In the second it took one of the men to grab a gun and aim, Kane fired his weapon. The ear-splitting report froze three other men in their tracks. The gunman slid, lifeless, to the floor, the pistol clattering from his limp hand.
Kane approached the table as another man reached for his gun. Moving swiftly, he caught the crook’s wrist and twisted it behind his back.
Kane pressed the barrel of his weapon against the man’s skull, stopping any resistance, then relieved the man of his gun and stuffed it under his belt.
“Hands where we can see them,” he barked. “No sudden movements, unless you want to end up like your friend.” He nodded at the body on the floor.
On cue, they all raised their hands. Hostility flickered in their eyes, but no one tried to challenge the agents again.
While the other agents fanned out to secure the apartment, Kane frisked his captive for more weapons. After finding only a boot knife, which he tossed on the table, he shoved the man against the wall with the others.
“The apartment’s clear,” Roberts muttered to Kane after returning to the main room. “He’s not here.”
The twenty-four hours it had taken to convince a judge to sign the warrant for Cooke had been too long. The cop-killer had rabbited. An icy sensation sped down Kane’s back and he swore.
“Do you want to interrogate these guys here?” Roberts nodded to the men lined up against the wall.
Kane shook his head. “Let’s clean up this mess, and deal with them back at the office.” Leaning over the body on the floor, he felt for a pulse. Nothing. An acrid taste spilled into his mouth. Preserving life was always a priority. He wouldn’t have stayed in law enforcement if he didn’t believe the bad guy deserved a day in court instead of the morgue.
Kane straightened. “Radio it in,” he told Roberts. “Tell them we need a body bag.”
In the seven years he’d served with the Bureau, he’d never gotten used to hours of meticulous investigation ending in spilled blood. He’d be placed on administrative leave because of the shooting. A setback he couldn’t afford. Not only would his absence make the team shorthanded, he’d be out of the loop to bring in Cooke.
Until Grady Cooke was recaptured, more innocent lives were at risk, and the bull’s-eye on Kane’s back just got bigger. Disappointment burned under his skin as he swiped at the sweat trickling down the side of his face.
Not something he could worry about right now. At least they’d bring in the drugs, money, and three breathing bad guys. It was enough to make this an honest bust, even if it wasn’t entirely successful.
Robert’s pocketed his phone. “Backup and a body bag are on the way.” He glanced down at the body. “Recognize him?”
Kane spared another look at the dead man and shook his head. “No.” The man, probably not much older than twenty, didn’t look familiar. Kane wouldn’t forget the face, though. He never forgot the lives he’d taken.
He looked away.
Duty first. He fished out a set of handcuffs and joined the other agents in securing their suspects.
Two hours later, Agent Kane walked out of his supervisor’s office in the Los Angeles FBI headquarters. The interview had gone down pretty much as he’d expected. A week of paid administrative leave while the review board looked into the shooting. It was a setback, but not the death-knell for their case. Roberts would take the lead in the search for Cooke. With the team’s well-honed skills, they’d probably wrap up the case while Kane paced his apartment floor.
He sat at his desk and opened the report file on his computer.
Roberts looked up from his monitor and stretched his neck to see over the cubicle divider. “How long?”
Kane didn’t pretend to misunderstand his partner’s question about the visit to the supervisor’s office. He felt naked without his badge and sidearm. “A week.”
Roberts secured his computer for the night and leaned back in his chair. “And with Cooke still on the run. Sorry, man. It sucks that the intel was so far off the mark.”
“It’s not the first time. It won’t be the last.” Kane studied the report on his screen. “At least we’ve pulled a few more bad guys off the street. That bought us some time to keep Homeland from taking over the case. They want Cooke for those terrorist threats he made after he was sentenced.”
“You? Playing nice with another agency?” Roberts smirked. “There’s a sight I’d like to see. I don’t think you learned to share toys when you were little.”
