by Karen Rose
“Is that a threat?” Derek asked quietly.
“No. It’s reality. Just contact Frasier and tell him to speed up the fight scenes he’s been promising me for a month. I want them by nine Tuesday morning. I need the fight scenes from Inquisitor to show at Pinnacle so he needs to light a fire under his ass.”
Stunned, Derek could only stare. “You already gave him the new game.”
Jager turned, his eyes cold. “It’s an entertainment venture,” he said between his teeth, “and yes, I gave Frasier the design for Inquisitor months ago. If I left it to you, we’d end up with the same sorry washed-out graphics we’ve had for years. He’s been researching and working the design for months while you’ve been sitting on your ass, doodling cartoons.” The last was uttered with contempt. “Face it, Derek, I’ve moved oRo to the next level. Keep up or get out.” He shut the door with a snap.
Derek stood motionless for a long time, staring at the door. Keep up or get out. Get out. He couldn’t just get out. Where would he go? He’d put all his talent, all his heart into oRo. He couldn’t just walk away. He needed his salary. His daughter’s college tuition wasn’t cheap. I am a hypocrite. He’d disagreed so vehemently with using Frasier Lewis’s scenes because the killings were so chillingly real. But Jager was right. I take the money. I like the money.
He needed to make a choice. If he planned to continue at oRo, he needed to come to terms with his distaste for Frasier Lewis’s “art.” Either I’m morally opposed or I’m not.
He sighed. Or he needed to decide if Jager had been telling him the truth, hard as it would be to accept. The same sorry washed-out look. That hurt. Am I jealous? Is Lewis the better artist? If so, could he accept that, and, more important, could he work with him?
Derek got up and paced the length of the room, stopping at the bar. He poured himself a drink, then sat back down in the dark to consider his options.
Chapter Four
Philadelphia, Sunday, January 14, 10:30
P.M.
Vito watched as Katherine wheeled away another body in a bag, the third they’d recovered so far. He’d been male, about the same age as the “Knight” as the first man had been dubbed. The name was inevitable once word had spread among the team that the archeologist said the victim’s hands had been posed to hold a sword. The woman they’d uncovered that morning had become the “Lady.”
He wondered what they would call this last victim. The third victim had lain with his arms at his sides. Well, kind of. One arm lay straight, but the other was mangled at the shoulder, barely attached at the joint and rotated so that the palm faced outward. The man’s head was in worse shape. What little that remained was unrecognizable.
“It’s late,” Vito said. “We’ve got uniforms on guard duty. I say we call it a night.”
“So, we meet back here tomorrow at first light?” Nick asked.
Vito nodded. “Then we begin to ID the victims. Katherine should have the initial exams done by morning. The autopsies could take days.”
Jen looked around. “Where is Sophie?”
Vito pointed to his truck where Johannsen sat sideways on the passenger side, her door wide open. She’d been there for about a half hour. He’d worried she’d freeze, then tried to put her out of his mind, figuring she’d have shut the door if she got too cold. But he’d been unsuccessful in pushing her out of his thoughts or his sight. He’d watched her as they’d worked. Seeing the Knight had rocked her. Still she’d worked steadily.
But something else had happened. When Katherine had zipped the body bag shut, Sophie looked like she’d seen a ghost. Whatever memory the body had triggered, it had been substantial enough to send Katherine to her side. And the two had exchanged angry words, that much had been crystal clear.
From then on, he’d watched her even more closely. It was simple curiosity, he told himself. Or perhaps nosiness was more accurate, as Katherine claimed. He wanted to know what had happened, both today and on whatever day she’d been remembering.
But he probably would never find out. He’d take her back and that would be that. Still, the sight of her sitting in his truck tugged at him. She sat with her knees up under her coat, much as she had earlier in the day. She looked young and very much alone.
“Are we finished with her?” Vito asked.
Jen nodded, looking at the printout of Sophie’s scan. “She did an incredible job.” Stakes and flags were arranged in four rows of four plots, every plot the same exact size, rows and columns spaced with military precision. “We just have to start digging.”
