by Kylie Brant
“So a third cop is dead, burned alive if the same MO was followed.” He looked to her for confirmation, found it in her nod. “The department is going to pull out all the stops. A task force was being formed even before this latest casualty. An UNSUB targeting cops is going to bring a high-profile effort after him. No expenses spared.”
“So hiring a consultant from the firm of the legendary Adam Raiker would be welcomed by the brass,” she guessed caustically.
“I wouldn’t know.” His answer stopped her dead. “I never suggested it. What I did suggest is that the commissioner might be interested in using the voluntary services of one of my employees while she’s in the vicinity on leave. A former employee of the department with enough commendations in her file to be something of a legend herself within the PPD.”
Sick fear twisted through her at the thought, even though she’d figured out how it must have gone down. “I can’t.”
“You did. Today.” His expression was fierce. “Last month . . . hell, last week you would never have gone to that scene.”
“Last month I hadn’t just had a dream about a similar crime,” she said flatly. Raiker knew all about her nocturnal visions. She’d been upfront about them when he’d first contacted her about working for him. Had been shocked when he’d eventually offered her a job anyway.
He’d stilled at her statement. “The dreams are back.”
A frisson of ice splintered through her. The words sounded stark. Inescapable. “One dream. One time.”
“Well.” He eased his form more comfortably against the ancient couch. “That had to have been . . . a surprise.”
A short laugh escaped her, although humor was the last emotion she was feeling at the moment. A surprise. Masterful understatement. And so Raiker. “You could say that. As a matter of fact, you predicted the nightmares would fade and that eventually the dreams would come back. I didn’t believe you.”
“You didn’t want to believe me.”
Risa looked away. The welter of emotion from this morning returned. The sick dread for what the dream indicated. Filtered by a shuddering relief that the normal had returned. Or what had always been normal for her.
And layered by the paralyzing self-doubt that had been her constant companion since that dark cellar in Minneapolis.
“It might not mean anything.” She desperately wanted to believe that. To distract them both she headed toward the kitchen. “I’m getting a water. Do you want one?”
“No.”
Risa took her time, taking a bottle of water from the fridge and twisting off the cap to take a long swallow. It wasn’t necessarily avoidance. She’d been out on the scene with McGuire all day, with nothing but a soft drink from the selection one of the officers had brought back after the canvass.
But as one minute turned into two, and then three, she knew evasion was at play. That recognition had her heading back into the living room. She’d had to face some hard truths about herself in the last few months. Cowardice hadn’t been one of them, despite what her employer might think.
She dropped into a chair across from Raiker’s seat and observed that the man looked curiously out of place in Hannah Blanchette’s modest home. There was a veneer of gloss to Adam Raiker, a sophistication that owed little to the expensive suits. It almost hid the shimmer of danger that emanated from the man.
“The dream could have been a fluke,” she said finally, in the face of her boss’s silence. “And even if it’s not, we already know that they can’t be trusted.”
“Then don’t,” he said tersely, his gaze intent. “I didn’t hire you because you go to sleep and dream of murder. I hired you because you’re a damn fine investigator with some of the best instincts I’ve ever seen. Accepting a role on this case will give you a chance to learn to trust them again.”
Bitterness surged. “I think Minneapolis proved my instincts are flawed.” She had lived with the knowledge, with the guilt, for the last four months.
“That case proved you’re not infallible.” His flat tone would have sounded cold to someone who didn’t know him. “None of us are, and sometimes it takes a fucked-up case to make us realize it.” She looked at him then, saw the faintest flicker of empathy in his expression. The sight had her throat knotting up. “Once we live through something like that . . . we’re not the same. We aren’t meant to come out of it unchanged. The question is, are you going to let it merely change you or eviscerate you?”
She couldn’t reply. Wouldn’t have known what to say if she was able. But Raiker was better at commentary than conversation. Already he had his cell phone out, texting a message that would doubtless have his driver returning for him. He’d pulled the necessary strings, applied the necessary pressure. Now the ball was in her court. She could return, in an unofficial capacity, to the work that had once identified her.
Or she could continue to hide and dodge coming to a decision about her future.
The familiar longing and self-doubt warred inside her, emotions crashing and colliding in an inner battle that left her feeling bruised and weary. But Raiker couldn’t help her with that. No one could.
Risa eyed him. “What are you doing in Philadelphia anyway?” This was his second visit. Usually he contented himself with short, terse phone calls. He had a reason for coming here. Raiker had a reason for everything he did. “Shouldn’t you be concentrating on finding the guy trying his damnedest to kill you?”
“Failing to kill me. The verb is rather important.” His shrug was negligent. The navy pin-striped suit would have made another man look like a banker. It merely gilded that faintly lethal air that surrounded the man, like a wolf disguising itself in sheep’s clothing. “He’s imaginative. I’ll give him that.”
She blew out a breath. “You mean tenacious. Blowing up your penthouse was what? The fourth attempt on your life in the last few months?”
His grin faded as quickly as it had appeared. And the look in his eye reminded her that this was a very dangerous man in his own right. “He miscalculated again. I’m still alive. But he’s got my attention.”
