Overkill (6 page)

“No,” she lied.

“You just think it makes a nice centerpiece?”

Marty’s heart rate picked up. The throb in her temples joined in until her head felt like a gong.

Setting the bottle on the table, he walked to the sink and picked up the towel. He sniffed it, then crossed to the refrigerator and opened the door. “You might want to hit the grocery tonight. There’s a Super Value out on the highway. Not too fancy, but they carry all the staples.”

“Okay.”

He reached into the freezer and withdrew a handful of ice cubes.

“I can do that,” she said.

“I’m not finished talking to you. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.”

She wondered if she was the bird he was going to kill.

He pulled out a chair. “Sit down.”

Never taking her eyes from his, she sank into it.

“I’m faced with a real dilemma here, Hogan.”

“Dilemma?”

“Do I send you packing? Call it quits? Send you back to Chicago where you’ll be lucky to land a third-shift security job at the local storage facility? Or do I try to make this work and hope you don’t screw up again?”

“With all due respect—”

“Let me finish.” Taking his time, he carefully folded the towel around the ice. “If I choose the former, we both lose. I lose a person I feel could be a decent officer. You lose what is probably one of best offers you’ll be able to get at the moment. If I decide to go with the latter, I’m not going to be able to do it alone.”

“I’m a good cop.” It galled her that she felt the need to say it. “I need this job.”

He contemplated her with those intense gray eyes, then set the ice pack gently against her cheekbone. Though his voice was rough, his hands were gentle, his touch soft. “I guess the real question is whether or not you’re willing to do your part.”

“I’m willing.”

His gaze held her with unflinching intensity. “You could have gotten yourself killed today. You reacted. You didn’t think things through. You took a stupid risk.”

“I thought I saw a gun.”

“You don’t sound very certain of that.”

Marty didn’t know what to say. At the time, she’d been so certain. Now she wasn’t.

“You screwed up, Hogan. This isn’t the first time, is it?”

Marty wanted to dispute his words, but couldn’t. Screwing up seemed to be her middle name these days. The one thing she could swear to was that she was a good cop. Damn it, she was.

“I know what it’s like to make a mistake,” he said. “Believe me, I’ve made my share. Not just little ones either. I’ve made the kinds of mistakes that changed people’s lives. Changed my own life.” He paused. “Taken a life.”

She stared at him, shocked.

“I’m not going to fire you, so you can stop looking at me that way.”

Because she didn’t know exactly how she was looking at him, she didn’t move, didn’t change her expression.

“But this is the way it’s going to be.” He pointed at her, a gesture she was beginning to recognize as his undivided attention. “I’m assigning you Rufus the Police Dog duty.”

“What?”

“Like a lot of towns and cities, the Caprock Canyon PD has its share of PR problems. A lot of our citizens don’t trust us. Some think all we do is hand out tickets and eat doughnuts. I’ve been working on a PR campaign to show them that’s not the case.”

“You might have noticed that I’m not very good at PR.”

“Evidently you’re not very good at patrolling, either.”

Marty dropped her gaze, saw that her hands were knotting nervously in front of her and quickly stilled them.

“Rufus the Police Dog visits area schools. Elementary. Middle. High school. You’ll be talking to kids about their personal safety, stranger danger, traffic safety, Internet dangers, drugs.”

“I don’t know anything about kids.”

“You were one once, weren’t you?” He crossed to the window above the sink, glanced out, then turned back to her. “I’d also like Rufus to visit some of the area clubs and businesses. For example, the 4-H Club, Boots and Spurs, I think, is the name of the chapter. The FFA. Rotary Club. Lions Club. Kiwanis. Some businesses might want us to speak to their employees about how to keep their homes and businesses safe. Business owners might want to know how to avoid employee theft. Private citizens will want to know how to prevent crime in their home. Highway safety. Phone scams.”

She was still trying to absorb all of that, wondering how a town the size of Caprock Canyon could have so many clubs and organizations. On a deeper level, she wondered if he was trying to push her out the door. Or maybe he was just trying to save her cop’s soul. “So where does the dog part come in? Do I have a Labrador as a sidekick?”

“Actually, there’s a Rufus costume we keep in a locker.”