When Vito got close to the truck he noticed she’d loaded and secured the two big cases into the truck bed, all by herself. They’d been heavy when he’d done it earlier. She must have some muscle under her field jacket. He thought about how she’d felt those few seconds she’d leaned against him and wondered what else he’d find under her jacket, but again, he’d probably never find out.
When Vito got close to Sophie, his heart squeezed. Tears slid down her cheeks in a steady flow as she stared at the field with its stakes and flags. She’d seen things that rocked most seasoned cops. But she’d stayed the course. He respected that.
He cleared his throat and she turned her head to look at him. She wiped at her cheeks with her sleeve but made no attempt to hide the tears or apologize for them. Vito respected that, too. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.
She nodded and drew a shuddering breath. “Yes.”
“You did good today.”
She sniffled. “Jen showed you the scan?”
“Yes. Thank you. It’s very thorough and very well done. But that’s not what I meant. You held up under terribly stressful conditions. Most people wouldn’t have.”
Her lips trembled and her eyes filled anew. She swallowed hard as she turned her back to stare at the field, visibly fighting for composure. Patiently he waited and when she spoke, it was in a hoarse whisper. “When Katherine called me today, I had no idea it would be like this. Nine people. My God. It’s unreal.”
“You marked seven of the plots as empty. Are you sure?”
She nodded, her tears slowing. “The seven empty ones are air pockets. But every one of them is covered with something thick and solid. Probably wood.” She looked at him, her eyes filled with horror and pain. “My God, Vito. He planned to kill seven more.”
“I know.” The scan had given them not only the lay of the land, but insight into the mind of a killer. Vito knew the insight would be valuable when he’d had enough sleep to consider it. “I’m beat,” he said. “You must be, too. Let me take you home.”
She shook her head. “I have to take the equipment back to the university and get my bike. Besides, you must have plans of your own tonight. A family to get home to.”
He thought of the roses, wilted now. He’d buy another bouquet and go to the cemetery next week. It wasn’t like Andrea would care one way or another. The flowers and the visit, he knew, were really for himself. “I don’t have plans.” He hesitated, then let the words come. “Or anyone waiting for me.”
Their eyes held and he could see she’d taken his words the way he’d meant them. He watched her throat work as she tried to swallow. “Well, then I’m ready to go when you are.” She was buckling herself in when he slid behind the wheel, then dug into a pocket and pulled out what, in the shadow of the cab, looked like a cigar. “Want one?”
He started the engine with a frown. “I don’t smoke.”
“I don’t either,” she said glumly. “Anymore, anyway. But you’d have trouble lighting this. It’s beef jerky. Good field food. Doesn’t spoil. And surprisingly, overrides the taste that’s been in my mouth all day.” She shrugged. “Temporarily, anyway.”
He took one of the sticks. “Thanks.”
As he munched, she dug into her pocket again, this time pulling out a drink box, like his nephews packed in their lunchboxes. He glanced over and made a face when the letters on the label registered. “Chocolate milk? With beef jerky?”
She stabbed the box with a little straw. “Calcium’s good for the bones. Want one?”
“No,” he said firmly. “That’s gross, Dr. Johannsen.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it.” She paused deliberately. “Vito.” She stared out the window as she sipped. When she was done, she put the box in a baggie, sealed it, and put it back in her pocket.
“So your field jacket serves as a trash receptacle, too?”
She glanced at him, embarrassed. “Habit. Can’t be leaving litter around the dig.”
“So what other foodstuffs do you keep in your pockets?”
“A couple of Ho Hos, but they’re a little squashed. They still taste good, though.”
“You like chocolate, I take it.”
“Duh.” She looked wary. “Don’t tell me you don’t. I was just starting to like you.”
He laughed and the sound surprised him. He hadn’t thought he had enough energy left to laugh. “I can take it or leave it. But my brother Tino, he’s an addict. Milk, dark, white, chocolate chips to Easter bunnies, Tino inhales it.”
