Material Witness

by L. A. Mondello

  The ferocious pounding on the door matched the kind of power she imagined Jake could deliver if provoked. The kind Cassie had felt last night as his arms wrapped around her and he shielded her body, pulling her behind the bar to safety when the gunfire broke out.

  “I'll be right there,” she said, and cleared the sleep from her throat. She drew in a deep breath, pushing her tangled hair away from her face before yanking the door open. She was met by Jake's handsome and somewhat scowling expression, mid-knock. He slowly lowered his fisted hand.

  “You didn't even ask who it was,” Jake barked.

  “Good morning to you, too.”

  “It could have been anyone here to do God only knows what.”

  Crossing her arms across her chest, Cassie replied, “I knew it was you.”

  “How?”

  “I'm psychic.”

  He didn't look convinced, nor did he appear in the mood for any of her attempt at teasing, and at this hour of the morning, Cassie didn't care.

  “How did you get into the building without being announced?” she asked.

  “Perfect timing. I was coming in as someone was leaving through the front door. I think a crime watch meeting with your neighbors is way overdue.” Jake stared at her. “Aren't you going to invite me in?” he asked.

  “Give me a minute, I'm thinking.”

  He spun past her into the living room as if he hadn't heard her and tossed the morning paper to her cherry coffee table, already cluttered with reference books she'd dragged home from the library a few days before.

  “Well, think while you read this. Got any coffee?”

  “Ah, I'll make some in a minute. Make yourself at home.”

  She pushed the door closed and padded barefoot to retrieve the newspaper.

  Jake's heavy sigh had her turning to him. He looked exhausted, as if he'd had even less sleep than she'd had. The dark shadow lining his jaw showed he hadn't bothered to shave yet. Normally, Cassie liked men with a clean-shaven face, but something about the way Jake looked, rugged, almost outdoorsy, made her stir inside. It started small and began to build. She shifted in place to shake off the tingling feeling.

  Jake cleared his throat. “You read. Just tell me where.”

  “Where?”

  “Coffee. Preferably extra-strength, if you have it. I'll make it.”

  Uneasiness skittered through her, settling in her stomach. It wasn't the same stirring she felt just seconds ago. Cassie refused to believe it to be a premonition, so she passed it off as fatigue.

  Jake's presence in her home was too intimate. He'd been an enigmatic stranger at Rory's, and a highly professional police officer at the police station last night. He was much the same now, except in her apartment, surrounded by her personal things, Cassie felt almost…naked in a way she hadn't felt for some time.

  “Colombian coffee on the refrigerator door. Filters in the cabinet above the coffee maker on the counter,” she said.

  As Jake treaded to the kitchen, Cassie plopped down on her slipcovered sofa and draped the afghan over her legs. This man had been privileged to see more of her than any man had in three years, and she hadn't even known him a full twenty-four hours.

  It wasn't only modesty. Scratches from the flying glass and bruises from hitting the floor were now surfacing on her skin. Cassie hadn't felt them when she'd showered last night or before she went to bed, but now that the adrenaline rush had worn off, they were nagging at her.

  She reached for the newspaper. “What am I reading?”

  “Front page,” Jake called out from the kitchen.

  Cassie slapped the newspaper on her lap, fingering the edge of the paper as she examined the headline. “The President vetoed—” she started to say before Jake came back into the room and cut in.

  “Bottom of the page, big bold print.”

  Her eyes grazed the page of the Providence Journal Bulletin until they settled on the article Jake was referring to. Her whole body collapsed as the newsprint screamed at her. Crime novelist Cassie Lang involved in deadly shoot-out.

  Cassie’s heart stopped beating and her hands shook so violently, the newspaper slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. When she finally found her voice, it was barely audible to her own ears as she spoke.

  “You said you weren't going to reveal my name.”

  Jake was at the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb.

  “I didn't.”

  “Then how? Who?”

  He came into the room slowly and eased himself down on the sofa beside her, draping his arm across the back in what seemed like a comforting gesture. The whole thing felt like watching a movie in slow motion. Those bottomless blue eyes she'd locked onto last night held assurance meant only for her benefit. She only wished it brought the comfort she craved.

  “That's what I'd like to know,” he said.

  “Just tell me one thing. Did you find Angel Fagnelio?”

  “No.”

  To his credit, Jake didn’t try to sugarcoat the truth. Cassie didn’t know why that made her feel better but it did. But only momentarily.

  “He’s in hiding,” she muttered.

  “We’re looking. I need to know if you recognized anyone at that bar last night. Anyone at all.”

  “No. Why would I? I’d never been there before.”

  “Who knew you were there?”

  “Just Maureen Phillips.”

  Goosebumps invaded her skin like wildfire running across a dry field, and she hugged herself to keep from shivering. Jake inched closer and hesitated, as if he didn't like what he was about to say.

  “Not Maureen,” she insisted, taking the burden from him.

  He scrubbed his hand over his jaw before replying. “Who is she?”

  “My editor.”

  “Anyone else who might have known? Someone Maureen might have told?”

  “It just happened last night? Who could she have told between the time I spoke to her at the station and the newspaper went to press?”

