Trust No One

by Velvet Vaughn

  #

  Cora Nelson rubbed her eyes and yawned, checking her watch. It was so late and she'd already worked ten hours today. Her feet were killing her. Even her orthopedic shoes specifically made for nurses hadn't helped. She wanted to be in bed sleeping but a phone call ended her fantasy.

  For the thousandth time, she regretted the deal she made with the devil. Medical records were supposed to be confidential but she realized there was a price that could buy her ethics. As a single mom, she struggled to put two kids through college and still keep a roof over her head. Her loser of an ex never paid child support and while her nurse's salary was generous, it still took every paycheck to make ends meet.

  Cora rubbed her hands vigorously over her arms, fighting off a sudden chill, wishing she hadn't given up smoking six months ago. Her boss kept harping on her to quit, lecturing her on all of the negative effects of nicotine. She knew all that, but damn, nothing felt quite as good as the first drag of a menthol.

  Checking her watch again, she was just about to give up and leave when she heard footsteps behind her. Whirling around, she said, "It's about time you—"

  Something hard slammed into her head. Unimaginable pain shot through her skull before the world went black and she dropped instantly to the floor. She didn't feel it as the assailant hefted her up, smashed her head into the corner of a cabinet and dropped her unceremoniously to the floor. She didn't hear the files emptied around her or the flick of a lighter when a lit cigarette was stuck between her fingers by a gloved hand. She didn't feel the heat as the papers ignited, helped along by broken bottles of rubbing alcohol. And she never felt the flames that singed her hair, licked her face and quickly melted off her skin.

  Chapter Four

  Saturday, September 18

  Dorian stepped off the elevator and approached the throng of emergency personnel buzzing around the crime scene. He plastered his back against the wall as technicians wheeled out three gurneys in a row, all loaded down with a black bag. His stomach clenched—Kendall could have been in one of those.

  Forcing his gaze away, he spotted the man he was looking for: Detective Alexandros Mylonas. He and Alex grew up together in the same neighborhood, Alex playing wide receiver to his quarterback. Spotting him approach, Alex's brows lifted curiously. "Hey Demon, what brings you here? He’s okay, you can let him pass," he instructed the cop who blocked Dorian's forward progress. The man stepped aside.

  "Mylo," he greeted, slapping his friend on the back. He trusted Alex with his life and he planned on telling him all about Kendall, just not now, not here. "A friend was an acquaintance of the victims."

  Alex indicated the blood-stained hotel room. "It’s a bad one," he said softly. "One of the worst I’ve seen."

  Dorian glanced inside and fought a wave of nausea. The sight of blood didn’t make him queasy, nor did the cloying scent of death. He'd seen far too much of it in his life, had been responsible for the cause in the name of country too many times to count. It was the circumstances that upset his stomach: three young women in the prime of their life, gunned down mercilessly. And it could have been four. "Any idea what happened?" he asked as they watched the crime scene technicians working the room. Numbered placards were scattered throughout, indicating potential clues. Flashes exploded as a young woman in a bulky vest with the letters CSI on the back snapped several pictures.

  Alex shook his head. "One of the occupants ordered room service. When the waitress came to deliver, she found them murdered."

  "Who was first responder?"

  He pointed to a female officer speaking to a Latina woman dressed in the unmistakable outfit of a server. "Officer Ridel."

  "Alone or she have a partner?"

  When Alex didn’t answer, Dorian glanced over to meet his probing gaze.

  "You know something."

  It wasn’t a question and Dorian didn’t deny it. "No partner?"

  Alex shook his head slowly. "Sonofabitch," he muttered, realization dawning in his steady blue gaze. "There was no identification found in the rooms, no purses, cell phones. How the hell did you know who the victims are when we aren’t even certain ourselves yet?"

  "Mylonas, did you get a copy of the statement?"

  Both of their heads swung around at the question. Alex's partner strode forward, interrupting their conversation. Dorian had seen Barry Millson once before but didn't get the chance to meet him. He and Alex had only been partners for a short time. He'd observed him and frankly thought he was a little on the obnoxious side. Right now, he barely trusted Alex, so no way he wanted to give his partner any details. Thankfully, Alex understood and let the questioning drop.

