Tempted by Fate (27 page)

Something around the eyes looked vaguely familiar, and Ramirez took a closer look. Had he seen this guy before? If he was a criminal, the way Willow claimed, it was possible he’d seen some sort of bulletin on him.

He set the photo aside and quickly rifled through the rest of the box. He didn’t find anything noteworthy, until
he reached the bottom. He pulled out a Baggie that contained a thin, six-inch stick. A flute. If it was handmade, it’d been done by an expert. It was beautifully carved, yet simple.

That night in Buena Vista, he’d thought he’d heard a flute playing. Was it possible that it was this flute? If so, there was no doubt that he could place Willow at another crime scene. She’d admitted she was supposed to meet with those two men, but he wanted to believe she had nothing to do with their murders. After a quick glance at Jenkins, to make sure he was still diverted, Ramirez pocketed the flute. He had a feeling Willow would want this, plus he knew giving it to her would warrant him some answers. He couldn’t check it out legitimately because it’d raise eyebrows, not to mention that he’d have to get supervisor approval to keep anything longer than twenty-four hours. Feeling sure in his decision to keep the flute, he repacked everything else into the box.

Jenkins was eating a candy bar while reading
People
magazine when Ramirez approached with Willow’s belongings. Jenkins set the candy down and reached to take the box out of Ramirez’s hand. He chewed madly and then asked, “Got what you needed?”

“Yes.” Ramirez held up the photo.

“Let’s just get that checked out to you.” Jenkins handed over another slip and a pen. “Just fill this out, Inspector.”

Ramirez wrote in the case number, the evidence number, and his name. Hoping he wasn’t signing his pink slip, he handed it back to the officer. “Thank you for your help.”

“Sure thing. Good luck nabbing this broad.”

Ramirez nodded, thinking about how he’d already nabbed her, and how much he was dying to do it all over again.

“I can’t believe you made me do your shopping. You know I hate to shop,” Morgan grumbled, handing over a bag.

Willow wheeled Ramirez’s office chair around and took the bag. She was going to be so glad to be covered in something other than his shirt. Being mostly naked around him wreaked havoc on her concentration. “You don’t mind whenever I send you out to buy me a laptop.”

“That’s not shopping. That’s pure joy.”

Shaking her head, Willow opened the bag and looked inside, blinked, and then raised her eyebrows at Morgan, who flashed an unrepentant grin.

“Like them? I picked them out specially.”

Everything in the bag was black, which was actually perfect. People who dressed in black faded into the background. And if there was ever a time to be anonymous, it was now, with every cop in the city on the lookout for her.

She pulled out the thin and luxurious cashmere top. A surprising choice, given Morgan’s style or lack thereof. But then she set that aside and extracted the rest from the bag. “Leather pants?”

“They’re so you. You can’t deny you like leather.”

“I do, but these are hardly inconspicuous.”

“They’re black,” her partner stated logically.

Willow nodded. At least they had that going for them. But the underwear… She held up the two scraps of red lace that served as a bra and panties. “And these?”

Morgan smiled wickedly. “I got those for the cop.”

Willow narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure you got the right size.”

“He won’t want them on long, anyway.” Snickering, she handed over another bag. “Your shoes.”

Good. She only had the heels she’d been wearing—not the most practical thing for running someone down. She pulled out the box, relieved to find a pair of fancy but functional boots. “I’m surprised they aren’t thigh high.”

“I thought the double layer of leather coating your legs would be overkill.” Morgan batted her eyes innocently. “But I’m happy to go back and exchange them.”

Shooting her partner a peeved look, she took her new things and went up to Ramirez’s room to change. Unfortunately, Morgan followed her, all the way into the room to flop on the bed. Setting the clothes on the dresser, Willow ignored her and went into the bathroom. When she emerged, Morgan was still there, sprawled on her stomach, reading a computer magazine she brought with her. Willow shook her head and reached for the underwear, if it could be called that.

Behind her, there was the rustle of a page turning. “Your cop is quite a guy.”

Willow glanced over her shoulder at her partner calmly perusing an ad for some sort of alien-looking machine. “He’s not mine.”

“Isn’t he?” Another page turning.

He couldn’t be, except he’d said he was falling in love with her. Willow hooked the bra behind her back and pulled on the straps. She stared at herself in the half mirror hanging above the dresser. How could he possibly be falling for her? He hadn’t known her but for a few days.

It had to be because of the sex. Men got crazy over good sex, right? And it’d been more than good, so it would make sense that he’d be overtaken by the feelings evoked. But Ramirez wasn’t the type of man to make idle comments. From the moment she’d first seen him, she could tell he was no-nonsense—grounded and very clear in his purpose. She turned and faced Morgan. Morgan had more experience with men though she was a couple years younger. She’d know if Ramirez really meant it, or if it was the sex talking.

Her partner must have felt the scrutiny, because she lifted her head and whistled. “Damn, I know my lingerie. You’re rocking that red, babe. Your cop is going to drop to his knees when he sees that.”

“I told you, he’s not mine.”

“He could be if you wanted.” Morgan tipped her head. “Do you?”

Yes. No. Willow scowled. “I’ve been after the Bad Man for over twenty years. Do you think I’m going to screw everything up by taking up with a cop?”

Morgan looked around the room. “Funny. From my perspective, that looks exactly like what you’ve done.”

No, it wasn’t. Willow grabbed the leather pants and shimmied into them.

“I take it you haven’t told him about your occupation,” Morgan said, idly flipping another page.

Willow pulled the sweater over her head and glared. “Of course I haven’t told him. That’d be a one-way ticket to maximum security for life.”

Morgan set the magazine aside and rolled onto her back. “I think he likes you.”