  Cassie squeezed her eyes for a moment, wishing she could will away the newsprint on the page like writing on a chalkboard. Wishing she could be invisible again. But suddenly she felt so exposed.

  “Ah, her boyfriend, Adam Coel, was there when I called. I'm sure she probably mentioned it to him. But—”

  “Do you know him well?”

  “A little. We've spent a few weekends in the Catskills together over the eight or nine months since she's been seeing him. But he'd have no reason to call the papers about this? And it was so late.”

  “Why did you go to Rory's? I mean, what made you decide on Rory's as opposed to some other bar in the area to do your research. That part of town is filled with places like Rory's but not nearly so notorious for criminal activity.”

  “Maureen suggested a few places.”

  “Your editor suggested you become a hooker for the evening?”

  Cassie tossed him a wry expression. “I was not a hooker. I was pretending. Big difference. Besides, Maureen had no idea I'd gone to Rory's specifically. We did a Google search while we were on the phone. I made a list, closed my eyes and picked one.”

  Cassie forced air into her lungs, much like a gulp. Her head was swimming. As a novelist, she’d learned enough about crime to know that this morning's headline was akin to having a target on her back. Last night, she was just another nobody who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sure, she was a well-known author, but still invisible to anyone who didn’t read her books. It was doubtful anyone at Rory’s was part of her readership.

  But today, she was a material witness who could finger a killer who now had the means to identify her. And he was still out there…

  She peered up at Jake, hoping to find some assurance. In the end, the lines etched on his tired face and the tightness around the edges of his mouth didn’t give her any.

  “Then how did Maureen know you were there last night?”

  “She's the person I called from th
e station.”

  He nodded. “You have to admit the publicity—”

  “No!” The sharp tone of Cassie's voice startled even her.

  Jake stiffened as if bracing himself for yet another unpleasant battle. “How can you be so sure it wasn't Maureen?”

  “I just am. I may have wanted to kill her last night, figuratively of course, but we're friends. She'd never put me in harm's way.”

  Jake lips spread to a cynical grin.

  “Look, I know going to Rory's wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done, but I've known Maureen for six years. If she really thought I'd be in danger, she never would have made the suggestion. In fact, if I hadn't been so late getting there in the first place I'd have gotten all the information I needed and been long gone before the shooting. We both thought it would simply be an hour or so of people watching. Maybe talking a little to some of the other girls who might show up. Seeing how they interact with people who came into the bar. That's something I do all the time for my books.”

  His dark eyebrows stretched high on his forehead. “You said that last night. You just watch people when they're not looking?”

  “Yes, that's how you really get to know them. It's not like voyeurism or anything sick like that. I don't peek at people through their windows or do anything illegal. I just watch people acting naturally, take in their mannerisms and try to make characters out of them. Once you meet people, they put on a fake face to impress you.”

  “So you were interviewing me as a prospective—”

  “I was doing research. I had no intention of going to bed with you.”

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she was sure her sensual thoughts of Jake had betrayed her. He gave her a slow, sexy grin, rewarding her with his dimple. She'd been caught.

  “Maybe not last night,” he answered in a low voice.

  She closed her eyes and tried to squash the longing that suddenly engulfed her. Fear replaced it.

  “What happens now?”

  Jake nodded once, straightening his posture. Whatever had just passed between them was gone, and the man standing in her living room was suddenly serious and professional again. “You're going to be fine. For starters, I'm bringing you down to the station to work out the details of what to do until things settle down.”

  She snapped her gaze at him and huffed. “Don't patronize me. A crime boss has just been murdered and the one person who can finger his murderer is me. I may have been a little naive last night, but my mind is pretty clear right now, and I know what trouble I'm in.”

  “You'll be safe.”

  A wry laugh escaped her that sounded almost hysterical to her ears. “You saw how easy it was for you to waltz right into a secure building. Are you going to have someone stand guard outside my door twenty-four hours a day?”

  “If we have to, yes.”

  “And what will that accomplish? These people don’t ring doorbells. They don’t pick and choose who to hurt. And they don’t care who gets killed in the process. A spray of bullets, a bomb and broken brake line to make it look like an accident? Hell, they don’t even care of it looks like an accident.”

  “You’re going to be fine.”

  Cassie looked at Jake in disbelief. He was totally serious. “What about you? You were there, too. Aren't you afraid someone in Ritchie's family will come after you because of your connection with Angel Fagnelio? And Fagnelio knew you were there. He didn’t care.”

  He hesitated. “That’s a problem.”

  “You think?”

  “I thought I’d gained Angel’s confidence these last few months. Perhaps I was wrong. Or perhaps his desire to get back at Ritchie was worth wasting me too. I don’t know. This group isn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type. Since Fagnelio made the hit on Rory's, none of the other informants are talking. They’re all nervous. I’m pretty sure Ritchie Trumbella was the target and everyone else was just in the way. But that’s just a guess.”

  “And now I’m in the way.” She dropped her face into her hands, not wanting to think about how differently last night could have played out. Within seconds, she felt Jake's wide hand stroking her back. Heat enveloped her where his touch made contact and slowly spread outward.

