In Harm's Way (7 page)

Pat Winton laughed and shot Robin a sly look. “They're
all
his favorites. He's a cake freak. You cook?”

“Mama, don't interrogate her. That's
my
job,” he snapped with mock anger, then looked over his shoulder at Robin. “So, you cook?”

Robin gave a nervous little laugh, totally unused to this sort of byplay, though she did recognize it as such, and answered hesitantly. “Yes, but never cakes.”

“Then you don't
cook,
” he declared. “I live for cake.”

“Ignore him,” his mother said as she poured the batter into a tube pan and bounced the thing three times on the counter. “Settles out the bubbles,” she explained when Robin startled at the racket.

“Well, well, who have we here?” said someone from the doorway.

Robin turned at the question and prepared to greet another unfamiliar face. This woman was almost as tall as Robin and about twenty pounds heavier. She had a long brown braid hanging over one shoulder and a remarkable resemblance to
Mitch. They might have been twins. Same coloring, same smile and apparently the same disposition.

“Hi, I'm Susan,” the newcomer said, confirming Robin's guess. “You're the girlfriend? Mitch, warn us, will you? I would have dressed up!” She glanced down at her scruffy jeans and faded T-shirt.

Robin felt her face heat with a blush. “But…but I'm not his—”

Mitch interrupted. “This is Robin Andrews, Sue.” He wasn't smiling now. “We're investigating the death of Robin's husband night before last.”

Susan's smile immediately faded to a frown of compassion. She made directly for Robin and enfolded her in a firm hug. “Oh, you poor thing! I am so sorry for your loss. I know that's what the cops say all the time and it sounds so cold. But I mean it, I really do.”

Robin tried very hard not to jerk away. The woman was trying to comfort her and seemed so sincere. “It…it's okay. Thanks. My husband and I were separated.” That sounded so uncaring Robin winced. “But we were still friends,” she added. “So thank you. I appreciate it.”

Mitch's mother had come around the island and was laying a hand on her back, adding her pats to Susan's and making a sound of sympathy.

“Robin found him,” Mitch said, as if to fuel the fire of their compassion.

“How awful for you!” Mrs. Winton exclaimed. “You sit right down here, honey,” she ordered, backing Robin onto one of the stools. “Mitch, you ought to have told me. What do you mean coming in here and cracking jokes about cakes after all she's been through? You know better than that!”

“She's fine now,” Mitch said, rescuing Robin from their clutches and putting himself between them and her. “Robin's
over the shock. She's even going to help me find out who did it. Sue, we need to borrow your computer and look at a CD.”

“You insensitive clod!
Men.
I swear, they all need to be shot,” Susan declared with a huff of disgust.

Robin immediately forgave Susan's unwitting faux pas. She obviously referred to the entire male gender and not poor James.

“Sorry, Robin,” Mitch told her with a humorless half smile. “Sue rarely reads the papers.”

“It's all right,” Robin said, looking down at her lap and shaking her head. “Maybe we could just…get on with it?”

“Sure!” Susan rushed to say, “Oh, sure. Come on. The computer's already set up in the den where I was working.”

She led the way out of the kitchen, down the hall and into a room paneled with oak. An enormous television dominated the wall opposite a stone fireplace. In one corner sat a well-used desk with a laptop, a lamp and papers in disarray.

Susan scooped up the loose pages and set them aside, quickly exited the program she'd been working on and stepped away. “There you go. All yours. What's this all about, anyway?”

“Robin's husband asked her to bring this disk to him when she left New York,” he explained. “We're thinking it might have something to do with his murder. Looks like somebody's after this info. The perp stole her computer and her suitcase while she was calling the cops.”

Looking worried, Susan reached out and gave Robin's arm a quick squeeze. Surprisingly, it did lend a little comfort instead of making Robin retreat. It wasn't at all like the constant impersonal handling she'd endured during her career.

Mitch retrieved the CD from his jacket pocket, sat down in the computer chair and popped out the CD holder.

He made no move to order his sister from the room. In fact,
he had been quite open with her about why they were here. Somehow Robin had assumed he would go out of his way to shield his family from the ugliness of what had happened, make light of Robin's dilemma or simply not tell them anything.

Susan and Robin stood on either side of him, eyes focused on the screen as he worked. In moments he had opened the file and was scanning the information on the disk. He hit Print and sat back to wait until the small printer slowly ground out the page. His long, strong fingers tapped impatiently on the arm of the chair, and he was frowning.

“What is it?”

He released a sigh and nodded. “I know one of them.”

