“You don’t,” Meyer argued before she could think of a
reasonable lie.
Calla would’ve loved to have the comfort of Devin’s hand in
hers, but as her lover’s hands were currently clenching the arms of his chair so
tightly his knuckles were white, she instead hoped Howard’s cab wasn’t stuck in
traffic. “But I do have a theory,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t crack. “A
drug overdose is like poison, right? And women are more likely to be poisoners.
Well, we saw a woman outside Jimmie’s apartment last night, so—”
“Remind me again when you graduated from the police academy,”
Meyer shot back.
“Sir, please.” Devin rose, moving between his boss and Calla.
“She’s the only one who believes me.”
“Plus, I’m his alibi.” Calla pushed herself to stand. And not
behind Devin, either. Though her knees wobbled, she forced herself to meet
Meyer’s gaze. “Devin has been with me since Friday night.”
“As I recall,” Meyer said, his tone clipped, “you were asleep
when I got to Jimmie’s.”
On the verge of her own rant, Calla held back a scream of
frustration. “So you think Devin snuck out while I was sleeping and killed
Jimmie?”
“No, but he
could
have. Motive,
means, opportunity.” Meyer ticked the points off on his fingers. “It’s all
there.”
This was beyond ridiculous. Calla couldn’t imagine crimes were
actually solved with this kind of logic. “You honestly believe Devin and I
ordered a picnic dinner, picked it up from my best friend’s catering company,
borrowed my other best friend’s Mercedes, parked across from Jimmie’s apartment
building, waited until the coast was clear, snuck in, murdered him with some
icky needle thing, then slipped back into the car and fell asleep while waiting
for you and your blue lights to show up?”
Meyer seemed stunned into silence.
Devin’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “Her succinctness is only
one of her many amazing qualities.”
“I’m also stubborn as hell.” Calla crossed her arms over her
chest. “If anything, you cops should be dancing around the Maypole. This latest
frame-up proves Devin—who’s one of your own, if you might call—is innocent.”
“Maypole?” Meyer echoed. “Is she for real?” he asked Devin.
“She’s from Texas.”
“There are procedures, Ms. Tucker,” Meyer explained with barely
restrained exasperation. “You and Devin were found mere yards from the scene of
a suspicious death, the living quarters, by the way, of the star witness against
him. Without Jimmie to testify, it’s likely the assault case will be
dismissed.”
Calla looked surprised.
“Really?”
she questioned mockingly. “I didn’t realize you needed Jimmie. I thought you had
other bogus evidence to fall back on.”
Meyer wasn’t impressed with her sarcasm. “We do. Evidence that
can be rolled over into Devin’s murder trial.”
“Uh-huh. And we’re sure it’s murder because poor, sweet Jimmie
would never do drugs.” She tapped her finger against her chin, pretending to
contemplate. “He’d just frame a cop for assault.”
For a second, Meyer seemed as though he might smile, but the
impulse passed as he walked stiffly around his desk. “Despite the appearance
that I’m blind and deaf, I know there’s more to this than where the
circumstances point. But, as cops, we have to follow the evidence.”
Calla glared at him. “Well, I think the whole case is
stupid.”
“Unfortunately, law enforcement doesn’t get to decide that.
Juries do.” Meyer shifted his stare to Devin. “Typically, you’ve said little,
Detective. I imagine you’re regretting your rogue investigation about now.”
“No way.” Devin sent Calla a grateful glance. “In fact, I’m
stepping up my efforts. Whoever’s behind this is way more dangerous than any of
us thought. The sooner he—or she—is behind bars, the safer we’ll all be.”
Calla gave his hand a supportive squeeze. “Spoken like a true
cop.”
“I figured as much.” Meyer scooped up Devin’s pistol, dangling
it by the butt before shoving it in his desk drawer. “Which is why I’m keeping
this. You’re lucky I don’t charge you with possession.”
“I need to protect myself,” Devin said, his vivid green eyes
glaring. “And those around me.”
“Stay away from this case, and you won’t need to.” Meyer
collapsed in his chair, probably knowing Devin wouldn’t follow his order.
Calla thought about bringing up the obvious point that Devin
had a gun on hand, so he wouldn’t have needed to kill Jimmie with drugs. Meyer
would probably point out that the gun could have been used to keep Jimmie under
control while the lethal dose was administered.
