"That's what the detective said. Which means..."
She peeled another strip off the label, leaving him to finish the sentence.
"Which means the killer probably wasn't some hopped-up kid out to earn his gang membership by gunning down an innocent bystander. This sounds more like a professional hit."
She nodded, her eyes somber. They always reminded Deke of the moss that grew along the creeks in his native Wyoming, dark, shining, so deep a green you could slide right into them.
"Any idea who might want to take the doc out?"
"I didn't know him well enough to hazard a guess. I only met him twice. Once at Alex's town house, and once at his grandfather's estate south of Richmond."
Deke's fist curled, the way it always did when Jo mentioned Taylor's name. It was a gut reaction, jealousy at its most primitive, uncomplicated level. A reaction he'd lived with for weeks now.
But not any longer. To hell with planning his moves. This was as good a time as any to—
The door chimes rang before he finished the tantalizing thought. Cursing under his breath, Deke almost missed the white lines that suddenly bracketed Jo's mouth.
The chimes rang again.
"It's probably a reporter," she muttered, not budging from the couch. "They were all over me earlier this evening."
"You want me to get it?"
"No. I'll handle it."
Uncurling her legs, she marched to the door. Deke set aside his beer and followed. This whole business about the shooting didn't sit right with him.
"It's a police officer," Jo announced, her eye glued to the peephole.
He noted the relieved slump to her shoulders. The evening's events had shaken her up more than she was ready to admit.
"The homicide detective said he'd send out a patrol," she said, twisting the lock. "To pick up a photo Dr. Russ had delivered to me."
"Check his ID," Deke cautioned.
"I intend to."
The cackle of static from the police cruiser's radio drifted through the screen, which Jo kept locked while she checked out the officer on the other side. He tipped a finger to his broad-brimmed hat.
"Captain West?"
"Yes."
"I'm Officer O'Brien, Alexandria Police."
Jo didn't have to ask for identification. The photo ID clipped to his jacket collar was clearly visible in the porch light.
"Detective Ambruzzo from Homicide asked me to swing by and pick up some materials at this address."
"Right." She unlatched the screen door. "Come in. They're in the other room. I'll go get them."
Deke used the time she was out of the room to request an update. "Have the police tagged any suspects yet on the shooting that Captain West witnessed?"
The officer ran a glance down Deke's uniform, snagging his name and rank from the blue-and-gold embroidered patch attached to his flight suit.
"None that I know of, Captain Elliott."
"Captain West mentioned the possibility that the shooter used a silencer."
"I'd say that was a pretty good guess. I'm told none of the witnesses in the vicinity reported hearing a shot. You might have her check with Detective Ambruzzo tomorrow, though. Sometimes these—"
He broke off as Jo rushed into the room.
"They're not there!"
Deke spun around, his stomach clenching at the sight of her white, strained face.
"The photo and the note Dr. Russ wrote me. I left them on my desk. They're both gone."
The patrolman shot her a narrow look. "Are you saying someone broke into your residence tonight?"
"The doors were locked when I came home. Nothing else is missing, that I can see. Yet the photo's gone."
She raked a hand through her damp hair, looking at once confused, angry, and shaken.
"Some bastard has a key to my house."
Chapter Sixteen
Officer O'Brien, Detective Ambruzzo, and two lab techs from the local police department left Jo's house a little after 11:00 p.m. They'd uncovered no signs of forcible entry and no trace of the missing photo and note. After dusting for prints, they advised Jo to change her locks and talk to the owner of the house about installing a security system.
Ambruzzo was the last one out the door. His heavy face wore lines of fatigue. He'd come straight to Jo's from Dr. Russ's suburban Virginia house, where he'd had to break the news of his death to his widow.
"She didn't take it well," he told Jo and Deke wearily. "My partner and I stayed with her until a neighbor showed up."
"Did she have any idea who might have killed her husband?"
"No, none, but she seemed confused about a number of matters. Her neighbor indicated she's in the early stages of Alzheimer's."
