Deadly Dreams (38 page)

Touched, she smiled at him. “Thanks, Eddie. I’d like to come by sometime to see Renee and the family, but I don’t want to disrupt your home. The hospital released Hannah this afternoon and I’ve already got her situated.” And the argument she’d lost in that regard still rankled. “The next-door neighbor is the son of my mom’s best friend. She’s gone now. But he offered to let her stay there.” Hannah was jittery enough to be attracted by that familiarity, Risa realized now. She couldn’t go home, but she was as comfortable in Eleanor’s house as she would be in her own. Surrounded by a neighborhood that represented the longest time she’d spent in one place in . . . well, maybe in forever.

Some of the earlier ire she’d felt when they’d had this discussion faded. Although Risa would prefer having her mother with her, it might be safer for the older woman if she wasn’t.

Because
if
the offender had targeted Risa on account of those sketches, he just might try again since she’d survived the fire. She’d like Hannah far away from her if that happened.

“That still leaves you,” Eddie pointed out.

She waved a hand. “I’ll get a hotel.” Not one close to work or the hospital, as she’d already found out when she’d spent an hour on the phone that afternoon. It was Saturday, after all, and a sell-out concert, coupled with a home game for the Phillies, was making the search challenging. Risa had no doubt she’d have better luck looking farther out. The thought held little appeal. Which is why she decided more calling could wait a few hours. If nothing else, she could stretch out in the CCU waiting room that evening.

Apparently satisfied, Morales switched the subject. “Doubtful this has anything to do with us, but I did get word of another police slaying last night.”

Risa practically bolted upward in her chair. “What? Where?”

“Nothing like our case. The victim’s name was Joseph Mauro. It would have been ruled a suicide. The victim definitely ate his gun. Gray matter all over the place. Residue on his hand. But he had a different caliber bullet in his chest and that weapon wasn’t found. Had to have been a second party in the room.” He shook his head. “Why someone would shoot him when he was committing suicide anyway is anyone’s guess. But because of the suspicious manner in which it happened, we got tipped off, in case it ties in with ours somehow.”

“Do you have a photo of Mauro?” Nate rolled his shoulders when the captain looked at him. “I’ll add it to the ones I gave Tomey and Edwards.”

“I can get it to you.” Morales stepped forward to pat Risa’s shoulder. “Glad you and your mom are okay. And what’s the update on Raiker?”

“His condition has been upgraded to serious. He isn’t conscious for long periods of time, but he did speak this afternoon when I was in with him.” Her mouth quirked. “He said, ‘Get me the hell out of here.’ ”

The two men smiled. “A man after my own heart,” Eduardo said. He crossed to the door. “I’ll track down the picture of Mauro for you,” he told Nate. And then to Risa, he said, “Darrell’s still on duty. I’ll have him look into getting a hotel room for you.”

“That’s not necessary . . .”

“Let’s see what he can do.” Eddie winked. “The guy’s a magician sometimes.”

When the door had closed behind him, she looked at Nate. Couldn’t identify the expression he was regarding her with. “Listen,” she said, a bit unsteadily. “About last night . . .” She needed to tell him that she’d appreciated his presence. His strength. Even while panic still flickered at how natural it had seemed to lean on him. To accept support when she was much more used to relying only on herself.

She didn’t get any of it out. Because Nate was on his feet and rounding the desk. He had her hauled out of her chair and into his arms with a sneaky ease that she might have suspected came with long practice. If she’d been thinking.

When his mouth settled over hers, surprise held her still for the first few seconds. But then a familiar weakness stole to her knees. Her arms went around his hard waist, and she returned the pressure of his mouth with her own. His kiss was demanding. Edged with desperation. It fired an immediate answering response as heat rocketed through her system. When he tore his lips away a moment later, it was all she could do not to haul them back to hers.

His voice, when it came, sounded as raspy as her own. “Twice in twenty-four hours is a bit much to take.”

His arms loosened and she tilted her head back, comprehension filtering slowly through the haze of desire. “First seeing you covered in Adam’s blood. Then hearing you’d barely escaped a fire with your life.”

Awkwardly, she stepped away, uncomfortable with both the gesture and the sentiment. And her emotional responses to each. “I’m sure it was a shock.”

“Not as big a shock as recognizing how hard it hit me, thinking you’d been hurt.” His words were blunt. The look in his narrowed midnight gaze intent. “I didn’t expect this. Don’t want it. But lots of things are jumping up to knock me on my ass recently, so why should you be any different?”

She wasn’t following his meaning. She didn’t
want
to follow his meaning. The conversation was skating much too close to the personal, and she was usually careful to avoid that. Notwithstanding the last couple minutes. Carefully, she responded, “I haven’t knocked you on your ass, McGuire. Although if you ever agree to a little one-on-one, you’d probably end up there. Just saying.”

The gibe brought a quirk to his mouth, but his gaze remained fixed on her. “I’ve got female friends. I know how I’m supposed to feel when one of them gets hurt or catches a bad break. I damn well know that it shouldn’t be like taking a brick to the chest. I don’t want to feel this.”

Panic was starting to steal in. One sneaky inch at a time. “Then don’t.”

“That’s all you’ve got? Just order the emotions aside and ignore them?”

She felt hunted. “It could work.”

“It doesn’t work for me,” he said flatly. “Timing hasn’t always exactly gone in my favor. But this? Between us?” He waggled his index from one of them to the other. “There’s something here that can’t be ignored. I won’t let you ignore it. Just fair warning.”

She watched him move back to his desk, wanting to get her hands on that brick he’d mentioned earlier so she could heave it at his arrogant head. “You won’t
let
me?”

