Web of Secrets (Agents Under Fire) (20 page)

“But that’s what confused me. First, we have a number of logins on the network so she had to give it to other people and I think she’s lying to us about that. Second, this guy is into running local credit card scams, but Willow made it sound more like he was into Internet hacking for insurance data. Considering that’s such a lucrative business, why would he be running these local scams, too? Maybe she’s lying about that, too.”

“Maybe he simply buys data from a hacker,” Connor suggested.

“Okay, say he gets the insurance information that way. It still doesn’t explain opening credit cards in the foster kids’ names.” Becca shook her head. “It makes no sense that he’d be engaged in both of these areas.”

“You’ll figure it out, I know you will.”

Becca looked up a Connor, her heart heavy. “Yeah, eventually. But if it takes too long, we could have another report of a hospital visit gone very wrong.”

“Sleep on it. Maybe it’ll make more sense in the morning.”

She nodded. He lifted a hand as if he was planning to touch her, but she backed up and opened her door. “Goodnight, Connor.”

“Becca,” he said, then fell silent and shook his head. “Sleep tight.”

The last thing she was going to do was sleep. She didn’t even take off the infernal costume before booting up her laptop. She grabbed a glass of water and sat down to check her email. An alert popped up on the screen, catching her by surprise. The message box noted three failed login attempts during the time she’d been out with Connor.

Someone had been here. In her apartment. On her computer. They could still be there.

Fear raced down her spine. She jerked her gun from the little purse and put her back to the wall as she pondered her next step. She’d grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen after saying goodnight to Connor at the door, so she knew the kitchen was clear. The living room was obviously clear, as well. That only left the bedrooms and bathrooms

She eased down the hallway, one foot at a time. Swinging the guest bathroom door open, she searched the space. Nothing had been disturbed. Back in the hallway, she slowly approached the bedroom and glanced quickly inside. Then she looked again. Clear, too.

She hurried to her bathroom, then her bedroom, taking a longer look. She checked the walk-in closet, then got down on her knees to check under the bed. Dust bunnies, but no intruder.

At the front door, she found no sign of a break-in. Maybe there was a slight nick on the deadbolt. It could be from lock-picking tools, or maybe it had been there all along. She’d never looked at the lock that closely. No one else had a key to her apartment except the property manager.

She dialed the after-hours number for the manager.

“Yeah.” His sleepy voice came on the line.

“Did you let someone into my apartment tonight?” she demanded, then cautioned herself not to sound so accusatory.

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Look, lady, I’ve been home with the wife all night. If you don’t believe me, ask her.”

“No, I believe you.”
I just don’t like what that means.
She apologized for disturbing him and hung up.

So, now what? Did she call the police? If she did, what could they do? Write a report. Take prints. Tell her to be careful. Fingerprints, yes. She definitely needed prints, and she didn’t have the necessary equipment to lift them. She could call a tech guy from her office, but it would probably be good to have a police report on file in case this had nothing to do with Van Gogh.

Right, not Van Gogh. You’re nuts if you think that. He knows who you are, and he’s coming after you, like he came after Molly.

So, the cops. Should she call them? If she did, she could cause all kinds of problems for Vance. He still hadn’t released the info about Van Gogh to the rank and file. One look at this room, and the officer would know what was going on. And she couldn’t put all of this away without disturbing the crime scene.

There was only one thing to do. Call Connor.

As she dialed his number, she wished that making this call bothered her half as much as it would have when they’d first partnered on this investigation. Now she was glad he was there for her.

“Warren,” he answered, sounding distracted.

“I need your help.”

“Becca.” His voice was suddenly alert. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone tried to log in to my computer while I was out. When I booted it up, I got the warning screen.”

“At your apartment?”

“Yes, I cleared the place,” she continued, letting him know she was okay. “But I thought it would be a good idea to check for prints on my keyboard. I didn’t want to bother you, but if a patrol officer came in here with all the Van Gogh information on display . . .”

