Midnight Alias: A Killer Instincts Novel (14 page)

Because she’s got a good heart.

The reminder loosened his tense muscles. Yeah, perhaps he ought to cut her some slack. Olivia’s heart was too big for her own good. She’d simply been making sure her friend was all right. That was the kind of woman she was, and one of the reasons he loved her so much.

Something else suddenly dawned on him. “Goddamn it,” he muttered.

His girl had just seen a dead body.

The anger returned in full force, clawing at his gut like a hungry animal. Fuming, he cursed that bitch Cora. Her death was about to throw a wrench in all the careful plans he’d arranged for this evening.

Sure enough, when he dialed Olivia’s cell and heard her voice, he knew making love to his woman tonight would not be on the agenda.

“Vince?” she croaked.

“Hey, babe. Just calling about tonight,” he lied.

She made a sniffling sound. “Oh God, Vince. I just . . . Cora . . .”

He injected some heavy-duty worry into his voice. “Livy? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

He only half listened as Olivia told him what had happened in a voice that cracked with shock and grief. She sniffled again, and his hands clenched into fists. That motherfucking Cora. Fucking bitch had reduced his woman to tears. It made him want to have her killed all over again.

“Babe,” he interrupted, “calm down. Where are you now?”

“Sitting in the car.”

“Can you drive home or do you need me to come and get you?”

There was a soft sob. “I can drive.”

“Good. Get yourself home.” Before she could respond, he added, “I’ll be right there.”

* * *

Olivia felt like she’d fallen through a hole into a frozen lake. Her body wouldn’t stop shaking, her palms were so cold they felt like two ice cubes, and shivers kept trembling up and down her spine. She knew she was in shock, but she’d resisted when the cops who’d questioned her outside of Cora’s apartment suggested she go to the hospital to get checked out. Because what, the nice people at the hospital were going to give her a prescription for grief? A drug that would erase the horrible images swarming her mind like hornets?

Her fingers trembled as she shut off the engine of the BMW. She was surprised that she’d managed to drive home, but she knew if she hadn’t, Vince would have insisted on picking her up. Bad enough that he was coming over, but he’d hung up before she could protest. So now, instead of entering her building, she grabbed her purse and the pharmacy bag, got out of the car, and leaned against the hood to wait for Vince. He’d never come over to her place before, and she did
not
want him going upstairs. She didn’t want him anywhere near her mother.

She rubbed her cheek where Cora had slapped it. God, why hadn’t she gone after her yesterday instead of listening to Candy? Now it was too late to make amends. Too late to do a damn thing.

Cora was dead.

Overdose, the paramedics had said grimly.

Olivia blinked back tears. She kept seeing her friend lying there on the bed, one slender arm flung over the side of the mattress. The needle marks on the inside of her elbow, the bluish tinge to her pale skin. Drug paraphernalia had littered Cora’s bedside table—hypodermic needles, beige powder on a crumpled piece of tinfoil, a spoon. It had been a scene right out of
Trainspotting
. A ghastly tableau starring a pretty young girl who’d always dreamed of being a lawyer.

An overdose. It still struck her as . . . wrong. Cora was a single mom, for Pete’s sake. She’d had Katie at sixteen and spent the next six years working her butt off to balance job, school, and motherhood. Cora would never do drugs. She hated them, or at least that’s what she’d always maintained.

But how well had Olivia really known the girl? They’d shared a few classes, sat side by side in lecture halls, crammed in Bobst Library together.

And they both danced at the Diamond Mine . . . where half the girls were junkies.

She wasn’t a junkie
.

Olivia clung to that, but the uncertainty persisted. Maybe Cora had been shooting up for years. It wasn’t like they were best friends—Cora was too busy raising a six-year-old, and Olivia had rarely spent time with her outside of work or school. She certainly hadn’t told Cora about the attack in the alley, so was it unreasonable to think that maybe Cora had kept her addiction on the down low?

Oh God. Olivia couldn’t stop thinking about those eyes. Those lifeless blue eyes, wide open and bloodshot.

