The Heart of A Killer (4 page)

But now, he realized he’d missed a lot. He shifted his gaze to Gabe. Motorcycle and tattoos. What the hell had
he
been up to all these years?

Ellen hung up and laid the phone on the table. “Roman’s working a case, but he’s going to send some uniforms out around the area to search for him.”

Dante could do more. “Is George’s phone like yours?”

“Yes.”

“What’s his cell-phone number?”

She gave it to him. Dante pulled out his phone and entered the number. “I’ll be right back.”

He went out to his car and grabbed his laptop from his bag, came back inside and set it up.

“That looks like all symbols or a foreign language. Is it?” Ellen asked, looking over his shoulder while he worked.

“Not really.”

Gabe leaned over and took a look, then arched a brow. “Dude, where the hell have you been?”

Dante didn’t answer. There’d be time for explanations later, after they found George.

“What are you doing?” Ellen asked.

“Triangulating George’s position via his cell.”

“You can do that?”

“I can do that, provided his cell is turned on or isn’t damaged.”

It didn’t take long. Tracking began to pinpoint the location of the phone on the map, drilling down from the state to the city to the cross streets.

Dante’s blood turned cold. He lifted his gaze to Gabe. His gaze narrowed.

“No way,” Gabe said.

There? That location?

What the fuck?

“Did you find him?” Ellen asked.

No way was he going to tell Ellen. Not yet. Not until they knew something.

“I don’t know, but Gabe and I will go check it out. You stay here in case he comes back.” He stood and grabbed his phone. “What’s Roman’s number?”

She gave it to him and he made the call. Roman was shocked to hear from him, even more surprised about where Dante wanted to meet, but said he was finishing up his case and he’d meet them there.

They walked outside and he turned to Gabe. “You following?”

“Right behind you.”

Neither of them stopped to talk it over. There was nothing to say. Not until they got there.

The drive took about ten minutes. Nothing in the city took long to get to. As he drew close to the one place he didn’t want to revisit while he was here, his muscles tightened. The last time he’d been here…

He didn’t want to remember that night, didn’t want to relive it. He’d come back to erase those ghosts of the past, not be reminded of all that blood, of what he and his brothers had done, of what had happened to Anna that night.

But as he pulled down the side street and parked just before the alley, a feeling of dread overcame him.

The one thing he’d learned over the past twelve years was to trust his instincts, his gut. It had never been wrong, and when something felt bad, he was usually right.

This felt bad. Just this once, he wanted to be wrong.

Gabe pulled his bike behind him and the two of them got out.

“I don’t like this,” Gabe said. “Something’s wrong.”

“Agreed. This smells like a setup.”

“Anyone else know you were coming in besides George and Ellen?”

Dante shook his head.

A black sedan pulled down the street and parked behind Gabe’s bike.

Dante smiled as Roman exited the car, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt.

Roman had changed, had filled out. He was muscled, his light blond hair darker now and cropped short.

Dante met him halfway, holding his hand out to shake Roman’s. Roman pulled him into a hug.

“I can’t believe you’re here, man. Where the hell have you been?”

“Here and there.”

Roman stepped back. “It’s been too long. You just disappeared after…” He shifted his gaze to the alley. “After that night.”

“I know. I needed to get away. I’m sorry.”

Roman nodded. “I understand. It was rough on everybody.”

Dante wanted to ask about Anna, but now wasn’t the time. “You ready to check this out?”

“You really think George came here?”

Dante shrugged and shoved his fingers into the pockets of his cargo pants. “That’s where I tracked his cell.”

“How the hell could you track his cell?”

“I have ways.”

Roman slanted a curious look his way. “I want to hear about that.”

“Me, too,” Gabe said. “But let’s get this over with first.”

Dante drew in a breath and nodded.

They rounded the corner into the alley, and it was like slamming back in time.

He’d been in the midst of war, been shot at, had ducked for cover as the world exploded around him. He’d been wounded in the line of duty and had spent hours, minutes, seconds wondering if he’d just drawn his last breath.

