Once the information flowed through the priest to God, it was as good as forgotten.
Only, there were some things a man could never forget.
“HEY, MANNY, big cop is scared,” one of the punks behind Stella said.
Breathe, Stella told herself. Just breathe.
And think.
She wasn’t nineteen and naive any more. She was twice their age and a cop. Trained. Armed. And if she could keep it together mentally and emotionally—dangerous.
She measured the distance to the street, then to her car parked nearby. Even if she had keys in hand so she could beep open the door, she wouldn’t make it inside before they got to her. She had no choice but to do something desperate, to turn the tables on them.
Every nerve ready to jump, Stella gazed directly behind her to pick her target. Her choice was obvious. From the looks of the baby gang member, he could be Manny’s brother or cousin. He was no more than thirteen or fourteen and hadn’t filled out yet.
Not that he couldn’t be a killer already, she reminded herself.
What she said was, “You got business with me?”
All the while her heart was thudding against her ribs and she was looking for a way out while keeping her antennae glued to all three punks.
“More like pleasure, chica. Another life’s lesson for you.”
Haven’t you learned anything…
The similar words from the note left at her door jolted her to attention. Could it be?
She said, “It takes a man to pleasure a woman and all I see here are little boys with big attitudes.”
“Puta!” he spat, lunging toward her.
But Stella was faster. She jabbed his chest with a stiff elbow, sidestepped and whirled, one hand whipping under the back of her jacket to her holster. Her hip rammed the slightly built punk off balance, and her free arm snaked around his neck while the other hand brought her gun to his head.
Click…
Safety off.
Everyone froze but Stella, who pulled the stumbling kid away from the others, her gun barrel jammed into his head.
“Stay calm and don’t make a move, and nothing will happen to him.”
Fury made Manny look even more dangerous, but he didn’t budge. His fingers were itching, no doubt to get to his own gun, probably stuck in his waistband under the T-shirt. Only she didn’t see any telltale bulge.
“Manny, do something!” the kid squealed.
“You wouldn’t shoot Pablo.”
Not unless she had to. “You don’t know what I would or wouldn’t do.” She wouldn’t be violated again, and she would give them the fight of their short lives if she had to. She tried not to let the idea freak her. She could do this, she told herself and shouted, “Get down on the ground, now!”
Ignoring her command, the third punk circled around behind the leader. “This one’s loco, Manny. Leave her be and let’s get outta here.”
The two older punks started to back up, and the squeeze on Stella’s chest eased a little.
His thin body trembling against hers, Pablo asked his compadres, “What about me? You can’t leave me!”
“She ain’t gonna kill no one,” Manny said with a sneer. “If she arrests you, you’ll get bailed.”
With that, the two older boys fled, and Stella’s knees went weak with relief as she lowered her gun arm. But when the kid tried to free himself, she shoved his slight body face-flat against the building where she patted him down. No weapons. Maybe Manny didn’t trust him with a gun or knife. Good choice. But if Manny or the other punk had been carrying, she hadn’t spotted any telltale bulge.
Stella grabbed Pablo’s shoulder and flipped him so that his back slammed the bricks and his dark eyes rounded with fear. “You’re not going anywhere until you sing.”
“I don’t know nothing. We was just having some fun with you, is all.”
“Fun?” Her adrenaline escalated again, only this time she was angry rather than scared. She guessed the guy who’d raped her had just been having fun, too. “Then how did you know I was a cop?”
He shrugged his thin shoulders.
Haven’t you learned anything… The words of the warning note echoed through her head. Another life’s lesson for you. Words so similar to those uttered by her rapist twelve years before. Not exactly the words of a street kid, either. Threatened sexual assault as an object lesson. Again.
Stella didn’t believe in coincidences.
“What kind of a lesson were you supposed to teach me?” she asked.
“We was just supposed to scare you.”
“On whose orders?”
The kid shook his head.
Did he not know or was he refusing to say?
