by Adrianne Lee
The connections he’d sought earlier suddenly had some disturbing links. Wendy, Leah and Grimes all had their throats slit. And only yesterday Glynna Muldoon had had a near encounter with a knife.
Kerrie exited the freeway and started into the highlands of Renton, soon pulling into an older housing development. Roman was awash in thought. That eerie sensation he could never quite shake blew through him like the cold breeze buffeting the car. From the moment Wendy Waring died at the hands of Loverboy, this case was personal. Now, he considered the idea that Loverboy had meant it to be personal. Had Wendy died because of her connection to him, Roman? Had Leah died because of her connection to Bud Grimes? Had Glynna almost died because of her connection to Irish?
Dear God…the implications were chilling. “Did Loverboy leave his signature L on Bud’s throat?”
“We’ll know soon enough.” She pulled to a stop in a cul de sac. An ambulance stood like a centerpiece between numerous police vehicles before a single-story, ranchstyle, brick house. A small group of onlookers, gawking and talking in whispers, hovered on the edges of the rainsoaked yard.
As Kerrie and he hustled from the car and up the front walk, Roman prayed he was wrong about Loverboy—that Bud Grimes had been killed by a revenge-seeking ex-con.
Cage’s pal on the Renton PD was one DJ. Klotz, a bulldog of a man both in facial features and body build. As officer in charge of securing the scene, Klotz greeted them at the front door, reminding Kerrie that she had no jurisdiction here, that she was being admitted at his discretion—because she’d been Bud’s friend and former partner. She introduced Roman.
They stepped into a tiny living room with beige carpet and brown Naugahyde furnishings. The TV blared a sports program on the latest NFL/AFL winners and losers. The abandoned remains of a Swanson Hungry Man dinner sat congealing on the coffee table, next to a can of beer, an overflowing ashtray and a remote control.
“The body’s in the kitchen,” Klotz said. “Cage has seen it, but I’d prefer you and Agent Donnello stayed out of there until after the lab’s been and gone.”
“Of course.” Kerrie was relieved. She wanted to remember Bud as he’d been in life. “Where is Cage?”
Klotz pointed across the room. “Down the hall. I trust you won’t touch anything.”
Roman followed Kerrie. The house stank of stale cigarette smoke and unwashed dog and death. As they neared the end of the hall, Cage emerged from a back room. His flattop was mussed, the scar above his left eye a prominent red tonight, his teal blue eyes angry.
Cage’s grim expression darkened at the sight of Roman. Roman decided not to take it personally. He hung back, leaned against the hallway wall. He knew and understood the rage that came part and parcel with a fellow officer’s murder.
Tully Cage growled at Kerrie. “What’s he doing here?”
“I’ll explain later,” she snapped, her patience as short as her partner’s. “Was it…?”
Cage clamped his lips together and nodded. “Yeah, our old friend Loverboy.”
Kerrie’s breath left her in a noisy rush, and she slumped against the wall opposite Roman. Her question was directed at Cage. “But. why? Why Bud?” What the hell was going on? “It makes no sense. Loverboy is a psychopath who kills redheaded women he meets through the classifieds. So why Bud?”
Cage fidgeted. His unfriendly gaze shifted to Roman, then back to Kerrie. “Was Bud in contact with you since Leah’s death? You know, asking about the case, about our progress, anything like that?”
“No. Did he approach you?”
Cage shook his head.
Kerrie straightened. “You think he was investigating on his own?”
Cage let out a weary sigh and crooked his head toward the room behind him. “In his bedroom…I found some photocopies of reports directly out of our files. Reports he’s not supposed to have.”
Kerrie paled, her green eyes looking more emerald than ever in her drawn face. “Do you think he figured out who Loverboy is and decided to do something about it?”
Roman interrupted. “Was Grimes a stupid cop?”
Kerrie jerked toward Roman. “What? No, he was damned smart.”
Roman leaned toward them. “Then ponder this—if he’d discovered who Loverboy is and decided to go after him—and it had all gone wrong somehow—would he have died in his own home? Or would we have found his body dumped somewhere—the same as Wendy’s and Leah’s?”
