by Molly Rice
“It’s all there, in those folders,” Dana said, waving in the general direction of her desk. “You shouldn’t need me for anything else.”
But he was engrossed in what he was reading. He barely mumbled a “Good night.” It took all of her control not to slam the door as she left the room.
ALONE, Nico let got of the deep, shaky sigh he’d held back. This was walking the edge, he knew, the very thing Stella had warned against. He knew better, had been burned before. So why was he courting disaster now?
Because of a woman who had masses of wheat-colored hair, eyes the color of bluebells, and a mouth that begged to be kissed, which only added to her allure. And doubled the danger.
He sighed again and forced his attention to the files in front of him. He was here to do a job; if he did it well, he’d be out of here in a couple of days. Everybody could go back to their normal lives, Stella would be happy with the completion of another job, and he’d be assigned to a nice, impersonal, slightly boring, tax evasion case.
He opened the first of the files. He’d been reading only a couple of minutes when he was distracted by a sound at the door. Simultaneously his head swung up and his hand went to his underarm holster.
“Nico, I had a bad dream and Mommy’s in the shower and I didn’t want to be alone and…”
Krystal’s voice trailed off on a hiccup, punctuated by a dry sob.
Instinctively he opened his arms and the little girl bounded across the room and catapulted herself onto his lap to snuggle against him. He stroked her hair and crooned promises of safety until she’d quieted and then he softly asked her to tell him about the dream.
“It was so scary,” she said, the two s-words made sibilant by her two missing front teeth. Nico smiled above her head and tightened his embrace.
“First it was just a party, and that wasn’t very scary, but then I noticed it was all Daddy’s friends from the police and Mrs. J. was going around with a tray, giving everyone drinks and then I went to her to get a drink, too, but instead of drinks, there were a lot of guns on the tray.”
Krystal began to cry then, weeping rather than sobbing, more out of sadness than fear, Nico thought. He pulled a tissue from the box on the desktop and dabbed at her tear-streaked face but didn’t try to stop the crying. Instead he gently rocked her in his arms, waiting until she’d cried herself out, every so often dabbing with the tissue. When she seemed to be recovering, he handed her a fresh tissue and she noisily blew her nose.
“It’s no wonder you had a dream like that, Krys, I’d be more surprised if you didn’t. But there’s some good stuff in the dream, you know.”
“Like what?” Eyes the color of bluebells gazed up at him beseechingly. He felt a strange clutching in his chest. A definite aching, but not painful so much as yearning. Her small body was warm and damp against his and her sleep-tousled, silky hair tickled his chin. The smell of soap and little-girl sweetness filled his nose.
“Like the fact that all your dad’s buddies from the force were there and you know they’ll always look out for you, right?”
Krystal nodded, gave another small hiccup. “What else?”
“Well, let’s see. If Mrs. J. was handing out guns, then the dream was telling you that she was back in control, no longer a victim. It probably means she’ll be up and well and back here to take care of you very soon. The doctor said she wasn’t badly hurt at all.”
“You talked to the doctor?”
“No,” he shook his head. “But your mom did, and she said Mrs. J. is already on the mend.”
Krystal sniffed and nodded. “Uncle Joe told me that, too.”
Uncle Joe? Krystal called Joe Lake “uncle”? Did that mean what it usually meant? Was there something going on between Dana and Lake after all? Despite her firm denial?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of shouts from the hall. Dana burst into the room, her eyes wide with fear.
“Nico! Krystal’s not in her bed…Oh.” She came to an abrupt halt as she spied Krystal safely tucked up on Nico’s lap. Damp wads of tissue on the desk told their own story.
“Bad dream, honey?” she asked as she approached the pair, her arms held out.
Nico transferred the child to her mother. “She’s fine now.”
Dana rocked from side to side, clutching Krystal to her, her heart still racing from her recent fright at finding her child’s bed empty.
“I’m okay now, Mommy,” Krystal said, straining against her mother’s embrace. “Nico took care of me.”
She slid to her feet as Dana’s arms loosened their hold.
Dana looked over at Nico. “She was sleeping peacefully when I looked in before I went to shower,” she explained defensively.
Nico nodded. “Probably the sound of running water penetrated her sleep and triggered the dream.”
He knew something about the slight paranoia of single moms. His sister, Kenna, was trying to raise three kids without a husband to help and she often read criticism where none was intended. It didn’t help that Gary was always after her to take him back, showering her with gifts and attention he’d neglected to give her before the divorce. She fluctuated between being Gary’s girlfriend and the mother of his children.
Dana had far more reason to be paranoid. He smiled at her and said, “I did what anyone would do.”
“Thanks. I’m glad you were here for her.”
Nico shrugged and glanced meaningfully at the paperstrewn desktop.
Dana got the message and took Krystal’s hand. “Come on, hon, we’ll go back to bed and let Nico get on with his work.”
In the silence that filled the room when they’d gone, it took a few minutes for him to draw his attention away from the image of Dana in a nightshirt, her long bare legs exposed to the thighs, her breasts thrusting against the soft knit The back view as they’d left the room had been equally as enticing. Unbidden, the thought of Joe Lake encroached. Uncle Joe. Lake and Dana Harper. Now there was an image he had to squelch if he was ever going to get back to work. It took some doing, but he finally immersed himself in the information in front of him.
