Killer Headline (5 page)

“How much do you know about the people you work with, Violet?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, I need a list of their names. Surely, Stu would provide the information. I’ll have the FBI run a background check on the staff.”

As if that wouldn’t improve her odd-man-out status on the
Daily News.
“Don’t do me any favors, okay?”

“Someone broke into your house, Violet. You can’t be too careful.”

“Yeah, but I have to work with these people. They might not appreciate their private information aired like dirty laundry.”

“If they don’t have anything to hide, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

Except there was a problem. Clay was jumping to the wrong conclusion and would pull innocent people into an investigation that would prove nothing. The
Daily News
staff was made up of hardworking folks who did their jobs and went home to their families. No one was involved with the Chicago Mafia. In fact, the longer she thought about Clay infringing on their privacy, the more irritated she became.

Violet grabbed her purse and scooted her chair. “I have to get back to work.”

“How about dinner tonight?”

“I can’t, Clay.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Maybe both, but she wouldn’t let him in on the secret. “I have plans.”

He stood as she walked away. She needed some space and time away from Clay. The reaction he had on her was too unsettling. Violet liked to be in control, and she felt anything but when she was around the cocky Chicago cop.

In her rearview mirror, Violet saw Clay follow her back to the office. Once she pulled into the parking deck, he drove past.

“Good riddance,” she mumbled although only halfheartedly.

Riding the elevator to the third floor, she stepped into the hallway, rounded the partition and slipped behind her desk. She worked on fillers for the rest of the afternoon. By 6:00 p.m., only a handful of reporters were still at their desks.

Digging her cell out of her purse, Violet pulled up the photo she’d taken on the street, sent it to her computer and stared at the face of the woman she’d seen running from the coffee shop. Pretty, with high cheekbones and an expressive brow.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Violet closed the window and glanced at the partition. Quinn’s strong nose and receding hairline came into view.

He startled. “Violet? Didn’t expect to see you here this late.”

She shrugged, feeling her cheeks heat as she recalled the last time they’d met. Thank you, Clay West.

“I’m catching up.”

Quinn nodded knowingly. “Stu told me you’re working on a police recruitment piece.”

“Which needs to be rewritten.”

“Editors demand perfection. But I’ve seen your work so I’m sure that wasn’t the problem.”

His words of encouragement bolstered her flagging confidence. If only Quinn were her boss.

“I know you’re eager to take on something with a little more meat, but bide your time, Violet. Right now, Stu’s a little top-heavy with writers. You’ve seen the stats. Folks are getting their news from the Internet. Subscriptions are down. The economy has problems. He’s walking a tightrope, trying to keep the paper up and running and in the red. Stu has some tough decisions to make in the days ahead.”

“You don’t mean cut staff?”

“That’s one option.”

Violet swallowed. She needed this job.

Quinn leaned over her desk and patted her hand in a fatherly sort of way. “Just work hard and you’ll be fine. Stu knows you’re a strong writer.”

Glancing over his shoulder, his eyes keyed on Jimmy’s desk. “Some others may be in a less advantageous position.”

“Are you talking about Jimmy?” Her old friend needed his job as much as she did.

“I’m not mentioning names. But since you brought him up, Jimmy’s work sometimes falls short. Plus, you’ve seen how he and Stu butt horns.”

Actually, she hadn’t seen anything of the kind, but her desk was in the far rear corner. No telling what hap
pened in the upper-echelon cubicles, closer to the windows and within earshot of Stu’s office.

Quinn sniffed. “I know you two go back a long way, but watch your step. Jimmy knows Stu’s thinking about making cuts. Stu asked me to rework the last story Jimmy submitted.” Quinn pursed his lips and shrugged. “I’d hate to think you’d be caught in the middle.”

“Middle?”

“That’s right,” Quinn said. “Between Jimmy and Stu.”

Quinn pointed to his cubicle. “I’ve got a few leads to follow up on. Don’t work too late.” He smiled and walked away.

Violet shook her head, wondering what to make of the latest turn of events. After what had happened yesterday, Stu could easily decide she was the weak link in the editorial chain. Jimmy seemed to be standing on firmer ground.

Violet closed down her computer and grabbed her purse. She didn’t want to think about decreased subscriptions and a declining economy and staff cuts that loomed on the horizon.

