Killer Headline (4 page)

The Chicago FBI wanted her out of the picture, and Clay was determined to scare her into backing down. He’d learn soon enough that she didn’t scare easily.

Violet finished writing a short article on the Missoula Women’s Circle and their philanthropic work, which Stu had requested last week. Hopefully, he’d find the information to his liking.

Task completed, she checked her old college Web site where she kept hoping someone would leave a comment with information on Aunt Lettie’s long-ago murder. But just as always, that in-box remained empty. Violet opened her working e-mail and found it void, as well.

Her phone rang.

She pulled the receiver to her ear, wondering if she’d hear Clay’s voice. Not that she was interested, of course.

“Hey, Vi, it’s Ross Truett. I got my hands on that photo you requested. Should arrive in your e-mail momentarily.”

She smiled. “I owe you.”

“Let me buy you dinner and we’ll call it even. I’ve got business in Missoula on Friday.”

“Sounds great. Call me when you get to town.” Violet hung up and drummed her fingertips on her desktop, waiting for the incoming e-mail.

Ross was a college friend from a moneyed family
who had rapidly worked his way up to assistant editor of the
Yellowstone County Reader.
The young editor had everything going for him. At least that’s what her mother would say. She’d also say how happy she’d be if Violet connected with Ross on a permanent basis. Correction. Her mother would be thrilled. But as far as Violet was concerned, he wasn’t Mr. Right.

Clay West came to mind.

Talk about Mr. Wrong.

Hopefully, he’d be heading back to Illinois in a few days. Cute as he was, the detective had a cocky, smug attitude. She’d teach him a lesson or two about trying to change a woman’s mind when she had her course set. Once she had gathered enough evidence to complete the Mafia story, Clay would realize she played hardball.

Then she had another thought. What if she wasn’t the reason Clay had come to Montana? What if law enforcement suspected a third woman would be murdered? Made sense they’d want their undercover cop in place when surveillance learned of an another impending Mafia hit in the Treasure State. Perhaps this time in Missoula. The cops and the Feds wouldn’t want Violet snooping around for fear she’d interfere with their operation.

And the next victim? Shouldn’t she be warned?

Clay would probably remind Violet she was in danger, too. But the Mafia hadn’t found her yet. Despite what he had said.

The message from Ross appeared on her screen along with an attachment. His comments were almost identical to what he’d said over the phone. Dinner the
next time he was in Missoula. Attachment for your eyes only. Keep the photo under wraps.

Violet saved the file to her flash drive then glanced around the newsroom. The others—occupied in their own work areas—either chatted on their phones or had their eyes focused on their monitors.

Clicking on the attachment, she watched the photo unfold across her screen. A woman lay on the floor, her neck scraped and bruised. Death by strangulation was never pretty.

Carlie Donald. May she rest in peace.

Would there be a third victim? If so, God help her, as well.

V
iolet spent the next few hours covering a fund-raiser for a local charity event. She’d compiled the information Stu wanted but still needed quotes from the event chairman and other key figures. She’d been playing phone tag with them all morning.

Frustrated at her lack of progress, Violet logged on to her e-mail. A new message from Gwyn appeared in her in-box.

I tried to call you, but your cell went to voice mail. After talking to you on Sunday, I realized this might be the only time Angelo’s out of town for a while. To throw him off, I told him my mother was sick and that I needed to fly home to Texas. Instead, I caught a flight to Spokane. I rented a car and arrived in Missoula about thirty minutes ago. Can we meet? I saw a coffee shop near the UMT campus. Favorite Grinds. I’ll be there at 11:30 a.m. today.

A mix of surprise and excitement swept through Violet. She had wanted to help Gwyn, but never ex
pected she’d come to Missoula. Leaving Angelo and the mob behind had taken courage.

Gwyn had told Violet about the two women in Witness Protection who had been murdered. Surely, she realized Angelo could follow her. No matter what she needed, Violet would do everything she could to support Gwyn’s decision to change her life for the better.

Violet checked her watch. Eleven-ten. She needed to hurry. Reaching for her purse, Violet glanced up to find Jimmy staring over the top of her computer screen.

“Looks like you got a hit,” he said.

She closed her e-mail. “Do we need to talk about personal privacy?”

He tilted his head and exaggerated a pout. “You never minded sharing information in college.”

“College ended three years ago, Jimmy. Things have changed.”

He stared at her before asking, “What happened with that detective from Chicago who kept calling yesterday?”

Violet had never mentioned where Clay was from. “How do you know he was from Chicago?”

Jimmy raised his brows. Guilt was written all over his face.

Frustration bubbled up in Violet. “You tapped into my voice mail?”

“Only because you were tied up. The phone kept ringing. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t urgent in case I needed to rescue you.”

First Clay, now Jimmy. Why did men think she couldn’t take care of herself?

“You invaded my privacy,” she was quick to point out.

