At last, Carly thought. A lead, something concrete. But... “Maine?” she repeated with surprise. “Nice, peaceful, serene Maine? They have men with nicknames on an island in Maine?”
Nick smiled at her naiveté. “These guys are anywhere there’s people and money and a way to take advantage of both.”
Dom drank his beer, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Demeter’s operation has been infiltrating New England the last couple of years. This guy might have worked for him on the East Coast.” He took the picture from Nick and perused it. “Eddie Monk. Don’t know him.”
He took a final slug of beer, then slid out of the booth. “I’ll call in, get someone to run an updated check on him.”
After Dom left, Carly’s eyes were wide as she said to Nick, “Boy, I thought you were tough. He’s like the Godfather.”
“Nah, inside he’s a pussycat.”
“Jungle variety, I think.” She put her hand over her heart for emphasis. “He chews gum as though he’s chomping someone to death.”
“He stopped smoking a couple of months ago and it’s driving him crazy. Dom’s one of those guys who was raised in a neighborhood where the kids either become priests, cops or crooks. He didn’t have a strong enough belief for the church, but he swears it was a toss-up between the other two.”
“I can believe it.”
“But he’s good people. And he’s with us, all the way.”
She put both hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Then I take it all back. The man’s a saint.”
Nick smiled, but already his mind had left the conversation. Eddie Monk. Nick silently repeated the name. Eddie Monk. Boyle Heights. Vegas. Maine.
Nick’s excitement level, which had been up there all day, was now approaching the top of the scale. It was that feeling he always got when they were closing in on a perp, wrapping up a case, fitting together the last pieces of a puzzle. It was a buzz that could never be matched anywhere else, and only cops understood it.
Not that he’d stopped worrying about Carly. She was still in danger, and all kinds of things could happen to the case later, in the courts, in the press. But this part of an investigation was the high. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, his mind busy calculating his next move.
Then he snapped his fingers.
“What?” Carly asked.
Miguel walked up with a platter of food just as Nick rose and said, “I need to make a call.”
“You can use the phone in the office,” Miguel told him. “It’s private.”
“Thanks. Will you keep Carly company? I’ll just be a few minutes.”
“Sure.” He set the large platter of quesadillas, beans and rice in the center of the table. The spicy aroma of hot chile peppers and something even more exotic wafted into her nostrils. As steam rose from the platter, soft cheese oozed out of the sides of the quesadillas. Her mouth watered. “I guess I’ll have a bite or two,” she said.
Miguel grinned. “Bet you can’t stop at a bite or two.”
By the time Nick returned, she’d downed an entire plateful of food and made friends with Miguel. She’d heard all about Dom being a Big Brother, and Miguel’s dreams of being on the police force, and the pointers Nick had given him the previous day. There was some hero worship going on, she thought with a smile.
Nick spoke as he slid into the booth. “Lucky break. I just talked to Ken Millett, friend of mine, used to work Boyle Heights. His wife had asthma so he transferred to Phoenix. He was home just now. He knew this Eddie Monk.”
At the mention of Monk’s name, Carly’s jitters started up again. But she made herself concentrate on every word Nick had to say.
“Monk was a small-timer. Used to be a hairdresser, can you believe that? Then a blackjack dealer in Vegas, then got involved in porn magazines. On the side he always ran a little dope. He left L.A. about three years ago and no one’s seen him since. There was no connection to Demeter that Ken knew of, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. He gave me the name of another cop who knew Eddie a lot better. He wasn’t in; I’ll try him again later. More background, anyway.”
Nick had noticed that Miguel had been hanging on every word. “You, all you cops, you know each other. It’s like a fraternity.”
“You see each other in court, hang out at bars.” Nick shrugged. “Yeah, most of us know each other.”
Miguel rose reluctantly. “My mother’s giving me the eye. I have to get back to work. Is there anything I can do, Nick. Any way I can help?”
“Yeah, go to college.”