She needed the security of her home.

The thought of last night’s intruder played through her mind.

Okay, her not-so-secure home. She’d follow Clay’s advice and make some changes. Install a couple dead bolts, maybe an extra floodlight or two.

Glancing at the darkening sky outside, she tried to remember if she’d turned on a light this morning when she left for work.

Of course not.

Hopefully, Clay wouldn’t be hanging around to rub her nose in her mistake.

A tingle of regret settled over her. Deep inside, she liked having the cop underfoot.

Stupid hormones, no doubt, which could get a girl in trouble. And that’s exactly what Clay West was—trouble.

As night fell, Clay kept his eyes peeled on the Plaza Complex, waiting for Violet to leave the paper. He’d followed her back to work after their run-in at the coffee shop and parked on the street where he could see the front door of her building and the adjoining parking deck.

Grabbing his phone, Clay opened the photo file to the picture he’d taken of the woman leaving the coffee shop. Violet wasn’t the only one with a camera phone.

He sent the photo to Jackson’s e-mail, then called the FBI agent. When he answered, Clay told him about Violet’s aborted rendezvous with the woman on the run.

“I sent you her photo,” Clay said. “See if you can identify the woman.”

“Any idea who she is?”

“No clue. And she didn’t hang around long enough for Violet to talk to her.”

“We’ll run the photo and let you know if we come up with anything.”

“Thanks.”

“Did Missoula P.D. find out anything about the punk you apprehended on Violet’s street?”

“The guy played dumb for most of the morning. Officer O’Reilly said he broke shortly after noon.”

“Hunger probably helped.”

Clay chuckled. “No doubt. Jamie claims he was taking a circuitous route to meet up with a dealer who lives on the next block. Missoula P.D.’s had an influx of perpetrators come in from Spokane. They’ve known someone was selling in the neighborhood, but didn’t have a name or location. They’re staking out the druggie’s house as we speak and hoping to make a bust as soon as they have probable cause.”

“What about a possible connection with Chicago? Did they run a check on Jamie?”

“It’s in the works. O’Reilly said he’d let me know if they uncover anything.”

“Does the reporter realize she’s had two close encounters?”

“You’d think she’d realize she might be in danger. Unfortunately, she was quizzing me over lunch about a possible next Mafia hit. She’s convinced I’m in Missoula because the mob’s coming after another green-eyed woman.”

“Did you tell her if she continues to ask questions about the Martino family, she may be writing her own obit?”

Although Clay knew Jackson was trying to make a point, what he had said hit Clay hard. Cute and feisty though Violet was, her life was in danger. He needed to keep up surveillance so the mob wouldn’t have an opportunity to take her out.

“From what we’ve gotten,” Jackson continued, “the mob’s focused on the Treasure State. There’s talk of
more women in danger. The U.S. Marshals are attempting to notify everyone in Witness Protection who fits the Mafia-hit profile.”

Clay remembered what Violet had said. “Green eyes. Age twenty-one to forty. Attractive.”

“That’s right.”

Violet fit the bill, except her eyes weren’t green. They were brown. Big brown eyes that revealed so much of what she was trying to hold inside—her control, her desire to excel, her wit and charm.

“Listen, Clay, I’ve got another call. Let me know if anything new develops.”

“Will do.”

Clay disconnected and continued to watch the Plaza Complex, knowing Violet would eventually leave her office. He’d follow her home and keep her under surveillance tonight. She’d been in danger last night, and he may have thwarted two attempts to do her harm.

From what Jackson said, the mob was on the move to Missoula. Violet was too naive to see the danger, but Clay was well aware of what could happen if he let down his guard.

If he had to stick like glue to Violet to keep her safe, that’s exactly what he’d do. Whether she liked it or not.

Approaching her house from the alleyway, Violet turned into the garage and hurried inside, locking the door behind her. Her answering machine blinked from her desk. She hit the play button and listened as a telemarketer started his spiel.

Delete.

The second call made her smile.

“Vi-o-let.” Her neighbor Bernice used a long “o” for the middle vowel. “Come over when you get home from work. I’ve cooked a nice dinner and hope you can join me tonight.”