“I’m worried about you, Vi. If you keep pushing your own agenda, Stu might cut you off for good. You said the story you’re working on is big. Remember we’re in Missoula, Montana. Your moment of glory ended with the internship in Chicago.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Moment of glory?”

“You pushed hard to land that internship and sacrificed friendships to get there.”

“What?”

“A number of us had input into that final article you submitted with your application.”

“Your photos were the only things I used that weren’t my original work, and I gave you full credit for each and every shot.”

Jimmy closed his mouth and stared at her.

Realization hit Violet like a two-by-four. “You wanted the internship.”

“I wasn’t the only one.”

“Did anyone else feel I acted unfairly?”

He didn’t respond.

“Give me a name,” she prodded.

“All right. Ross Truett. He was in the running.”

Violet stood, pushed back her chair and grasped the edge of her desk. “I didn’t take the internship from anyone. I earned it fair and square.”

Throwing her purse over her shoulder and grabbing her coat, Violet closed down her computer, pulled out the flash drive and swished past Jimmy.

What he’d said stung her pride. She’d never done anything to undermine anyone else. In fact, she’d been elated when Jimmy received praise. Ross, too.

Violet shrugged into one arm of her coat while the other sleeve dangled down her back. The elevator opened.

The first face she saw stepping on to the third floor was handsome, clean-shaven and smiling with a Cheshire-cat grin.

“Violet, I was hoping we could talk.”

“Clay?”

Stu was the next to disembark just as Quinn walked around the corner. His face clouded when he saw the traffic jam by the elevator.

Violet tried to capture her elusive coat sleeve, feeling like a worm writhing on the cement after a rain. Any minute now, she expected a size-twelve shoe to smash her underfoot.

Clay grabbed the edge of her coat and redirected her flailing arm into the opening. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she was grateful for his help and made a feeble attempt at introductions.

Clay shook hands with Stu. “Good to meet you, sir.”

The editor looked at Violet over the top of his bifocals when she mentioned Clay worked for the Chicago P.D. “Don’t tell me you’re interviewing him for that story I rejected yesterday?”

“Story?” She feigned surprise.

“About the women murdered by the mob?”

So Stu had been listening.

Clay continued to smile, which she didn’t appreciate.

The cop might find her present situation amusing, but trying to untangle herself from the noose Stu had slipped around her neck wasn’t a laughing matter.

“You’re not digging up more information, are you?”
Stu added, like icing to a cake that was already top-heavy and ready to crumble.

“No, sir.” She glared at the detective, hoping he’d help her out of her predicament.

Clay gave her a women-can’t-refuse-me wink she found especially annoying. “I thought we had a date for lunch.”

“Not today.” She glanced from Stu to Quinn, who had moved into the circle, and to Jimmy, who stood off to one side.

Behind them, the elevator doors remained open.

Undoubtedly, God was offering her a way out.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but I have an appointment to keep.”

Violet pushed through the men and entered the elevator just as the doors closed. She let out a deep breath, relieved to be free of all of them. Well, maybe not Quinn. He’d been an innocent bystander.

Stu, Jimmy and Clay, on the other hand, were people she never wanted to see again.

Clay ranked at the top of the list.

“I could use a little help here.” Violet glanced toward the heavens as she braked for yet another red light.

Everything was working against her today.

Stu and Clay on the same elevator? Talk about bad timing.

Once again, her cheeks burned as the scene at the paper replayed in her mind. Undoubtedly, she’d looked like a bumbling fool, struggling to put on her coat, one arm in, one arm out, babbling introductions and making no sense at all.

True to character, Clay had kept that cool cop facade she found both intriguing and irritating. Why was his body language impossible to read?

Stu was the exact opposite. One glance at his face said it all. He thought she’d gone off the deep end again. So much for gaining the boss’s confidence.

Jimmy would probably have a few pithy comments to lob her way the next time he hovered around her desk. The only thing she’d read in his expression was disappointment.

The coffee shop appeared on her left. A no-parking zone stretched to the corner. Traffic was heavy, and Violet inched through the intersection and found a place to park about thirty yards down on the right.

Thank you, Jesus, for small favors.

Keys and purse in hand, she hastened along the sidewalk to make the rendezvous. Even at this distance, she looked through the coffee-shop windows and spied a number of customers sipping specialty drinks at small circular tables. Others waited for orders at the counter.

As Violet paused at the crosswalk for the light to change, someone caught her eye. Pretty with long brown hair, furrowed brow. Could that be Gwyn?

The woman’s eyes locked on something behind Violet. Her face twisted. She rose from the table, grabbed her purse and left her coffee.

Glancing over her shoulder, Violet saw nothing.

The woman hurried outside.

“Ma’am? Gwyn?” Violet called to her over the sound of the passing traffic.

Digging into her purse, Violet retrieved her cell, clicked on the camera mode and took a photo. The woman’s face appeared on the tiny screen.

“Wait, Gwyn?”

