Hotshot (8 page)

Vince’s eye fell to her mouth. Held. Heated.

She tucked her tongue back in her mouth and looked away. “Just shaken up but okay. You’ve learned some new moves since we were teenagers.”

“Saw it in a James Bond movie.” He shrugged dismiss ively.

He had done that before, made a joke of life when everyone else was on the verge of tears. Yet he couldn’t be unaffected by this now. Fights they’d seen and been in seventeen years ago were too horribly parallel to the present. She felt it often enough in her job on a day-to-day basis, but having Vince here . . .

How could she not think of the worst night of all? Bullets had been flying, bodies falling. Vince throwing himself between her and the guns.

Except this time, no one had died. Yet.

Vince gripped her arm, his touch hot and solid. “At least sit down. You’re weaving on your feet.”

She eased herself to the curb. “Bomb threats and fire alarms are actually fairly common around here. So far, it’s always turned out to be a prank. One time a girl flipped the alarm on her way to the bathroom. Her mother had brought her in for a physical, and the teen didn’t want her mom to know she was pregnant. She figured tripping the switch would get her out of the appointment.”

That had been Amber.

Why hadn’t she thought of it until now? Amber couldn’t have had anything to do with this threat, too, could she? She’d been lucky to get off with a slap on the wrist before. What would she have to gain from such a risky move now?

Vince crouched down on one knee, his eyes alert, muscles straining at his blood-smeared white T-shirt. “Clearing the room sounds like a temporary fix.”

“You know how kids are. Many don’t think beyond today.” Maybe Amber hadn’t needed a reason.

“Any ideas who might be at fault this time?”

She shook her head, not ready to speak on that subject until she had her thoughts together. “I just wish I’d been able to grab my backpack when I checked my office, but I didn’t see it right away, and it seemed more important to get the heck out of there.”

“We’ll go back to the clinic once we’ve gotten the official all clear from the bomb squad.” He squeezed her shoulder, sending a shiver of something besides warm comfort down her spine.

She glanced up at him, into his eyes, eyes very guarded.

What didn’t he want her to see? And for that matter, another thought returned to niggle at her brain now that the threat seemed to have passed.

“Vince, I appreciate your help, but how did you know to come back?”

Paulina had made it through one bomb threat today, but she wondered how she would survive the other bombshell she would have to drop in Don’s lap before too much longer.

For now, she decided to be grateful the workday had ended without exploding a congressional witness—and Don’s daughter. She’d left the office in capable hands while she ate and slept.

With Don.

She sat across from him at her small dining room table, a Brahms ballade softly coating the thick silence between them. He stabbed his fork through the chicken soufflé, deflating it one poke at a time.

Soufflé?

Okay, so it was a casserole cooked with cream of mushroom soup like her mama used to bake in their tiny Kentucky backwoods trailer park. But the smell comforted her, making her feel loved and relaxed—feelings she’d thought Don would need after a day like today.

She’d figured wrong. He barely touched his food, and he certainly didn’t appear in the least relaxed.

Paulina rubbed her cloth napkin along a smudge on the clear glass tabletop. “Have you spoken to Shay?”

“No.” Poke. Jab. Bite.

“Why not?” she prodded, a lot gentler than he tore apart his mostly uneaten dinner.

“She’s probably busy giving statements.” He dropped his fork in favor of the crystal goblet and downed half the sparkling water with a lemon twist. “Deluca called to tell me she’s all right and that he’s making sure she’s settled for the night. If anything, I should be worried about Deluca’s boss chewing his ass for turning over the controls to the remote listening device and speeding away to the center. Scanlon’s normally cool, but he cursed up a blue streak over that one.”

She ignored his attempt to distract her with talk of work. She’d had more than enough of the office with Congressman Mooney’s aide calling her repeatedly for security updates. Thank God the overeager aide wasn’t in the loop on the air force angle, or her phone would be ringing off the hook. “Seems to me Shay would want to know you’re concerned.”