She was smiling at him and once again he found himself mesmerized. Even with eyes red from crying, she drew him. “You have a brother named Tino? Really?”
He forced himself to focus on driving. “I have three brothers, but you have to promise not to laugh.”
Her eyes were laughing even as she firmed her mouth sternly. “I promise.”
“My older brother is Dino and my two younger brothers are Tino and Gino. Our sister is Contessa Maria Teresa, but we just call her Tess. She lives in Chicago.”
Her lips twitched. “I’m not laughing. I’m not even going to make any Mafia jokes.”
“Thank you,” he said dryly. “What about you? Any family in the area?”
She went still and he knew he’d touched a nerve. “Just my grandmother and my uncle Harry. And my aunt Freya, of course.” She’d added her aunt almost in afterthought. “And a few assorted cousins, but we’ve never been close.” She smiled again, but it was wistful. “Sounds like your family is. Close, that is. That’s nice.”
She sounded lost and once again his heart squeezed. “It is nice, although at times it’s very noisy. My family’s in and out of my house like Grand Central Station. Tino actually rents the apartment in my basement, so he’s a permanent fixture. There are some times I pray for silence.“
“I think if you truly had silence, you’d wish for noise,” she murmured.
He stole another look at her. Even in the darkness of the cab he could see the weary loneliness on her face, but before he could say a word she straightened her spine and dug into her pockets for more beef jerky.
“How long before I don’t taste… that anymore?” she asked.
“Hopefully in a few hours. Maybe by tomorrow.”
“You want another one?”
He grimaced. “No thanks. You wouldn’t happen to have a burger or fries in one of those pockets, would you?” he added lightly and was relieved when she smiled at him.
“Nope. But I do have a cell phone, a camera, a compass, a box of paintbrushes, a ruler, two emergency flares, a flashlight, and… a box of matches. I can survive anywhere.”
He found himself chuckling. “It’s a wonder you could walk. Your coat must weigh fifty pounds.”
“Close. I’ve had this coat for a lot of years. I hope I can get it clean.” Her smile faded and the haunted look returned. “L’odeur de la mort,” she said quietly. He wanted to say something to comfort her, but no words came, so he said nothing at all.
Sunday, January 14, 11:15
P.M.
Vito stopped his truck in front of the funky ape sculpture. “Dr. Johannsen.” He gently shook her shoulder. “Sophie.”
She woke with a jerk and in her eyes he saw an instant of disoriented fear before she realized where she was. “I fell asleep. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t. I wish I could have.”
Shaking herself to full attention, she was out of his truck before he could come around to help her. But her shoulders sagged. He took the two small cases from behind her seat. “You go on up and open the door. I’ll carry these.”
“Normally I carry my own gear, but tonight I’ll say thank you.” He followed her up to the door, remembering earlier this afternoon, the long look they’d shared. Her hands faltered as she unlocked the front door and he hoped she was remembering it, too. But she opened the door without mishap this time and flipped on a light switch. “You can leave the cases there. I can get them downstairs myself.”
“Just show me where to put them, Sophie,” he said. “And I’ll go get the other two.”
There was a fine line between independence and stubbornness, Vito thought as he went back to his truck for the two big cases. It seemed Sophie Johannsen walked the sensible side, although he suspected it was only out of sheer exhaustion. She’d allowed him to take the small cases to a basement storeroom, but was adamant that she had to clean the equipment tonight.
He took the two big cases from the back of the truck and set them on the sidewalk. He had no idea how long cleaning the equipment would take, but the campus was deserted and he sure as hell wasn’t leaving her here alone. Besides, there were way worse fates than watching Sophie Johannsen, so he’d wait as long as he needed to.
He looked down at his muddy boots. If he had to wait, he could at least be comfortable. Reaching behind his seat, he felt for his shoes-and once again came up with the roses. They gave him pause. At least this time they hadn’t pricked him.
