The Heart of A Killer (11 page)

“We don’t know,” Roman said. “Tony Maclin died in the alley twelve years ago. He’s the guy who carved the heart in Anna’s chest. We were the only ones in the alley that night.”

“Tony Maclin? That was his name?” Dante asked.

“You didn’t know, did you?” Anna asked.

Dante shook his head. He’d always just been that guy in the alley, the one who’d hurt Anna. “This is the first time I’ve ever heard his name.”

Not that it made a difference, he supposed.

“His name was Tony Maclin. He was a high school senior, about to graduate and go to college. He lived in South County.”

Dante frowned. “He lived in the county? What the hell was he doing in the city that night?”

Anna shrugged. “Don’t know. When I became a cop I looked at his file. It never really shed any light on why he was there.”

That just left more questions in Dante’s mind, and dredged up more memories about that night.

“Back to George though,” Anna said, nudging Dante out of the past and into the present, reminding him of what they all had to talk about.

“Right. It’s no coincidence George was killed in the same place, that someone cut a heart in his chest, that he was beaten to death,” Dante said, folding his arms and looking at all of them.

“Dante,” Anna warned.

“What are you saying?” Roman asked.

The one thing he didn’t want to say. The one thing none of them wanted to say out loud. But it had to be said. “The obvious. Someone else was in the alley that night when Anna was attacked, and when we beat Tony Maclin to death, whoever was there saw what we did.”

No one said anything, so he continued.

“Someone sent us a message.”

Seven

A
nna stood to move next to Dante. “It wasn’t a message. It could still be a coincidence.”

Dante’s brows lifted. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“It’s my job to look at all the angles. I can’t use tunnel vision on this and tie it into what happened twelve years ago as the only option, when it could be something else entirely.” She turned to all of them. “There could still be the drug angle.”

“Wait,” Jeff said. “What drug angle?”

“George was found with coke on him,” Gabe said.

Jeff snorted. “George? Do drugs? He’d slit his own wrists before he’d let drugs anywhere near him.”

“Agreed,” Dante said. “But this is still connected to that night twelve years ago. The drugs were planted.”

“You don’t know that,” Anna said. “The drug angle is a viable option.”

“Anna,” Dante said, laying his hand on her shoulder. “Same location, same cause of death? The heart cut into his chest? Come on. It’s the same damn thing that happened that night. You can’t ignore it.”

“He’s right,” Gabe said. “Plus, they killed George, and that ties it to us. Someone else was there that night.”

“Dante is right about this,” Roman said, grimacing. “Someone saw what we did and is punishing us for it.”

Anna agreed, but the cop in her wanted to deny. “Who would have been there? Why wait twelve years to send a message? And what kind of message is killing George? He had nothing to do with it.”

“No, but he’s connected to all of us,” Dante said.

Roman grabbed her hand, forcing her attention on him. “And you know as well as I do that murder only makes sense to the killer. Look at what Tony Maclin tried to do to you that night, Anna. Did that make sense?”

Tony Maclin. The mention of his name always brought that night, still so clear in her mind, rushing back. The smells, the sounds, her walk to the Dumpster to empty the trash. She hadn’t seen anyone that night, not even her attacker. And after she’d been attacked, there’d been panic, and pain, and the guys rushing to jump on Tony Maclin.

She hadn’t known his name until the next day, when his body had been found and the media had reported on it.

They’d put Maclin’s picture on the news. Just a kid, like the rest of them. Clean-cut, looked like a nice guy.

He hadn’t been a nice guy in the alley when he’d grabbed her and dragged her behind the Dumpster and held a knife to her throat.

And a part of Tony Maclin would always remain with her.

The scar throbbed, reminding her of him, of what he’d done to her.

Now the past had caught up with the present.

Could someone else have been there that night? She racked her brain to recall if she’d seen anyone else around, someone who could have seen what had happened. But her mind wrapped around the events that stuck out in her mind—the attack on her, and the guys beating Tony Maclin.

If someone else had been there, why hadn’t they stopped what happened to her? Why hadn’t they stopped the guys from killing Tony?

