Serial Date: A Leine Basso Thriller (7 page)

“All the time,” she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. Leine didn't tell her about the running dreams. In them, she ran from the people she'd killed, sometimes more than one. She would wake up drenched in sweat, heart pounding, right before they closed in.

“How could you…do what you did? Didn't it affect you?”

Leine sighed. “Look, I did what I was good at. Yes, it affected me. Yes, I regret some of it. Most of the targets were low-life scum who deserved a worse death than what I gave them. With me, it was over before they knew what happened. Problem is, I can't take it back. I have to live with myself every day. With all of them.”

“I was talking about Carlos.” April's voice held a brittle edge that echoed against the empty walls of the living room.

“Especially Carlos.”

April whirled to face Leine, her face a mask of rage.

“You killed him.” Her voice broke as she clenched her fists. “He trusted you. How could you?”

Leine closed her eyes against the accusation. Yes, she killed Carlos. But she'd been tricked into it. She'd tried telling her daughter that, but after Eric's campaign of deception April wouldn't believe her. She opened her eyes, saw her daughter's anguish and knew she'd never be forgiven. April adored Carlos. She never understood how Leine could work as an assassin in the first place. She swore to April that Eric misdirected her, leading to her mistakenly kill Carlos, but her efforts were futile. Eric played April like a violin. She was twelve years old at the time and highly receptive to adult male authority. He'd convinced her Leine was lying about the incident to escape responsibility and guilt.

“It's more complicated than that, April. I-”

“Don’t. Don't justify what you did. You're a monster.” April threw her glass against the tiled fireplace. Leine winced as it shattered on the hearth.

“My mother is a monster.” April's sobs followed her as she ran down the hallway to her room and slammed the door closed.

Numb, Leine didn't follow, didn't cry. She stood by the window, unsure what to do, unable to move. Sorrow engulfed her as memories of happier times with Carlos and April surged to the surface. On a playground with April in a swing, laughing. Carlos' dark good looks, dimples deepening as he smiled, pushing April in the swing but looking at Leine, an expression of later promise meant only for her.

The sound of the door opening surprised Leine.
Now what?

April stomped down the hallway and brushed past Leine, headed for the front door. She had her backpack with her.

“April, please. Can't we get past this?”

April wrenched the door open and turned to glare at her mother. “Don't wait up.” The words fell with finality between them.

She followed her as April strode out the door. “I'll hide a key under the flower pot-” she called, but she was talking to empty space.

Leine shook her head as she wiped away a tear. The theme from
The Godfather
once again echoed from the counter where she'd left her purse. Grateful for a diversion, Leine walked into the kitchen to answer her phone.

“Leine Basso.” Her voice sounded knife-sharp.

“Sorry to interrupt. This is Detective Jensen. Do you have a minute?”

Leine cleared her throat. “Of course, detective. Has anything happened?”

“No, no. Graber's still in custody. Everything's fine, as far as I know. I was wondering-” There was a brief pause. “I realize this is out of the blue, but would you be open to having dinner with me some time?”

Relief flowed through Leine like heroin through a junkie's veins. She glanced at the empty space where April no longer stood, knowing her daughter wasn't coming back until much later, if she even came back at all.

“You know, detective, you have great timing. It happens I'm free tonight.”

***

Leine watched through the window as Jensen pulled up to the house. April hadn't come back or called since she'd stormed out of the house. Leine left fifty dollars and directions to a local grocery store on the counter. She'd placed the spare key under the flower pot on the porch. She chided herself for leaving the house after such a fight, but couldn't bring herself to back out of the date and open herself up to worrying about her angry, accusing daughter. Funny how she'd been good at hunting down targets and executing the kill, but when it came to April, she had no idea how to repair what was broken. Compartmentalizing problems she could do and she did it now.

Face it—you're just not mother material
.

