Dead Reckoning

by Linda Castillo

  “I’ll let him know you were concerned,” she said.

  “I appreciate that.” The man opened the door.

  “What’s your name?” Kate called out.

  “Jesus.” He backed through the door and disappeared into the night.

  ELEVEN

  SATURDAY, JANUARY 28, 7:04 A. M.

  Frank was no stranger to the unpleasant aftereffects of overindulgence. But the son of a bitch inside his head hammering his brain with the baseball bat was taking things a little too far this morning.

  Rolling onto his side, he opened one eye and stared at the alarm clock a full minute before his brain was able to translate the numbers into something meaningful. For an instant he considered going back to sleep and blowing off whatever he’d had planned for the day—not that he remembered what day it was. But he’d already lost at least one day this week. He didn’t think his surly boss would tolerate another.

  A moan ground in his throat when he sat upright. Dizziness swirled when he swung his feet over the side of the bed and set them on the floor. Nausea churned in his gut, but it wasn’t bad enough to send him stumbling to the toilet. That was probably a good thing since he wasn’t sure he could make it anyway.

  The good news was his leg wasn’t hurting. At some point during the night, the mangled nerves that ran from ankle to hip had calmed. The cramps had left his muscles sore, but the pain was gone. Definitely something to be thankful for.

  The thought of coffee got him through the door. In the hall he staggered, hit his hip on the jamb, and walked unsteadily into the kitchen. He hit the lights, winced at the sudden brightness, and flicked them quickly off. At the counter he began the ritual of making coffee. Water in the reservoir. Grounds in the filter. Once the coffee was brewing, he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and splash water on his face.

  So far, so good. Frank Matrone had survived the night. Five minutes and he was still standing. No pain. No pills. The day was definitely looking up.

  Back in the kitchen, he ran the tap and downed a full glass of water. He was in the process of taking his City of Dallas PD cup from the shelf when the sight of the briefcase and laptop on the dining room table stopped him cold.

  What the hell?

  Frank stared, baffled. The first thought that registered was that it wasn’t his. The second thought that struck him was that he had absolutely no idea how it had gotten there, or who the owner was. He had a sinking feeling he wasn’t going to like what he discovered.

  Coffee forgotten, he left the kitchen and limped to the dining room table. The laptop was a sleek, top-of-the-line model. A brown expanding legal fold jammed full of paper and manila folders sat on the chair. Briefs and legal documents, if he wasn’t mistaken. The slim, black leather briefcase looked vaguely familiar. . . .

  He entered the living room. The blinds were closed, casting the room in shadows. He checked the front door, found it locked. He turned to inspect the rest of the house—and got the surprise of his life.

  Kate Megason lay curled on the sofa, fast asleep. Frank stared, aware that his heart had begun to pound. All the while his mind scrolled through the black abyss of his memory bank, searching desperately for anything that might explain her presence. Had she come by to see him the night before? Had he let her in? Had they talked? Had she seen him snot-slinging, knuckle-dragging wasted? Why the hell couldn’t he remember?

  But Frank knew damn good and well why he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember because he’d stepped onto a rocket and taken a trip to the moon courtesy of an array of prescription painkillers and half a bottle of vodka. The official term for it was blackout. In the last year he’d spent more time in that soundless, colorless void than he cared to admit. It was his deep, dark secret. A secret he wasn’t proud of. Something he definitely didn’t want to share with his boss.

  For the first time in a long time, he was embarrassed. Worse, he was ashamed. Ashamed of what he had let himself become. His mind scrambled for an explanation he could offer her, but there was no way she was going to buy some lame justification. Kate Megason might be uptight, but she wasn’t stupid.

  She looked soft and feminine and somehow vulnerable lying on his sofa with her hand tucked beneath her cheek. Her skin was as flawless and pale as a baby’s. Her lashes and brows were black as velvet against her creamy complexion. She was lying on her side with one leg drawn up slightly. At some point, she’d removed her shoes and placed them neatly beside the sofa. They were black leather with high heels and a single thin strap. Frank had never been unduly interested in women’s feet, but Kate Megason’s were sexy as hell. Through her nylons he could see that her toenails were glossy and red.

  She’d removed her suit jacket and draped it over the sofa arm. He’d never seen her without it. That was a shame because she had some very intriguing curves. She was wearing a white silk blouse. Even though only one button had been left open, the collar gaped slightly and he could see the curve of her breast, the white lace of her bra.

  Her skirt had ridden up slightly, revealing a slender thigh, and for the span of several heartbeats he couldn’t take his eyes off that dangerous stretch of flesh. She was long and slender with just enough flesh to make a man want to put his hands on her. Her legs were long and shapely, and he wondered what it would be like to have them wrapped around his hips. If she would whisper his name as he pumped in and out of her. He wondered if Kate Megason ever lost control. . . .

  He scrubbed a hand over his face, aware that his beard was heavy. That his cock was hard as a rock, despite the fact that he had a hangover and was pretty sure the woman he was fantasizing about was going to fire him the instant she woke up.

