Gilmore’s nostrils flared as he glowered at Levi. “I wasn’t anywhere near her when she rolled that guy.”
“But you told her to do it. Went as far as to pick out the specific man and tell her where to find him.”
“What? No I fucking didn’t!”
Levi called up the texts on Julie’s phone and pushed it across the table. Gilmore peered down at it, and his face twisted.
“I didn’t send these,” he said.
“You really expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t remember anything that happened last night!”
Levi crossed his arms. “I know you remember me.”
“I . . .” Clenching his jaw, Gilmore exhaled harshly through his nose. “Look, most of last night is a blur. I was hanging at a bar with my buddies, I felt weird, and next thing I know I’m waking up in jail. I only remember bits and pieces in-between, crazy flashes of stuff.”
“You said you felt weird—weird how?”
“Weird like fucked up, man, and not in a way the shit I’d taken would make me feel. I swear to God someone slipped me something.”
“Why would anyone want to drug you?” Levi said with a snort.
“Fuck if I know. Maybe they got the wrong drink by accident. Felt like Special K with a goddamn angel dust chaser.”
A chill ran down Levi’s spine. “You think somebody slipped you ketamine?”
“Not just that, but yeah, I was definitely lost in the K-hole for a while there.”
Levi stood motionless while the floor seemed to fall away beneath him. An abusive douchebag drugged with ketamine, fake texts that had driven the exact person Levi needed right into Dominic’s path . . . this was no coincidence.
The Seven of Spades had set this up.
When Levi returned to the bullpen, Dominic was sitting at his desk, deep in conversation with Martine.
“Whoa,” Dominic said, springing out of the chair as he saw Levi coming. He caught Levi’s chin and turned his face into the light, then glanced down at his torn knuckles and bandaged hand. “What happened to you?”
“Ran into a door?” Levi said.
Dominic arched an eyebrow.
“Got into a knife fight,” Levi admitted. He braced himself for the reprimands that were sure to start flying. Every time he’d been injured in the line of duty, Stanton had nagged and guilted him about it for days afterward. You need to be more careful, don’t you know how much I worry about you, how do you expect me to sleep at night—
Dominic laughed, released his chin, and slapped his shoulder. “I’d hate to see the other guy,” he said, before turning back to Martine.
Levi blinked, his mouth half-open. It took him a few seconds to realize Martine was addressing him.
“Sorry, what?” he said.
“I said, did you have better luck with Gilmore than I did?”
“Yes.” It was impossible to soften what he had to say, so he just laid it out. “The Seven of Spades is responsible for this.”
“What?” Martine and Dominic said at the same time but in very different tones—Dominic concerned, Martine incredulous.
Levi relayed Gilmore’s story and his own conclusions. “There is no way this situation wasn’t deliberately engineered,” he said when he’d finished. “And there’s only one person who would do that.”
Dominic was quiet, a line etched between his brows and his eyes unfocused. Martine, on the other hand, regarded Levi with clear irritation.
“Levi, come on,” she said. “Do you hear yourself? You’re saying that a serial killer—who almost everyone believes is dead, by the way—helped you catch a criminal related to an ongoing investigation.”
“It’s not unprecedented. The Seven of Spades exposed Loretta Kane’s history of taking bribes for generous plea deals.”
“Yeah, after he slit her throat in her living room!”
“Why is it so important for you not to believe me about this?” His tone came out embarrassingly plaintive. But it hurt that Martine, who had always been on his side, stood with everyone else when it came to the Seven of Spades.
She dropped her gaze to her desk and took a deep breath. Then she looked back up and said, “Because I’m terrified of what it would mean.”
“You think I’m not?”
“I know you are. But you’re also intrigued by the challenge. An elusive, seemingly omniscient killer who helps the police catch criminals while getting away with their own vigilante-style murders? That speaks to something in you.”
Levi had no response for that. As always, Martine’s assessment was painfully accurate.