"Oh, no!" Pity tugged at Jo. A single bullet had torn apart at least two, perhaps more lives. "Does she have any children or other relatives to care for her?"
"A niece, I think, out in Ohio. The neighbor promised to get in touch with her."
"I was planning to go see Mrs. Russ," Jo murmured. "Since I was the one with her husband when he died."
"Let me know if she says anything pertinent to his murder." The detective started for the door. "I'll get on this connection between Russ and the dead photographer tomorrow."
Chewing on her lower lip, she followed him across the room. "I don't know if there is one. I'm not even one hundred percent certain Stroder snapped the shot. It just had that same in-your-face intensity of the photos he took at the scene of Alex's accident."
"Yeah, well, I might just look into that accident, too. I'll be in touch, Captain."
Jo closed the door behind him and twisted the dead bolt. Not that the damned bolt would do any good, she thought with a shiver. Whoever had waltzed into her house earlier this evening obviously had access to a set of keys.
Like most single crew members, she'd made extra house keys for friends who'd volunteered to check her mail or keep an eye on the place during her infrequent absences. Melissa Parks had a key, just as Jo had one for the maintenance officer's apartment. So did a buddy at the Pentagon, who'd camped out in the spare bedroom for a few days while waiting for his quarters on base to come available. But neither of them would walk in unannounced. Nor would they have any interest in that damned photo.
Deke had obviously reached the same conclusion. Reclaiming his beer, he offered to hang around until she got hold of a twenty-four-hour locksmith.
"Or," he added, "you could stay at my place for a few days. Until you get a security system installed and the police make some sense of Dr. Russ's murder."
Jo cocked her head, assessing the casual invitation. She hadn't missed the fierce glint in Deke's eyes when she'd told him she'd broken off with Alex. One glimpse of that savage male satisfaction had sent her scurrying into the kitchen. She was enough of a coward to shy away from the idea of severing one relationship only to plunge into another... and more than enough woman to actually consider it.
She wasn't going to plunge into anything tonight, though. If at all. A murder and a break-in was about all she could handle per evening.
"I'll start with the locksmith," she told him, dragging the Yellow Pages out of the hall closet.
The shrill ring of the phone caught her halfway to the sofa. Thumping the phone book down on the coffee table, Jo frowned at the cordless instrument nestled in its cradle.
"It's probably the media. They started calling before you got here."
A second ring scratched at her nerves. A third. Then a fourth. Dammit, she'd make sure she arranged for caller ID tomorrow, along with the new locks and a security system.
Finally the machine clicked on.
"Joanna, I just heard the news! Pick up."
Jo's glance jumped to Deke. His jaw squaring, he met her gaze as Alex's chocolate deep baritone poured from the answering machine.
"I know you're angry with me. I'll admit I was angry, too, but none of that matters now. All I care about is making sure you're all right. Pick up, Joanna. I know y
ou're there."
She stared at the phone, the hairs lifting on the back of her neck. She could almost believe he did know she was here.
"Are you waiting for me to beg, my darling? All right, I'm not proud where you're concerned. I'll beg. I'll grovel. I'll do whatever it takes to hold you again. I'm aching to kiss those perfect breasts and feel your hot, wet juices—"
Her face flaming, Jo dived for the phone. "I'm here, Alex!"
She couldn't look at Deke. Couldn't take the hard drill of his eyes. Turning to face the wall, she hunched the phone to her shoulder.
"I appreciate your concern. I'm all right."
"Thank God. One of the reports said you were covered with blood."
The machine was still broadcasting Alex's voice over the speaker. With a quick stab, Jo punched it off.
"It wasn't my blood. It was Dr. Russ's. I tried to give him CPR but..." She shuddered, remembering that awful moment when she'd lifted her hands and gazed in stupefaction at the dark liquid dripping from her fingers. "He died right there in the street."
"Oh, my darling, how horrible! And so utterly senseless! We've got to put a stop to these random acts of violence."
