“We thought Miguel Gomez was dead.”
“Because the body had been burned beyond even scientific recognition,” Diego said. “This guy died in a hospital, had a viewing at a funeral home and was buried.”
“Now we just have to figure out how all three murders are related,” Brett said.
“Okay, let’s lay it all out in the order things happened.”
“All right, we’d assumed that Miguel Gomez was burned—literally and figuratively—by the Barillo crime family. And even though it was out of character, we assumed Barillo had also ordered Maria’s murder.”
“But then you got a call from Anthony Barillo claiming he didn’t kill Maria—or Miguel. And then another call, from his son.”
“Here’s the thing. Barillo is a major-league criminal, and law enforcement has been trying to get enough evidence to arrest him for years. He’s never called before to claim he didn’t commit a crime.”
“So you think we should believe him?”
“I’m not sure. I find it curious that the man denies a murder—when I’m sure that if he did kill Miguel and Maria, we’d never be able to trace it to him because he would have ordered the hit. He would never kill anyone himself. I don’t think he cared so much what we thought about Miguel’s death. Seems as if his motto is Live by the Sword, Die by the Sword. He did care about Maria. About me believing he didn’t kill her.”
“Go on,” Diego said.
“A neighbor swore he saw Miguel—alive, even if not exactly well—going to the house. Shortly afterward, Maria gets thrown off her balcony into a tree. The next thing we know, pieces of Miguel wind up in Biscayne Bay. Then nice, gentle retiree Arnold Wilhelm is killed on the Metrorail platform, and all three eyewitnesses gave the same description of the killer, who just happens to be a dead ringer—no pun intended—for the victim’s best friend.” He was quiet for a moment. “So you’ve got two victims, each one apparently killed by someone close to them—someone who was already supposed to be dead. Setting aside the whole question of how the dead could rise...why? Why kill someone they loved? Did someone make them do it? How? What the hell is the connection? What’s going on?”
“It will help when we dig up Nicholson tomorrow,” Diego said. “Because then you’ll know that the dead didn’t rise.”
“And hopefully Phil Kinny will have something for us tomorrow. He told me that if he had a head—Miguel’s head—he should be able to tell us more about cause of death.”
Diego started to speak, then stopped, looking past Brett, who turned to see what was going on. Two of Miami’s finest, probably on duty, were strolling through the mall. Brett realized that they knew one of the officers: Greg Dewey. He’d helped them when they were homing in on a crack house about a year back.
Dewey saw Brett and Diego and walked over to their table. Brett and Diego stood, and they all shook hands as Dewey introduced his partner, Carlos Martino.
“You guys on duty? Or can you join us?” Diego asked.
“Just got off shift,” Dewey said, pulling out a chair. The first thing he asked after he sat down was “What do you guys think about this zombie invasion talk?”
“We’re trying to nip it in the bud,” Brett said.
Dewey shook his head. “Man, I hope you can. There’s nothing but this zombie stuff on the news—but it is uncanny how much that police sketch looks like the victim’s dead friend. You guys running this? The briefing before our shift, they said you feds were taking the lead. Actually, I have to admit, I’m damned glad it’s not us.”
“We’re all on this one,” Brett told him.
Martino shook his head. “I hope we get this solved quickly. It’s already starting to make people a little crazy, you know?”
“Who’s gone crazy?” Brett asked.
“Kind of an exaggeration,” Dewey said, grinning at his partner.
“Yeah, actually, it would have been nice if she’d begged us to stay awhile,” Martino said, grinning, as well.
“She, who?” Diego asked.
“What are you talking about?” Brett asked, feeling more keyed up than he knew he should be. Maybe he was still spooked by seeing the ghost of Maria Gomez sitting at the foot of his bed, but he was getting worried that he was losing it.
But some kind of a sixth sense alerted him that anything could be important right now. This wasn’t—or wasn’t only—obsession on his part.
“We got a call tonight from a woman who was certain there was a man in her yard,” Dewey said. “Gorgeous young blonde, lives alone, really nice even when she was scared out of her senses. It’s easy to believe some stalker might be after her. But we searched the place up and down. It’s surrounded by a wall—you know those row houses just down the street? Stone walls around them and gates that lock. We got the call because we were literally down the street.”
Brett wasn’t surprised they’d been nearby. The Grove was a popular tourist destination. It had multi-million-dollar mansions a stone’s throw from basic working class homes, and a few drug dens, too. The Grove hosted college kids by the dozen and scores of restaurants, bars, music venues and shops. Historically, it had always had a bohemian flavor, and it was beautiful, with rich trees and foliage. Tourists and locals both came to see the Barnacle, one of the oldest homes in the county, now a museum. And there were plenty of docks and yacht clubs, since it bordered Biscayne Bay. But because it was such a busy and diverse neighborhood, it could be a tough zone to work as a cop. He admired the guys who handled it well.
“So the woman seemed crazy?” Diego asked.