Kane frowned. “Let’s just say that I like it better when the players are people I can count on.” He knew Roberts didn’t understand his dislike of other agencies shouldering in on their cases. He absolutely trusted his partner, who always had his back, but few else.
He’d felt differently at the start of his career. In fact, the distrust hadn’t emerged until after they’d been loaned out to assist with a computer hacking case. For his trouble, he got a bullet across his temple and an extended stay in intensive care. He was damned lucky to be alive, and he knew it. The only fatality of that shooting was his rocky marriage, which came to an abrupt halt.
Roberts gave him a puzzled look. “Exactly why are you letting Northstar handle your aunt’s case?”
Kane cursed softly. Northstar Security Firm—the very nemesis that changed his life two years ago. His aunt Rosalee didn’t really have a case. And she acted like she had more money than sense these days.
“A couple of unverified threats.” He rolled his eyes. If Northstar Security wanted to waste its resources chasing after ghosts, that was their problem. As far as he was concerned, they deserved no less.
“I saw the file,” Roberts continued. “It looked like it had a case number assigned to it.”
“Every report of a Mafia death threat gets a file number—real or not.” Kane shrugged. “Aunt Rosalee thinks the Mafia is making threats because she’s writing about some long-lost love who was on their payroll fifty years ago. The file is inactive.”
Roberts raised a questioning eyebrow in Kane’s direction. “What do you think?”
“It’s a publicity stunt. Or one of her characters talking to her again.” Kane was fairly certain his aunt was blowing the threatening letters out of proportion. “The one note I saw made no sense.”
“The last time I saw your aunt she seemed completely lucid to me.”
“She’s not delusional, but she has a healthy imagination. Have you read any of the stuff she writes?”
Roberts shook his head and scowled. “Hell, no. You won’t catch me reading one of her books. Those are for women who have too much time on their hands.”
Kane shrugged. What he knew of women’s taste in reading wouldn’t fill a shot glass. He had better things to contemplate when it came to the opposite sex.
“What about you?” Roberts prodded. “Have you read her stuff?”
Kane wished he could say no, but Aunt Rosalee was…well, she was his aunt—technically his great-aunt. And besides his father and younger brother, she was the only family he had.
Apparently, his hesitation was all the confirmation Roberts needed. He burst into laughter. “You’re a wuss.”
An unwelcome warmth tinged Kane’s ears. “She gives me the books to read. How am I supposed to say no?”
“I don’t know…tell her you’re a grown man and your taste in reading leans more toward centerfolds.” Roberts grabbed his jacket off his chair and walked into Kane’s cubicle.
“Hey, I enjoy reading. Besides, I’ve only read a couple and they were actually pretty good.” Kane refused to be embarrassed.
“Then it’s a good thing you’ve got a few days off.” His wiseass partner smacked Kane on the shoulder. “Now, you can catch up on all the romance novels you’ve missed.”
“Keep it up, Roberts, and I’ll drag you to her Christmas party tomorrow night.” He gave his buddy a wicked grin. “She invites a bunch of her closest fans and friends, hoping to play matchmaker with the single ones.”
Roberts shudde
red and held up both hands as he stepped back. “No thanks.”
“Coward.”
Roberts only played the guts-and-glory card when he took on bad guys. Kane didn’t blame him. Since his divorce, his own love life was much the same. Catch and release. That way the fish never stopped biting.
“Hey!” Roberts glanced at the wall clock. “We’ve missed tip-off. If we hurry to Mulhany’s, we can still catch the second half.”
“Give me a minute. I’m almost through here.” He nodded at the report on his screen.
While Roberts waited, Kane tapped out the final additions, bringing home the fact that they’d still not captured Cooke. With a couple more clicks, he saved the file and then attached it to an e-mail for Roberts to deal with tomorrow.
As he grabbed his jacket and followed his partner to the elevator, Grady Cooke’s image flashed into his head. The cop killer was probably waiting to make good on his particular brand of death. Cooke’s last victim was a twenty-five-year-old beat cop carved through the throat with a butcher’s knife. The memory was as vivid as when Cooke threatened to kill him. It wasn’t the first death threat he’d received from convicts he’d put away. And it wouldn’t be the last.
