“I can’t read the plate. Can you?”
“It’s dirty.”
“I wonder if that’s an accident.”
“Plus this view is pretty far away,” he added. “I might be able to zoom in and enhance the image, though.”
“Fast-forward this,” she said.
Mac did, and Krista watched, transfixed, as the car stayed parked in the otherwise empty lot with the taillights glowing and the engine running. The driver wasn’t visible except for his elbow hanging out the window as he smoked a cigarette and then flicked it away.
The figure in black reappeared thirty minutes later, moving faster now. Mac paused it.
“That’s him,” Krista said.
“How can you tell? He looks empty-handed to me. Did they recover a gun somewhere?”
“No, but he’s got one. I’d swear to it. Just look at the way he’s moving.”
Mac pressed play again. The man cast a furtive look over his shoulder before slipping back into the car. The sedan backed up, then pulled out of the lot and sped away.
“Damn it, you don’t have a jump-drive, do you?”
Mac shot her a look. “Always.”
“Make a copy of this film. I’ll be back in five.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll be right back.”
Krista slipped out the back door and jogged down the alley. She reached the street and looked around, but it was after midnight and there were no pedestrians. She waited for a break in traffic and dashed across the street, then down the block to the dry cleaners where the sedan had been parked. It was something boxy and American, maybe a Buick or a Dodge. Krista would have to look it up. She reached the spot and stopped to look around.
“Son of a bitch.”
Her heart pounded—not from the sprint, but from excitement—as she crouched down to examine the discarded cigarette butt. She glanced up and down the street, and then pulled her phone from her pocket, along with the business card she’d collected earlier.
The detective answered on the third ring. “Munoz.”
“This is Krista Hart.”
“It’s almost one. Can’t this wait until morning?”
“I found evidence from your drive-by-shooting, only it wasn’t a drive-by. It was a walk-by.”
That got his attention. “What kind of evidence?”
“Surveillance footage.”
“Where are you?” he asked in a much more alert voice.
“Palo Verde and First Street. And bring your evidence kit, too. I might also have DNA.”
Chapter Nine
Krista pulled onto her street and felt a tug of disappointment. No black pickup or Porsche Turbo parked in front of her house. No hot guy to welcome her home, only a squawking parrot who clamored for food as Krista let herself inside.
“Give us a kiss! Give us a kiss!”
Krista dumped her keys and purse on the counter. She stripped off the borrowed poncho and tossed it on her breakfast table. She felt sweaty and stinky.
And cranky and tired and frustrated.
She kicked off her shoes and went into the bathroom, where she turned the shower to molten hot. Standing under the spray, she let the water sluice over her, wishing it would wash away the guilt.
She gazed down at her hands. She’d cleaned up at the hospital, but she’d missed some places, and now she snatched up her loofah and scrubbed at her fingertips, desperate to get the blood out from under her nails. Her throat felt tight. Tears stung her eyes as she scrubbed and scrubbed.
Would Riley make it through the night?
If she didn’t, it was on Krista.
Her questions had sent Riley running away from her newly established identity, her newly established life. Krista’s questions had somehow sent a killer after her.
Krista no longer had any doubt about what had happened.
Riley Campbell had witnessed someone fleeing the scene of the ambush that nearly killed Scarlet.
That someone was a cop. Krista knew it for sure now, but really, she’d known it all along, deep in her heart, although she’d never had proof. The idea had lurked in her mind for years, slowly taking shape. It was the only way everything made sense—the call supposedly from Gabe that had lured Scarlet to the warehouse, the stymied investigation, the way someone had mysteriously gleaned Riley’s name from deep within the case file and then tracked her down and threatened her into leaving. And then there was the Mitch Miller connection. The guy was definitely corrupt, and Krista had no doubt he had ties to some shady people.
Such as the Vartarians.
What leverage had Miller used with Riley? Maybe the threat of an arrest? Or maybe he’d threatened to hurt someone close to her, such as her boyfriend. Or maybe he’d threatened her mother, who happened to be stuck in prison. Whatever leverage he’d used, it had worked, and Riley had gone into hiding.
But she hadn’t stayed there.
Krista’s theory was starting to come together, but she didn’t have proof. All she had were hunches and speculation, and some grainy surveillance footage that didn’t even show a license plate.
And a cigarette butt that may or may not have been tossed by someone who may or may not have had anything to do with an attempted murder. I could have been Mitch Miller or it could have been someone else, but whoever it was, he was probably on the Vartarians’ payroll. Detective Munoz said he’d put a rush on the DNA test, but still it could take a while.
Krista scrubbed her hands until her skin felt raw. She stepped out of the shower and dried off, then threw on a T-shirt and yoga pants. There was no way she could sleep. Not now. Not with so many thoughts zinging through her head.
She padded barefoot into her kitchen to check her phone. Scarlet still hadn’t returned her call. She tried John Moreno again, and to her surprise, he picked up.
“Hey, I got your message,” he said, “but I can’t talk right now.”
He sounded wide awake, so she figured he was either working or with a woman.
