“You said you didn’t want to sit around doing paperwork,” Victoria reminded her.
Never had Devin been so grateful for one of Victoria’s snarky comments.
Calla stopped moving and shifted her glare to her friend. “How quickly they forget. Do you not recall Labor Day weekend?”
Sitting next to Victoria, Jared grinned.
Would he and Calla ever share another easygoing weekend? Devin wondered. When he had his badge back would their relationship return to the way it’d been before—where he lusted after her from a safe distance, and she went out with other guys while waiting for him to have the guts to do something about their attraction? Or would it simply be over?
He recalled Victoria and Jared’s weekend having hit a few bumps, as well. Namely a jewel theft. Somehow they’d worked things out.
“She spied on you and Jared,” Calla said sharply.
Victoria looked unconcerned. “She didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” She laid her hand against
Jared’s chest. “I remember her being quite accurate where Jared’s hotness was concerned.”
Shelby brought over a plate of freshly baked cookies, and each of the men couldn’t wait to grab one. Devin wondered if the other guys were thinking the same thing he was: with their mouths full nobody would ask them to comment, which would prevent them from getting in trouble with the girls.
Shelby sat next to her husband. “I think we all agree Peeps has been a somewhat...invasive presence in our lives over the last several months.”
“My father certainly wasn’t pleased to find his name in a gossip rag,” Trevor said.
Though that hadn’t turned out so bad, Devin recalled. Trevor’s father, the Earl of Banfield, had actually joined the gang at one point.
Was there long-term room in the group for a moody, distrustful cop with a nasty genealogy who was proficient on the firing range, not romancing an alluring woman?
“But this is Devin’s career and reputation we’re trying to save,” Shelby continued, her gaze meeting Calla’s.
“Whatever we have to do in order to make that happen is a necessary crisis.”
Calla nodded. “You’re right.” Moving behind Devin, she leaned down and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly in his ear.
As always, her sweet scent made his head swim. He’d never understand her loyalty. Sure, he’d helped out her and her friends a few times, but he’d only been doing his job. “Have a cookie,” he said, handing her one.
Since he got a kiss on the cheek for that, he wondered if this boyfriend business could be learned and made a mental note to ask Trevor and Jared at the first opportunity.
“I want to update all of you, not rant,” Calla said after eating her cookie. “With our suspect interviews suspended for now, the cops have come up with a pretty good plan,” she admitted. “Even if it does involve that big-mouthed Peeps.”
“We have to make deals with lesser cons all the time in order to get the dangerous ones,” Devin told her.
“The wheels of justice,” Calla commented with a weary shake of her head. “No wonder Robin Hood is always in such high demand.” She took another cookie. “So Anderson and Reid think our killer needs attention, a forum, an audience, and since she can’t admit her real accomplishments—framing Devin and killing Jimmie—they agree she’ll seek it elsewhere.”
Victoria looked disgusted. “She killed off her only confidant. That’s just poor planning.”
Calla smiled. “They’re also convinced she follows Peeps’s column. Here’s the article for this morning.” She retrieve the newspaper from the counter behind her and tossed it on the table.
The New York Tattletale
TPIS (Thank Peeps It’s Saturday)
by Peeps Galloway, Gossipmonger
(And proud of it!)
Darlings, it’s Saturday. Need I say more?
Stick with me, Manhattanites, and I’ll pull you out of the trenches of your cubicle-chained, hum-drum life and show you what life in the city is all about—looking great, sizzling music, potent cocktails and blowing large amounts of dough.
While gorgeous detectives who were recently indicted are being questioned under hot lights about a certain murder (told you I’d get the scoop), you can show your support—or join in on his condemnation—with a drink at Urge. I certainly will.
Be sure to say hi if you see me.
Kidding! You know you won’t actually see me. Tsk, tsk, dear followers, I have to go incognito as usual. I make the noble sacrifice for you. After all, how else will I know if Jenny Jam and Simon B. show up together, even though they supposedly had a public breakup over which rehab spa to enter after their North American tour is over?