“I meant now—on this case.”
“I know.”
They stared at each other, then Miguel said quietly, “No matter what you and Dom say, I want to join the force, Nick.”
“You can join, after college. Listen, amigo, they got an incentives program for college grads—fast track to getting your stripes. It’s the smart move. Think about it.”
Miguel frowned, then stared down at his feet. “Yeah, okay.”
“Hey,” Nick said. “Thanks for looking out for Carly.”
The young man glowed, then with an embarrassed nod, walked in the direction of the kitchen. Nick turned back to Carly. “So, how are you holding up?”
She gazed at him, the rounded glasses and large amber eyes giving her face a serious, studious look. “He’s a nice boy. It’s hard to imagine him in uniform.”
“Yeah. So, answer my question. You okay?”
She shrugged. “Is it going like it’s supposed to? I know you can’t give me any guarantees, but it’s just that every time I think about Eddie Monk, I get the willies. What happens now?”
He covered her hand with his. “We get Monk, bring him in for questioning. You tell the D.A. what you know, we make the connections, build a case. I’ll be with you every step of the way. And so will Dom. Homicide is under the jurisdiction of the sheriff’s department. Hell, Dom will probably get credit for the collar.”
“What if you don’t get him?”
He saw the flash of fear in her eyes, saw her trying not to give in to it. She was fighting her demons with every weapon she could muster. A need to comfort her, to surround her with safety, made him bring her hand to his chest and hold it to his heart. “I’m not leaving you till we do,” he said quietly.
She searched his gaze, and whatever she found there made the fear in her eyes diminish. She smiled, seemed about to say something, then shook her head.
“What?” he asked.
“I...don’t understand why you’re so good to me.”
“Don’t you?” he said softly. “Haven’t you figured it out yet.
Carly was struck speechless. Dom chose that moment to hurry back to the table, so she had to drag her gaze away from Nick’s sea-green eyes and remove her hand from his fast-beating heart so she could pay attention to whatever Dom had to tell them. But new thoughts whirled in her head, sensations that had nothing to do with solving a murder case. She felt a totally inappropriate giggle trying to come up, but she clamped her mouth closed and bit down hard to stop it.
This time Dom slid into the round-backed booth on her side instead of Nick’s, and even offered her an encouraging smile. Still reeling from that moment with Nick, she nodded at him, but didn’t trust herself to say anything.
Suddenly, with Nick on her right and Dom on her left—each, in their way, equally imposing—she felt a little like a very small sardine stuck in a can between two huge fish. But it was more of a comfort than a threat.
Dom grabbed the platter from the middle of the table, set it in front of him and dug in. “Man, this food is good.”
Nick covered Carly’s hand with his as he asked Dom, “So? Anything from DMV?”
“Yeah,” he answered in between bites. “Monk didn’t renew his license, but they got an old address for him—in West Hollywood, on Lexington. And the Department of Water and Power says he still pays for utilities there.”
Nick was out of his seat before Dom finished his sentence. “Le
t’s go.”
Dom shoveled one last mouthful in, wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood. “She stays,” he said, pointing to Carly.
“She goes,” Nick said. “I don’t want her out of my sight.”
“Miguel can keep her company. She’ll be safe here.”
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Carly slid out of the booth and planted herself between both of them. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s not polite to discuss someone in the third person, as if she wasn’t in the room? I’m going.”
Dom glared at her for a moment, then cracked a smile. “Pushy, ain’t she?”
“Some women,” Nick said, “they think they wear the pants.”
“If you’re both done preening,” Carly said tartly, “I’d sure like to get moving.”
The drive to West Hollywood took about a half hour. While Nick filled Dom in on what he’d learned from Ken Millet, Carly’s head flip-flopped between wanting to capture Eddie Monk tonight and never wanting to see the man again. Whatever had happened to her on that yacht, she knew he’d played a large part in it. He was evil, and dangerous...although her imagination just might be going in the direction of high melodrama.
