Dangerous (13 page)

“When we get him…”
A promise,
Camille thought. “…you can come back into the light.”

“I-I don't understand.” Noreen looked from her to Drago. “How did you even know about me?”

“Through a friend,” Drago said. “He put the word out on this Angel and your name came back to him.”

He then explained how they'd found her. LaShonda. Her mother. The book of matches.

“What do you think I can do? If you were hoping I could tell you where to find him…” She shook her head. “I'm sorry, but I don't have a clue.”

“Anything you can tell us might help.” Camille took a chance and took the other woman's hand. She felt its slight tremble. “Did you ever see him without that wig and makeup?”

Noreen shuddered. “Once.” She pulled her hand free. Arms wrapped around her middle, she began to pace. “Dark eyes. Dark hair shaved short. Tats on the right side of his face.”

Drago jumped on that. “So that's what he's been hiding with makeup! What kind of tattoos?”

“Mostly teardrops.”

“How many?”

“I-I'm not sure. Three maybe?”

“And were they outlines or filled in?” Drago asked.

Noreen thought about it for a moment. “Outlines.”

Drago locked in on Camille. “So he'd already killed three people.”

She nodded. If the teardrops had been filled in, that would have meant people he cared about had been killed.

“Three
other
women?” Noreen sounded horrified.

“Not necessarily. The teardrops are gang markings,” Drago explained. “Could be gang kills.”

“But he's killed women since.”

“Two,” Camille said. “That we know of.”

Noreen put a shaky hand to her mouth. “Their deaths are my fault.”

Camille shook her head. “It's not your fault.”

“Maybe if I had gone to the police, they would still be alive.”

True, but…“There's no guarantee we would have gotten him.” After all, they hadn't gotten him in time to save Leanne. Even as she said, “You can't blame yourself,” Camille felt a little two-faced. She'd never gotten over the guilt she lived with for her friend Emily's murder. “You didn't kill those women. He did.”

“How long did that bastard have you before you escaped?” Drago asked.

“I don't know. Days. I lost track of time. He lived in some kind of abandoned building, windows boarded up. A real old place with old lighting fixtures and weird knobs on the wall to turn them on. Kept me locked in a dark closet when he wasn't there.” Noreen squeezed her eyes shut. “Better than when he was there.”

“How did you get away?”

“I didn't plan it. I kept thinking maybe he would let me go. And then I realized he wasn't going to. I think I knew on some level that he was getting ready to end me. He didn't care anymore, but he made me curl my hair and put on disgusting makeup, made me dress in cheap clothes, like he wanted me to look like someone else. That's when I knew I had to do something.”

Camille's breath caught in her throat. What she was describing is the way they found the other victims. No doubt Noreen had been justified in thinking Angel was ready to kill her. Probably that very night.

“What happened?” she asked. “How did you get away?”

“He'd been drinking and got careless. I guess I was always so scared he didn't think I had it in me. But I was desperate, and he'd left empty beer bottles all over. I told him I had to go to the bathroom. He got distracted by a text and I swiped one of the bottles and took it in with me. I wrapped it in a towel, and when I flushed the toilet, I used the noise to cover. I smashed the bottle against the sink and broke it.”

“You used the broken glass on him?”

She nodded. “I practically ripped out his right cheek. I ran. His screams followed me out of the building, made me run faster. I ran until I couldn't run anymore. I ended up in the park. Some woman with two kids saw me and asked if I was all right. She let me use her cell phone, and my mom came and got me. She wanted to take me to the police, but I wouldn't go. Now those other women…”

Noreen started crying, loud sobs that cut through Camille. She put her arms around the other woman, her gaze locking with Drago's. Even as she comforted the woman who had escaped death, Camille thought about the things she would like to do to Angel herself. Now they had their lead, but even if they learned the killer's real identity, he could go into hiding, and they had no clue as to where to find him.

As if they were in tune to the same problem, Drago asked, “What park?”

Noreen sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “What?”