“He’d put two and two together, and the word would get out.” He sounded like he was moving around in his car. “You’re sure you thoroughly cleared the space? Closets. Under the bed, the—”

“I know what I’m doing, Connor.”

“I know, I just . . . I’m on my way. Keep the door locked and your weapon handy.”

“I will. See you—”

“No! Don’t hang up. I’m only a few miles away, and I want you to stay on the line with me until I get there.”

“Isn’t that overkill?”

“No, geez, Becca. We’re hunting a psychopath here. Don’t let your guard down. Ever. Not even as long as it takes me to drive a few miles.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“THANK GOODNESS you’re okay.” Connor dropped his bag to the floor and grabbed Becca up in a hug. She held her body stiff for a moment, but then she melted into his arms. Her head came down on his chest, and he inhaled her unique vanilla scent, reminding him of coming home after school to fresh-baked cookies. “You scared the crap out of me.”

She leaned back to look up at him. “But I told you I cleared the place, and I wasn’t in any danger. Then you talked to me all the way here, so you knew I was fine.”

Cleared?
He needed to double-check. He set her away and drew his weapon. “You stay here. I’m just gonna have a look around.”

“It’s not necessary, Connor.”

“Yes it is,” he snapped a little too forcefully, his mind back to the threat. He didn’t care if Becca pronounced it safe and was glaring at him as he made his way through the apartment. The thought that someone—maybe even Van Gogh—had been there, in her home, touching her things, made Connor’s skin crawl in a way he’d never experienced before.

It was time he admitted that he’d let Becca get to him. Fully and completely. When she’d called, he forgot all about the women who’d betrayed him in the past. He knew Becca wasn’t anything like Gillian or his mother. He could trust Becca.

He finished his inspection, including looking for any cameras that the intruder might have planted, and returned to the living room where he found Becca going through her file boxes.

“Anything missing?”

“Not that I can tell, but then there’s so much stuff here, I might not notice until I need it.”

“There’s no sign he’s disturbed anything else. I checked for any cameras he might have placed, just in case.”

She shot him a surprised look. “I didn’t even think of that. Thank you.”

He watched her for a long time. Despite residual concern, he had to smile.

“What?” she asked.

“I thought you hated the costume.”

She groaned. “I was going to change.”

“I don’t know, I might never change out of mine,” he laughed. “It worked wonders on Willow.”

“Ah, but Willow is all of sixteen and has no taste.” She gave him a pointed look. “Can we get started with the prints?”

“Why? You have somewhere else to go in that dress?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Okay, fine. Enough teasing. We can print the place, but I have to be honest with you. If your intruder got in here undetected, it’s likely he wore gloves.” Connor grabbed his bag from by the door and reached for his fingerprint kit.

Becca eyed him. “You don’t think this was Van Gogh, do you?”

He shrugged.

“It has to be him. I . . .”

“You what?”

She suddenly looked away. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. It could be related to the credit card investigation instead.”

“It’s certainly not a routine break-in. Not with your TV and computer still sitting here.” Connor started to open his kit, then paused to reassess. “You know what? This is too important to screw up. If it
was
Van Gogh, and he left any prints, we might be lucky enough to get a match in AFIS.” Connor dug out his phone. “I’ll call Dane.”

“I’ll put on a pot of coffee.” She went to the kitchen, and Connor made the call.

“Dude, do you know what time it is?” Dane grumbled. “I’ve gotten like two hours sleep in the last three days, and I’m not on call.”

“Sorry, man. But when you’re the best at what you do, you’re in demand.”

“Sucking up isn’t going to make me any happier,” Dane complained.

“But at least, it might make you listen to my request.”

Dane sighed out a long breath. “I’m listening.”

“Someone broke into Becca’s apartment tonight and tried to log on to her computer. There’s a possibility it could be Van Gogh. If so, we might have his prints on her keyboard.”

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Dane said.

Connor had no rebuttal, so he gave Dane the address and disconnected.