A ripple of horror went through her. She’d seen cops in those kinds of uniforms before, and she’d laughed her ass off at them every time. “I guess I’ve officially arrived in hell,” she said.

“I guess that depends on your perspective.”

FIVE

They arrived in Chicago with the first deep freeze of the
season. Radimir had picked up his sister, Katja, at her row house apartment in Brooklyn. The trip from Brighton Beach had taken fourteen hours, and they’d driven straight through.

They rented a two-bedroom house with a basement in a decrepit neighborhood on Chicago’s South Side. A place where no one would pay attention to the comings and goings of a young Russian couple. Katja went to the hardware store to buy the tools they would need for the job. Radimir met with the man from Kiev he’d spoken to before they left Brighton Beach. He was a distant cousin and cut them a deal on a 9-millimeter Beretta, a Russian-made Dragunov assault rifle, and a shotgun with a sawed-off barrel. The amphetamines came from a Romanian contact down in Gary, Indiana. Radimir paid more than he should have, but the man explained the drugs were pharmaceutical quality and no longer easy to come by. The local PD had been cracking down.

Once preparations were complete, Katja and Radimir had lunch at a quaint Armenian restaurant just off North Michigan Avenue. Katja browsed the jewelry at an upscale boutique, and ended up buying a dress and shoes at a shop inside the Water Street Mall. Radimir drank tepid coffee and watched the American women to pass the time.

At darkfall, they were ready.

Katja wore the glittering red dress and heels she’d bought at the mall, and let her long brown hair cascade over her shoulders. It was too cold for strapless, but she didn’t seem to mind. Even to Radimir, her brother, she was the epitome of sex.

They’d grown up together in the old neighborhood in Brighton Beach, but there were times when Radimir felt he didn’t really know his sister. Even some of the hard-core gangsters kept their distance from her. Over the years, Radimir had heard rumors that she was only his half sister. Their mother had an affair with a Jewish man who’d later left for Israel, leaving her pregnant. Radimir had been three years old. But he and Katja and Rurik had been raised as full siblings, and their mother never told them differently.

But Katja was unlike any woman he’d ever met—and he’d met a lot of women in his thirty-two years. Despite her striking beauty and a body made for sin, Katja possessed the mind of a man. She liked sex—liked it, perhaps, a little too much—and made no bones about going after what she wanted. Even more unusual was her capacity for violence. It was an aptitude that was not hindered by conscience or emotion. When it came to killing, she was as methodical and precise as a sniper’s bullet. She once told Radimir she liked killing as much as she liked sex. He’d never talked to her about it again.

But he heard the stories. And at the age of twenty-nine, she had become one of the most valuable members of the Red Mafia. A secret weapon of sorts that had led more than one man to his demise.

Steam billowed from the gutters into the frigid night air as they idled down a back street of Chicago’s South Side. Most of the merchants in the area had already closed down for the night. The hookers, petty thieves and drug dealers who took over after dark roamed the streets like beaten-down predators.

This was the neighborhood where they would find the cop. According to the information Radimir gleaned from his contact inside the department, the pig worked second shift. He was patrolling alone tonight.

Next to him, Katja rolled silk stockings up her thighs and secured them with the snaps of her lace garter. “I am ready,” she said.

Radimir pulled into an alley next to a newspaper kiosk and shut down the engine. He turned to his sister to see her glide a tube of lipstick over her lips, turning them the color of blood.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“This man, he’s a cop. He’s not stupid.”

“Maybe not, but he’s a man. That makes him predictable.” Her huge, dark eyes gleamed just a little too much when she raised them to his. “I want this American
svenja
to pay for what he did to Rurik.”

Nodding, Radimir made a fist. “For Rurik, then.”

Katja closed her eyes and braced. He punched her as hard as he could. His knuckles connected with her cheek with such force that he heard them crack. Her head snapped back and hit the passenger window. Before she could recover, he reached out and tore the front of her dress so that she had to hold it up to cover her breast.

Tears of pain glittered in her eyes when she looked at him. “My mouth, too,” she said. “Don’t break my teeth.”

