Mine to Hold (35 page)

Finally, it was ten o’clock on the nose. Tyler opened the car door and emerged into the sunny Southern California morning. On the passenger’s side, Del did the same. They crossed the street, and Del rang the doorbell.

Chapter Eighteen

E
RIC
cracked the door a few seconds later, and Tyler, standing in the shadowed corner of the porch, watched, his gut tightening. His former friend looked Del up and down, but there was something in his eyes. Eric was tense. Tyler frowned. If he only wanted to return Del’s flash drive, why would he be nervous?

Unless, as he and Del had feared, Eric wasn’t alone.

Tyler’s blood began to run cold. He reached for the Glock tucked into his waistband and stepped forward. Eric sent him a nearly imperceptible shake of his head, then peeled his right hand away from the doorframe and brushed his fingers across his ear.

The gesture had been one they’d worked out long ago, when they’d first become partners. It was their silent signal for “get backup!”

“Come in, Del.” Eric grabbed her arm and began to draw her inside.

No fucking way was the asshole who’d cheated on her and nearly raped her going to take her inside the house alone with danger afoot. Tyler was ready to throw down to keep Del outside, where she might have a chance of surviving. Once she went in and that door shut behind her, Tyler didn’t know how much he’d be able to help her.

Eric sent him a pleading stare, his face so tense, body rigid.

Del turned back to him, and Tyler felt her hand on his chest. The gesture silently asked him to stay away, begged him to keep silent so he didn’t alert whoever waited in the house to his presence.

Tyler’s mind raced. If he went in with her, they’d train guns on him and strip him of his weapons. He had to get his emotions under control. As much as he hated it, if he stayed outside, he had a better chance of helping Del. He and McConnell could take the stealth approach and blindside these motherfuckers.

“If anything happens to her, you’re a dead man,” Tyler murmured.

Eric nodded just enough for Tyler to see the acknowledgment.

“Hi, Eric,” Del said almost too brightly. “You have my flash drive?”

“Yeah, come in.” Eric opened the door for Del to enter, then shut it in his face.

Tyler waited to hear him engage the dead bolt. Eric never did.

Hmm
. The paranoid bastard had never failed to lock doors and windows. Ever.

With his heart pounding furiously, Tyler slinked along the shadows of the porch and overhang, until he reached a row of hedges that separated Eric’s driveway from the neighbor’s. He crawled through them, then emerged to sprint over to the black SUV parked across and down the street. As he approached, Xander lowered the window.

“Let’s go.” Tyler looked at McConnell, not bothering with pleasantries. “Eric took her in the house. He’s got company. The front door is unlocked, but knowing Eric, his ‘company’ is hanging out in that part of the house. There’s a back door and a bedroom window we may be able to crawl through. Since he tipped me off, I’m hoping he was smart enough to unlock them. We’ll have to sneak our way in and eliminate whoever’s there.”

“Stealth and killing, my favorite kind of mission.” McConnell let himself out of the SUV, now carrying an M4 carbine assault rifle. Tyler could almost bet the big guy was loaded to the gills with other weaponry. But Tyler was prepared, too—a couple of Glocks, a wicked knife, a grenade, if necessary. If Carlson had the balls to show up to this meeting, it could only mean that he wanted Del dead. If that was the case, no way was the fucker getting out of this alive.

Together, he and McConnell made their way across the street, avoiding the view from Eric’s windows, just in case. They crawled along the far side of the house, then leapt the cinder-block fence. Almost soundlessly, they landed in the side yard, where there was nothing except an air-conditioning unit already chugging away against the day’s promised heat.

Without a sound, Tyler pointed toward the back of the house. They ducked under the windows to avoid being seen by anyone who might happen to be in the bathroom or back bedroom. Plastered against the back wall, he directed McConnell to the French doors on their left. Then he pointed to himself and the bedroom window back to the right.