“Poor choice of words. Blame it on the late night. The worry about you. Oh, and throw in the fact that my sister took off, my nephew in tow, for parts unknown last night, and yeah, I’m probably lacking a bit of my usual finesse. Give me twelve hours of sleep and this case solved, and I’ll do better.”

Her temper dissipated as quickly as it had flared. “You don’t know where they went?”

He gave her a tight smile. “The workings of my sister’s mind have long been a mystery. She resents me, has since we were kids, really.” He rolled his shoulders, looked away. “Can’t say I blame her. I was the football star, the one the parents were always bragging on. She was five years younger and had to fight just to get noticed. It . . . shaped her, I guess. By the time she was a teen, she was searching for more and more outrageous ways to get their attention. And she got it, all negative.” His expression turned guilty. “I was in college by then, but my folks still attended the games. It was a vicious cycle for her.”

She contemplated him, glad for not the first time that she’d never had siblings. “She wouldn’t have gone to see your parents?”

He shook his head, picked up a pen from his desk, and clicked it. “They died within a few months of each other about seven years ago. They never knew Tucker.” An unwilling smile tugged at his lips. “They would have loved Tuck. He’s a great kid. Anyway.” He set the pen down again. It began a slow roll to the edge of his desk. “I’ve got someone working to track her down. Kristin still has custody; there’s not much to do about her leaving. I just want to make sure they’re okay.”

“I hope you find them,” she said softly. Seemed like both of them had been through an emotional wringer in the last eighteen hours or so. And likely that’s what had elicited his unexpected declaration. The thought should have made her feel better. Somehow it didn’t.

He reached out to nab the pen before it fell to the floor as a knock sounded at the door. It pushed open a ways and Darrell appeared. He held a piece of paper out toward Risa. “I haven’t found anything yet for tonight, but here’s a couple hotels not too far from here that would have a room starting tomorrow.”

“Wow. You work fast.” She got up to take it from him.

“I know a gal who’s a travel agent. I’ll keep you posted if something else turns up. Also . . .” His gaze encompassed her and Nate. “They just showed someone to interview two. A Sergeant Walter Eggers. I was told you wanted to see him.”

“Thanks, Darrell.”

When he’d withdrawn, Risa sent a frown to Nate. “Why do we want to see him?”

“Because we’ve got an ID on ‘Johnny’ from the video.” Nate rose, picking up a notebook that was sitting on the corner of his desk from this morning. “And he just happens to be a Philadelphia police detective.”

Adrenaline kicked through her veins. Had her beating Nate to the door. “Then Darrell was right. We definitely want to see him.”

Walt Eggers sat motionless in the chair, his hands on his lap. Alarm was doing a fast skitter up his spine, but he’d be damned if he’d show it. He knew how these things worked. He’d been on the other side of the table more times than he could recall. There might be someone behind the mirrored glass on the far side of the room. Somebody else monitoring the video recording from that camera secured above the door. And McGuire himself would be watching for nervous tics. Telltale body language. Convince the cops you had nothing to hide and you were halfway home.

Except that he hadn’t expected to end up in a formal interview. He swallowed convulsively. Best-case scenario, he’d hoped to maybe waltz in here, talk to McGuire cop-to-cop. Answer any questions he had as truthfully as possible while still lying his ass off on pertinent details. Get a slap on the back for his cooperation.

His palms were damp. He resisted the urge to wipe them on the front of his pants. Anyone reviewing the tape would take that as a sign of nerves for sure. So he wouldn’t offer to shake hands. Problem solved.

Every problem could be solved if a person had the brains.

Minutes ticked by. He might have gotten away with feigning impatience, glancing at his watch, but he was keeping it cool for now. It gave him time to think through the scene logically. Plan out the best strategy.

He’d about shit himself when his captain had passed along the “request” to see McGuire today. The captain had been none too pleased either. Bastard still was pissed about the IA bullshit. Once the panic had receded though, he’d been able to think more clearly. And he was almost certain there was no fucking way this was tied to him being there when Jonas offed himself last night.

The task force wouldn’t care about Jonas unless they’d tied him to the Cop Killer. And even if they had, nothing tied Walt to Jonas. It was too early for any forensic evidence to have come back from that scene, so that wasn’t it. And it’d been too damn dark for anyone to ID him. So this wasn’t about last night.

Unless the son of a bitch had written more than one letter.

Walt could feel perspiration pop out on his forehead. What if he’d sent one to the task force? Then planned to eat his gun and let the rest of them take the heat for it the next day? Walt figured the odds of that were about twenty-eighty. Which didn’t exactly calm his nerves.

A sweating interviewee put a cop’s instincts on full alert. He made a production of taking out a handkerchief. Wiping his nose and doing a quick swipe of his forehead while he was at it. Then went to work on his nose again. Better to be thought a nose picker than someone sweating out the thought of answering a few questions.

He wadded up the handkerchief in his right palm, sopping up the dampness there before putting it back in his pocket. Sleight of hand. A measure of his normal confidence returned. Fuck McGuire. Walt Eggers had been around long enough to outwit some hotshot cowboy. Probably thought he was the shit because he’d gotten himself named to lead the task force. The pricks with big egos were always the easiest to fool.

The door pushed open. He forced himself to breathe evenly. Maybe let a little impatience show in his expression. Bullshit power play when you’re interviewing another cop, but mostly he was all cooperation. With a little puzzled thrown in for good measure.

A woman entered first. A looker, too, with legs long enough to strap around a man while he pounded it to her. McGuire was right behind her. Walt had caught him on the televised press releases a time or two, looking like a gutless monkey standing silently next to the commissioner while he used valuable air time to say exactly nothing.

“McGuire?” He rose. Held out his hand. Better to take the initiative in these things. “Walt Eggers. Got a message you wanted to see me. Came right after my shift.”