“No, that’s just it,” Martino said. “She didn’t seem crazy at all. She was stunned when we didn’t find anyone. She wasn’t hysterical, she was scared—and absolutely certain of what she’d seen.”
“And you’re sure no one was there?” Brett asked. He didn’t know what it meant yet, but he’d learned to pay attention to the prickly sensation shivering down his spine.
A blonde. Gorgeous.
Miami definitely had its share of beautiful women, including beautiful blondes.
And yet... “You’re sure she was all right when you left?”
“We didn’t just desert her. She was going back to work, planning on spending the night there,” Martino said.
“Which house?” Diego asked. “Which house does she live in?”
“She’s not there anymore,” Martino said, but he gave them the address. “We waited for her to get her things together and leave.”
“Where does she work?” Brett asked. He would never be able to explain the tension he felt—or how he knew what Dewey would say before he said it.
“Sea Life Center,” Dewey told him.
Brett nearly broke his coffee cup, he set it down so hard. “Her name is Lara Ainsworth, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Yeah, that was it,” Dewey said. “You know her?” He seemed perplexed at first, but then his eyes widened. “Oh, hell, how could I have forgotten? They had to close the place down when they found part of a body in the lagoon. Jeez, I feel like an idiot.” He turned to Martino. “Don’t know the connection, but she really could have been in danger. We should call in, find out if the captain wants some kind of protective detail on her.”
Brett was already standing. Diego regretfully dropped the remains of his sandwich.
“We’re heading out, guys. We’ll be her protective detail,” Brett assured him. He dug in his pocket and set money on the table.
“I’m sure she’s all right. She said there are always people around,” Dewey said.
“Yeah, I’m sure she’s all right, too,” Brett said, though he wasn’t sure at all. He didn’t know how any of this was connected. He’d had calls from Anthony Barillo and one of his sons—threatening calls. No information had been released identifying the body parts found at Sea Life as those of a
man who’d been presumed dead over a week ago, but the Barillos had called after he had been at Sea Life to deny responsibility for murdering both Miguel and Maria.
And Lara thought she was being stalked.
He suddenly felt desperate to get to her and make sure she was safe—and the hell with Dr. Treme. They could see him in the morning, just as Diego had been recommending all along.
“You know,” Diego said from behind the wheel as they headed down US1, “you can make a call and have the local cops out there in an instant. Though you might want to call and alert her first. You’ve got her number, right?”
Brett nodded and punched in her number. He was relieved when she answered.
“Agent Cody?” she said curiously.
“Are you all right?” he asked her.
“Yes, thank you.” She sounded puzzled. “You know what happened?”
“Yeah. We ran into the cops who were at your place when we were in the Grove getting some dinner. You’re at Sea Life?”
“Yes. And I’m fine. I went to dinner with Rick, Grady and Adrianna. I’m in my office. I couldn’t sleep, so I was working on some press releases for future events.”
“We’ll be there in ten minutes,” Brett said. He waited, sure she would protest. She wasn’t alone, after all; she was with friends.
She didn’t object, though she was silent for long enough that he almost thought he’d lost her.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Of course.” And then he said, “Don’t worry, we’ll see that you get some sleep. Diego and I will hang around for the night. We’ll call when we get there so someone can let us in, all right?”
Diego stared at him.
Brett shrugged.
And once again Lara Ainsworth said softly, “Thank you.”
It was the job, he told himself. His job. What they did, in the end, wasn’t only catch criminals and bring them to justice, it was save lives.
And right now, they weren’t talking just any life. They were talking her life.
She thought he had a stick up his ass. She could be sarcastic, even abrasive, but...
But there was something about her. The way she was confident but not in-your-face about it, the way she smiled...
All he really knew right then was that he had to keep her alive. If he didn’t, somewhere in there he would lose his own soul.
* * *
“Coward—you’re really a coward,” Lara told her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She’d come in to brush her hair. She wanted to retain some sense of dignity when the FBI agents arrived.
After the call, she’d hurried to Grady’s office-slash-apartment and found him still awake, working on his Spanish lessons via computer. He was glad to hear that the agents were coming. “I’ve talked to Adam. It’s getting weird down here.”
That’s putting it mildly, she thought.
Lara nodded. “I just hate to bug him, you know?”
Grady grinned at that. “Weird is what he and the Krewe do.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Anyway, I’m glad that Cody and McCullough are on their way.”
So was she. But no matter what Meg had said, they might not be able to make it down that night, so it was a good thing the local agents were on their way. Like it or not, Lara was unnerved, frightened, and she needed sleep so she could do her job. And whether she thought Agent Cody had a stick up his butt or not, he was solid and practically reeked of strength and security.
With those muscles and an inner tension that seemed hotter than any fire, she would pick him in a fight any day.
Lara went back to her office and waited for Agent Cody to call again, then headed to the gate to meet him and Diego.
As always, Diego was cheerful.
As always, Agent Cody was grim.
She let them in, then locked the gate and reset the alarm.
She didn’t want to sound like a crazy person and tried hard not to.
