by Maggie Price
"I wasn't looking for anything. I had to go to the bathroom again—"
"Don't play me for a fool," he said softly. "Peter, did you check her purse?"
"Yeah." Colaneri patted the pocket of his suit coat where he'd slipped the beaded bag after he'd taken it from her. "Ain't nothing unusual in it."
"Which means she didn't find anything," Alex countered. Morgan had never heard a voice so quiet. So lethal.
Spurlock turned. "You might be right, Alex—or whatever your real name is. But I'm sure you'll understand why I intend to check for sure."
He closed in on Morgan like a hunter moving through the woods. All she could do was shut her eyes and bear it while Spurlock's long, hard fingers swept over her breasts, her abdomen, then lowered, finally skimming up each of her thighs.
Finding nothing of consequence, he gripped her chin, jerked it upward. "If I had time right now, I would torture the information out of you. But I have a house filled with guests who I must get back to."
"I'll do it," Colaneri volunteered. "I'll make her talk."
Spurlock paused as if weighing the offer. "Later, Peter. Right now I want you to go upstairs."
Spurlock moved back to the workbench. He pulled a slim cigar from the pocket of his suit coat, lighting it with a sharp thumb flick against his gold lighter.
With his attention momentarily diverted, Morgan wrapped her fingers firmly around the metal rod. Testing, she put a slight amount of weight onto her injured ankle, then more. The pain was intense, but bearable. Enough so that she might be able to deliver a couple of good kicks.
She risked a look at Alex, could almost see his mind racing as he watched her, weighing danger and benefits. He dropped his gaze to her ankle then looked down at his own legs. She understood his meaning, and the unspoken question in his eyes. Could she deliver a strong enough kick with her injured ankle? She gave him a slight nod.
"Peter, on your way upstairs go by my office and get Emmett. I want both of you to search the bedroom until you find what holds such interest for the police."
Morgan's head snapped up. Was Spurlock talking about Emmett Tool? If so, the accountant had not been burned to death as the police believed. She saw the verification in Alex's eyes. Tool, then, must have been the financial advisor Spurlock mentioned when they'd first arrived at the party.
"Search the bedroom carefully, Peter," Spurlock instructed, turning the gold lighter over and over in his hand. "You are not to damage my grandmother's belongings. Do you understand?"
"Yeah, boss." The thug hesitated, then swept his arm Morgan's way. "What about her?"
"I'll deal with her, then rejoin my guests." Spurlock checked his watch. "After that, you may do with both of these police officers as you wish."
"I got a lot of wishes where blondie's concerned." Colaneri gave Morgan an insulting once-over, his eyes lingering on her chest. "Think about me while I'm gone," he said, then strode across the room and out the door.
The thought she might soon be at Colaneri's mercy sent a swell of nausea up Morgan's throat. She clamped her jaw tight, forced back the sick taste. The more immediate problem was the man lounging against the workbench.
Spurlock lifted his chin, expelled a stream of smoke. "I deal harshly with those who betray me," he said softly. "Both of you are about to find that out."
Alex jerked at the rope binding his wrists. "Deal with me first, you bastard."
Morgan flashed him a sharp look. She knew Alex was trying to draw Spurlock's attention away from her, to spare her. Alex could possibly take down Spurlock without her help, but their chances of success were far greater if she could first deliver a stunning kick to Spurlock's head.
"There are many styles of torture," Spurlock continued, ignoring Alex's challenge. "I can think of none more vicious for a man than to be forced to watch the woman he loves being abused. Then taken by another man." He examined the glowing tip of his cigar. "Don't you agree, Alex?"
"Hurt her, I'll filet you into fish bait," Alex said, his voice low and deadly.
"You love her," Spurlock said in quiet confirmation. "I watched you closely. Studied you. That's one reason you fooled me so thoroughly, Alex. No man is that good an actor."
Morgan's heart gave a powerful thud that made her feel even shakier than she already was. For an instant time stopped. She stared at Alex, wondering what was going on behind that cold, impenetrable brown gaze.