The smell of fresh coffee and a sweet, sugary aroma drew him toward the kitchen. The coffee was dripping into the pot, the oven on. Becca stood with her hands on the counter, her head bowed, her shoulders shaking. He hated to see her cry, but he knew she needed to find release from all of the stress. But that didn’t mean she had to cry alone.

“Honey.” He gently turned her toward him.

She sniffed. “I’m not usually like this.”

“No need to apologize. So much has happened to you. Let it out and you’ll feel better.”

He was tempted to draw her into his arms, but held back, thinking his touch might be unwelcome. But when she looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears, he gathered her close.

She settled back against his chest, into the spot that felt natural and right to him. He stroked her back while she cried, soaking his shirt again. He loved the fact that she didn’t feel the need to keep him at arm’s length any longer. When her sobbing slowed and turned to hiccups, she drew back and looked up at him. Tears clung to the hollows under her eyes.

He gently brushed them away. She seemed so fragile. His strong, stubborn Becca, fragile and needing him. That got his blood boiling, and he must have transmitted the change in his emotions because her eyes suddenly sparked with mirrored heat.

He unclipped her hair, letting it fall over his hands. He dropped the clip to the counter and slid his fingers in to cup the back of her head. “Becca, I . . .”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

He lowered his head, questioning her with his eyes. She didn’t discourage him, so he went for the kiss. His lips met hers softly at first to keep from scaring her, but she was the one who deepened the kiss and clung to him like a lifeboat. He lost all control and returned the kiss with a passion he’d never before felt, but wanted to continue to feel. Now. For today. For tomorrow. For as long as she’d have him. She might have closed off her emotions, but he’d take whatever she was ready to give.

BECCA VAGUELY HEARD the doorbell ringing. Connor was kissing her. Kissing her! His lips were so soft. Full, warm. Just like she’d thought kissing him would feel. She didn’t want it to end, but it had to.

It was wonderful to kiss him, to be cared for by him, but that was all. A relationship wasn’t possible. Not until she told him she was Lauren and she’d left Molly behind.

The bell buzzed again. She still couldn’t break contact. Not yet. Just another moment. Then she would put up that wall again.
Yes, just a moment
.

Their visitor pounded on the door.

Connor suddenly lifted his head, his eyes glazed with longing. He took a deep breath and let it out on a shudder. “That’ll be Dane. One look at you, and he’s going to know what was going on in here.” Connor ran a thumb over her lips, then down to her chin. “Sorry for the whisker burn.”

“I didn’t even know it was there.” She touched her own face, her fingers locking with his. “Maybe I should go freshen up while you let Dane in.”

He set her away, then grabbed her hand and jerked her back against his chest. Kissed her soundly again. “This isn’t a one-time thing, you know.”

“I know,” she said. “But I’m not ready for more than this.”

“Then we take it slow, okay?”

She nodded, willing to agree to anything at this point.

The knocking grew more urgent.

“Coming,” Connor shouted, then released her.

She stood there, touching her lips, feeling bereft at his departure and relieved at the same time. She’d let her emotions go with Connor several times now. She’d never done that before, at least, not since Van Gogh. She needed a moment alone before seeing Dane. She fled in the other direction.

“To be continued,” Connor called after her. “That you can count on.”

She heard him laugh, then open the door and greet Dane.

“You call me out here in the middle of the night, then you leave me standing out . . . wait . . .” His gaze moved over Connor’s shoulder to Becca. “Oh, I see. You two.”

She glanced back.

“You two what?” Connor challenged in a tone that warned Dane to tread lightly.

“Nothing,” Dane said. “Where’s the computer?”

Connor caught her watching him and winked.

She hurried to the bathroom and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her face was flushed and her eyes glowed with something she’d never seen in them before—happiness. True happiness. The last few moments with Connor had brought her to life. Sure, there was a physical attraction, but this was more. She loved his integrity. His compassion. The way he could balance his easy-going nature with the demands of his job. This was a balance that worked for her. Besides, she liked being with him. Liked him, plain and simple, and wanted to spend time with him.