Paulina nudged a serving dish of steamed asparagus across the table—Jolly Green Giant straight from the can into a bone Waterford serving dish. She wasn’t much of a cook, but Don had never complained before.

He grunted, the glass table providing a clear view of his knee jostling with agitation.

She sagged back in her chair. “You take reticent to a whole new level.”

“Then let’s don’t talk.” He dumped half the asparagus on his plate.

“I would ask you to apologize for being rude, but I know you wouldn’t mean it.”

“How do you know what I mean if I won’t talk?” he snapped, using his fork to spear and double over a stalk of asparagus before shoveling it in his mouth.

“I can read your eyes.”

A tight smile pulled at his mouth as he swallowed. “A downside to seeing an agent. You have those super-spooky skills at reading body language.”

Seeing
an agent? Not even dating or being in a relationship. She tried not to let the nuances of his word choice sting. Tried. And failed. “I use my powers for good, not evil. Although it doesn’t take an expert to realize you would be upset tonight. Your daughter was in the middle of a bomb scare.”

“Shay’s all right. It’s over. No explosives were found in the building. The fight ended without serious injuries, just some bruises and a half-dozen teens cooling their heels for a few hours in a holding cell. With luck, Deluca’s team will figure out who’s responsible once they’ve had a chance to review the footage more closely. Crisis over for today.”

He finished his water, eating and drinking as if on autopilot, the way he did everything. Only during sex did she see an entirely different man.

“Stress doesn’t work that way. Humans can’t compartmentalize like a computer.” She’d lost count of how many times growing up she’d run out to the field of goldenrod behind the trailer park and screamed her frustration. These days, she went to the shooting range, letting her weapon shout for her. “And the crisis isn’t over until we make it through that congressional hearing.”

He set his fork down slowly, with only a small clink of metal against bone china. “Paulina, what are you doing?”

How far could she push him? “We’re talking.”

“We don’t do that. Unless it’s about work.”

“Maybe we should talk about something besides the current crisis at the office or what position of the
Kama Sutra
to try next.”

His eyes went from confused to assessing in a snap that reminded her he had as much interrogation training as she did, plus a few extra years of life seasoning. “Don’t go changing the rules, Paulina. We have a good thing, and I would hate for that to end.”

A threat?

Would he really walk out the door just because she wanted to commiserate about his daughter being in danger? A daughter she’d never met, only seeing her in photos and surveillance footage.

His face said he was already eying his walking shoes lined up neatly in the entryway.

She hated the spike of panic, even hated Don a little for causing it. Since she’d left that trailer behind at eighteen, she’d trained her butt off to be fearless in every aspect. That training also reminded her of the importance of not pushing too hard, too fast.

Time to backpedal. “Of course you’re right about how good things are with what we have.” She toyed with the top button of her navy blue suit, giving him a sneak peek at her pink satin bra. “What do you say we take that Sara Lee lemon meringue pie out of the fridge and eat dessert off each other? It’ll have to be a quickie so we can get back to work, but I guarantee you’ll be satisfied.”

Part of being a good agent included knowing when to ease back and regroup for the next push. Because, make no mistake, she wasn’t giving up. She’d made it through college eating Top Ramen soup and risen through the ranks in her profession through sheer determination. She refused to be like her mother, totally dependent on a man for everything. And yet, here she stood, realizing she needed this man for what she wanted most, her own little bombshell if she let it slip at the wrong time.

She wanted a baby.

EIGHT

Vince usually tried to avoid cops, but right now he was damn grateful for Officer Jaworski. The young policeman’s intervention had saved Vince from answering Shay’s question about how he knew to come here.

Leaving his post at the plane hadn’t been his most thought-out move ever, but Jimmy was more than capable of taking over as copilot for the listening device. Now he just had to figure out what to tell her after Jaworski finished with his questions. Keeping secrets on the job had never felt this difficult before.

