He moved aside the stack of DVDs and lifted a binder marked with a consultant logo she recognized. “My boss—and I do have one—hired Rivers and Oxford to analyze our ratings and poll viewers. Seems that the folks out there in TV land want more Kelly Johns.”
“Really.”
“Yes. And we’re going to give them what they want. Which means more on-air face time for you. Not bad, huh?”
“That’s an interesting development,” she said cautiously. He had to be telling the truth, at least in part. But Kelly guessed he hadn’t found an SYSC who was capable of replacing her. The acronym stood for Someone Younger Sexier Cheaper, and everyone around the station knew what it meant. His offer didn’t mean she was going to stop looking over her shoulder to see if anyone was gaining on her.
“The shootout seems like a good, gory story. The corruption thing you were working on with Laura, forget it. That stays spiked. No one wants to see visuals of tax returns and listen to a lot of complicated explanations.”
Kelly didn’t want to seem eager, and she wasn’t. Receiving what amounted to a death threat had dampened her enthusiasm a little. Deke had hinted at a link between the Dallas ball and the Atlanta investigation. That card was one hell of a link.
“Let me think about it. I’m not sure what our angle should be.”
“Dead gangsters, what else,” Monroe said. “Cars riddled with bullet holes. I guess they mopped up the blood, but maybe you could sweet-talk some cop and score forensics photos. Put it all together and get the sound editor to add some bang-bang and screaming sirens. Special Report, with Kelly Johns,” he intoned in an announcer’s voice. “How does that grab you?”
News didn’t just happen, it was made and remade in the studio. Business as usual. She still wasn’t sure.
“Hey, one more thing. That redhead. What happened to her? Gordon showed me the tape.”
“She disappeared.” Kelly was relieved that Monroe wasn’t taking her to task for not being first in line to see it.
Her boss pointed the pencil at her. “That’s our angle.
Cherchez la femme.
Look for the woman. Hype it to the max.”
“I can’t find her if the cops can’t.”
Monroe rolled his eyes and groaned. “Do I care? I have a seven-day schedule to fill up. If the shootout story fizzles out, we move on to something else. Atlanta is a big, wicked city. I see a lot of Special Reports starring you in the future.”
Kelly made up her mind. He was offering her something she had wanted, badly. Finding out who’d sent the card or what someone thought she had to do with Deke’s investigation would take weeks or months. She might never find out who’d delivered the damn thing. “Give me a day or two to get started.”
“Not a problem. Just make sure that we know where you are at all times. And, Kelly”—he pointed the pencil at her—“don’t work alone. That’s an order.”
Kelly almost smiled. Deke wouldn’t let her. Monroe didn’t have to know who she would be working with.
She asked if there was new information on the building and Monroe shoved a file of printed-out material at her. “Do your homework. And you can thank Coral Reese for getting that.”
“I will.”
The message light was blinking when she got back to her office. She’d missed his call. Damn and double damn. Kelly grabbed the receiver and pressed the redial button.
Deke glanced around the hotel suite she’d rented for a month. “Not bad. This looks more like an apartment.”
“That’s the idea.”
Kelly realized that he was wearing the battered leather jacket she remembered. The crease left by the bullet was hidden by his stance. She thought about asking to take it, but he seemed restless. It would be awkward if he had to tell her no.
“You were smart to get out. I’m glad you’re here.” He hadn’t been able to leave Dallas for two days after getting her call. He wasn’t that free to come and go, not with the new developments in the case.
“It’s closer to WBRX too. Which is nice if I ever have to stay late.”
“Try not to. And don’t come home alone. Call me.”
“All right. I’m taking you up on that.” Kelly ignored his look of faint disbelief and handed him a glass of soda.
“What did you do with your car?”
“Didn’t even want to look at it. It’s in the apartment parking garage. I took a taxi. I couldn’t shake the idea of the windshield being smashed to scare me—or worse, someone waiting in it. I figured I’d just deal with it later,” she said.
“Good. Let me go over it before you do anything.”
