“But you didn’t tell her that she could have been in serious danger?”
“No. I won’t have my girls dragged into this man’s sick game.”
“It appears to me they already are,” Summer said quietly.
“Tate thinks I should tell them. Now you.” Cara pushed away her cake uneaten. “The girls have had too much to contend with already. There have been nuisance phone calls, day and night. We change the number and things are quiet for a few days, then somehow they get the number and it starts all over again. Sophy’s friends want to know why she has police officers at her house and Audra’s friends make fun of her because she can’t go out for ice cream or a movie on a whim. I’m the reason,” she said grimly.
“You’re an important person. The work you do makes life safer for all of us.”
“I used to think so. When I started out, you could have fueled whole cities with the strength of my zeal. Oh, I was going to make things different in San Francisco. I was going to be the tireless one, the incorruptible one, the prosecutor who would turn the tide.” She took a long, harsh breath. “Lately, I don’t know if I can pay the price. You can’t have it all: job and family and sanity. Can you understand that, Ms. Mulvaney? That there is always a price, and usually it’s the women who have to pay it.”
Summer turned her teacup, understanding Cara O’Connor perfectly. The woman was clearly exhausted, clearly terrified about the threat to her children, but she still struggled to do the right thing. “I understand, ma’am. But it doesn’t surprise me. Frankly, I never expected the world to be fair.”
Cara studied her over the teacup, one brow raised. “There’s a story there. It’s written in your face when you think no one is looking.”
Summer shifted uneasily.
“Don’t worry, I won’t probe. But I may make it my business to find out before your job is finished here.”
Summer drummed her fingers on the table. “Be my guest.”
She was cut off by the tinny melody of Cara’s cell phone, the Gilligan’s Island tune again.
“I’ve been waiting for news on a case.” Cara touched a button. “Hello?”
Suddenly her whole body tensed.
Summer sat forward. “What’s wrong?”
Cara stabbed at the phone, ending the call and tossing the phone onto the table. “Him. It’s always the same metallic voice, wired through some kind of synthesizer.” She closed her eyes, covered her face with her hands. “I’ve had a new cell phone number for two weeks, and somehow he found it. Two weeks. How does he know?”
Summer wished she could assure Cara that everything would be fine, but her gut instinct warned that the pressure was going to get worse. “What did he say?”
“That I’d be sorry. It’s always been the same message.”
“I’ll have the call traced.”
Cara nodded tiredly. “It’s worth a try. But all the other times, he threw away the phones. He uses them once, then tosses them, and each time they’ve been stolen earlier the same day.”
“Maybe he’ll get careless, ma’am.”
Cara took a breath. “Call me Cara, damn it. All my friends do.”
Summer sat back, sensing that Cara O’Connor didn’t let down her guard easily. “My pleasure, but only if you do the same.”
“Agreed. There’s something else, something that came today.” With shaky hands the prosecutor reached into her briefcase and removed a clear plastic bag. Inside the bag was a brown cardboard box. “This was left under the desk in my office.” Cara handed Summer a pair of latex gloves, then pulled on a pair herself before she lifted the lid.
Summer bent closer, reading the block letter words. “‘May 12, 1986. Los Reyes Clinic. Remember.’” When Summer looked up, she was shocked at Cara’s ashen features. “Maybe you should take a few deep breaths, ma’am. I think some whiskey would be a good idea, too.”
“I said to—to call me Cara.” She took a harsh breath. “And I don’t drink. My husband had something of a problem, so I stopped keeping any alcohol in the house.” She took a swallow of tea, then refilled her cup carefully, followed by Summer’s. “I’ll be fine. It was just hearing the words aloud after all this time.”
Silently Summer covered the box, slid it back into the bag, and resealed the top. First thing in the morning she would forward everything to her forensic people. Maybe they could pull a partial print, a piece of hair or some other trace material.
“Do you want to tell me what the message means?” she asked quietly.
