She’d never been so tempted to take what was so obviously being offered, to lift her fingers and touch his mouth, to taste him, to forget everything and fall back twelve years and take up where they left off.
And she still had no idea who he was, where he’d been, or what his involvement was in the murder the other night.
She took a step back and he let go, cocked his head to the side and gave her a lopsided smile.
Was he playing her?
Damn.
“Get out.”
His smile died. “I don’t get you.”
“No, you don’t ‘get me’ at all, and you’re not going to.”
She walked to the door and opened it.
He stood in front of it. “I’m worried about you, Anna. About what happened.”
“Then or now?”
“Both”
“Don’t be.”
“I don’t like what’s going on. And I can’t believe you’re not taking it seriously.”
Her palm began to sweat as she held the doorknob. “I’m taking it plenty seriously. That’s what this meeting was about.”
“But I don’t think you see yourself in the mix.”
“How could I not see myself in it? I was there. And I’m the one who got the flowers and the note. Believe me, I’m in it and I know it. But I also know I’m not the one who killed Tony Maclin.” That’s what worried her. The guys did. She understood there was a connection between what they did and George being killed in the alley. She knew there was a reason someone had left her the flowers and the note. She just didn’t know what the connection was.
He stepped outside the door. “Keep your eyes open and watch your back.”
“I always do. I’m a cop, remember? I can take care of myself. You do the same.”
He nodded and walked away. She shut the door, locked it and couldn’t help but watch him as he made his way to his car, got in and drove away.
She turned and went to the kitchen counter, grabbed the glass Dante had drunk from earlier and bagged it.
If he didn’t want to share what he’d been up to the past twelve years, she’d find out for herself.
She might be emotional about him, but she wasn’t stupid.
Pent up, his head filled with thoughts of friendship and murder and Anna, Dante drove around, needing to think, to process everything from tonight.
It had been great to reconnect with all the guys. He’d sat back and listened to them talk, watched the way they interacted with each other. They’d all grown up and changed, just like he had. But in so many ways they were exactly the same as they’d always been. Jeff still thought he was slick, Roman was still the glue that held them all together as brothers and Gabe still hung back and observed, a lot like Dante did.
And then there was Anna, the Snow White to all of them, though they’d never been dwarves, but they sure as hell had rallied around her from the beginning when they first met her. They’d probably all fallen madly in love with her from the first day she’d showed her sunny smile and disposition and refused to let the school bullies push around the new kids. With her dad as a cop, the other kids had left them all alone, and Anna had become their champion.
No one had stuck up for them before. They’d never been worth anyone’s time.
Anna had stood in front of all of them as if she could single-handedly take on the school bullies. Not that they’d needed her help, of course. Dante had gotten used to being the new kid in school and had to fight his way out of plenty of scraps. So had the other guys, but a couple of the group of foster kids were younger than Gabe and him, and he and Gabe protected the younger boys.
And then Anna had told the bullies where they could shove it.
Fourteen-year-old Anna, skinny as heck with braces on her teeth, looking tough as steel as she squared her shoulders and warned the boys they’d better back off.
Dante and Gabe, bigger than the boys threatening them, had taken a couple steps forward. Dante supposed they’d looked menacing enough to get the bullies to back the hell off. Anna, looking pretty smug and satisfied, had turned to them and grinned and told them all to stick with her because her daddy was a cop and she’d make sure no harm would ever come to them.
Oh, yeah. They’d all fallen in love with her that day. And were loyal to her after that.
Except when Dante had run out on her right after the worst night of her life.
That hadn’t been the most loyal thing he could have done.
Then again, he’d done what her father asked him to do, what he thought was best.
Or maybe he’d just been scared as hell and wanted to get out of town. Who had he been protecting then—Anna or himself?
He found himself at the alley, pulled over and got out. The tape had been removed, so he walked down toward the Dumpster. It was late, dark and so humid he was drenched in sweat in a matter of minutes, no different than a lot of hellholes he’d been in over the past twelve years. Only this time he wasn’t hiding from the enemy and swiping sweat from his eyes to clear his field of vision.
