Chapter 9
Chapter 9
“H mm. Okay,” Vicky said, sliding her car into the drive of the duplex where she lived. “We do have a bit of a problem.”
“What’s that?” he asked her, arching a brow. “Listen, if you’re worried . . . I mean, you can just drop me off if you’re beginning to feel—”
“I wasn’t thinking—I mean, unless you were thinking that—”
“I wasn’t! I was worried about what you were thinking,” he protested, staring at her sincerely.
“No, I was thinking you’d be wearing the same clothing—” Vicky began. But he started to laugh.
“Sorry, sorry!” he said. “I thought you were trying to say you’d been rethinking us, what we were doing, and maybe we shouldn’t, maybe we should back off. Clothing. Not a problem. You didn’t notice the backpack I threw in the car this morning. I’m always prepared—”
“You go home with all your temporary partners?” she asked, lifting a brow. But she knew she had a giveaway curl to her lips. Somehow, she knew he didn’t.
“No, I’ve just been in this for years now and . . . I always have backup clothing with me. I am prepared for the rugged outdoors—and the supposedly cleaner indoors—at all times,” he told her.
“Oh, well, good.”
“This is your house?” he asked her.
“This is my half of the duplex where I live,” she told him. “I like it. Three bedrooms—one is an office now, one is a guest room. I only have one sister, but she and her family come see me sometimes. And one is my bedroom. Rates in South Florida soared over the last few years, but I have a great contract with the retired owner, who is now living near his grandchildren in St. Augustine. I love it. I’m in the middle of everything here, I can get to the beach easily, and I can get to work easily . . . I love it. Oh, and I share a pool with the neighbors, a great couple with a ten-year-old boy.”
“A kid in your pool all the time?”
“I actually like kids.”
“Do you want a few of your own one day?”
“No more than three,” she assured him. “Although my sister believes two is the magic number—we have two hands, so two kids should be just about right.”
“So, you have a sister?”
“Two years older, lives in Orlando. She’s an actress and works for a theme park up there.”
“And she has two children?”
“Yep, boy and a girl. Easy—she managed it in one shot. Twins,” Vicky told him, grimacing. “But please, come see my not-so-palatial estate!”
Laughing, he got out of the car, stopping to grab his bag, and followed her as she headed up to the door.
She keyed in the alarm and let them in, then flicked on the lights, and she realized she was ridiculously hoping he liked the place. She had tried to make it like a real home. Her mom had always kept family pictures up on the walls, and she had discovered she liked to do the same. It often reminded her, after a bad day, that the world was filled with good things and with families that truly loved one another.
She had a handsome chesterfield sofa, and thanks to her sister’s husband, a true state-of-the-art entertainment system designed to allow music, movies, TV, and games at the push of a button.
“This is great,” he said.
“Thanks,” Vicky told him. “Where do you live—or where did you live? Or will you get yourself re-transferred and go back to where you were living?”
“Northern Virginia,” he told her. “And I love Virginia. It’s a beautiful state with seaside and mountains. But no. When the bureau got involved after the senator’s daughter disappeared, the situation was studied and evaluated. And probably because of my background, they considered me the best man for what the powers-that-be considered necessary undercover work. When I knew what they wanted . . . well, working in a Florida office hadn’t come up before. So I figured . . . my parents aren’t getting any younger. I liked the idea of being closer to them, and as you’ve seen, my brother is here . . . so, I mean, whoever knows what the future will really bring, but I want to stay now.”
Now. Did that mean he wanted a few months here, a year maybe, and then he’d move on again? Or did it mean, now I want to stay here?
She gave herself a brisk mental shake. They had definitely become friends, and friends could remain friends through distances and years. But if it was something more . . .
She was being ridiculous. But then again, work had been her passion for so long. She had been one of the youngest women in the history of the department to earn her detective’s shield. Of course, her desire to become involved in law enforcement went back to the time when her mother had been saved by a female cop during a home invasion. Vicky wanted to emulate the female officer who’d saved her mother’s life.