It didn't matter, she thought, her mind snapping back. For now nothing mattered but drawing Spurlock's attention. She wrapped her fingers tighter around the metal rod and gave him a pleading look. "I'll do anything you want, Carlton," she said, her voice a breathless, whisper. "Anything."
"That's right, you will." Rolling the cigar between his thumb and fingers, he moved toward her. She saw his gaze slide down from her face, watched a mix of lust and cruelty come into his eyes. "Your skin is so lovely it's a shame to burn it. A necessary shame."
The instant he extended the cigar's glowing tip, Alex exploded into motion. Cursing viciously, he jerked hard on the metal rod. When Spurlock turned, Morgan lifted her legs and slammed both feet into the side of his head.
He oofed out a grunt. The cigar flew from his fingers as he stumbled backward, arms flailing.
Gripping the rod, Alex hoisted his body. He caught Spurlock around the neck with his thighs, locked them tight. Spurlock struggled, his hands desperately trying to break the iron grip that deprived him of oxygen.
His eyes rolled back in his head just as the door to the room burst open.
Chapter 15
Morgan whooshed out a breath when Rackowitz charged through the door, followed by a blur of plainclothes and uniformed cops. Seconds later a hulking patrol cop cut Morgan down. Rackowitz trailed along while the cop toted Morgan to a vacant corner. She quickly advised the FBI agent about Goldie's bedroom and the cassette tape she'd found in the answering machine.
Just as Rackowitz stepped away to transmit the information over her hand-held radio, a paramedic with a bushy red mustache moved in. His initial probe of Morgan's ankle sent stars exploding in front of her eyes.
"I've still…got one…good foot, pal," she gasped as knifes of pain sliced her leg. She could actually feel beads of sweat popping out on her forehead. "Touch me again, you get the same treatment as the other guy."
Mustache twitching, the paramedic glanced behind him where a cuffed and bleeding Spurlock was being loaded onto a stretcher. "I'll be gentle as springtime," he assured her while settling an ice pack across her ankle. "All the way to the hospital."
"Can't go now. I have reports to make."
"Look, Officer, I don't think your ankle's broken. But you've probably got ligament damage. That's just a guess, though. We won't know for sure until it's X-rayed."
"Later. I'll hitch a ride—"
"Now." Alex crouched beside her, his face grim. "I'm sorry you're hurt," he said calmly. "I didn't want you hurt."
He might have his voice under control, but emotion swam in his eyes. "We're both in one piece," she reminded him, and forced a smile through the pain. "Did Rackowitz brief you on the tape I found?"
"Just now. Goldie's bedroom, not a gold bedroom." He shook his head. "Good work, McCall."
"You did some pretty snazzy work yourself, Blade. That was some thigh squeeze you put on Spurlock's neck."
Rackowitz hunched down beside Alex, the radio in her hand spitting static. "Our guys found the tape in the answering machine," she reported.
"What about Colaneri and Tool?" Morgan asked.
"Not yet. Alex clued us in about them being upstairs, but they weren't in Goldie's bedroom when our guys got there." Rackowitz shrugged. "They probably figured out the end was near when they heard the party guests stampede. We've got cops swarming the grounds, searching for them."
Alex's gaze sharpened. "Morgan, didn't Colaneri say he has your evening bag in his pocket?"
"That's right," she said, instantly following his thoughts. "It's bugged."
> Rackowitz's face lit up. "Most do-wrongs aren't thoughtful enough to carry an evening bag with a tracking device sewn into its lining." Keying the radio's mike, she transmitted an update to the lieutenant supervising the search for the two men. After signing off, she said, "Okay, you both need to make separate statements about the overall operation. And a slew of other reports about what happened tonight. Alex, you and I can get started here. Morgan, I'll hook up with you after you're done getting checked out."
"At the hospital," Alex added.
Rackowitz's radio crackled to life. She stood, responding to the dispatcher as she moved off.
The pain biting at Morgan's ankle, combined with the steely look Alex sent her, had her backing down. "Fine. I'll go."
"Good." He took her fingers, folded them into his hand. "I'll get away from here as soon as I can." He ran his palm down her hair. "We'll talk then. You and I need to talk."
