Authors: Karen Rose
Scarlett got the picture. ‘She was being terrorized by someone.’
‘That was my take. The last time I saw her, I didn’t say a word. I just held up my card, then stuck it in the bench and walked away.’
‘When was that?’
‘Yesterday afternoon. Around three.’
‘All right. After she was shot in the stomach, you started first aid. What happened then?’
He looked away. ‘I didn’t hear him. He must have circled around. Came up behind me. I was talking to her, telling her to hold on, not to die. That help was coming. I wasn’t paying attention.’ His throat worked as he swallowed hard. ‘I should have been paying attention. He shot me, then . . . her. In the head.’
Scarlett drew a careful breath. ‘He shot you? Where?’
‘In the back.’ His lower lip curled in disdain that seemed self-targeted. ‘But I’m wearing a vest.’
‘A vest? Why?’ she asked coolly, even as her heart thumped in relief. The size of the exit wound in the victim’s head indicated a very large-caliber weapon fired at close proximity. Had Marcus not been wearing a vest, Scarlett knew she’d have come across a very different scene. ‘Did you expect violence?’
‘No. Not like this. Never like this. But I always wear the vest now.’
‘Why?’ she asked again, watching in wary fascination as twin flags of color stained his cheekbones.
‘My mother made me promise.’
That Scarlett could believe. Marcus’s mother had lost her youngest son nine months before and had very nearly lost Marcus too. Scarlett could understand a mother’s demand for that promise.
Except . . . why would his mother believe that Marcus would be targeted again? Instincts prickling to alertness, Scarlett left the question for later. ‘And then?’
‘The hit knocked me flat. On top of her.’ He touched his finger to his chest, then held the finger up for Scarlett’s inspection. It was dark red. The black fabric of his shirt had hidden the stain. ‘Hers. When I got my breath back, I pushed off her. Then I saw . . . I saw what he’d done. I tried to go after him, but by the time I got out of the alley, he was gone again. I circled the block, but everyone had scattered, including the shooter.’
‘So then you came back to meet me?’
A one-shouldered shrug. ‘To meet someone. Either you or the first responders.’
Who’d now arrived, a cruiser coming to a screeching halt at the far end of the alley.
Scarlett glanced at the cruiser, then looked back at Marcus’s face, needing the answer to one last question before the officers arrived. ‘You said you were going to leave once I got here, when she was still alive. Once she was dead, why did you come back? There was no need to continue first aid, and the shooter might have come back again. Might have realized you were still alive. Might have tried to shoot you again. Why did you come back?’
He looked down at the dead girl, his expression stark. ‘I couldn’t leave her alone in the dark.’
Cincinnati, Ohio
Tuesday 4 August, 2.52
A.M.
Chest heaving, he took a quick look over his shoulder, then slid into the passenger seat of the waiting car and slammed the door. ‘
Drive.
’ He leaned into the cold air coming out of the AC vent, took in huge lungfuls as he tried to slow his breathing. If he’d run that fast on the track last year, he’d have a roomful of trophies.
Frowning, Stephanie pulled away from the curb. ‘Where is she? And why are you so sweaty?’
They were moving at a damn crawl. ‘Just
drive
, for God’s sake.’ Gripping Stephanie’s knee, he shoved it down, sending the Mercedes lurching forward in a squeal of tires.
‘Fuck!’ Stephanie slammed on the brakes, taking them back to a crawl. ‘You want to get us arrested? Where is she?’
He focused on the side mirror, watching for flashing blue lights.
I should have shot them both when I first saw them. Together.
His gut still twisted with fury. ‘Back in the alley.’
‘So I was right,’ Stephanie said with contempt. ‘I knew something was up. The bitch was two-timing us. You shouldn’t have left her there all alone. God only knows what she’s doing with Styx. He’s butt-ugly but he’s got the best shit around. He’s probably got her on her back right now.’
She was on her back all right
, he thought grimly. And it served her right. ‘Yeah. Probably.’
