Sebastian did seem devoted to that particular cause. The second of four escapes to get the Riveras justice, I thought, following his outstretched hand. Benita Rivera sat in the bottom row of the bleachers.
Some distance away, a man kept his focus on Sebastian. Older, dark hair, darker expression.
Edmund Fox.
When Sebastian approached Benita, however, Fox faded into the crowd.
My heart began to pound. The audience had started dispersing, so there was no use going after him. But Fox here. No coincidence. Was he on Sebastian’s fan list—he didn’t seem the email junkie type—or had he gotten his intel from a team member?
Jake found me. “So what’s going on?”
“Maybe you can tell me,” I said, that picture of him and Sebastian facing each other down freeze-framed in my mind. What the hell had been going on between them? I knew even if I questioned him about it, he wouldn’t explain, so instead I asked, “Why are you here?”
“Doing a night shoot. More work for the gallery. Their request, remember? This was just too good an opportunity to pass up.”
“Shooting the escape or having that face-to-face with Sebastian?”
“Maybe both.”
Well, at least he was being honest. “So what did you get out of it?”
“I don’t know yet. But I warned him not to bother you again—”
Appalled, I sputtered, “Y-you wh-what?”
“Personally,” he added.
I stared at him and willed my outrage under control. When I could speak calmly, I said, “Brogan found me about an hour ago. I was here to save Sebastian’s life.”
“Doesn’t look like he needed your help, does it?”
“Maybe my warning made him recheck a problem that needed fixing.”
“You still think he’s an illusionist in the human sense?”
“I don’t know what to think.” The words scraped against my throat. “About either of you.”
A strange expression flicked across Jake’s features before he covered, making his face a blank mask. “Why don’t we talk about this at home?”
I wanted to touch him…to reassure him…to be able to say the L-word.
Instead, I said, “I’m on the job.”
“There was no murder here.”
True, there hadn’t been. Could Brogan have been wrong? Or could I have somehow changed the course of what he’d seen? Either way, I was in no mood to have a heart-to-heart with Jake. Our relationship was too important, and at the moment too tentative to put at risk.
“I still have this instinct…” I said with a shrug far more casual than how I felt. “I can’t leave yet.”
“Right. You haven’t touched base with Sebastian again.”
“Who said I was going to?”
Jake shouldered his camera equipment. “I would like you to leave with me.”
Part of me wanted to go with him, to give him what he needed, but I shook my head.
Jake stared hard and his disappointment washed through me. I might have felt guilty if I hadn’t sensed something darker. Something he apparently wasn’t ready to put a name to.
“What?” I demanded, wishing he would open up, wishing away the stumbling block between us, wishing I didn’t have any doubts about him. About us.
“Just so you know,” he finally said, “I’m not through with Sebastian Cole. Not a warning, just trying to be informative.”
And with that he vanished in a blink—vampire speed—leaving me feeling like crap.
I had some choices to make about Jake, about where our relationship was going to take us, but not here and not now. I couldn’t let emotion rule my head where murder was involved. I couldn’t screw up my professional life like that.
On the other hand, I couldn’t screw up my personal life because a case had gotten to me on a very basic level. I was confused about my relationship with Jake and had to get myself straight before I lost what I had. But I also needed to put my personal life on hold and concentrate on my work until this case was solved. I only hoped Jake could deal.
I shoved my way through the groupies waiting for an up-close-and-personal glimpse of Sebastian, who was signing autographs. Tanya was with him. And the head of the security team.
Finding a deserted spot at the back of the building, I called Brogan on his cell. He picked up on the first ring.
“Detective Caldwell…where should I be picking up my fee?”
“No murder, no fee.”
“Ah, still too early then.”
“Sebastian Cole went off the roof of the public library between two giant owls. By the time the bag they put him in hit the ground, he wasn’t inside. He’s alive and well and tending to his fans.”
“Well, he wasn’t the one, then.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know who the victim was.”
“I didn’t see the man, because I was him in my vision…but I did see the winged creature as he fell. Which I couldn’t have done if I was in a bag, now could I?”
Frowning, I realized his quick analysis made sense.
Which meant the murder was yet to happen.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Wind whistled around me as I sat knees to chest, my back pressed against a metal owl. I had to be out of my mind, but what was new?
No matter how much I wanted to ignore them, I had to trust my instincts. And instinct told me there would be a murder and it would happen right where I’d thought. My timing had been off.
Being a Sunday night, the area had already quieted, and it wasn’t yet midnight. On one side of the library, traffic noise drifted up to me, but it had grown lighter. On the other side stood the elevated structure. Trains clacked across the tracks with decreased frequency. Other than vehicle noise and the occasional siren, only the sound of the wind kept me company.
I wondered if I was playing a fool’s game. The backup I’d requested earlier had never found the gang member. They’d since departed. So had the mounted unit and Sebastian and his team.
