by Lakes, Lynde
“After the bust goes down, if we’re lucky, we may have the answers to those questions.” He paused. “And we may not.”
Now what was Razor talking about? Rusti wondered. He sounded as though the raid on Terrilla’s place might not end this nightmare. Her flesh crawled, and she shuddered. Razor reached over and took her hand. Somehow his protectiveness made her feel better about their night of passion. She closed her eyes for a moment. But it was more than passion, for her, anyway. She’d always remember that night as their night of love.
“The four stabbings could’ve been the work of one man,” Razor said. “Assuming that the guy who attacked Rusti also killed Petra. He could even be the shooter at the cemetery; we saw a black cape on the sniper.” He paused and glanced hesitantly at Rusti. “That could have been a decoy. We didn’t hang around long enough to get a good look.”
“But that same car was at the cemetery,” Rusti said.
Razor frowned. “Maybe to throw us off.”
Rusti could see that he considered every possibility, but that assurance didn’t offer enough comfort to keep a twinge of fear from shooting through her. Razor slipped his arm around her shoulder. She leaned into the curve and warmth of his body, needing to feel safe, knowing full well that she wouldn’t really be safe until the killer was caught.
“What about the R that René scratched in her own blood?” she asked. “That still haunts me.”
“Forensics couldn’t come up with any discernable letter,” Baxter said. “Personally, I think it was just Bob Cane’s imagination working overtime.”
“Pinpointing some letter wouldn’t help much, anyway,” Razor said. “The killer could’ve scrawled it there to throw suspicion away from himself.”
Baxter smiled, a little wryly. “Especially if it was an R, Rusti. That would have made you and Razor our prime suspects.”
“Weren’t we anyway—at least for a while?” She hadn’t forgotten the probing questions about being René’s sole beneficiary.
“That’s old business,” Razor said, quickly getting back on track. “Besides, the murder investigation is secondary. The concern now is getting the microfilm into safe hands and initiating the cartel bust. I thought you realized that, Rusti.”
“Oh, I realize it, all right,” she said. “René’s killer is still out there, and I’m on the hit list. I think it’s only natural that catching the killer would interest me more than your blasted cartel bust. I know you’ve been using me to foster your relationship with Terrilla and his bunch.” She was on a tear, but couldn’t seem to stop herself and ranted on. “You pretend you’re sticking close to protect me, but it’s really because the killer is after me…and…I know you’ve been using me as bait—” Her voice broke and she cut herself off just in time to avoid breaking down completely.
Razor tightened his hold on her, and she leaned against him, totally unnerved. He kissed the top of her head. “It’s okay, we’ll get whoever murdered René and Petra. If things go right, the sting will flush out the bastard.”
She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Baxter looked everywhere but at her. Her face burned. She’d lost it. And in front of the detective.
“Let’s go over what we’ve got,” Razor told Baxter, steering them back to the points he needed to cover. “Everything you’ve learned up to now.”
Rusti listened while the two men laid everything out. She was getting used to Razor’s tough assertive side, realizing at last how important it was in his work. And, God help her, it even thrilled her. She knew that her growing fascination with his dangerous and secret life was an added danger—it made him irresistible. She had to find a way to control her feelings. She couldn’t let herself be swept away again by the sheer charisma of a man who couldn’t give her what she wanted. Rusti sighed, realizing it was already too late. She was in so deep there was no way she could sidestep a broken heart.
With effort, she blocked the painful thoughts and watched as the lawmen came to an understanding. Razor handed Baxter the microfilm under the table and said, “Getting this through channels is up to you now.”
“How long before the raid on Terrilla?” Rusti asked, glancing at Baxter. She wanted things over quickly; she was tired of running and hiding, never knowing when the killer might strike. And tired of fighting her highly charged feelings for Razor.
“Processing the evidence and getting warrants will take time,” the detective said. “Probably a couple of days.”
She clutched her cup with both hands. “Meanwhile?”
“We continue to lay low,” Razor answered.
