Shamus smiled at her. “And have me mum box my ears when I get home?”
Tracy gave him directions to the inn and sat back, her mind reeling with all the information she’d gathered. I’d never thought about DNA evidence. If only it were that easy. The problem is that I don’t know where all the bodies were buried. “I still think they should just check all Marconi’s buildings for bodies. And what was that about a church?”
Shamus nodded and turned down the street that housed the inn. “It’s like Andi said. The budget for the city would never allow it, and I don’ think the court would give us a blanket subpoena to check every building he’s ever constructed. As to the church, we’ve had some blokes following us. Probably hoping we’ll lead them to her.” He parked in front of the inn and turned in the seat to face her. “There’s a new John Wick movie coming out this week, if you like that sort of thing.”
Tracy bit her bottom lip. Seeing him again would up the danger of his finding out who she really was, but she wanted to see Shamus again. She placated herself with the thought that staying close to him would let her know what the police were discovering and what Andi needed to know. “I’d love to, but I lost my cell phone yesterday. Would it be okay if I called you at the paper?”
Shamus pulled a notepad from his pocket, and Tracy laughed. “You really are a reporter.”
He jotted down a number. “Better to call my cell.”
Tracy took the paper and waited for him to open her door. She remained quiet as he walked her to the front door of the inn. Only when they reached the top of the steps did she turn and smile at him. “Thank you for a lovely day, Shamus. And please thank your mother and brothers for me.”
Shamus kissed her on the cheek. “We enjoyed it as much as you.”
Tracy watched from the doorway until his car disappeared from sight then hurried down the steps and turned right. The address she’d given him was less than a block from the inn she was really staying at. As she walked, she struggled to hold back the tears she knew were going to come, but they began as soon as she closed her room door behind her. I’m a murderer and a liar. Shamus deserves better.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Andi placed both hands on her hips and faced Jerry. “You may be with the police, Jerry, but that doesn’t give you the right to barge in here and tell me to drop a story or you’ll arrest me. Freedom of the press, remember?”
He flopped into the nearest seat and held his head in his hands. “All right, Andi. I screwed up, but I’m trying to save your life.” He raised his head to glare at her. “And mine.”
His words doused her resentment but didn’t completely put out the fire. “Next time, try talking, not ordering.” She moved behind the bar and poured two cups of coffee. “You already know how I feel about this story, and I’m not dropping it.” She crossed to the table, placed a cup in front of him, and pulled out a chair. “So why is your life in danger?”
Jerry picked up the cup and blew on the steam. “There’s an assassin in town, and she’s looking for the person who killed Richard Thomas. Since I was his partner, I’m pretty sure I’m also on her list.”
Andi figured she finally knew what it meant when someone said their blood ran cold. She shuddered. “How do you know this?”
“When I left here, I joined a government agency and did some work for them in Afghanistan. A woman was there, doing what we call a ‘cleanup mission.’”
“Woman?”
Jerry nodded, a faraway look in his brown eyes. “She’s one of the most vicious killers I’ve run across.”
“How do you know she’s looking for the person who killed Thomas? For that matter, how do you know Thomas is dead? I thought he just disappeared.”
“Because she’s his daughter. I never told you this, but after you were found, someone mailed pictures of Thomas’s bullet-ridden body to the department. We didn’t know who killed him, but we knew he was dead.”
She sat back in the chair, her hands trembling slightly around her coffee cup. She steadied them, refusing to give Thomas even that small power over her. “You said she worked cleanup missions. Maybe she’s here to clean up the mess whoever killed these girls left. It may not have anything to do with her father. Do you think she killed Grange?”
“Yeah, I do, but thinking and proving are different things, and she’s never left anything we could use to arrest her in this country.” He gave her a pleading look that twisted her gut into knots. “Just go somewhere until this is over. If you have to write the articles, then send them by email. I’ll keep you up to date on what’s happening. You’re not safe here.”