And that alone should have the would-be assassin quaking. If it was only one. “Did you ever consider this might not be the work of a single man? Tampa, LA, Chicago, DC . . . How is he, or they, discovering your itinerary anyway?”
“Risa.” The gentleness of his tone didn’t hide its finality. “Paulie and I are on it.”
She folded her arms over her chest and met his stony stare. Intellectually she knew he was right. Not only would his own formidable talents be turned toward finding the assassin, a number of police departments would be involved as well. But emotionally . . . that was another issue. “Do I have to call Paulie for the details?” Her bluff was empty and they both knew it. Paulie Samuels was Adam’s right arm at headquarters, and despite his breezy, friendly demeanor to all, he was fiercely devoted to Raiker. If they were playing this one close to the vest, she’d get no more out of Samuels than from Adam.
Shifting tactics, she said simply, “We’re worried. All of us.” Enough so that she checked in with one of Raiker’s other operatives weekly, just to compare notes on their boss’s well-being. Because Kellan Burke had a history with the man longer than anyone else’s—with the exception of Samuels—he was invariably the one they all turned to for information.
He was as out of the loop as the rest of them. Whatever Raiker had uncovered about these attempts on his life hadn’t been shared with Burke.
“Don’t be. It’s been tried before.” He fingered the scar that bisected his throat. “We’ll track him down, and when we do, we’ll get some answers. Until then you have enough on your plate.” With the help of his cane, he got to his feet. Even with the prop, few would make the mistake of considering the man disabled. Not with the edge that showed beneath the polish, the shrewdness apparent in his eye.
“You’ve got plenty to keep you occupied. Three torched cops, remember?” He surprised her by heading to the kitchen. In the next moment she real
ized he was planning to leave by the back door. Which meant he’d be cutting across two yards to meet his car on the other side of the block.
He was varying his routines. The realization had her breathing a bit more easily. So despite his nonchalant words, he was taking the threats seriously. She supposed having an incendiary device shot through the window of his home to blow it up—fortunately without him in residence—had made a believer out of him.
He paused in the doorway, looked back at her. “You’re wasting your time worrying. I look forward to facing whomever, whatever is intent on destroying me. You concern yourself with facing your own demons.”
The door closed behind him, and she was left to stare at it, his words ringing in her ears. Raiker’s penchant for having the last word wasn’t his most infuriating trait.
Being right was.
“Jonas. Over here.” Johnny waved the last of their group to arrive over to the corner booth where the rest of them waited. Casting a suspicious eye around the gloomy interior of the bar, he was satisfied there was no one within earshot. The spot had changed ownership several times in the nearly twenty years they’d been using it, but efforts at updating had been halfhearted. The clientele was sparse and desperate, usually satisfied to huddle over their beers on cracked stools at the bar. Since the place didn’t run to waitstaff, they didn’t have to worry about anyone showing up to take or deliver orders.
Not that he’d turn down a drink right about now. But he’d wait until he was home. From the looks of his companions, it wasn’t liquor they needed, it was leadership. No matter what Sean and Hans had liked to believe, Johnny had always been the true leader of the group.
“Is it true what Juan said?” Jonas slid into the booth. “They found Giovanni this morning, fried like the others?”
Johnny sent a look at Juan, who wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Is that what he said? Because I fucking told him to set up a meet and we’d discuss the topic once we were all together.”
“You’re not the only one that hears things.” Juan wiped at the sweat beaded on his broad forehead. The years had cost him his first wife and house, then his hair. From what he knew of the man, Johnny figured he missed the hair the most. “I got a buddy in the seventh district. A couple coworkers caught the call and ran the canvass. Someone’s lighting up cops, think the details don’t get around?”
“This is getting out of hand.” Jack looked like ten years had settled on him over the last few weeks. “Three dead cops, there’s certain to be a task force, right? How long’s it gonna take to connect the victims? And then link them to us?”
“I knew it’d come to this.”
Johnny jerked around to glare at Jonas. He’d never fully trusted the prick. Always whining about right and wrong and consequences. Fuck consequences. A real man shaped his life to suit himself. He didn’t wait for whatever crumbs life left him. “The last thing we need right now is for you to go weak on this, Jonas,” he said meaningfully. “You’ve gotten rich along with the rest of us over the years. You wanna clear your conscience, see a fucking priest. We hang together, same as always, and cover our asses. A task force might keep the rest of us alive, ever think of that? Every cop in the city is going to be looking for this fuck.”
“And if they find him before we do, and he talks, we’re in prison, which might as well be dead,” Jonas shot back. “Or do you think it’s coincidence the three dead cops happen to be members of our John Squad?”
“Keep your damn voice down.” But a quick look reassured Johnny that they’d garnered no attention from the bar. Other than from the beefy bartender who kept shooting them sour looks. He knew better than to hassle them about taking up space without ordering, though. Johnny had made sure of that long ago. “No, it’s not coincidence. Likely one of our business associates got greedy and decided to quit profit sharing. Once Hans and I find out which one it is, we’ll convince him of the errors of his ways.” And maybe give the bastard a taste of his own medicine while they were at it.