She frowned. That meant more time in the hotel room. Together. Even with a wall between them, that was too much temptation. “That’s not good enough.” She searched for the right words, words that would make them see it her way. “I was thinking…that is…if we were calling the shots, it might speed things up and change the whole equation.”
Razor’s eyes darkened warily. “What are you driving at?”
“Well…I don’t like being stalked; I’d rather be on the offensive. And I don’t want to sit around for another two days before we can take action. I was thinking that since I’m the one the killer is after—and since you’ve been using me as bait anyway—we should set him up—use me as bait to draw him into a trap.”
“No!” Razor slammed the table so hard the refilled coffee in all three cups sloshed over the sides. “Definitely not!”
“It would work. I can wear some kind of wire and pretend to be alone at René’s condo.” Rusti hated the waver in her voice. She took a deep breath to calm down.
A vein in Razor’s neck pulsed wildly. “It’s too risky,” he growled. “Forget it.”
Baxter’s eyes glinted with interest. “Not so fast. Rusti might’ve hit on something. We’ll use a decoy, of course, a female cop, a Rusti look-alike.”
Rusti shook her head. “That would risk blowing Razor’s cover. How could you be sure she wasn’t the mole? I can do this. I want to. For René, for Petra.”
“Are you completely out of your mind?” Razor’s face was a mask of stubborn refusal. “You’re a kindergarten teacher, not an undercover cop.”
“I was a kindergarten teacher last night, too,” Rusti said arching an eyebrow. “I have lots of hidden talents.”
Razor’s narrow-eyed gaze locked onto hers. “I said no, dammit! End of discussion.”
“I don’t like it either,” Baxter admitted. “But Rusti’s right. Bringing someone else in on this is too risky. We could cover her every move. You could watch her from the entry to the attic’s crawlspace.”
“No!”
“Can’t we just talk about it?” Rusti asked. “The killer knew I’d be at René’s the night he murdered Petra, and he’s known every move I’ve made ever since—at the cemetery, Big Bear, the hotel. Maybe he’s in this room right now.” She looked furtively around.
Baxter stirred his coffee. “You’re assuming a lot, Rusti. When the killer didn’t get what he wanted from René, he probably went to her place to see if it was there. More than likely, your presence had nothing to do with it.”
“He’s right, Rusti. It’s not you the killer is after, it’s the microfilm.”
“That might’ve been true before, but now it’s personal. I sensed it when we fought. He’ll show up, all right.”
“Not likely. He knows we’re been joined at the hip for days.”
“He’s aware you left me to meet with Capt Noble,” Rusti said. “It’s conceivable you might leave again if something important came up. The killer will be watching for another slip-up.”
Rusti sat quietly to give him time to come around. She was surprised at how quickly he ended his silent brooding.
“Okay,” he said. “But I don’t like it, and I reserve the right to call it off at the last minute. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Rusti said. But even as she sighed in relief, she questioned his quick reversal. Was he placating her? Would he ca
ll it off at the last moment? She turned her left hand palm side up and traced the centerline with the tip of her spoon. “Look, I have a long, unbroken lifeline.”
Razor hugged her to him. “Terrific. That makes me feel a hell-of-a-lot better.”
Baxter grinned, his brown eyes bright with a new awareness. If he hadn’t guessed before, he suspected now that Razor’s objection to using her for bait was more than professional ethics.
The three of them put their heads together to plan a strategy. And it was mid-afternoon before Razor was satisfied. Rusti smiled, happy the plan was going forward and amused that while Baxter seemed even more rumpled, Razor’s usual crispness remained intact. His only flaw was his five o’clock shadow. If one could call it a flaw. She didn’t. It made him look even sexier.
“If we’re going to do this tonight,” she said, “we’d better get busy spreading the word. This won’t work if no one knows. I’ll call the Egyptia and Jerry—”
“Not so fast,” Razor said. “Tonight is too soon! It takes time to set up a game like this, time to get the necessary equipment in place and for the perp to hear the news—you can arrive leisurely after breakfast tomorrow. I’ll slip into the condo just before sunrise—while it’s still dark. Baxter can keep an eye on you after I leave the hotel.”