For reasons she didn't want to think about at that moment, Jo chose not to reveal that there might not be anything random about Dr. Russ's death.
"We could make that our cause," Alex went on. The main plank in our campaign platform. What better memorial to Martin Russ than an all-out war on crime?"
She scrubbed the heel of her hand across her forehead, wondering how to get through to the man. Wondering, too, what Deke was making of this one-sided conversation. Suddenly, she was too weary to care.
"I'm tired, Alex. It's been a rough night."
"Yes, of course. Get some sleep, darling. We'll talk tomorrow."
"No, we—"
"Good night, my love."
The connection severed. Her teeth grinding, Jo counted to ten before hitting the Off button and turning back to Deke.
He didn't say a word. Silence stretched between them, until a prickly irritation piled on top of Jo's weariness.
"You don't have to wait for the locksmith," she said brusquely. "I appreciate the offer, but it may take some time to get one out here and it's already almost midnight."
A tightness settled around his mouth. "Make the calls, West. I'll wait until I know you won't get any more uninvited visitors, then I'll butt out of whatever game it is you're playing with Taylor."
Her chin came up. "I'm not playing games, with Alex or anyone else."
"That's not how it sounded from where I stand."
"Maybe you should try standing somewhere else next time," she snapped
An eyebrow hooked. "Maybe I should."
She thought he'd leave then, as stung by the exchange as she was. Instead, he came around the coffee table, not crowding, not pushing, but close enough for her to feel his presence.
"Let's try it from here," he said with only a faint trace of his usual, laconic twang. "I guess I'd better tell you right up front, I don't intend to beg. Or grovel. Or plead with you to talk to me over a damned phone. Whenever it happens between us, West, we won't have enough breath left for talking."
"If it happens, Elliot."
"It'll happen," he promised, his hands fisting at his side. "Sooner or later, it's going to happen."
That husky promise rang in Jo's ears for what was left of the short night and most of the next morning.
It was still kicking around in her head later that afternoon when she took off work early, changed into her service dress uniform, and drove over to Annan-dale to pay her respects to Dr. Russ's widow.
Jo found the Russ house without much difficulty. Set back from Braddock Road, the modest, white-painted brick home was separated by a screen of oaks from the trendy town houses that had sprung up all around. A curving drive wound past the front door to the detached side garage. Several vehicles lined the drive, including, Jo saw on a gulp of dismay, a midnight blue Ferrari.
She almost kept going, right on down the drive and back to Fort Washington. If she hadn't been scheduled for back-to-back sorties for the next few days, she might have done just that. But Jo was the last person to speak to Dr. Russ. She owed his widow the courtesy of a visit.
Besides, she thought as she swung her legs out of the MG, she was darned if she'd let Alex determine her actions. She intended to live her own life, not the one he'd planned for them, and she might as well get on with it.
Mentally braced for their first meeting since Bella-Vista, she rang the bell. A frazzled-looking young woman answered—Mrs. Russ's niece, it turned out— and showed Jo inside.
"I just got here a few hours ago," she confided as she led the way to a glassed-in porch at the side of the house. "I just can't believe it. Uncle Martin, shot in the street like that!"
Jo couldn't quite believe it, either. In the bright light of afternoon, last night seemed almost like a dream, a horrible, frightening dream.
"I had to find someone to take care of the kids before I could jump on a plane," the niece rattled on, obviously still shaken by her uncle's death and hurried trip east. "I was so worried about Aunt Pat. I didn't know how she was going to manage without Uncle Martin to look after her, but thank goodness it's all worked out. Mr. Taylor has been so wonderful!"
Alex turned at the mention of his name, bestowing a sympathetic smile on the younger woman before shifting his gaze to Jo.
"Hello, Joanna."
He strolled forward, impeccably, impossibly elegant in a dark worsted suit, pale shirt, and striped silk tie. Jo detected the ravages of his own recent loss in the lines creasing his cheeks and mouth.
"You're sure you're all right, darling?"