He arched a brow. “Vicky? Everything okay?”
“Oh, yes, sorry! I was just thinking that we become so involved with work that . . .”
“That we forget to have lives?” he asked her. “Yeah, I know.”
“Well, anyway—oh, food! I do keep food in the house—real stuff, not just grab-and-go. Okay, I’m not a gourmet cook, but I can whip up a mean omelet, and if nothing else, yogurt, fruit, hot dogs . . . that kind of thing.”
“Sure. What would you like?”
“I don’t know. Come on, the kitchen and dining room are this way.”
The dining room was an ell extension off the living room, and a counter with four chairs and a breezeway separated the kitchen from the dining room. Vicky headed on into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator.
“You’re welcome to come and take a look,” she offered.
He walked around to join her, his body close to hers as they studied the contents of her refrigerator together.
Naturally close. And it felt good.
“Hey, wait!” Adrien exclaimed, smiling at her.
“What?”
“You don’t just have hot dogs; you have corn dogs!”
She laughed. “And lots of honey for dipping. Or I also have mustard if you prefer.”
“Corn dogs with honey. Sounds great to me. And we also have—”
“Broccoli! I see it. We can heat some up and pretend like we’re having a healthful meal,” Vicky said.
“Works for me. Hmm . . .”
“What’s that?”
“You have an IPA in there.”
“Please, help yourself!”
“There’s just one.”
“I’ll have a glass of cabernet with mine—I’m not a fan of IPAs. My brother-in-law left that on their last trip down here.”
“I’ll pour your wine while you steam or microwave or do whatever you do with food,” Adrien offered.
“That will work.”
They set about their tasks and were done in a matter of minutes—thanks to her niece and nephew, Vicky knew precisely how to make the corn dogs crispy rather than soggy. Adrien found a glass and her cabernet, then set out their drinks along with forks for the broccoli. In only minutes, they were set up side-by-side at the counter to eat.
“This place is really great,” Adrien said.
“Well, I’m not sure about great—”
He laughed. “Not a palatial mansion, no. But a super spot for getting to work. And as you said, not that far from the beach, and not that far from all kinds of great restaurants, malls, nightspots, and still not far from the Everglades and leaving society behind for a bit.”
“It’s been good. Traffic can be terrible, so it is good to be close to the places I need to go.”
“And where are your folks?” he asked her.
She grinned. “South Miami. Close enough, too. Where I grew up. They do, however, like to spend a lot of time in Orlando. Theme parks are more fun than a daughter investigating serious crime.”
“But I’ll bet they’re proud of you,” Adrien said, frowning.
Vicky laughed. “Yes, they are. It’s just when Liz goes to work, my parents get to go and see what she’s doing; and hey, she has kids, too. And . . .”
“And you ‘cop’ out all the time when they want you to do things with them?” Adrien asked.
“No!” Vicky protested, but realized he knew what she never wanted to admit, because his life was the same. “Okay. Maybe, sometimes. I try not to! I mean, I really do try to make sure I’m around for Christmas and Thanksgiving and . . . yeah, you’re right. I don’t mean to.”
“I know the story. Not just with my folks but . . .”
“But?”
He shrugged. “Five years ago. I was engaged. She didn’t like my hours.”
“Ah, got it. And so . . . no commitments!”
“I never made that decision. Just . . .”
“Just happens that way?” Vicky asked.
“No. I just decided at that point if I ever made a commitment again, it was to someone who was willing to understand it wasn’t like living with a banker. That’s all. Hey, I’m social enough—”
“A cowboy.”
He shrugged. “I was happy for the transfer; I love the horses, the dogs, the ranch. And yes, I grew up barrel-racing, heading to the rodeo, so . . . if you want, a cowboy!”
Vicky grinned at that.
“You got something against cowboys?” he teased.
“Only some,” she assured him.