He slapped her with an open hand, hard enough to sting his palm. When she turned back to him, a small trickle of blood oozed down her chin, but it was tempered by a strange light he didn’t understand in her eyes. “More.”

Suppressing a rise of revulsion, he raked his knuckles hard across her cheek, marring the white flesh.

“Again,” she said.

“Enough.”

“
Ootebya nyet yayeesav.
”

“I have balls,” he snapped. “I just have a brain to go with them.”

That made her laugh, but he could tell she was still angry. Crazy woman.

It took them nearly three hours to find their target. A Crown Victoria city car with all the trimmings. The cop was alone. Katja swallowed four aspirin, but didn’t clean the blood from her face.

Radimir followed the police cruiser at a safe distance for another half hour, waiting for the right moment. When the cruiser stopped at an all-night diner, he parked in an alley half a block to the south.

Donning the long coat she’d purchased at the mall, Katja got out of the car and bent to peer in the window. The coat was open, and Radimir could see her breast from where he sat, and tried not to stare. The blood on her mouth glittered black in the dim light coming off the streetlamp.

“I’ll wait until he comes out,” she said.

“Get him away from his cruiser quickly. Lure him down this way. Try to keep him off the radio.”

Her teeth gleamed white against the red of her lips. “He’s as good as dead,” she said and slammed the door.

Radimir watched her walk with long, purposeful strides toward the diner where their target sat in a booth, alone, huddled over a bowl of something hot.

Stupid cop didn’t have a clue he was about to die a long and terrible death.

It was an excellent location for an ambush. The diner sat on a corner at the intersection of two relatively quiet streets. Two doors down, a narrow alley laced with fire escapes made the perfect staging point. The cruiser was parked illegally near the mouth of the alley. The cop would have to walk that way to get to his car. So far, so good.

It took the cop nearly twenty minutes to gobble his slop. He flirted with the waitress another ten minutes before leaving. When he stepped out of the diner, Katja sprang into action.

Radimir watched her toss the coat. She emerged from the alley at a lurching run. Arms outstretched, she stumbled toward the cop, glancing repeatedly over her shoulder as if someone was chasing her. Even in the dim light, Radimir saw surprise on the cop’s face. Radimir smiled when he thought of how many more surprises the night held in store for him.

Twenty feet before reaching the cop, Katja went to her knees. Looking left and right, the cop rushed to her and stooped to help. He set his hand on her back, tilted his head as if listening to whatever story she’d invented to draw him in. She pointed in the direction of the alley, laying it on thick. God, she was the best liar in the world.

The cop helped her to her feet. Katja put her arm around his shoulder. The flap of fabric slipped, exposing her breast and the ruby bud of her nipple for just the right amount of time. They began moving down the sidewalk, with her leaning heavily on him.

“Come on,” Radimir whispered. “Do it. Now.”

Sometimes Katja liked to cut things too close. Take things too close to the edge. Reckless bitch, he thought, but he smiled.

He squinted into the darkness, watched her hand disappear into the fabric of her dress. She and the cop were almost to the cruiser now. Ten yards away from where Radimir sat in his car. Katja collapsed. The cop bent to help her. Knowing that was his signal to disembark, Radimir left the car, walked to the rear and opened the trunk. He could hear her voice now, as sultry and warm as a summer night. Using the shadows and dark as cover, he kept his head bent toward the open trunk, stealing looks at them over his shoulder.

Katja pulled the stun gun from beneath her dress and thrust it at the cop’s chest. The electrical charge snapped and flashed white in the darkness.

The cop went rigid, then went down like a bull. He rolled, then reached for her, but Katja was ready and hit him with the stun gun again. The cop’s body jolted and went still.

Radimir darted to them. Looking left and right, he took the man’s shoulders. Katja lifted his feet. They carried him to the car and tossed him like a slab of meat into the trunk. Working quickly, Radimir yanked the handcuffs from his coat pocket and cuffed the man’s hands behind his back, cranking the cuffs down tight. Katja tore a length of fabric from her dress and jammed it into the man’s mouth, then set a length of duct tape against his lips and wrapped it around his head. Before Radimir closed the trunk, she spat on the cop.

“You’re dead,” she said to him in Russian and they got in the car.