I’d called Norelli and told him I was on a stakeout of my own. Said I’d had a tip something was going down at the library and that Sebastian had performed his latest escape here. Norelli had been preoccupied and had merely asked me to keep him informed. So my ass was covered.
Whomever had been in charge of the library closed up for the night, leaving me stranded on the roof. I’d unlocked the door to the stairs so that I could get back inside later, but some security-conscious employee had caught it.
No one knew I was here, not even Silke. I’d shut down communications so she couldn’t interfere. So she couldn’t get hurt.
I felt the need to prove whether or not I was crazy for believing Casey Brogan. I had to know which. It wasn’t like I couldn’t call for backup—I had both my cell and radio.
Little comfort at the moment. The winds were picking up and the clouds threatened rain.
Great.
How much longer would I have to wait?
As if the fates answered, I heard a clunk at the other end of the roof. Staying within the shelter of the sculpture, I got to my feet to loosen up my stiff joints.
I stretched fast and tested each limb to make sure it was fully awake as I waited to see what would happen next.
Muffled sounds and sharp whispers were followed by movement—heads rising over the roof edge catty-corner from where I waited. I could barely see them above the skylights that peaked over the Winter Garden. Quickly, I ducked low and moved from one sculpture to a second to a third.
I stopped, waiting to see who would appear.
My heart pounded and my throat closed when the first guy revealed himself. Excitement rather than fear gripped me as moonlight swept over his exotic features. Why was I not surprised? He’d played at being part of the security team so he could get up here, get the lay of the land without anyone realizing he didn’t belong. Obviously he’d been looking for the easiest way to get back on the roof.
Next up was Tattoo Boy.
The man who would plunge to his death?
My pulse jumped and my heart beat double-time. I crept closer, using the sculpture as cover. They were too intent on their victim—probably too cocky—to look around and make sure they were alone.
Reaching for my gun, I continued to approach silently as they removed the bag from the man’s head and pulled a strip of tape from his mouth.
“Why me?” the man gasped. “What did I ever do to you?”
“Not you…your brother.”
“He prosecuted you?”
Tattoo Boy laughed. “Like that would ever happen.”
The trial reference nearly made me misstep.
But by the time Tattoo Boy said, “He prosecuted the wrong case is all,” I was right behind them, gun in two hands.
“Freeze. Police.”
Tattoo Boy laughed again, and like lightning, whirled and kicked my gun away. It skittered across the roof, and he gave the hapless brother a sharp shove with the flat of his hand.
The man made a gagging noise as he tried to catch his balance. I shot forward and grabbed onto his jacket, but he was already flying, now with me in tow. I stopped him just before he went off the edge of the roof.
“Hang on,” I yelled, flipping over and kicking out before the gangbangers could finish us both off.
I caught Tattoo Boy square in the knee. His curse rang through the night, making me smile grimly.
“Maybe we oughta go,” the Asian said.
“I’m going to take care of this bitch once and for all.”
Tattoo Boy probably didn’t count on my getting to my feet so fast, because he left himself open long enough for me to move in close. My shoulder to his solar plexus took away his breath. I went after my weapon.
My fingers were within inches of reaching it when he grabbed me by the jacket collar, jerked me against his chest and wrapped what felt like a band of steel around my neck.
His lips at my ear, he said, “Say good night, Detective. For good.”
Determined not to let him push me off the roof, I managed to wedge my hand between us to play dirty. I grabbed him and squeezed hard, digging my nails in for good measure.
With a yowl, he let go of me and dropped to his knees. I whirled and smacked him in the side of the head with the heel of my palm. Nothing like a brain scramble to incapacitate you.
Then I went for my gun…but it was gone.
“Looking for this?” the other gangbanger asked.
Realizing he’d turned my own weapon on me, I faced him. “So far I have nothing on you other than a robbery and escape. Don’t make it murder. Especially don’t murder a cop, because you’ll have the whole force down on your neck.”
“Maybe I got nothing to worry about.”
Did he have some kind of magic to protect him? Or someone who was magic?
“What about the guy behind you?” I asked, flicking my gaze over his shoulder. “You worried about him?”
“Yeah, good gag. Too bad it won’t play.”
I shrugged and the intended victim, hands still secured behind him, rammed his shoulder into the bastard’s back. The gun flew yet again, and this time I went for it immediately. I had my hands on the steel when I heard the crash of glass and a strangled scream.
I turned in time to see the victim, wrapped in the arms of his would-be murderer, break through the skylight. Before I could get to them, they fell through the glass and down-down-down the multi-storied atrium.
A security guard stood in the staircase doorway on the other side of the skylight. From his shocked expression, I could tell he couldn’t believe what he was seeing any more than I could. When a sickening splat told us they’d landed on the floor of the Winter Garden, we both ran to the opening.
“Who the hell are you?” the guard asked.