Cage and Kerrie exchanged frowns. She grew thoughtful.
“So?” Cage shrugged.
“Bud didn’t go after Loverboy,” Kerrie said, obviously getting the point that seemed still to elude her partner. “Loverboy came after Bud.”
“Exactly.” Roman nodded.
“But that’s what I don’t get.” Cage scratched his short blond hair. “Why did Loverboy come after Bud?”
Ice lay in chunks in Roman’s stomach. “I have a theory.”
Kerrie rolled her eyes. He’d promised to keep his opinions to himself. She should have known he wouldn’t. “I suppose this theory of yours somehow involves you staying in my case?”
“If I’m right, you and I have been involved in this case from the getgo.”
“You’re delusional.” She grasped Cage’s arm. “Let’s discuss this elsewhere.” She glared at Roman. “Alone.”
In a complete about-face, Cage resisted. “Muldoon, I’d like to hear what Agent Donnello has to say.”
The blaring TV suddenly went silent. The void was immediately filled with the voices of new arrivals. The house would soon be crawling with police of one breed or another. Roman tensed. What he had to say was not for strangers’ ears. Hell, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure he ought to trust Cage. “Not here. Somewhere private.”
“My car?” Kerrie asked exasperated.
Roman shook his head. He wanted somewhere with lights and heat. “Someplace we can get some coffee.”
Kerrie’s hands were on her hips and her eyes snapped with impatience. “Downtown?”
“Too far away.”
She tapped her toe. “My house?”
Roman shook his head. He didn’t want Glynna Muldoon overhearing what he had to say and getting unduly frightened. “Not private enough. Your mother—”
“Look.” Cage interrupted, sounding like a referee. “We could go to my apartment. It’s closer than Muldoon’s.”
“Fine.” Kerrie sighed.
“Good.” Roman nodded.
They broke the news to Officer Klotz that the M.O. on Bud Grimes’s murder was exactly the same as the Loverboy case, currently under Seattle’s jurisdiction. Klotz assured them Renton would cooperate on all levels of the investigation. Cage, Roman and Kerrie did a sweeping walk-through of the crime scene, then left.
Cage, a bachelor, lived in a new complex in Tukwila, above Southcenter Shopping Mall. His apartment was a single bedroom on the ground floor. A postcard-size kitchen adjoined a long narrow living room with a sliding glass door at its farthest end. It was sparsely furnished—just the essential sofa, recliner, TV and dining set—in shades of gray, black and red. The effect was masculine and uncluttered.
In contrast to Bud Grimes’s house, it was spotless, and warm, and smelled of leather and cigars.
“I’ll start the coffee.” Cage shed his coat and headed toward the kitchen. “Get comfortable.”
Kerrie shrugged out of her coat and tossed it on the sofa with such nonchalance, Roman wondered if she’d done it dozens of times, if she often “got comfortable” here. She tilted her head at him, sending her fiery curls cascading across her shoulders. “Is this ‘private’ enough for you?”
Roman swallowed hard. His body responded to this woman as it never had to another with such force of need, such desire to possess, such jealousy, such anger.
“It’ll do.” Somehow, he managed to keep his voice level.
“Then start talking ‘cause I have this much patience left.” She held her thumb and index finger an inch apart.
&nbs
p; He bit back his own impatience and kept his gaze on her face. “Soon as Cage joins us. I only want to say this once.”
“Fine.” She sighed, then turned and walked to the kitchen archway and levered a shapely hip against the door frame. “Can I help, Tully?”
“Sure,” Cage said. “Get out the mugs and the sugar and milk.”
Kerrie ducked into the kitchen and started opening cupboards as if she were someone who knew where to find the requested items. Something unpleasant stirred inside Roman. Why was she so familiar with Cage’s kitchen? Were these two partners more than co-workers? More than friends?
Not that he cared. He pulled off his coat She could see whomever she wanted. He had no hold on her in that area Cage was welcome to her. She was too intractable and insensitive for his tastes.