Vince kept a close eye on the baby-faced cop standing with Shay by the cruiser. The bomb threat may have passed, but they still had a perp to find. A perp, not a prankster, because odds made it unlikely that this had been coincidental, coming hot on the heels of a double homicide. These gangbangers were playing in the big leagues, and for some reason they’d picked Shay to be on the other end of that phone right after she’d been hit with the break-in. No doubt about it, she was being targeted.

The registration book for the teen mixer event lay open on the trunk of Officer Jaworski’s car. Vince stayed back a step, listening while Shay read over each attendee’s name and mentioned anything pertinent she remembered about that person. Angeline had started on the list, but a few minutes in, her bad leg had given out, and she’d ended up parked inside an EMS vehicle.

“Rickie was the one who swung first. He was spoiling for a fight from the minute he arrived, so I’m not surprised he instigated the thing, just disappointed.” Shay trailed a finger down to the next entry. “Caden. I found him with the thin blonde over there—Toni—in the girls’ bathroom during the evacuation. They were too busy having sex to be concerned about leaving the building.”

Jaworski tapped a note into his PDA. “Do you think they believed it was a hoax?”

“Do I think Caden made the call, you mean? It’s tough to tell.” Frowning, she crossed her arms over her chest and looked out at the dwindling crowd. “The boy on the phone spoke so softly it would be difficult to ID his voice for sure. And this isn’t the first time that particular person has called the hotline.”

Jaworski’s head snapped up as he studied her, then typed the info into his PDA.

“What about the girl, Toni?” Jaworski’s eyes dipped to Shay’s chest outlined a little too well in the community center T-shirt pulled tight by her crossed arms. “Teenage girls with lower voices can sound like boys.”

Vince bit his lip to keep from interjecting—he had heard the call, after all—and to keep from making an ass of himself by telling the cop to take his eyes up twelve inches.

Shay uncrossed her arms, bracing on the car and leaning back, which only served to emphasize her long legs worthy of any jeans model. “It’s possible, but the person on the phone definitely spoke with the intention of being IDed as a boy.”

Vince forced his own eyes up where they belonged and filed away each nugget of information on the kids for later when he reviewed the surveillance footage.

Jaworski studied a line then added another notation in his PDA. “Tell me about the Mercenary members who jumped into the fight.”

“Brody is a professor type, with his round glasses and scraggly attempt at a goatee. Notice the snake tattoo around his neck. I caught him smoking pot behind the Dumpster during the evacuation. He shook off the weed just fine to knock Rickie’s hat off his head and start the brawl.”

Jaworski scowled. “It would have been helpful to know he’s high before now.”

“I was busy helping a pregnant girl through a bout of hyperventilation at the time.”

“Right, fine, what else?”

“Webber jumped in once the row got going. He’s the big kid with a long, dark ponytail and a medieval sword inked on his arm. He was also with the crowd behind the Dumpster lighting up, although I can’t recall actually seeing a cigarette in his hand.”

“We’ll search around the Dumpster again before we leave. There might be something there to match up with evidence we collected the night of the murders. Maybe we can find a blunt and get some DNA.”

“Check for paint cans, too. I thought I smelled something else. Huffing? Maybe they left a new tag?”

Jaworski jabbed at his PDA. “They just have to leave their mark. They’re not even subtle about it. Eighty percent of taggers sign their ‘artwork.’ It reminds me of how dogs piss on trees or how a serial killer leaves a signature.”

Vince propped his boot back on the light pole behind him as he studied each face for any hint of what lurked behind those piercings and tats. Were these just kids in over their heads, or a part of taking terror down a new, home-grown avenue? At some point in the near future the Feds would have to bring local police into the investigation, but Wilson insisted for now they needed to safeguard against possible leaks.

Shay’s lips tightened. “We’d been making real progress here. I hate seeing so much lost because of what amounts to a small slight.”

Jaworski stopped typing. “It seems small to us, but to them, those small nuances are about more than a hat or piece of art. It’s about their very identity. All gangs are connected by common traits: intimidation, symbolism, and respect.”