When he would have pulled away, she tightened her hold on his hand. "What Spurlock said about your feelings for me," she said quietly. "Was he right?"
Alex's mouth tightened and he looked away. When he remet her gaze, that look was back in his eyes, that grim solemn countenance that brought to mind regret.
Regret.
"We'll talk later, Morgan. About everything."
* * *
Alex finished briefing Rackowitz just as he received orders to report to his lieutenant's office. Biting back frustration at having to head to the opposite side of town from the hospital where Morgan was, he pulled into the lot behind the nondescript building that housed the department's covert units. Inside, he gave an overview of the operation to several members of the brass, along with OCPD's public information officer. With Spurlock having numerous pillar-of-the-community associates, the department was making sure it had all its ducks in a row.
After typing his report, Alex headed to the hospital's E.R. A nurse informed him Officer McCall had been treated, released and driven home by a second Officer McCall.
Home. He steered toward the house the McCall sisters shared, fully aware his own definition of home no longer computed without including Morgan in the mix. She was the one. She was his match. Tough luck for him it was a match that wouldn't last.
He could brood over that all he wanted, but there was no way to stop the inevitable. No way to change the fact he was so in love he would settle for whatever time he had with her.
He turned a corner and spotted a sporty little lipstick-red MG in the driveway of the two-story house. Carrie's car, he deduced.
Alex parked by the curb, cut across the postage stamp-size lawn and scaled the steps leading up to the small porch with its columns wrapped in ivy. When he rang the bell, he had the sense it had been years since his last visit, instead of weeks.
"Hey, Blade." Carrie answered the door while balancing a can of beer and a can of soda in one hand. She was dressed in shorts and a halter top. With her fiery auburn hair piled on the top of her head her wide-set eyes looked huge. "Sounds like you and my baby sister have had quite a Fourth of July."
"One I'll never forget." Alex stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him. "How is she?"
Carrie slicked a look down the hallway toward the living room. "Shaky, but okay," she said, lowering her voice. "A little too pale for my liking."
Before Alex could switch off his mind, he saw it again. Colaneri smashing his foot into the center of Morgan's back, her body crashing against the cement floor. The pain in her eyes when she'd lifted her head and looked at him. His absolute helplessness at being unable to get to her. Protect her.
"I didn't want her hurt," he said. "I didn't want…"
"Of course you didn't," Carrie said, watching him closely.
"I know it's late. My lieutenant detoured me to the office for an update on what went down. I tried to catch Morgan at the E.R., but you'd already picked her up. Thought I'd drop by and take a chance she's still awake." He raised a hand, let it drop. "Dammit, I need to see to her. Tonight."
A look of awareness slid into Carrie's eyes. "You about to become a familiar sight around this place, Blade?"
"Yeah." He eased out a breath. "Maybe. If I can swing it."
Flashing a grin, Carrie shoved both cans into his hands. "Morgan's in the living room—she wanted to wait up for Grace to get home. Baby sis is on pain meds, so she gets the soda. The beer's yours."
"Thanks, Carrie."
"Knock 'em dead." She winked and headed for the staircase.
Alex moved down the hallway, pausing at the door to the small living room, where a single lamp speared long shadows to the high ceiling. Morgan sat on the tan couch amid an assortment of rose and smoky-gray pillows. An elastic bandage swaddled her left foot and ankle, which she had propped on an oversize ottoman. Her eyes were closed, her head back against a pillow. She was so still, so quiet, he thought she had fallen asleep.
He moved silently into the room, pausing a few feet from the couch. The blue-sequined dress she'd worn earlier had been replaced with an oversize T-shirt and shorts. She'd slicked back her hair into a ponytail and wiped off the makeup. The sultry Morgan Donovan had morphed back into the wholesome cheerleader.
He had begun backing out of the room when she opened her eyes and locked her blue gaze with his.
"Hi," he said quietly. "Sorry I woke you."
"I wasn't asleep. Just resting my eyes."
"How's the ankle?"
"Not broken." She wiggled her toes, then winced.
Alex felt his chest tighten when pain clouded her eyes.