“It doesn’t speak to anything in me except horror,” she said. “Thinking there might be someone this intelligent and ruthless out there watching us and pulling our strings like puppets—just the idea of it makes me want to move my family out of this city and never look back.”
An uncomfortable silence fell and stretched out. Levi had never been able to navigate emotional confrontations well, and even though he knew Martine wasn’t angry with him, his first instinct was still to escape this conversation in any way possible.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Dominic asked, breaking the tension. He still had a distracted air about him.
“I don’t think so, but thanks,” said Levi. “Just be on your guard.”
“Okay.” Dominic inclined his head in a wordless request for Levi to move with him to the side of the room. Once they had a relative degree of privacy, he said, “Are we still on for tonight, or would you rather reschedule?”
“There’s nowhere I’d rather be tonight than with you,” Levi said honestly.
Dominic’s warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “I was thinking a quiet night in, since you’re probably looking at a long day. Maybe I could cook you dinner at your place?”
“That sounds amazing.” Levi pulled his key ring out of his pocket. “Here, you should take the key in case I end up running late.”
He worked his apartment key off the ring and handed it over. When Dominic started to move away, Levi put a hand on his arm.
“You can kiss me,” he said.
There was always the chance that Dominic’s discretion stemmed less from respect for Levi’s boundaries and more from his own reservations about kissing a cop in the middle of a crowded police station. Knowing Dominic, however, Levi seriously doubted that was the case.
Sure enough, Dominic smiled and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the uninjured side of Levi’s mouth. A wolf whistle sounded from the bullpen, which Levi knew without looking came from Jonah Gibbs. He gave the man the finger and received scattered laughter in response.
“See you tonight,” Dominic said as he pulled back. “Text me if you need me.”
Levi watched him walk away before returning to his desk. Martine was intent on her computer, and he was happy to avoid another argument, so he said nothing as he settled in to work.
Julie and Gilmore were both waiting for their public defenders; it was a coin flip as to whether the lawyers would show up before they were transported back to the CCDC. The deciding factor would be who was busier today. In the meantime, he could call Leila Rashid about dropping the charges against Diana Kostas.
His desk phone rang as he reached for it. He picked it up and said, “Detective Abrams.”
“Hi, Detective. This is Officer Jason Tanaka from the Baltimore PD. Sorry I wasn’t able to return your call last night.”
“It’s no problem. Thanks for getting back to me. I just wanted to confirm that you were the officer who delivered the news of Dr. Stephen Hensley’s death to his next of kin.”
“Sure was. Sunday the twenty-fourth, 3.30 p.m., 402 East Highfield Road. Spoke to his son, Dr. Stephen Hensley, Jr.”
Levi sat up straight. “His son? Not his wife?”
“Nope,” said Tanaka. “She wasn’t home. Her son said he hadn’t seen her since the day before.”
The first thing Dominic did when he reached his parked tr
uck was retrieve a flashlight from the glove compartment. Ignoring the odd looks he got from a couple of passing cops, he stretched out on his back on the asphalt and scooted underneath the truck, shining the light up into the undercarriage.
Back in April, there’d been a night when Dominic had used Carlos’s car to pursue some leads in the Seven of Spades case. The killer themself had followed Dominic and left a calling card on the windshield at the end of the night—whether to scare him or just tease him, he still had no idea. He’d torn Carlos’s car and his own truck apart the next day looking for GPS trackers and come up empty, so he’d concluded that the killer had either followed him in person or used some other means.
After what Levi had said this morning and the weirdness of last night, however, he wouldn’t rest easy until he checked again.
He scanned the entire underside of the car, looking for odd wires or anything out of place. Finding nothing, he rolled out and searched all four wheel wells and the front and back bumpers before moving on to the cab. He ran his hands underneath the dashboard, emptied out the glove compartment, lifted the floor mats, and then pushed a hand beneath the front passenger’s seat.