Kane shoved the image into the far corner of his mind. Basketball and a couple of beers waited. Usually it was a good way to unwind after a bust. Tonight, it would help ease the sting of his suspension, and dull the edge of Cooke’s threats.
****
The plane lurched as the wheels touched the tarmac at LAX. Shelby’s death grip on the armrest tightened.
Ms. Kane looked over, and obviously noticing Shelby’s white-knuckled grip, she asked, “Are you all right, dear?”
Forcing her fingers to relax, Shelby released the breath she’d held when the pilot announced their approach. “I’m not the best flyer,” she admitted. Northstar had scored tickets for one of the few nonstop flights from Dulles to Los Angeles. It hadn’t been bad, but landings always made her tense. She deplored that particular weakness, yet faced it head-on every time an assignment called her out of town. Or in this case, back to town. As a transplant to southern California, she’d always felt more in tune with the underbelly of the metropolis than the beach scenes. But to unwind, she loved finding a secluded shore to wander. Now, she called the state home. Next to Northstar, it was as much of a home as she’d ever had.
“Oh, goodness.” Ms. Kane waved a dismissive hand. “This flight was nothing. The horror stories I could tell you. Why, in my younger days, I flew all the time to conferences and book signings. These newer jets fly high enough above the weather it’s unusual to get caught in a storm. Believe me, I’ve had my share.” She gave Shelby a sidelong glance. “But perhaps I’ll save those stories for our next flight.”
Shelby was only half-listening to the older woman as the captain welcomed them to the cool sixty degree December evening in downtown Los Angeles. Her mind started working through strategies to get the author safely through the airport when that last statement sank in. She twisted in her seat and stared at her client. “Next flight?”
“Why don’t you like flying?” Ms. Kane’s clear eyes studied her.
“I don’t hate it, really.” She floundered for a way to explain her feelings. “I tense up when I think about how far I’m off the ground.” As the words left her mouth, Shelby realized just how much she’d admitted about herself. What was it about Rosalee Kane that had her dropping her normal reserve?
“Then it’s not flying you’re afraid of, dear, it’s heights. You should see a hypnotherapist. I know an excellent one who helped me overcome my fear of public speaking.”
“No, thank you.” She didn’t need anyone else poking around in her psyche. The little bit the author had accomplished was unsettling enough. “What’s this about another flight? I wasn’t aware we’d need to do more traveling. It’ll be safer for you to stay at your residence until our investigation is complete.”
Ms. Kane shook her head. “I’m scheduled to visit my editor at the end of the month.” She leaned closer so her voice wouldn’t carry. “She’s in New York.”
“You just left the east coast.” Shelby frowned. “Can’t she come to you?”
“My dear, even though I’ve sold millions of copies of my books, I’ll never have that kind of clout.” She shuddered. “With the incident…that poor girl…I told my editor I’d have to reschedule.”
“Very well.” Shelby bent down and grabbed her laptop bag from under the seat in front. Taking a deep breath, she cubbyholed the impending return flight to a place best kept in the dark. Besides, first-class had been nice for a change.
She looked out the window as the plane taxied toward the gate. Overcast skies muted the airport lights. Leaning closer to Ms. Kane, she said quietly, “We’ll stay seated until Riley deplanes.” Her partner had been relegated to coach during the flight to keep an eye on other passengers as they boarded.
The author stopped fiddling with her seat belt and heaved a sigh, her narrow shoulders slumping inward. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that Byron accepted my case. The local authorities didn’t take me seriously when I told them about the letters.”
Until now, Shelby hadn’t noticed any distress from the other woman regarding the threats. Most clients maintained a healthy paranoia that actually made her job easier. If a client was a little bit afraid, they usually didn’t take unnecessary chances like flying alone to New York. Shelby was impressed with the elderly woman who faced death, yet hadn’t let it paralyze her.