“Quick question,” she said. “Seth Brozik. Is he good or bad?”
No answer.
“John?”
“How do you know Seth Brozik?”
“I met him tonight. He said he knows you.”
“Shit. Listen, Krista, I really can’t talk right now. Can I call you in the morning?”
“Just tell me if I can trust him. If this guy’s dirty, I need a heads up.”
“He’s a good man.”
Krista felt a wave of relief. That had been her impression, too, but she’d been burned before by trusting the wrong people.
“Listen, I’ll call you tomorrow—”
“Don’t bother. That’s all I needed to know. Thanks.”
Krista got off the phone and checked her watch. She really hoped John was with a woman right now and not camped out in a van on some stakeout, but she figured he was on a case. The workaholic gene ran in the family.
Krista still felt too wired to sleep. Instead, she caught up on email and busied herself taking care of some loose ends for work—updating her calendar, checking her bank account, writing out a check for R.J.
When she was all out of distractions, she settled onto the sofa with her laptop. Spencer squawked and flapped around his cage, and Krista ignored him as she embarked on a search for Oliver Mitchell Miller.
In just thirty minutes, she learned a lot. Oliver Mitchell Miller and former L.A.P.D. cop “Mitch” Miller were one and the same. So the man who’d threatened Riley had connections on the inside, connections he could have used to gain leverage over her.
When she was finished with Miller, she shifted her attention to Seth Brozik. John Moreno vouched for the guy, but Krista still wanted to know more. The detective had been pretty cryptic earlier, and Krista had sensed he knew way more than he was sharing.
I’m just thinking about tripwires.
A sharp knock on the door made Krista jump. It could only be one person, and panic jolted through her as she glanced down at her ratty T-
shirt and faded yoga pants.
“No place like home! No place like home!”
“Hush up, Spence,” she said as she crossed the living room to her door.
She peered through the peephole and her heart skipped a beat. R.J. was in the same clothes as earlier, jeans and a leather jacket. The only difference was the day’s worth of beard and the determined look in his eyes.
“Open up, Krista.”
She swung open the door. “Hi.”
He glowered down at her as he stepped inside. “What the hell’s going on?”
She closed the door and her nerves did another little dance as she flipped the latch and turned to face him.
“It’s worse than we thought.”
He frowned. “What is?”
“Everything. Scarlet was ambushed by another cop. We always suspected it, but now I think I know who it was.”
“Who?” He folded his arms over his chest.
“Oliver Mitchell Miller. Goes by Mitch.”
“I’ve never heard of him. What division?”
“North Hollywood. He left L.A.P.D. the year before we did, and under a cloud of suspicion. He was being investigated for planting evidence in several drug busts, but Internal Affairs couldn’t make it stick, so they basically squeezed him out.”
“So, he’s a former cop.”
“I think he was working with someone on the inside,” Krista said. “I think he still is. And that’s how he found out about Riley Campbell. She was barely a mention in the case file, but he didn’t want to leave anything to chance—or somebody didn’t—so they pressured her to leave town.”
R.J. watched her skeptically. His eyes were bloodshot, but alert, and he rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Why not just kill her then if she was really a problem?”
Krista shrugged. “She wasn’t definitely a problem, just maybe a problem. So it could be they didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to her, which is what would happen if she suddenly turned up dead. Anyway, I think Miller threatened her and she took off, and he thought he’d taken care of her. He probably thought no one would look into the case file that deep anyway.”
R.J. lifted an eyebrow. “He underestimated you and Scarlet.”
He’d underestimated Scarlet, not Krista. Scarlet was the one who’d turned the case file inside out, looking for every possible shred of evidence that might give them a clue as to what happened. She was the one who’d been obsessed.
Until now. Now Krista was obsessed, too. And John Moreno might even be involved if Krista had interpreted Detective Brozik’s comments correctly.
“I think when I started searching for Riley—combing police records and court records and making inquiries at the prison—I think I stumbled over a tripwire. Miller or his associates got a tipoff that someone was looking for Riley. They realized Riley was a potential liability again and so they tried to kill her.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Krista.”
“Right.”
“It wasn’t.” He reached out and touched her cheek and she pulled away.
“You look tired,” he said.
“Thanks a lot.” She turned on her heel and headed into the kitchen. She wasn’t tired, but her nerves were jumping. R.J. followed her, and she didn’t know what to do, so she reached for the fridge. “Want a beer?”
“No.”
She grabbed a Corona she didn’t really want as R.J. surveyed her kitchen. She saw him notice the check sitting on the counter beside her purse.
He leaned back against the sink, watching her now with a look she couldn’t read. “She’s been upgraded to stable,” he said.
Krista set the beer on the counter. “When? How do you know?”
“I called the hospital on my way here. I know an ER nurse there, and she looked her up for me.”
She watched him as the news sank in. She felt flooded with relief, and tears burned her eyes.
“Hey.” He stepped closer. “You all right, Krista?”