But he’d never been through anything as awful as that night twelve years ago, when he’d seen Anna lying there covered in blood.

He’d never wanted to come back here again. Ever.

“You okay, Dante?”

He gave Roman a curt nod. “I hate this place.”

“Me, too.”

“Ditto,” Gabe added. “Let’s hurry up and get out of here. This place creeps me out.”

The Dumpster loomed like a monster in the dark, still positioned in its same spot in the center of the long alley. Now a streetlight shined over it like a monument to that night, forever marking the spot where they killed someone.

“Why here?” Roman asked.

“I don’t know. This is where his phone tracked to.”

“That makes no sense. George doesn’t even know about that night.” Gabe paused, looked at Dante. “Does he?”

“I didn’t tell him.” Dante looked at Roman.

“I didn’t, either.” They started moving again.

“Jeff wouldn’t have said anything, either,” Roman added.

“Which means George would have no reason to come here,” Dante said. “If anyone had told George, Ellen would find out. Who would want her to know?”

“None of us,” Roman said.

The closer they drew to the Dumpster, the tighter Dante’s throat became.

When he saw the shoe, he stopped.

No.

“What?” Roman asked, then followed the direction of Dante’s gaze. “Oh, shit.”

They ran the rest of the way, Dante pushing past the Dumpster to land on his knees on the wet asphalt. His hope that it was an old drunk sleeping it off was obliterated by the sight of the blood, the torn shirt and the heart-shaped carving on George’s chest.

Same as Anna’s.

Dante felt for a pulse, but George was already cold. There was nothing. He was dead. He lifted his gaze to Gabe and Roman and shook his head.

“Jesus Christ,” Gabe whispered as he looked down at George’s body.

“I think I might be sick,” Roman said, crouching down next to Dante. “This is just like— What the fuck, Dante?”

Dante couldn’t speak yet, could only stare at the beaten body of his foster father—his father. The tough but loving man who had been a rock in his life, who had given him a home, had shown him that discipline didn’t mean beatings, that love was unconditional, that no matter how many times he’d screwed up, he’d still be loved.

George was dead, killed the same way he and his brothers had killed that guy in the alley that night. And there was a heart carved into George’s chest the same as Anna.

What the hell did it mean?

His head swam with questions. He turned to Roman, who had pulled his radio to call it in.

Dante took another look at George, then pushed off his knees and stood, looking around the alley, searching for something…anything that would give him a clue as to why the fuck this had happened.

“Who did this?” Gabe asked, looking as lost as Dante felt.

“I don’t know. Ellen said he went out earlier, she thought for a short drive. She tried to call him when he didn’t come back, but she didn’t get an answer.”

Roman had already gone to his car and come back with his evidence kit. He’d gloved up and leaned over George’s body, swallowing hard as he checked George’s pockets.

“Yeah, here’s his phone.” He tucked the phone in an evidence bag and slid his fingers into the other pocket of George’s jeans, paused and pulled out a clear plastic bag filled with white powder.

“What the fuck is that?” Dante asked

“My guess is cocaine,” Gabe said. “About an ounce.”

“And you know this how…?” Dante asked.

“Because he works for Paolo Bertucci,” Roman said.

“The mob-guy Bertucci? That family’s still around?”

Gabe didn’t say anything, just turned his attention to the bag. “What’s George doing with coke in his pocket?”

“Good question,” Roman said.

The scream of police sirens interrupted any further discussion. Roman bagged the coke as the uniforms arrived. Dante wished they could hide the drugs, but he knew they couldn’t.

George, with coke? Had he come here to do a deal? It made no sense.

Black-and-whites blocked off both entrances to the alley. In short order, yellow police tape roped off the alley, and crime scene techs began working the area. The medical examiner had arrived and was looking at the body.

And Dante still hadn’t called Ellen. He wouldn’t call her. He’d have to do this in person. Did Ellen know about the drugs?

God, right before the couple’s anniversary. What was he going to say to her?

Another unmarked car pulled up at one end of the alley in front of the tape. Another detective, he imagined. He’d let Roman handle him.

