Sweet Dreams Boxed Set (11 page)

“None,” Steve said. “But we’ll figure it out.” He tapped the folder he carried. “My gut tells me it’s connected to one of his old cases. The LG isn’t a high-profile office, but Hart was a prosecutor. They make enemies.”

Steve pulled out a form from the top of the folder in his arms. “Here’s your statement. If you can just sign and date.”

She read the statement first. It was straight-forward, no extraneous details. Jim hadn’t included her theory that Hart might not have been the target, but she supposed that was mostly because it was conjecture, not fact.

Still, she asked Steve, “Are you looking into Eric Huang?”

“The legislative consultant?” Steve shrugged. “He’s clean. Squeaky clean. Nothing on his record. Third generation Chinese-American, graduated from Berkeley, worked for the previous LG, rather bland. From Folsom, parents still live there, owns a townhouse up off 26
th
or 27
th
, you know—they built them as infill housing about ten years ago.”

She knew the area. Relatively cheap to buy, easy commute to downtown or hop onto the freeway, good restaurants within walking distance.

“Did Hart recognize the shooter?” she asked.

Steve shook his head. “Still, Hart was a prosecutor up until three years ago before going into corporate law, then the LG appointment when Goodman died in office. Hart could easily have forgotten the case, could have been minor for him, or a friend or relative of a victim or perp.”

“Makes sense.” Except, she knew the shooter was connected to organized crime. She went out on a limb. “Did you run ballistics? Any connection to other cases?”

Steve nodded, and almost told her, then stopped himself. “Alex, I’d love to share everything with you, but our investigation is being monitored from on high. You burned a lot of bridges last year. Not that you were at fault,” he added quickly.

“I don’t want to make anything difficult for you,” she said with a half-smile, though inside she was seething. This whole thing was bullshit, and the way Jim and Steve were treating her was bullshit, too. She was a witness, she was a trained investigator, she
wanted
to help. But she got it, loud and clear. If anyone in the department found out she was involved, over and above giving her statement, it could cause problems for Jim and Steve. She wouldn’t put it past the powers that be to pull them from the case and give it to someone with no connection to her.

Steve looked her up and down. “You okay?”

He meant well, but she was getting sick and tired of being asked the same question. “Fine. It was a flesh wound. Itches like a bitch.”

“I meant, in general.”

She shrugged. “I’m okay.”

“I think it’s crap that you felt like you had to quit.”

“Don’t be naive, Jefferson. You know how it is.”

“We all knew Tommy bent the rules.”

Her ears perked up. “What?”

“All of us from Southern Command. I was a rookie cop at Southern before I made detective and was assigned to Central. Tommy was a sharp cop—really good. But everyone turned their back when he slipped a few bucks in his pocket during a bust. Maybe we shouldn’t have.” He shrugged. “You know why he was transferred to Northern Command.”

“No,” she said flatly. “He told me he asked for the transfer so he didn’t have to commute as far after his divorce.”

Steve looked perplexed, then clearly regretted saying anything. “Maybe it’s all water under the bridge. The guy is in jail, juries love to send cops up the river.” He squirmed. “I shouldn’t have said that. He deserves whatever he gets.”

“Not everybody thinks that,” she said. “Why was he transferred?”

It was clear Steve didn’t want to tell her, but after a moment of mental debating, he finally relented. “A prostitute came forward and said he’d been taking advantage of their cop discount for blow jobs.”

Her stomach turned. “Which means what, exactly?”

“I never—but I knew some of the guys would take a free blow job here or there, then look the other way and not arrest the girls when they were working. But apparently Tommy threatened one of the girls if she didn’t do him.” Steve was clearly embarrassed.

“Steve, the girl I caught him with was fourteen. Maybe if someone had the balls to stop him sooner I wouldn’t have been shot in the back by my own fucking partner.”

“You know how it is, Alex,” Steve said, practically whining, wanting her to understand—which she didn’t. “Guys complained, sure. Eventually he was moved north. Clean slate. Promotion to detective. Good lieutenant who knew the score, laid down the law with him. Thought by partnering him with a female detective would help.”

“He was threatening prostitutes for sex and then
promoted?
And you didn’t tell me?”