This time he was alone—just him and his memories.
A rumble of thunder rolled in the distance. Rain was coming, just like that night twelve years ago. The ground had been wet and Anna had been wearing those cute white shorts that had ended up muddy and bloodstained. He walked behind the Dumpster, still able to clearly see her pushed against the brick wall of the building, holding the tattered edges of her blouse together, her eyes wide with shock, blood streaming down her chest.
His hands balled into fists. If he could, he’d beat the hell out of Tony Maclin again. Dying once wasn’t enough punishment for what the bastard had done to her. He needed to suffer over and over again.
Just like Anna continued to suffer.
She hid behind the bravado of her detective’s badge, but Dante saw the haunted look in her eyes, especially when they’d stood in this alley where George was killed.
She still wore that look today, hidden behind her tough look and the badge she wore. He saw the fear in her eyes when he came close, felt the tension in her body when he touched her. She hadn’t forgotten one minute of what had happened to her twelve years ago.
So who the hell had dragged it all up again by repeating the crime?
Who wanted them to remember?
Eight
“S
omehow I thought I’d find you here.”
Anna looked up and cast a smile at Roman as he entered the squad room.
“I couldn’t sleep anyway, figured I’d go over some of my cases. What are you doing here?”
He took a seat at the desk across from hers and opened his laptop. “Same thing. How’s George’s case going?”
“You know I’m not supposed to talk about it with you. You’re not on this case.”
He gave her a look. “Come on, Anna. You know how it works. Officially, yeah, I’m off the case. Unofficially…”
His sentence trailed off. And yeah, she did know how it worked. His name wouldn’t appear on any official records or notes on the case, but he’d work the case with her. That’s just how it was done. She’d do the same thing if it was someone close to her who’d been killed.
“You talk to the captain about it?”
“Yeah. He told me I was off the case. I argued with him. He told me I was off the case.”
She leaned back in her chair. “Then he told you that you could work it unofficially, right?”
“Well, yeah.”
She shook her head. That’s the way it worked. Even the captain knew the drill. With uniforms? No. With the detectives? There was more leeway. You didn’t push out a decent detective just because of involvement.
“Just watch your step on this one and don’t screw it up,” Anna said.
“I’m as good a detective as you. Your dad made sure of it.”
She grinned. “Yeah, he sure did, didn’t he? He’d accept no less than perfect from either of us.”
“I owe him everything, so let’s make him proud by bringing in the bastard who killed George.”
She pushed a few buttons while Roman opened his system.
“How are things with Tess?” she asked while she let Roman take a look at the case file on George.
“Great. She’s working a heavy-duty tax case for a national company, so we haven’t seen much of each other lately. She’s doing a lot of traveling.”
She peered around her monitor. “That must suck.”
“It does. I thought things were getting serious, but she’s a career woman. Hard to pin her down. I think she’s married to her job.”
Anna scooted her chair so she could see Roman. “And does that mean you want her married to you instead?”
He laughed. “Ever the matchmaker, aren’t you?”
Was she? She’d never thought about it that way, but she’d like to see her guys settled. None of them were yet, and it was time. Maybe if Roman got married, that would get Jeff to think about grabbing a woman and settling down. And who knows—maybe even Gabe would turn his life around.
She could wish, anyway. “You know I want you to be happy. Tess is a sweetheart. What’s wrong with tying the knot?”
“Not sure if I’m ready for that step yet, but maybe down the road things could be headed that way.”
She was glad to hear it. She loved him like she loved all the guys. He, like Gabe and Jeff, were the brothers she’d never had.
Dante, on the other hand, was something entirely different.
“So, got any new leads?” he asked.
“Nothing. There was no trash service that morning, no witnesses located. Forensics report on the bag of drugs came back as suspected—an ounce of coke. Pretty good stuff, too. Street value is about eight hundred dollars.”
Roman whistled. “Any prints on the bag?”
“Yeah. George’s. No one else’s.”
Roman grimaced. “That’s convenient.”