Considering Drago knew the Humboldt Park area far better than she did, Camille let go of Noreen and let him take the lead.

“The park where the woman loaned you her cell.”

“Humboldt. Near the lagoon.”

Where Angel had left the first victim's body, Camille thought.

“Which direction did you come from?”

“I d-don't know. I was panicked.”

“Think about where you came in. Was it near the boathouse?”

Noreen's forehead pulled tight. “No. That was on the other side of the road.”

“The field house, then.”

“I remember seeing it…but it was the beach. I remember passing the softball field to my left. The woman and her kids were coming from the beach. Does that help?”

“That tells us you were running east. So you were being held west of the park. North of Division. When you ran, did you go around corners? Change blocks?”

“A couple of times, so I could get off his street. But I-I think I was still running in the same direction.”

“Any idea of how far?”

“Until I couldn't breathe. A mile, maybe? I-I don't know.”

She was starting to sound panicky, so Camille stepped in. “You did good, Noreen. Really good. But there's someone else I want you to talk to.”

“Who?”

“His name is Detective Eli Jackson. He's officially in charge of the task force.”

“But I just told you everything I know.”

“Yes, but the more people who hear your story, the more minds we have thinking, trying to outsmart that bastard. Jackson will have the area crawling with officers looking for Angel.”

Though she appeared panicked, Noreen nodded. “Whatever you say.”

“I still can't believe she just disappeared like that. I was sure I had her.”

In a dark mood himself, Drago felt Camille's keen disappoint
ment. By the time Jackson had arrived at the club to talk to Noreen, the young woman had been gone.

“How on God's earth did you let her get away?” Jackson asked.

“She said she had to use the toilet. When she didn't come out, I went in to look for her. Of course she wasn't there. The window was open.”

“She's terrified.” Drago didn't blame her after what she'd been through. “I'm going to guess she'll be in hiding until the headlines tell her she's safe. If then.”

They'd looked everywhere for her, had asked all the other employees, but no one had seen “Tara.” Or at least no one was talking. Now with the manager's blessing, they gathered in his office off the back hall to reconnoiter, the raucous noise of the club muffled so they could hear each other speak.

Jackson sighed. “So what did you get from the vic?”

“A lot,” Camille said, “starting with a description. Angel has dark eyes and dark hair, shaved short.”

“Or he did six months ago. What else?”

Jackson indicating that Angel could have changed his hair was logical, but having his hair shaved short was a popular gang thing, so Drago figured chances were their killer hadn't grown it out. “Angel is a gangbanger.” The words tasted like sand in his mouth. He'd been fighting the gangs since he was a kid, when they'd started trying to recruit him. The last time he'd seen Tomas Huerta, the leader of the Humboldt Lords and the reason he'd been locked up for six months, two teardrops had decorated his face. “Angel wears the tats—open teardrops. Three kills by the time he took Noreen.”

Camille filled Jackson in about how the victim had escaped using the broken beer bottle. There was a quiver in her voice that worried Drago. She was taking this all too personally, and doing so was taking its toll on her again.

“So now Angel is hiding more than tats under that makeup,” she said. “He must have a pretty ugly scar from the broken glass.”

“That might be of the most help,” Jackson said. “So this Noreen just ran? To where?”

“Humboldt Park.” Drago detailed how he'd figured she'd been held in a conversion loft a mile or so west of the beach in the park. “She couldn't be sure how far she'd run, but that ballpark narrows it down.”

A smaller area he could more easily work with. Titus's network extended throughout the surrounding neighborhoods, so the biker's contacts might be able to build on that information. Drago would call him first chance he got. There had to be some way Titus could use the knowledge.

“Can you call someone in the Gang Unit?” Camille asked Jackson.

“Already made a mental note to do that. Now that we have a description, we might be able to get a match.”

“That's what I was thinking.”

“You did good work. Great work. Both of you.” Jackson then gave Camille a look of regret. “A shame the vic got away. The lieutenant isn't going to be happy about that part. You know I had to tell him you made the call.”