“It’s the last thing I want to do.” Cara gripped her teacup. “But I don’t have a choice, do I?”
Summer didn’t answer.
“Of course I don’t. I know the date very well because in 1986 I—I went to Mexico. There was a small clinic in Los Reyes.” Her voice wavered. “I’m not saying anything more. If you want to leave, fine.” The teacup spun out of her fingers and turned on its side, brown liquid racing over the table.
Calmly, Summer reached across the table and blotted the spilled tea. “If you had an abortion, I’m not about to judge you for it.”
“Everybody else would. God knows, I still have dreams about that day. Nightmares, actually. The ugliness of it all. The indecision.”
“Have there been specific demands made?”
“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time.” Cara closed her eyes. “I convinced myself the past was buried. Given my line of work, I should have known better.” Slowly she reached for a new napkin, watching the brown stain creep over the white cotton. “I have a sample of Glenlivet in the pantry at the back of the top shelf. I told myself I’d keep it for necessity or a special occasion. I’m afraid this is it.”
Summer found the small bottle, the size used on airplanes, and added half to Cara’s tea. “Drink it. You’ll feel better.”
“No, I won’t. I won’t feel better until this person is found—and stopped.” Cara’s eyes were haunted as she took a sip of her tea and grimaced. “This tastes like battery acid.”
“I’m told it’s an acquired taste.”
The assistant DA rubbed her neck with unsteady fingers. “You’re not asking for any details?”
“I have the date and a location. You’ve given me what is necessary.”
“I meant it when I said I wouldn’t tell anything more. That’s non-negotiable.”
Summer nodded. She wasn’t here to probe Cara’s past. She’d make her own quiet inquiries and see what emerged. Meanwhile, security was her main concern.
“I’ll have the box and paper analyzed first thing in the morning. We may get prints or enough DNA evidence to put this creep away.”
Cara took another sip of her tea. “I don’t think so. Whoever sent that box got past two sets of guards and my own assistant. This person is very good, Summer. That terrifies me.”
“You think it’s someone in the building, someone you know?”
“At first I couldn’t accept that. Now I’d have to say it’s possible. How else could they get into my office?”
“As of tomorrow, your door gets new locks, and you keep it locked. No access without a call from your assistant. No one gets a key except the two of you.”
“I was thinking along the same lines.”
Summer made a note in her book. “I want to know everyone who entered your building today, along with who they went to see and when they departed.”
“I thought of that. Security should have a list for me by noon tomorrow.” Cara shoved a strand of hair from her forehead. “I asked my assistant for the names of people who came into my office while she was there.” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket.
Summer scanned the sheet. “Only twelve? Was she out for a long time?”
“She always goes for lunch at one. Anyone on the floor could have slipped in then, and most of them know her schedule.” There was a note of weariness in Cara’s voice. “Forty-two people work on my floor, and all forty-two were in the building today.” She smiled grimly. “I ch
ecked with security.”
“That gives us some kind of baseline, at least. Things could be worse.” Summer refilled their cups. “Let’s get to work.” She read off the first name on Cara’s list while opening a new page in her ever-present notebook. “How long have you known him and are you currently working on any active cases together?”
As Cara spoke, Summer took notes.
It was going to be a long night, she thought grimly.
They were halfway down the list when the back door opened and the alarm beeped.
“Only me.” Tate peered around the corner, then punched in the security override code.
He looked rumpled and sexy with his shirt unbuttoned and sleeves pushed up. A man no woman could resist, Cara thought. Heaven knows, she had tried vainly for years.
“Excuse me,” Summer murmured. “I’ll be right back.”
She was gone before the other two realized it.
“That is one unusual young woman.” Cara stood up. “Let me get you some tea.”
“You stay put. Hopefully I can pour hot water without inflicting third-degree burns on myself.” Tate slid into the chair beside her and traced her cheek. “You look like hell,” he said huskily.
“So nice of you to tell me, especially since you look rumpled, but gorgeous as always. The world is unjust.” Cara sighed. “What on earth are you doing with a boring workaholic like me?”