She was pretty sure that sometimes Jerry forgot she was a reporter and that a story like this was gold. “Who told you she was here?”
“I suspected it when a blonde came by the station and looked at Marconi’s autopsy file. I sent the picture to the CIA, and they sent an agent down. They’d already gotten a tip she was here and sent a couple of people down to see if they could catch her in the act.”
“Which means they’ll only apprehend her after she kills someone, right?”
Jerry nodded.
“Dipshits,” she muttered. “So you know what she looks like?”
“Yeah, we’ve even got pictures. But that hasn’t helped anyone stop her in the past. She’s called the Cobra in most circles, because you never see her coming until she strikes.”
Andi’s mind was churning, a thought flickering at the back like a light bulb right before it explodes. “She must have enemies out there. People who know what she’s done, even if they can’t prove it.”
“Yeah, but what’s your point?”
Andi pushed back her chair and crossed to the booth she’d shared earlier with Shamus and Tracy to retrieve her laptop. “I have an idea.”
Jerry grunted. “Harebrained I’m sure. You can’t fight her. Don’t make me beg you to leave.”
She opened the laptop, pulled up her earlier article, and paged down to the bottom, where she typed: BREAKING NEWS! Police sources close to this reporter now state they have a new suspect in the murder of Officer Kenneth Grange. “What’s this woman’s name?”
“She’s going by Cherese Tomasa, or Cherese Thomas.”
Andi went back to typing. Cherese Tomasa, aka Cherese Thomas, is being sought for questioning. A photo of Tomasa is below. Rumor has it that Tomasa is secretly called the Cobra and may be a paid assassin. If you see this woman, don’t engage or try to apprehend her. Call your local police department immediately. “Can you email or text me a picture?”
“I could, if you’d explain to me what the hell you’re doing.”
Andi turned the laptop around. “I’m turning up the heat. Not only will locals be on the lookout for her, but I’ll have Shamus make sure the story is picked up by other papers and news sources. Within a few hours in print, she should have some other rather nasty characters looking for her, who may not have known what she looked like.”
Jerry read the article, his eyes narrowing. She knew him well enough to know what he was thinking. It could definitely work, or it could make her come after Andi immediately. Even worse, she could disappear before they could apprehend her, only to come back and strike when they were least expecting it.
“I’ll email you a picture, but don’t run it until I get approval from the captain. Once that hits, we’ll have more gunmen in town than we can handle.”
Andi glanced at the wall clock. Joe would be setting up production soon. “You’ve got about an hour before the morning edition is set for publication. As long as the gunmen are looking for her and keeping her busy, then maybe we’ll have time to find out who’s behind all this.”
He pushed back his chair. “I’ll get back with you.”
A thought struck Andi, and she shuddered again. If this woman really is here to avenge her father, Jerry and I aren’t the only people she’s looking for. “Have you notified Gambini?”
“Damn.” Jerry sighed and pulled out his cell phone. “I�
�ll call him on my way into the station. Lock this door behind me,” he said as he stood and walked to the door.
Andi rushed to the door and flipped the lock, then made her way quickly to the kitchen to check the back door. Tell me what I want to know, and I won’t hurt you again. “No, you bastard, you’re not getting inside my head again.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Jasmine toyed with her salad, cringing every time she heard Morgan’s lips smack or slurp. The fact that Bart was waiting outside clinched things in her mind. It’s time to end this. She truly couldn’t stand any more of the slob. If he didn’t know where Mollie was, she’d call Andi, tell her the truth, and ask for her help. “Stuart told me you might have seen a young girl I’m looking for.”
He picked up his napkin and swiped at the wine running down his chin. “Lots of young girls in West Hollywood. Tell me why you’re looking for her.”
“She’s the stepdaughter of a friend of mine. She ran away six months ago, and Clara asked me to keep an eye out for her in case she showed up here.” The lies slid off her tongue easily, and she forced herself to look at him. “There might be a reward in it if you help me.”
