Hard Evidence (24 page)

Margaux had shaken her hand, given her a warm smile. "You must be the little reporter. And you are little, aren't you?"

Tessa had put on her sweetest smile. "I imagine that even most men seem short to a big woman like you."

Margaux had glanced pointedly at Julian. "Most men come up short one way or another, that's for sure."

Tessa had wanted to smack her. "Maybe it's not the men. Maybe it's the company. Certainly, Julian has never failed to rise to the occasion."

Margaux had shot her a look of pure venom, then she'd gone off with Julian to his office, where the two of them now sat behind the closed door, presumably trying to trace the e-mails. This was Margaux's area of expertise, and according to Margaux at least, she was very good at it. Tessa thought she was probably very good at other things, too.

With no small amount of discipline, Tessa turned her mind back to her work, reading one by one through the criminal CVs of guys with names like Vladimir, Anatoli, Aleksander, and Pavel, looking for any possible tie to Colorado, human trafficking, or a deceased creep known as Lonnie Zoryo. She'd already tried searching for those terms and had turned up nothing. So much for taking shortcuts.

Some guy named Yuri with a bad cocaine habit. One Todor who was only nineteen. The thousandth Aleksander. One Ilya who was nearing seventy. An Alexi.

She scrolled through the document, about to move on, when she saw it: Gzel, Russia.

For a moment she sat, frozen. Then she grabbed for her file on Zoryo, flipped through the pages searching for the autopsy report and quickly scanned it, her adrenaline humming.

"Birthplace: Gzel, Russia."

Could it be a coincidence? She glanced back at her computer screen, checked birth dates—1952 and 1949. They were almost the same age, Zoryo a few years older. Could they have known each other? And then she found the clincher.

Both had been arrested during a police raid in Moscow on May 14,1982.

Heart pounding, she looked at her watch and saw that it was midnight in Moscow. Certain her source must be asleep, she picked up her phone and called the newsroom instead. "Sophie, I think I found him. I think the man I'm looking for is named Alexi Burien."

"Whoever did this knows exactly what they're doing. Burien must have one hell of a tech expert. This is going to take an eternity to unravel—if it's even possible."

Julian leaned back against the door, arms crossed over his chest, fighting his growing irritation as he watched Margaux work. Why in the hell had Dyson sent her? They'd both agreed that Julian would forward the e-mails to whichever expert Dyson assigned to track them. Perhaps Dyson was checking up on him, making sure he was keeping out of trouble. Or perhaps Margaux had talked Dyson into giving her his address in order to make sure he wasn't holding out on her again as he had with Zoryo.

Thank goodness he had his files on Pasha's encrypted under another username.

He decided to come right out with it. "Why are you here?"

Margaux slipped a CD into his computer, dragged the e-mails onto it, and clicked BURN. "Unhappy to see me?"

"Cut out the games. Did Dyson send you, or was this your idea?"

She shrugged. "It was my idea. I have to admit I was curious to meet this reporter of yours. She is, after all, the first woman you've hooked up with since I dumped you."

His irritation grew into real anger. "So you managed to talk Dyson out of my location and came out here just to check out Tessa?"

She popped the finished CD from his computer, slid it into a crystal case, and dropped it into her purse. "I would never have imagined you'd get involved with a woman like her— girly, unsophisticated, inexperienced. She's probably a great breeder, though."

So Margaux was jealous. She'd always felt uncomfortable about her height. "You mean 'feminine, genuine, and relatively innocent' ? Leave her alone, Margaux."

"Oooh, listen to you! Mr. Protective. You really have gone over the edge." Margaux stood and walked to the door. "Don't worry. I'll keep my claws off your little toy."

Julian followed Margaux down the hallway, wondering how he could ever have thought her attractive. What he'd once found stunning now seemed vulgar, tawdry, even cheap. There was nothing soft or tender about her, not a warm, caring impulse in her body. She lived for the thrill of the hunt, for the adrenaline of the bust, for the kick of a hard orgasm.

Which pretty much describes you, too, Darcangelo.

No, not anymore.

Tessa glanced up at him, talking to someone on the phone, a nervous look on her face.