  Frank couldn’t blame her. His work ethic hadn’t exactly been stellar as of late. Hell, if he were in her shoes, he’d do the same thing. There was no place for a junkie in the DA’s office.

  Disgusted with himself, he turned and started toward the bedroom.

  “Matrone.”

  Kate’s voice stopped him mid-stride. For several long, uncomfortable seconds he stood with his back to her. He didn’t want to face her. Not only was he hung over and in no mood for a lecture—or the inevitable end of his short-lived career with the DA’s office—but his erection was still at half-staff. Like a lot of other things, he didn’t think he could explain it away and still save face.

  Knowing he didn’t have a choice, he slowly turned to face her. She’d already risen and had bent lightly to tug at her skirt. Her hair was mussed. Her mouth was pale and full. She looked flustered and annoyed and very, very sexy.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, the words coming more harshly than he’d intended.

  “In case you don’t remember, you didn’t show up for work yesterday. I came over last night to find out why.”

  “Did you find out why?”

  “I have a pretty good idea.” Her gaze searched his, as if she were seeking some elusive answer in the depths of his eyes.

  But Frank knew she wouldn’t find any answers by looking at him. He didn’t have any answers. Not even for himself. “Look, Kate, I appreciate your concern, but I had some things come up yesterday.”

  “Had some things come up?” Her expression turned incredulous. “Frank, you were so wasted, you couldn’t stand.”

  “I didn’t know you were coming over. I’d had a rough day—”

  “You of all people should know how dangerous it is to mix drugs and alcohol.”

  Surprise speared him that she knew about the pills. How the hell had she found out? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Turning away, he started toward the kitchen. But if he thought pouring himself a cup of coffee would garner him a moment to gather his thoughts and come up with a reasonable excuse as to why she’d found him in the condition she had, he was wrong.

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  In the kitchen he crossed to the coffeemaker and did his best to ignore her while he dumped coffee into a mug. The thought
crossed his mind that he should offer her a cup, but the truth of the matter was he didn’t want her there. He didn’t want to talk about last night or the hundreds of other nights he’d spent in the throes of oblivion because he’d been hurting too badly to face life unanesthetized.

  Turning abruptly, she left the kitchen. “Great,” he muttered, anticipating the slam of the front door.

  He was standing at the counter, gripping his cup of coffee, when she strode back into the room holding the brown prescription bottles like weapons. “Frank, my God. You were a cop. You’ve seen what this stuff can do to people.”

  All he could think was that he was living proof of what it could do to people. “They’re legal.”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “You don’t know the whole story.”

  “I know what I saw.”

  “Look, Kate, I’m not some fucking junkie, so don’t treat me like one. That prescription was given to me by my doctor.”

  “I don’t think he told you to take them with a bottle of vodka.”

  Gritting his teeth, Frank took the only route he had left and lied. “I wasn’t drinking last night.”

  “You’re lying. Damn it, I smelled it on your breath. Your neighbor told me it’s not the first time.”

  “I guess my secret is out,” he said.

  Kate just stared at him, shaking her head.

  Frank crossed to her, took the prescription from her, and set it on the counter. “Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but I was injured when I was in the military. I suffer from chronic pain. Yesterday was a bad fucking day. I had a couple of drinks, got the dose mixed up. You show up and start jumping to conclusions.”

  “You want to know what I think?”

  “Not particularly.” He sipped coffee, trying not to react when he burned his lip.

  “I think you’re telling the truth about the chronic pain. But I think there are some other things going on that you either don’t want to face or don’t want me to know.”

  Frank said nothing. He didn’t want to hear what he knew she was going to say next.

  “I think this prescription has turned into a problem for you. I think that’s why you can’t get to work on time. And I think it’s why you didn’t show up yesterday.” She looked at his trembling hands and shook her head. “I think that’s why you can barely hold that cup this morning.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Frank, you’re smart enough to know when you’re in trouble. If you need help—”

  The surge of anger struck him like a tidal wave. He stared at her, aware that his heart was pounding. That she was beautiful and perfect and standing there judging him when she had absolutely no idea what he had been through. He thought she probably couldn’t imagine half of what had happened to him in the last year. And it made him furious.

  Cursing, he hurled the mug into the sink. Glass shattered. Coffee spewed. Kate gasped and took a quick step back, her eyes wide and shocked.

  For several uncomfortable seconds, they stared at each other, both of them too stunned to speak.

  Frank couldn’t believe he’d done that. That he’d lost his temper when she was only trying to help. He should be thankful someone in this world cared enough to say the things she had said. But there was a small part of him that was furious. A small part of him that was terrified he’d fallen too far to ever claw his way out of the deep, dark hole he was in.

  “If you’re going to fire me, now is probably a prime opportunity,” he said after a moment.

  “I’m not going to fire you.”

  Frank lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. You caught me at a bad time.”

  “If you don’t get some help, you’re going to be having a lot of bad times.” Turning away from him abruptly, she strode briskly into the dining room.