  "Barry, this is an old friend, Dorian Demarchis."

  Millson's eyes widened. "The SEAL" he said, extending a hand. "I've heard all about you. What brings you here?"

  Dorian shook his hand. "I was visiting an acquaintance," he lied. "Spotted Alex."

  Millson nodded. "Well, it's nice to meet you, man." He turned to view the commotion in the room. "What a freakin' massacre. Such a shame. The chicks were smokin' hot. Killer bods. I mean, did you get a look at the rack on the redhead?"

  Dorian had to physically force himself not to bash Millson in the mouth. One quick glance at Alex told him he felt the same way. The guy was a dick.

  "We'll have to all get together and grab a drink before you leave town," Millson said, totally clueless. "We'll need it after this."

  "Sure," Dorian said, when what he really meant was "no way in hell".

  "I'm headed to the station to make some calls, try to get copies of any security tapes," Millson informed Alex. He waved a goodbye as he sauntered away.

  Dorian surveyed the personnel milling about, checking if anyone paid undue attention to their conversation. He also covertly checked for any scarred wrists, which was hard to do since most seemed to be wearing a watch and/or long sleeves. He noticed officer George Williams scowling a few feet away, hands braced on his ample hips. The man was a piece of work. He was a blowhard and a braggart. He liked to throw his considerable weight around, bully people. He caused problems at his mother’s restaurant when he thought he should eat free just for wearing a uniform. He used a subtle mix of promises and threats of everything from gang disruptions to health code violations. Dorian’s mother was meticulously clean and insisted on the same from her employees. The only health violations would be ones Williams planted himself, like the rats he threatened.

  Dorian’s mother didn’t back down. She called Alex to take care of the problem and he had. But judging from the threatening stare Williams was shooting at Alex, he hadn’t forgotten. Williams’ partner, something Woods, stood close by jotting down notes. Word had it that Woods was always pulling Williams' ass out of the fire. Dorian didn’t know why he bothered. He’d love to shove the big man in there himself.

  Could it have been Williams? Dorian shook his head, quickly dismissing the thought. Kendall said the man was lean. Williams' bulk couldn't pass for lean even after he'd been dead ten years.

  "I might know something," he whispered for Alex’s ears only. "But not yet, not here."

  Alex studied him for a moment and then nodded slowly. "You know I trust you, Demon. You’re like a brother. But don’t you dare hold out on me. You got information about this, I expect you to tell me. Three young women were murdered."

  "You have my word," Dorian promised. "In the meantime…" He shook Alex's hand and transferred the paper with the women's names on it. Alex eyed him curiously and then surreptitiously scanned the note.

  "So you can notify next of kin."

  Alex tucked the paper in his pocket, his eyes narrowed. "How the hell am I supposed to explain how I got the names?"

  "Find the busboy from Rapps, the restaurant in the lobby. Joey something. He recognized them and got their autographs."

  "Autographs? What's going on here, Demon?"

  "I’ll be in touch soon," he said, ignoring the question. Alex’s muttered curses followed him down the corr
idor.

  Dorian made it down to the parking garage and pulled out the key to Kendall’s rental. He searched the third level until he found the red Solara. He had to ratchet the seat back as far as it would go before folding himself inside. Starting the engine, he backed out of the space and headed to the exit. He almost choked paying twenty dollars to get out but once he was on the street, he headed for the airport. Traffic was light this early so he made good time. Once he returned the car to the rental agency, he hailed a cab and stuffed Kendall’s two suitcases in the back seat with him. He directed the cabby to drop him off by his truck and after securing her bags in the back, he swung by the park where Kendall left the gun. As expected, it was gone. He was back at his mother’s apartment five minutes later. He parked his black Chevy Avalanche in an open space in front of the restaurant and headed around to the back of the building.

  A flash of movement ahead caught his attention and he ducked into the shadows. Dropping the suitcases, he whipped out his Glock. Someone had climbed up the fire escape and was breaking into the apartment where he'd stashed Kendall.