Rest assured, all the best people will be out and about. I’ll be trolling several hot spots, including Black Mask and Peel It!, but Urge is the final destination. I simply adore their cocktails with glowing neon ice cubes.
Ask for Mike behind the bar. He’s been known to give a girl an extra shot with a wink.
Glowing as a cube,
—Peeps
P.S. My assistants and various members of my spy network will also be dashing about, so if you should encounter one, be as truthful as you dare. (How else will I know how to twist whatever you say into something more interesting and printable?)
* * *
“HOWARD IS AT THE STATION now, holed up in an interrogation room with Anderson and Reid to strategize ways to get the suspect to confess,” Calla said when the group shifted their attention back to her.
“Talk about lousy assignments for a defense attorney.” Victoria pointed at the column. “Mike?”
“Lieutenant Reid.” Calla glanced at her watch. “He should be here anytime. One of Shelby’s staff is going to show him the finer points of bartending.”
Shelby looked skeptical. “I can’t imagine Colin Reid tossing glasses about and flirting with women sidled up to the bar. Why don’t we put Trevor and Jared behind the bar? Reid can pose as a bouncer.”
“Or the manager,” Victoria suggested.
Calla glanced at Devin, who said nothing. He was crazy about Calla, but no way was he jumping in to regarding her friends’ role in the operation. “They can’t pose as anything,” Calla said, her voice surprisingly steady. “You guys aren’t going to be there.”
Shelby looked confused; Victoria narrowed her eyes dangerously. Devin reached for another cookie and considered moving to the other side of the room.
Out of the line of fire.
“Aren’t going to be where?” Victoria asked, her tone hard and cold as ice.
“At the nightclubs, on this mission, listening to Peeps babble incessantly or anywhere near a psycho killer,” Calla said, obviously not nearly as intimidated by her friend as any other sensible, breathing person would be.
Shelby and Victoria exchanged a look. “Who votes for a change in gang leadership?” Shelby asked.
Everybody but Calla and Devin raised their hands.
“Excellent.” Shelby smiled. “I nominate Victoria. Is there a second?”
“Seconded,” Jared said.
“All in favor of Victoria as the new leader of the Robin Hood gang, bestowing her full powers of the office and offering her the final yea or veto on any mission engaged in by the gang, please vote now.”
Again, all hands shot up except Calla’s and Devin’s.
“Four to two,” Shelby said proudly. “Congratulations, Robin aka Victoria. Is there any other business?”
Devin hadn’t had time to take more than a single bite of his cookie. “That happened fast.”
Calla crossed her arms over her chest. “Your coup won’t succeed. I’m the one with the inside track to the police.”
“Is this your doing?” Victoria demanded, glaring at Devin.
“No.” Devin put down his cookie. He was crazy about Calla—well, more than crazy if he was honest with himself—but if he’d learned anything in the past couple of
weeks, it was the power of friendship. “You think I’d let my girlfriend go undercover to catch a murderer, but I draw the line at her buddies helping?”
“You’re not doing this without us,” Victoria said.
Devin, knowing it was useless to disagree, kept quiet, knowing Calla would have her own opinions about wanting to protect her friends’ safety.
“Reid’s right,” she said. “This is too dangerous. I don’t want you there.”
“You’re not doing this without us,” Trevor repeated.
Calla looked on the verge of screaming. “Devin, do something.”
He shook his head. “You’re the one who convinced me that I needed the gang. Why would I change my mind now?”
Seeing the angry, but fearful, expression on her face, he stood and took her into his arms. Devin wanted to be standing with her tonight more than he wanted to breathe, but not only couldn’t they take the chance of the killer recognizing him, he was supposed to be worried about being arrested again, not out partying.
“I’m not happy about any of you risking yourselves for me, but when a fellow cop is threatened, team members suit up and volunteers stand in line. Isn’t that the Robin Hood motto?”