Dropping his coat atop hers, Roman moved across the living room so he could see her better. Her long legs seemed longer than ever in that short black skirt the fabric cupping her bottom as he longed to do. As she reached into the cupboard, her full breasts shifted beneath that soft fuzzy sweater, inviting his gaze, his touch.
He felt the tightening in his groin and hated himself for it She’d betrayed him in the worst possible way. His body might want her, but he didn’t Period. If not for this case and for his daughters, he’d walk out of her life this minute and never look back.
Liar. Roman jerked around as if someone standing at his shoulder had spoken the word aloud, realizing belatedly that he’d only heard the word inside his head. He closed his eyes against the heartache that followed it. All right, so he might look back once. Maybe twice. But he’d get over it. Get over her.
He pulled out a chair and sat at the red lacquered dinette table. Kerrie set three mugs on a tray beside the gurgling coffeemaker, then grabbed the creamer and sugar bowl and started toward him. She walked with pride, her chin at a stubborn angle, and he knew he was in for a fight where his theory about Loverboy was concerned
The fight for his rights with his children would be even more difficult. Especially, he feared, for Irish. She’d drawn her line in the sand, and he was going to do more than just step over it he was going to redraw it
Kerrie deposited spoons and a black ceramic sugar bowl and creamer on the gray place mat in the center of the table, then sat across from Roman.
Cage joined them with the tray of steaming mugs.
Roman reached for one and curled his cold fingers around it. “I think we’re agreed that Grimes’s murder puts a new spin on the Loverboy investigation.”
Cage scooped two spoons of sugar into his coffee. “I want to know why you think you and Muldoon have both been involved in this case since the first murder was committed.”
“Me, too.” Kerrie ignored her mug. “I realize you knew the first victim, but I didn’t come in on this case until after Leah Davis died.”
Roman took a sip of coffee, swallowing slowly, deliberately, before setting his cup down. “I don’t think Wendy was selected by Loverboy at random.”
Cage’s eyebrows dipped. “Then how? Why?”
The pain of losing someone dear, the deeper pain of realizing you caused that loss, squeezed Roman’s chest. “I believe my close relationship with Wendy was why she was murdered.”
Kerrie rolled her eyes, then gazed at Cage. “Did I mention this man has an ego the size of Mount Rainier?”
Roman let the insult slide, but he had to stuff his anger. “This has nothing to do with my ego. It’s the only scenario that makes sense.”
“Yeah…nonsense.”
“Look, Donnello, I’m inclined to go along with Muldoon,” Cage said. “If this is another one of your gut instinct—”
“I thought you were going to hear me out.”
Cage conceded the point’ with a nod. “Okay. Why do you think Waring was killed because of her relationship with you?”
Roman frowned. “Grimes’s murder convinces me that Loverboy is connected somehow with the smuggling bust that he and Muldoon and I were involved in three years ago. It’s the only thing we all worked jointly on that would make us targets of a single murderer.”
“Targets?” The word shot from Kerrie on an exasperated breath. “You and I haven’t been targets.”
“Haven’t we?” Roman banged his mug down. “Think about it, Irish. Wendy Waring, who’s like a kid sister to me, has her throat slit.” His voice ground out the points as he ticked them off his fingers. “Leah Davis, Bud Grimes’s fiancee, has her throat slit. Your mother has a close encounter with a knife. Now Bud Grimes has had his throat slit.”
Kerrie paled. “You’re saying Loverboy set up this elaborate ruse of a Classified Killer to trap us? That from the start, we were who he was after?”
“Yes.”
He could see she didn’t want to believe it He hadn’t wanted to believe it himself, but it was the only explanation that made any sense of Bud’s murder.
Kerrie shook her head. “It could be coincidence.”
“No, it couldn’t Muldoon,” Cage said. “Your mom, maybe, but Bud was killed by the same person as Waring and Davis.”
“If I’m right,” Roman stated grimly. “You and I are next.”
That was what she didn’t want to face. He could see it in her eyes. The fear. The worry. For herself. For her mother. For the babies. For him?
“You may be on to something here, Donnello.” Cage drained his cup.
Kerrie leaned her arms on either side of her mug and bent forward. “Whatever became of C & F Imports? After they closed shop in Seattle, I couldn’t get a line on them.”