  How the hell did they find her?

  Dorian sprinted forward when the figure disappeared inside. He made a running leap for the ladder and pulled himself up quickly, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder. He flew up the steps and dove through the open window, rolling to his feet in a crouch. He had excellent night vision so his eyes adjusted quickly. The shape paused outside the open bedroom door and spun around. Dorian didn’t give him time to react. He went in low and barreled into the man, slamming him against the wall. Too late he remembered his damaged shoulder. Stars exploded in a multi-colored rainbow. The man grunted harshly and dropped his weapon.

  Blocking the pain out of his mind, he grappled for the upper hand, trying to pull the black mask off when a soft voice called out tentatively, "Who's there?"

  "Stay back," he ordered.

  That split second of his diverted attention was all the assailant needed. He shoved Dorian off, grabbed his weapon and leapt out the window.

  "Dorian?"

  "Stay here," he commanded, taking off after the attacker. He launched over the railing, jumping from platform to platform, forgoing the steps. The man dropped from the ladder to the ground and took off running. Dressed in all black, a knit mask covering his hair and face and keeping to the shadows, he blended in with the gloomy night. He turned around and fired, just as Dorian jumped to the ground. He managed to roll out of the way, leap to his feet and chase after the guy, dodging bullets. The man fired blindly over his shoulder, the bullets ricocheting off the sides of buildings and dumpsters. A black sedan screeched to a halt at the end of the alley. A door opened and the man dove inside. The car sped away in a squeal of burning rubber and black smoke.

  Dorian exited the alley and came to a halt, his head whipping back and forth to search the nearly-deserted street. Unconsciously, his right hand gripped his shoulder. He rotated the joint, wincing at the pulling tug. It was too dark to make out the license number on the car as it sped down the street.

  Turning around, he sprinted back down the alley and scooped up the forgotten luggage. Racing up the steps, he rapped on the door and announced himself before he entered. Kendall appeared out of the darkness, a large carving knife in her hand. He had to hand it to her, she wasn’t cowering in the corner, a mess of tears. She still wore the SEALs sweatshirt, but had removed the jeans. Her legs were tan and tone and smooth and way too distracting.

  "How did they find me?" she whispered.

  "No idea but get dressed."

  "Where are we going?"

  "We sure as hell aren’t staying here like sitting ducks."

  #

  Kendall’s nerves were on edge. Someone had broken in and tried to kill her, and she hadn't heard a thing. If Dorian hadn’t returned when he did, she'd be dead.

  She rifled through her suitcase for her jeans. The pair Dorian’s sister loaned her had been loose around the waist and hips—Daphne was slender but tall. She hated giving up the comfortable sweatshirt, but found her own and tugged it on. She located her running shoes and slid them on. Pocketing Stefani’s cell phone, she picked up a band she found in the bathroom and secured her hair in a ponytail.

  Next she dumped everything from her carry-on into the suitcase, carefully wrapping her laptop between clothes. It would be easier to have to deal with just one piece of luggage. She would give the Prada bag to Daphne as a thank you for letting her borrow her clothes.

  Her heartbeat still hadn’t slowed when she returned to the living room. Dorian grabbed her suitcase and her hand. "Let’s go." She trailed after him as he locked the door, descended the steps and let himself into his mother’s apartment.

  He guided her to the kitchen and pulled out a chair. "Wait here while I gather some things and let Mama know we're leaving."

  Daphne suddenly appeared. "What are you doing sneaking around, Daph?"

  "Did I scare the big bad SEAL?" she taunted.

  Without the make-up and the studs she wore that were obviously clip-ons he now realized, she looked incredibly beautiful. She would break lots of hearts, probably had already.

  Dorian narrowed his eyes. "Why are you up?"

  She suddenly looked young and scared. "I heard shots in the alley, figured you might need to leave fast. So I packed this." She held up his canvas duffle. "I threw in some stuff from the bathroom and more clothes for Kendall, but I see she doesn’t need them." She pulled the extra clothes out of the bag.

