by Pamela Clare
One by one, he would get them all.
If he’d planned this better, he might have been able to pin it on Mia. It was clear the police considered the bitch a suspect. Oh, it would be sweet to see Mia Starr locked up forever. The stupid cunt. She more than deserved it.
Needles jabbed against his temples, his eyes, the inside of his skull.
Nothing made it stop. Nothing. Narcotics and marijuana dulled the pain, but it was with him even in his sleep.
He drew a breath, reached into his pocket for an Oxy, popped it into his mouth, and chewed. When this kicked in, he’d have to rethink his plans. Maybe there was still a way to make her seem guilty. Or maybe that didn’t matter.
In the end, the Iron Maiden would die just like the others, and he would be free to end his pain once and for all with a bullet to the brain.
Joaquin let himself into the newspaper and took the elevator up to the newsroom on the third floor. Most of the desks were empty, the newsroom quiet, the editor’s office dark, its door shut. But, hey, there was still coffee.
Over at the news desk, Cate was talking with Syd Wilson, the managing editor, bringing her up to speed on the possible homicide. “As of two minutes ago, they hadn’t found a body, so we can’t say it’s a homicide.”
“It sounds like we can’t say much of anything for certain.”
Cate defended her story, eager as all new reporters were to get her byline on the front page. “I do have the interview with the neighbor. He told police he saw bullet holes in the guy’s shower, but DPDs public information person won’t confirm that.”
“Do you think you can fill ten inches?”
“Absolutely.”
Syd shouted to Joaquin from across the room. “Ramirez, did you get anything that could run on the front page?”
Joaquin studied the images on his screen, his gaze falling on Mia Starr, the distress on her face giving the photograph emotional weight. “You bet. I’ll have them to you in a few minutes.”
He worked his way through the assignments, picking a shot from the protest, then one each from the fire and the hit-and-run accident. They probably wouldn’t have room for all of them, but that was life as a photojournalist. The vast majority of the photos he took were never published.
He wrote a cutline for each image and saved the files on the news server. “You’ve got it, Syd.”
She nodded without glancing up from her computer screen.
Cate hurried over to Syd’s desk and bent down, clearly eager to see what he’d shot for her story. “That’s fantastic. That woman is a person of interest in the case.”
“She didn’t do it.” The words were out before Joaquin realized he’d spoken.
Both Cate and Syd looked up from the screen.
“What makes you say that?” Cate asked.
“She walked up when I was shooting, blocked my view, and started asking questions. She was torn up about what had happened, really worried.”
Syd laughed. “Maybe she’s worried they’ll catch her.”
Joaquin shook his head. “Nah, man, I don’t think so. If she’d killed the guy herself, she would have stayed in the shadows somewhere, kept out of sight, not stepped in front of my camera.”
“But she is a person of interest, correct?” Syd asked.
Cate nodded. “I heard Detective Wu say she might be the last person to have seen Andrew Meyer before he disappeared.”
“Make sure you mention her in your story and include the fact that she’s a person of interest in the investigation. Let’s run the story and photo on the front page.”
Well, this would make Ms. Starr love the media that much more.
Shit.
Not sure why it bothered him—they were only publishing facts—Joaquin shut down his computer, slipped into his parka, and grabbed his camera bag. He was about to head out when he remembered. “Hey, Syd, Chris is covering for me tomorrow night.”
“You got a hot date?”
Didn’t Joaquin just wish?
He hadn’t been on a hot date in a couple of months now. It wasn’t that he couldn’t find women who wanted to spend time with him. He could have gotten laid every night if that’s all he’d wanted. There were plenty of women in the bars and clubs and online who were willing to do almost anything with anyone. But he was looking for a relationship, a true connection with one special woman, not just a quick fuck.
He had already told Syd about tomorrow night, but she had apparently forgotten. “My cousin just got back from a nine-month deployment in Iraq, and my family is throwing a party. I’m always the designated photographer. I told you about it last—”
“Right. Okay. Have fun.”
Joaquin left the newsroom, walked down three flights of stairs, and stepped out into the frigid night, his thoughts drifting back to the photograph and Mia Starr.
2
Mia hurried up the sidewalk toward the address Ramirez had given her, wishing she’d worn a warmer coat and sensible shoes instead of these damned heels. She’d never been any good at the girly stuff. She’d always been a tomboy—more at home in jeans and hiking boots than dresses and heels. Why had she put herself through the effort?
It was wishful thinking. That’s what it was. Ramirez wanted her to meet her cousin, the one who’d taught her how to dance salsa when she was a kid, and Mia, in a fit of stupidity or insanity, had tried to make herself look pretty just in case this guy turned out to be The One.
What are the chances of that happening?
Unless it was snowing in hell—and it was cold enough that it might be—the chances were slim.
“The destination is on your right,” Siri chirped from her coat pocket.
“Gee, thanks.” Mia fished out her smartphone and turned off the directions app.
She was running late, but then it had been one hell of a day. Thanks to that article in the Denver Independent, which had identified her by name as a person of interest, she’d spent her afternoon hanging up on reporters from other news outlets. She’d also gotten an angry call from Andy’s sister, who’d demanded to know what she’d done with her brother’s body. Mia had spent an hour trying to convince the poor woman that she wasn’t a lying murderer.