He forked up another bite of semi-raw steak and chomped nosily. “You got a name or a picture of this girl?”
She opened her clutch bag and pulled out the last school picture of Mollie. “I think this was taken last year. Her name is Mollie.”
Morgan didn’t bother wiping his hands on a napkin and grabbed the photo with his greasy fingers. He barely looked at it before tossing it across the table. “Never seen her before.”
She picked up her wine glass and took a small sip. “I guess that’s a good thing, with all the news coming out about these young girls being killed. Barnsworth was a personal friend of yours, wasn’t he?”
His eyes narrowed, and his fat jowls shook and turned red as he choked and coughed into his napkin. “I don’t know nothin’ about that.”
Jasmine lifted a shoulder and smiled mischievously. “I never said you did.” She waited to see if he’d take the bait. Girls on the street hear things long before fat mayors sitting behind their desks.
He grabbed her wrist and twisted hard. “What have you heard?”
She feigned innocence, fluttering her long lashes. “I never said I heard anything. It’s just, you know, a presumption of guilt by association.” Jasmine broke his hold on her wrist easily, her smile never faltering. “Especially after Marconi was killed too. I did hear he and Barnsworth were friends or business partners.”
Morgan was becoming more agitated by the minute, his breathing an audible hiss, his hands fluttering between wiping his brow and clutching the soiled napkin tightly in his fist. “I forgot, I’ve got a meeting tonight.” He stood up. “Tell Stuart I’ll reschedule with someone not quite so talkative.” He jerked out his billfold and tossed a twenty on the table. “And since I didn’t get any dessert, you can pay for your own damn meal.”
He bumped into a table on his rush to get out of the dining room, and Jasmine covered her mouth with a napkin, coughing to hide her laughter. Her frustration at not getting anything useful about Mollie was tempered by her relief at not having to spend another minute in his presence. She motioned for the waiter, who hurried back to the table.
“Is something wrong, miss?”
“Everything was lovely, but Mr. Morgan had to leave quite hurriedly for an emergency. He asked if you could fax the bill to his house. He was calling his wife when he left, and she’s expecting it and will take care of it immediately.”
“Could you wait while I check with my manager?”
“Of course.” Jasmine pulled out a mirror and refreshed her lipstick. In less than a minute, the waiter returned with his manager in tow.
“This is quite unusual, miss. I don’t know Mr. Morgan.”
Jasmine widened her eyes. “Of course you do. Thaddeus Morgan, West Hollywood’s mayor.”
The lines across his forehead relaxed, and he smiled. “My sincerest apologies, ma’am. Mrs. Morgan’s garden club meets here quite often. I’ll call her and get a credit card number.”
Jasmine rose, picked up the twenty, and passed it to the waiter. “He did want to thank you for your excellent service.” She smiled at the manager. “And your food was delicious.”
“I hope you’ll come again soon. I apologize for the misunderstanding.”
“No problem.” Jasmine sauntered from the room slowly, knowing they were watching her every move. She wanted them to get a good look in case Mrs. Morgan asked for a description. Clearly, Morgan wanted news to get to his wife, or he wouldn’t have brought her to a restaurant she frequented with her garden club. What a lowlife.
~ ~ ~
Andi paced around the bar, watching the clock as it continued to tick down. Despite all her boasting in front of Jerry, she’d turned on every light and still started at small sounds. She gazed longingly at the Jack Daniels bottle, picked it up, and quickly placed it on the shelf. She could call Joe and ask him to hold up production, but with all the extra time he’d put in lately, he wasn’t likely to listen to her even if he answered the phone. Damn it, if Jerry doesn’t call soon, I’m going to start screaming. At least if Shamus were here, I’d have someone to talk to.
Thoughts of Shamus calmed her, and she made another pot of coffee. She didn’t want another cup, but it was better for her than the whiskey she really wanted. Tracy had been sweet, and she and Shamus made a perfect couple. I shouldn’t tease Irish so much. Jeez, my thoughts are all over the map. Thank God my article is already written, or I’d screw that up too.