“Johnny and I have this thing in hand.” Hans had the type of soothing grandfatherly voice that calmed any crisis. Johnny watched it work its magic on Jack and Juan. Jonas still had a stick up his ass, but that was nothing new. “We’re following up on our various partners. We’ll find whoever’s responsible. In the meantime, just sit tight and don’t panic. We’ve been careful to avoid any connections over the years.”
“Don’t you get it?” Jonas’s palm slapped the scarred table top with enough force to draw the attention of the hulking bartender. “The torch has made the connection. Whoever is doing this knows the members of the squad. How’d he get that information, huh? We were always careful to split up the business areas. Different suppliers, different parts of towns. How could any one of them put us all together?”
A damn good question. But then Jonas always had been a smart one. He actually had more smarts than guts, and that’s exactly what worried Johnny.
“We don’t know that he has,” Hans pointed out matter-of-factly. “All we know is that he put Giovanni, Jon-O, and Johann together.”
“Jesus.” Jonas looked away, disgusted.
Hans leaned forward. “Listen, we’ve all got contacts on the street. We need to start tapping them for any scuttle on this thing. If one of our business partners is involved, there’s no way word isn’t going to be out somewhere about that. So I want you to lean on your informants. Hard. Just like every other cop in the city is going to be doing, right? Let Johnny or me know if you get something worth pursuing.” The other two were listening to him, and Johnny figured that was a good thing. Jonas was always the crybaby, but he didn’t have the balls to make trouble. Thank God for that anyway.
“We’re not standing still on this,” Hans was saying. “But this is no time to get stupid. The money’s still coming in, right? We’re all still getting rich, and there’s no way in hell any of it’s traced to us. So stay smart and careful. Keep your weapon close. Giovanni, Jon-O, and Johann were seasoned cops, and someone still managed to get the jump on them. So don’t trust anyone, even if you know ’em.” He smiled grimly. “Maybe especially if you know ’em.”
“What about the task force?” Jack’s anxious look swept all of them. “Any word who’ll head it up? The brass wouldn’t bring the feds in on this, would they?”
“Only if they want it fucked up.” Everyone snickered at Johnny’s remark except for Jonas. “Way I hear it, a homicide detective by the name of McGuire has been on the cases. No way of knowing who’ll be in charge if a task force is formed.”
“So we sit tight.” Juan was bobbing his head, looking to Hans for more reassurance. “I got a kid at Columbia. I can’t afford to have anything fuck this up. We lean on our informants, yeah, but I say we also try to get any details we can about the investigation. I almost hope there is a task force, since they leak info like sieves.”
Johnny actually smiled at the possibility. “That’s a thought. Because if a suspect surfaces in the case, Hans and I would sure like to talk to him.” And if they did, he wouldn’t live to be arrested. He certainly wouldn’t live to cut a deal with the DA.
Since there was little reason to linger, the group broke up shortly after. Juan and Jack walked out together but Jonas left alone. Johnny’s gaze followed him. “Who brought him into the squad anyway?” His gaze shifted to Hans. “Was he one of yours?”
The older man shook his head. He still had a full head of wavy gray hair, of which he was ridiculously vain. “He was one of Sean’s boys, wasn’t he?”
“Must’ve been.” They’d all been recruited over twenty years ago by either Sean or Hans. “Never did like him.”
“You never liked him because he’s good-looking and women dropped their panties for him. Still do.” Hans tried to get the bartender’s attention. After throwing them glowering looks for the duration, he was now studiously avoiding looking their way.
“Reason enough. But he nags like an old lady. I’m telling you, he’s a weak link.”
/> Hans looked at him, a frown settling on his creased face. “Will you give it up? He’s nervy. Who the hell isn’t? With Giovanni buying it, I’m gonna sleep with the light on myself.” He waited expectantly, but Johnny wasn’t in the laughing mood.
“Jonas had a point. You and me have focused on one of our various partners being behind this, but you know what a stretch that is. These hits take a coordinated effort, and there’s no coordination behind our different suppliers.”
“What’re you saying?”
Johnny hesitated. It was one thing to think it, another to say it aloud. But he trusted this man, as much as he trusted anyone. And he needed to hear Hans’s reaction to his idea. “Maybe we’re overlooking the obvious. Seems to me the only ones who know who all’s in the John Squad are its members.”
He’d have felt better if Hans had blown off his idea. Talked him down, tried to point out how it couldn’t be betrayal. Couldn’t be one of them. Instead the man pursed his lips. Gave a slow nod.
“It’d be stupid not to at least consider the idea. When’s the last time you talked to Sean or Johnson?”
Johnny lifted a shoulder. “Talked to Sean last year, I think. Haven’t talked to Johnson since he retired and moved away.” Both the men had retired to sunnier locales, one to Florida and the other to California, two and three years ago respectively.
“Let’s check in.” Finally the bartender deigned to leave the bar and approach them with two bottles of beer. He delivered them with plenty of attitude, but he’d remembered their brands, which meant Johnny wasn’t going to be required to do any ass kicking before he left here. They went silent until he’d sauntered back to the bar. “They should be careful, too, until this bastard is found. And maybe one of them will have an idea on this guy’s identity. And whether we should be looking close to home or farther out.”