“From here?” Robin asked.

“Yes, Rake Somers, and he's no candidate for sainthood. He is very bad news.” Mitch closed out the file with the names and numbers.

“Those could be numbered accounts,” he said as he tried unsuccessfully to open the other file. It was password protected.

“It's
Andrews
spelled backward,” Robin informed him. “James always used that. Said he couldn't remember passwords and hated to write them down.”

Mitch typed in the letters and the file opened. “Kept it simple, huh?” he asked, then hummed. “Guess not all the time, though. Look at that gobbledegook.”

Robin glanced at the screen as Mitch scrolled down the first page. “Do you recognize what it is?”

“Cyrillic, I think. Russian. Better give the disk to Kick and let him get the experts on it. The FBI will want this.” He printed what he'd found, folded the pages in thirds and handed half of them to Susan. “Put these in Dad's safe as backup.” The duplicates he put in his pocket.

“Are you sure it's…Russian? What does this mean, Mitch?”

He slipped the CD back inside the music case and snapped it shut. “Looks like he might have bitten off a little more than he could chew.” His gaze sought hers. “Robin, if you know anything about this, anything at all, now's definitely the time to come clean.”

She stepped back. “No! I don't know anything about any of it! What makes you think I know something?”

Susan put an arm around her and pulled her close as she glared at Mitch. “You back off her, Mitch! Can't you see she's upset? What's the matter with you?”

“Her life depends on this, Susan. Or at least her freedom,” he snapped. “I might be able to cut her a deal with the feds in exchange for what she knows.”

Robin's breath rushed out and her knees felt wobbly. “I don't! Please, I don't know anything. James never—”

Susan led her over to the sofa and sat down, forcing Robin to join her since she hadn't let go of her shoulders. “Take it easy now,” she said in a soothing voice. “Mitch is just being mean.” She scowled over at him. “You say you're sorry right this minute. Can't you see she's telling the truth?”

Mitch felt like dirt, but every word of what he had told her was gospel. This could be espionage they were dealing with. At the very least, the Russian mafia.

He ambled over and took a seat on Robin's other side and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them. “Sorry, Robin, but whether you actually do know anything or not, I think you're in some deep trouble here.”

His mother brought coffee in on a tray and offered them a mug. Robin refused. She still eyed the computer as if it held answers, though the CD was now in Mitch's pocket. He knew she was simply lost in thought, probably wondering what the heck James Andrews had gotten her into.

He ought to get the disk to Kick today.

“What are you thinking?” Robin asked.

Mitch answered her honestly. “Theorizing. I believe your husband was killed for that disk. He knew the person who came for it and let them in the apartment. When he didn't turn the CD over—because, of course, he didn't have it yet—the killer assumed he was holding out. The apartment probably was being searched when you arrived. The killer heard you coming up the steps and hid, then took off with your things, hoping what he was looking for was in them.” Mitch patted his pocket. “Before James was killed, he could have said he was expecting the disk to arrive shortly. Then you walk in carrying a computer. That's just an educated guess, but it could've played out that way.”

She shivered. “Wh-why wasn't I killed, too?”

Mitch considered. “Could be one of several reasons. Maybe they knew the contents were in Russian and that you wouldn't be able to read it or know what it was all about. Other than Andrews himself, you don't know any of the principals involved. Do you?”

She shook her head. Standing there, hugging herself, staring at the carpet, she looked so alone, Mitch could hardly bear not consoling her. He almost reached out to do that, but then she glanced up. Her eyes held that touch-me-not look. He got the impression she might fall apart if he violated it. Even Susan and his mom were keeping their distance now, watching Robin as intently as he was.

Mitch shrugged. “You might be alive only because the killer drew the line at killing a female. Something simple as that.”

She managed a crooked little smile. “Or maybe he thought he couldn't take me. I'm not exactly a ninety-pound weak-ling.”

“A regular Amazon,” he replied, raking her length with an admiring gaze. She was slender but not skinny. There was a chance she was right, now that Mitch thought about it. As defenseless as she might look at the moment, Robin was only a couple of inches shy of six feet and moved with the confidence and grace of an athlete. Mitch didn't doubt she would have put up a hellacious fight for her life if anyone had attacked her after she found Andrews dead.

He smiled at her. “You might have something there, Robin. The gun was on the floor. But you said you moved it. If he didn't see it where he left it or where you put it down, he might have thought you took it into the bedroom with you. So, instead of confronting you, he simply slipped out unobserved, assuming you'd take the fall.”