“Cop.”
I held up my hand as I listened for moans of pain, hoping against hope that they were both alive. I glanced back to make sure Tattoo Boy was no threat, then stopped cold.
The bastard had melted into the night.
Half-distracted with thoughts that he wasn’t really gone, that if I let down my guard, he would finish what he’d started, half thinking that I should have been able to stop this tragedy, I called down to the fallen men.
“Can either of you hear me? Are you alive?”
In answer, the wind whipped over the roof and through me, its eerie sound like the flap of an owl’s wings…
Chapter Thirty-Five
“I almost saved him,” I told Norelli after he arrived on the scene right behind the case supervisor and CSI team.
I’d parked myself in the Winter Garden, watching the medics zip up one of the black body bags. I couldn’t bear to go closer again, but neither could I take my gaze from the proceedings. I should have stopped this from happening. I should have done something different. I should have—would have—had I known.
“I did keep him from going off the roof. He was trying to help me…”
“Hey, you can’t blame yourself. You were doing your job. This wasn’t your fault.”
Consolation from Norelli. Great. I swallowed hard, feeling like a pitiful excuse for a cop. I was having a hard time convincing myself that he was right, that it wasn’t my fault.
Why couldn’t I believe it?
“Start from the beginning,” he said.
“I told you I got a tip and was going to stake out the place.”
“You didn’t tell me you were going to do it from the roof.”
“Plans go awry,” I said, as if I hadn’t meant to be on that roof all along. “I was up there, checking things out and one of the security guards must have locked the door.” That much was true.
“Why didn’t you call someone?”
“Do you always get a signal when you want one?” I asked evasively.
“But you called in backup afterward.”
“Because then my phone was working.” So far, no lies. Not exactly. Just the part of the truth a single-minded cop could accept. No way was Norelli getting on the supernatural bandwagon. “Besides, a security guard showed up just before the victim tackled our local gangbanger from behind.”
“So there’s a witness to back up your story. Good. That’ll simplify things.”
I hoped. “He wasn’t working alone. Tattoo Boy was up there too.”
“What did he do? Fly away?”
For a moment words stuck in my throat. That’s exactly what I’d imagined had happened. Again, a fact I couldn’t share with Norelli.
“He must have rappelled down—you know, used ropes like a mountain climber.” I didn’t know for sure that wasn’t true. “The same way they got up on the roof. I found the rigging on the El side of the building.” I wondered if perhaps he’d merely dropped as far as the rapid transit elevated structure then disappeared on a train.
“Do we have an ID on the victim?” Norelli asked.
I could hardly breathe when I said, “Alan Forrest.”
“Forrest. Now why does that sound familiar?”
“Before they realized I was there, Tattoo Boy and his buddy were a little talky. Apparently the victim’s brother is a prosecutor.”
“As in Matthew Forrest?” Norelli sounded nearly as shocked as I’d felt when I’d figured it out.
“As far as I know, he would be the one.”
“Matthew Forrest was the prosecutor on the—”
“Hernandez case,” I finished for him. “Which means the two murders are connected. First the sister of the judge is murdered. Followed by the brother of the prosecutor.”
Who was next? I wondered, already convinced the murders weren’t going to stop here.
Norelli swore under his breath. “Both related to one case gone bad. The Martin woman’s death was similar to Sebastian’s escape, but now the Forrest guy gets it in the same location as the latest performan
ce. Talk about an escalating heater.”
“The pressure is going to be on us to solve this, all right, and before it happens again.”
“On me, you mean,” Norelli clarified. “They’re probably gonna stick you at a desk doing paperwork until you get clearance.”
“They can’t do that. I have a witness.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see.” Norelli was pacing as though that made him think more clearly. “A murderer who hates Sebastian has an agenda that includes nailing him.”
If Sebastian wasn’t behind it all. I hadn’t thought so before, but now I wasn’t so sure.
“Right, a copycat,” I said absently.
“That Edmund Fox.”
“Edmund Fox was here tonight. I saw him.”
“How did he even know about the event?”
“Interesting question. Here’s another one—does he have an in with someone close to Sebastian?”
“You get back to the station and start that paperwork. I’ll take over here.”
Great. Paperwork. Every cop’s favorite activity. There was going to be a lot of paperwork involved in this one. My report would include every connection I could think of.
Well, every one I could mention without being turned back into a rubber-gun officer.
I didn’t want to leave the murder scene, but I didn’t have a choice. The two cases were connected, which meant Norelli was rightfully in charge. I couldn’t let myself be taken off the case, though. I had to get that clearance and fast.
On the drive back to the office, I let my mind wander over the sequence of events and the possible suspects. The location was damning…still, I didn’t want to think Sebastian was the murderer.
But he was a magician. A real one. At least I thought so. I couldn’t help but hold out hope that I was wrong and the world hadn’t gone crazy on me.
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