As the theater cleared out, she felt his hand cover hers as it lay on her lap. Turning to face him, she was met with complete understanding and a touch of moisture at the corner of his expressive eyes. No explanation was necessary.
He kept hold of her hand as they made their way to the door, tucking it through his arm and pulling her close amid the remaining patrons and pedestrians along the bustling street. Beautiful people dressed to the nines stepped into a line of waiting cars as couples out for an evening stroll wove their way between them. Cameras flashed as paparazzi captured personal moments and smiling faces in hopes of a payoff. Three or four more industrious homeless held out tins and hands towards anyone who glanced their way. Ethan slid a folded bill into a woman’s hand just before helping Jerry into the car. Neither had spoken a word to each other since Act III had begun.
A comfortable silence filled the back of the town car as it slowly pulled away from the curb. Ethan had not let go of Jerry’s hand, neither did she try and remove it from his grip. He felt warm and familiar, an anchor in the storm of emotion that flooded her during the performance, especially the final act.
For the life of her, Jerry couldn’t come to grips with her reaction to the sadness enacted on stage. It wasn’t as if death was a stranger to her, she’d made it her business. A woman cut down in the prime of her youth, wasted potential and love lost were not uncommon elements of the life she had chosen. Why then, did a centuries old skit depicting a similar scenario trigger such deep, soul-wrenching pain?
Ethan watched Jerry from the corner of his eye. The tiny lines between her brows told him she was struggling with something; he wished she would share her thoughts. Opera was known for dredging up powerful emotions, often jarring long forgotten memories or touching places in the soul that hadn’t seen the light of day for years. He wondered which parts of Jerry La Traviata had stirred.
Jerry closed her eyes and let her mind wander. As soon as she relaxed, a woman’s face appeared in her memory, making her gasp with recollection. The woman was beautiful, young and vibrant with the same high cheekbones and long brown hair that framed Jerry’s face. Her mother.
Tears came again, unbidden and filled with the pain of losing her beloved mother when she was barely three years old. She had no real memories of the time they had together, only fleeting images of her mother’s face and the lilting sound of her laughter. She had laughed a lot with her mother, Jerry was certain of that much. Just as certain as she was that the laughter had stopped on the day her mother died.
Jerry never dwelled on her childhood. Being raised in a series of foster homes, one worse than the last, had prompted her toward a career with the FBI. Witnessing first-hand the cruelty that people chose to inflict on each other and on their children fueled a burning desire for the power to make things better. She also liked carrying a gun and possessing the knowledge of just how to use it. More than once during the horrors of her youth, she wished for a gun, a knife or anything she could use for protection.
Refusing to probe the wound, she focused on recalling her mother’s face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d pictured her; circumstances had taught her to block out most of her upbringing; the happy times with her mom fell victim to the mental blackout. Remembering her face tonight made the evening more special, even though her heart ached with the memory.
Every instinct Ethan possessed screamed at him to wrap his arms around Jerry and pull her close. Whatever she was thinking brought a sadness to her eyes that broke his heart. Throwing professionalism to the wind, he gently released her hand, draped his arm around her shoulders and nudged her towards him. She came willingly.
Chapter Eleven
“You made the papers again.” Dylan stated and slapped the thick roll of black and white against Ethan’s chest when he opened the door.
“Good morning to you, too.” Ethan was groggy from lack of sleep and in no mood for Dylan’s attitude. He’d tossed and turned half the night, concern for Jerry and whatever demons haunted her warring with his ever-increasing emotional connection to the woman who should be no more than his partner.
“What, no coffee?” Dylan ignored Ethan, but was secretly pleased to finally see the man ruffled. He set about making a pot that could double as motor oil.
“There’s a Starbucks on the corner, help yourself.” Ethan grumbled and headed for the bathroom.
Dylan chuckled, mostly to himself, and began whistling as he worked. The day had potential if he could start it off getting under Slick’s skin.
“Have you seen the email I sent last night?” Dylan asked when Ethan reappeared.
“No, did you find something?” Ethan was instantly alert.
“Our tech department enhanced the image we found on Sonja’s computer. Not a lot of help, but you may recognize something about him.” Dylan set the pot to perk and joined Ethan at the table.
“Is that the best they could do with his face?” Ethan asked as he enlarged the image on his tablet.
Dylan prickled at the perceived insult, even though it echoed his own feelings. It was okay for him to criticize Jimmy; it wasn’t okay for Slick to do so.
“If it could be better, it would be. Does his body seem familiar? Nate and I think he may be a body builder, or at least someone who works out frequently. We’re checking gyms in the area for new members.”
“It doesn’t ring any bells,” Ethan stared at the image, studying the man’s carriage. “He’s big, imposing. Seems to me I’d remember him if I’d ever met him.”
“We also think he has a second car, not as flashy as the Mas. We’re checking rental houses in the area with a two car garage minimum. At least it’s something to go on.”