  “There’s a lot riding on this. But the most important part of all of it is that someone leaked your name to the press. That shouldn’t have happened. But since it did, you need protection. You say it wasn't Maureen—”

  “It wasn't. I’ll admit Maureen has had some wild ideas in her time. She had me dress up as a clown and deliver singing telegrams once so I could think about ways to get into highly secure buildings. But all that stuff was harmless. She would never put me in danger just to sell some books.”

  “How famous is Cassie Lang?”

  She shrugged. “I have some fans. I don’t get recognized at the market or anything. People aren’t running after me to get my picture, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Maybe one of them saw you and called the press.”

  “You flatter me. I've had a good sales record, but I don't think someone would turn their head twice if they recognized me.”

  “You're wrong there, Cassie.”

  She forced air into her lungs. She tried to convince herself it was to calm her down after learning the disturbing news she was a target. Certainly not because of the way Jake Santos held her gaze as if he were balancing a fragile piece of crystal.

  The coffee maker cut into the sudden silence with a loud burping noise as the pot filled. Normally Cassie couldn't function without at least two or three cups in her. The fear she had racing through her veins now rivaled anything caffeine could give her.

  Jake eased off the sofa. “Why don't you go pack an overnight bag while I pour us some coffee?”

  “A suitcase?”

  “We'll probably be moving you to another location.”

  “That won't be enough,” she said, not moving or looking up at him as he strode toward the kitchen.

  Jake turned back, resting his hand on the doorjamb as he looked at her. He was powerful, magnetic. She was infinitely glad he was here, yet at the same time she feared everything about him.

  “No, it won't,” he said, the deep timbre of his voice echoing the severity of the situation. “But it'll have to be enough for now. Anything else you need you can get on the way.”

  “Like a computer? My work? How about my life?”

  “We're talking about your life, Cassie. Now go pack. The sooner we get you to a safer place, the better.”

  He wasn’t demanding, but Jake made his point clear. She should put her trust in him and go. Why did that fill her with a fear she hadn't felt in a long time? Why did she think that by giving up her trust to a man like Jake Santos to take care of her, to keep her safe, she'd risk endangering her heart?

  * * *

  District Attorney Martha Landers gave a new definition to dog spitting mad. She had always been a powerhouse, Jake recalled, but after reading the file on Ritchie Trumbella and Angel Fagnelio, she was ready to have someone's head readied for the guillotine.

  Jake was first in line. As they walked down the hall toward the interrogation room where his partner, Kevin Gordon, was talking to Cassie, Martha let him have it.

  “Did it ever occur to you to check to see if there was another ongoing investigation? You were tripping all over the FBI’s case and didn’t even know it!”

  “Courtesy would have gone a long way if the FBI had informed the local PD about their own investigation. This is our turf,” Captain Russo said. “We’ve cooperated with the FBI before. We play nice if they do.”

  “The FBI doesn’t give a shit about playing nice,” Martha said in disgust. “And they don’t have to. I spent an hour on the phone with the head of the Bureau in Quantico this morning convincing him I love my job and want to keep it. They have jurisdiction on this, our turf or not. They’ll be here to collect their witness within the hour.”

  “Their witness. That doesn’t give us much ti
me,” Russo said.

  Martha folded her arms across her chest, stretching the shoulder seams of her blue power suit. She had been working in the DA's office longer than Jake had been on the force. Except for the slight tint of stubborn gray at her temples that hair color couldn't tame, and the deepening crow’s feet creasing her eyes, she hadn't changed much. “I suggest you tread lightly. If the FBI suspects you’re even looking at Ms. Alvarez wrong… Where is she?”

  “Here. She’s with Kevin.” Jake opened the interrogation room door. Cassie sat at the table. Across from her was his partner, Detective Kevin Gordon. Kevin was his usual charming self, laughing and leaning his chair on two legs. He pushed back errant strands of hair that had fallen from the tight ponytail he wore while working to keep his shoulder-length dark blond hair at bay.

  Martha smiled politely at Cassie. “Ms. Alvarez.”

  “Hello,” Cassie said.

  “Detective Gordon, can I steal you away for a minute?”

  Moments later, they were standing in the hallway. Martha appeared uncomfortable as she spoke. “My hands are tied on this one. Not that the outcome would be any different for Ms. Alvarez, but I wish you’d kept me in the loop regarding your investigation of Ritchie Trumbella. It would have saved me a little embarrassment with the Bureau. My complexion doesn't look so good with egg on it.”

  “We didn't have anything to give you until last night,” Kevin said. “It goes both ways, you know. But whatever they were investigating had to be more than just local or they wouldn’t have invested this much time.”

  “Bond fraud.”

  Captain Russo whistled.

  “Jeez, no wonder the feds are pissed,” Jake said.

  “They lost an agent last night in the shooting. He'd spent over two years deep undercover cozying up to Trumbella. They've been closed-mouthed about much of it, but I do know the investigation was focusing on a connection with a company called The Aztec Corporation out of Colombia.”

  “Never heard of them. South America?” Kevin asked.