"I need to go, Sophie. Thanks. I'll call you tomorrow." She set the phone aside. "Were you able to trace it?"

Julian shook his head. "I'm not sure we ever will."

"We'll get to work on it, but it's not like it's a huge priority." Margaux glanced at her watch, then over at Tessa. "It's just a few threatening e-mails. Compared to most of the shit we see, it's nothing. But then, I suppose to a sheltered debutante like you—"

"Margaux." Julian cut her off.

"It's okay, Julian." Tessa laid her hand on his arm. "It's obvious that although Margaux might know a great deal about computers and violence, she doesn't know anything about good manners. Nor does she know a thing about me. For that reason alone, her attempts to insult me only make her look pathetic and desperate."

Margaux laughed, but her face flushed an angry red. "Your kitten's got claws."

"Let me see you out." Julian strode to the front door, opened it.

Margaux took the hint and followed. "Good to see you again, babe."

Julian caught her wrist before she could grab his crotch.
"Give Dyson my regards."

Chapter 24

"You know how most of the time you plumb a man's depths and find yourself stranded at the bottom of a Dixie cup?"

Tessa couldn't help but laugh at her mother's folksy but descriptive metaphor. She'd never realized what a funny sense of humor her mother had. "Yes, I know that feeling."

"Well, Frank ain't like that. He's always got somethin' important to say. He's real respectful to women, sweet as sugar to me. But I don't know—gettin' married at my age?"

"You're only forty-two, Mom. That's not exactly old." Tessa fluffed up the pillow she'd propped behind her back and switched the phone to her other hand. She felt decadently lazy, still lounging naked in bed when it was almost noon on a workday. "Do you love him?"

"Yeah, I guess I do. But I spent my whole life takin' care of other people, and I don't want to saddle myself—" Her mother's voice trailed away. "Oh, Tessa, I didn't mean you! I never felt burdened by you!"

Tessa couldn't fathom how that could be true, and she felt touched somehow that her mother still loved her enough to try to spare her feelings—as if Tessa didn't already know that her existence had been a terrible mistake. "You were talking about Grandpa."

"That's right, I just set out on my own, after all. I'm afraid to get tied down too soon. I'm afraid of makin' a mistake."

Tessa understood that feeling, too. "Is Frank willing to give you some time?"

Julian opened the bathroom door and walked out, a damp towel around his waist, his hair hanging wet around his shoulders. He walked over to his closet and dropped the towel on the floor. The rounded muscles of his tight ass shifted as he walked into the closet and pulled a pair of jeans off a hanger. Then he bent down and stepped into them, giving her a quick glimpse of his heavy testicles before the faded denim concealed him from view.

"Are you there, Tessa?"

"Oh, yes, Mom. Sorry. I got distracted for a moment."

Julian glanced at her over his shoulder, a smug grin on his face.

She stuck her tongue out at him—which only made his grin wider.

He turned around and slowly unzipped his fly in a mini striptease, leaving his cock to hang free, thick and veined. Then he turned around and slowly pushed the jeans down his hips, baring his delicious ass again with a naughty bump-and-grind motion.

Tessa's mind went blank. She mumbled something to her mother. "Uh-huh."

He leaned down, dug her foot out from beneath a tangle of sheets and blankets, and began to kiss and nibble her toes. Shivers ran up her leg, leaving goose bumps on her skin.

"Frank's takin' me to a Halloween party tonight. Everyone from Denny's is gettin' together at the bowlin' alley."

"That sounds fun." Tessa watched as he kissed and licked his way up her calf to her knee, felt herself grow wet. "Are you going to wear costumes?"

"One of the girls is pregnant, and she's comin' as a nun. I don't know about the rest of us. I'm just too old for that stuff."

Julian's lips, so hot and smooth, reached her inner thigh. He kissed her skin, nipped her with his teeth, soothed her with his tongue.

"N-no, you're not. Mom." It was hard to think, hard to breathe. "I'm sorry, Mom. I have to go. No, everything's fine. I'll call you again tomorrow."

Tessa dropped the phone, met his gaze, saw the heat in his eyes. Desire licked hot through her belly. "Now!"

