His blood didn’t surge through his body; it hummed like a struck tuning fork dipped in water, demanding souls for Anubis. Soon the entire Nicolis clan would meet their end. Stella first. He’d find her, but not kill her . . . make her watch. Only then would all his scores be settled.
CHAPTER 24
What have I done?
Sitting in the back of a police car didn’t automatically make one a criminal, but damn the stereotype lingered. On the drive, Stella kept telling herself she had done nothing wrong. Not about Daniel, but Roman. The moment she told him she wasn’t leaving with him, the look on his face would stay with her forever.
She hurt him. At that moment, she didn’t care. Her hurt trumped his. Now, following his police car, guilt ate a hole in her heart as she stared at his tall frame, squeezed into the backseat at an odd angle. Stella focused on the back of his bowed head and his tilted shoulders. Not only did he not belong under arrest, she was responsible for putting him this situation. If she hadn’t gone into the park, they wouldn’t be in this position now.
Stella walked into the police station. Episodes of Law & Order flickered through her brain. When they placed her in an interrogation room, where she waited for an hour before McCabe and another detective appeared, she was prepared for the drilling.
As it always did, McCabe’s gut led the way when he entered the room. He hiked up his pants before planting his butt in the chair across from the table. He eyed the half-empty bottle of water between.
“Are you feeling OK? Anything I can get you?” He asked, however the concern failed to reach his brown bloodshot eyes.
“No.” She didn’t shake her head. “The painkillers the hospital gave me are kicking in.” A hoarse whisper was all she could manage.
Relief washed over his chubby face. “Okay, here’s what I got. I got a jacket with Roman Nicolis’ wallet in the pocket, tossed under a bush in the park. I also got another crime scene in the same park. Obvious altercation, blood everywhere. I got a guy reporting a man fitting Nicolis’ description stole his bike. Then we got you pushing a man out of your tenth floor apartment window and your paid bodyguard nowhere in sight. You claim the guy on the sidewalk is the man that attacked you, The Strangler, and that he’s Nicolis’ brother. Thing is, Roman Nicolis doesn’t have any brothers. None of those men living in that house are related to him.”
“They’re adopted,” she said, surprised he left out the animal attack.
“And how do you know that?”
“He—Roman—told me.”
“And you believe him?”
“. . . Yes.”
“Well, there’s no record of any adoption by Roman Nicolis. At least not in the Tri-State area.”
“The world is a big place, Detective.”
“Oh, you two are so close now you’re defending him.”
It felt right to defend him. “Yes, I am.”
“And this brother, Daniel. How many times have you met him?”
“Just once. Today.”
“Don’t you find that strange?”
“Have you met all your co-workers’ siblings?” She didn’t flinch from his hard stare.
“Where did you meet him?” He continued after a moment.
“At the mansion, RockGate.”
“When did you go to RockGate?”
“Last night.”
“With Roman.”
“Yes.” Shit. She realized the trap she walked into.
“What time was that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have a watch.”
“Late or early? Day or night?”
“. . . Night.”
“So sometime last night, you and Mr. Nicolis left your apartment and went to his mansion. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“You said you and Roman weren’t together last night.”
“No, Roman said that. I never said anything.”
“Were you in the park last night Miss Walker?”
Don’t look away. “No.”
“How do you explain his jacket and wallet in the park?”
“It’s not my job to explain the personal belongings of another person.”
His lips thinned into an angry line. “So you went to the Nicolis mansion and met The Village Strangler.”
“Yes.” She bit back a sigh of relief. They were off the attack in Central Park. “I knew it was him.”
“How?”
“It was the eyes. They . . .” She couldn’t tell them they glowed. They would commit her.
“Yes Miss Walker? They what?”
“They, they, were my killers’ eyes. Same blue. Same intensity. Once I was close enough to him, I knew.”
“Roman Nicolis has blue eyes.” He tossed a mug shot of Roman onto the table. Flat, one-dimensional eyes seemed to find her.