With a terse nod, McConnell began to prowl away. Tyler grabbed his arm. “No matter what, you save her.”

“I will. But get your dick out of your pants or this rescue will be a fucktastic disaster,” he growled, pulled free, and edged toward the patio doors.

Cursing under his breath, Tyler crept toward the window and began easing it open. Eric had definitely prepared in advance for company and unlocked it. Did that automatically mean Eric was on his side? Or just that he was anticipating another way to trap his ex-partner. After all, if someone was as dirty as Eric, what was a little murder among enemies?

A quick glance down the little flagstone patio proved that McConnell had already made his way inside without incident. Tyler crawled inside the sloppy but unoccupied bedroom. The door was ajar, but he didn’t see anyone lying in wait for him in the hallway, either. What the fuck was Eric up to?

Prowling through the house, Tyler focused on disposing of any bad guys and watching for treachery. He had to hope they weren’t too late to save Del.

***

ERIC
led her inside, through the foyer, then into the living room. Immediately, she saw a gangbanger with a big gun—and her blood turned to ice. Eric had set her up to come here and discouraged Tyler from entering with her. To remove her protection or give Tyler time to mount a stealth attack? Del didn’t know. That terrified her. So did trusting her ex-husband.

The thug promptly patted her down, lingering a little too long over her breasts. He wasn’t big, but the gang tattoos and AK-47 made her take him really seriously. She saw two more similar goons at the back of the living room, one leaning against the wall separating the living room from the kitchen. The other lingered at the entrance to the hallway. She recognized him from photos as Double T, the leader of the 18th Street gang.

And on the sofa, just as comfortable as if he was at home, sat Carlson in a charcoal gray suit with a pristine white shirt. His salt-and-pepper hair looked perfect. He wore a cat-who-ate-the-canary smile. Fresh terror gripped her belly.

She whipped a furious glare up at Eric.

He didn’t flinch, and she wondered if trusting him would turn out to be her fatal mistake. For a second, she closed her eyes and said a prayer for Tyler. She was at peace with the fact that, if she wasn’t here to be a mother to Seth, he would see to their son.

“Hello, Ms. Catalano. Or do you prefer your maiden name now that you and the good detective here are divorced?”

She’d retained her married name for her byline, since her readers knew that. For legal purposes, she’d gone back to her maiden name so she would match Seth. She doubted, however, that Carlson really wanted that scoop. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Probably not,” he agreed amicably.

“People know exactly where I am, so if anything happens to me, there will be questions and folks all up your ass.”

“That’s why I have the good detective on my side. He can make so many things go away and, over the years, has proven remarkably apt.”

Eric
had
been dirty. For years? Del turned to Eric, betrayal bleeding through her all over again. He refused to meet her gaze.

Over the last two years, he’d shocked her. Rejecting her, cheating on her, dismissing her when she discovered that she was pregnant. She’d never imagined that he was the sort of cop who’d not only turn the other cheek at crime but facilitate it. His new betrayal kicked her in the gut.

“So tell me, what possessed you to go on this witch hunt for me?” Carlson drawled, like he didn’t have a care in the world. “I’m just a public servant doing my job.”

She snorted. “Yeah, unless it interferes with you taking bribes on the side. The public shouldn’t be made to accept more gang and drug crime just because you want a fatter wallet.”

“You can’t prove any of that.”

“Actually, I think I can,” she bluffed. “I talked to Lobato Loco in depth before you had him killed. He told me
everything
.”

Carlson exchanged a quick glance with the thug leaning against the kitchen wall, then recovered his smile. “It’s the word of a dead criminal against mine.”

“He had audio recordings of some incriminating phone calls,” Del lied. She had to because she couldn’t think of another way to get him to talk enough about the incident to incriminate himself. If he did, Xander’s purse camera would record everything.

The ADA’s face changed instantly. “What do you mean?”