Instead of dwelling on it, she listened to Dom’s police scanner, receiving an insider’s earful on reported incidents, Los Angeles style. There seemed to be an endless stream of wife-beatings, gang warfare, armed robberies. Life seemed cheap, somehow; people pulled out machine guns and killed indiscriminately. She knew, of course, that if you hung around with cops, you heard only the bad stuff. You didn’t come in contact with goodness or kind deeds, or even happy children. But it was a violent world Nick lived in, one that she doubted she could adjust to.
Hold it, she told herself silently. Why was she even considering adjusting to Nick’s world? But she knew the answer; in that moment back in the restaurant, there had passed between them a feeling that she’d never experienced before. In fact, since that morning when she’d finally unburdened herself, she’d felt so close to him, so connected to Nick in a way that let her know she’d never really been intimate with anyone before in her life.
She wanted more. She wanted him...or so she thought. Always prudent, Carly reminded herself that these feelings might not stand up under the less hectic, less dangerous, just plain normal light of day-to-day reality. But, for the moment, it was so comforting to have this harbor of warm feelings to dock in.
The house on Lexington was one of many similar ones on the tree-lined street. Built in the 1930s California-bungalow style she’d seen in magazines, it was a one-story wood frame with a covered front porch. A pathway beside the house led to a small guest apartment over the garage in the rear, which, Dom explained, was where Eddie Monk lived.
Again Dom wanted Carly to wait in the car, again Nick refused to allow it. He was serious about his vow not to let her out of his sight, she thought, and thank God he was.
It was eight-thirty now, and overhead lamps lit the city street, but there was no illumination in the rear of the house. The windows of Eddie Monk’s apartment were dark. Nick and Carly stood back several feet, under a large avocado tree while, with gun by his side, Dom walked up the stairs to the door and knocked, moving quickly to one side afterward. There was no answer. From a nearby yard came the high yipping sound of a small barking dog. When Dom knocked again, louder this time, another much deeper bark joined the first.
Carly couldn’t suppress a nervous shudder. “I guess the silent approach is out,” she quipped. Nick squeezed her shoulder; his grip was hard, and she could imagine that the muscles in his shoulders were also bunched with tension.
Dom waited another few moments, then tried to turn the doorknob. It was locked. He gave up and hurried down the stairs. “He’s not there.”
“Kick the door down,” Nick whispered.
“Come off it. With no warrant, no official witness? No can do. The guy’s not in.”
“Ask the neighbors. Ask the owner of the house. What kind of car does he drive? Is it parked anywhere near?” he asked, his rapid-fire questions delivered in a tight voice.
“A twenty-year-old Cadillac. It might be in the garage, but I didn’t see it parked on the street. Hey, cool it, huh?” Dom’s voice had a warning edge to it.
Nick ignored him. “We need to put out an APB.”
“Dammit, Nick, you know we can’t put out an APB, not on the basis of what we got. You need to bring her in.”
Carly, who had been watching this exchange in worried silence, put her hand on Dom’s arm. “It’s my fault, Dom, not Nick’s, so don’t blame him. He’s just—”
Nick cut her off. “Don’t, Carly. Look, Dom, we made a deal. She goes in tomorrow. Now, you want to drive us back to my car, or do I call a cab?”
The two men stared at each other, reminding Carly of two large stags sizing each other up. She held her breath, afraid they might get into a fight. But, amazingly enough, as though some guys-only signal had passed from one to the other, they each exhaled a slow breath.
Nick said, “Forget I said that,” at the same time Dom came out with, “Okay, I hear you.” Then they grinned at each other, nodded and walked her back to the car.
They were closing in, Nick thought all the way back from Santa Monica to his condo. But until Eddie Monk was in custody, the possibilities for danger were still rampant. One more night, Nick thought, then he wouldn’t have to feel so responsible for Carly’s safety.