Calla pursed her lips. “Maybe.”
He trailed his fingers through her silky, golden hair, reminding himself he’d be only a few feet away from her the whole time. “The op has more protection than the Federal Reserve Bank. We can end this. Don’t you want your friends there when we do?”
As soon as the words end this were out of his mouth, he wanted to recall them. Was he closing his case, or ending things with Calla?
“Fine,” Calla said, “but I wanna be Robin again.”
* * *
AFTER ENDURING TWO nightclubs full of blaring music, overpriced drinks and randy guys intent on picking up any female with a pulse, Calla slid onto a bar stool at Urge with a tired groan.
Why did undercover operatives on TV look like they were having so much fun? Hell, she usually had fun hanging out at energetic clubs.
But it was a whole different game when your lover’s future was in jeopardy.
“Hey, beautiful. What’ll you have?”
Hearing the familiar, deep voice, Calla nearly kissed Jared in gratitude. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”
“At least he won’t spend the next half hour trying to look down your shirt,” Devin muttered via the earpiece she wore as part of the audio and video surveillance he and Detective Anderson were conducting from the van outside.
“I’ll drink to that,” Calla said. “Give me one of those glowing ice cube things. With booze this time.”
She’d been ordering club soda and lime all night while watching seemingly everybody else in the city have a great time. She was so tense, she could drive nails with the heel of her hand. Convinced she was doing something wrong by not attracting their suspect, she glanced around.
There were plenty of blondes. But she only saw people enjoying themselves. People who were visiting on business or on vacation or fellow city-dwellers, who’d worked their butts of all week so they could keep their studio apartments and were thrilled to blow off stress on the dance floor, laughing with friends.
As she arrived, she’d seen Reid prowling the club, posing as an assistant manager and looking very much the part of the rule-following dictator, who might be eager to sell drinks, but wasn’t going to let the fun get out of hand.
Perfect casting.
As were the roles of her fellow gang members, who enjoyed themselves with drinks and tapas in a nearby booth, even as their attention darted to her every few seconds.
“Ask Jared if there’s any sign of the suspect,” Devin prompted.
“Seen a champagne-drinking homicidal blonde?” she asked as Jared set her drink in front of her.
Jared briefly slid his hand over hers as he passed her an extra cocktail napkin. “Not so far. How’s it going with Peeps?”
Calla recalled the conversation in the limo that Trevor had insisted they rent for the night.
“So you and the hot detective, huh?” Peeps had asked her, nudging her shoulder and winking.
Calla had continued staring at the passing lights of Manhattan. “If you think I’m telling you anything, you’re out of your mind.”
Now, with little effort, Calla could see the gossipmonger at the opposite end of the bar. She was chatting up a guy who looked amazingly like Jets linebacker Franko Ballinger. Probably was. That Peeps was strategic and shrewd.
Calla had taken a single sip of her drink when the amorous couple beside her shuffled off and someone else slid onto the stool next to her.
And her heart stuttered.
A skinny blonde with long hair, teased-at-the-crown, fashionably dressed and holding a glass of champagne, smiled at her. Even with the scent of booze, and various perfumes and colognes, the faint aroma of gardenias hovered in the air.
“You’re one of Peeps Galloway’s spies,” the blonde said, her cold, steel-gray eyes meeting Calla’s boldly.
Calla didn’t have to fake her look of surprise. It’s her, she thought and heard Devin’s curse in her ears.
Knowing he was more tense than she was, considering who she was face-to-face with, Calla shoved her panic aside and pretended she was on stage, daftly claiming world peace was her goal in life. “I wish. Oh, my goodness. Isn’t Peeps the absolute best?”
The blonde looked mildly disappointed. “She certainly delivers the best news.”
Mustering both her anger and nerve, Calla held out her hand. “Rosie Savannah.” At least she’d thought ahead about her pseudonym. Her real name had once been printed in Peeps’s column, after all.
“Stephanie,” the woman returned, shaking her hand then glancing away.