“It’s not something we talk about, you know. I assumed Jim would have told you.”

Jim had never said a word. The bastard.

“Hey—Alex—don’t be mad.”

She turned back to face him. “Yeah, I am mad. But mostly? I’m disappointed. You were my friend. I shared a bed with Jim. And you both knew Tommy Cordell was a fucking pervert. Kept me in the dark. And Jim actually accused me of sleeping with him.” She shook her head. “Just—go. I’m meeting my dad for lunch.” She walked away before she said anything else.

Another lie. Her dad couldn’t have lunch, but it sounded good to keep saying it.

Time to have a heart-to-heart with Matt Elliott.

Chapter Nine

From seven in the morning, the D.A.’s office was busy. Budget cuts affected everyone, and law enforcement wasn’t excluded from the axe. Staff, mostly prosecutors, flowed in and out of Matt’s office while Alex waited, a flurry of them because it was after twelve and most courts had adjourned for the lunch hour.

Matt’s law clerk was a young blonde girl named Zoey who looked like she was barely out of college let alone law school, but she compensated by wearing a severe grey suit, her long blond hair in a tight bun, and no-nonsense glasses. Her make-up was impeccable and even though she downplayed her attributes, she was model-gorgeous. She hadn’t been here last year when Alex was working with Matt. She ran a tight ship, however, and finally at quarter to one said, “Ms. Morgan, you may go in now. I’m sorry for the delay.” She actually sounded apologetic.

“No worries. I didn’t have an appointment,” she said.

Zoey tilted her chin up. “You’re on the list.”

“List?”

“Of people who don’t need an appointment.”

Odd. Weird. Alex gave Zoey an awkward smile, then walked into Matt’s office.

Matt’s office was neat, but not obsessively so. Two stacks of files were aligned straight on his desk, one on the left and one on the right. In box, out box, without the boxes. He had personal pictures, mostly of his sister, his half-sister, and his friends from the Navy. A Navy flag dominated one wall. His office was in the corner and boasted windows on two walls, but the street view was hardly worth fighting over. The California flag and the American flag stood in each corner behind his desk with the Seal of Sacramento County centered on the wall between them. In fact, the whole desk image looked like it had been staged for a photo—unlike the rest of his office which was stacked with books, computers, two couches, and a long conference table that could comfortably seat eight.

She shut the door behind her. Most of the venom she’d had after meeting with Hart disappeared. If there had been any real anger to begin with. Matt wasn’t the type to set her up like that; it had been his idea for her to put Hart in contact with her father, which would give them access as well. But that Hart proposed the job was a far better opportunity.

Matt walked around his desk to greet her. “Hungry? We could get lunch.”

She was famished, but shook her head. “Sit down. We really need to talk.”

Matt sat, but she didn’t.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing—everything. First, I was about to invite Hart to my dad’s house, but he invited me to dinner instead. To thank me, yada yada, as well as hard sell me on taking a job with him.”

“He asked you out on a date?”

She stopped pacing. “Did you miss the part where he wants to hire me? As his security consultant or bodyguard or something.”

“No, but why is he taking you to dinner?”

“To thank me for saving his life. To convince me to work for him. Because he has the hots for me and wants to take me to bed.”

Matt’s face hardened. “You can’t trust him.”

Alex was confused and getting irritated. “I don’t. You’re the one who wanted me to find an in with Hart. This is it. It’s perfect—it was his idea.”

“I don’t like it.”

“What’s not to like? I haven’t taken the job. I’m just going to listen to him.” She hesitated. “What’s going on here? Isn’t this exactly what you need? Someone on the inside? As his security consultant I’ll know his schedule, his meetings, whether he’s slipping out at night to meet with a mistress or whatever. It’s the perfect cover. But that’s assuming I even take it.”

Matt let out a long sigh and rubbed his face. “You’re right. I just—I just don’t trust him. I know him far too well, and he’s as slippery as they come.”

“I got the same impression.”