It seemed everything about this investigation could be
interpreted in a variety of ways. And there was almost too much information. A
muddle of motives and contradictory evidence that slithered around the system,
popping up to cause frustration, confusion, divided loyalties and a media
explosion.
Almost amateurish, but not quite.
Because it was also crafty and cold-blooded. Frosty enough that
one of the assumed conspirators was lying on a slab in the morgue.
“Do you two honestly think your presence was part of the
frame?” Meyer asked. “That Jimmie’s killer knew you were on scene?”
“I don’t see how,” Devin said. “Only a few friends knew what we
were doing. But whoever’s behind this knew I’d be the prime suspect regardless.
Calla and I being there was a happy accident.”
“Happy, huh?” Meyer shook his head in disbelief. “How?”
Looking resolved, Devin rose. “Like Calla said, my killing him
and hanging around to wait for the cops is stupid. Jimmie’s accomplice—and
likely murderer—didn’t know we were there last night.”
Meyer tapped his pen against his desk. “Dumb moves aside, the
setup is getting the job done. Question is, how?”
“And why,” Calla added.
Howard, all infuriated ninety-eight pounds of him, burst
through the door. “This conversation is over.”
Despite her suspicion that the NYPD was holding back and Meyer
might have been on the verge of agreeing with them, Calla was wildly glad to see
the attorney.
She’d had enough of a scolding for today. She needed to confer
with her peeps and figure out what to do next. She refused to even consider the
possibility that Devin could be charged with a crime much worse than
assault.
Howard set his briefcase on Meyer’s desk—a feat in itself as it
was possible the bag weighed more than he did—then flicked his thumbs over the
latches. “My recorder is engaged as of this moment.”
So saying, Howard removed a tiny, plastic square from his
briefcase, which he set on the lieutenant’s desk.
Calla, Devin and Meyer all hovered over the device, which was
smaller than a stamp. “What is that?” Meyer asked.
Howard snapped his briefcase closed and set it on the floor. “A
recording device.”
“From an episode of
Star Trek?
”
Calla wondered aloud.
Howard smiled before he cleared his throat and resumed a sober
expression. “I dabble in electronics.”
“Yeah.” Calla straightened, looking at Howard with new eyes. “I
guess so.”
Howard recited the time, date and location, apparently for the
benefit of the recorder.
Calla raised her eyebrows. “What? No video capabilities on your
alien technology?”
Howard’s eyes gleamed. “If the FBI would only let me in their
lab...”
Oh, yeah. He was exactly what they needed.
Howard clasped his hands together and turned his attention to
Meyer. “Surely you’re not questioning my client without his attorney present,
Lieutenant? It would be a shame to have to file a civil case against the city
after you’re forced to apologize to Detective Antonio for falsely accusing him
in the first place.” Howard pulled his phone from his coat pocket. “I wonder if
I still have Channel One on speed dial?”
“Told you he was good,” Calla said, winking at Devin.
“I haven’t questioned the lieutenant,” Meyer said, leaning back
in his chair. “I’ve simply been holding him and Ms. Tucker here until you
arrived.”
“We appreciate your consideration,” Howard returned.
“Somebody’s setting up my client. I expect the NYPD is making an effort to find
out who.”
“I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation, but this latest
development has everybody’s strict attention. Devin Antonio has been a valuable
asset to the department for several years, and the investigation surrounding
Jimmie Forrester’s assault and now death will be given the highest
priority.”
“Turn off the recording, Howard,” Devin ordered.
“Detective, we should—”
“Off,” Devin repeated. Once Howard had done so, Devin looked
toward Meyer. “We could work together.”
“I can’t authorize that,” Meyer said, his voice clipped.
“We need to go through my old cases and figure out who might be
behind all this,” Devin continued, undeterred.
Meyer’s gaze darted to Calla, no doubt remembering she’d had
access to those files for over a week. “Haven’t you already?”
Devin shook his head. “Not with an eye toward Jimmie’s
death—and the woman we saw go into his apartment building.”
“The alleged—” Meyer began, only to have the ringing phone
interrupt. After a brief conversation, he hung up with a jerky roll of his
shoulders. “Lieutenant Reid will meet you in interrogation room two. You can’t
be there, Ms. Tucker,” he added in warning.