His fingers nudged up against a hard, plastic shape. He got a better grip and gave it a tug, pulling out a black rectangular device smaller than a cell phone. It was discreetly stamped with the logo of an upscale personal security brand.
“Goddammit,” he said under his breath.
His faith in Levi wasn’t the only reason he believed the Seven of Spades was still alive, but he’d also believed—or he’d hoped—that the killer had moved on. Why stay in the city after successfully framing Keith Chapman? Why continue keeping tabs on Dominic and Levi at all, still less interfere with their respective cases? If the Seven of Spades couldn’t go public again, what was the point?
There was no telling how long this GPS tracker had been in his truck, and this could just be the tip of the iceberg. Dominic had extensive, if rusty, training in technical surveillance countermeasures, but he didn’t have the equipment he’d need for a thorough search.
He knew where to get some, though.
McBride Investigations wasn’t far from Levi’s substation. Less than twenty minutes later, Dominic walked into the tech department managed by Isaiah Miller, a cute young black guy with square-framed glasses and a shy smile.
Isaiah was elbow-deep in the guts of a disassembled computer, his head bobbing along to the music he was listening to through his earbuds. He didn’t look up at Dominic’s greeting, so Dominic lightly touched his arm.
Yelping like a scalded cat, Isaiah leapt to his feet, violently jostling his work table. A tray full of papers fell to the floor with a crash and were followed by a travel mug that sprayed coffee in a wide arc across the linoleum as it bounced and rolled. He yanked out his earbuds and stared up at Dominic with wide, round eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” Dominic said, trying not to laugh. He crouched to gather the scattered papers. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I said your name a couple times.”
“It’s cool. Sometimes I get lost in the zone.” Isaiah pulled his phone out of his pocket, turned off the music, and set it on the table before grabbing a handful of paper towels.
Once they’d put the work table back to rights, Dominic said, “So assuming you wouldn’t rather just tell me to go fuck myself now—”
“What do you need?” Isaiah said with a laugh.
“A spectrum analyzer and a non-linear junction detector.”
“No problem.” Isaiah gestured for Dominic to follow him to his main desk, where he sat behind a sleek computer monitor. “What’s the case number?”
“It’s not for a case.” When Isaiah blinked and opened his mouth, Dominic held up a hand. “Before you say anything, I promise that I’ll return the equipment to you within thirty-six hours, completely undamaged, with nobody aware that I had it other than you and me.”
“You need professional TSCM equipment for personal use?” Isaiah said dubiously.
“Yeah. It’s . . . Can I tell you something in confidence?”
“Sure.”
Hovering over Isaiah like this wouldn’t work to his advantage, so Dominic sat in the other chair. He leaned against the edge of the desk and lowered his voice to a more intimate tone.
“It’s my psycho ex-boyfriend,” he said. “We served together, and he was always jealous and controlling, but now that I’m seeing someone new he’s really freaking out. I think he’s been following me, maybe bugging my place—I wouldn’t even be surprised if he was using hidden cameras to spy on me.”
“Jesus,” Isaiah said, his mouth falling open.
“He’s a professional, so he wouldn’t be using the cheap crap you find at a strip mall. I need similar quality counter surveillance equipment to prove I’m right.”
“Dominic . . .” Isaiah’s face was full of empathetic concern, but he wasn’t quite sold. Dominic would have to push a little harder.
“Please,” he said, letting his voice break slightly. “I know this is a lot to ask, but I don’t feel safe in my own apartment. I’m afraid of what he might do next.”
Isaiah bit his lip, then nodded. “Okay. If you promise to get the equipment back as soon as possible in mint condition, I can help you out.”
“Thank you.” Dominic reached across the desk to squeeze his arm. “And if something does go wrong for any reason, I’ll take full responsibility. I’ll say I snuck in here and stole the stuff without your knowledge. You have my word this won’t fall back on you.”