Bernice’s home cooking was hard to pass up. Plus, Violet had told Clay she had plans. Her neighbor’s invitation proved she did. Violet was out the door before giving her decision a second thought.

The temperature had dropped with the setting sun. Luckily, Bernice didn’t live far. The penetrating cold chilled Violet’s bare hands. She rubbed them together as she climbed onto the porch and knocked on her neighbor’s front door, glancing back at her own house to ensure she’d left the light on. The door creaked open behind her.

“If it isn’t my old friend Violet Kramer.”

She turned, realizing her self-control might be in danger again when she saw who was standing in the open doorway.

“Y
our former commitment must have fallen through. I hope it wasn’t anything important.” Clay tried to keep from smirking. “There’s a fire in the living room. Come in and get warm.”

“Ah…what…are you…?”

Violet acted as flustered as she had this afternoon at the newspaper. Her cheeks pinked from embarrassment. Both of them knew she hadn’t been forthright about her plans for the evening. Of course, he hadn’t mentioned his new lodging, either.

Bernice stepped from the kitchen. “Everything will be ready in a minute, Violet. Pot roast and mashed potatoes. Clay said you were friends in Chicago.” The older woman smiled. “He saw my Room For Rent sign in the window and needed a place to stay. After that ruckus last night, I decided we could use a man around to keep us both safe.”

“You’ve moved in with Bernice?” Violet glanced from Clay to Bernice and back to him again.

“The man’s a gem.” Bernice’s face glowed with approval. “I told Clay about that leaky faucet in the back bathroom, and he’s already fixed the problem.”

Violet smiled, although the effort appeared painful. Clay imagined her mentally reviewing everything she’d said at the coffee shop and weighing whether dinner was worth having to put up with him. Hopefully, the mouthwatering aroma of Bernice’s pot roast would convince her to stay.

“I was worried last night and asked the Lord to protect both of us,” Bernice continued. “Then Clay appeared on my doorstep today. He’s an answer to my prayer.” She patted his arm and headed back to the kitchen.

The delightful landlady put more stock in his attempt to help than was deserved, but Bernice’s stamp of approval must have had a positive effect because at that moment, Violet shrugged out of her coat and handed it to Clay.

“Did Bernice run an FBI check on you before you moved in?” she asked.

So that was the problem. “I’m just trying to keep you safe, Violet.”

“And get me fired.”

He hung her wrap in the hall closet then followed her into the living room. A couch, love seat and overstuffed chair sat around a brick fireplace where logs blazed.

“The fire’s warm, and you look cold. Didn’t your mother tell you to wear a hat and gloves in the winter?”

Violet threw him a frosty stare. “She was partial to mittens.”

“Which you probably lost on occasion.” He indicated for her to sit on the end of the couch closest to the fireplace. “I picture you as a free-spirit type of kid.”

“More like strong willed. I don’t give up.” She raised her brows.

He got the message. She was determined to write the article on the mob and their connection to the two murdered Montana women.

“My mother called it my Aunt Lettie stubbornness,” Violet added as she settled into the plush cushions on the couch.

“Her sister?”

“Sister-in-law.” Violet’s face shadowed for an instant.

“A favorite aunt?” he asked, hoping to determine the reason for the momentary change of expression.

“According to my mother, I followed in her footsteps.” Violet failed to say more, and Clay wouldn’t push the point.

She crossed her sculpted legs. He fought to keep his eyes from straying south, although he did glance at her shoes. Open toes and much too delicate for Missoula’s winter. “You ever wear boots?”

She looked at her feet. “Only when it snows. Are you always so inquisitive? You sound more like a reporter than a cop.”

“Look, Violet, we may have gotten off on the wrong foot last night and then again today.”

She smiled. “You’re going with a theme. Don’t tell me you have a thing for feet?”

He swallowed down the laughter that tried to surface. The first comment that sprang to mind was he liked all parts of her anatomy, but that hardly seemed appropriate. Besides, their relationship needed to remain focused on the business at hand.

Her safety. What she knew about the Mafia. The
name of her informant. All important topics that had nothing to do with shoes or feet or how he wanted to sit next to her on the couch.

Instead, he plopped down on the love seat. One guy in a two-person couch made him feel like the odd man out.

For the next few minutes, they chatted about Missoula and the scenic spots located in this section of the state, keeping the conversation neutral and safe.