“Having the time of my misbegotten life.” Tate spoke with a raw directness that stripped away the clever comment she had planned. “Remembering what it felt like to be eighteen and invincible, only now I’m a whole lot smarter. At least, I hope I am.” He looked at the box, now carefully repacked. “Is this what you found beneath your desk?”
“Afraid so.” Cara nodded, leaning against his chest. She needed to relax, just long enough for the names on her list to stop blurring and the panic to recede.
He smelled like oranges and aftershave and good leather, and she leaned closer, thinking that he had probably just showered and shaved. As she rested her cheek against his skin, she felt the old, racing heat, the slick sensitivity between her thighs.
Always the desire.
With a sigh she turned and focused on cutting a piece of carrot cake. “Patrick made this before he and Imelda left. No dieting allowed while that boy is in charge of the kitchen. Imelda said she’s put on ten pounds since coming here.” Cara sliced through rich layers of chocolate frosting and carrot-filled cake, then gasped sharply.
Tate shot forward and caught her hand. “You’ve cut yourself.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Where’s the alcohol, Cara? Otherwise, I run you straight to the emergency room.” His face was impassive.
“Fine. The alcohol is beneath the sink, Dr. Clooney.”
Tate muttered as he banged through the cabinets and returned with alcohol, paper towels, and a bandage. “This could hurt.”
Summer appeared in the doorway, staring at Cara’s hand. “What could hurt?”
“She cut herself. The woman’s the worst patient on the planet, I warn you. Maybe you can keep an eye on this, since she’s likely to forget.” Ignoring Cara’s protests, he put the bottle on the table. When he glanced at the nearby list, his eyes narrowed. “You were going over this together, weren’t you? So Summer isn’t your normal, everyday nanny.” He took Cara’s hand grimly. “Which is it, Ms. Mulvaney? Private investigator or undercover state trooper?”
Summer looked at Cara. So much for secrecy.
chapter 10
She’s FBI, Tate. I didn’t want to tell anyone until she had some hard evidence.”
The senator’s mouth set in a tight line. “I’m going to be your husband. I think that entitles me to full disclosure.” When he dabbed at the wound, Cara sucked in a breath, and he pulled away with a curse. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I hurt myself,” she said softly. “You were never to blame.”
Watching them, Summer realized they were talking on a deeper level, about things she wasn’t meant to understand.
“I told her about Los Reyes. Enough, anyway.”
Summer tried to read the senator’s face. “Cara feels her past makes her a liability to you. What do you think, Senator?”
“Keeping secrets won’t help my career,” he said grimly. “And rumors about an abortion?” He shook his head. “I’d be kidding if I told you it won’t make things rocky.” He stared at Cara. “I’m not asking you for any details. Your past is just that, over and done as far as I’m concerned.”
“Your staff and supporters may not feel the same way,” Summer said quietly. “Does this new situation change your feelings toward Ms. O’Connor?”
Tate stood angrily. “Are you sure you want to ask me that question, Ms. Mulvaney?”
“I’m sure, Senator.”
Seconds passed. Tate finally nodded. “I suppose your job means you have to ask cold-blooded questions like that, but the answer is no. This situation changes nothing, neither for me nor my staff.”
“Good. And call me Summer, please. It’s too early to rule anyone out, sir, so if Cara feels up to it, I’d like to finish going through this list. Tomorrow I’ll start profiles on the people in her building and run a search for recent large bank deposits, trigger incidents, that sort of thing.”
“‘Trigger incidents’?”
“Gambling problems, paid sexual partners, alcohol or drug use. Anything that could be a basis for blackmail.” Summer had seen it before, too often to count. Again and again her job had taught her that private indiscretions didn’t remain private, and secrets could become very dangerous weapons, indeed.
As Tate smoothed a bandage around Cara’s fingers, a muscle moved at his jaw. “You’re very efficient.”