Leine took another peek out the window at Detective Santiago. His smooth good looks and the fact that he knew his way around a gun gave her a little thrill she'd thought long dormant. She'd actually primped and couldn't remember the last time she wore mascara and showed off her legs in a dress. She figured getting laid would help take her mind off of April. The way Jensen looked at her the last time they'd met, she was certain dinner would be the beginning of an eventful evening.

She closed and locked the front door, leaving her problems with April inside the house, and sauntered over to the black, 1969 Camaro SS. She leaned in the window to give him a nice cleavage shot. His eyes hidden behind a pair of aviator sunglasses, she noticed an almost imperceptible dip of his head as he checked the girls out.

“Nice ride.” She straightened up and walked around the front, trailing her fingers along the clean lines of the muscle car. Jensen climbed out of the driver's side and met her at the passenger door, opening it for her with a hint of a smile.

“Glad you like it.”

Leine smiled back and slid into the front seat, letting her dress hike up enough to expose some serious thigh. He closed the door and she inched the material back down, but not before he let out a low whistle.

Yeah. So much better than what waited for her back in the house.

Bad mother.

Bad, bad, bad.

Chapter 11

They pulled into
the parking lot at
Il Buon Alimento
a few minutes before their reservation. Jensen worked it like Leine was the Queen of Sheba, opening doors, offering to let her use his jacket, aware of her every need. The maître'd showed them to a table on the patio overlooking the Pacific Ocean. For Jensen, hearing the gentle crash of the waves always took the edge off.

“This is beautiful, detective, thank you.” Leine sighed as she leaned back in her chair and took in the view. The sun had begun to set, the deep orange and red hues reflecting off the water like a kaleidoscope.

Jensen detected a pensive mood. He'd have to remedy that.

“It's one of my favorite places. Glad you approve.” Damn, she looked good. Real. The fading sunlight brought out a hint of red in her hair as it brushed past her shoulders, framing the classic lines and high cheekbones of her face. Santiago had gotten his fill of the tucked, plucked and Botoxed women so prevalent in Southern California. In the process, he'd learned to appreciate authenticity. Especially when it came to bodies. There was something alluring about a stock pair of breasts…

The waiter appeared with a basket of breadsticks. After checking with Leine, Jensen ordered a bottle of red wine. The waiter left and Leine reached across the table, placing her hand on his. The energy snapped between them.

“I really need to thank you, detective.”

“Call me Santiago.” Jensen smiled his most charming smile—the one that melted the ladies. This evening was definitely heading in the right direction.

“Your call came at a good time. My daughter's here for an unexpected visit and we're not exactly getting along at the moment.” Leine released his hand and took a sip from her water.

“Oh? I'm sorry to hear that.” Looked like they'd be going to his place later. Good thing he straightened up the living room. Even put new sheets on the bed. Twenty points. “So, is Dad still in the picture?”

Leine frowned and shook her head. “No. He died when she was two.”

“Sorry to bring it up.” Jensen shifted in his chair.

“Don't be. It was a long time ago.”

Time to change the subject. “I read in your file you worked security for the State Department before becoming an insurance investigator. How was that?”

Leine shrugged. “Kind of boring, actually. I worked with lower level diplomats. Not a lot of action, but a ton of travel. And waiting around.”

Jensen noticed a subtle difference in her demeanor when she spoke of her past. A studied casualness. Wariness, maybe, or closing up because experience taught her not to give anything away. He wondered what she wasn't telling him.

The waiter reappeared with the wine and two glasses. They both waited to continue the conversation until he'd left.

“How long have you been with the LAPD?” she asked, cradling her glass in both hands.

“Coming up on twenty years.” He laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “I guess it's true what they say: the older you get, the faster time flies.”

“What made you want to be a cop?”

“Thought it'd get me laid.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did it get you laid?” Leine's expression remained neutral.

Nice and direct. Jensen liked that. He smiled and took a drink of his wine. “Maybe.”

“The real question is, why stay?”