Her voice was soft, professional, but her eyes shone with old anger, old frustration. She couldn’t let go, couldn’t forgive. Wouldn’t believe he’d left to protect her.
Roman leveled his own heated gaze at her. “They went underground for a month, then reemerged in New Jersey as Medici Importers. Three months later, my agency busted them. Dante Casale, the company vice president, plea-bargained himself out of serving jail time by ratting on his cousin, Tito Fabrizio, the president of the company.”
“Tito Fabrizio.” Cage released a low whistle. “That dude had one nasty reputation on the East Coast.”
“Yeah, Tito liked violence,” Roman agreed.
Kerrie shifted her gaze between the two men. “What do you mean, ‘had’?”
Roman finished the last of his coffee. “Fourteen months ago, Tito escaped prison with six other inmates. Four of the six were recaptured, Tito and another man died in a fiery car crash.”
Cage nodded. “Fabrizio’s body was burned beyond recognition.”
They were silent a moment, then Kerrie asked, “Are they certain Tito died in the crash—that he didn’t use the fact the bodies were unidentifiable to escape?”
Roman grinned wryly. No matter what else she was, Kerrie Muldoon was a good and thorough cop. “I thought of that, too, Irish. Tito’s dental records were used as identification.”
“What about the other one…Dante?” Cage asked.
“I didn’t have any reason to check on him…until now. I’ll put my sources to it first thing in the morning.”
“Meanwhile, Muldoon.” Cage shoved his chair back and stood. “We’d better take some precautions where your family and Donnello are concerned.”
“I’d better get home.” Kerrie hustled up and headed for her coat, but not before Roman read the anxiety on her ashen face. She finally believed him. He felt no satisfaction, only fear for his children, their grandmother and her. He wasted no time getting to his own coat.
A high-pitched beep like a wristwatch alarm sounded.
“My beeper.” Kerrie dug the object from the pocket of her coat. “It’s Mom.” Her voice registered the terror bobbing inside him.
Chapter Nine
Kerrie cautioned herself against the fear nipping her, but when she heard Dr. Jon Vauter’s voice instead of her mother’s her pulse skipped ever faster. No, she mustn’t jump to conclusions. Jon often visited her mother in the evening. She cle
ared her throat. “Jon, Mom paged me. Is she there?”
“Now, Kerrie, your mother and the girls are fine,” Jon said, apparently trying to reassure her, but frightening her instead.
Her heart hitched. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing that should upset you unduly. Glynna is more angry than anything else and the babies are sdll fast asleep.”
“More angry than anything else?” Kerrie knew she should be relieved, but after what she’d been through this evening, what they’d decided were Loverboy’s true motives, her nerves were as raw as scraped knees. “Why is Mom angry, Jon?”
“It appears someone broke into your house at some point tonight.”
Her anxiety returned in a rush. “What do you mean, broke in? Where? How?”
“The basement window.”
“What’s going on?” Roman demanded. “Are the girls all right?”
Trepidation heated his eyes to twin globes of yellow fire. Kerrie felt Cage’s curious gaze darting between them. An uncomfortable heat climbed her neck. This was not the time to inform her partner of her daughters’ paternity. But she could see that was the least of Roman’s concerns.
Holding her hand over the receiver, she quickly told Cage and Roman what she’d learned so far. Then she said to Jon, “I’ll radio this in.”
“We’ve already called 911. They said someone is on the way.”
“Good. Don’t touch anything. We’ll be there as fast as possible.”
Minutes later, the three of them were in the Mazda, the siren screaming, the light flashing. Hunched on the backseat, Roman felt as if he were a giant stuffed into a cardboard box, his long legs jammed against the driver’s seat, knees brushing his chin, his neck bent forward.
The storm had moved on into the mountains, leaving the streets wet and the night cool and dark. He could see Kerrie’s anxious expression reflected in the rearview mirror as she steered the car through the dense freeway traffic.
“Just because someone broke in doesn’t mean it was Loverboy,” Cage said, addressing what Roman suspected was uppermost on all their minds.