Some things didn’t change. Vince figured he might as well toss in his two cents for the cop, since he couldn’t give him the whole lowdown from their end yet. “Respect through fear.”

“Yes, although dissing—disrespecting—can come in such simple forms.” Jaworski stepped into a lecturing role well. If he thought his attempt at being an authority on the subject would impress Shay, the guy wasn’t nearly observant enough. “Someone tags over another group’s tag—graffiti art. Or they paint another gang’s tag upside down. No challenge goes unanswered.”

Shay’s eyes lit. “Caden mentioned their tag being slighted right before the fight broke out.”

Jaworski typed a notation into his PDA. “That’s helpful. I’ll add that to my questions when I interrogate them.”

Vince looked the street up and down. “Artwork” abounded on the sides of buildings, bricks scrawled with words, initials, and symbols he suspected would make more sense once Shay keyed him in on the nuances. “If they’re all tagging and most of them are signing, why not nip it in the bud?”

“Amateurs”—Jaworski glanced up from his PDA—“or hard-core wannabes tag right away in an attempt to make their presence known. Most groups wait until they’re strong and deeply rooted in the neighborhood before they tag. Sure, the tags help us ID some of the members, but that’s only the start. We’d rather allow the tagging to develop enough so that by the time we intervene, we’re picking up gang members with deeper connections to the larger network.”

Vince stuffed down his natural urge to buck up around cops and decided to pick the guy’s brain for the good of their investigation. “I get that Apocalypse and the Mercenaries are established. But how do you ID the smaller groups in the making?”

“It’s tough, but we’re getting better at deciphering their codes. For example, some use location—like the East Side Mercenaries. Others may use area codes or streets and put those numbers on their hats or belt buckles.”

“It’s like that show
Beverly Hills, 90210
gone way wrong.” Although he couldn’t say things had been much safer in his old Chicago neighborhood.

Shay laughed low, not a smile in sight. “You’re actually not far off. For these teens, it’s all about feeding off rebellion and belonging to a group. If we don’t offer them safe, positive options, they’ll find what they need on their own.”

Vince scrubbed a hand over his do-rag, ideas popping into his mind faster than streetlights brightening with the deepening night. “If Caden mentioned a tag dis and he’s with Apocalypse, then it makes sense to check out the Mercenaries who signed in. Or it could be an up-and-coming group trying to muscle in.”

Jaworski smiled. “Good catch, Major. Thanks for your help.” He tucked away his PDA. “That wraps it up for tonight. I’m sorry we couldn’t locate your bag. I’ll write it up, but I don’t expect we’re going to recover it or your weapon. Your office is full of fingerprints.”

“And here I’d been told to worry about people taking it from me in a fight. I didn’t expect to have it removed from a locked drawer.”

“I’ll let you know if we find out anything, but I would start canceling those credit cards.”

Officer Jaworski loped off, joining one of the few remaining cops on the scene. A few feet away, Angeline hobbled away from the EMT vehicle, her husband helping her into a minivan with a catering logo on the side.

The EMTs reminded Vince of something he full well should have thought of before now.

He shoved away from the light pole, his gaze locked on Shay’s bruised cheek. How she’d put those kids before her own safety sure didn’t jibe with the Shay he’d known years ago. “We should get some ice for your face, or you’re going to end up with a whopper of a shiner by morning. Maybe the EMTs have something you can use.”

She dabbed her hand along her cheekbone as if testing the tenderness. “I’ll take care of it before I go to bed. I promise. Right now I need to catch my breath. A night like this sends me into a time warp. Looking at those three over there”—she pointed to the pregnant girl with two hand-cuffed boys nearby—“it’s tough not to think about how badly we could have screwed up our lives back then.”

As much as he preferred to leave the past back where it belonged, her insights could prove crucial in cracking the case. “Why those three kids in particular?”

Shay cocked her head to the side, wind lifting her short honey brown hair. “There’s something about Amber that reminds me of myself. Well, other than the fact that she’s pregnant, and I never have been. But Amber’s in-your-face demeanor with the underlying neediness, a willingness to do anything to get her way? Totally me back then.”