Cora’s mother was going to be devastated. And Katie. God, that little girl had just lost her mother. Luckily, Katie had been spending the afternoon with her grandmother today, according to the officer who’d gotten in touch with Cora’s mom. And Olivia had no idea where Katie’s father fit into the equation. From the meager details Cora had provided, she knew the guy had left after Cora got pregnant at sixteen and hadn’t been heard from since.

The purr of an engine caught her attention. She turned her head and saw a Lincoln Town Car pull into the parking lot. The windows were tinted, but she could make out Vince’s driver, Paul, through the windshield.

Her “boyfriend” had come to “comfort” her.

Olivia gathered her composure as the back door opened and Vince slid out from the leather interior. He wore his trademark black pin-striped suit, this one paired with a wine-colored dress shirt and burgundy alligator loafers that probably cost more than her tuition. His dark eyes softened at the sight of her, his full lips pursing in concern.

“C’mere” was all he said.

Stifling a sigh, she walked into his outstretched arms and let him embrace her. Vince cooed unintelligible bullshit in her ears as he held her, stroking her hair, rubbing the small of her back. Her body felt cold again, but for a different reason now.

“Oh, Jesus, you’re freezing, babe.” He grasped her hand and ushered her toward the Town Car. “Let’s sit in here. C’mon, Livy.”

They settled in the backseat. Olivia inhaled the scent of his overbearing cologne, a pungent, spicy odor that permeated the car. She tried not to breathe, but then he moved closer and it was all she could smell.

Vince cupped her chin with his palms. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Tears pricked her eyelids. “I still can’t believe it.”

“Me too. I mean, I had no idea she was shooting that shit. You think you know someone . . .” Vince shrugged. “This really screws up our anniversary plans, doesn’t it?”

The annoyed glint in his eyes said she hadn’t misheard him. Unbelievable. One of his dancers had
died
and he was ticked off that it put a damper on his
dinner
plans?

Olivia almost gagged—until his exact wording registered in her brain. Wait, was she getting a reprieve? Relief exploded in her chest, then fizzled when she realized she was getting ahead of herself. He hadn’t conclusively said the happy celebration was being postponed . . .

With a stroke of inspiration, she looked up at him, doe-eyed. “I think we should celebrate another night, Vince.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I figured you’d say that.”

“It’s just . . . If I give myself to you tonight, I’ll see her face the entire time.” She blinked again, letting the tears fall, then blinked harder so they’d stream down her cheeks. “That’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to Cora’s memory. I need . . . I need to mourn her. She deserves that.”

She was laying it on pretty thick and feared he’d see right through it, but to her surprise, he chuckled softly. “Remind me to introduce you to my
nona
. That woman still mourns my grandfather and he’s been dead ten years.” He leaned in to kiss her. “You won’t make me wait ten years, will you, babe?”

“Never,” she whispered, resisting the urge to wipe her mouth with her sleeve to erase the taste of him.

Vince seemed pleased by her answer. “Do you want me to stick around? I have a meeting, but I can cancel if you’d like me to stay.”

“No.” She spoke a little too quickly. When his eyes flashed, she hurried on. “I think I want to lie down for the rest of the evening. This is . . . it’s too much to absorb, you know?”

His features relaxed. “I understand.” He slid over to open the door. The gold ruby-studded ring on his fourth finger winked as the afternoon sun streamed into the backseat. “I’ll walk you up.”

“You don’t have—”

He silenced her with a hard kiss. “I don’t
have
to do anything. I
want
to make sure my girl gets upstairs all right.”

Olivia got out of the car without argument.

Vince kept a possessive hand on her shoulder the entire time, and although she wanted to object, he escorted her up the three flights of stairs and didn’t release his grip until she’d opened her front door. With a tender expression, he bent down and kissed her again, this time dragging his tongue over her lower lip before pulling back.

“Get some rest, my love.”

Olivia let out a breath of relief after he was gone, but the second she entered the apartment she realized she’d forgotten her purse and her mother’s prescription in Vince’s car. Damn it.

Gritting her teeth, she dashed out into the hallway and glimpsed Vince’s retreating back at the top of the stairs. His heavy footsteps thudded as he made his way down. She was about to call after him but the sound of his voice stopped her. His irritated words echoed from the stairwell.

“Yeah, it’s taken care of.”