“Why did he drop it in the first place?” she asked.

“One of the little tricks of the trade. Saves getting caught with the weapon. Besides, if he left it there on the floor, wiped of prints, whoever found the body would probably—”

“Pick it up,” she said in an awed whisper. “Of course. And I did just that, didn't I? Stupid move.”

“You'd be surprised how often it happens.”

Robin swallowed hard as if digesting the close call with death. Then she cleared her throat and seemed to cast off whatever grip fear had on her. Her change in stance and attitude amazed him. “So what do we do now?” she asked, her voice steady as a rock.

“Turn over the disk. Then if we can get word out there that the police already have it, we won't have to worry about anyone coming after you and trying to get it first.”

His mother grasped his elbow and shook it. “You be careful, you hear? And you take care of Robin.”

“You know I will, Mama. I'll give you a call tomorrow. Tell Dad I'm sorry we missed him. The kids, too.”

He nodded at Susan and shot her a meaningful look. She nodded back, assuring him she would keep an eye on the folks if he was not able to drop in every day or so.

Robin offered her hand, first to his mother, then to Susan. “It was nice to meet you both,” she said.

“I wish it were under better circumstances. Next visit, you'll have to stay for the cake,” his mother said, regaining her smile.

She drew Robin into a quick embrace. To Mitch's surprise, Robin returned it, even though it seemed to embarrass her a little. That was Mama for you. She never met a stranger.

Mitch could tell by her eyes she had a soft spot for Robin, and that made him feel good. Robin needed affection, if anyone ever did. His mother wouldn't miss picking up on that. He was glad, because it didn't look much as though Robin was going to accept any from him.

Just as well. He had no business offering it, anyway. Hunford had given him orders not to get involved.

R
obin glanced back at the Winton home as Mitch pulled away from it. It wasn't a remarkable house, only a plain brick rancher like millions of others across the country. But she had always longed for what resided inside that one. Closeness. Caring. Normalcy. Acceptance. Or was what the Winton family had abnormal these days? Robin had no way of knowing, but she hoped it wasn't.

How did people come to be the way the Winton women were? Was that inborn or learned behavior?

Mitch himself could be every bit as outgoing and affectionate as his mother and sister. He had tried to be that way with her. Of course, he had a tough side, as well, she admitted. Detective Winton of the suspicious nature. He who issued dire warnings and looked as if he would follow through with
them. A pretense, she thought now. An act that went along with his job. He was probably a teddy bear.

“Your mother and sister are very nice,” she said.

He grinned. “Yeah. They're okay, aren't they?”

“So, you have other brothers or sisters?” Making conversation with him might take her mind off the problems she was facing.

His face darkened a little, and the worry line appeared between his brows. “A brother, Mark, who's married with two kids. Lives across town.” He said the next as if he had to force the words. “I had another sister. She…died. Her children live with Mom and Dad now.”

“The three she mentioned?”

“Yes. Susan, Mark and I help with them as much as we can. They're a handful. Meg, their mother, was killed five years ago.”

“I'm so sorry,” Robin said. “Car accident?”

He remained silent for a full minute. “No. Her ex-husband…killed her.”

Robin winced. How awful! Why had she kept on with the questions when he obviously had not wanted to talk about it? She never knew when to leave well enough alone. Every time she tried to make conversation, she ruined everything. “Forgive me. I shouldn't have pried.”

“Not a problem,” he snapped, but Robin wasn't convinced he forgave her for bringing up the memory of his sister's death.

A muscle kept jerking in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. Robin did not ask what had happened to the ex-husband. She hoped he was locked up forever. Judging by the look on Mitch's face, she probably didn't really want to know what sort of justice was served on the man. Somehow she didn't think a jail sentence would have satisfied Mitch as brother to the victim and uncle to the motherless children.

Maybe that tough side of Mitch Winton was not a pretense after all. Robin only knew that she never wanted him to focus that menacing look on her for any reason.

 

Hunford had told Mitch to keep a low profile. There was the suspension. Since he'd been to the precinct only yesterday, Mitch decided to call and ask Kick to meet them somewhere.

“That was brief,” Robin observed. “You didn't tell him about the disk.”

Mitch merely shrugged. “Didn't want to go into it over the phone.” He'd given his partner their location, and they had agreed to meet at a downtown coffee shop where they sometimes ate lunch.

Shortly after the call and before they reached their destination, Mitch noticed a black Taurus weaving through traffic behind them. It remained about the same distance away, regardless of how much or how little he accelerated. “Company,” he muttered as he kept an eye on his mirrors.