“I understand.” Camille's voice was flat, lacking all emotion. “He'll have to do what he has to do about me, but I'm not stopping until we nail the bastard and bring Sandy home.”

Jackson nodded.

Drago tried to add a positive spin. “At least the chances of that happening just went up by light-years.”

It was late by the time they arrived back at her place. Drago had picked up some fast food and ate as he drove, but Camille had no appetite. She felt like her stomach was in a big fat knot. He didn't ask if she wanted company, just followed her inside. She didn't utter a word of protest. For the moment, she was out of fight. Once inside, she threw herself onto the couch and brooded—only then remembering Drago's threat to sleep on it.

Though she should be in a more hopeful mood now that they had a description of Angel and an idea of where to look for him, Noreen's disappearing felt like another failure on her part.

Her fault…all her fault…

The guilt was burned into her like a brand. First Emily, her childhood best friend. Then Leanne. Then Sandy.

Now Noreen.

What if something really bad happened to Noreen with her on the run again? The young woman had escaped Angel once. Had made a new secret life for herself. What if she decided to go home to her mother? Angel could be waiting for her to show up there.

Whatever happened to Noreen, Camille couldn't help but feel responsible for that, too.

Turning and twisting to get comfortable, she rested the side of her head against the couch back and pulled up her knees, tucking her feet on the couch cushion. She wished she had Max to comfort her. Bad her, she let the dog sit on the couch to keep her company. Her arms around his big, warm body would feel really great right now. He would whine and lick her face and bump his head under her chin as if he was trying to get inside her skin. That dog loved her like no one other than her family ever had. Max had so quickly become part of her life…maybe because she had no real life to speak of. The job was it. And if she lost the job because she refused to sit on the sidelines on her own case, what then?

“Here, drink this.”

She started. Drago was standing over her, offering her a glass of red wine. He held another in his hand. She'd forgotten he was there, hadn't even been aware of him moving around her apartment. He'd obviously found her stash of wine in the small cabinet near the fireplace.

“How long did you have to snoop around before you found this?” She straightened and took the glass.

“Not long.” He sat on the couch, keeping a comfortable distance between them. “I thought you needed something to help you unwind.”

“I'm
not
wound up.”

“Of course not.” But the look he gave her put the lie to her words. “Just enjoy your wine.” He held up his glass. “To a great partnership.”

“Great?”

“Great.” He took a sip. “And to a better day tomorrow.”

A better day. Was that even possible? Today had been a success until the moment she'd realized Noreen was gone. “I can drink to that. To a day when we put a stop to Angel and return Sandy to her home.” But she had to admit that being positive was getting harder by the hour.

They sat drinking in companionable quiet for a few minutes, Camille's stomach gradually unknotting. As one type of tension abated, another took hold of her when she realized Drago was focused on her. In the low light of a single lamp, his blue eyes pierced her, as if he was trying to find her vulnerable spot. One he could use to get closer to her. His silent appraisal sent a flush of warmth from her belly outward.

She remembered it had been like this four years ago, from the moment they set eyes on each other. There had been no doubt they would leave the bar together.

A sip of wine for courage and she asked, “Do you remember the night we met?”

“How could I forget it?”

“You came in the bar, looking for Justus—”

“And found you, instead.” He saluted her with his wineglass. “Lucky me.”

“Did you ever tell him?”

He slowly shook his head. “You?”

“No, of course not.”

“Why the ‘of course'?”

She shrugged. “I don't discuss my personal life with my colleagues.”

“Did you have a personal life back then?”

Realizing he knew she didn't have one now, she reached a leg out and gave him a soft kick in the side of the thigh. Surprisingly, he didn't react.

“That's your answer? How should I take that?” he asked.

“That I think you're a smart ass.” Which he could be. He could also be smooth and seductive. And, as she'd found, a pretty scary ass, too.

“That's it? Nothing more?”

“More? As in…?”

“Was it a request?” he asked.