“Neediness? I wouldn’t have pegged you with that then. I guess I was stuck on the in-your-face part.”

“I certainly excelled at that.” She plucked at her sweaty T-shirt bearing the center’s logo. “Webber and Brody share so many similarities with you and Tommy.”

“I sure hope I’m not the scrawny one with glasses and a patchy goatee. Although that snake tattoo kicks ass.”

She looked up at him with a hesitant smile, cops starting to clear out behind her. “No worries. Brody reminds me of Tommy when it comes to brains that could have taken him far.” Her smile faded. “But there’s also a ferocity to him that gives me pause. I don’t know if Tommy had that, and I just missed it in my need to glorify rebellion.”

Tommy sure as shit had a mean streak when it came to rubbing Vince’s nose in the fact he’d slept with Shay. Telling her that now, though, wouldn’t accomplish anything, and with Tommy dead, insulting his memory seemed wrong.

“Webber reminds me of you with his size, his bluster and jokes . . .” Her eyes shifted to the teen. “It’s been tough getting him to take the world seriously.”

Was that how she saw him? Not that her opinion of him should matter. Her input on these kids mattered. Her insights on the surveillance footage would be invaluable. And that would give him the foundation for his argument to his boss about bringing her into the loop.

No more waiting around. He would get the okay to release some of the information about this investigation to her. Danger had escalated enough around this place that he questioned the wisdom of keeping it open for the coming week. “There are so many potential powder kegs here, I don’t know how you’re going to sort through it all.”

“Not tonight, that’s for sure.” She stifled a yawn. “I better start canceling my credit cards and figuring out how to get home.” She paused. “You never answered my question earlier. And don’t pretend you don’t remember my asking why you’re here.”

Vince winged a great big thanks to the man upstairs for the time Jaworski’s interruption had bought him to come up with a cover story. “I heard about the bomb threat on the radio.”

“But you ride a motorcycle.”

“I was in a sports bar.”

“That sure was fast.”

It was all over the media now. She wouldn’t have any real way of checking how soon the news broke. But he wouldn’t be able to hold off her questions much longer.

Shay pivoted and walked away.

Just like that? She gave him whiplash.

“Where are you going?”

“To speak with Eli.”

He eyed the guy talking down two crying teenage girls. “He looks busy.”

“Then I’ll wait.” She scooped a soda can off the sidewalk and stuffed it in an overflowing trash can.

“Wait for what?”

She pulled up the bag lining the can, tying the ends together with enough concentration to solve a quadratic equation. “Call me paranoid, but I’m not sure it’s safe to go back to my town house.”

He agreed but hadn’t expected her to jump on the safety bandwagon. “Why do you say that?”

“A break-in, dead bodies outside my office, a bomb threat. I’m not sure if I’m just a trouble magnet or if something’s seriously wrong.” She started walking again, leaving him no choice but to stride alongside. “Either way, I value my life too much to risk it.”

That said by a woman who worked in a crime zone? “I’m glad you realize it.”

“I’ll crash at Eli’s for a couple of days.”

“What if he’s a target, too?” A possibility they needed to consider. Who could they warn without risking the whole operation? “Or if
you
are, you could bring the trouble to his doorstep.”

She stopped cold. “Are you offering to help again for dear old Dad?”

He stepped closer, just catching a whiff of her, something citrusy, natural. Sexy. And off-limits, since his mission was to keep her safe. “If I am?”

“Where are you staying?”

This woman could give a man whiplash with her subject changes. “At the downtown Marriott.”

“Nice digs. Got enough room for one more?”

What the fuck?

He hadn’t expected it to be this easy to keep her nearby, but he wasn’t going to argue. “I have a king-size bed and a pullout sofa.”

“Perfect.” She tucked her slim hands into her back pockets, pulling her shirt taut across two perfect breasts, just the right size to fit his palms.