She instinctively closed her mouth. Judging by the long pause before he spoke again, he was on the phone.

“Nah, it can’t be tied back to the club,” he said after a moment.

Unable to stop herself, Olivia crept down the corridor. At the landing, she kicked off her sneakers, then continued barefoot down the stairs, her pulse quickening as Vince’s voice reverberated in the stairwell.

“The bitch was going to the cops—what other choice did we have? Yeah . . . whatever . . . I don’t give a shit what De Luca says about it. He’s the one who keeps demanding my girls fuck his associates. The bitch wasn’t into it.”

Olivia felt all the blood drain out of her face.

A smug note entered his smooth voice. “It was an overdose. No one’s gonna question it.” A pause. “How about this, motherfucker—you worry about the shipment, I’ll worry about my bitches . . . What? I don’t give a damn . . . There’s a lot of money riding on this deal. Take care of it.”

Silence. Then a muffled curse as he hung up the phone.

Olivia halted, sagging against the cement wall. She suddenly felt light-headed, shock and horror coursing through her body, her heart beating dangerously fast. When she heard a door slam below, she jumped, startled out of her paralysis. Damn hands were trembling again, but she managed to fumble in the pocket of her coat for her cell phone. She nearly dropped the thing, then took a breath to steady herself and dialed Vince’s number.

“You okay, babe?” he barked into her ear.

She swallowed. “I’m fine. I just realized I left my purse and prescription in your car.”

“Good thing you caught me—I’ll have Paul bring your stuff up.” He sounded like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like he hadn’t just confessed to
murder
in her fucking stairwell.

“Thanks.” She hung up before he could say another word. The sound of his voice had made her stomach churn, and she was precariously close to throwing up. Or worse, passing out.

Breathing deeply, she hurried back upstairs and waited outside the apartment door. A minute later, Vince’s driver appeared, her purse and shopping bag dangling from his meaty hand. She forced a polite smile as he handed her the items, waited for him to leave, then whirled around and flew into the apartment. She couldn’t control the persistent pounding of her heart, the clammy fingers of shock clawing up her spine.

She shut the door. The phone fell from her grip and clattered onto the faded blue carpet in the minuscule front hallway.

Black dots swam in front of her eyes, causing her to sink down to the carpet. She rested her head between her knees. Desperately tried to calm down. She couldn’t pass out. She couldn’t fall apart.

Oh God, Cora’s
eyes
.

Gasping for air, Olivia curled her hands into fists and slammed them on the floor.
Get it together. Pull yourself together
.

Okay. Okay, she could do this. Sucking in a deep breath, she willed her heart to beat at a regular pace. Banished the panic constricting her chest. Forcibly pushed the memory of Cora’s lifeless body from her mind.

And then she grabbed the phone she’d dropped and dialed the number she’d been ordered to memorize.

* * *

Luke was taking a catnap in the guest room when his phone rang. Eyes snapping open, he lunged for the phone, the way he’d been lunging every time the damn thing went off. Except this time, the number on the caller ID didn’t belong to Trevor or any of the other guys.

Feeling a flicker of hope, he pressed a button and brought the phone to his ear with a quick “Yeah?”

A tiny pause. Then, “Luke?”

Relief spilled through him at the sound of her throaty voice. He’d been starting to think she wouldn’t call, that his hurried explanation during their last encounter hadn’t been enough. Hell, he’d seen the doubt and suspicion flashing in her green eyes. She hadn’t believed or trusted him.

But she’d called.

“Olivia?”

“Yes, ah, it’s me. I . . . Is the offer still on the table? You helping me, I mean?”

He instantly picked up on the desperate pitch of her tone. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” An anguished breath filled the line. “Actually, no. No, I’m not fine. I’m
so
not fine.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Silence greeted his ear. It lasted so long he thought she’d hung up, but when he pulled the phone back and looked at the screen, the seconds were still ticking away on the display. “Olivia?”

“Cora’s dead.”

Luke’s shoulders tensed. “What?”

“Cora. She’s . . . She works at the club with me. She’s one of the other dancers. No, she’s more than that. She’s—
was
—my friend. And she’s dead. I found her body an hour ago.”