If it weren’t for the fact that she’d be letting Ramirez down, Mia would have stayed home. Andy was missing, maybe dead. She didn’t have the heart to party. But Ramirez had just gotten back from a tough deployment, and Mia didn’t want to disappoint her.
Mia tried to set aside her anger, following the rhythm of Latin music to a house in the middle of the block. She made her way up the front walk to the porch. Red chili pepper lights adorned the windows, small US and Mexican flags hanging side by side on the front door. She knocked hard, certain no one would be able to hear her.
The door opened, spilling warmth and music into the street.
Ramirez stood there in a little beaded black dress, a bright smile on her face. She opened the screen door. “You came!”
“Of course.” Mia stepped inside, Ramirez’s smile infectious. “You think I’d miss this? Welcome home, Ramirez.”
Ramirez caught her up in a hug. “It is so good to be back, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me ma’am. Mia is fine.”
She knew from experience how it felt to come home from a deployment. She’d been deployed twice—both times to Iraq—and had had enough MREs, camel spiders, sand, filthy latrines, and heat to last several lifetimes.
“Then you call me Elena.” Ramirez—Elena—stepped back. “Let me take your coat. You look so pretty. I love the color. Blue really makes your eyes stand out. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress.”
Yeah, well, there was a reason for that.
Mia handed her coat to Elena. “Thanks.”
Elena was the beautiful one. With her big brown eyes, long dark hair, and curves, she exuded femininity. She turned heads even when she wore ACUs and combat boots. As an officer in her chain of command, Mia had worried about the impact of male attentio
n on Elena’s career, but it turned out that she was more than capable of putting horny soldiers in their place without Mia’s help.
Elena hung Mia’s coat in a crowded closet, then turned and introduced Mia to the people who stood talking with one another in the living room, raising her voice to be heard. “Everyone, this is Mia Starr. She was my captain my first year in the Army.”
“Welcome!”
“Nice to meet you!”
“We’ve heard a lot about you.”
Elena motioned for Mia to follow her. “I want you to meet my grandma and my parents. My cousin Quino is here, too.”
Mia forced a smile onto her face. “Great.”
She was happy to meet Elena’s family, but she hated being set up. It only led to awkwardness and embarrassment.
Elena shepherded her through the party to a back room away from the music, where a tiny old woman sat in a recliner, a crocheted shawl around her shoulders. She spoke to the woman in Spanish, gesturing toward Mia.
The old woman’s face lit up, and she reached out with a bony hand.
Mia understood only a few words—abuelita, capitán, Irak. She took the old woman’s hand, held it between her own. “Your granddaughter is an excellent soldier. You must be so happy to have her home.”
Elena repeated what Mia had said in Spanish.
“Sí, sí.” The old woman nodded, brown eyes shining. Then she said something Mia couldn’t understand.
Elena translated. “She thanks you for training me well and watching over me.”
“It was my honor.” Mia had helped Elena get her boots solidly on the ground before resigning her commission and leaving the Army.
The conversation was repeated with Elena’s parents, who came in from the kitchen when they saw Mia.
Aleta, Elena’s mother, hugged Mia and thanked her. “I know what you taught her helped keep her safe. You are always welcome in our home.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Come and get something to eat.” Aleta gestured toward the kitchen.
But Elena tugged on Mia’s arm. “I want her to meet Quino.”
There was no rush as far as Mia was concerned, but Elena was clearly set on making this introduction. Mia followed her through a laundry room and down some stairs into what must have once been a garage but was now an extra living room. Young people danced, laughed, talked, some in English, some in Spanish.
Then Mia saw him.
Out in the middle of the floor, a man danced salsa with a young woman, his body moving with a sensuality that made it impossible for Mia to look away.
Just… Wow.
Mia’s mouth watered.
“Quino!” Elena shouted out for him. “Joaquin!”
That was her cousin?
Good grief!
Mia felt an impulse to run, but stayed, as if rooted to the floor.
The man turned, a smile on his face, and blood rushed to Mia’s head.
Oh, God.
The damned photographer.
Joaquin left his cousin María on the dance floor, confused to see her here at his aunt and uncle’s place. “Ms. Starr.”
She stared at him with wide blue eyes, color rushing into her cheeks. It wasn’t a blush. She was pissed. “You.”
He’d thought her striking last night, but tonight…
Madre de Dios.
She wore a pretty dress of royal blue that hugged her willowy body, her slender legs in sheer blue hose, black pumps on her feet, red hair hanging past her shoulders, thick and shining.
Elena looked from Joaquin to Mia and back again. “You know each other?”
“We’ve met.” Joaquin left it up to Mia to reveal exactly how they’d met. “How are you doing?”
“Fine.” Mia’s gaze shifted to Elena, and Joaquin could tell she was trying for Elena’s sake not to lose her temper.
She must have seen the paper. Well, he’d known she would.
Then it hit him. “You’re Captain Starr, the officer who helped my cousin through her first year.”