The effort failed.
“I feel guilty about getting you out here so late. I should have told you to go home and get some sleep. I’m so sorry. But this man was here today, and then he was in my backyard. And even though I know the dead man in our lagoon doesn’t really have anything to do with me, with everything going on, I—”
“It’s all right,” Agent Cody said, cutting her off. And then he added in a surprisingly gentle tone, “Besides, you didn’t call us. We called you and said we were coming.”
“Were you worried about me for a specific reason?” she asked.
“Let’s just say that with everything going on and you having a possible stalker, yes, we were worried,” Agent Cody said. “And it’s not a problem. We’re glad to be here.”
“Absolutely,” Diego said.
She wasn’t sure why, but she believed there was something else behind their words, something they weren’t telling her, but what, she wasn’t sure.
“Well, come on to the offices,” she said. “There’s a nice communal area on the first floor. There’s a kitchen with snacks, coffee, sodas...and the couch folds out to a bed. Grady has a combination office and apartment on the second floor, and Rick and Adrianna live here. Someone needs to be on the property at all times, because of the dolphins, and we don’t have private security. The police patrol the area, of course, but...”
So much for not babbling on and on, she thought, and trailed off, but she couldn’t help herself and started speaking again almost immediately.
“Well, thank you again. I’m just glad you’re here. I was really unnerved tonight. And honestly, I swear I’m not a total coward. And I’ll be fine as of tomorrow. I have friends coming down. They’re FBI, too. You may know them. Probably not. I mean, the FBI is a pretty big organization, right?”
“You have friends in the Bureau?” Diego said. “And they’re able to just come on down?”
“I guess. I hope I’m not causing them any problems. They work for a special unit.”
“What unit?” Diego asked.
“It has some official name, I think, but they’re known as the Krewe of Hunters.”
The two agents looked at one another. She knew that the Krewe had a reputation within the Bureau. Some liked to mock them; others were in awe of their record in solving unusual cases.
“What are their names?” Agent Cody asked her.
“Meg Murray and Matt Bosworth.”
He arched a brow. “I don’t know Meg. I do know Matt. We were in a training class together a few years ago. He’s a good guy.”
“Yeah, the best,” she said huskily. “I’ve known Meg forever. I met Matt through her.” She wondered if she should just tell them what had happened to her, and how Meg and the Krewe had saved her.
Of course, they’d heard what had happened already, she was certain; the entire country and beyond had heard what had happened. But since she wasn’t going by her real surname, they wouldn’t know that she’d been the victim.
“So they haven’t been officially assigned to the case?” Agent Cody asked. He was eyeing her oddly now.
As if she had suddenly turned another color or something, like a chameleon.
“Not that I know of.” She wondered if she’d said or done the wrong thing. She hoped she hadn’t made Brett and Diego feel that someone else would be horning in on, even trying to take over, their case.
She led them down the winding path and around to the house. It was odd to realize just how beautiful the place was at night. Sea grape trees, palms and other flora and fauna nestled by the paths, shading them by day. A light breeze sweetened and cooled the night air. The slight movement of the water murmured in the background, and despite everything that had happened here, the place had the feel of a tropical oasis.
“Coffee?” she asked the
m, unlocking the front door.
“Coffee is always good,” Diego said.
“And then we’ll have you tell us about this man you saw,” Agent Cody told her.
“Of course,” she said.
The men took seats in the lounge area, while Lara slipped into the kitchen and brewed a pot of coffee. When it was done, she took it out to them, adding a cup for herself. She’d fixed a tray with sugar and cream, but neither of the agents used them. She wondered with a certain amount of humor if drinking black coffee was a job requirement.
When she sat down, her own cup in hand, Agent Cody looked at her and said without preamble, “Tell us about the man.”
“I saw him here first,” she said. “I was getting ready to leave. He was just standing in the doorway of my office. I asked him if I could help him, but he left without saying anything. I followed and tried to find him, only I couldn’t. I told Adrianna about him, but she didn’t seem particularly worried. Of course, Sea Life was still open to the public then.”
“Was he dressed like a tourist?” Diego asked her.
“Yes, actually. He was wearing a guayabera and light trousers. I’ve seen dozens of tourists dressed that way—locals, too.”
“Okay, so then you went home, and when you looked outside, he was in your yard?” Diego asked.
“Yes. I guess he might have been some poor lost Alzheimer’s patient or something, but...how did he get into my yard?”
“Can you describe him?” Agent Cody asked.
“Of course. Fifty plus. Medium build, medium height. Dark eyes and dark hair. I thought he looked like the pictures you see of Spanish conquistadors—minus the helmet, of course.”
The two agents looked at one another as if startled by her description.
“Don’t even go there,” Diego said.
“How could I?” Brett said, his voice sounding deep and scratchy. “We know the man is dead. The DNA on the body parts matched. Not to mention what remained of his face.”
“What are you two talking about?” Lara asked. “You’re really frightening me.”
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