Rusti tried to hide her disappointment. Razor was right. It would take time to arrange everything and for word to get around. A must for their sting to succeed.
“Just don’t get your hopes too high, Rusti,” Razor said. “This will only work if the killer is really keeping tabs on you. And providing he doesn’t sense it’s a setup.”
She reached over and laid her hand on Razor’s. “He won’t. He’ll think I’m alone again.” She smiled. “Come on. Keep a positive attitude. With me wired and both of you covering me, what could go wrong?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Buck Williams hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair, his thoughts churning. First, the call from René’s sister, and now Ben—with his latest news. Damn that Razor. Of course, if Rusti was anything like her twin, he knew firsthand how compelling the attraction could be, even to someone as hard-bitten as himself. He flipped open his wallet to the snapshot of René and him sitting on a log at Idyllwild surrounded by blue and yellow wild flowers. She was laughing, her eyes squinting against the sun. Her hair was black, unlike the rookie picture in his desk drawer.
Rusti Collins probably looked a lot like the old picture. He slammed his hand on the desk. He didn’t intend to have the blood of René’s sister on his hands. But what could he do? The cartel bust was in the works. He switched on the intercom. “Mary,” he said. “Get Baxter on the phone for me. And keep trying on that call to Razor.”
If anything happened to Rusti, Buck knew he’d never forgive himself, and it’d ruin Razor for fieldwork—if he wasn’t already ruined. Damn. He couldn’t lose the best undercover man he’d ever had. Not without a fight.
****
Razor was safely inside René’s apartment when sunrise broke through the darkness. Rusti would be arriving in about two hours. He hated it that they couldn’t arrive together. But in case she was being watched, the lag between his arrival and hers decreased the chance of someone learning she wasn’t alone at the condo. He’d thought he might get some shuteye but he couldn’t sleep. Instead, he spent the time stocking the refrigerator with snacks and sodas, and organizing the wireless equipment. The plan was for Rusti to stroll in later, in broad daylight, looking alone and vulnerable. Razor ignored the vibrating of his cell, not wanting anything to distract him until their trap was sprung. Buck had been trying to reach him, but Razor wasn’t ready to talk to him; he didn’t want to explain something he wasn’t entirely sold on. He paced the floor, waiting for Rusti’s grand entrance. She amazed him. Her angry outburst in the coffee shop hadn’t exactly caught him by surprise; he was only surprised that it took her so long to blow. Ten days of thinking any moment could be the last was enough to drive anyone to take risks. He’d gone along with her dicey idea to buy time—her fear could’ve led her to make another wrong move. And his agreement to give it a try worked. She’d done an immediate about-face the minute he capitulated. The irony was that with her idea in play she probably was safer than when the killer was calling the shots. Now the SOB had to act on their timetable, show up in their controlled area. Her determination and bravery were so like René.
Yeah, and look where René was now. She’d been a trained agent, and still the killer caught her off guard. What chance did a gentle kindergarten teacher have?
Razor rubbed the tight tendons in his neck. They’d cut as much risk from the situation as possible and set the plan in motion. He’d told Terrilla he had to back away from Rusti for a few days to handle the cartel’s recent money-laundering fiasco, but that Rusti would be okay because she was holing up at René’s for a couple of days to pack up and get the condo ready to vacate. She’d be alone, but had promised not to go out. If Terrilla let it slip that Rusti was vulnerable to attack, their trap could work. But Razor doubted such a slip would come from the wily old Capo; he was usually as tight-lipped as they come.
For the mole’s benefit, Baxter let it slip at LAPD headquarters that the Collins woman was spending a few days at the Petra Morgan murder scene to pack up and get it ready to sell. He ordered drive-bys to make it look legit. A determined killer wouldn’t let a few police units in the area stop him from slipping in. It might even make it more of a challenge for him.