If he were by himself, he wouldn't even attempt to lose them. He'd call in backup, and together they might end this thing here and now. But if something went down in a crowded coffee shop, someone might get hurt. Robin might be hurt.

“Hang on to what you got,” he warned Robin a second before he whipped around two cars in the lane beside him and continued zipping in and out wherever he could. When he was far enough ahead, he took a side street and gunned the Bronco.

The old workhorse didn't look like much on the outside, but he'd souped it up enough to leave most race cars in the dust. A youth misspent hanging around racetracks definitely had educational benefits.

“We lost him,” he said finally, when he was sure he was successful. When he looked over at Robin, he saw she was
pale as bone china and her eyes were clenched so tight he could barely see her long lashes. “Sorry if I scared you.”

She issued a shaky little hum of an answer that wasn't really a word.

“You okay?”

Her nod looked frantic and she was hugging herself again. But after a few seconds, she opened her eyes and took a deep breath, deliberately placing her hands in her lap and relaxing them. When she spoke, her voice sounded steady as a newscaster without much to report. “Yes, I'm fine.”

Mitch didn't think he'd ever met a woman with that kind of control. She looked calm now, way too calm, totally at ease. “You really missed your calling,” he told her. “Maybe you ought to try acting after all.”

She shot him a lazy look and slowly shook her head.

He parked the car on a side street, about half a block from the coffeehouse, then got out and went around to open her door. She exited gracefully showing no hesitation at all in accompanying him wherever he led.

Java Joe's was crowded and getting more so. It was close to noon. Mitch glanced around but didn't see Kick anywhere. A window booth came vacant just as they walked in and he ushered her to it quickly. The windows were tinted so that he could see out, but they would not be visible from anyone passing by. The place was on a corner. With the wraparound windows on two sides, he had a fairly clear view up and down the main drag and also part of the way down the side street.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Maybe some orange juice,” she said as she slid in across from him.

A waitress he knew pretty well came over to take their order. She smiled down at him. “Lunch or breakfast menu?”

“No, just OJ and coffee, thanks.” He wondered what had
held Kick up. He could have walked from the precinct in half the time it had taken them to drive here.

They said little, drank their coffee and juice and waited.

Suddenly Robin began to exit of her side of the booth. “Would you excuse me for a minute?” she asked.

He smiled. “The ladies' is that way,” he said, pointing toward a small hallway across the room. For a minute he considered escorting her to the door and standing outside it, but knew she would probably decide not to go if he did.

He scanned the room again for anyone who looked unaccountably interested in them. Unfortunately, a number of the men in the place were accountably interested in Robin. She was an incredibly striking woman, very tall and very noticeable.

Mitch kept his own eyes on her as she wove her way through the tables and disappeared down the hallway. He kept watching in case someone got up and followed her.

Julie, the waitress who had taken their order, was delivering a loaded tray to one of the tables situated between Mitch's booth and the rest rooms.

Suddenly, she pitched forward. The entire contents slipped off her tray causing a horrendous crash. She screamed as it happened and tried to catch herself on one of the tables as she went down. It tilted, falling sideways as everyone tried to jump out of the way of splashing liquid and sliding dishes.

Had somebody tripped the girl? He leaped up and forcibly plowed his way through the commotion, needing to get to Robin, to make certain she was all right. The corridor where the bathrooms were located had an exit to the street. Why the hell hadn't he remembered that? Before he even reached the hallway, he heard Robin shrieking like the hounds of hell were attacking.

He rushed into the bathroom. She was inside one of the stalls. “Robin? It's me!” he shouted.

She stopped screaming, fumbled with the latch on the stall
door, yanked it open and rushed out to him, throwing herself into his arms.

“I should never have let you come back here alone,” he said, gathering her close. “I forgot about that outside door.”

She gulped. Frantic fingers curled into the front of his jacket and for a moment she just held on. Slowly her breathing evened out.

After a few seconds, as if she'd commanded herself to do it, she released him, smoothed down her clothing and swept her hair back behind her ears. She lifted her chin and met his worried gaze with one that appeared totally calm.

“A man snatched my purse,” she said.

“Are you hurt?” She obviously wasn't. Mitch noted Robin's uncanny transformation and recognized the pattern that was becoming familiar. All this forced composure was making him crazy. She had to be shaking inside. Hell,
he
was.

She backed away from Mitch as he held out a hand to steady her. “I think he was just a purse snatcher. It's just a coincidence, that's all.”

“Could be.” But it wasn't and they both knew it.