She could still see them pummeling him, hear their fists connecting with his flesh.

She tried to muster up sympathy for the way they’d pounded on him, the blood flying from his face, the way he looked when they’d finished with him, but all she’d felt was satisfaction that he hadn’t gotten away, that he’d felt some of the misery he’d inflicted on her.

She’d waited years to feel guilty about him dying in the alley that night, and she never had.

Justice had been served that night. It might have been vigilante justice, and it might have been cruel, but she lived with the scars of that night, and she knew she’d never have survived the attack if Dante, Gabe and the others hadn’t been there for her. Instinctively, she knew Tony Maclin would not have let her live. He hadn’t just been out to rape her. He intended to kill her. Maybe it was the drugs he was hopped up on that had left him without coherent thought, but she knew she wasn’t going to come out of that alley alive.

No, she felt no guilt over him dying instead of her.

She owed the guys everything. Including keeping her mind open about the attack on George and the connection to twelve years ago. She had to protect her guys.

“So somebody knows. Now what do we do?” Jeff paced back and forth, downed the last of his beer and crushed the can. He raked his fingers through his hair. “This is fucked up. I need a cigarette.”

He pushed open the slider and stepped through into the backyard. Anna watched his hands shake as he lit a cigarette, the smoke billowing out through his mouth and nostrils.

“I’ll go see if I can calm him down,” Roman said.

Gabe leaned back against the sofa. “What do you think, Anna?”

“I don’t know. If I were being honest I’d say I’d like to live in complete denial about the whole thing.”

“Can’t say I blame you for that,” Gabe said. “You don’t want to relive it or have it come back again.”

She didn’t, but it wasn’t going to be avoidable. “Do you guys remember seeing anyone in the alley that night?”

Dante shook his head. “No, but we were all focused on what had happened to you. Once we saw Maclin and grabbed him, that was it.”

“Dante’s right,” Gabe said, throwing an arm over the top of the sofa. “There was tunnel vision. We only saw him, and then there was you.”

“I do remember sweeping the alley,” Dante said, taking a seat in one of the chairs across from the sofa. “We wanted to make sure Maclin didn’t bring anyone with him.”

Gabe leaned forward. “You’re right. I remember that, too. After we left you, before we got out of there. We panicked, wanted to make sure no one saw what we’d done.”

“And?” Anna asked.

“There was no one,” Dante said. “We checked one end of the alley to the other. There wasn’t a sign of anyone.”

“But that doesn’t mean someone hadn’t been there before,” Gabe said. “Someone could have been there watching the whole time.”

Dante nodded. “And then taken off when we brought Anna inside the shop.”

“Shit,” Gabe said.

“But why wait? If someone saw you guys beat up Maclin, why not report it right then?” Anna asked.

“Scared?” Gabe offered. “Maybe whoever was in the alley with Maclin was high, too, not even sure of what he was seeing. Plus, no way would he call the cops.”

“Okay, that makes sense. Self-preservation and all that. But what did that have to do with killing George? What’s the connection?” Dante asked.

Anna blew out a breath. “That’s my job to figure out.”

Jeff and Roman came back in.

“In the meantime, all of you need to be on guard and be careful,” Anna said. “We don’t yet know what the connection is between George’s murder and what happened twelve years ago.”

“And whoever did this has some connection to you, Anna,” Jeff said. “You don’t worry about us. You gotta watch your own back.”

She smiled and nodded. “I always do, Jeff.”

They chatted for a while, the guys catching up with Dante, who, Anna noted, still wasn’t all that forthcoming about where he’d been for the past twelve years, giving them excuses about traveling and doing manual labor here and there and how much he’d enjoyed seeing the world.

He looked so at ease as he bullshitted with the guys, not at all tense about all this like Jeff was. Roman was used to threats, because like her, it was the nature of their jobs. Gabe was laid-back because he lived his life with the criminal element. He was always looking over his shoulder.

Was Dante a criminal, too?

She needed to find out.

Jeff and Roman headed out. Since Gabe kept checking his phone, not a half hour later he said he had a “meeting.” She didn’t want to know what kind of meeting he had, nor was she going to ask.