Calla slid her arm around Devin. She didn’t want to leave him,
but she knew Howard was the one to send into the ring and continue the fight.
“No worries. I have plenty to do.”
Meyer tapped a pen against his desk. “Off the record, I believe
you, Detective. I don’t think you’re responsible for Jimmie’s assault or his
death. But I can’t help you.”
Devin said nothing. Howard picked up his briefcase.
Calla kissed Devin’s cheek. “Until further notice, he’s the
sheriff,” she muttered before scooting from the room.
10
“T
HE
CITY
IMPOUND
LOT
is probably in Jersey.”
Calla understood Victoria’s disgust about the events of the
morning, but her car’s fate wasn’t in the top twenty. With her mocha latte and
the familiar surroundings of Javalicious to soothe her ragged nerves, she hoped
she could hold herself together.
“If I find one scratch,” Victoria continued, “I’m suing the
city for damages.”
Calla dug deep for patience. “Seriously, V, scratches on your
eighty-thousand-dollar Mercedes are not a top priority.”
Shelby scowled. “Did she equate eighty grand to low
priority?”
Looking triumphant, Victoria set her coffee mug on the table.
“Yep.”
“Hell,” Shelby groaned. “She’s in love.”
“Told you.” Victoria held out her hand. “Twenty bucks.”
Sometimes her friends were downright maddening. They were
supposed to be brainstorming Devin’s case.
“If I was in love,” Calla began in a stern tone, “the only man
who’s even remotely a candidate is likely being interrogated for murder. Do you
think we can stay on topic here?”
Victoria stuffed her bet winnings in her handbag. “We can
multitask. We’re women, after all.”
“You sure you don’t want to talk about your relationship with
Devin?” Shelby asked.
“I’m sure.” Calla frowned. “I need to concentrate on helping
him get his badge back and these charges dismissed before I can even consider
anything else.”
And that was as good a reason to avoid talking about the
amazing, confusing joy she shared with Devin, and its precarious position in her
life, as any.
Shelby nodded. “Devin has helped us out plenty of times. It’s
our turn to be there for him.”
“This isn’t about payback or friendship for Calla,” Victoria
insisted.
As much as Calla appreciated Victoria’s insight, she wasn’t
ready for that conversation. Her friends were too good at reading her, and her
feelings were too scary to examine. Whoever said
ignorance
is bliss
was right on the money. “It is today.”
Calla’s stubbornness was matched by few people, and since
Victoria was one of those, she was surprised when her friend said, “So we’re
looking for a woman.”
Shelby’s eyes darkened with worry. “A killer.”
“Not necessarily,” Calla said. “Maybe Jimmie really
did
overdose. Devin described him as jittery. The police say he’s mentally unstable.
He could have taken the drug on this own.”
“Suicide?” Victoria wondered.
Calla still found it hard to believe things had gotten so grave
in less than twenty-four hours. “That can’t be ruled out, I guess.”
“But Meyer thinks it was murder,” Shelby prompted.
“He used words like
alleged
and
suspicious death,
but, yeah, I think so.” Calla
recalled the lieutenant’s anger and concern. This turn in the case had thrown
him, too. “Until the autopsy is finished, we can’t know for sure.”
“When will that be?” Victoria asked.
“Sometime today, I guess,” Calla said. “Not that Reid is likely
to tell us the results. And Devin’s contact who’s been feeding us information at
the precinct is in robbery. I don’t know if he can find out anything about a
possible murder.”
“Regardless,” Shelby put in, “we need to go through Devin’s
case files to find a woman.”
“Not necessarily a woman he arrested, though.” Victoria cupped
her hands around her mug. “Somebody’s wife or sister, somebody pissed off her
loved one was arrested.”
Calla considered the new angle Victoria had proposed. It was
one option among so many. She wasn’t sure which tactic would yield the best
results, and the continual images of Devin in that stark interrogation room
weren’t helping. If Howard wasn’t with him, she didn’t see how she wouldn’t melt
into a useless puddle on the floor. “The woman could also be a cousin, maiden
aunt or college roommate. The possibilities are endless. It’s a daunting
task.”
Shelby sighed. “Especially without our usual inside
source—Devin.”
“He’ll be around later,” Calla said, hoping she sounded more
confident than she felt.