He’d bought them for the woman he once thought he could love forever, who died two years ago. Today. He’d waited two years. Surely that was long enough. But…
Vito sighed. He was attracted to Sophie Johannsen. No man with a pulse wouldn’t be. But it wasn’t the attraction that was bothering him. It was the need he’d felt all day, at the field, in the truck. He’d watched her work and weep and she made him want. Maybe all that sudden yearning was because it was today. He didn’t want to think so, but Vito was a careful man. He’d pushed a relationship once before and the results had been disastrous. He didn’t make the same mistake twice.
Vito tossed the roses behind the passenger seat and changed into his shoes. He’d take Sophie home, then come back in a few weeks and he’d see if she still made him want. If she did, and if she felt the same, nothing would hold him back.
“I thought you’d gotten lost,” she said when he put the two big cases down inside the storeroom. She was bent over a worktable, scrubbing one of the pieces with a toothbrush. “This could take a while. Go home, Vito. I’m fine here.”
Vito shook his head. The reason he’d picked her up at the college in the first place was because she didn’t have a car. She rode a bike, Katherine had said. He wasn’t about to let her ride her bicycle home at this time of night after working all day. “No, I’ll see you home safely. It’s the least I can do,” he added when her mouth set stubbornly. He tried a different tack. “Look, I’ve got a sister and I’d want somebody to see her home.” Her green eyes narrowed as she shot a look of annoyed reproach, so he fell back on the tried and true with a sigh. “I’m tired. Don’t argue with me. Please.”
Her frown relaxed and she chuckled. “Now you sound like Katherine.”
He thought about the angry words the two had shared that afternoon, then the way Katherine had smoothed the hair from Sophie’s face before sending her back to finish her scan. Their relationship ran very deep. “You’ve known her since you were a girl.”
“She was the mother I never had. Is,” she corrected herself with a small smile. “She is the mother I never had.”
Her face was dirty and streaked from the tears she’d shed. Her hair was disheveled, a few straggling strands having come loose from the tight ball of braids at her nape. He found himself wanting to smooth the hair from her face, just as Katherine had done.
But not for the same reason. He shoved his hands in his pockets.
Tall and str
ong, with her green eyes and golden hair, Sophie Johannsen was a beautiful woman with a bright mind and a quick temper. And a soft heart. She intrigued him as no woman had for some time. Two weeks, he warned himself. You wait two weeks, Ciccotelli.
But because his mind had already cut those two weeks down to one, he forced himself to change mental tracks. The sight of the body bag had triggered her extreme reaction. It didn’t take a detective to guess she’d seen one before.
“When did your mother die?” he asked and her hands stilled and her jaw tightened.
“She’s not dead,” she finally said, resuming her task.
Surprised, Vito frowned. “But… I don’t understand.”
Her smile was quick and flat. “That’s okay. Neither do I.”
It was a nice way of telling him to mind his own business. He was wondering how to probe deeper when she stopped working and began unbuttoning her coat. His brain stopped churning and he realized he was holding his breath, waiting to see what her bulky coat concealed. He wasn’t disappointed. She shrugged out of the coat, revealing a soft knit sweater that clung to every curve. He let the breath out as quietly as he could. Sophie Johannsen had a hell of a lot of curves.
She hung her coat on a hook on the back of the door, then turned back to her worktable, rolling her shoulders and he shoved his hands deeper in his pockets to keep from touching her. She glanced up at him before resuming her work. “You know you really can go. I’m fine here alone.”
Irritation scraped at him, obliterating whatever smooth segue he might have come up with. “So where is your mother then, if she’s not dead?”
Again her hands stilled and she turned only her head to look at him with a mixture of cool amusement and incredulity. “Katherine was right. You cops are nosy.” She said no more, concentrating on cleaning the piece as if she performed brain surgery.
Her dismissal irritated him. “Well? Where is she?”
She shot him a warning look and blew out an impatient breath. “So, tell me more about the brother who inhales chocolate. Him I can like.”