“Why do you think I work for Peeps?”
“I saw you come in with her.”
So Peeps’s identity wasn’t as secret as she thought. Yet another exaggeration. Calla shouldn’t have been surprised.
“I do work for Peeps,” Calla whispered, leaning toward her mark and hoping she didn’t have a heroin syringe concealed in her tiny cocktail bag that she might unexpectedly jab her with. “Don’t tell.” She giggled out of sheer nervousness but hoped her reaction would be mistaken for Peeps-like enthusiasm.
Stephanie’s head whipped round in Calla’s direction. “No kidding?”
Calla proudly held up the glowing cocktail in front of her. “I’m only a small cog in the glamorous wheel, of course, but I like to think I play a real part in making things happen.”
“I’m sure you do, darling,” Stephanie said, somehow condescending and complimentary at the same time.
No wonder the crazy chick had charmed Jimmie—and who knew who else. Unfortunately, Calla’s instinct was to smack her.
Thankfully, big, strong, charming Jared saved her.
“Can I get you a refill, beautiful?” he asked, planting his hand, attached to his muscular arm, which led to his tan face and winning smile, on the bar in front of Stephanie.
Devin aside, Stephanie wasn’t immune to an easy-on-the-eyes man. She drained her glass, then held out the empty crystal. “Champagne, Veuve Clicquot.”
“Right away.”
Jared shifted away, though Calla was comforted that he didn’t move far.
“See that dweeby-looking guy at the table on the left side of the bar?” Stephanie asked.
Calla swung her gaze that way and sipped her drink to cover her cough. It was Howard. She realized instantly that he’d been thrown in to knock both her and Stephanie off balance. “Yeah.”
“That’s Howard Bleaker. He’s a defense attorney.”
“Really?”
“The cop he’s defending arrested my brother five years ago.”
Calla fought to remember if a sister named Stephanie was in their files. She wasn’t on the list of interviewees who’d originally been scheduled. But since she could hardly say that, she repeated, “Really?”
Ste
phanie tossed back her fresh glass of champagne like a shot. “He died in prison six months ago. Cops are all scum. They’re all scum.”
If Calla had any doubt that Stephanie was their killer, it was wiped away by that single statement. Her stomach burned as she tried to hold to her cover story, plus, she was ticked the cops had thrown Howard in. Everybody she loved was within twenty feet of this delusional murderer, and Calla was the one responsible for pulling them into this circle.
“I heard he’s been arrested,” she managed to say to Stephanie. “You think all cops are bad like that?”
“Well, this one is.” Stephanie’s eyes gleamed. “Course he’s not a cop at all now.”
No, he certainly wasn’t, and the chance to make things right burned in Calla’s heart, as she sat inches away from the woman who’d caused all this misery.
At the same time it occurred to her that Stephanie had admitted nothing that couldn’t be spun as mere alcohol-induced ranting. Nothing that actually connected her to the murder, other than instinct and gardenias. Or maybe the glass Jared had taken and skillfully set aside for the crime lab.
They needed more.
Calla needed more than justice. She wanted revenge.
“No, Devin’s not a cop,” she said, pushing off her bar stool to stand. “He should be, but, thanks to you, he’s not.”
The befuddled expression on Stephanie’s face was almost worth all the turmoil and uncertainty.
Calla realized this single moment was why cops worked for less pay and little appreciation, why they strapped on weapons and vests, fully acknowledging the risk they could be injured or killed. They patrolled the streets of cities and towns. They sat in vans and cars, listening for slip-ups among real, criminal gangs, hoping to get a lead on how to disrupt what the bad guys were planning. They readily accepted the challenge of chasing some idiot robber ten blocks in order to keep him from doing so again.
The system of law and order had its flaws, and justice needed a nudge every now and then, but there were amazing men and women who sought to balance the scales each and every day, and when you worked outside the system to extract revenge, you invited arbitrary retribution. No single person should avenge. Maybe not even a well-meaning gang.
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