“Sure he will.” Shelby sipped her cappuccino, probably to hide
worry lines. “I can’t believe Lieutenant Meyer won’t help.”
Victoria leaned back in her chair. “He doesn’t want internal
affairs knocking on his door, too.”
“He’s as worried as we are.” Though Calla was disappointed he
wouldn’t do more. “Devin worked with a homicide cop back in the spring. Maybe
he’d be willing to give us the inside scoop.”
“It’s worth a try,” Shelby agreed.
Whether it was the coffee or the familiarity, Calla already
felt better. “I’ll get Devin to contact him while we—”
Victoria’s phone chimed. “Sorry, that’s the alarm for my
meeting.”
“Thanks, guys.” Calla stood and hugged each of her friends. “I
appreciate you taking the time.”
“Meet later to go over the case files?” Victoria asked.
Calla found a smile. “You bet. You still need to meet
Sharky.”
“The cat?” Victoria wrinkled her nose. “Guess I won’t wear
black.”
Shelby gave Victoria an affectionately exasperated look. “I’m
sure he’s adorable.”
As Calla rode the subway back to her apartment, she was
surprised how eagerly she was looking forward to seeing her
adorable
new addition. Once she’d buried her face in his soft fur,
apologized for dumping him while she raced off to a stakeout, she was sure she
could pull out her laptop and concentrate on research.
She wouldn’t think about Devin’s meeting with Reid, the shaky
state of the bond with her new lover or the possibility of anything going wrong
with the investigation.
When she walked inside and called Sharky’s name, she got no
response. She guessed cats weren’t the overly communicative type. She found him
sitting on the coffee table, his long, furry tail dangling over the side, his
green eyes glaring in her direction.
“I know, I know,” she said in apology. “I was out all night,
but I thought you’d be more comfortable here than at Devin’s. I left you plenty
of food.”
Sharky’s tail twitched.
“I know you like fresh tuna. I promise to go by the market
before dinner.”
Sharky’s ears twitched.
Bribery wasn’t working. It was time for a distraction. Dumping
her purse on the counter, she snagged his mouse toy. Approaching him, she
dangled it just out of reach.
His eyes gleamed.
Aha.
After a few minutes of keep-away and a few belly scratches, she
and Sharky were back in sync. He napped on the arm of her chair while she worked
on her laptop.
Devin had the files, but she didn’t want them anyway. She
wanted to concentrate on him, the cases he’d been involved in that had gotten
press. The big ones.
She called a friend at a local newspaper, another who was a
nurse at the hospital, a contact in the deputy D.A.’s office. She made pages of
notes, considered motives and tried to think logically, instead of emotionally.
Considering the subject was Devin, the challenge was extensive.
After several hours, she felt she was finally getting
somewhere.
She was convinced Jimmie’s partner was a woman who’d been using
him to get to Devin. Someone she loved had been arrested by him.
Wait.
Not only arrested.
Wronged.
Hadn’t Calla and her friends gotten into their Robin Hood
adventures for the same reason? Either they or somebody they cared about had
been a victim of someone more powerful or clever.
They hadn’t hesitated to do whatever they had to in order to
right the wrong. This plan was more extreme, but it had eerily similar
echoes.
The steps had been considered in advance. All the consequences
accounted for. The mastermind had gotten Jimmie to lure Devin into chasing him.
She’d knocked out Devin, then beat up Jimmie. When Devin was arrested for
Jimmie’s assault, she’d eliminated her co-conspirator.
She imagined Jimmie had been definitely surprised by that part
of the plan.
Either by design or inexperience, she’d set up the confusing
clues. Beating that pointed to a man, poisoning—that indicated a woman; prints
on the pipe, the camera wiped clean.
Jimmie was unstable, recently released from prison and lonely.
He’d be easy prey for a woman set on vengeance.
Those were the steps. Laid out as she saw them.
Cold revenge. Calla had felt it from the beginning, and she was
becoming convinced she was right to listen to those instincts.
The police were taught to gather evidence, follow its path and
not pre-judge. Maybe that was true, and maybe it wasn’t, but she wasn’t a cop. A
lighted trail was flickering on in front of her, and she was walking that road
until somebody could find a way to disprove her theory.
All she knew for certain, though, was that this woman, whoever
she might be, was very dangerous.