They were navigating uncharted territory. It wasn't like him to be so subtle. “I'm confused.”

“Nothing.”

“No, not nothing.” Camille tried to shake off the prickly feeling but failed. “What did you mean?”

“Drink your wine or…”

“Or what?”

“Or do what you really want to do.”

“That's clear as mud.”

“You want me to touch you back. But remember I said next time you'd have to ask. So why don't you?”

Why didn't she? The truth was, she wanted him. Truthful with herself, at least. And realistic. Having him was impossible.

She finally said, “I can't trust you, Drago Nance.”

“Excuse me?”

“I'm a cop and you consort with criminals.”

“You mean
other criminals
, don't you? Since in your eyes, I'm one, as well.”

Of course he was correct. He might have made a “time served” deal by pleading to a misdemeanor, but striking an official of the court was a felony. She knew Lucas Anderson, had worked with him on more than one case. He was a decent guy, aggressive and obsessed, but still not the kind of prosecutor people disliked. Apparently something had gone down that had roused Drago's temper, and as she'd seen for herself, he really could be dangerous when left unchecked.

But, right now, mellowed by the glass of wine, she wanted to give Drago the benefit of the doubt. Working with him had been quite an emotional experience, but for the most part, she had to give him credit for being as focused on the outcome as she was. Maybe having him, at least for one night, wasn't so impossible.

“What? No answer?” he asked. “What are you thinking?”

“That in some ways, we aren't so very different.”

He moved closer. Close enough to make her pulse speed up a little. And when he used that low, sexy tone to say, “Tell me more,” she felt her chest tighten more than a little.

“We both have good investigative skills.”

“Great skills.” He slid a little closer, making it difficult for her to concentrate. “What else?”

“We both want justice for the victims.” Of course, the way they went after that justice was the demarcation line, one she didn't want to cross.

Drago was so close she couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't push him away. But he wasn't making so much as a move on her.

Camille narrowed her gaze on him. “What are you up to?”

“Just waiting for you to ask.”

Seconds ticked by. He didn't move a muscle. They were close without touching. And still her body responded. Her nipples hardened as if waiting for his mouth to suckle them, and she felt a gush of wet warmth fill her vulva as if inviting his entry.

“You want me to move back where I was?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then what?”

This was it. The moment of truth. “I want you to touch me.” She wanted more than that. She wanted him to fill her, to make love to her, to put her out of her self-imposed misery.

He whispered, “I thought you would never ask,” as his mouth covered hers and he pulled her onto him between spread thighs.

His erection against her hip left her with no doubt as to where this kiss was going to take them if she didn't change her mind and stop him right now. She vaguely thought she should, but she didn't do anything but flush with desire at the touch of his hands on her breasts.

“I've dreamed about doing this,” he whispered, cupping their weight, his mouth seeking them out through her shirt and bra.

“With me?”

“Of course with you. You're the only woman who has ever invaded my dreams.”

She couldn't fight herself any longer. She couldn't deny herself what she really wanted. So when he unzipped her slacks and slid a hand inside the front of her panties, she opened to him and nearly came when his fingers parted the slick folds.

“Not so fast,” she whispered.

“Don't worry, there's more where this came from. Just let yourself go. We have all night.”

He was seducing her with talk. Fulfilling her with clever fingers that made her push up her hips to give him more access.

“I want you inside me,” she whispered.

“I am inside you.”

Just not the part of him she most wanted. She was tearing at his pants to get them open. His readied flesh sprang into her hand. She drew her fingers along his hard length to the head of soft, wet flesh.

“I want this.”

“You'll have it. But first…”

He thumbed her clit gently. Her hips rose without her thinking. She thrust wet flesh at him until he slipped a finger inside her the way he had that first time they were together. She remembered everything about that night, how he'd seen to her needs before his own, how they'd matched each other perfectly. The pressure built so that she lost her words, lost her mind, passion pushing her harder and faster against his hand, until the power of his touch made her explode from the inside out.