A Righteous Kill (16 page)

Oh yeah
. Hero grimaced. “That doesn’t count if it’s justified, which it was.”

“I’m only not arguing because my brain isn’t getting all the blood it needs right now.” Luca ran a hand over his skull and face. “That would have been a decent hit had I let it land. Who taught you to throw a punch like that?”

He was trying to be nice, the asshole. Hero’s blood still thrummed with roused heat and here he was trying to shift the atmosphere out of turbo overdrive.

“Knox,” she answered.

He shifted in his seat. “I’m beginning to think those brothers of yours are bad influences.”

A smile found her and she began to relax. “Probably.” She took in a deep, cleansing breath through her nose and let it out of her mouth. Using her yoga techniques, she applied biofeedback to slow her breathing and the beating of her heart. It worked better when the cause of the stimuli wasn’t sitting within arm’s reach.

She tried a diversion tactic. “Look, I didn’t mention Alec before because at the time, I thought I knew him enough to recognize him, even in the dark. His body, his voice, and the way he walked, they were familiar to me. But I’ll admit that seeing him today made me realize how little I really knew about him, and how different people can be even from recent memory. On top of all that, it had been so long since I’d interacted with him, he never really came to mind before.”

Hero thought she heard Luca mutter something like, “Good,” as he quickly thumb-typed an email on his phone.

She ignored the pleasure that evoked.

“What did you find in his house?” she asked again. “What weapon were you talking about when you called in for a search warrant?”

Luca looked up. “You’re telling me you never saw the Roman spear he has in his study?”

Hero shrugged. “Not really my thing. I’ve peeked in there, but instruments of violence and death never interested me.”

“It very possibly could be the weapon that stabbed you in the side and killed the other victims.” Luca was all business now, never looking up from his phone.

A chill of fear spread through her, but Hero still couldn’t bring herself to believe Alec was capable of such violence. She didn’t care what Luca thought about her intuition, it had served her well up until this point. For the most part. And even though she’d made a few mistakes in life, if she couldn’t continue to trust herself, then she truly could trust no one.

And that terrified her more than anything.

***

For the years Luca had spent at the Portland Bureau, his commute served as an exercise in introspection and self-awareness. A sort of ritual in place of prayer or ecclesiastical guidance. Though he rarely worked the composite eight to five gig, the custom seemed to follow a pattern of its own. Often, the drive to work consisted of pep talks, recall drills, and memory organization. The trip home sort of worked in reverse. His focus turned to repairing the fractures in the damn containing the deep pool of darkness in his psyche. The way he pictured it was kind of like examining the structural deficiencies causing the leak and figuring out what epoxy to use to plug the darkness back inside.

Some days it worked better than others.

Law enforcement illuminated certain unpleasant truths about the nature of a man. Among the most difficult aspects of the job was facing the sometimes insignificant threads separating champion from criminal. Or man from monster.

More than the dose of blood, corruption, cruelty, and deceit that wound through daily life, the small moments of appalling self-illumination became the foremost disconcerting aspect. It remained a shameful, abstruse facet of the job. Never discussed. Never revealed. Like the unexpected arousal at a crime scene or during an explicit interview. Or morbid curiosity choking out feelings of humane sympathy at the most inappropriate times. Occasionally, it went beyond that to empathizing with a sadist or envying a crime boss.

For whatever reason, be it fear, faith, or simple rectitude, a man could fight the more degenerate instincts of his nature. The difference between a good cop and a bad guy all came down to the choices they made in the face of that innate human depravity.

Luca understood this concept better than most. Which was why he spent the entire drive to Hero’s apartment thus far berating himself for his dangerous slip of control the day before.

Just what the fuck had he been thinking?

He hadn’t, of course. He’d been too busy feeling. In the two long months he’d known Hero, that kiss brewed between them like a fine ale. The ingredients of trauma, survival, gratitude, physical proximity, and a bit of a victim/savior complex capped and fermented for the appropriate amount of time to create some incredible pressure.

Their heated confrontation shook the contents of the bottle and the cap popped off. That was all. These things happened, and they didn’t mean anything. Now that the pressure was released, their feelings would turn flat and lose that explosive, unstable element.