  "Dammit, Daph," he said gruffly, pulling her into a one-armed hug. "You make it hard to stay mad at you when you go and do something nice."

  Daphne’s cocky smile faded, followed by a worried frown. "Don’t be getting shot up again or I’ll have to kick your ass." Her mocking tone didn’t hide the true worry in her face.

  "I won’t," he promised, not bothering to correct her language. "Tell Mama we had to leave but I’ll keep in touch." He picked up the bag she packed and his black laptop case.

  Kendall stood. "Thank you for letting me borrow your things, Daphne. Your clothes are in here." She held out the bag. "You can keep it."

  Daphne’s mouth dropped open as she reached for the carry-on. "But…it’s a Prada. It must've cost a fortune." She shook her head and handed it back. "I couldn’t."

  Kendall smiled and gently pushed the bag back to her. "Yes, you could. I insist. Thank you again." She hugged the girl and then turned to leave.

  "Lock the door as soon as we leave and make sure the alarms are set."

  Daphne saluted him, "Yes sir," she taunted, but her heart wasn’t into it. Her attention was focused on Kendall’s expensive gift.

  Dorian pecked her on the cheek and grabbed two baseball caps off a hook as he tugged Kendall out the door. Locks clicked into place behind them. Instead of using the stairwell they entered from earlier, he guided her down a long corridor that ran the length of the building. They descended a long narrow set of steps that brought them to a door at the front of the building next to his mother’s restaurant.

  "Put this on and try to tuck all your hair inside," he instructed, handing her a cap. She wound her ponytail on top of her head and pulled the hat on. Satisfied she was sufficiently disguised, he donned his and said, "Wait here." Checking the street before he exited, he unlocked a black truck and tossed the bags inside. Scanning the street in both directions, he left the passenger side door open and returned to escort her to the truck. He helped her in and then rounded the hood to climb inside. He buckled up and started the engine.

  "Where are we going?"

  Flipping on the headlights, he shifted into gear and flashed a wry grin. "I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out."

  Kendall watched the passing scenery as he navigated through Greek Town. He made several turns and backtracked more than once. Finally he headed for the on-ramp for the Kennedy Expressway, a steady flow of traffic even at this early hour.

  They’d been traveling for a few miles when, eying th
e rear view mirror, Dorian muttered a harsh curse.

  "What is it?" She spun around to peer out the back window.

  "We’ve got a tail."

  Dual pinpricks of light gained on them, almost blinding in their intensity.

  "Hang on," he said resignedly.

  Kendall barely had time to turn back around as he floored the accelerator. Her back pressed against the leather seat, both hands clinging to the arm rests for dear life. Her eyes strayed nervously to the speedometer, watching the arrow climb from seventy to eighty then ninety. The bright lights kept pace as Dorian expertly weaved in and out of traffic.

  He pulled to the center lane and slowed gradually. The car dropped in behind them, almost bumper to bumper. "Now really hold on," he instructed. They were almost past an off-ramp when he accelerated and jerked the wheel to the right before slamming on the brakes, the back-end fishtailing. Thankfully there weren’t any cars close as he shot down the exit ramp. A quick check told her that the other car's brake lights glowed red, but they were unable to follow.

  Dorian drove around for another hour, finally stopping at a small single-story motel. He parked out of sight of the office. "Stay in the car," he ordered. "In case there are any BOLO’s out, I don’t want the proprietor to get a look at you." He handed her his gun. "Do you know how to use one?"

  Her mother purchased a gun and made her take shooting lessons when she moved to Chicago. Then her nervous mom bought her a more expensive one when she moved to New York City and insisted she keep up with practice. She tested the weight of the weapon in her hand. It was heavier than she was used to but she could manage. "Yes."

  "The windows are tinted so you don’t need to hide. But if someone tries to get in, lay on the horn and shoot to kill."

  He tugged the cap lower on his face and added sunglasses, even though it was dark outside. She watched as he entered the small lobby, his shoulders almost as wide as the doorframe. He filled out his jeans really well she noted.