It can’t go anywhere. Not until you’re completely honest with him.

Her eyes lost their gleam and the fear that had lived with her for years returned. She might be in law enforcement, might put on a tough-guy act, but deep down, she was still that scared girl that Van Gogh had tried to mutilate. She was still Lauren, and would continue to be Lauren until she got some closure. More therapy? Maybe. Better yet, she had to find Van Gogh and make him pay for his crimes. She had to know he couldn’t hurt her or anyone else, anymore. That’s what she needed to focus on right now. Not Connor’s kisses. Not the joy of having him around. She had to focus on Van Gogh and only Van Gogh.

Resolved, she splashed her face with cold water and patted it dry. Perfect. The tough agent had returned.

She thought about changing out of this confounded princess dress, but then Dane might think she wasn’t taking this break-in seriously enough. So she kept the outfit on and joined the pair hunkered over her computer. Dane was concentrating so hard, he didn’t even look up. But Connor did. His lips turned up in a suggestive smile.

She didn’t return it. Wouldn’t return it.

“Anything, Dane?” she asked.

“Got a few latents from the door and chair, but they could be yours.” Dane finally looked up and grinned. “Nice dress.”

“Halloween,” she said, and let it go at that. “When you’re done with the computer, I can pull up my prints on AFIS, and we can see if we have a match.”

He nodded and went back to work.

Her kitchen timer beeped. “I forgot. I put one of Nina’s famous cakes in the oven. Did you want some? Or some coffee?”

“You know it,” Dane said. “Coffee, black. Cake, big.” He chuckled.

“I’ll help you get it,” Connor offered.

“If you like.” She knew she was acting really uptight, but she couldn’t think of any other way to discourage him.

It didn’t work. He traipsed behind her into the kitchen. The minute they were out of Dane’s sight, he spun her around. “If this is a show you’re putting on for Dane, you can knock it off. He’s figured it out already.”

“It’s not a show,” she replied. “I . . . we . . . shouldn’t have kissed. Not now. Not when our focus needs to be on Van Gogh. We have to stop him. Getting involved with each other won’t help with that.”

“Becca,” he said.

She held up her hand. “No. Van Gogh first. That’s the only way I can deal with what’s going on between us.” She turned to the coffee pot and poured three cups, then pulled out the gooey cake. “Do you take anything in your coffee?”

“No.”

It was only one word, but she heard disappointment, judgment, and anger mixed in the single syllable. She wanted to turn to him and take back her words, but this was the way it had to be.

She plated the cake. “If you’ll grab a cup for you and Dane, that would be great.”

“You sure it’s not too personal for me to do that?” Connor’s sarcasm stung.

“Connor.”

“I know. That wasn’t professional. Well, too bad.” He took the cups and filled them, sloshing black coffee on the white countertop. She wiped it up and gave him plenty of time to get into the other room before following with her own coffee and the cake.

“Perfect timing. I’m done.” Dane looked up and smiled. “We’ll get your computer cleaned off after I have some of that cake. We can still check AFIS, but I think it may be a waste of time unless Van Gogh is a slight person. ”

“Explain, please,” Becca said.

“There’s a reasonable difference in the ridge density of prints from a male and from a woman, or a slight male, that I can see from casual field observation. If Van Gogh was able to get the girls up the trail, he’s not likely a small guy, so the prints I lifted are most likely yours.”

She nodded her understanding. “You guys go ahead and eat. I’ll take care of the cleaning.”

He patted the laptop. “Your baby, huh?”

“Exactly.”

Dane tried to make small talk with Connor, but he continued to shut him down.

“Man,” Dane said. “What happened in that kitchen anyway? It’s like a freezer in here.”

“Priorities changed,” Becca said, and the room fell silent. She felt Connor watching her, but she stuck to her work and soon had her computer clean and ready to log in to AFIS. She brought up her own prints in the database.