“What is this, high school?”

“Which is why I think you need to break it off with him.” Morgan pursed her lips. “Soon. He’s the type of guy who won’t like being deceived. The longer you go without telling him, the more he’ll hold it against you. It’s trouble waiting to happen.”

Willow yanked the sleeves on and gathered her hair into a high ponytail. That was the problem—the thought of leaving tore at her gut.

“Leave it to you, Will, to pick the most upstanding guy on earth to hook up with.”

“I didn’t pick him.”

“It just happened, huh?” Morgan rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I can see that, because you’re so given to peer pressure. And you’re always whoring around. I can’t count all the guys you’ve been out with. I’m not sure a number that high exists. In fact—”

“
Shut up.
” The second the words came out of her mouth, she regretted them. Shame flushed her cheeks.

Morgan sat up and pointed a finger at her. “I won’t shut up. How long have we known each other? Ten years?”

“Almost eleven.”

“Eleven fucking years, Willow,” she yelled, her face flushed. “I know you better than anyone else in this world, and I
care.
”

All Willow could do was stare blankly, taken aback by her friend’s vehemence.

“Yeah, I care. How could I not? After everything we’ve been through? You’re the closest thing I have to family, and I like to delude myself that you feel the same way. But that’s what I’m doing, isn’t it? Deluding myself?”

“I—” She tried to think of what to say, but she was so stunned by the outbreak, her mind was blank.

“Tell me I’m not deluding myself,” Morgan yelled. “We’re friends. No, we’re
family,
damn it.”

“Mor—”

“Get that through your thick skull.” Hopping off the bed, Morgan stalked toward her. “We’re family, and family cares about each other, which is why I’m telling you that cop can’t be your future. You’re just setting yourself up to be hurt. What are you going to do after you take your mother’s killer down? Sneak away to go on jobs? Retire? To do what?”

Honestly, she hadn’t thought that far. She’d only had one goal: the Bad Man. “That day hasn’t come yet.”

“But it will, and then you’ll be shackled to someone who can’t possibly approve of who you are.” Morgan crossed her arms, looking more pissed than even the time Willow had knocked over a cup of tea onto her hard drive. “I think the cop is more important to you than the Bad Man.”

“Of course not,” Willow said automatically.

“Uh-huh.” Morgan shook her head, disbelief radiating from her. “Whatever. But don’t tell me I didn’t warn you, because when he finds out who you are, your little paradise is going to be over.”

“Who are you?” asked a cool masculine voice from behind them.

Both women whirled around. Even Morgan was struck silent by Ramirez’s sudden appearance. His gaze met Willow’s before it roved down her body, and back.

“I’m outta here.” Morgan poked Willow in the side and said, “Don’t fuck this up,” then she walked out the door.

Willow watched her partner—friend—until she’d disappeared from view, only because she had no idea what
to say to Ramirez. She faced him and opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“Who are you?” he asked again.

She swallowed. “You know who I am.”

“Obviously, I don’t.” The muscle in his jaw twitched. “Are you going to tell me?”

If it were up to her, she’d never say a word. For the first time in her life, she wished she’d taken a different path, but there was nothing to be done about that now. She was who she was, and she only had one goal: to bring the Bad Man to justice. Morgan’s words echoed in her head. “
What are you going to do after you take your mother’s killer down?
” She could tell Ramirez something to pacify him, but he’d know.

She looked him in the eye and realized that she didn’t want to lie to him anymore. “Can you trust me? Just until after I take the Bad Man down? I’ll tell you everything
after
it’s over. If you still want.”

“We,” he said after a moment.

She frowned. “What?”

“We’re bringing your Bad Man in.
We,
” he said as emphasis.

“Right.” She nodded.

“Why do I feel like you’re placating me?” He stepped forward and took her arms. “I told you, I’m not going to let you do this alone. I have as much vested in this as you do.”

She searched his face. “I don’t see how you could.”

“Don’t you?” He lifted her chin and lowered his mouth to hers.

The kiss was soft. She tried to keep her distance—she tried not to notice how well he
fit
—but he engulfed her
and she melted against him. With one last caressing brush of his lips, he let her go and studied her. His stare was so shuttered, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and that bothered her. She resisted the urge to shift from leg to leg, instead waiting for the verdict.

Finally he said, “Is what you’re keeping from me in regard to this case?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He paused, obviously weighing her answer. “You’ll tell me after we clear you from any potential charges?”

“Yes.” Her answer sounded less sure, even to herself. But he didn’t comment. He stepped back and pulled a plastic Baggie from his inside jacket pocket. “Is this him?”

She took the bag from him. Inside was the worn photograph she knew so well. Those familiar cold eyes stared back at her, and she shivered. “That’s him.”

“I’m going to take this to a friend of mine.”

“To try to ID him? Morgan and I have done an exhaustive search. I don’t know what else your friend can do.”

“My friend has connections and resources that you and Morgan don’t have. He may know someone who knows this man.”

“Then I’m going with you,” she stated quickly.

He nodded like he hadn’t expected anything less. “We’ll leave in an hour.” He reached into his coat again. “Even once you’re cleared, it’ll take a while before the evidence collected will be released to you. I’m sure you’ll want to replace some of it before then.”

She shrugged. Material things didn’t matter in the whole scheme of things. Her scroll was safe, and the only thing she really wanted back was the flute. Her heart squeezed with the possibility that the flute was lost to her forever.

“I thought you might want this.” He pulled out another bag.

The flute. She took it, almost afraid she was imagining it. She looked up at him, brows furrowed in confusion.

“That night at Buena Vista Park, I thought I heard someone playing the flute.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “You?”

She nodded, too dumbstruck to say anything.