DANA LAY AWAKE for a long time, her ears straining to catch any further sounds from Krystal’s room while trying to detect sounds from the first floor. She knew Nico would be hours at the desk, the files were sizable.
Her mind drifted to the picture of the man holding the little girl on his lap, the trusting look on her daughter’s face, the easy comradery that had sprung up almost instantly between Krystal and Nico Scalia.
She tucked her hands behind her head and gazed up at the ceiling. The posture brought her breasts upright, reminding her of the incident down in her study. She lowered her arms and crossed them over her breasts, aware of the tingling the memory incited. He’d meant to kiss her. She couldn’t be wrong about that. Something had changed his mind. Someone, perhaps. Did he have a special woman in his life? Why not? He was drop-dead gorgeous and highly visible, thanks to the press. There were probably plenty of groupies out there just waiting for one of his dark-eyed glances, the sight of him brushing his mustache with his fingers as he assessed a situation.
She growled, a low sound of disgust deep in her throat, refuting the imp’s judgment, and rolled to her side. This was a business relationship and she was professional enough to keep it that way.
She squeezed her eyes shut, damning herself for thinking about this, damning her body for remembering the moment and wanting more. She’d been contentedly celibate for three years. Why did her body have to begin making demands now?
“Krystal,” she muttered aloud, pushing her face into her pillow, “what have you gotten me into?”
THE MAN HUNG BACK in the shadows of the shallow woods across the street from the Harper house. From where he stood he could see the cop car parked in front and the glow of the cop’s cigarette in the dark.
All of the houses on this street were backed by Lake Minnetonka, its waters lapping at the edge of backyard lawns and docks. It wasn’t lik
ely that they had a cop sitting in a boat watching the back of the property.
The cop car was facing the other direction and the cop didn’t seem to be doing anything but making himself visible, perhaps his assignment only to scare off anyone who meant to approach the Harper residence with nefarious intentions.
Keeping his stride slow but even, he walked with purpose toward his target. If the cop looked into his rearview mirror at that moment, he’d surely spot him, even in the dark.
He kept going, silently planning an explanation should the cop suddenly get out of his car to question his presence on the street.
Scarcely breathing, he reached the house of the neighbor without incident. With careful stealth he made his way along the side of the house to the back, along the back, crossing a section of lawn, a patio, another section of lawn and then stepped onto the Harper’s property.
Done! Easy as pie. So much for police surveillance; the Harper house was about as well protected as Yankee Stadium.
There was a gazebo in the middle of the backyard and he crept toward it, eased the screen door open and slipped inside. He sat for a while, surveying the house, feeling the satisfaction of trespassing without being caught. It was the sort of one-upmanship he most enjoyed, even though no one was around to appreciate his derring-do.
He sat like that for half an hour and then got up to leave. He had no note with him, had only intended to stake out the place. But as he was about to make his way back the way he’d come, he had an urge to leave some proof of his prowess, something to let the Harper broad know he’d been there, that she was vulnerable, despite the cops, and that he was invincible. He searched his pockets, found a matchbook from the Hilton Hotel and wedged it between the frame and the screen door of the gazebo.
Chapter Six
Dana crossed the parking lot, clutching files, books, and shoulder bag to her chest as she fumbled for her keys. The lot was still quite full for a late Saturday afternoon, but she spotted her blue Lexus, four cars down, just as her fingers located the keys. She breathed a sigh of relief, grateful she wasn’t going to have to set everything down to search the depths of her purse.
She didn’t notice the man creeping along the next aisle of cars.
She was only a few feet from the Lexus when the man jumped out from behind a car, shouting obscenities, causing her to throw up her arms in fright, a scream caught on the edge of her suddenly dry throat. Books, papers, keys went flying. The man gripped her arm and shoved her back against the car.
She recognized Henry Carter, his grizzled face permanently etched with rage and frustration, his voice graveled by nicotine, whiskey and menace.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Carter? What do you want?”
She was aware of activity nearby, people passing in and out of the parking lot in cars, in and out of the government building on foot. She had only to scream to alert others to her whereabouts, to the danger this man posed.
“I wanna know why my boys is in the slammer while others far worse goes free.”
“I’m not going to talk to you until you let go of my arm,” Dana said, clenching her teeth. “I could have you arrested for this, you know.”
Her bravado didn’t faze the old man, although he let go of her arm, but kept her pinned to the car by planting his body directly in front of her. His fetid breath was almost more painful than his hold had been.
“Yeah, I know how you cops operate,” he growled. “Them that has money greases the palm and walks out and them that don’t pisses in the wind. My boys are rotting in jail for something they was framed for. My boys wouldn’t never do nothin’ like them things you say they done. My boys was framed by dirty cops!”
Dana used his absorption in his own litany to ease away from Carter, far enough to take a deep, cleansing breath of air polluted by nothing more nauseating than car exhaust.
“We have enough evidence to prove the boys did it, Mr. Carter,” she said calmly, risking a moment to glance around for her keys. They lay on the ground only inches from her right foot.