“Yes.” What the hell was he getting at?
“A lot of people have blue eyes, Miss Walker. What was so special about this Daniel’s baby blues that made you so certain he’s The Village Strangler?”
Stella stopped herself from shifting in the seat and refused to break eye contact with McCabe. “It wasn’t just his eyes. His build, his voice, I knew within minutes of meeting him that he attacked me.”
“So it took you a few minutes to know this?”
She nodded.
“But you got into a car and left RockGate with him and returned to your apartment. Why would you do that if you recognized him within minutes?”
The Roman and Bianca show distracted me.
“Maybe it took longer than a few minutes,” she muttered.
McCabe stared at her. She didn’t flinch.
“Where was Roman while you made this discovery?”
With Bianca. “I don’t know.”
“Why were you at RockGate? Last time I saw you, you two were holed up at your studio apartment. Why the switch?”
“What’s the point of these questions? I told you what you wanted to know. Why are you treating me like I’m a criminal?” Anger seeped into her voice.
“Are you a criminal?” McCabe leaned a bit closer, goading her.
The face of Jose Carmen and Daniel flashed in her mind. Stella sucked in a sharp breath. “Should I count the man I pushed out of my window?”
McCabe grunted. “That’s being investigated. You were at the park last night.” He didn’t give her a chance to reply. “Whatever happened in the park, you had part in it.” The detective sat back in his chair.” We found a lot of blood all over the place. You and Nicolis appear healthy enough. So we know it’s not either of you, but it’s just a matter of time before we match the blood to someone.”
To a wild animal, go ahead. “Can I leave?”
“No. We still gotta discuss the man you pushed out of your window. So, I suggest you get comfortable ‘cause you ain’t going nowhere.”
Hours later Stella left the precinct. Exhaustion threatened to drag her down. McCabe tried to pry every iota of information out of her. When he didn’t succeed, he took a break and then sent in another detective until she ordered him to arrest her, or release her. His beefy hands fingered his cufflinks. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on her body and she steeled herself, preparing for the worst. In the end, he pushed away from the table and released her. Freedom felt like sunlight and smelled like garbage-tinged air when she exited the building.
Then she saw Hector.
“I’m here to take you to your apartment.”
“No, thank you.” She pushed past him.
He followed close behind. “Miss Walker.”
She ignored him and walked faster toward the subway.
“I do claim to be in excellent condition for a man of my years, but I cannot keep up with you. Please stop and listen to an old man,” he exclaimed breathless.
Stella stopped her sprint a few feet short of the subway station and waited for him to catch up. Out of breath, Hector leaned against a parking meter. Then jerked away quickly when he realized what he rested on. He whipped
a crisp handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and wiped himself down. So pretentious and completely Hector, she had to smile.
Recovered, he heaved a great breath and moved closer to her. “We understand, Miss Walker . . . Stella, I understand. We were hired to protect you and one of our own tried to kill you.”
“That was pissing on the cake after the icing, Hector.”
“Agreed,” he answered quickly.
“And he’s engaged!” Fury made her voice rise. “And immortal,” she whispered as pedestrians walked past them. “Oh, and let’s not forget what he does for a living, what everyone in this family does for a living.”
“Stella, all of this is not easy to adjust to, please—”
Hector’s lips were moving, but she ceased to hear. “In the past thirty-six hours—according to the rules of human biology—he should be dead.” She choked. “I want to go back in there and tell McCabe everything! But what part of this crazy story would he believe? Would he believe the wild animal chasing us through Central Park and at the house? Or the immortal mercenary and his reincarnated lover? He wouldn’t even believe me about Daniel. It’s like none of you are real!”
“We are real, Stella,” he replied, nervously eyeing the passing crowd.
“No, you’re not. This is all a bad dream that’s out to kill me before I wake.”