“What happened exactly?” he asked.

She sucked in a deep breath and propped one hand on the sink, trying to look casual, he supposed, but really to prevent collapse.

“He followed me in and grabbed me. I bit his hand, slammed my purse in his face and pushed him, then scrambled into the stall. He tried to force the door, but I had latched it. That's when I started screaming. He ran outside, I guess. Didn't you see him?”

“No, he made it out the back door.” Mitch removed her hand from the counter, ignoring her jerk of protest and enclosed her fingers in his. They felt like ice. “Come on, let's get out of here. Kick should have arrived by now.”

“I screamed as loud as I could,” she informed him, hold
ing her ground when he would have led her out of the room. “I know yelling ‘Fire' is what they say to do, but I thought everyone might run right out the front door. I tried to draw attention to myself.”

“You sure got my attention! I bet they heard you across town. You did exactly the right thing,” he told her. “Are you okay now?”

“Yes, of course.” She seemed very reluctant to leave the rest room, and Mitch couldn't say he blamed her. Whoever was after the disk was also after her, and she knew it. The man already had the purse when he'd tried to get the stall door open.

“Can't live in here,” he told her, pasting on a smile that nearly cracked his face. “Come on, sugar, I promise we'll find you someplace safe to stay.”

“Sugar?” she repeated, arching one eyebrow.

“Colloquialism,” he explained with a shrug. “No offense intended.”

Her cold fingers had laced through his as if behaving of their own accord. “None taken.” Mitch doubted she even noticed how tightly she gripped. He hated to let go, but figured he might need that hand if someone was waiting on them outside.

He retrieved his backup weapon from his ankle holster. The .38 was small and fit comfortably in his palm, not even noticeable unless someone looked closely. Robin had watched him palm it, of course, and she
was
looking closely, like the sight of it really bothered her.

“Do you expect them to shoot at us?” she whispered as she followed him out into the hallway.

“No, but stay behind me,” he ordered.

Mitch felt sure someone would be outside waiting for them to leave. The spills causing the distraction earlier had been cleared away now and everything was back to business as usual in the coffee shop. Kick was nowhere to be seen.

Backup would be welcome right about now, but Mitch didn't want to hang around any longer than necessary waiting for Kick to show up.

He led the way through the kitchen to a door that opened onto the alley. After he looked both ways and saw no one, he ordered, “Come on. Be quick about it.”

They dashed across the alley and he pushed open another door, this one leading into the busy back room of a dry cleaners. The startled employees watched as Mitch dragged Robin through to the front, around the counter and out onto the sidewalk. Hanging a right, he hurried several doors down to a real estate office and entered. He pocketed his gun before anyone saw it and thought he was staging a holdup.

“May I help you?” a helmet-haired lady agent asked him.

Mitch reached for his badge and realized he no longer had it. Damn. “Yes, ma'am. We've seen one of your properties in Brentwood and need to make a deal. Now.”

Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. Mitch would have said just about anything to get them into one of the inner offices without causing a fuss that might be noticed from the street. It worked. The woman immediately herded them into her office and closed the door, obviously eager to make that fat commission.

Jane Higgens, as she had introduced herself, offered them a seat, then moved behind her desk. Mitch immediately took out his cell phone and punched Kick's number. Ms. Higgens looked annoyed, and Mitch shot her a look of apology.

“Hey, Kick, where the hell are you?” Mitch demanded when he heard Kick's response.

A short silence ensued. “Stuck in traffic. Where are
you?
” Now
he
sounded annoyed.

“Trying to shake a tail. We need a safe house.”

He glanced at Ms. Higgens whose ruby-red lips made a
perfect circle. Robin, on the other hand, appeared totally at ease and unconcerned, as if this were an everyday occurrence. Miss Cool. A visual lie. Her hands were fists, the knuckles white as cotton.

Kick took his time. Mitch shifted in the uncomfortable leather chair. No doubt the search was on for them, now that the perps knew the disk wasn't in Robin's purse. They'd be watching Mitch's car, his house, the precinct, probably even Kick.

“She's a suspect, Mitch, not a witness,” Kick said. “I don't think she qualifies for us putting her up at the city's expense, do you? It would be hard to justify.” Another interminable pause. “How about my place? You could take her there.”

Mitch didn't like the idea, but beggars couldn't be choosers at this point. They needed refuge and they needed it quick.

“That'll do temporarily. Don't meet us there now. Just go back to the precinct and come home when your shift's over like you usually do. Thanks.” He clicked off his phone and stowed it in his pocket.