Gabe stood at her door and laid his hands on her shoulders. “You keep eyes in the back of your head. I don’t like what’s going on.”

“You do the same.”

His quick grin didn’t comfort her, because she knew he took chances he shouldn’t. “I always watch my own back, honey.”

He kissed her cheek and walked out the door. She closed it, locked it and turned to find Dante standing right behind her.

She skirted around him and went into the living room, picking up empty beer cans. After she dumped them in the trash, she pivoted and he was right there behind her again with a stack of cans in his hand.

“Goddammit, Dante.”

“What?”

“Quit sneaking up on me.”

“You’re a cop. I wouldn’t think anyone could get a stealth drop on you.”

Unnerved, she shoved him aside and went back into the living room. “Normally no one does. You’ve got ninja skills.”

He laughed and slid onto the sofa next to her, stretching his long, lean legs out in front of him.

“Don’t get comfortable.”

“You don’t have to work, do you?”

“No.”

“It’s still early.” He stretched his arms over the back of the sofa.

She refused to notice the lean muscle of his forearms, or the dark hairs. Or his tan skin that made her want to ask where he’d been outside lately. “I’m tired.”

His grin irritated her. “I make you nervous.”

“No, you don’t.” She leaned forward to pick up the pizza boxes.

“Anna.”

He laid his hand on her arm and pulled her back. “Talk to me.”

His touch had an effect on her. No man’s touch did that. She hated that Dante’s did. He was a closed-up mystery, a few pieces of a giant puzzle. She wouldn’t ask him again where he’d been.

“We have nothing to say to each other anymore.”

He swept her hair away from her face. She knocked his hand away.

Instead of being offended, he smiled. “I like that you’re tough. It makes me worry a little less about you.”

“You have no right to worry about me at all.” She pushed off the couch and grabbed the empty pizza boxes, shoved them in the trash can in the kitchen. This time she knew Dante was behind her, her senses tuning to him. She put the lid on the trash and turned around.

He was so big. Big guys tended to freak her out, at least when they invaded her personal space. Caged between him and her kitchen counter, she expected the normal panic to set in. She took things with men slow and easy. Too much too fast and things took a nosedive.

But everything about Dante was familiar to her, from his scent to the color of his eyes to the way his skin felt under her hand. She balled her fingers into her fists to keep from reaching out to touch him, to find out if he still felt the same to her. She took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp scent of him. Her heart banged a hard rhythm against her chest, but this time it wasn’t the familiar choking panic—it was something else entirely.

“I do make you nervous. I never used to do that.”

“I’m not nervous. You’re crowding me and it’s pissing me off.”

He took a few steps back, his brow furrowing. “You still freaked out about that night?”

“No.”

“Anna.”

“No.” She walked past him, but he reached out and gently grasped her arm, pulled her against him.

Though she would have clocked other men for grabbing her, she melted against him. Dante’s body was familiar to her. She couldn’t help herself, she had to touch, to test her reaction. She slid her palms along his biceps. Hard muscle and soft skin eased across her hands, making her tingle in places that just flat out never tingled.

And he let her, this time not pushing to be the aggressor. He let her explore without moving in to take.

Men and her and relationships—yeah, that didn’t go well. Maybe she didn’t try hard enough. She put all her energy into her work and there was nothing left over for guys. Sex wasn’t worth all the hype anyway. Quick release and out the door—that was her motto. It had worked well over the years for both her and the guys she chose.

When she was a hormone-filled teenager—before that night—and she and Dante had been filled with heat and desire for each other, then yeah, there’d been the promise of something incredible.

But all that had changed.

Now she was chest to chest, hip to hip, thigh to thigh against one solid wall of muscle, and she felt stirrings of something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Something hot and delicious, like her blood had just slowed down in her veins and begun a slow heat.

Her skin prickled with goose bumps, her breasts felt full and her nipples tightened. She jerked her head up and read flat-out desire all over Dante’s face. He hadn’t budged, wasn’t moving his hands, but, oh, man, were there clear signals in his eyes.