“Okay. Fine.” She sat down on the couch, putting her glass on the coffee table. The suite was actually larger than her place, but she still got the sensation that he was too big for it. His presence made her feel a little calmer.
“Where are the card and the photos?”
Kelly reached for her purse. “Right in here. Picked up with a paper towel and zipped into a plastic bag. My fingerprints are all over them, but maybe you can get something.”
She pulled out a large, flat plastic bag and set it on the coffee table. She picked up her glass and curled into a corner of the couch, as if she wanted to get as far away from the evidence as possible. Deke sat down on the middle cushion, handling the ziplock bag carefully, moving the items so that they could be viewed without being removed. He studied the card first, then the photos.
“Bullets for a bombshell. Interesting message,” he said finally.
“Yes. I’m inclined to take it seriously.”
Deke turned his head to look at her, his dark gaze understanding. “Good. I’d like to compare these to the press pass.”
Kelly frowned. “Oh—I left it in my desk. Which is locked.”
He set the plastic bag on the table. “That’s better than unlocked, but not by much. A desk lock can be picked with a paper clip.”
“You and I are the only ones who know about the press pass,” she said defensively.
“Look, I don’t expect you to think like a cop or an investigator. I wouldn’t want you to be that paranoid.”
“Gee, thanks. While we’re on that subject, can you test my new door for me?” Kelly pointed toward the door.
Deke got up and went out into the hall, reaching a hand around the door to lock it automatically. He pulled it shut and rattled the knob to make sure it was locked.
Silence. Then she heard the faint noise of metal on metal, no louder than a tiny animal scratching. If someone else had been experimenting, she might not have heard it at all.
In another minute, the door swung open and Deke came back in.
“That answers that.” She almost didn’t want to meet his eyes.
“Look, Kelly, there’s no such thing as total security. You’re probably safer here than you are in your apartment. You got out fast and you didn’t tell anyone where you were going. And you stayed away from your car, which was smart. You did the best you could.”
“Am I safe on the street?”
“If there are other people around, yes—but that’s a qualified yes. Wherever you are, be on the alert. But you can’t live in a bunker and never come out.”
Kelly finished her soda and swirled the ice cubes around thoughtfully. “A nice, restful bunker actually sounds pretty good. But I paid in advance for this place, and it ain’t cheap.”
Deke looked around as if he were assessing the truth of the statement. “So long as you can swing the rent.”
“I can. And I may be picking up some extra work soon.” She held up a hand to keep him from asking about that just yet. “Now tell me what happened after I left.”
“We broke into small groups around Dallas, thinking the bracelet would be pawned. I was stoked when a homeless guy brought in something sparkly and green in a paper bag to the place we staked out. Turned out to be costume jewelry by some designer. He got ten bucks and a ride to a shelter in an unmarked cruiser. The other stakeouts got zip. The bracelet is still missing.”
Kelly studied him. “I don’t believe you. You sound way too casual. What really happened?”
“That’s the truth,” he insisted. “But I’m getting around to the other thing. We got word of a body found outside the hotel, near a storage area, wrapped in a roll of carpet from the ballroom. Male. Gray suit, empty pockets, no ID. Middle-aged. Beaten so badly his face was pulp.”
“And . . .”
“It took us a while to get in to look at him. The medical examiner had his work cut out for him. It probably wasn’t a professional hit—he still had his fingers.”
Kelly looked pale. “Go on.”
“The morgue tech inked him. He’d been outside for a while, which speeded up decomposition, but the prints were clear enough to submit to the national database. You okay? You look a little sick.”
Kelly was pressing her cold glass to her forehead. “I’m all right.”
“We got a high-probability match to the thief you took photos of—I told you he had a felony conviction and did time, right?”
“Yes.”
Deke stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocked a little on his feet, looking thoughtful. “End of story. Our chance to flip the thief is as dead as he is. An informer would make solving this case one whole hell of a lot easier.”
Kelly gave a nod. She hesitated before she spoke again.