“That’s good, but it may not help. Also check suitable homes with owners away on an extended trip. When people in these circles travel, they often stay in friend’s homes rather than rely on public accommodations. Our boy would definitely prefer his privacy.”
“Makes sense; if you’ve already got money, why spend it when you can freeload off of your friends.” Dylan barely disguised his disgust with the upper echelon.
“Exactly. Better lodgings, often with built-in servants, more privacy and no expenses. It is what it is.” Ethan shrugged.
“Morning boys,” Jerry breezed into the room looking refreshed and cheerful.
Ethan scowled briefly, wondering how she could look so good after the near emotional breakdown she suffered last night.
“Morning sunshine,” Dylan replied. “You look chipper this morning. Did you get a little shut-eye at the opera?”
Jerry’s smile nearly faltered, but she held it in place. She was a pro at blocking out unpleasantness and was determined to behave as if last night’s emotional turmoil had never happened. At least in front of Ethan and Dylan.
“The opera was wonderful, thank you.” Jerry told him as she moved into the kitchen, stopping short just inside the door. “Who made that sludge?” She leaned back to look at them accusingly. “It’s practically standing on the counter on its own.”
“I made it. Slick here looked like he could use a jolt.” Dylan tossed his thumb at Ethan.
“What a waste.” Jerry grumbled and poured the thick coffee down the drain. “What are you two looking at? Did you find something?” She called as she prepared a fresh pot.
Dylan brought her up to speed, sharing the image of the unsub when she came back into the room.
“He’s big.” She echoed Ethan’s comment. “Fits the description that Sonja’s neighbor gave you. His clothes look high end, maybe even tailored.”
“You’re right,” Ethan finally spoke up. “How did I miss that? There can’t be too many tailors in town and a man accustomed to the fine things will always go for the best.”
“It’s another avenue to explore,” Dylan punched in a text to Nate. “Can’t have too many of those. Of course, who’s to say that he’ll need anything new? He could have brought a sufficient wardrobe with him.”
“True
, but it’s worth checking out.” Jerry hovered near the kitchen doorway, waiting for the coffee to brew. The makeup she’d applied this morning hid the evidence of her sleepless night, but she still felt the effects. She needed coffee badly and she needed it now. “What’s on the agenda today?”
“You two made a splash again,” Dylan nodded at the paper lying open on the table. “Nate wants you to go out together, shopping and to lunch. Give the paps something to do, following you around.” He grinned up at her.
“I should also check in with Kim, see if she’s heard from Sonja.” Jerry moved into the kitchen, grateful that the coffee was finally ready.
“If she’s heard from Sonja, it’ll be a bloody miracle.” Ethan growled.
“Still, I should keep in touch.” Jerry agreed.
“If Sonja’s dead, and we know she is, he’s either already romancing another victim or he’s on the prowl.” Dylan joined Jerry in the kitchen.
“We need to step it up, somehow make him notice me.” Jerry prepared two cups, bringing one to Ethan.
“Agreed.” Ethan gave her a smile of thanks, noticing the carefully hidden dark spots beneath her eyes. It made him feel slightly better, knowing that she’d had as difficult a time sleeping as he.
“That’s pretty much what Nate thinks, so you two should prepare for a day of it. Sightseeing, shopping, hobnobbing wherever you can. I’m sure you know the drill.” He looked pointedly at Ethan.
Ethan ignored the jibe. “Our boy wouldn’t be caught dead at typical tourist traps, but he may be trolling coffee shops, bistros and the like in the neighborhood.”
“Do you have any idea how many bistros, cafés, bakeries, juice bars and coffee shops are in Nob Hill? We could hit a different one every ten minutes and be busy into next week. We should start with Sonja’s favorites, I assume Jimmy’s already checked for overlaps with the other victims.” Jerry questioned Dylan.
“Probably, but I haven’t seen the report.” He picked up his phone and began texting, this time to Jimmy with a copy to Nate. “I know he requested her credit card statements, but I don’t know if he has them yet. Everything is in her companion’s business name. She doesn’t have even a single account in her name.”
“What an idiot,” Jerry spoke without thinking, then felt bad. “Sorry, I mean what woman puts herself in that position? No bank account, no credit history, no property. She’s totally dependent on the good graces of her companion.”
“What about the companion? Has anyone spoken with him?” Ethan asked.
“He’s out of town, but we’re on it. I seriously doubt he knows more about her daily activities than her credit card statements will give us.” Dylan slid the newspaper over to Jerry. “You two look good together.” He teased.
She wrinkled her nose and then glanced down at the photo. The camera had caught her between crying jags; she was grateful that the angle was from the side and not straight on. She was standing close to Ethan, just before getting into the car. The homeless lady he’d helped was visible in the background.
“At least we’re getting press.” She threw back at Dylan. Feeling her face becoming flushed at the memory of riding home snuggled against Ethan, she attempted to change the subject.