He stood and reached for her hand. “Some cowboys can be . . .” He frowned, his voice trailing.
“Yeah?”
He laughed and said, “Good in a pinch. Or after a few days of trailing after deranged narcissists in the Everglades or trying to trick them at the hospital. Or . . . you know. Just good in a pinch. Because this cowboy . . .”
Again, his voice trailed.
“Yeah?”
“This cowboy thinks you’re one of the most beautiful women and coolest human beings in general he’s ever met,” he said softly.
She laughed, rising to slide into his arms.
“I know what this cowboy is good at—eloquence!” she told him.
“And a lot more, I hope,” he whispered.
They began to kiss, and he knew how to kiss, and she certainly wouldn’t put it into words, but he was not just good at kissing, he was excellent. He could be amazingly romantic, lifting his mouth from hers to look deeply into her eyes and then dramatically sweep her up into his arms. Then he smiled, his face crinkling as he said, “Um, do we need to pick up—”
“It’s my place,” she assured him. “No one will care if we pick up in the morning!”
“Sorry for the interruption in my sweeping you off your feet!” he teased, as he turned and started for the hallway and paused again.
“Uh . . . which . . .”
“Second door on the left!” she said, breaking into laughter.
“Laugh at me, will you? Laugh at my seduction attempts!”
He nudged the right door open with his knee and ceremoniously laid her down on the bed, then bounced onto the opposite side, immediately taking her into his arms as his lips found hers again.
Then there was no thought for the longest time, just sensation, then laughter again as they struggled with their clothing, a moment when they just looked at each other, and their lovemaking became fierce and urgent and strangely tender all in one.
In time, in one another’s arms, they drifted to sleep.
It was during the wee hours of the morning when Vicky awoke. And it was with Adrien at her side with a finger to his lips.
She frowned, but no words slipped from her lips—just a question in her eyes. He made a motion to let her know someone was out there, in the yard of the duplex.
And her neighbors weren’t the kind to be running around in the middle of the night.
Adrien was already up, a pair of jeans pulled over his legs, his Glock in his hand. She quickly retrieved the little Beretta she kept in the nightstand, then slid out of the bed and grabbed the robe from the foot of the bed.
She nodded at him; they were ready.
Adrien crouched carefully to look behind the drapes at the side of the room. He shook his head and eased out to the hallway.
She followed.
He indicated he was going to the back; she nodded and headed toward the front. She saw nothing and came back around. Adrien pointed to the hallway, and she slid along it; he entered the guest room, and she went into the office.
And it was there that she saw the man in her backyard. A sense of urgency filled her; she wasn’t sure what good it would do the would-be assassin, but was he trying to break into her neighbor’s window? Did he have the wrong window? Or did he believe one section of the house would lead to the other?
She slid back into the hallway to find Adrien, who again warned her to silence.
He lifted two fingers.
She frowned; she had only seen one man.
He indicated the other was around the front of the house. Then he whispered to her, “We need to get them both.”
She nodded.
“There’s a man on the porch, out of sight of the windows and the peephole, playing with the alarm. We get him first, and we can hope the other isn’t a fence-hopper to escape through the back.”
She nodded. At the front, she hit the buttons on the alarm from her side; they waited until they heard the intruder trying to twist the lock.
Then Adrien drew the door open, and the man nearly fell in.
They both had their weapons on him.
“Don’t. Don’t draw. I really hate having to kill people,” Adrien said.
The man nodded. He opened his mouth as if he would shout out a warning, but Vicky took care of that herself as she sent a knee flying hard into his jaw.
He dropped.
“Cuffs?” Adrien murmured.
She stared at him. Obviously not. She was wearing a robe.
Adrien drew the belt from his jeans and tied it tightly around the man’s wrists and dragged him the rest of the way into the house. Vicky ran to grab a kitchen towel; it would serve as a gag for the moment. Adrien was already outside, moving carefully around the house.
