.

Then Alexi laughed. It seemed so simple.

He squinted, turned his head, and picked up the photograph of the journalist that Johnny had given him. He couldn't see her through the sliver that remained of his vision, but that didn't matter. There'd been a reason he'd let her live, even if he hadn't known it himself at the time. He would plan carefully, make certain he did nothing to endanger himself. With Tessa Novak's help, he would destroy Julian Darcangelo, starting with the only thing the man cared about: his work. Then, when he had suffered enough, Burien would have him killed.

Chapter 15

Tessa's life no longer felt real. It didn't feel real as she lay awake all night, her thoughts veering from kisses to killers and back again. It didn't feel real as she drove a rental car to work sandwiched between two patrol cars. It didn't feel real when she arrived at the paper to find television news crews waiting in the lobby to interview her about last night's attack and Denver's supposed gang crisis.

"Ms. Novak, do you believe this is in any way connected with your coverage of Denver's street gangs?"

As if drifting through a made-for-TV movie, Tessa deflected their questions by expressing her gratitude to the Denver Police Department and her concern for Officer Taylor, then let Sophie bustle her into the nearest elevator.

"My God, Tessa, you look exhausted," Sophie said, looking more than a little worried. "I can't believe you came to work today."

"Can you do me a favor?" Tessa reached into her purse, pulled out a five. "Can you get me a quadruple-shot vanilla latte?"

"Sure." Sophie took the money. "But you are going to have to sleep eventually."

'Tell that to the guys with the guns."

Tessa found a half dozen messages on her voice mail, including another from her mother.

"I saw on the news what happened, Tessa, and I'm awful scared for you. If you're in some kind of trouble, I want to help. If you need a place to hide out or some money, let me know. Please call just to let me know you're all right. You can reach me at—"

Hide here! Hurry, Tessa Marie! Grandpa's drunk, and he's awful mad at you for spilling your cereal. I'll come get you when it's safe.

The memory of crawling into the darkness beneath their mobile home, skinning her knees in the dirt, shot through her memory. Tessa had been five, her mother nineteen. It had been almost a ritual—hiding in the spidery dark, waiting for Mama to tell her it was safe. Her mother had stood between her and her grandfather, kept the old man from beating her, taking the blows herself.

So
your mother made a mistake, and you're ashamed of her
.

Yes, Tessa was ashamed of her.

And for the first time in her life that bothered her.

She deleted the message, her fingers hovering in indecision above the keypad for a moment before she dialed Chief Irving's direct line.

She couldn't deal with her mother. Not yet. Not today.

She'd spent the hours before sunrise running the details of the case through her mind again and again, trying to separate assumptions from facts. Then she'd worked the facts onto a spreadsheet and come up with a plan of action. Getting her hands on Maria Ruiz's autopsy report was at the top of the list.

She got Chief Irving's voice mail, started to demand the autopsy, but found herself apologizing for what had happened to Officer Taylor instead. Only when she was about to hang up did she remember why she had called. She quickly tacked a request for the autopsy onto the end of her message.

"If we don't receive the document today, I'll be filing a formal request under the Colorado Open Records Act," she said as Sophie walked toward her, a steaming-fresh latte in hand. "Thank you, sir. I'll be waiting to hear from you."

She hung up, picked up the cup, sipped, groaned. "At least there's one constant in the universe—caffeine. Thanks, Sophie."

Sophie sat. "If you think you're going to get away with not telling me what's going on, you're flat-out wrong."

And Tessa saw she meant it.

They met in a quiet corner of the cafeteria downstairs— Tessa, Sophie, Holly, and Lissy. Kat had been in the middle of an interview and too busy to join them. Sipping her latte, Tessa told them what she hadn't been able to tell them yesterday, leaving out any mention of Julian—the way he'd broken glass to get to her, the way he'd comforted her, the way he'd driven her over the brink with his mouth and hands. The way he'd let slip his lack of true feelings.

Instead, she stuck to the events pertaining to the case, hoping they'd forget about the man in die black leather jacket. After all, that's what she needed to do—forget Julian.

By the time she'd reached the part where she'd found the nude photo of herself, they were staring openmouthed.

