Tempted by Fate (33 page)

“Just keeping it real.”

If only Morgan would keep it real elsewhere. “What are you doing?”

“I’m on Twitter.”

“Now?”

Morgan glanced up, her nose wrinkled with disdain. “Don’t mock it. I’ve found some guy who tweets on local police activity. I’m checking up on your policeman, since you’re obviously so concerned about him.”

“I’m not concerned.”

“Which is why you’re wearing a groove in the carpet?”

Willow stopped abruptly, but she couldn’t stay still and started pacing again. Damn it, where were her whittling tools when she needed them? Oh, right, being held in the police station.

Damn it.

“Listen.” Morgan swiveled her chair around and leaned forward. “He’s fine. I’ve found no evidence that anything’s happened to him.”

“This isn’t about his safety.”

“So you haven’t been doing laps in this room all day because you’re worried about him?”

“Of course not.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “You’re such a liar.”

“You wouldn’t say that if I had any weapons in my hands.”

“You’re not only a liar, you’re delusional. Especially if you believe that.”

Hands on hips, she faced her friend. “You’re pushing it.”

But Morgan wouldn’t back down. “Just admit that you’re scared. You don’t have control, and that’s driving you crazy.”

“This isn’t about control,” Willow said, hands clenched tight. “But I don’t know why he would think I could sit at home while he runs off doing God knows what without telling me what’s going on.”

Morgan blinked. “You’ve fallen for him.”

“Please.”

“Jesus Christ. I thought it was a possibility, but I didn’t really believe you would.” She fell back against the chair. “Only you have.”

“Right.”

“The hard-assed warrior all aflutter because she’s in love for the first time.” Morgan shook her head. “It’d be cute if you’d picked someone other than a cop.”

Elena walked in, carrying a tray. “It makes me happy to hear light voices and feel life in this house.”

“Good thing someone’s happy here, because Willow sure isn’t.” Morgan moved her laptop so Elena could set the tray on the desk. “She was about to rip me a new one.”

“Which is why I brought tea for you two,” the older woman said, pouring two cups.

Willow stepped forward. “Did you have a premonition? Is there something I should know?”

“The only thing I know is that you’re tromping back and forth over my head.” Ramirez’s grandmother smiled warmly as she handed Willow a mug. “I thought you could use the soothing.”

“Have you talked to him today?”

“He often keeps his own counsel,” Elena said, pouring Morgan a cup and then wiping some stray drops from the desk. “There’s no cause to worry.”

“I just have this feeling.” Willow cradled the hot beverage, wishing the warmth would seep in and ease the nervousness in her belly.

“Everything works out the way it’s supposed to in the end,
mijita.
” Elena brushed a hair from Willow’s face. “You have to have faith. In him, but also in yourself. You have everything you need inside you.”

“Yeah, grasshopper,” Morgan chimed in.

“Taunting a tiger is a sure way to get your hand bitten.” A smile flirting with her lips, Elena picked up the tray. “If you need to resist the temptation, come down and help me in the garden. You need some sunlight.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing as sunlight in San Francisco,” Morgan said as she got up.

Willow listened to their chatter as they walked out. Then she pulled out her cell phone and called Ramirez
again. His phone rang four times before it transferred to voice mail. Ending the call, she tapped the cell phone against her chin. She couldn’t just sit there and not do anything. She pulled up a chair and dragged over the laptop.

“Morgan will have a fit if she knows I’m using her computer,” she said aloud. Not that it was going to stop her. She pressed a key and a log-in box popped up.

Expected. Morgan was a freak about security and privacy.

“Good thing I know her password,” she observed out loud. Willow flexed her fingers and began typing, feeling a twinge of guilt. Morgan didn’t drink, except for one day a year, and then she drank until she was incoherently pissed. Willow didn’t know what significance that date had for her, she just made sure she was always around to make sure Morgan was okay. This past year during her binge, Morgan had blabbed her password. Hopefully, she hadn’t changed it.

Willow hit enter. The password box closed to reveal the desktop and every open program and window Morgan had running. Including what looked like Ramirez’s in-box.

“Morgan, you little devil.” Willow clicked on that window. His in-box had a couple new e-mails in it. One was spam, the other was from Maximillian Prescott.

“Bingo.” She clicked on it:
An e-version of the file, just in case.

What file?
She frowned and opened the attachment. The Bad Man stared at her from the first page of the PDF. Ramirez had gotten the dossier on the Bad Man, and he hadn’t told her.

“What are you doing?”

Willow looked up to find an incredulous Morgan walking into the room.

Morgan pushed her aside, chair and all, and leaned over her laptop. “You cracked my password?”

“I listen sometimes when you talk about tech things,” she said, not really lying.

“Dang. I should be angry, but I’m impressed.” She pressed a few keys. Then she frowned, her expression suddenly intent. “Get off the chair.”

Knowing better than to argue, Willow got up and passed it to Morgan, who promptly sat down and began to furiously type. “Oh, shit. Oh, hell.”

Dread chilled her. “What is it?”

“There’s an officer down.”

Ramirez.
Willow pulled out her cell phone. “I knew it. I knew something was wrong.”

“What are you doing?”