Rusti had spread the news, too. Razor suspected that her call to Kirby at the Club Egyptia would be a direct pipeline to the killer. With all this advertising, the killer should learn of Rusti’s whereabouts.
Razor glanced at his watch for the hundredth time. Almost nine. Where was she? In another few minutes he’d call the damn thing off. He looked outside to check the weather. Rusti was supposed to stroll in after daylight, looking alone and vulnerable. It was as bright as it was going to get. The sky had turned gray, and a misty pall hung over everything. A cold frontal system was brewing up one hell of a storm. He glanced around René’s condo—his friend and partner would never come home again. How would Rusti face this? Coming here, with René’s things all around, would be absolute hell for her. It took courage to set herself up as bait for a crazed killer, especially here where Petra had been stabbed.
Just as he’d turned on his cell phone to call the whole thing off, he heard the hum of a car engine. Through a partially opened vertical blind, he watched Rusti climb out of the taxi and approach the door. When she stepped inside, Razor grabbed her and drew her into his arms. He closed his eyes, absorbing the warm, soft womanliness of her.
“Hey,” she squealed. “You scared me half to death.” She was trembling.
He held her closer. “Why? You knew I was waiting for you. And you’re late.”
“I know,” she said softly. “Just nervous, I guess.”
“Good. Setting yourself up as killer bait is very risky business, even with all the precautions we’ve taken.” He looked deep into her eyes. “You can still back out. No one would blame you.”
She shook her head and lifted her chin. “Wire me up, Razor. Let’s get on with this.”
He had everything laid out and ready. She looked stiff as a board. Forcing a grin and a cocky tone, he said, “You’ll have to strip. Gotta tape this paraphernalia to your skin. Can’t do it right with all those clothes on.”
She swatted him. “Give me those gadgets. “I’ll do it myself.”
“Isn’t it a little late to go modest on me? After all, this was your idea.” He squelched the grin, and put on a straight face. “Rigging these wires takes experience, deft fingers, and a hands-on knowledge of the female anatomy.”
Her expression turned mischievous. What was going on in that pretty head? She began unbuttoning her blouse. Slowly. Provocatively. Then she threw her head back, shook that thick auburn hair, and slid her tongue over her lips. He loved her playfulness, the way she could
tease him, even while scared to death. He gave into the urge he’d felt since she walked into the room and drew her to him, kissing her softly, enjoying the familiar taste of her lips. She molded her body to his, as if she belonged there, as if she would always belong there. Her lips parted. Heat spread through his loins. He slid his hands under her blouse and helped her remove it. Silk rustled to the floor. The smooth mounds beneath the lace bra were lush, creamy.
Was he insane? They were on a sting. He had to stay on guard. Besides, as much as he wanted to make love to her, that was no longer an option. “You can leave that on,” he said, hoarsely.
She shrugged, feigning indifference, yet looking sweetly sexy.
It would be so easy to lower her to the floor and have her right here, right now. “Hold the tape,” he said gruffly. “And put your arms up, hands behind your head.”
He lifted the lower edge of her bra. Touching the fevered, moist skin under her breasts sent throbs to his groin. Gently, he patted her skin dry with the hem of his T-shirt before tucking the thin wire and tiny suction cups under her breasts. Rusti stepped closer.
“Hold still,” he growled.
Their measured breathing mingled in the quiet of the room as electric energy sizzled around them. He couldn’t give in to his need—not with her life at stake. And knowing he couldn’t have her added fuel to his raging desire. It took minutes of torturous control before he got her hooked up.
Rusti slipped back into her blouse with a dancer’s supple grace. “Would you like something to eat or drink before you disappear into the attic? I’m sure there’s something in René’s fridge. I could make a sandwich.”
“I’m okay,” he said a little gruffly, hoping to get them back on an even keel. All their fooling around was dangerous. As was her natural tendency to be concerned with his comfort. “Look, Rusti, this is no job for a lady with a tender heart. Toughen up, or we won’t get through this.”
She saluted. “Right, Razor, sir.” A trace of lingering merriment danced in her eyes.