“Melodrama doesn’t suit you, Stella.” He chastised using a corner of the handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Would you prefer the truth or a fabrication?”
“Fabricate, please.” A few hours ago she woke up and truth smacked her in the face. If a lie would get her through this, right now she’d take it.
“Let us protect you. It’s too dangerous for you to be out here all alone,” he pleaded.
From the corner of her eye, she caught E.J. lurking in the shadows of a building. “No, Nicolis Security has done quite enough.” A growing rumble informed of an approaching train, “All of you stay the hell away from me,” she cried and ran into the subway station. Quick dodges and deflections only an experienced New Yorker could make, landed her on the train with seconds to spare.
Five blocks from her apartment, Stella exited the station. Within a block, she realized she wasn’t alone. She didn’t look behind her and she didn’t rush home. She strolled, taking in the sights and sounds of her neighborhood.
And when she closed and locked her apartment door behind her, she wasn’t afraid.
CHAPTER 25
The medical examiner, Arthur Mead, stood in the ambulance bay of the city morgue, smoking his tenth cigarette of the day. Quitting time. At four o’clock, he sucked in his last filtered cigarette before planning to return to his office, sign his notes, and log out of his computer.
“Dr. Mead, the Director is on the phone for you,” his assistant yelled from the doorway.
“Shit.” He crushed the butt beneath his shoe and picked up the phone outside of exam room two. By the time he hung up, he wished he’d never paused for that last cigarette.
“The fucking rich,” he grumbled. So much for getting home on early. “Will, get the jumper guy out of the drawers.”
Will rounded the corner stuffing his face. “I thought we were done?”
“We’re not. Put down the damn sandwich before I write your ass up, and get the jumper!”
Will covered up his Subway meatball sub and stuffed it in his pocket. “Who?”
“The header from yesterday.”
“Oh, him.”
Dr. Mead went to the scrub room. He’d finished washing his hands and forearms when Will stuck his head in.
“UUhh, doc. . . . That body’s not here.”
Dr. Mead’s head snapped around. “What do you mean ‘He’s not here?’”
“He is not here. Not in the drawer.”
“Ah Hell! Do not tell me we released the wrong body to some funeral home.”
“I checked the log book and it’s correct.” He tapped the book in his hand. “Everyone that should have gone, has left. We don’t have any extras. We’re just missing one.”
Wet hands dripping on the tile floor, he pushed Will out of the way and walked to the freezers. He snatched the logbook from his assistant and opened the assigned door.
Empty.
Dr. Mead pulled the drawer out, then bent and took a better look inside.
Empty.
They opened every drawer and matched all the bodies to the logbook. Search completed, Dr. Mead picked up the phone and braced himself for the shit storm.
From a second floor window, McCabe watched Roman Nicolis exit the precinct. An older man dressed in a gray pinstriped suit waited. He couldn’t see their lips, but by the way Roman passed the man, McCabe doubted they exchanged words. The two entered a black Hummer and merged with the late afternoon traffic.
Automatically, the cop in him scanned the streets searching for anything out of place, while his brain filed through the case. After lining the details up in his mind, one glaring factor remained clear; Nicolis was hiding something.
“Mercenary,” he gnashed. It was legal, barely. The amount of money his company made was obscene. That he was ex-military only made it worse. A former Marine, McCabe had no respect for those that took Semper Fi and twisted it for monetary gain.
He could’ve gone the mercenary, gun for hire route, after his honorable discharge from the Core, but he chose civil service. Being a cop, saving a life, a community, the nation was a higher calling. Few could survive the life or the sacrifice. Two dead marriages and a son that refused to speak to him, McCabe knew he was a statistic and took pride in his membership in a very large club. A lifer, death on the job was the only way he would retire.
Nicolis had a family. Adopted brothers? Hmmm, who adopted them? The old man in the suit held no resemblance to Nicolis. He could be the adoptive parent.