“Planted by dirty cops!”
She shook her head, calling on all her patience. She’d been through this with Carter Sr. before. “No, Mr. Carter, evidence taken from the victim and the crime scene, evidence that could not possibly have been planted.”
There was spittle on the old man’s chin and the zealous glint of purpose in his eyes. “You got ways. I watch TV. I know you got ways and them ways is what got my boys framed.”
He pounded his fist on the top of the Lexus to emphasize his outrage and Dana flinched and then used the moment to bend and swiftly grab her keys. Without the element of surprise on his side, Henry Carter was just a frail old man, poor personal hygiene his strongest weapon. She didn’t like the idea, but if she had to, she could shove him out of her way, even knock him down, and take off.
She’d give it one more shot of reason.
“Mr. Carter, I shouldn’t even be discussing this case with you, but since you’re so obviously misinformed, let me assure you that we wouldn’t be taking this case to trial without absolute proof that your sons did, indeed, commit the crimes of which they are accused.”
His voice turned oily, his smile crafty. “You mean like you got proof on that Caprezio fellow?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss…”
“Yeah,” he shouted, thrusting his face toward her, “you can’t discuss that everyone knows them Caprezios is Mafia and they can walk away free but poor boys like mine who ain’t got no connections got to rot in jail for somethin’ they didn’t even do.”
“Caprezio didn’t walk away free, Mr. Carter. He met the bail and will have to report for his trial. Your sons had the same opportunity to meet bail.”
“No thanks to you,” Carter jeered. “I heard you tell that judge not to give my boys no bail. And then even when he did he made it so’s there wasn’t no way we could pay it.”
“I’m sorry. That’s how the system works.”
She really wasn’t sorry. If she’d had her way, there’d be no such thing as bail for any of the criminals who stood accused. But the legal system’s policy of “innocent until proven guilty” gave everyone the opportunity to spend as little time in jail as possible until a verdict was reached in a court of law.
“Yeah, I can see how sorry you are, lady, but I’ll tell you this, you’re going to get a lot sorrier.”
“You’re angry with the wrong person. I’m just doing my job. The system—”
“The system stinks and so do you!”
Dana had had it. There was no getting through to this man who refused to accept that his sons were capable of committing the crimes of which they were accused. Either that, or he just didn’t accept that they should have to pay for their crimes. The fact that they had rap sheets longer than the length of this parking lot did little to dissuade him from his convictions.
“Get out of my way, Mr. Carter, I have an appointment and you’ve already made me late.” She gathered her papers and thrust her key into the lock, holding herself tensed and ready to fight back should the man touch her again.
He leaned forward and his breath dampened her hair as he said into her ear, “You ain’t heard the last, Miss High and Mighty, my boys get sent up and you’re goin’ to pay.”
Dana spun around, rage boiling up in her chest. “Sending threatening notes through the mail is a federal offense, Mr. Car—”
But the man had disappeared as quickly as he’d come, leaving her shaking with anger, fear and frustration.
She got into her car, willing her pulse to slow, her breathing to return to normal, before she attempted to navigate the early evening rush-hour traffic. But when she tried to insert her keys into the ignition, she found her hands shaking too badly to make them function. She dropped the keys twice and then sat back, clenching her hands in her lap.
Responding to frustration, she’d warned Carter about the notes, but did she actually believe he’d sent them, even given his verbal threa
ts?
Actually, the language of the notes didn’t match Carter’s northwoods style, the penmanship too neat and precise. And what about the phone threats; the voice on the phone seemed somehow altered, as if someone were speaking down a long pipe and reading from a script. Obviously the use of voice disguise, but could Carter alter his voice to that degree and where would he learn about such devices?
Her hands covered her eyes as she rubbed her forehead, almost willing myriad questions out of her mind.
“Hey, Dana, you okay?”
Her head jerked around at the unexpected voice outside her window and she gasped aloud.
It was Joe Lake, his face peering in, a frown creasing his forehead.
“Dana?”
She rolled down the window. “Lord, Joe, you scared me.”
“Are you okay?” he repeated.
“Fine. What are you doing here?”
He gestured toward the next row of cars. “On my way to my car, spotted you sitting here. I thought for a minute…”
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.” He studied her face. “You look tired.”
“I am. It’s been a long day and just minutes ago I had a run-in with Henry Carter.”
Lake put his hands on the door frame and leaned forward. “What kind of run-in?” he demanded.
Dana put her hand on one of his and shook her head. “His usual mindless rhetoric against the law, Joe, nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“You’re sure? You know, I could probably find an excuse to throw him into the cage right along with his scumbag kids.”
Dana’s laugh was short, tinged with irony. “Right. And wouldn’t the press love that? The council is still breathing down our necks after all the adverse publicity from the Harbinger trial.”
“That was bullshit,” Lake said, pushing away from the car door and spitting over his shoulder. “Harbinger was guilty as sin! You know it and I know it and so did the jury.”
“Yeah, well, the press chose to believe Harbinger’s protests and you know they’d just love to catch us in the act of planting evidence or concealing facts that might exonerate one of our defendants.”