They could do this.

He needed to screw the top back on, in a manner of speaking. Using his very helpful self-control techniques, he’d carefully construct a place in his mind where all inappropriate thoughts of Hero would be stored and filed away, like forgotten cold case files.

The feel of her lips, the warmth of her thighs, the incomparable taste of her. These memories would be locked up and
never
investigated or examined again.

When he’d dropped her off that afternoon to Vince, who’d been waiting at her apartment when they’d returned from the professor’s, his partner had offered to take his entire shift that night, as well, to make up for his absence that morning.

Luca jumped at the chance. He wanted to be on site for the search warrant at the professor’s house.

Also, he needed the space from Hero to clear his head and get some sleep. To shore up his mental and emotional resources for the indefinite amount time he’d have to stay by her side. He’d just have to ignore the fact that he’d been attacked by an extreme bout of insomnia last night. The things they’d said to each other before their kiss echoed off his bare walls. Had she been right about him? Had he traded thorough, impartial investigative skills for paranoid indiscriminate suspicion? Whatever his perspective, he closed cases. His stats were among the top in the department. He had the commendations to prove his efficiency. But maybe his decade at the FBI had altered him in more ways than one. Or maybe he’d always been this way.

Twisting and thrashing in his bed, his flesh maintained the uncomfortable warmth of perpetually heightened arousal. Yet inside he’d been cold, empty. The exposed walls of his apartment expanded into a stark, vacant space. Devoid of life or color. It was funny how he’d never noticed that before.

Maybe he’d have to get some movie posters or some shit. Spend some shoe money at an art gallery? Luca scowled as he pulled into the mansion’s long driveway. What the fuck was happening to him? Next he’d be ordering umbrella drinks and paying more than twenty bucks for a haircut.

He started his slow count the moment he got out of the car. This way, he’d reach ten
before
he reached her apartment.

Vince greeted him again at the door and stepped aside to let him through. Instead of his suit he wore faded jeans, work boots, and an unzipped hoodie over an overpriced vintage tee. He could almost pull off college art student.

“You seem relaxed,” Luca noted.

“Yeah.” Vince rolled his shoulders. “It’s been quiet.”

Luca scanned the empty loft. “Where’s Hero?”

“She’s in her room changing for the yoga class she’s teaching tonight.” Vince examined Luca’s uniform of baggy green Notre Dame basketball shorts over tighter shorts beneath, black ribbed tank, and dark Adidas Porsche cross trainers. “
That’s
what you’re wearing?”

“What?” Luca looked down. “It’s
just
a yoga class. Isn’t it like glorified stretching?”

Vince snorted. “Better not let your girlfriend hear you say that.”

“Don’t call her my girlfriend. She’s the job.”

“Hey man, I’m part of this whole clambake. Just playing along.” Vince held his hands up. “Where you going to put your gun?”

Luca grinned. “Guess.”

“I’d say up your ass if that was an option,” Vince laughed. “What went down at the professor’s house?”

Luca’s smile evaporated. What had Hero told Vince? Had she spilled about the kiss? Vince wasn’t a stickler for protocol, but he also wasn’t known for discretion. “It was nothing,” Luca defended. “Just a little fuck up, you know? In the heat of the moment. It won’t happen again.”

“I was asking about the Search Warrant, but now I kinda want to hear what’s doing with this other thing.” Vince’s gaze sharpened, though his smile remained unperturbed.

Luca mentally beat the shit out of himself.

“Search Warrant was a complete waste.” He tried misdirection, hoping Vince would forget about his quasi-confession.

“I
knew
it.” Hero was a flash of energy across her loft, gathering a bag from the couch, her mat from a corner, keys off the table. “Alec isn’t John the Baptist.”

It took an inordinate amount of time for Luca to process her words as his entire focus zoomed in on her incredible body.

The white leggings clinging to her skin tinted with green when they caught the light from her Moroccan chandelier. The spandex-type fabric hypnotized both the men into silence. The same color graced her spaghetti-string top along with some dark green Indian-style accents that clung so close to her perfect shape they could have been tattoos.