Jensen paused for a moment before answering. “Early in my career, I watched a guy get tapped for a murder charge and knew he wasn't guilty. I mean, he was no angel by any stretch, but he didn't kill the victim. Don't ask me how I knew. Call it a gut reaction. The job was too clean and there were other indicators it was probably a contract hit. In my estimation, this guy would never have been able to pull it off. I voiced my concerns, but it went nowhere. There was an eye witness and the jury ate it up. He got the death penalty. A few years later, evidence turned up that exonerated him. I never forgave myself for not following up on my hunches. That's when I decided to become a detective.”

“Were they able to catch the real murderer?”

Jensen grabbed a breadstick from the basket on the table and tore it in half. “Nope. Never did.”

“You say there were other indicators. Like what?”

“The killer left a calling card. An etching on the bullet. I've seen the same symbol used in two other instances: the murder I told you about, and two more a couple months later. Then, nothing.”

Leine leaned forward in her chair. “What kind of symbol?”

Jensen's smile slipped into place. “I'm sorry, ma'am, but that information is classified.” He searched her face. “You seem pretty interested in the subject.”

Leine smiled. “It's a hobby. Some of the guys on security detail would shoot the shit—I picked things up. Thought it was fascinating. From what I understand, contract killers take their job very seriously. I assume most would prefer to remain anonymous. I wonder why this one left such a distinctive mark?”

“Ego stroke, probably. I keep watching for a hit like the others but up to now, nothing. Evidently the shooter's working somewhere else, or he's dead. Either is fine by me.”

Leine took a sip of her wine. She seemed lost in thought and Jensen didn't interrupt. He looked behind him, searching for the waiter.

“We should probably order.”

The sensation of her bare foot sliding up his shin took him by surprise. It detoured to his inner thigh, then stopped as though waiting for permission. He looked up and their eyes met. There was no mistaking her intent.

“I have a better idea.”

***

The elevator doors to Jensen's building had barely closed when Leine felt his hands slide over her hips from behind. She flipped around to face him and pulled his head down for a deep, penetrating kiss. Not breaking the lip lock, he pushed her against the wall, leaning into her, his erection obvious. A groan escaped her lips. At this point Leine was beyond caring if they ever made it to his place. All the pent up frustration from her self-imposed celibacy welled up in one giant sweep of lust that surged through her body like lightning through a metal rod.

The elevator pinged and the doors opened. Bodies still connected, Jensen propelled her into the hallway and they staggered as one to his door. He fumbled for his keys, found them and unlocked the door, all the while nuzzling her neck and earlobes.

Ten points for multi-tasking, Leine thought. She slid her hand over his ass. Nice and firm. She couldn't wait to get him inside.

They stumbled through the door and Jensen kicked it closed, flipping the dead bolt. Leine didn't waste any time and started to unbutton his shirt with one hand, while the other tugged on his belt. He smiled and brought his hand around to her back, pulled her dress zipper down, grabbed the hem and lifted it over her head in one fluid motion.

He stepped back, letting out a low whistle.

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “You're beautiful, Leine. Really beautiful.”

Leine smiled and sent a silent thank you to Victoria's Secret and her mother's good genes. Without a word, she finished unbuttoning his shirt and unzipped his slacks, sliding them down to his ankles. He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his pants. When she moved to kick off her heels, he put his hand out.

“Don't.”

Smiling, Leine turned and walked slowly into the living room, lightly stroking each surface she passed, caressing a silk covered breast with her other hand, then letting it drop, bringing his focus to the part that needed his attention most.

Jensen growled and crossed the room in two strides. He took her in his arms, pressing the length of their bodies together. Leine pushed him onto the couch and, facing him, lowered herself onto his lap. He bent his head to kiss her breast and at the same time unhooked her bra.

Unable to wait any longer, she slipped out of the matching thong and their bodies melted together, all the hard and soft parts fitting just like they were meant to.

Holy Mother of God, why did I wait this long?
was the last coherent thought in Leine's head.