Before putting his car in the garage, he drove around the block a few times, searching for Monk’s Cadillac, or for anything that even looked out of place.
But the neighborhood seemed as peaceful as ever. Working people lived here, and Monday nights were always relatively quiet. There hadn’t been a sign of Monk since that morning—where was he?
He let Carly into the condo then had her wait in the living room while he checked the other rooms and the balcony. There was no one and nothing to suggest he’d had any visitors. When Carly excused herself to wash out some things in the bathroom, he made sure all the windows and doors were locked, then went to his closet and got his gun from the top shelf. Quickly and efficiently he took the 38-caliber bullets from their case and loaded the weapon, grabbed the holster and stuck them both in the drawer of the nightstand.
The phone rang. Nick sat on the edge of his bed and answered it.
“Eddie Monk booked a flight to Boston that went out at 3:00 p.m.” Dom said without preliminaries. “He checked luggage through, two suitcases, and, as far as we know, was on the flight. We’re still making sure, though. I’ll call you with updates.”
“Thanks again, Dom. Especially for staying with it like this. I know I haven’t made it easy—”
“Forget it. As long as the ending is a good one, who cares how we got there? Give Carly a kiss for me. I like her. She just may be a keeper.” Dom hung up before Nick could reply.
Water was running in the bathroom sink and Carly was humming, her voice softly melodious. Smiling to himself at Dom’s final words, Nick returned to the living room, thinking there was one more thing he’d meant to take care of, but couldn’t remember what. His glance around the room stopped at the letter lying on the table by the easy chair. The smile left his face. The letter was not something he’d meant to take care of; it was something he’d been hoping to forget.
Reluctantly, he walked over to the chair, picked up the letter, read it again. The offer was a good one, and he knew it. He even knew he was lucky to have received it. His decision about retirement was getting close. He knew it and hated it. Even the personal note scrawled on the bottom, from the man who’d been his first partner on the force and now ran the police academy, wasn’t enough to lighten the load of his decision.
He lowered himself onto the chair and stared at nothing.
After Carly finished rinsing out her new underthings, she found a sponge and wiped around the tile in Nick’s bathroom. She genuinely enjoyed cleaning—loved to see porcelain shine. Absolutely hopeless, she thought with a smile. Ba
king, cleaning, even a little sewing on her old Singer—these were the things that gave her the most pleasure. A throwback, that’s what she was. A dinosaur.
But she did her best thinking when busy cleaning. And her thoughts were now traveling in two directions, both having to do with Nick. She was a huge burden on him—possibly compromising him, endangering his friendship with Dom. The sooner she was out of his hair, the better.
But she also remembered the look tonight in the restaurant. And something Nick had said to her—heavens, was it just last night? He wanted her, but would wait for her to make the first move.
The first move. What did that entail? Announcing what she wanted and going after it? What she wanted was definitely Nick; the thought of lying in his arms again had been popping into her brain for most of the day. But how did someone “go after it?” She’d never initiated sex, another example of how she was a throwback. Except, of course, last Saturday night, and nothing about that night could be considered normal behavior for her.
Would she appear ludicrous? Would she please him? Fear and self-doubt again—they’d been her constant companions for so much of her life. Wasn’t it time to give herself a break? she wondered. And would it be tonight?
When she joined Nick in the living room, the sight of him slumped dejectedly in his chair made all her musings fly out the window. “What is it, Nick?”
“Huh?” He looked up, then sat straighter. “Oh. We have an update. It looks like Eddie Monk flew back East. Dom’s checking to make sure.”
Relief flooded her. “That’s wonderful. Sort of.” Nick’s expression didn’t concur. “I guess it’s bad for the case and good for me?”
“Something like that.”
“Is that why you’re so down?”
“No. It’s nothing.” He rose from the chair and walked toward the kitchen. “I’m going to have a beer. Want one?”
“No, thanks. You didn’t eat any dinner. Aren’t you hungry?”
While She Was Sleeping Page 19