"Apparently, he'd shot Officer Taylor on the way in, realized Taylor's presence meant the cops were there, and stayed only long enough to decorate my door before sprinting off." Tessa shrugged, feeling a strange sort of numbness about it all. "I made a spreadsheet last night—well, this morning. I need to get the girl's autopsy, and then I need to talk to those gang members again. They were trying to tell me—"

"You made a spreadsheet? God, Tessa, you're as crazy as Kara!" Holly looked angry. "Neither of you know when to call it quits. If I were you, I'd catch the next flight to Madagascar and hang with the lemurs until Chief Irving told me the bad guys were behind bars."

"You should come stay with me and Will," Lissy offered. "He's got a big, old shotgun, and I know he wouldn't hesitate to use it. He cares about you, Tessa. He's mad as hell about what you've been going through. You shouldn't be alone."

Tessa hadn't been alone, but she didn't say that. "I can't, Lissy. What if it had been Will who'd gone after Wyatt and had gotten shot? I'm not putting any of you in danger. Besides, I think they're moving me to witness protection this weekend."

Holly gave a wry laugh. "Wait till Kara and Reece find out. Reece will show up armed like the Marines and drag you-"

"Except you, Holly. I wouldn't mind risking your life. Can I stay at your place?" Tessa almost laughed at the look on Holly's face.

"Yes, I'd mind! Are you kidding? I don't want crazy, boob-grabbing killers coming around my place. Sorry, Tessa, but friendship has its limits."

"Nice, Holly." Lissy glared at her. 'Tessa, you can stay with us."

Then Sophie, who'd been quiet, looked at Tessa through narrowed eyes. "You're not actually thinking of going back out on the streets to search for those gangbangers, are you?"

"Of course not!" Tessa lied. She glanced at her watch. "I-Team meeting."

Five minutes later, she found herself telling the story again, this time in the conference room in front of the entire I-Team plus Tom and Syd. She was glad she'd gone through it once already, because she was even more numb the second time around. No tears, not even a break in her voice.

She told them about Chief Irving's plans to transfer her into a witness protection program over the weekend and explained she'd probably be telecommuting for the next few weeks starting Monday. She'd expected Tom to argue with her about this, but he merely nodded.

"Irving has been in contact with me," he said. "IT will have a computer ready by the time you leave on Friday."

She put herself down for a twenty-inch story about last night's shooting. As a follow-up to her original piece, it would also be a first-person account, a personal look at the aftermath of being a murder witness. She knew she'd have to walk a fine line to tell the story without revealing anything Julian had told her off the record, but she was confident she could do it.

"I also have an interview in half an hour with a woman in Boulder who runs a program for homeless teens. I'm not sure what it's about, but I'll check in afterward. I might be able to squeeze some inches out of that."

Tom, who seemed to be in a strangely good mood, actually smiled. "Good work, Novak. Glad you're safe."

"He's getting laid again," Joaquin whispered as they left the meeting. "Kara's mother took him back."

"The way I see it," Julian told Wyatt, "you owe me your worthless life."

Wyatt glared at him from behind a black eye and a handful of stitches but said nothing.

Julian had spotted him at six in the morning, trying to hop a train for Vegas. When Wyatt had realized Julian was after him, he'd reached for his .38 despite a crowd of early commuters. Julian had taken him down with a kick to the face.

They'd been at it for four hours now, Wyatt refusing to speak and Julian suppressing the urge to break the bastard's neck. Here was the son of a bitch who'd assaulted Tessa, who'd photographed her, who'd surely intended to kill her. Here was the piece of shit who'd shot Taylor. Here was the scum who'd kept Maria Ruiz prisoner, sold her, and helped murder her.

"Do you really think Burien intends to let you live? That's why you were skipping town, isn't it? You knew he'd come after you. Were you there when he lit up Toby Grant?"

Wyatt's glare lost some of its anger and his skin went pale.