Tread carefully, his inner voice warned. Instinct is what every good cop relied on and his were never wrong. This may be a can of shit you may not want to kick.
McCabe prided himself on his interrogation techniques, but sitting opposite Roman Nicolis, it was he sweating in the box. Not once did the man speak, move or flinch during hours of interrogation and neither did he ask for an attorney. The bastard’s cold blue eyes targeted him. It wasn’t a stretch imagining Roman at the other end of a sniper rifle. No, he didn’t seem the type for long distance killing. He’d want to look you in the eyes while you died.
“McCabe,” Dotison, a member of the task force called, drawing McCabe’s attention away from the window. “The DNA’s back from the park and it’s a match to the stiffy in the morgue, Daniel Nicolis.”
“What?” He snatched the paper from Dotison’s hand. Nearby, a phone slammed.
“Guess who’s missing from the morgue,” another detective said approaching the small circle and whispered, “Daniel Nicolis.”
“Damn, this soap opera keeps getting better.” McCabe mumbled. He spotted Lever entering the squad room. Immediately, he noted a difference.
Her hair. It wasn’t wrapped in a severe bun and didn’t look like a mop. Today, soft waves framed her angular face making her arrestingly striking.
Lever knocked a folder off her desk and bent over to pick it up.
Shit! She had an ass! And thighs! No baggy and shapeless suit today. The dark jacket skimmed her hips and was fitted to her waist. And her slacks hugged her rear just enough to show it wasn’t the flat, shapeless slab of flesh he envisioned.
Fuck, she’s wearing lipstick too!
He wasn’t the only one that noticed. All the men in the squad room had stopped in appreciation.
“Hey, Lever,” one called to her. She waved, like a fucking debutante and had the nerve to blush when someone gave a slow whistle.
McCabe studied the room wondering who she had eyes on, or worse, who she’d already done. Forget equality. Shit like this polluted a squad.
“I know what I saw. It’s the same thing they reported in the news!” A few feet away an el
derly black woman smacked the paper down on Detective Henry’s desk. “Why else would I travel all the way down here from Rockland County?” She huffed, her lips so tight a crow bar couldn’t pry them apart.
What the hell was this about? McCabe walked a bit closer to Henry’s desk.
To Henry’s credit, he didn’t laugh when he picked up Worldwide Reports. “Ma’am, wha’cha want me to tell yah?” He shrugged and folded his arms across his barrel chest.
McCabe could see the title, Wild Beast Loose in Central Park, but not the picture.
“So you’re not even gonna take a report? Write something down? That thing lives across the street from me,” she demanded.
“Ma’am, you live in Rockland. This is Manhattan. Why would I take a report from a different county? We don’t have jurisdiction. You need to go to your county sheriff and file a report.” Normally a hothead, Henry’s control was admirable.
“I went to them.”
“And?” Henry hedged.
“They didn’t believe me.”
“Take the report, Henry.” McCabe ignored the surprise look on his detective’s face. It meant a lot to the woman for her to travel all this way and her tenacity reminded him of his mother. God rest her soul.
“Thank you, Detective. . . .” Smiling, she waited for his last name.
“McCabe, Ma’am.”
She stretched out her hand. Her leathery palm was cool and surprisingly smooth in his hand.
“I’m Mrs. Irma Barker.”
“It’s a pleasure, Ma’am.” Good public relations never hurt.
He looked up and met Lever’s inquisitive stare and everyone else’s. “Glad to see you got your beauty sleep, Lever, while the rest of us worked. Grab the keys. We’re going to the morgue.”
Lever didn’t ask why they were headed to the Medical Examiner. McCabe’s hostility was palatable, but so was hers.
She dreamed last night. A strange dream that left only lingering fragmented images of her, running, firing her Glock, pain, and blood . . . buckets of it. And a man. The same man that haunted her dreams since puberty. She never saw his face, just his shadowed body. God, what a f-ing body.
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