“Calling the station.” She walked back and forth, willing someone to pick up the line. Finally an operator answered, but she insisted she couldn’t give out any information.

Willow hung up. “Damn it. She wouldn’t crack.”

“Of course they’re not going to tell random people anything.” Morgan’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “But back up and let me work my magic. Here it is.
Oh, no.
”

“What?” Willow asked, already knowing.

“Two Homicide inspectors involved in a shoot-out.”

Willow’s heart stopped, and then beat so hard it echoed in her head. “Address.”

Morgan scribbled it down on a sticky pad she found on the desktop. “Here. Be careful, okay?”

“I’m not the one to be concerned about right now.” She frowned at the address. “Isn’t this where Prescott lives?”

“Now that you mention it, yeah.” Morgan bit her lip. “That doesn’t bode well, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t.” Willow turned and hurried out of the house.

A cab was driving by as she walked down Ramirez’s walkway. It stopped when she hailed it. Giving the driver the address, she sat back and tried not to go insane.

As they pulled up, Willow noticed the street was cordoned off, so she had the cabdriver pull up as close as possible. She paid him and walked the rest of the way. Drawing
mù ch’i
to cloak herself, she walked straight past the street cops, who were keeping the gawkers behind the police line, and to the building’s entrance.

It was swarming with cops. She edged past a gaggle of them talking in somber tones. Ramirez’s car was parked right in front. It was riddled with bullet holes. On the ground next to it, there was a large dark stain.

Blood.

Her vision wavered, and she swayed on her feet.

“Hey.” Someone took her elbow. “You okay?”

She looked into a concerned policewoman’s face. “Fine,” she said weakly.

The officer looked at Willow quizzically. “You aren’t supposed to be here. How did you get past the line?”

“I live inside,” Willow lied.

“Let me walk you out.” She kept a hand under Willow’s elbow and guided her back toward the spectators.

This time Willow noticed the ambulance parked at the edge of the scene. She let her energy root through the ground to the truck. Ramirez was inside. He was alive—she
could sense his energy—but she couldn’t tell how hurt he’d been.

She stumbled.

“Careful there,” the officer said. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked with concern.

No, she wasn’t. She stared at the ambulance, needing to go see for herself that he was okay. This had the Bad Man written all over it. She didn’t need physical proof to be certain of that. And if he knew about Ramirez, he’d know about Elena and maybe even Morgan. She had to keep them safe. She had to pull it together and take care of this before anyone else got hurt.

With a last glance at the ambulance, she shook off the policewoman’s hand and took out her phone as she headed away from the crime scene.

Morgan answered before the first ring ended. “What’s going on? Is Ramirez—”

“On your computer, there’s a PDF with the Bad Man’s information. His name is Edward Rodgers-Dynes. I need a contact number for him.”

“Um, Willow, did you read that file?”

“I didn’t have time.”

“Listen, there’s something—”

“His contact number, Morgan,” she said, unable to care that her tone was harsh.

“I’m texting it to you. Will, you need to know—”

“Tell me later. And lock down the house and don’t open the door for anyone. Keep Elena inside, too.” She hung up and looked at the new text waiting for her. She punched in the number and waited.

On the third ring, a man answered. “Speak.”

A command. The accent was South African, and she
recognized the low, cultured voice as the same one she’d heard as a child right before her mother had been killed. “Edward Rodgers-Dynes?”

There was a pause. She would have said it felt like anticipation. And then he said, “Yes.”

“I believe you’ve been looking for me. I’d like to set up a meeting.”

F
lagging down another cab, Willow had it drop her off two blocks away from her meeting place. She strolled, fingers hooked in what passed for pockets on her pants, as she checked out the buildings lining the piers.

There wasn’t anything unusual, if deserted warehouses were typical. But nothing about this felt typical.

She ambled to the end of Brannan, where it connected with the Embarcadero, and pretended to admire the Bay Bridge, while she surveyed the rendezvous point. It was an old abandoned warehouse with a chain-link fence with countless
KEEP OUT
signs around it. How original.

She let
mù ch’i
branch out to take stock of the rendezvous point. There were three people, one outside, two in.

“I bet one of them is Rodgers-Dynes,” she muttered as she headed to the fence. She walked around back to be out of view of the cars driving by and quickly climbed over.

The person outside was around the other side of the
building, to the right. Normally, Willow would have used
mù ch’i
to slip past the first guard, but she wasn’t feeling generous today. And she wanted to make a statement. She strode right up to him, her boots clacking on the wooden slats of the pier. He pushed his chest out as she approached.

She smiled, small and mean. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, you’ll have to try harder.”

Before he could say anything, she punched him in the solar plexus to make him lose his breath so he couldn’t cry out. She followed with a left hook to his temple, not hard enough for permanent damage, but just enough to shock him into unconsciousness. Eyes rolling back into his head, he dropped to his knees. Slowly he tilted to one side and slumped onto the ground. She kicked him, just to make sure he was really out and not playing her, and then she headed to the obvious entrance to the warehouse.

Being bold was one thing—being stupid was another. She wanted to barge in and make a statement, but she didn’t want to chance letting him escape. So she sneaked in. She’d take out the other guard, and then deal with Rodgers-Dynes.