Mia nodded. “I resigned my commission three years ago.”
Elena beamed, oblivious to the tension between them. “How fun that you already knew each other.”
“Elena!” Tío Danilo yelled. “There’s someone at the door!”
“I’ll be right back.” Elena hurried away.
For a moment, neither Joaquin nor Mia spoke, an awkward silence stretching between them.
Mia lowered her voice. “Thanks to your paper, I got a half dozen calls from reporters wanting to know if I was a murderer. Andy’s sister called, too, and asked where I’d hidden her brother’s body.”
“I’m sorry.” What else could he say? “That must have been tough. You should know that the reporters who called probably got your name from the police report, not from our newspaper.”
“The police report is already available to the media?”
“It’s a public document.” He could see on her face that she hadn’t known that. “Would you like a drink?”
Amigo, you are the last man on earth she wants to have a drink with.
She fought back her irritation with visible effort. “Sure. But just to be clear, I don’t like you.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” He led her toward the kitchen. “Wine? Beer? Soda? My cousin David here makes a wicked paloma.”
“White wine, please.”
“A beer for me and white wine for her,” Joaquin called to David, quickly telling him who Mia was.
David handed the wine glass to Mia. “Thanks for what you’ve done for our country and for supporting my cousin.”
Mia took the wine and gave David a tight smile, as if the attention made her uncomfortable. Or maybe it was just being with Joaquin that bothered her. “Thank you.”
Joaquin led her to a quiet spot in the dining room. “Any news on your friend?”
She gave him a wary look. “Is this on or off the record?”
“Tonight, we’re just two people who care about Elena having a conversation at a party in her honor.”
She seemed to measure him through those blue eyes of hers, worry chasing the irritation from her face. “They still don’t know anything.”
“I’m sorry. Are you two close?”
She shook her head. “I was his XO for a time. He was injured on one of our deployments and discharged. I did my best to stay in touch with him.”
“I’m sure he appreciated that.”
Mia took a sip of wine. “He was bitter about how the Army had treated him.”
“I know how hard this is—worrying and not knowing where he is or what happened to him.”
She gave him a look. “Do you really?”
“Yeah, I do.” He told her how sicarios from a drug cartel had kidnapped Natalie Benoit, a friend and former co-worker, while they were on a job-related trip to Mexico. “They killed all the Mexican reporters on the bus, shot them right in front of us. She was afraid they’d think I was Mexican and kill me, too. She didn’t know that they were there for her. They tore her from my arms, ripped her away from me. For more than a week, I had no idea whether she was dead or alive.”
Mia stared at him through wide eyes. “God, I’m sorry. Is she…?”
“It turns out the cartel had taken Zach McBride, a deputy US marshal and former Navy SEAL, captive, too. Natalie broke him out of his little cell, and the two of them escaped. He got her safely back to the US, but the cartel came after her here. There was a big shootout, and some of my friends were caught up in that and wounded. Natalie married the marshal.”
There was last month’s holiday party, too, when terrorists had taken over the hotel, but that was still too raw. Once again, assholes had attacked his friends, and he’d been powerless to do anything about it.
“Tell me they at least got the bastards.”
“They did. That’s the story that won me my Pulitzer. I’m sure Elena told you about that. She tells everyone.”
Mia’s eyes went wide. “A Pulitzer
. Wow. Congrats. She didn’t tell me, but then she probably knows how I feel about photojournalists.”
“Isn’t it bigotry to dislike an entire group of people? You’re judging all of us based on the actions of a few.”
Mia took another sip of wine, her gaze shifting to the window and the darkness beyond. “During my two deployments, we had plenty of journalists and photographers who came over. Some of them were ethical, but too many of them were there for the glory. Once, when one of our guys was wounded by an IED, a photographer got right in his face. The soldier was screaming in pain and in danger of bleeding out, but the photographer got in the way of the medics, making it hard for them to do their job. I literally had to push him aside, knock him on his ass. He didn’t care about LeBron’s suffering. All he wanted was a chance to make money off gore and misery.”
Joaquin had met shooters who’d let ambition twist them. He’d felt nothing but disgust for them. “I hate guys like that. They give everyone else a bad name.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Is this when you tell me that you’re different, that you’re one of the good ones?”
Joaquin took a chance. “I think you already know that. That’s why you’re standing here talking to me.”
“Oh, you are smooth.” Mia laughed. “Elena is the reason I’m standing here talking to you.”
“Ouch!” Joaquin supposed that was fair, given the day she’d had. He changed the subject. “Elena admires the hell out of you.”
“She’s tough, a good soldier.”
“What does an Army captain do when she leaves the service?”
“Any damned thing she wants.” Mia laughed again, a sweet sound. “I went back to school and got a master’s degree in horticulture. Spending almost two years in the desert made me long to see anything flowering, anything green. I discovered that I love watching things grow. I work for the Botanic Gardens now as one of their—”
“Quino, where did you put your camera?” Elena interrupted. “Can you get it? I want a picture of me with my favorite officer.”
“Favorite former officer,” Mia corrected her.
“Anything for you, chula.” Joaquin went in search of his camera bag.