  He watched her slide the laptop into its case, and wondered if he would still have a job by the end of the day. The investigator position was the only opportunity he’d had since coming back from the Middle East. He hadn’t been very excited by the idea of working with a bunch of lawyers, but he knew there wasn’t a whole lot more he could do. There wasn’t a real high demand for an ex-cop with a bum leg, a boatload of personal demons, and a drug habit.

  “Kate,” he began.

  She cut him off neatly by snapping her briefcase closed. “I’m leaving,” she said crisply. “I suggest you clean up your act.”

  Frank stood in the doorway and watched her cross to the front door and let herself out.

  TWELVE

  MONDAY, JANUARY 30, 3:23 P.M.

  The woman in the red power suit and Via Spiga pumps didn’t bother knocking before entering his office. “Megason is still digging.”

  The man looked up from his laptop and frowned. “How do you know?”

  “I just received a call from Quorum. She’s called twice. Asking questions, wanting names.”

  The man tried to look unaffected by the news, but he didn’t like the idea of someone like Kate Megason asking questions. “That’s probably routine.”

  “I still don’t like it.” Shaking her head, she dropped into the visitor’s chair. “If she digs too deep, she’s going to find something.” The woman’s eyes were troubled. “We’ve got to protect our interests.”

  He considered her, wondering if she really had the stomach for what he was thinking. “Let me make some calls, and see if I can come up with a fix.”

  “What kind of fix do you have in mind?”

  “The problem will fix itself once we get Megason under control.”

  “From what I hear, I don’t think she’s the kind of person who can be controlled.”

  “Everyone can be controlled with the right tools.” He smiled. “Or in this case, information.”

  “You have something on her?”

  “I have something on everyone.” He smiled. “Including you.”

  She laughed, but he didn’t miss the flicker of unease in her eyes. Good, he thought. She was wary of him. He would make it a point to keep it that way.

  He reached into his briefcase, withdrew a file and passed it to her across the desk. “I’ve found a big chink in Kate Megason’s armor.”

  The woman looked down at the dossier someone had painstakingly compiled. Her mouth quivered with a smile as she began to read. “My God, are you sure about this? Where did you get this information?”

  “Information is my specialty,” he said vaguely. “In the right hands information can be more effective than any weapon. In this case I’d say this qualifies as a nuclear blast, don’t you think?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

  “I didn’t think it was necessary.” He paused. “Until now, anyway.”

  “How can we use this?” she asked, shaking the document.

  “Leave that to me.” Lacing his hands behind his head, he leaned back in his chair and wondered if she had any idea the lengths he would go to in order to protect himself. If she realized those lengths included sacrificing her.

  “If she’s as tough as everyone says, she’s not going to back off,” she said.

  He considered that for a moment, vaguely impressed by her ability to anticipate problems. And he remembered that was why he had taken her on as his partner. He only hoped her spine proved to be as worthy as her mind. “She’ll back off.”

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  “Let’s suffice it to say I’ll do whatever necessary to make sure she does.” He smiled at the possibilities.

  TUESDAY, JANUARY 31, 9:04 A.M.

  For the second time in a week Kate was sitting in Mike Shelley’s office wondering why she was wasting time on an unnecessary meeting when her time would be used more effectively if she were working.

  After the fiasco at Frank’s house on Saturday, she’d called Mike first thing Monday morning and told him everything. When she’d walked out of Mike’s office an hour later, she’d felt confident he would re
move Frank from the case, urge him to take a leave of absence, and, perhaps, enlist in some type of rehab program.

  She should have known politics would get in the way.

  The tension in the room was palpable. Mike Shelley sat behind his desk, looking like a disappointed parent as his eyes drifted from Kate to Frank and back to Kate. Matrone sat in the second visitor chair with his ankle crossed over his knee, looking like he’d rather be getting a root canal.

  “I’m assuming both of you know why you’re here,” Mike said.

  “I’m getting a pretty good picture,” Frank muttered.

  “All I want is what’s best for the case, Mike. You know that.” But judging from the DA’s expression, she had the sinking feeling the meeting wasn’t going to turn out the way she wanted it to.

  Sighing, Mike looked at Kate. “I understand your concerns and I share them.”

  “Do you?” she asked tightly.

  His gaze flicked to Frank. “Frank and I met yesterday afternoon and have discussed the issue at length.”

  “I wasn’t aware that he’d shown up for work yesterday,” she said dryly.

  “I was working off premises,” Frank cut in.

  “Children.” Mike raised his hands. “Look, we’re all professionals here.”

  “One of us is,” Kate muttered.

  “Kate—”

  “Mike, with all due respect, I have a case to prosecute. I need someone I can count—”

  “I have an office to run,” Mike cut in. “I suggest you two work it out. I do not want to have this meeting again.”

  She couldn’t believe her request had been dismissed so easily. All she could think was that someone very high on the food chain had saved Frank Matrone’s ass and now she was going to pay the price.

  Her glare swept from Mike to Frank. “At the very least I need him to show up at the office.”