A key scraped in the lock, and the door pushed open. “I saw the lights on. Everything okay in here?” Patrick eyed her, his gaze going to the shelf behind her. “It must be okay. The stock is still safe.”
“I’m sorry, Patty. Had a momentary fear of the dark.”
He locked the door behind him and sat on a stool at the bar. “Something you care to talk about, lass?”
A car backfired outside, and she dropped the cup she was holding, catching it only seconds before it shattered on the floor. “Damn it.”
He came around the bar. “Go have a seat in the booth. I’ll bring the coffee.”
Andi obeyed, her cell pinging as she made her way across the room. She pulled up the text, which simply said green light. A second ping announced the picture of a pretty blonde.
She doesn’t look like a vicious killer. With only minutes to spare, she emailed the picture to herself, grabbed the laptop, and finished her article. She downloaded the picture and attached it, then emailed the revised copy to Sinclair and Joe for production.
“Something up?” Patrick slid into the booth across from her and placed a cup of coffee next to the laptop.
She turned the article around. “Jerry says she’s a paid assassin, and she’s Richard Thomas’s daughter. He thinks she killed Grange.”
Patrick’s jaw hardened, and his hands tightened around the cup. “I’ve seen this woman before.”
“Where?” The blood in her temples began to throb as her chest muscles constricted, making it hard to breathe. “When?”
“She came in Friday night after you and Palano left. I forgot about it, or I would have told you.”
Her words were barely above a whisper, the fear behind them making her throat raw. “Why would you tell me about a woman coming into the bar?”
“Because she asked if I knew where Shamus O’Conner lived.”
She grabbed her phone and punched in Shamus’s number. “Come on, damn it, answer.”
“Calm down, lass. This is Sunday. She was here on Friday, so she’s had two full days to do something, if that was her plan. Besides, I told her I didn’t know.”
“I don’t care.” She stabbed the end button and dialed Palano.
“Palano.”
“Jerry, she’s been to the bar. She was asking about Shamus. Where he lived. I can’t get him to answer his phone.”
“Slow down, Andi, y
ou’re not making sense.”
Patrick reached across the table and took her phone. “This blond woman was here Friday night after the two of you left. She asked me where Shamus lived.” He listened and nodded. “Aye.”
He ended the call and handed the phone to Andi. “He said to tell you to stay put. He’ll run by Shamus’s house and see if he’s there.”
“I need a drink.” Andi rose and crossed to the bar. “Aren’t you going to stop me?”
“I tried that once and, as I remember, it didn’t work out too well for me.”
Flopping onto a stool, she buried her face in her hands. “He’s just a kid, Patrick. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to him because of me.”
“Aye, I like the lad. I wouldn’t be very happy if something happened to him.”
The coldness of his voice brought her head up, and she searched his face and shook her head. “No, Patrick. You can’t owe McHugh another favor. Not for me.”
“This woman, what is it she does?”
“Jerry says she’s a cleanup person. I’m not really sure what that means. I guess when something goes wrong, she gets called in to kill whoever needs to be killed. As I said, he’s pretty sure she killed Grange. They call her the Cobra.” She rose and started to pace. “It must have something to do with the deaths of the girls, unless she’s just here for revenge against the people who killed her father. Which is why asking about Shamus doesn’t make any sense. He didn’t have anything to do with Richard Thomas’s death. He wasn’t even here at the time.”
He crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. “You’re tired, lass, and scared. Let Palano do what he does, and I will do what I do. No harm will come to the lad.”
She pushed out of his arms and took a deep breath. She couldn’t let him be in debt to the Irish mob again. Daniel McHugh was dangerous, and he already held her and Patrick’s markers for the last favor he’d done them. “No, Patrick. This is my fight, and I’m not getting you involved again. I’ll find a way to stop her.”
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