“Deke, do you think that whoever killed him is stalking me?”
“No way to tell at this point. But anything is possible.”
Kelly picked up the ziplock bag. “Take this with you when you go. Maybe your techs can find something else that matches somebody else.”
“DNA, skin cells, microscopic blood drops—”
“Let’s go with the DNA. I was talking about the envelope flap. It wasn’t sealed too well, but spit is spit.”
“I guess it wouldn’t be yours.” Deke looked almost amused. She seemed to have recovered her usual cool aplomb.
“Correct.” Kelly swung herself off the couch and went to the window. “Check out my new view. Do you see what I see out there?”
Deke moved to stand beside her. The skeleton of a building rose in the distance, towering over the scattered small houses and empty lots around it. His eyes narrowed against the Saturday afternoon sunshine. “I count seventeen stories.”
“I did too. How far away is it from here?”
“I’m guessing a mile and a half,” he said.
“You drove here. Let’s go look at it again.”
“Do you have a death wish?” Deke asked.
“No. I wouldn’t go there without you, and I happen to know there are undercover cops there around the clock. And we can get in without them.”
He looked at the keys she was dangling. “How about that.”
“Apparently the news blackout on the shootout is officially lifted. Monroe put me on the story.”
“Does that mean you have to do it?”
Kelly dodged the question. “I want to. You in?”
Deke took a long time to reply. “I should say no. But I can’t. Someone has to save you from yourself.”
“Oh please. You help me, I’ll help you. We make a good team.”
His dark gaze moved over her. He didn’t seem to believe the casualness of her reply, but he didn’t argue with her. “Yeah. We do.”
“So you’ll go?”
“Give me ten minutes.”
“You going to call Hux or something?” Kelly walked near the window. “Don’t mind me.”
“I’ll go out in the hall,” Deke said. “I wanted to get a look at the stairs and exits on your floor anyway. Won’t take long.”
He left, closing the door behind him. He walked several doors down to the end of the hall and went through the unlocked door to the stairs, leaning against the wall and keeping his voice low.
“Hux. It’s me. Kelly got a sicko card with photos of her from the ball. They were shot out like the press pass. I’m bringing all of it to the lab for analysis.”
Hux swore. “Doesn’t confirm anything, but it changes everything.”
“Yeah.”
“How is she doing?” Hux asked.
“Scared and won’t admit it. She’s never had to deal with a stalker. Listen, did you get a chance to talk to your informers about that contract that was out on her?” Deke asked.
“All of a sudden no one even remembers it.”
“Hux, when the street shuts up, you know that’s not good.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Listen, that guy I saw in Dallas—yeah, the monster with the black hair and the birthmark—is he back in Atlanta?”
“I don’t know. He hasn’t been seen around that store. Maybe he got a job.”
Deke shook his head. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“I know what you mean.”
Deke made eye contact with an undercover leaning against an idling SUV. Forget the fresh air. The guy had come out for a smoke, which he lit up, exhaling in a gray plume. It was as good a way as any to hide your face some.
The cop was wearing an oversize Braves jersey with a matching cap pulled low on his forehead, almost resting on wraparound sunglasses. The hand that lit the cigarette touched the bill of the cap.
I see you, you see me.
Deke motioned back unobtrusively. He knew the other man was getting an eyeful of Kelly Johns into the bargain. She looked damn good in sleek jeans and that slouchy knit thing on top. It was loose, but not everywhere.
He followed her to the gate, watching her unlock it and going through behind her, surveying the scene. The heavy machinery was still on-site, stuck in the same giant ruts. High above, he could see a spiderweb crack in the center of the construction crane’s window. The flatbeds loaded with rebar had been used for target practice too. Beer bottles lay in their shadow, some in shattered pieces.
“If anyone needs a poster image for urban blight, this is it,” Kelly said. She’d stopped a little ahead of him, doing her own looking around.
“What were you expecting?”
“I found out that an international consortium is angling to buy the building. They want to tear it down and start over.”
“Business as usual.” Deke caught up to her.