Putting on the left blinker, Stephanie shot him a wary glance. ‘I’d have thought you’d be more worried. Styx can’t be clean. I’m betting he has every disease in the book. If she’s doing him for free party Chex, he’s polluting our pool as we speak.’
‘We’ll just have to find another place to swim,’ he ground out through clenched teeth. He grabbed the wheel when Stephanie started to turn left. ‘Just where the hell do you think you’re going?’
Stephanie blinked. ‘Back to get her. We can’t just leave her here.’
‘I said drive, goddammit.’ He could hear the sirens now. ‘The cops are coming. Get us out of here.’
Stephanie hit the brakes so hard they both pitched forward. ‘The cops? What did you do?’
He met her frightened eyes with a cold, hard stare. ‘She’s dead. So if you don’t want to go to prison, you will drive like a bat outta goddamn hell.’
‘Dead?’ Stephanie’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. ‘You killed her? You killed Tala?’
‘I never said that.’ He had, but he was never admitting it to anyone. ‘But we’ll be blamed. So get us home or so help me God, you’ll end up just like her.’
Hands shaking, Stephanie obeyed, heading out of the city. ‘Why did you kill her?’
‘I didn’t say I did.’
‘So you found her there? Dead?’
‘Yeah,’ he lied tonelessly.
‘Did Styx kill her?’
‘It’s possible, I suppose.’
‘Oh my God. This is terrible. This is just . . . Oh God. Mom and Dad. They’ll know. I’m gonna be . . . Hell. They’re gonna know I took her out.’ Stephanie was breathing hard, nearly hyperventilating. ‘They’re gonna find out. They’re gonna kill me.’
‘They’re not going to kill you, because you are going to pull yourself together. Nobody’s going to find out anything.’
‘Because you say so?’ Stephanie cried. ‘Don’t be a fool. She’ll be on the news. They’ll report a body on the news. My parents watch the news.’
In her current hysterical state, Stephanie was a neon sign screaming GUILTY.
Calm her down
, he thought.
Take a breath. Take the tension down.
‘So?’ he asked, his tone now level. Reassuring. Convincing, even. He shrugged carelessly. ‘She got out. How can they possibly know you took her unless you tell them? She was an addict. She wanted to score some blow. She crossed the wrong dealer and he blew her and her boyfriend away.’
Stephanie went still. ‘Her what?’
‘Her boyfriend. She was with someone, there in the alley.’
A shuddered-out breath. ‘Who?’
‘I don’t know. Some old guy.’
‘A cop?’
‘Don’t think so. Doesn’t matter now anyway. They’re both dead. Neither of them is going to say a word.’
‘But what . . . ?’ It was barely a whisper. ‘What if he
was
a cop? If she was talking to a cop . . . maybe she was telling him everything. Maybe the cop told his partner. Maybe she told them about my family. Maybe the cops will—’
‘Maybe you’d better concentrate on driving,’ he interrupted, his tone still calm. Still smoothly menacing. ‘We wouldn’t want to have an accident.’
‘No,’ Stephanie whispered, and she seemed almost dazed. ‘We wouldn’t want that.’
She was blowing it all out of proportion. It was more likely that Tala was turning tricks in that alley and the guy was a simple john. Or maybe even a pimp. Tala was far too scared to say a word to anyone. But just in case Stephanie was even a little right . . .
Even if the dead guy wasn’t a cop, if he’d told anyone about Tala there could be trouble. He needed to find out who the guy was, how the asshole had met Tala, and who he’d talked to about her.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Tuesday 4 August, 3.35
A.M.
Scarlett Bishop was watching him.
Under normal circumstances, Marcus O’Bannion might have welcomed the openly appreciative stare of a beautiful woman as he lounged, shirtless and sweaty. But these were not normal circumstances and Scarlett Bishop was no ordinary beautiful woman. She was a homicide detective.
Sitting in the back of an ambulance having his vitals taken by a paramedic was about as far from lounging as a man could get. And the detective’s stare was not appreciative. It was watchful. Worried. Wary.
Because Scarlett was smart.
She should be a lot more than worried
, he thought.