The memory of her strong, lithe leg hitched around his hips wiped any other thought from Luca’s mind.

“Where was I?” Luca asked quietly.

“Who knows?” Vince’s eyes started at Hero’s face and drifted south in an appreciative inspection.

Luca hit him in the ribs with a sharp elbow.

“You were telling Vince that I was right about Alec.” Hero threw on a long, thick sweater, breaking the spell. Her smile was smug and radiant as she pulled her loose hair from beneath the collar and fiddled with the ginormous buttons.

“Not necessarily.” Luca dropped his gym bag and tried to collect his thoughts. “You’re professor
is
a double-dealing blowhard.”

Vince snorted. “Did you use your ivy league doctorate to figure that out?”

“Wait.” Hero put up a hand. “You’re a
doctor
? Of what?”

Luca looked heavenward. “Criminal Psychology with a lesser degree in Forensic Pathology. We both have post-graduate degrees. You have to in order to get where we are in the Bureau.” He gestured to Vince.

“
Seriously
?” Hero gawked. “Why don’t you introduce yourself as Doctor Ramirez?”

“That’s easy,” Vince said. “Because ‘Special Agent’ gets
way
more play.” He stuck out his tongue and made a lewd gesture.

Hero nodded as though that was sound and acceptable reasoning.

Luca made an impatient sound in the back of his throat. “So the forensic team processed the weapon and the van on scene.” He steered the conversation away from himself. “Turns out the antique spear
Doctor
Graham claimed to have acquired in Antioch is actually some cheap knock-off he probably bought at a Scottish Festival or Renaissance Faire.”

“No shit?” Vince whistled.

“Not only did it have no blood on it, but if someone attempted to stab a person with it, the superglue holding the spearhead together would malfunction.”

Hero narrowed her eyes. “Ugh. It was a knock-off of a knock-off? What a pretentious dick. I’m so embarrassed I ever fell for his—”

“Hey.” Vince slung his arm around her shoulders, and she smiled up at him. “We all have a few bangs in our past we’re not proud of. He was no Special Agent or anything, but he
was
a doctor.” He reached out and nudged at Luca with a playful wink.

All Luca knew was his partner needed to get his hands off Hero before he knocked him into next week. “Let’s get going,” he urged.

“What about the van?” Hero asked.

Luca shook his head. “They found nothing. No blood, no tools, no traces of you or ties to the other women.” He held his hand up to cut off Hero’s incoming I-told-you-so. “That doesn’t necessarily clear him as a suspect. He’s a smart and careful man. He could have plenty to hide.”

“I’ll look deeper into his background for ya,” Vince offered.

Yeah, he should
so
get started on that. Like right now.

“Thanks, man.” Luca reached into his bag, pulled out his gun, checked the magazine, and began to secure it to his thigh holster.

“You can’t do yoga with your gun strapped there,” Hero cautioned.

“Watch me.” He flashed her a confident smile. “How hard could it be?”

Chapter Twelve

“Let me embrace the sour adversity,

For wise men say it is the wisest course.”

~William Shakespeare, King Henry VI

Luca found the seventh level of hell somewhere between plow pose and eagle pose. While he attempted to balance on one foot while trying to wrap one leg around his other leg and turning his arms into a pretzel, he cursed the entire country of India. All of their gods, their incredibly addicting food, and any past and future incarnations of whoever thought up this bull shit exercise. His holster was chafing his thigh raw and fighting his every movement. The oppressive smells of patchouli, essential oils, and goddamn hippies were exacerbated by the fact that the room had to be at least a million degrees. To add insult to injury, his undershorts kept crawling up his ass.

Whatever happened to going to an air-conditioned gym and throwing heavy weights around, or doing plyometrics? If you wanted to get sweaty, go outside and use a pig skin as an excuse to beat the shit out of your friends.

Luca snuck surreptitious glances at the two other men in the class. He had to admit they were both in decent shape. One looked kind of like a young Lenny Kravitz with dreadlocks and a nose ring. He was way too proud of his underwhelming six-pack and made a point to be shirtless in a room full of ladies.