Bluffing—he hadn’t actually attacked her, so there was no point in arresting him—she said, “Maybe you want to tell your story to the judge.”
Panic infused his slight body with strength that surprised her. He shoved her hard so she stumbled back, and as she swiped to grab him again, he ducked under her arm and ran.
“Stop!” she yelled.
The terrified kid ignored her and kept going. Stella’s adrenaline pumped right out of her, and she let him go.
The last thing she needed was to run after trouble, and with no backup. Taking a careful look around to make sure no other dangers lurked nearby, she secured her gun and jogged to her car. Once in the front seat, she had to sit there until her hands stopped shaking.
She’d drawn her gun lots of times on the street, but she’d never shot anyone. She’d certainly never aimed it at anyone’s head. At an unarmed kid’s head. What else could she have done? What would they have done if she hadn’t?
Nothing happened, she told herself. So just calm down.
Thankfully, she’d gotten away this time.
If they’d ever meant to hurt her at all.
THE CLUB WAS JUST OPENING when Gideon pressed a shoulder to the doorjamb, peered into the security office and watched his new security chief, who was intent on his work.
Gabriel Conner was the antithesis of John Logan in the appearance department. While Logan had worn designer suits and neatly spiked hair, Gabe lived in khakis and open-necked shirts, and his dark hair fell where it would without him apparently noticing. Gabe seemed more open than Logan while actually keeping more secrets. But then, Gideon had an edge there, having known Gabe before. In loyalty and work ethic, Logan and Gabe were equals, and that’s all that really mattered to Gideon.
“Any luck?” he asked.
Starting, Gabe looked up from the computer. “Hey, Gideon. Depends on what you were hoping to find, I guess. Nothing but good on O’Rourke since he saw the light. Model citizen, working for the greater good. In addition to the counseling program he runs over in Humboldt Park, he’s on the board of a city-wide nonprofit organization that promotes mental health. Public works, private person. No flash, no dash, no hint of impropriety. The most shocking thing O’Rourke seems to have done is to quit the priesthood.”
“A no-fault action. So what is it about him that’s spooking Cass?” Gideon mused.
“She’s still got her knickers in a twist, huh?”
“She says she sees something dark in his past, but she says it’s something personal.”
“Personal to whom? Stella or her?”
“Stella.”
Though Cass had given up that information reluctantly. What had gone on between Stella Jacobek and Dermot O’Rourke in the past? he wondered. Could their situation simply remind Cass of something else? Someone else? A situation personal to her?
“Whatever Cass senses has me stumped,” Gabe said. “I would bet my last dollar O’Rourke is a stand-up guy.”
And if Gabriel Conner was anything, it was thorough, as Gideon knew firsthand under circumstances he would prefer to forget.
But that had been another life…
Lives…how many had he gone through now? Gideon wondered. More than Gabe had. More than he wanted to remember. He’d finally settled on o
ne that seemed to make sense, at least in his skewed world-view.
“Good work,” he told Gabe. “I don’t suppose you got anything new on Tony Vargas.”
Gabe leaned back in the office chair and, green eyes sparkling, laughed. “Only that he was a kick-ass fisherman.”
“What?” Gideon grinned. “Trolling Lake Michigan for smelt?”
“No, really. A couple of years back, he won some kind of contest for the biggest walleye catch at Lake Geneva up in Wisconsin.” Gabe tapped a few computer keys and said, “Take a look.”
Gideon moved closer and peered over the other man’s shoulder at the LCD screen with its fuzzy photo of a scrawny, dark-haired young man standing on a pier in front of a fancy lake house. He was holding up his prize fish, basking under the admiration of a handful of onlookers on the patio behind him.
“Maybe it’s not the same Tony Vargas. Not exactly an uncommon name.”
“This Tony Vargas was from the south side of Chicago, however.”
“Huh. Maybe it was him, then. What the hell would he be doing in Wisconsin? And where did a street kid learn to fish, anyway?”