“Isn’t it? Anyway, autopsy is scheduled for this morning, so I’ll head over and watch that. You’re welcome to come with me if you’d like.”
He shook his head. “There’s no way I could watch George’s autopsy. I can work the case with you, but that? I just couldn’t.”
“I understand. I’ll go and find out all I can about George’s murder.”
“What’s there to find out? Somebody beat him to death and cut him.”
“Maybe that’s all there is to it, and maybe there’s more. Hoping the M.E. can tell me more. Maybe the CSU will find hair or fibers or something the killer left behind.”
“Yeah, you know as well as I do that shit only happens on television. The amazing find under the microscope that solves the case in the last five minutes.”
“True,” she said with a laugh. “We should get so lucky. It would up our solve rate, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah, and we’d all get commendations. But that doesn’t happen. Most of our cases are solved with good old-fashioned legwork and dumbass luck.”
“I’ll take dumbass luck right now. I want to get this guy.”
“Me, too, honey.”
Anna was right on time for the autopsy, gloved and masked and in the room. Dr. Norton had George on the table, ready to cut when she walked in. She stayed quiet and out of the way while the doctor did his inspection of the body and dictated his report, though half the time she wondered if he was talking in his official report or if he was talking to her.
“Somebody really did a number on this guy. Bruising on the torso, especially the ribs. Looks like he was kicked several times.”
“Any shoe impressions on the skin?” Anna asked.
“None apparent. Looks like whoever kicked him did it with the toe of their shoe or boot. We found no fingerprints on the body itself, no hair or fibers that didn’t appear to belong to the victim or the victim’s clothing. You’d think a crime like this someone would leave something, especially if it was an argument that escalated into the beating this man took.”
Damn. Someone had been thorough in making sure they didn’t leave any evidence, which meant it wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment crime of passion or anger. This was a deliberate attack and whoever had done it had been meticulous.
“What about the knife wound on his chest?”
The doctor leaned over and examined with his fingers, then put the magnifying mirror over the heart-shaped wound and motioned her over.
“It’s crude, as you can see. Maybe the carving of the heart was done in a hurry, as an afterthought. The cut isn’t too deep.” He measured. “About two centimeters in.”
“Any estimate on the type of knife?”
The doctor looked up. “Yeah, sharp and pointy.”
“Ha-ha.”
“The cut isn’t jagged, so the knife wasn’t serrated. Small blade. Some kind of pocketknife, probably.”
“We found a bag of coke on him.”
Richard nodded. “We’re running a tox screen. I’ll let you know what we find.”
The rest of the autopsy was unremarkable, and Anna left disappointed. She’d expected something that would give her some clues to chase.
Right now she had nothing more to go on than she had when they’d started the investigation.
No witnesses, no fingerprints, no DNA evidence, nothing.
And that just plain sucked.
With nothing to go on and frustration eating away at her, she went to Forensics.
“You get anything on that glass?” she asked Patty, one of the techs.
“I ran that earlier. Hang on.” Patty went to a stack of reports and grabbed a file, flipped it open and strolled back toward her. “Whoever’s prints those are is clean. Not in the system at all. Any system. AFIS, Interpol, nothing. They’re clean.”
Interesting. “Okay. Thanks, Patty.”
She supposed that was a good thing he didn’t come up anywhere, but she’d run a background check on him and it was as if he didn’t exist.
No one didn’t exist. There were records of everyone. Everyone except Dante, and that wasn’t normal.
She decided to pay Paolo Bertucci a visit.
Bertucci lived in a sprawling, private, gated area with plenty of acreage that gave him space away from neighbors, unsurprisingly. His house was a remodeled two-story brick mansion set back in a thick wooded area. Perfect to give him enough privacy, especially with the gate and the security system he’d put in making the place look like a celebrity lived there.
Anna was certain Bertucci thought himself a celebrity of sorts. He frequented the clubs, always had two or three women on his arm. He dressed in designer clothes, wore expensive jewelry and drove flashy sports cars and high-dollar SUVs. He always had an entourage of bodyguards trailing him.