“You should speak to Kim, officially. If anyone knows more than the credit trail, it’ll be her. She and Sonja were close.”
“Good idea. I need a reason for the inquiry so as not to blow your cover. Sonja didn’t have any close family, so who else might report her missing?” Dylan mused aloud.
“Say it was the neighbor.” Ethan offered. “Did you ever speak with the one on the first floor?”
“Not yet. A Miss Abigail Collins lives there, alone, with her two cats. That’s my first stop today, then I’ll hunt down Kim. I spoke with the landlord last night. He was no help at all; lives in Los Angeles, never even met Sonja.”
“I’ll call her after you speak with her.” Jerry added. “She may tell me more than she’ll tell you.”
“It’s possible. I’ll call you after I find her. You two have fun today; smile pretty for the cameras.” He stood and headed for the door.
When they were alone, Jerry struggled to find words for Ethan. She’d spent the night thinking of him as much more than a partner, but she didn’t want it to show.
“I suppose I should get dressed,” Ethan began, perplexed at Jerry’s sudden shyness.
“Okay, I’m ready whenever you are. We can go to breakfast and then meander around the area, I suppose.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Ethan disappeared, leaving Jerry alone with her thoughts.
If she allowed it to intrude, the night before was crystal clear in her mind. The memory of her mother’s face and the feel of Ethan holding her close meshed into one warm feeling of being cared for, cherished, loved. The feeling was as foreign to her as the lavish luxury of her current situation.
Jerry avoided reliving the pieces of her childhood at all costs. She’d blocked out much of the horrors most of the time, but found that she could recall any event at will. Groping hands reaching for her at night, days of terror when she waited as quietly as possible to be let out of the closet, moments so terrible that she prayed for death to take her away. She’d considered her beauty a curse then, attracting more attention than she ever wanted in ways that no little girl should ever experience.
Being consigned to a group home at the age of sixteen was the best thing that ever happened to her. Meals were regular, school was a must and the matrons in charge of her floor had no interest in her body at all. During the last two years of high school, her natural aptitude blossomed, earning her a scholarship to college, far away from her home state. She had no desire to ever return to Louisiana, nor did she claim it as her own. She fashioned her life as she wanted during the four years it took her to graduate, suppressing memories best forgotten and focusing on the life she had never dared dream of as a child.
Yet here she was, years later, remembering the woman who gave her life, only to leave her to face it on her own. Logically, she knew her mother’s death was not her mother’s fault, but she’d spent so many years placing the blame for her miserable existence squarely on her mother’s shoulders, that it felt odd to associate her memory with love. Even odder still was the fact that Ethan had become part of it; he was her partner, no matter how convincingly he played the role of lover and friend. She could not afford to blur the lines.
Just then, Ethan appeared dressed in slacks and a button down shirt tailored to fit his frame. Did the man ever look bad? Jerry wondered as she admired the way he moved into the room with confidence. Casual elegance suited him to a tee.
“Shall we?” He waited by the door with an inviting smile.
Logic fled as Jerry rose to join him.
“Why are you asking so many questions? Has something happened to that girl? Who’s gonna take me and Percy to the vet?” The crotchety octogenarian eyed Dylan as if he was the devil incarnate.
Pasting on a smile to hide his impatience, Dylan tried to reassure the woman. “She’s been reported as missing, but we don’t know that anything has happened to her. Do you remember seeing the man she left with two days ago?”
“Humph. The only man I ever seen her with was Mr. High and Mighty, Randall something or other. Drops by every other night, like clockwork, up until this past week. Must be out of town ‘cause he sure wouldn’t miss what that girl’s giving him, if you know what I mean.” The woman raised her chin and gave her best holier than thou impression.
“Did you see the man she left with two days ago?” Dylan asked again, his polite demeanor was beginning to wear thin.
“Oh, I saw him alright. Didn’t even have the decency to come inside, waited for her out by the curb like he was picking up an order at a drive-thru window or something. He’s been coming around ever since the other one’s been gone, but I never seen him come inside.”
“Can you describe him for me?”
“Big fella, black hair, fancy clothes, fancy
car. Other than that I didn’t pay much mind. What that girl chooses to do with her life is her business, no matter how wrong it is. Like my mother always told me, men won’t buy the cow if they get the milk for free.” The woman’s grey head bobbed up and down for emphasis.
“Yes ma’am. Did you see the man’s car?” Dylan asked, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
“It was red, one of them convertibles. That’s all I know.” The woman turned away from the door. “Percy, get down off that counter,” she called to the unseen animal. Turning back to Dylan, she put her hands on her hips. “Look, if that girl got herself in trouble, I’m not surprised. Nothing good comes from cavorting with men that way. Still, she was nice enough; always spoke to me, even ran errands for me on occasion and promised to take us to the vet tomorrow. Now I guess I’ll have to call a cab. Anyway, I hope you find her.” She began pushing the door closed, but Dylan slipped his card through in the nick of time.
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