Bernice stepped into the living room and invited them to the table. She led the way and explained the seating arrangement. “Clay, help Violet with the chair on my left. You sit to my right.”

He held the indicated chair for Violet, then did the same for Bernice before he took his seat.

The savory smells made his mouth water. Bernice had cooked some of his favorites. Green beans, mashed potatoes and homemade rolls along with the roast and gravy.

Clay unfolded his napkin and laid it across his lap, waiting to dig in as soon as Bernice started to pass the various dishes.

Instead, she turned to him and gently touched his hand. “Such a pleasure having both of you at the dinner table this evening. We have so much for which to be thankful. I’d appreciate you offering the blessing, Clay.”

“The blessing?”

“Why yes, Clay. We need to give thanks to God for the food.” Bernice gave an inclusive glance at Violet. “And for the three of us being together.”

At least, he had an idea of where to start. He
was
thankful to be with Violet. Surely he could put some of his feelings into words.

He bowed his head, dropped his hands to his lap and fiddled with his napkin under the table.

“Father…God, thank You for this food.” He stole a glance at Violet. Her eyes were closed, hands clasped, head bowed. “And for allowing our paths to cross. We’re grateful for Bernice’s cooking and for our hungry appetites.”

Bernice chuckled under her breath.

“Please keep Violet safe,” Clay continued.

Her eyes popped open.

He winked. “Amen.”

“That was lovely.” Bernice’s smile of gratitude was genuine. “The Lord gave you the right words this evening.”

He looked across the table at Violet. Too bad he never seemed to have the right words to use with her. When he was around Violet, he felt as if he was out on a high ledge with nowhere to go but down.

She looked up again and her brown eyes locked on his.

The room shifted. She had a dangerous effect on his equilibrium as if he were standing on the edge of a mountain cliff and had just been struck with the random vertigo that sometimes flooded over him.

Step back or jump.

At this point, neither option made sense.

After dinner, Clay insisted on washing the dishes while Violet helped Bernice tidy the kitchen.

“Isn’t he wonderful?” she whispered to Violet.

Seeing the muscular cop up to his elbows in soap-suds did soften the ambivalent feelings Violet had harbored toward Clay since he’d first appeared uninvited on her doorstep. She was beginning to realize the man had charm.

Once the dishes were dried and put away, Bernice fixed a pot of coffee then excused herself, claiming she needed her beauty sleep. Clay poured coffee, carried two mugs into the living room and sat next to Violet on the end of the couch closest to the fireplace.

“Heavy cream and two sugars. Did I get it right?”

“Perfect.” She took a sip of the hot brew then leaned forward and placed her mug on the coffee table. Sitting back, she found Clay’s arm curving around her shoulders.

He flashed her a hope-you-don’t-mind smile that sent a jolt of electricity to her midsection. The scent of his aftershave brought back memories of a darkened alleyway in Chicago. Her head swam as if she were caught in a swift current, being carried downstream. For half a second, she thought he was going to kiss her.

Instead he said, “Why don’t you tell me what you know. How’d you find out about the two murdered Montana women?”

Once a cop, always a cop.

Surely if she shared information, he would do the same. Plus, he might be able to open a door that had remained closed to her.

Violet told him how she learned about Ruby Summers Maxwell and the picture of Ruby’s twin sister, Jade, standing with Marshal McGraw.

“His office handles Witness Protection,” she explained. “Fairly obvious that Ruby was in the program.”

“What about the other woman?”

“Carlie Donald entered Witness Protection after testifying against a member of organized crime who worked in Philly.”

“So the Martino family didn’t have anything to do with her murder?” Clay asked.

“I never said that. Carlie wasn’t killed because of the man she put in jail, but because of her green eyes and her participation in the Witness Protection Program.”

“And green eyes are important because—?”

“Because Eloise Hill has green eyes. Years ago, when she testified against Salvatore Martino, her photo was in all the newspapers. I tracked down various stories in the archives. One of them mentioned her green eyes.”

Violet had also learned Eloise had a child named Kristin, although she doubted the baby had any relevance to what happened in Montana. Violet decided to reveal what she’d learned about Clay.

“From what I found, your parents were killed in an auto accident. No relatives to take in their only child.”