Vicky headed straight for the back door. The alarm was off; she could open it silently. Adrien had come around from the front of the house, moving like a wraith. He was directly behind the man, who was inspecting her neighbor’s window. Adrien thrust the nose of his Glock against the man’s back and warned, “FBI. You’re under arrest. Don’t move, don’t go for your weapon. Put your hands on your head and turn around.”
The man spun around, reaching for his gun.
Adrien clocked him on the temple with his Glock, and he fell flat.
“All right, two of them, one a blond, one looks Hispanic, both of them look like they’re in their late twenties,” Adrien murmured, stopping to inspect the man, who was fallen and who was now unconscious. He looked back at Vicky. “Have you—”
“Called it in. I realize it’s about four a.m., but I’m calling Eames; I’ll let him get who he wants out here to handle this. The jail is going to be full, it seems.” She went back into the house. The first man was on the floor in the living room, struggling to undo his hands and making sounds despite the makeshift gag she had him wearing. She called Eames and explained the situation, and she hadn’t even hung up when she heard sirens. In a minute, patrol cars were pulling up in front of the duplex. She realized she was still in a robe, but there hadn’t been a chance for anything other—at least she hadn’t walked out naked.
No chance to dress. She walked out the front door to greet the first two officers who arrived. She was glad she knew them both, Officers Thomas Talon and Trish Montgomery. “Hey—” she began.
“What is going on with you?” Trish asked, shaking her head. “We all know about Andrei Hasani—I think the whole country does—but—”
“Two men, trying to break in. And they probably gave my duplex-mate a minor heart attack,” Vicky told her. Trish had been with the force about ten years, Thomas nearly as long. They were both in their early thirties, good and dependable people.
“Do you know who—” Thomas began.
“Not a clue. But Adrien Anderson was here, and he heard them before they could get started, and oh . . . I’d better handle this! Adrien will fill you in.”
She hurried toward the little porch that signaled the entrance to her neighbor’s door.
Her neighbor, Eddie Blackstone, had walked out his front door in pajamas and a robe, looking frightened and confused.
“It’s okay, Eddie!” Vicky said quickly. She felt guilty. He was so frightened. And it was probably her fault that people had been trying to break in.
“Two would-be home-invaders, robbers . . . I’m not sure. But we’ve stopped them, and everything is okay.”
“Oh . . . you hear about things like this, but you don’t expect them to happen to you!” he said. Eddie was balding, nearing fifty, a good guy, friendly and easy to get along with, and from everything that she had seen, he was a great dad, as well.
“But it’s all right; these officers will take them in. It’s okay. You can go back to sleep. If your kid is awake, please let him know everything is all right. And your wife, of course!” Vicky said quickly.
He looked at her and nodded, slowly managing a weak smile. “Thank God we’ve got such a great cop for a neighbor! Thank you, Vicky. Thank you. And I’ll get back in and let you handle all this,” he told her.
She smiled weakly, guilt racing through her. Of course, they didn’t know anything yet. The men might have been robbers, regular run-of-the-mill burglars just hoping to break in and steal something valuable while the homeowners slept.
But she didn’t think that was true. And the last thing she wanted to do was bring danger to such good and decent people.
“Vicky?” Trish was calling her. Adrien was there; he was leading the second man out to the patrol car. The man was awake—with a good knot rising on his temple—and he was cuffed.
“I’ll bring the second man,” Vicky murmured.
“Have they said anything?” Trish asked.
“Nothing. We haven’t tried to ask them anything,” Vicky said. “This has all been happening so fast. One was in the front, the other man was in the rear.” She hesitated, taking a breath and shrugging. “I don’t think they are the brightest two criminals I’ve ever come across. This guy was playing with the alarm, and I don’t think he had a clue as to how to disarm it.”
“Why try to rob a house with an obvious alarm if you don’t know anything about alarms and wiring?” Trish murmured.
“I don’t know,” Vicky replied.
“Unless they were after you specifically. I’ve heard that Hasani has been spouting vengeance since he was taken in.”