"Blew his head off with a forty-four Mag, didn't he? What a damned mess! We had to ID him with fingerprints. No head." Julian looked Wyatt in the eyes. "Burien's got a round chambered for you right now, Wyatt. Every cop out there wants a piece of you for what you did to Officer Taylor. Truth is, I'm the best damned friend you've got. You can either cooperate with me, or I'll put you in minimum security, where you can sit and wonder when—and how—Burien's going to finish you."

Julian let the silence stretch, let fear do its job. It seemed like he'd spent the bulk of his hours interrogating people lately, playing the intimidation game. Hadn't it been just a week ago that he'd had Zoryo in this same room?

He leaned down, drew Wyatt's gaze to his, held it. 'Tell me about Pasha's."

Wyatt's body jerked, and his pupils dilated, but he remained silent.

So Zoryo hadn't been lying. Pasha's
was
tied to Burien.

Julian sank into a chair, crossed his arms over his chest. "Why do you want to die for that bastard? Why are you going to make your future—which sucks, by the way—harder than it needs to be? Don't you see that you're a throwaway in his eyes? They tossed Toby's corpse in a trash bin to rot. Symbolic, don't you think?"

Wyatt looked down at the floor, looking suddenly less like a tough guy and more like a kid, his body shaking. "You really think you can keep him off me?"

Julian leaned in, lowered his voice. "I know I can."

And Wyatt broke.

For the next hour Julian grilled him relentlessly, doling out rewards of bathroom breaks, coffee and doughnuts, adding a dash of make-believe sympathy and even praise.

"You had no idea what you were getting into, did you, Johnny? You had no idea what he'd expect you to do. You didn't want to hurt those girls. I can see that. Once you got in with him, he called the shots. But he never controlled you, did he? You fooled him—you fooled Burien. That journalist—he only told you to follow her. You came up with the rest on your own, didn't you?"

Wyatt nodded, a serious look on his face. "She's a hot little piece. He told me I could have her, do whatever I wanted to her when it came time to pop her. But I didn't want to kill her. I was going to find a way to make him think she was dead and keep her."

Julian stood and turned his back to Wyatt, almost unable to control his rage, an image of Tessa's frightened blue eyes in his mind. "He'd never have figured it out. You'd have won."

"And she'd have been grateful and happy to do whatever I wanted, 'cause she'd always know I could have killed her instead."

If you so much as
think
of touching her, Wyatt, I'll make you eat your own balls
.

Julian changed the subject, not sure how long he could keep from killing Wyatt otherwise. "How can I find him, Johnny? How can I find the man who wants to kill you?"

Wyatt seemed to hesitate at this final betrayal. "He always met us at an empty warehouse in Commerce City. It's on Brighton Road not far from the old refinery. That's where he popped Toby. Shit, he's going to pop me, too!"

"I'm not going to let him." Julian motioned to the guys on the other side of the one-way mirror to get Wyatt out of his face. "We're going to put you in protective isolation and under guard, and I'm going to have one of my own men bring you whatever you want from the commissary."

"I'd like a pack of smokes."

"You know they don't allow cigarettes in jail, Johnny." Julian stepped back as two officers entered and got Wyatt to his feet. "But if what you told me checks out and I catch that son of a bitch, I'll smuggle you in a whole goddamn carton."

He watched the guards lead Wyatt away, heard Irving come up behind him.

"That was top-notch work, Darcangelo. I ought to save this as a training tape."

"Let's get that warehouse under surveillance."

"Done. If Burien shows up again, we'll be waiting for him." Irving paused. "You should know that Ms. Novak called this morning to request the autopsy report of one Maria Con-chita Ruiz. I don't know how she got the name, but—"

Julian almost laughed. He'd told her the victim's name off the record in an attempt to comfort her, but she'd lost no time using it to her advantage. As long as she didn't publish it, he supposed she was keeping her side of the deal. "She got it from me."

Irving raised a bushy eyebrow. "Want to tell me how that happened?"

"Not really. Got any fresh coffee in this place?"

* * *

Tessa was in the middle of writing when Kara walked up to her desk looking worried and holding out a latte. "Coffee break, Tess."

Tessa told her story for the third time, only this time it wasn't so easy. Perhaps because she knew Kara had been through something even worse, Tessa found it difficult to hide her feelings.