“There’s the lake…or what passes for a river practically outside their door,” Gabe said.
Gideon could see it now—a bunch of tough Vipers hitting the streets, fishing poles in hand. Right. Not that it had any bearing on anything. The idea was so weird it simply aroused his curiosity.
“Print out a copy of that photo for the file on Vargas. O’Rourke or Stella can tell us if that’s him for certain.”
Before he finished, the printer was already spitting out the dead man’s likeness.
Hours later, after being shown the computer-generated photo when he arrived at the club, O’Rourke agreed that this was the Tony Vargas.
“A fisherman,” he mused, still staring at the printout. “Now that’s not something Tony ever talked about in our sessions. Maybe he lost his taste for all the waiting involved in getting a decent catch. Fishing is a patient man’s sport and Tony was anything but patient.” He tucked the photo back in the folder and handed it to Gideon. “So that’s it?”
“That’s all we’ve got. So far. Let’s wait to see if Logan came up with anything new.”
Not a long wait. Within the half hour, both Stella and Logan arrived and the whole crew filed into Gideon’s office. As he settled behind his desk, Gideon noted how low-key Stella seemed tonight and wondered if she’d gotten some bad news or if she was simply discouraged.
His gazed fixed on her, he asked, “So who wants to go first?”
SINCE THE ATTACK Stella had been operating at low ebb. She couldn’t even remember driving home. Suddenly she’d just been there and sweating over whether or not it was safe to go inside. Her own home!
Through a kind of haze, she listened to Gabe’s discovery of Tony Vargas as an avid fisherman and to Logan’s confirming that Norelli and Walker weren’t looking elsewhere for a suspect and that they were especially pissed with her for hassling Luis Zamora.
“Louie Z.?” Blade asked.
Stella nodded. “Tip from Frank. Apparently, Luis plays poker with Johnny. And from what Señora Candera told me, there was some money issue between Luis and Tony.”
“Blackmail,” Gabe murmured.
“Maybe it was only poker. One way to find out—a visit to Skipper’s.”
Blade said, “Not you, not alone.”
“Stella’s not alone,” Dermot countered. “She’s with me now.”
If she weren’t feeling like the gum on the bottom of someone’s shoe, his words might thrill her. As it was, Stella couldn’t even decide exactly what Dermot meant by that statement.
He told the others about their convenient run-in with Alderman Marta Ortiz. “She was sure to remind us not to cross her.”
“So I’ll put the alderman at the top of my list,” Gabe said. “If she’s ever made a public wrong move, I’ll find it.”
“And I’ll ask around Area 4,” Logan added. “Just in case something got glossed over.”
Stella realized everyone had been adding to the conversation except Cass. Standing a few yards away, her tight dress a shade of reddish purple that brought out the mahogany glint in her hair, she lounged against the wall, her attention focused directly on Stella, her expression worried and more intense than usual.
Giving Stella the weirdest feeling that Cass was rooting around in her mind.
What did she hope to find?
“Another thing,” Dermot went on. “I had a conversation with the pastor of St. Peter’s, and a couple of things he said got me thinking.”
“About?” Gideon asked.
“About who might have real power, and not only now. Father Padilla is of the opinion that Johnny Rincon was only a figurehead leader of the Vipers.”
“Johnny definitely had power,” Blade argued. “His boys did whatever he told them.”
“But what if someone was pulling his strings?” Dermot asked. “That speaks to Tony’s complaints in our sessions—that someone had power over him.”
The suggestion finally engaged Stella. “You mean like a grand puppet master of the neighborhood?”
“Johnny,” Blade said.
Dermot countered, “Or someone less likely.”
“Huh.” Stella looked to Logan. “Fingerprints?”
“Should have the results tomorrow.”
Stella realized their shorthand had just gotten everyone’s attention.
“Fingerprints on what?” Dermot asked.