“Our lab is looking into the letters. We’re working with the NYPD on the homicide, but they have jurisdiction. Regardless, we’ll get to the bottom of the threats and bring the killer to justice.”
“I’m grateful you’re here with me.” Another sigh. “I didn’t want to believe it was truly happening. But after that poor girl…”
Shelby wondered when she’d get an update on the maid. Knowing more about what occurred in the author’s hotel room could reduce risking her client to more exposure. She laid a hand over Ms. Kane’s hand, surprised to find it shaking. The older woman demonstrated amazing fortitude, but Shelby needed to remember she was probably more fragile than she appeared. “You were prudent to contact Northstar.”
“The entire situation feels like it’s happening to someone else. I wish I knew why writing this book has caused such a stir. It’s a simple story about my life.”
“Try not to worry.” Shelby gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it. “I’m here for your protection. If we need more help, we can contact local law enforcement.” She hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but Northstar did have the power to make that request, if necessary.
Ms. Kane’s shoulders drooped. “I wish my nephew would believe me.”
Personally, Shelby didn’t understand how any relative wouldn’t come running when a family member cried for help. Not having a family of her own, she thought it shameful that Ms. Kane’s nephew didn’t appreciate what he had.
The older woman turned to look at Shelby. “He doesn’t much care for you, you know.”
Shelby stiffened. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met your nephew.”
“Well, of course you haven’t.” She smiled. “I meant he doesn’t like your firm.”
Shelby grimaced. “Allison told me about the shooting incident. I hope he’s fully recovered.”
“He has. Except, the stubborn boy is just as serious as he’s ever been. You’d think coming so close to death would’ve mellowed him some. You know, since these threats, I’ve been thinking about my own demise. I find life all the more worth grabbing onto and never letting go. Why, just last month…”
Shelby discovered during the long flight that Ms. Kane was prone to share personal thoughts and feelings. If her manuscript followed the same vein of storytelling, it was no wonder she was a popular author. A tell-all from a jilted Mafia fiancée would probably make a bestseller.
During the flight, Shelby had read about a third of the data on the flas
h drive. So far, nothing in her charge’s past shed any light on why someone was willing to kill to stop her book. In addition, the data was chronologically backward. When O’Neal had compiled the information, he must have believed the threats were from someone in her recent history instead of her past. What kind of enemies could the famous author have made that justified murder?
They remained seated as passengers filed out. Shelby noted each one. Harried parents with their children making a holiday trip to Disneyland, businessmen on their cell phones, college students on Christmas break. No one took notice of two white-haired women chatting quietly in first class.
Riley passed them on his way to the front of the plane, his eyes performing the same scan. He nodded to Shelby as he headed toward the exit.
“It’s time.” She unfastened her seat belt and stood.
“Oh. Goodness.” Ms. Kane gave an embarrassed smile. “I should pay more attention.”
“You’re doing fine,” Shelby assured her. “We don’t want you to act any differently. That’s why I’m here—to let you be yourself.”
“I’m glad.” The author stood and tugged her sweater closer around her shoulders. “Oh! I’ve completely forgotten to ask about your typing skills.”
“I’m pretty sure I can do what you need.” Shelby wasn’t a whiz, but felt reasonably certain she’d be able to keep up for the next couple of weeks.
Guilt formed a knot in her chest as she thought about what she’d be missing during those days. She’d be breaking a Christmas promise to a child. Something she’d told herself she’d never do. But there wasn’t anything she could do to change that now.
Pulling their carry-on bags out of the overhead, she checked the signal on her cell phone, and then slipped into the aisle to precede her client through the exit. She’d borrowed one of the woman’s sweaters, and although there wasn’t anything she could do about the style of her hair, at a glance, she might be a good enough decoy to detract unwanted attention from her charge. The author may have shrunk some for her age, but was as tall as her own five foot four. At least Shelby didn’t have to slouch or round her shoulders as she’d seen so often in older people. Ms. Kane maintained a stately posture.
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