“Just doing my job, sir.”
“Something tells me you’re hitting hard, and I like that just fine, because I want this bastard nailed. We’ve postponed our wedding twice because of my career and Cara’s schedule, but I’m not waiting any longer.” He looked down at Cara. “If you try, I fully intend to shanghai you without benefit of clergy or wedlock, and there goes my political career.”
“The senator shacks up with the assistant DA?” Cara’s lips curved. “That might sell a few papers.”
“A few million,” Tate said dryly. “The tabloids are breathing down my neck already, so we do this by the book. You wear the garter and I get to take it off you in front of family and friends.” Warmth filled his eyes as he stared at his bride-to-be. “Deal?”
Cara drew a slow breath. “These people won’t let go of me, Tate. Things are going to get messy.”
“Of course they are. Since when were you afraid of a good fight, Counselor?”
“Since you got involved. Since my family got involved, and I have to think of what this could do to Sophy and Audra. That terrifies me.”
Summer cleared her throat gently, painfully aware of a ticking clock and all the work to be finished. “Sir, I have to ask you this. Do you know anyone who might be holding a grudge against you? A former employee or a disgruntled aide? Even a political opponent who might be unstable?”
Tate rubbed his jaw. “Can I count the Speaker of the House?” He smiled at Summer. “A joke, my dear. Not to say that I don’t have a football field full of enemies, but our fights are generally held out in the open, where everyone can watch. The game is called politics, and everyone’s a Monday morning quarterback, you see.”
Summer laughed dryly. “Just for the record, sir, I wouldn’t take your job for a million dollars. I’d rather face down a bullet any day.”
And she had, but Summer didn’t mention that.
The junior senator from California flashed her the smile that had sent his female demographics right off the chart. “Glad to hear that my Senate seat is safe from you.” His eyes hardened. “I’m going to tackle some tough issues like campaign spending, Summer. No more loopholes, no more cash delivered in brown paper bags. We’ve got a law with no teeth,
but I’m going to give it fangs or die trying, and it won’t make me popular,” he said grimly. “But that’s what America should be about, not privilege and cronyism.”
If it were Election Day, he’d have her vote, Summer thought. How could you argue with the man’s passion and candor?
Someone’s cell phone made a muffled sound. Not hers, Summer realized.
Cara searched her pockets and pulled out her phone. After a moment her eyes brightened. “Amanda? Yes, we got here not too long ago. Tate’s right here, and the girls are fine. Yes, I’m fine. The dress?” Cara cleared her throat. “Oh, everything went beautifully. I’m sure you’ll be surprised.” She looked at Tate and shrugged slightly. “No, I didn’t choose the tulip skirt. No, not the peau de soie, either. That might be a little too formal for a ranch wedding, don’t you think?” Cara smiled when Tate reached out to twine his fingers through hers.
“Tell my mother to bugger off,” Tate whispered. “I don’t give a damn what you wear, just as long as you’re there and you say yes when asked.”
Cara rolled her eyes at Tate, shaking her head. “Yes, Amanda, the girls’ dresses are done. They’re lovely. No, I didn’t choose the strapless pink gowns.”
As more questions flowed from the phone, Tate turned to Summer. “My mother always wanted to be a wedding planner,” he whispered. “If she had her way, we’d have a white-tie affair, followed by a nice, cozy reception for about five thousand of her intimate friends.”
Cara tried not to laugh when she heard his muttered comments. “Hold on, Amanda, I’ve got another call coming in.” She pressed a button, transferring to the new call.
Immediately her body went rigid, her face fading to stark white. “No,” she said hoarsely. “It won’t work. You don’t frighten me.”
Another threatening call.
With a curse, Tate lunged forward, grabbing the phone. “Who the hell is this?”
Summer shook her head at Tate, who ignored her.
“What kind of worm are you? By God, I’ll—” The line went dead. “Why did you cut me off?” he snapped at Summer, who took the phone from his rigid fingers.
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