“No relatives
willing
to take in their only child,” he corrected, frustration now evident in his voice.

“You were thirteen when you entered the Southside Foster Home and remained there for five years.”

“I aged out at eighteen.”

“Eloise was one of the other teens.”

Clay nodded. “She was a few years older. For some reason, she decided to help the new kid settle in. Once I was Eloise’s friend, the other kids accepted me.”

“Testifying against Salvatore Martino forced her into Witness Protection.”

“That’s right.” Clay nodded. “And her courage to go
up against the Chicago don made me realize I wanted to work in law enforcement. Someone has to draw a line in the sand and say what’s right and what’s wrong or the bad guys win.”

Violet shook her head ever so slightly. “You’ve known all along Eloise was the reason the Martino thugs killed the two women in Montana.”

His lips twitched seductively. “Yeah, but I needed to find out how much you knew. You did your homework, Violet. Where’d you get the information?”

“A source who might be in danger.”

“The woman at the coffee shop?” he asked.

Violet held up her hand. “I won’t tell you anything until I talk to someone about getting her into the Witness Protection Program. I left a message with the U.S. Marshals office in Billings. Unfortunately, no one called me back.”

“Earlier you mentioned Deputy Marshal Micah McGraw. I know his brother. Jackson McGraw is the FBI Special Agent-in-Charge of the Chicago office.”

“Tell him I want protection for a woman associated with the mob.”

Clay’s brow furrowed. “I told you to be careful, Violet. We talked about how you are in danger. The Mafia doesn’t play around.”

“And what about other women who might be in danger? Shouldn’t they be warned? At least they’d know the Mafia could be closing in if they read the article I’m writing, which exposes what’s happening in this state.”

“Printing something in the paper would blow the FBI operation and could endanger those already in Witness Protection.”

“No, Clay, I’d be helping, not hurting their attempts to skirt the mob.”

He sighed. “You’re only seeing one side of the picture.”

“And you’re only interested in the side that affects you. What happened in Chicago that landed you in trouble? The way I heard it you pummeled a onetime pimp until backup arrived. You two had a history, only I couldn’t find out what or who was involved.”

Clay clamped down on his jaw.

She waited for him to respond. Maybe she’d gone too far.

He sat for a moment, staring at the fire. Finally, he grabbed their mugs off the coffee table and stood.

“It’s late and you have to work tomorrow. I’ll get my coat.” He took the mugs to the kitchen then walked to the back of the house. A door closed.

A few seconds later, Violet’s phone rang. She pulled the cell from her purse and lifted it to her ear, hearing a sharp intake of breath before the connection died.

A Chicago area code but not the number Gwyn had used the night before last. Violet hit the call back button. Before anyone answered, Clay returned to the living room, coat in hand.

“I’ll walk you home,” he said.

Violet flipped her cell closed and stood. “Really, I’ll be fine on my own.”

He raised his brow.

She sighed. “Okay, I know. A girl’s got to be careful.”

He grabbed her coat from the closet and helped her slip it on. Shrugging into his own jacket, he held the door for her.

The night had turned even more frigid. Clay wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they hustled along the sidewalk. Violet’s coat was lightweight, and she enjoyed the warmth of his embrace.

Stars twinkled overhead, and the moon—a bit larger than last night—lightened their path. As if there had been an unspoken pact, they turned to frivolous chatter that made them both laugh as they climbed the steps to Violet’s porch. An inside lamp glowed through the window, and the porch light brightened the stoop.

Clay took the key from her hand and unlocked the door. “Let me check the house before you go in.”

He quickly moved from room to room, opening closets and glancing behind furniture and into the corners. Tonight, Violet appreciated his concern for her safety.

He returned to the porch. “Everything looks okay. I noticed the laundry-room window was locked and the curtains drawn.”

“I’m trying to do what you tell me,” she said, feeling her lips twitch with mischief.

“Just remember the danger hasn’t passed. I’ll keep an eye on your house throughout the night so don’t worry. My cell phone stays on. If you hear anything that doesn’t sound right, call me.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard, Clay.”

“Cut me a little slack, Violet.”

He smiled in an alluring way that made her neck tingle and her internal temperature rise.

Quickly as it came, the smile vanished. Stepping closer, he caught her chin with his right hand and looked into her eyes.