She should be scared.
Because I am.
Not of the fact that the bullet could very well have ended him, but because, for just a moment, he wished it had.
I’m tired
. Tired of the greed and the violence and the twisted perversion going on all around him. He was tired of seeing the hopelessness in the eyes of the victims. He was tired of being too late. Because even if he could save every victim, he couldn’t erase what had been done to them. Tonight he hadn’t even saved the victim.
Tala was on her way to the ER, where they’d pronounce her DOA. Because she’d reached out to him for help.
I should have been paying attention. I should have kept her safe.
He’d known she was being abused. The fear in the young woman’s eyes had been real, tonight and every time he’d seen her in the park.
She trusted me. And I let her down.
‘Your pressure is normal,’ the paramedic said, removing the cuff from his bare upper arm. ‘So’s your pulse.’
Marcus had told them that would be the case, but they hadn’t listened to him, insisting on checking him out. He knew his body. Knew what it felt like when its functions weren’t normal. But they were only doing their job, so he mustered a nod and a rusty ‘Thanks.’
‘You really should go in for an X-ray,’ the paramedic continued. ‘Just because the vest kept the bullet from piercing your skin doesn’t mean it didn’t do serious damage. You may have a broken rib or two.’
‘I don’t,’ Marcus replied quietly, his focus on Bishop, who’d finally turned back to the crime scene. Starting where Tala’s body had lain, she was slowly walking an outwardly spiraling circle, taking in every detail with eyes that he knew missed very little.
Abruptly she dropped into a crouch, leaning forward to check out what looked like a pile of trash swept into a crevice along the alley wall – until her black braid slid over her shoulder. Impatiently she stripped off her gloves and coiled the braid into a figure eight, fixing it to the back of her head with some elastic gizmo she pulled from the pocket of her jeans. Her movements were quick and practiced, which came as no surprise. Unpinned, the tip of her braid nearly reached the small of her back. It likely got in her way often.
It would have been more practical – not to mention safer – to have cut it long ago. It would be a major vulnerability in a hand-to-hand fight, giving her opponent an easy way to immobilize her.
It would also give her lover something to hold on to as he . . .
No. Not going there. Not today.
But his mind already had, just as it had many, many times over the past nine months.
Ruthlessly corralling his thoughts, Marcus watched her motion to the CSU photographer, pointing to the asphalt, then pull on a new pair of gloves as the man snapped a picture.
She reached into the trash and drew out something that glinted in the beam of her Maglite. A bullet casing. A big-ass bullet casing.
No wonder my back hurts so much.
She dropped the casing into an evidence bag, then rose fluidly to continue her search of the crime scene. She was, he thought, everything he remembered. Tall and proud. Lithe and graceful. Strong, yet compassionate.
Too compassionate for her own good.
Her job was eating her alive. There were shadows in her eyes that had nothing to do with lack of sleep. He knew this because he saw the same haunted expression in the mirror.
She was haunted too. Still, she’d come when he called. Just as she’d done before.
And just as before, he’d sensed a . . . connection between them, something more than the physical attraction he hadn’t even tried to deny – not in his waking thoughts or in his dreams. He wasn’t sure exactly what the connection was, but he knew deep down that Scarlett Bishop would understand.
Understand what?
he demanded bitterly.
Me. She would understand me.
The choices he’d made. The secrets he kept. The razor-fine edge that he walked. The darkness that drew him ever closer. She would understand. She might even help him.
Which was why he’d left her alone, and would continue to do so. Because as much as he yearned for the solace she might provide, he refused to drag her down with him.
Her gaze shifted from the crime scene to the man with a shock of bright white hair who’d just joined her in the alley – FBI Special Agent Deacon Novak, Scarlett’s partner on the Major Case task force. Marcus actually knew Deacon better than he knew Scarlett, having met the man at a handful of social gatherings co-engineered by Marcus’s stepfather and his cousin, Faith, most recently the party celebrating Faith and Deacon’s engagement. Marcus had been happy for them. Deacon seemed to be a decent man.