“A note someone left last night at my door. A warning. ‘Haven’t you learned anything?’” she repeated from memory. “‘Stay out of what isn’t your concern and stay alive.’”
“Warning nothing. That’s a threat! Why didn’t you tell me about it?” Dermot demanded.
“I thought it might dim your enthusiasm for the hunt.”
“Damn straight! I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark, Star. If I had known—”
“What?” Stella asked, not liking the way Dermot had tensed and was now glaring at her. “What would you have done other than given me a hard time? I don’t see how your knowing would’ve made any difference.”
Stella blinked the other people in the room back into focus. She and Dermot might as well be alone for all the noise anyone else was making. Probably their argument startled the others into silence.
“What about the person who left the note?” Dermot asked. “Do you have any idea of who?”
“If I did, why would I need to run the fingerprints? Of course I never saw him.”
“How could you have when he was playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey with me?”
Her turn to be shocked. “What!”
“I was barely on Halsted when I realized I was being followed. I lost them in Chinatown.”
“Too bad you didn’t get the license plate number,” Gabe mused.
“I got part of it. XO 74 something.”
“I’ll have that run through the DMV database tomorrow,” Logan said, “and see what I come up with. There can’t be that many cars in this area that have plates built on those letters and numbers.”
“Try a truck.”
“Mmm, that’ll narrow it down.”
Stella couldn’t believe Dermot’s nerve. He was angry with her for not telling him about the note, but he was equally guilty at withholding information.
“Someone was playing bumper tag with you on the way home and you didn’t fill me in when you saw me? Why not?”
“Because I just thought some kids were getting their jollies messing with me.”
The breath caught in Stella’s throat for a moment before she said, “Kids messing with you. Maybe. I didn’t finish. The note isn’t the end of it.” Now she had to spill all. “On the way back to my car in Pilsen this afternoon, three street punks waylaid me.”
Dermot’s face reddened. “What!”
“Did they hurt you?” Gideon asked.
“No. I’m fine.” Pulse accelerating at the me
mory, she quickly said, “The leader, Manny, threatened me, but I got the drop on the youngest one, and Manny and the other guy backed off. Weird thing is…I don’t think they had weapons on them. It made me wonder if they’d have done anything to me, even if I hadn’t gotten the drop on the kid.”
“What would be the point of the confrontation, then?”
Stella shrugged.
Dermot cut in, his voice tight. “You reported this and the note, right?”
“Neither. I wasn’t hurt. No evidence of weapons. They would walk. As to the warning note, if I had turned it in for official investigation, I’d probably be ordered to cease and desist helping you for my own good.”
Dermot nodded. “You’re out of this.”
Heat sizzled along Stella’s nerves as it always did when she was holding on to her temper. “Oh, no. I’m not out of anything! I’m in it right up to my eyeballs. The puppet master theory works for me. The note and the message Manny relayed refer to the past. And the kid confirmed they were working on orders. I’m gonna find out who’s behind this.”
Stella felt all eyes zero in on her, and she realized it had to do with her reference to the past. Only Dermot and Blade knew about the rape, and she wanted to keep it that way. The others didn’t need details.
So all she said was, “A long time ago, I was thinking of revealing what I knew about a burglary, and a gang member tried to teach me a lesson then, too.”
Cass gasped. Stella had the uneasy notion that the other woman suspected what form the lesson had taken. Not that Stella would confirm it.
“Obviously, someone you or Dermot talked to has spread the word that you’re searching for the truth, and has put you in danger,” Gideon mused.
“Johnny Rincon,” Blade growled. “He’s always hated Stella and me ever since I gave him that little present.” He glanced at Dermot. “The scar he wears. My handiwork. He tried to threaten us into joining the Vipers.”
“Maybe,” Stella said, “but I still have doubts on that score. He left the Vipers behind years ago and went on to bigger crimes. Murdering Tony possibly among them. But the wording of the warnings…I don’t know. Johnny tends to express himself more crudely.”
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