He chuckled, rose up, his cock now fully erect. His hands closed around her ankles, and he dragged her slowly toward him across the bed, forcing her legs wide apart. Then he sank down and tasted a path up her other leg until his breath was hot between her thighs.

She buried her fingers in his wet hair, whimpered. "Please, oh, please, Julian!"

He parted her lips with his fingers and took her with his mouth, flicking her with his tongue, tugging on her clitoris with his lips, tasting her wetness. And then he did it—the sucky-swirly thing—and slid a finger deep inside her.

She came hard and fast, exploding against his mouth, the rush of pleasure almost too intense to bear, as he kept up the rhythm, drawing out her climax, making it last.

For a moment she lay there, floating. Then she heard Julian swear and opened her eyes to see him fighting to get a condom over his erection. And then he was inside her, driving into her with strong, sure strokes, his lips closing over hers, carrying her musky taste into her mouth.

She moaned, met him thrust for thrust, wrapping her legs around him, her hunger building to a second peak with such speed and ferocity that it astonished her. But this time he went over the edge, too, soaring into the void with her.

They lay there for a moment, panting.

"So," he said at last, "how about for Halloween, you dress up as a naked woman?"

"Only if you go as my muff warmer."

He raised himself onto his elbows, gave her a grin. "Honey, you've got yourself a deal."

Julian's good mood lasted until he got into the kitchen. He'd just grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and was about to slip into his harness when he saw it. Stuck to a manila folder was a small to-do list on a yellow Post-it note. At the top of the list was written "Get crim. hist. on A. Burien."

Get criminal history on Alexi Burien?

"What the… ?"

He set the water aside, opened the folder, and began to read through it, his temper building. Inside were dozens of pages listing some of the most notorious criminals to come out of the former Soviet Union, some of whom he'd helped put away, some of whom were still at large. He'd known she'd called Moscow to talk with some expert about the Red Mafia. He'd had no idea how far that conversation had taken her. There on top was a document with Alexi Burien's name circled in red.

"What are you doing?" She stood there wearing one of his T-shirts, her hair a sexy, tangled mass, a look of confused irritation on her face.

He fought to keep his voice calm. "Who tipped you off to him?"

She lifted her chin, frowned. "I figured it out for myself."

Then she told him how Syko has given her the tip that had led to her investigating the Red Mafia, how another I-Team reporter had hooked her up with the Moscow source, and how she'd gotten this list from him.

"From there, it wasn't that hard. I looked for someone who had ties to Lonnie Zoryo. They're from the same town, are about the same age, and were busted on the same day in Moscow for running a prostitution ring."

Julian stared at her, his anger at war with admiration. "Irving is right. You are too smart for your own good. What exactly were you planning on doing with this information, and when were you planning to tell me?"

"I didn't know I had to keep you apprised of—"

"Damn it, Tessa!" He threw the file down onto the table. "This is not like any other investigation you've done before! Burien is a predator! He hurts women for fun! You just can't publish this without risking lives, starting with your own! At the very least, you owed it to me to tell me what you'd discovered!"

Her face flushed pink, "The same way you owed it to me to tell me who was trying to kill me?"

Julian took a step toward her. "You're missing the point! I can't do my job if—"

"No, you're missing the point!" She poked him in the chest. "If people knew this kind of thing happened around them, don't you think they'd keep their eyes open? Don't you think Maria's neighbors would've called the police if they'd realized what all those male visitors might mean? Light is the only thing that truly burns away the shadows, Julian!"

"It also sends the roaches scurrying for cover."

She threw up her hands, shook her head. Then a look of sadness came over her face, and her gaze dropped to the floor. "I'm not your enemy, you know. I wasn't planning on writing anything—yet. I have an interview today with Chief Irving. You'd have found out."

Feeling like an ass, Julian drew her into his arms and tried to explain. "I can't let Burien get away, Tessa..Not this time."

"I want you to get him, too, Julian, not only for what he did to Maria and the hundreds of other women he's hurt over the years but also because of what he's done to you." Her voice was soft with concern.

He kissed her forehead, then released her and finished clipping into his harness. "Should I pick up anything from the store? Milk? More coffee? Woman stuff?"