 
Marty couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so
utterly humiliated. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She’d been pretty damn humiliated when she’d caught her coworkers hooting it up over the video. Not to mention the fiasco in Chicago. The hearings. Her termination. The Cook County prosecuting attorney playing the video for the jury during her trial.

Wearing the Rufus the Police Dog gear wasn’t that bad. It was nice and cool outside, after all; she was relatively comfortable. The ventilation was pretty good. Marty was learning to look at these things in a more positive light.

By far the best thing about being Rufus the Police Dog was that no one could see her face. No one ever had to know who she was. Marty found the anonymity incredibly liberating.

Clay had assigned her crosswalk duty this morning. All she had to do was don the Rufus suit and make sure traffic came to a complete stop for the crosswalk in front of the Palo Duro Elementary School while the kiddies crossed Cactus Street. As Rosetti always used to say:
Piece of frickin’ cake
.

Next, the chief had assigned her the “Arrive at School Safely” program that was being implemented statewide by the Texas attorney general. In a nutshell, Marty would speak to several different elementary grade levels—both children and their parents—about back-to-school safety. It was her job to get the word out. Keep the kids safe. Entertainment at its humiliating best.

“Officer Hogan?”

Marty looked up to see second grade teacher Nancy Combs stick her head out the door of her classroom and smile. “You look great.”

“I’ve always looked good in fur,” Marty muttered.

The teacher motioned her into the classroom. “We’re ready.”

“Just let me get my head on.”

The teacher laughed and ducked back into the classroom.

Sliding the Rufus head over her own, Marty stepped into the room.

In the course of her career, she’d spoken before all kinds of groups countless times. She’d always thought cops made the worst audience. They could be rude, loud and downright obnoxious, especially if they were pumped up or bored. But there was something disproportionately intimidating about kids.

A collective gasp of pleasure erupted when Marty walked into the classroom. She’d never been a big fan of kids. They were little and weird and invariably seemed to say things she didn’t know how to respond to. But as she walked to the teacher’s desk and turned to the class, she had to admit it was fun to watch their faces light up. She’d become so jaded over the years, she’d forgotten innocence was still alive and well. It was nice to have it proven to her that such things still existed.

“Hi,” she began in her best dog voice, “I’m Rufus the Police Dog, and I’m here today to tell you all about Run Away, Shout It Out, and Tell a Grown-up. Do any of you know what that is?”

A little girl in a plaid skirt, ill-matched sweater and dark tights stood up. “Recess!”

A few chuckles rippled through the kids. Marty would have joined them, but she knew just how easy it was to lose your audience when they were already thinking about recess.

“Run Away, Shout It Out, and Tell a Grown-up are three things you need to remember to keep yourselves safe,” she said. “For example, if it’s recess time and you’re playing by yourself, and an adult you don’t know walks up to you and tells you he lost his puppy or that he has candy in his car for you, what do you do?”

“Run Away, Shout It Out, and Tell a Grown-up!” a little boy hollered.

“That’s right!” Marty woofed a couple of times and brought her paws together. “Let’s say it together. Run Away, Shout It Out, and Tell a Grown-up! Run Away, Shout It Out, and Tell a Grown-up!”

The kids began to chant.

“Good!” She pointed at the little girl who’d stood up with the recess crack. “What do you do if a stranger approaches you when you’re walking home from school?”

“Run Away, Shout It Out, and Tell a Grown-up!” the little girl yelled.

“Good job!” Marty crossed to her and gave her a high five with her right paw.

Back at the teacher’s desk, she glanced down at the notes she’d spread out. “How many of you walk to and from school?”

About half the kids in the class raised their hands.

“Did you know that Rufus the Police Dog thinks you should walk in groups?”

A little girl in pigtails and blue jeans raised her hand.

Marty pointed with her paw. The kid looked familiar, but Marty didn’t think she’d ever met her. “Yes?”

“My dad says if a bad guy tries to grab me I should kick him in the penis.”

Marty choked back a laugh and grappled for a proper adult response. Nothing appropriate came to mind, so she stuck to the tried and true. “Remember, Run Away, Shout It Out, and Tell a Grown-up!”