Vicky shook her head. “But he hasn’t made a phone call. He’s been in the hospital surrounded by doctors and nurses.”
“We’ll see what they say,” Vicky said with a shrug. “And still . . .”
“How could anyone have gotten to him?” Trish asked. “Unless we have a dirty cop or a hospital employee who is up for some bribery.”
“Or one who isn’t real,” Adrien said, joining them.
“We need the second burglar,” Thomas said, at Adrien’s side.
“Right. Let’s get him,” Vicky agreed. “I hope he didn’t crawl his way out.”
“Trust me, he didn’t. I’m on it,” Adrien said.
He headed back toward the house with Thomas joining him.
“Vicky, I’m worried about you,” Trish said. “I mean, I know you’re a great detective and a crack shot and all that, but no one is an island. I mean—”
“You mean someone could get to any of us. I know that,” Vicky said.
Trish didn’t reply at first; they both watched as Adrien and Thomas led the man who had been at the front door out from the house.
Adrien’s makeshift belt-cuffs had been replaced by real ones.
“Police brutality!” he shouted at Vicky.
“Amazing how every perp who tries to draw a weapon on you shouts that when you clock him instead of shooting him,” Trish said dryly.
“If Hasani is out for me,” Vicky told Trish, “there’s little I can do except watch out for him. And I can do that,” she promised.
“All right, all right, we’ll take them in and get them booked on these charges,” Trish said.
“And we’ll get dressed and be in. I want to talk to them both,” Vicky said.
“Yeah. You need to get dressed. Both of you,” she added with amusement. She lowered her voice and teased, “The Fed is working out okay, I take it!”
“I have a guest room,” Vicky said. It wasn’t a lie. She did have one.
Trish just grinned and turned away. “I heard about his spectacular riding skills, as well. I wouldn’t have let that cowboy go!”
Vicky watched them and turned to see Adrien was right behind her. He was shirtless in his jeans, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the police car drive away.
“It was Hasani,” he said, looking at her. “They sure as hell aren’t master criminal minds, and I’m not sure Hasani’s little bribed-and-threatened army has many brilliant criminals in it. But they were sent out here not to rob the place, but to kill you.”
“Adrien, we haven’t even talked to them yet—”
“Vicky, the man shouted ‘police brutality’ at you. Why would he shout that to you if he didn’t know you were with the sheriff’s office?”
He had a point, and she lowered her head, wincing. Then she lifted her head and told him, “I need to get in there and talk to them.”
“ We need to get in there and talk to them,” he corrected. He turned to head back into the house, and she followed him.
He was waiting for her, waiting to see her set the alarm.
“We’re all right,” she murmured. “Just—”
“Yep. I’ll head to the guest shower with my bag, and we’ll meet in the living room,” he told her.
She gave him a half-smile and agreed.
And maybe it wasn’t quite so bad. The first streaks of daylight were beginning to appear in the sky.
They’d almost had a complete, awesome night.
Maybe not complete . . .
But awesome. And in truth . . .
Would she have heard the men attempting to break in? Might they have gotten into her neighbor’s place? Hurt the family?
The thought was a frightening one.
And she wasn’t sure how to solve the dilemma before her if she was going to be a danger to anyone she was near.
She hurried in, took a quick shower, and dressed.
He was ready in the living room.
“Let’s go find out who our idiot burglars are,” Adrien said.
“Right. Let’s do it.”
They had started the drive to the station in silence. Adrien wasn’t sure what else he could say, but he knew the two men hadn’t selected a random dwelling to attack.
They had come after Vicky. Hasani truly wanted his revenge on her. He wasn’t sure why the man wasn’t as determined that he pay, but apparently in Hasani’s mind, women were entertainment, and Vicky didn’t know her place. She had dared to take him down.
She could have shot to kill; she had spared the man’s life. But that didn’t draw gratitude from him, just hatred.