Dante folded his arms and waited while the car door opened. The lights were shining on them, so he couldn’t see the detective coming at them until he—no, make that she—moved in front of the lights.

He caught the flash of badge clipped to her belt, which was attached to a very nice set of hips, the swing of a dark ponytail and the piece attached to her holster. His gaze lifted to rounded breasts in a polo shirt, and some very wide, very shocked amber eyes.

No fucking way.

Anna.

Two

A
nna Pallino’s steps faltered when she entered the alley.

First, because she was in this godforsaken alley again, a place she hadn’t set foot in since that night twelve years ago. Now she was back again, and someone was dead in the alley. Again.

Second, Dante Renaldi was back.

Those were enough to justify the stutter in her step.

Roman greeted her.

“What the hell is this?” she asked as she caught sight of Gabe standing next to Dante. “Old-home week? Dante comes back and you three decide to have a reunion here?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then why am I here?” Something had obviously happened, but why would Roman call her to this crime scene? Because Dante was here?

And why the hell
was
Dante here?

She hated questions with no answers.

“Thought you’d want to know. That’s George Clemons back there.”

Third reason she almost tripped over her own feet. “George? Oh, my God, Roman. I’m so sorry. What happened?”

He laid his hand on her arm to halt her forward progress. “You need to know, Anna. He’s been beaten to death.”

She sucked in a breath and grabbed onto Roman, fighting to stay in the here and now. “And? There’s more. Tell me.”

She saw the reluctance in his eyes. “Tell me.”

“Someone carved a heart in his chest. Right where…” He glanced down at her shirt, at her left breast.

Oh, God. No. The heart carving just like hers. Her scar throbbed and she resisted the urge to touch it, to rub the ache away.

George Clemons, beaten just like the guys had beaten Tony Maclin that night.

She took a slow, long breath, then let it out. “I don’t understand.”

“Anna.”

Dante appeared beside her, but she had no time for him. Not now, not when her vision was nothing more than a pinpoint of light.

She had to focus on the scene and only the scene. It was the only thing that was going to get her through this.

She pushed past them both. “I need to see it.”

“Don’t,” Roman started, but she was already on her way to the body. To George Clemons, a nice man who’d raised foster children ever since he’d been discharged from military service.

And his wife, Ellen. Poor Ellen.

She knelt beside the body. Richard Norton was on the scene already, thank God. She was glad to have the chief medical examiner on this case.

“What have you got?” she asked, pulling on her gloves.

“Warm body. Based on liver temp and lividity I’d say he hasn’t been dead more than a few hours at most. Won’t know cause of death until I do the autopsy. He’s a bloody mess.”

That he was. Someone beat him badly, worse than the guys had ever pounded on Tony Maclin.

“This is interesting,” Richard said, pointing to the heart carved into George’s chest.

“Yes, it is.”

“Someone loved him to death, I guess.”

She grimaced. “So not funny, Richard.”

Richard grinned. “Hey, I thought it was one of my better lines.”

“George Clemons, our victim here, was Roman’s foster father.”

His smile died as he looked over his shoulder to where Roman stood with Dante and Gabe. “Oh. That’s a pisser.”

“Anything else you can tell me?”

“Not until I get him cleaned up and try to figure out what killed him. I don’t see any obvious bullet or stab wounds on the body, other than the carving here, but like I said, he’s a mess.”

“Okay. When will you autopsy?”

“Probably sometime tomorrow or the day after. I’ll check my schedule and let you know.”

She patted his shoulder. “Thanks.”

She stood and walked the scene, looking for evidence, then moved over to talk to the crime scene techs. “Find anything?”

“No,” one of the guys said. “It’s like whoever did this vacuumed the place up after he was done. There’s nothing. Not even a gum wrapper. The only evidence is the victim himself. But we’re picking up whatever we can.”

“Okay, thanks.”

She turned around and there he was.

Twelve years. Twelve goddamn years and not one word.

“Anna…”

“When did you get back into town?”

So much for the reaction Dante had hoped for. If Anna was surprised or shocked to see him, she was sure masking it well.