From the look in her eyes, he knew she'd seen through him. "I won't know if I'm pregnant till next week at the earliest. And don't worry. I know the last thing you want is a baby. I won't ask anything of you."

As Julian backed his truck into the slushy street a moment later, he tried to figure out why her words—which ought to have been music to his ears—had felt like a smack in the face.

Chief Irving reacted pretty much the way Tessa had expected him to react. "Jesus H. Christ on a frigging crutch! Who gave you his name?"

Tessa explained how she'd identified Alexi Burien as the suspect, at which point Chief Irving began swearing again.

"I hope to God you're not running with this in tomorrow's paper," he said.

"No, sir, I'm not."

Tessa had just endured a long, uncomfortable conversation with Tom on this very subject. Tom had wanted to go page one, above the fold, hammer headline. But Tessa had insisted they wait.

"Who are you working for, Novak? The cops—or me?" he'd shouted. "Your job is to gather facts and present them to the public, not to protect the interests of the goddamned police department!"

Tessa had calmly explained her reasons for wanting to hold the story. No other paper was going to get the story from them, because the rest of Denver's media were still out chasing crack dealers and gangbangers. And while it was her job to print the truth, she wouldn't be doing the community any favors if she enabled a murderous trafficker to escape.

In the end Tom had relented, but he'd been less than pleased with her.

Chief Irving, on the other hand, sounded immensely relieved. "I'm really happy to hear that, Ms. Novak. I promise you, I'll give you access to everything we have on this bastard down to the lint between his toes once he's brought in. For now, I have to say, 'No comment.'"

The two words every journalist hated most.

"Can't I ask the questions first?"

"Just saving us both time."

Tessa hung up, frustrated, and spent the rest of the afternoon trying to dig up information on Alexi Burien. She'd been on the phone with Moscow twice and had managed to get his entire criminal record faxed over, only to discover that she couldn't read a word.

"Russians keep their records in Russian?" she teased herself. "Imagine that."

She couldn't call her source again; it was three in the morning where he was. She sent an e-mail to him instead, asking him if he would be willing to translate the documents for her over the phone tomorrow.

Fighting a latent feeling of sadness, she ran a mile on the treadmill, then did a bit of housework and took a long shower. She slid soap over her skin, her hands resting for a moment on the naked curve of her belly. How ironic it would be if she were accidentally pregnant. Wasn't that the one thing she swore would never happen to her? Wasn't motherhood a part of her life that she'd intended to plan carefully? Hadn't she spent her life feeling ashamed because there was no father listed on her birth certificate?

And here she was, waiting and wondering, much as her mother must have done.

She'd told Julian she wouldn't expect anything from him, half hoping he would object or express concern. Instead, he'd listened, glanced down at the floor for a moment, and then walked off without a word.

Did you expect him to propose, girl?

His apparent indifference had left her feeling far more desolate than she would have imagined. She'd spent the afternoon trying not to think about it, focusing on her job. But here in the steam with only her own thoughts to distract her, she couldn't avoid a growing sense of loneliness and even grief.

Get used to it, Novak.

This investigation couldn't go on forever. When this Burien bastard was behind bars, Julian would be free—free to move on with his life, free to put the past behind him, free to forgive himself. And she desperately wanted that for him, even though she knew it would also leave him free to forget her.

She had just dried her hair and was in the middle of zipping her jeans when someone knocked on the door.

Her heart shot into her throat. She stood rooted to the floor, aware only that something was terribly wrong. And then she knew.

The alarm
. It hadn't gone off.

Had Julian forgotten to arm it? Surely not. He never forgot things like that.

The knock came again.

Mind racing, she grabbed a T-shirt, slipped it on, then looked frantically about for her secured cell phone. She would call Julian, dial 911. Then she remembered that she'd left the phone out on the table by her computer.

"Damn! Damn! Damn!"

The .22.

She dashed around the bed, grabbed it out of the top drawer of Julian's nightstand. Taking a few seconds to make sure it was loaded, she clicked the cylinder back into place and walked slowly down the hallway, pointing it at the floor, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her palms sticky with sweat.