“You did?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” She sat down across from him. “I know I screwed up last summer; I’m not going to screw this up.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Wrong was subjective when you were a spy. “I wish I’d never walked in on Tommy. If I hadn’t seen him with the girl ...” She’d thought about that, a lot. She couldn’t turn her back on what he’d done, but if she hadn’t known about it, she would have finished the investigation. Tommy trusted her. She’d crossed lines a good, straight cop would never have crossed, all to earn his trust. And then poof! Gone because he was a damn pervert. “I was close to getting something solid on Rykov with Tommy. I know the players. If Travis Hart has anything illegal going with Rykov, I will find out.”

“I don’t have to tell you this is dangerous. Last time ... I didn’t think it was dangerous and you nearly died.”

“I’m wiser now. And there is a Russian connection to Hart’s shooting.”

“You read the ballistics report?”

“What? No—I’m talking about the shooter.”

“The shooter is Russian? How do you know?”

“Freeze,” she said. “Let’s back up. There’s a ballistics report. Steve didn’t tell me what it revealed, but he slipped and said ballistics matched another crime.”

“Three years ago a Russian prostitute was killed and dumped in the Sacramento River. The bullet that killed her matches the bullets fired by the shooter at the hotel. Now, what do you know about the shooter?”

“He’s dead. Steve was just here getting files, I’d assumed he would have told you—and probably told you more than me.”

“I didn’t see him. And they have a name?”

“No—no ID, no prints in the system. I talked to Jim after I met with Hart. Hart told me the shooter was shot in Discovery Park. Possible suicide, but—I don’t know. Doesn’t feel right to me, though I don’t have my hands on the evidence. Then Jim was waiting for me outside Hart’s office. I had to practically force him to show me the shooter’s photo. I know who he is.”

“Who? Connected to Rykov?”

She nodded. “I don’t know his name, but Tommy met with him several times when I was following him. It’s all in the notes I turned over to the FBI. I called him the skinny Russian. He has that distinct look, fair skin, square jaw, wispy light brown hair. I never got close to hear him speak, but I put pictures in the file.”

“I’ll call Hooper.”

“Your office gave Steve Jefferson a list of all the cases that Hart worked on. Is there any way I can get the same list?”

“Yes, but you can’t take them. I can let you look at them here.”

“That’s fine, I’m not meeting Hart until seven.”

“Alex—”

She didn’t want to hear anymore from Matt about being careful around Hart. She knew what she needed to do. So she told him what was really bugging her. “I didn’t tell Jim I recognized the shooter,” she said. “He needs that information to do his job, and I feel like I’m withholding evidence.”

“We’ll find a way for him to get the information without exposing you.”

“It just ... makes me feel dirty.”

“What on earth for?”

“Because I kept secrets all last year!” She threw her hands up in the air, frustrated and angry, mostly at herself. She jumped up and paced. “Those secrets destroyed my relationship with Jim. Cost me my job. And I’m
still
keeping those damn secrets because if I told Jim I recognized the shooter as being part of the Russian mob, he’d ask me how I knew, and I’d have to tell him about Tommy’s connection to the Russians and that I not only knew about it, but was a fucking
snitch
for the feds until I screwed the whole thing up and shot him.”

“Stop,” Matt said quietly.

“No!” She whirled around. “I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.
Someone
in the Russian mob wants Travis Hart dead. Which makes no sense if Sergei Rykov is one of his big supporters. Unless Hart did something to piss him off, which is certainly plausible. Steve told me they ran Eric Huang, the legislative aide, and he’s clean as a whistle. Yet ... I still think that Huang was the target. Even a mediocre shooter would know to get a clear shot. But why would the Russians want a staffer dead?”

Matt got up and put his hands on her shoulders. She tried to shrug him off, but he held tight. “Alex,” he said softly, “I would do anything to change what happened last year. Anything. I hate what you had to go through, what you’re still going through. But I need you to focus.”

She took a deep breath. “I know. I am focused. I can do this, Matt. I need to. I think having to stop the investigation last summer when I was
this close
... I want to finish what I started.”

For so long, she’d just wanted her life back. But she realized over the last two days that her old life was irrevocably gone. Any illusion she had that when the feds finished their investigation she could go back to her old life was shattered. There was no going back. There would be no more badge. Her life, her career, as she knew it, as she loved it, was over.