Violet watched her blend into a crowd of college students. Once the light changed and Violet crossed the street, the group—including the fleeing woman—had disappeared from sight.

Violet stepped inside the shop, the robust smell of brewing coffee sailed around her. She studied the remaining customers. No one glanced her way.

After ordering a tall coffee, heavy cream and two sugars, she dug in her purse for her wallet.

“Coffee’s on me,” a deep voice said behind her.

She turned to find Clay standing too close. The crooked smile curling his lips did something to her equilibrium. She took a step back and reached for the coffee the barista held out to her.

“I can take care of myself, Clay.”

“Sure you can, but humor me, okay?”

Dropping a ten on the counter, she jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

“This should cover whatever he orders.” Ignoring Clay’s protests, she walked to a table by the window.

He grabbed a black coffee and pulled out a chair across the table from her. “Who was that woman?”

“What woman?”

“Come on, Violet. Level with me. The woman you were racing to meet. You took her picture with the camera on your cell phone.”

Cops could be so annoying. “A friend.”

“Do your friends always run away when they see
you?” Again, that aggravating but loveable crooked smile.

She shrugged. “Some follow me wherever I go. Others run away. I’ve got strange friends.”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For calling me a friend.”

Her cheeks burned. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?” He raised a brow and feigned sadness. “So, I’m not a friend?”

Violet sighed. “You do this on purpose.”

“Do what?”

“Talk in circles. You enjoy twisting my words. We’re not friends. We’re acquaintances. Friends require knowing each other longer.”

“We met two years ago.”

“And haven’t seen each other since. That makes us acquaintances.”

“At least, it’s a start.” He raised his mug. “Here’s to our friendship. May it develop into something more.”

His playful mood disappeared, and he stared at her with such raw emotion that her stomach turned a cartwheel.

All around them people chatted, chairs moved, outside traffic lined the street, but Violet’s attention was riveted solely on his eyes—eyes that were saying unspoken words that made her skin tingle.

Surely she wasn’t reading him right.

Her fingers gripped the coffee mug. With effort, she pulled her gaze from his as the waitress brought two sandwich platters and dropped one in front of Violet. Clay accepted the second plate and thanked the waitress.

He smiled at Violet. “I thought you might like something to eat. Pastrami on rye sound okay?”

Her favorite, although she wouldn’t tell him. Her mouth watered as she looked down at the plate. After the coffee in the middle of the night, she’d stayed awake for hours, finally falling asleep just minutes before her alarm went off. Snooze control had given her twenty minutes more in bed but forced her to race from the house without eating breakfast to keep from being late for work.

She lifted the sandwich to her mouth and closed her eyes, savoring the delectable flavors. “I didn’t realize I was hungry,” she confessed.

Violet reached for the mustard at the same time as Clay. Their hands collided. Heat warmed her cheeks. If only her body wouldn’t give her away.

“Ladies first,” he said, but his hand remained playfully on top of hers. He rubbed his finger over her skin.

Her blush deepened. No doubt, the entire upper half of her body was scarlet. Yet she didn’t move, enjoying the way his finger stroked her flesh.

Food was the last thing on her mind at the moment.

“I plan to hang around for a few days, Violet. Maybe we could pool our information and work together?”

Exactly what she’d wanted when she’d called him just days ago.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he continued. “Maybe if I help shed light on what’s been happening, you’ll see law enforcement is handling the situation.”

“Sharing information sounds good, Clay. Why don’t you start by telling me about the mob’s next target?”

He pulled his hand back and shrugged. “I don’t have any information about a possible hit.”

“Isn’t that what brought you to Missoula?”

He sighed. “I told you. I’m here to talk some sense into you.”

She dropped the sandwich to her plate and put her hands on her hips. “You mean, what I’m doing is so important that the Feds sent you on a two-day road trip to shut me up?”

“Ensure your safety is more like it, Violet.”

“Because two women have died in Montana and another one is in the crosshairs of the mob.” She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “Give me her name, Clay.”

“Her name and an exclusive on the story?”

Now she was getting someplace.

“Her name will be Violet Kramer if you don’t stop involving yourself in the mob’s business.”

She straightened and jammed her thumb against her chest. “Now you’re saying there’s a hit out on me?”

He let out a deep breath and shook his head. “You’re amazing.”

She smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Maybe
determined
would be a better word to use.”

“Tell me who you
think
will be the next victim in Witness Protection?” she pushed.

“Violet, please.”

“Green eyes? Between twenty-one and forty years of age? Attractive?”

He shoved the sandwich into his mouth and turned his gaze toward the traffic passing on the street.

Violet picked up her sandwich and took a bite. Why couldn’t Clay be more forthright about why he was in
Missoula? Before she could come up with a way to make him talk, he pointed across the street.

“Isn’t that the guy who was hovering around you at the paper today?”

“Jimmy?” Violet followed Clay’s gaze. Instead of her old college friend, she saw Quinn Smith climb into his car. “He’s probably covering a story in the area.”