“I know about your deal. You lay off the 18th Street gang, and they give you kickbacks from their drug trade. Lobato Loco gave me some recordings outlining the details before you had his head chopped off. It’s over.”

“Really? If that’s true, why haven’t you written the story yet? Why are you here, desperate to retrieve your flash drive?” he smiled smugly.

“Who says I haven’t written the story?” She raised a brow. “Maybe it simply hasn’t run yet.”

“I think you’re bluffing. I don’t think you can prove anything.”

Del shrugged, feigning a confidence she didn’t feel. “Even the hint of this kind of scandal would be really bad for someone on the fast track to becoming DA. There could be a lot of questions asked, maybe an investigation . . .”

Carlson hesitated, clearly stifling his anger. He tapped the toe of his expensive Italian leather loafers against Eric’s hardwood floor. “This is all nonsense. I’m sure we can work something out.”

Del wanted to spit in his face and tell him that she’d never compromise with a skeevy bastard like him. But with three armed goons watching her every move, that wasn’t her wisest course of action. Besides, she not only wanted to prove Carlson’s guilt, she wanted to walk out of this house alive. Pretending to cooperate would help.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Drop this ridiculous witch hunt, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Meaning?” she drawled. “How will you do that?”

“I’ll surprise you.”

She snorted. “You already did. You blew up my car!”

“I’m not aware of that.” But his too-innocent expression said otherwise.

“Bullshit. Drop the act.”

Del bit the rest of the angry words on her tongue. Trying to bully him into confessing wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She was going to have to call his bluff. Her heart pounded. She might be shaving time off her life with this tactic, but as soon as she’d seen the goons with the guns, she’d known this wasn’t going to go down pretty.

“Fine. You’re an angel,” she conceded, then turned to Eric. “Can I have my flash drive?”

His eyes widened at her, his expression asking her if she’d lost her mind.
Probably so
.

“The flash drive is no longer in one piece. Such a pity,” Carlson cut in. “But it contained so much aimless speculation about my associations and finances. I wouldn’t want that misconstrued.”

She snorted. “I was invited here to recover my flash drive, and in the ensuing two hours, it’s been destroyed? Eric wouldn’t have done that, so I have to assume that you mangled my critical information so that I wouldn’t leak it to the public. If you have nothing to hide, why go to all this trouble? Why are you here at all?” Into his silence, she rolled her eyes. “Whatever. If my flash drive is no more, I have no reason to stay. I’m leaving.”

Maybe that would force his hand.

Del turned toward the door, angling her purse toward the ADA. Carlson was off the sofa and had a harsh hand wrapped around her elbow in an instant.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “My . . . associates want to have a private conversation with you.”

When he nodded in Double T’s direction, Del got a quick picture. The gunman would take her into the bedroom, shoot her, then Carlson would spin it so he came out smelling like a rose. He had the connections to make that happen, including Eric.

She had two choices now: fight, or keep talking and hope that her death wouldn’t be in vain.

“You’ve outsmarted me. I’ve got to hand it to you. Somehow, you’ve anticipated my every move. Before Double T and I have that private chat, will you at least tell me, if the information I had on you was all just speculation, why are you having me killed? Why did you have my friend Lisa murdered and Lobato Loco beheaded?”

Carlson waved a hand. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“C’mon. Level with me. If I’m going to be dead in the next five minutes, why does it matter if you tell me the truth?”

“I don’t owe you anything,” Carlson told her coolly.

“True. But I admire your genius.” She stroked his ego—and nearly gagged on the words. “I mean, you’ve fooled and eluded everyone for years now. That’s a real feat. And I’ll bet you’ve had to keep it mostly to yourself. Since I’m disposable, what harm is there in telling me? I mean, if curiosity is going to kill the reporter, at least assuage mine.”

It wasn’t working; she could tell from his mulish expression. She’d try to prick his vanity instead.

She frowned. “Oh, or did I misread the situation? Was this someone else’s idea and you’re just reaping the benefits of their genius?”