"I tore some ligaments," she said after a moment. "Guess I won't be jogging for a while. Or working the streets."
"You'll get there. I thought you'd want to know the latest on the case." Coward, he told himself. That wasn't why he was there.
She eyed him for a long moment. "Sure. Have a seat."
He stepped around the crutches propped against the coffee table, eased down on the couch and popped the top on the soda can. "Compliments of Carrie," he said.
"Thanks." Morgan craned her neck toward the door. "Where'd she go?"
"Upstairs. I got the impression she had some things to do."
"Okay." Morgan took a sip, then set the can on the table beside the couch. "So, what's the status on the case?"
"Thanks to the bug in your evening bag, Colaneri and Tool got nabbed in Spurlock's cabana." Alex opened his beer, took a long swallow. "They were hiding behind the roulette table."
"Either of them talking?"
"Tool. He's hot to deal for a lighter sentence." Alex scrubbed a hand over his face. "He said Spurlock ordered the jockey killed after Isom agreed to fix a race, then got a case of conscience and didn't come through. That cost Spurlock a cool million."
"Is that what's on the tape in the answering machine? Spurlock ordering Isom's murder?"
"Yes. Tool said Spurlock somehow got wind that Krystelle planned to go to the police about him, so he had Colaneri grab Vander and George Jackson. According to Tool, Spurlock had them tied in his basement, just like us. He had a go at Vander with a lit cigar, then a knife. Colaneri finished them both off and dumped the bodies."
"You loved George," Morgan said quietly. "I hope it helps to know you took down his killers."
"We took them down. And, yeah, it helps."
"What about Tool? We thought he'd been burned alive. Whose body was it?"
"A homeless guy's." Alex raised a hand, dropped it. "Tool not only has a wife, he has a girlfriend no one knew about. She's a hygienist at his dentist's office. Turns out, the dentist donates time at a men's shelter. The burned body was a homeless guy the dentist treated there."
"How did they set up things?"
"After I arrested Tool, he used his one phone call to let Spurlock know he'd been busted and we were putting pressure on him to testify. Spurlock sent the lawyer who showed up to represent Tool. He worked an immunity deal, agreeing Tool would testify to Spurlock's involvement in the murders of the jockey, Jackson and Van
der. As a part of the deal, Tool was moved to a hotel for questioning."
"Which was to give Spurlock easier access to him?"
"Right. We suspect Colaneri slipped the poison into the food room service delivered to the room. Tool told the two FBI agents guarding him that he was too nervous to eat." Alex raised a shoulder. "He waits for them to eat and die, then walks out. Colaneri picks him up, they find whichever homeless guy the hygienist girlfriend tells them to grab and they set him on fire. She replaces Tool's dental records with his."
"Tool disappears, only to walk into Spurlock's study tonight and ID you as the cop who arrested him."
Alex nodded. "His appearance falls under the heading of one of those unforeseen events that can occur when you work undercover." He sipped his beer. "I met with some of the brass before I came here. You'll have a commendation in your file from this case." His mouth curved. "Not a bad career boost for a rookie."
"You deserve a commendation, too."
"One will probably show up in my file." He set the can on the coffee table. "Doesn't much matter to me. I'm not looking to get promoted."
"No, you'll just change identities and melt into the shadows of the next undercover operation. Fool someone else."
The sudden bite in her voice had him hesitating. "That's my job."
"You do it well." She looked away. "Just think how totally you fooled Spurlock."
"I deceived him about a lot of things. But not about you. He was right, Morgan."
When she remet his gaze, Alex saw the change in her expression. Shock? Astonishment? "You going to explain what you mean by that?"
"I'm in love with you." Now that he'd said the words, he felt too unsettled to sit. Snatching the beer off the table, he stood and roamed across the room to the fireplace, where an enormous bouquet of garden flowers bloomed instead of flames.
"I don't know exactly when it happened, why it happened." He tried to read Morgan's expression, but nothing in her features gave away her thoughts. "I only know it did happen," he continued. "Up until tonight, I had everything worked out in my head how to handle things. Told myself it was all for the best."