* * *
Can you come over? And bring Sharky.
D
EVIN
HAD
SENT
THE
message, and Calla had promised
she’d come.
Standing in his living room, which Shelby and Victoria had
transformed with an intimate table for two, candlelight, a white tablecloth,
china, crystal and silver, he slid his hands into his pockets. He didn’t know
how to charm and impress a woman like Calla, much as he was trying.
Not being indicted for assault could help, he supposed, but
once the turmoil in his life subsided, would she hang around for him? He was
work-obsessed, moody and uncommunicative.
As she’d already pointed out, he couldn’t change his genes or
the volatile way he was raised, but could he change a lifetime of resisting
intimacy? Could he be who she wanted? Who she needed?
She was both dangerous, and the greatest blessing he could
fathom.
For the first time in many years, he was scared. He’d never
given his heart to anybody and had no idea how to go about it, or how to recover
if everything went wrong.
As jazz echoed through the apartment, he walked around the
table, unnecessarily straightening a fork. A fancy salad, plus a chicken and
pasta dish, which Shelby had made, sat on the counter, waiting to be served. A
high-priced wine, which Victoria had brought, had been submerged into an ice
bucket.
So many candles flickered around the room, he was tempted to
keep a fire extinguisher nearby, though
Calla’s friends had assured him
she’d appreciate the effort.
He didn’t believe for a second their relationship was as simple
as candlelight dancing across crystal, but he was buying the idea for the night.
He was holding tight to Calla with both hands.
Howard had been clear about the consequences he faced. Though
his lawyer believed events wouldn’t progress that far, the hazard that he could
go to jail hung there, like a bomb on the verge of exploding.
When she rapped on his door, he jolted. Embarrassing, but at
least unwitnessed.
He opened the door, noticing she wore a dress similar to the
red dress from Friday night. This one was sunshine-yellow.
How appropriate.
As she entered, she kissed him and handed over the cat, who
butted Devin’s chin with his furry head. “Is everything okay?” she asked. “How’d
the meeting with Reid go? I’ve got some ideas about the case you need to hear.
What’s that glow?” Before he could answer, she’d charged down the hall. “If
Howard has some alien experiment—”
She ground to a halt, he assumed, because she’d seen the glow
was candlelight.
“Oh,”
she breathed.
He’d do anything—traffic duty, tactical maneuvers, even
prison—just to hear that sound on a daily basis. He was falling so hard and
fast, it was a wonder the
g-forces didn’t snap him in half.
“I guess they’re not charging you with murder.”
The oddness of their conversation wasn’t lost on him. “Not
yet.”
“So we’re celebrating?”
Still holding Sharky under one arm, Devin slid the other around
Calla. “Definitely.”
“This is beautiful.” She turned and laid her hands on his
shoulders. “Thanks.”
Devin absorbed her warmth. “I’ll feed the cat. You open the
wine.”
While Sharky devoured his tuna, they enjoyed their drinks and
salads. “What happened today?” she asked.
The last thing Devin wanted to talk about was his problem, but
he knew he had to give Calla something. “Reid didn’t ask many questions. I don’t
think his heart was in it.”
Calla paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “He has a
heart?”
“Not sure. But he was distracted. Maybe some other cop’s in
bigger trouble than me.” Frankly, he thought Reid was way too easy on him.
Something was up, and he’d already tapped his inside contacts to find out what.
“So Howard and I went to his office and talked about my old cases. He asked me
to leave the files with him, which I did. Fresh eyes would be good.”
“Shelby and Victoria want to help.”
“And I appreciate that, but they have their own lives, and
tonight we have ours.”
“We had the weekend together.”
He smiled. “Is it any wonder I want more?”
“Me, too, but I did some research, and I have a theory I want
to run by you.”
He both hated and appreciated that she was so worried about
him. “You can’t spend every second of your day focusing on me.”
“Why not?”
“You can, I guess, but I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“I want to focus on you.”
When she opened her mouth—to argue, no doubt—he pulled her
close and kissed her, which fell more in line with his plans for the night than
hers. “Tomorrow,” he mumbled against her lips. “Big meeting, the whole gang.
We’ll come up with a plan of attack.”
Sighing with pleasure, she rubbed her cheek against his. “I
need to tell the gang we’re not meeting tonight.”