Krista. Not Ace. Or babe. Or honey. The concern in his voice made her chest tighten. And the look on his face…
He watched her for an endless moment, and the room fell silent. No talk. No Spencer. Just the rapid thudding of Krista’s heart as he stood there in her kitchen with that simmering look in his eyes. The air between them felt charged. Her breasts were tight and tingly, and she crossed her arms because she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“So… how was La Jolla?” she asked, scrounging for a new topic.
“Fine.”
She drew a blank on what to say next, and he watched her steadily.
“So—” She cleared her throat. “You were right about Brian. He’s good. Not as bold as you are, but he’s got good instincts. With some training, I think he’ll make a decent P.I.”
He watched her for a long moment, then moved over and picked up the check. He held it in his long, masculine fingers and stepped to stove. He turned the knob, and there was a tick tick tick of the pilot light until the flame caught.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
But she knew what he was doing, and her nerves skittered again as the check started to burn. He held it over the sink, and little flecks of ash drifted down. He turned to face her, and the look in his eyes made her breath catch.
This was it. He was doing this now. Tonight. He was setting fire to all her excuses and calling bullshit on all her pathetic attempts to keep him at arm’s length.
He dropped the singed paper into the sink and then stepped over, and Krista’s throat went dry as she stared up at those intense blue eyes.
“I don’t want your money, Krista.” He eased close, and she could feel the heat coming off him. He reached over and slid his fingers up her neck, and every nerve ending in her body jumped. Slowly, he dipped his head and his mouth hovered over hers. “I want something else.” His voice was low, and the solid warmth of him was making her dizzy. “Something I’ve wanted for a long time.”
He kissed her, softly at first, then harder. And she kissed him back. She had to—she always had to. There wasn’t a thing she could do to resist this man, and lust coursed through her entire body as his tongue delved into her mouth.
She loved the way he kissed, loved the way he tasted, loved the way he slid his hands up to cup her face and tilt her head back to give himself better access. And then his hands were sliding down her sides and around her waist, and before she realized what he was doing, her T-shirt was up over her head and falling to the floor with a soft whoosh. And she was standing there bare-breasted in front of R.J.
R.J., who’d been with models and actresses and countless beautiful women with perfect bodies. But—miracle of miracles—he didn’t seem to be thinking about them right now as his heavy-lidded gaze focused on her. He trailed kisses down her neck. His hot mouth closed over her nipple and gave a sharp pull, making her yelp.
“Sorry.” He glanced up. “Couldn’t help it.” He kissed her softer then, gliding his hands around her waist and pulling her against him, and she slid her fingers up and into the dark thickness of his hair. Everything his mouth was doing was so good she felt her knees melting.
“R.J.”
“You want it, too, Krista.” He moved back to her mouth and didn’t give her a chance to answer. “You’ve wanted it since we met.”
She pulled back. “How would you know?”
He smiled slightly. “Because I know you.” He dragged her close and took her mouth again, and all that hot, melty anticipation turned into a flurry of nerves. She pulled back.
“Hey.” His gaze narrowed. “What’s with the shy?”
“I’m not shy. I’m nervous.”
He smiled slowly. “Don’t be. I’ll go easy on you the first time.”
Her pulse jumped. “I’m nervous we’re making a mistake, R.J. We’ve known each other for years. This could change everything.”
He gripped her hips and pulled her against him. “I sure as hell hope so.”
Chapter Ten
Krista awoke to an empty bed. She blinked into the brightness of her bedroom, and a rush of memories flooded her. She turned her head to the side and ran her hand over the smooth, cool sheet.
Her phone lay on the nightstand, but she’d silenced the ringer. She’d missed a call from Scarlet, but she’d left a voice mail. Krista listened to the brief message—Scarlet had called at the ungodly hour of 4:15 when she was leaving Peoria.
I should be at the office by ten, unless traffic is particularly fucked this morning. I have something. It could be big. Very big.
Scarlet had called again only an hour ago, but didn’t leave a message the second time. Krista was about to call her back when she noticed that she had three missed called from Mac, which was odd because he lived so close that he usually just showed up when he needed something.
She sat up and called him back.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“Upstairs. I saw you had company last night. Didn’t want to intrude.”
So… did she still have company? She brushed the hair out of her eyes as she looked around groggily. She started to ask Mac, but changed her mind. It was way too embarrassing to ask her tenant for a status update on her love life.
But she smelled coffee, so—
“I got it, Krista.” Mac’s voice sounded excited.
“Got what?” She swung her legs out of bed and snagged a T-shirt off the floor and pulled it on.
“The license plate. It wasn’t visible at first, but I used a software program to zoom in and sharpen it, and I got the tag number.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
Krista stood up, feeling totally awake now.
“I’ll text you the details, but get this. The tag comes back to a car registered to L.A.P.D. I think it’s one of the cool cars from their motor pool, one of the ones they use for undercover work.”
Krista went still. Damn it, she wished Mac hadn’t told her that. She wished he didn’t know that, but she’d dragged him into this thing, so now he was involved.
“Mac, listen. You haven’t told anyone this, have you?”
“Who would I tell?”
“I don’t know. A contact at the DMV or someone?”
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