Isaiah gave him a small smile and turned to his computer. “Let me just check the inventory.” He was quiet for a few seconds while he typed, and when he spoke again, it was with a too-casual air that caught Dominic’s attention immediately. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
Dominic knew that Isaiah had a crush on him, and he’d used that to his advantage, but actually leading the guy on would be going too far. “His name’s Levi,” he said, letting everything he felt for Levi come through in his tone. “He’s a homicide detective.”
Isaiah looked at him sharply. “A cop? I’d think he’d be the first person you’d go to for help with something like this.”
“I don’t want to stir up too much trouble until I confirm my suspicions. I could still be wrong.”
God, I hope I’m wrong.
Isaiah retrieved the requested equipment and stashed it inside a nondescript duffel bag. “You know how to use this stuff, right?” he asked as he handed the bag over.
“It’s been a while, but it’ll come back to me,” said Dominic.
He thanked Isaiah again and headed home. Inside his apartment, he acted normally, greeting Rebel with a playful tussle and turning on a Spotify playlist like he usually did when he was home alone. Then he unzipped the duffel bag and got to work.
The spectrum analyzer would capture, map, and analyze all spectrum activity within a small area to detect transmitting surveillance devices, while the non-linear junction detector could find electronic devices hidden inside walls, floors, or any other container, even if they were turned off. Dominic hadn’t used equipment like this for years, and technology had advanced since then—but even today’s civilian TSCM devices didn’t rival the classified military-grade ones he’d been accustomed to. It only took him a few minutes to get a handle on them.
He knew better than to rely on electronics to the exclusion of a physical inspection, so he utilized his eyes and hands just as much as the equipment as he commenced a thorough sweep of his apartment from top to bottom. He examined every door jamb, windowsill, and inch of baseboard, unscrewed every outlet plate and light switch, checked inside the smoke detectors, followed every electrical cord. Rebel followed him around, watching him with her ears pricked up and her head tilted to the side.
He didn’t hit pay dirt until he reached the desk in the living room, and even with the tools at his disposal, he didn’t figure it out right away.
It was the power strip.<
br />
Under other circumstances, he never would have noticed—because really, who ever looked at their power strip again after they’d set it up? He hadn’t touched his in years, except for the occasional halfhearted dusting of his computer. But this wasn’t the strip he’d originally bought. That had been swapped out for one with a bug built right into the internal wiring—which meant the Seven of Spades never had to come back for it, because it was plugged right into a continuous power source.
Dominic didn’t make any noise to indicate that he’d found it. He turned off all the electronics connected to the strip, unplugged everything, and tossed it into a shoebox with the GPS tracker from his truck. Then he kept going, because he knew he wasn’t finished yet.
This was just the beginning.
“I don’t know how she did it,” Levi said to Martine. “The person I spoke with at Johns Hopkins told me she was in the hospital on Monday. And I confirmed the flight manifest with Southwest—Clarissa Northridge was definitely on Flight 484 from Baltimore to Las Vegas on Tuesday morning.”
“Just because she wasn’t home when the local PD stopped by doesn’t mean she wasn’t in Baltimore,” said Martine.
“I know.” Levi clicked his mouse, intent on his computer screen. “But she wasn’t. I can feel it.”
Martine narrowed her eyes. “What exactly are you doing?”
“Reviewing the security footage from the Mirage. When I met Dr. Northridge, something about her struck me as familiar, and after Warner let slip that he’d seen her on Monday, I couldn’t shake the idea that I’d seen her somewhere too. This seemed like the likeliest place.”
He finished with one of the elevator cameras, made a frustrated noise, and moved on to the next. Martine wheeled her chair around to his desk.
“If you’d seen her in these recordings, don’t you think you would have recognized her when you met?” she asked, though she sounded intrigued.
“I don’t know.” Levi fast-forwarded through the footage, already growing bored—then sucked in a breath and hit the pause button. He rewound and replayed the last minute in slow motion. “Maybe not if she’d disguised herself.”
Trick Roller Page 16