With both Mrs. Russ and her niece looking on, she chose not to remind him again she was not his darling. The poor women had enough to deal with.
"I'm fine. Excuse me, I want to offer Mrs. Russ my condolences."
Easing around Alex, she crossed a sunroom crowded with African violets in every imaginable shade of purple to the fine-boned woman seated in a chintz-covered settee.
"Mrs. Russ, I'm Joanna West."
The elderly widow seemed fascinated by the ribbons and insignia on Jo's uniform jacket. "Are you a police officer, dear?"
"No, I'm not. I'm in the Air Force."
"They came to my house last night. Police officers, I mean." Pansy eyes as deep a purple as her plants filled with tearful anxiety. "They said Martin is gone."
"Yes, he is. I'm so sorry."
"When will he come back? I get nervous when he stays away too long."
Heartsick, Jo looked to the niece.
The young woman spread her palms helplessly. "The police told her. I've told her."
With a gentle compassion that astounded Jo, Alex joined the widow on the settee and took her hands in both of his.
"Martin asked me to see that you're taken care of until he gets back, Patricia. Don't worry, you'll have someone with you all the time."
Her blue-veined fingers dug into his. "Will they help me with my violets? Martin always helps me feed my violets."
With the cruel vagary of Alzheimer's, Patricia Russ's mind cleared for an undefinable period of time.
"I developed a new variety, a strain of pelrocosmea grandfolia. We named it 'Russ's Joy.'" Shy and proud, she beamed at Alex. "You have to take the plant through at least three generations from leaf propagation to make sure it grows true before the African Violet Association of America will accept it."
"I didn't know that," he replied with a smile.
"Martin registered Russ's Joy for me with the AVSA. The plant has a place of honor in the front window of the living room. Would you like to see it?"
"Yes, of course."
Helping her to her feet, he tucked her arm in his.
"We'll be right back," she said with a vague smile at the two other women.
Her niece sighed as Mrs. Russ made her way into the other room, her slight figure dwarfed by
the man at her side.
"I didn't know she was so bad. Uncle Martin had hinted that she was getting forgetful, but I didn't have any idea how much." She swallowed the tears that colored her voice. "I'll ask God's blessing on Mr. Taylor every night of my life."
Jo swung around. "Will you?"
"He's arranged for a live-in nurse/companion for my aunt. She starts tomorrow. And he paid off the mortgage. Now..." A hiccupy sob shook the young woman. "Now Aunt Pat can stay right here, in the house she loves so much."
He is a generous man, Jo thought. A very generous, very complicated man.
"He even took care of all Uncle Martin's papers and tapes for that book he was working on, the one about President Taylor. Mr. Taylor had them boxed up and carted off right before you got here."
Jo shot a glance at Alex's broad back, silhouetted against the bay window.
"I would have supposed the police would want to go through your uncle's papers before you disposed of them," she said slowly.
"Mr. Taylor assured me the police would have full access to them, but they needed safeguarding. Evidently they contain very private information about his family."
"Yes, I'm sure they do," Jo murmured, uncertain why Alex's preemptive move disturbed her so.
Fanatical about his privacy, it made sense that he'd ensure the intimate details about his family entrusted to a friend and biographer didn't make it into the hands of someone who might exploit or misinterpret them. The legality of who actually owned those papers and tapes didn't seem to trouble Mrs. Russ's niece.
It troubled Jo, however. Somewhere in those boxes might lie a clue to Dr. Russ's murder, or at least an explanation of the link between him and Eric Stroder.
Well, gaining access to the historian's papers wasn't her problem, she decided. Her only connection to either Russ or Stroder was Alex, and she was determined to cut that tie.
This time, she vowed, she'd leave no doubt in Alexander Taylor's mind.
He returned with Mrs. Russ a few moments later. Jo could see the widow's thoughts were on her violets, not her husband. Pulling out a business card, she passed it to the niece. It was one she'd done herself on her computer, complete with picture, mailing address, and email. Pretty spiffy, if she did say so herself.
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