She was the one who spoke at last. He knew she had been worried. Not for herself, but for her neighbors.
“This is truly a complicated mess,” Vicky murmured as she drove. “Here’s the thing. It seems that most people who do Hasani’s bidding are drug addicts or someone making money on drugs, or maybe there’s a petty thief or two in there. And most of the time, they’re going to fumble an assignment, and law enforcement will get them easily enough. But I’m afraid of the time that he orders someone to do something, and they are capable as a criminal. In his dealings, he must know people who are associated with the cartels—maybe even contract killers.”
He hesitated just a minute and then said quietly, “Vicky, you are in danger.”
“We are all always in danger,” she reminded him. “It’s the job.”
“Yes, but . . .”
“Not like this. I know. But we can’t back down to this man, Adrien. We can’t.”
“I know, and we won’t stop, but maybe you—”
“Don’t say it, Adrien. Hey, I’m the one who got him to spew out angrily last night and give us the name of his buyer!” she reminded him.
“Vicky, I know, and seriously, I swear to you, this is the truth—I couldn’t admire an officer, agent, deputy, or any manner of law enforcement more. But did you see the Indiana Jones movies?”
“I did, but what the heck does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, there is this great scene where an incredibly tough guy is twirling swords or knives around in a threatening way that shows no one beats him. Indiana takes one look at him, shrugs, and shoots him. Might have been the toughest ninja or whatever in history—but another guy with good aim took him down in two seconds.”
“I’m always armed, and I’m always watching out for ninjas, I swear,” she told him.
He leaned back, smiling.
“The thing is, Vicky, right now, you can’t be alone.”
“I’m not alone. I’m with you.”
“Thanks for that. But I think we need to get things and get you to a different place to stay, and maybe we should keep moving around, too. Then we need more officers, deputies, or agents on duty when it comes to sleep.”
“What?”
“Trust me, Eames will agree,” Adrien told her.
She was silent. “I—I can see slipping around from place to place, but if we have people on guard, that one smart person in debt to Hasani will see them, and they’ll just wind up dead.”
“Not if we do it right.”
“Adrien, I don’t know—”
“I don’t know how to do it exactly right yet, either. It’s something we need to discuss.”
“Discuss, yes, fine,” Vicky agreed. “Let’s see what our guys have to say. Maybe—and even I doubt it—they were random thieves.”
“Sure,” Adrien murmured.
At the station that morning, shifts were changing.
But Trish and Thomas were still there.
And Eames was there.
“So, you’re under attack, Vicky?” Eames said.
“Is that what the men have told you?” she asked him.
“Nothing. We’ve got their prints, and they have records. Steven Page and Mick Menendez. Steven Page, twenty-seven, did time on a drug charge—selling meth. Mick Menendez also did a short stint, five years for robbery. We haven’t interviewed them yet. They’ve just been processed. Oh, by the way, we have word out everywhere on the name you tricked out of Andrei Hasani yesterday, Rafael Rodriguez. Marinas, airports, train and bus stations have all been alerted, along with all agencies. We found a record on him, too, felony from a few years back; he served his time, but we have his face up everywhere—FBI put him on a most-wanted list.”
“Fantastic. I’ll take Menendez,” Vicky told Adrien.
“That leaves me with Steven Page,” Adrien said.
Eames lifted a hand. “Vicky.”
“Yes, sir?” she said.
“You talk to both men. I’m not taking you off the case; that could be disastrous in many ways, because I can’t even send you to another country. We don’t know how far Hasani’s influence might go. But we do need a discussion and a plan on how to go forward. Maybe you should start sleeping right here.”
Vicky glanced at Adrien; she’d known he was right.
“We’ll discuss it all, sir,” Vicky said.
“Right after you two finish in interrogation. Hank will be involved, of course, but since his house wasn’t broken into, I don’t expect him here until nine.”
“Right. Of course,” Vicky murmured.
They walked down the hall again, and Vicky entered one room as he entered the next on the other side of the observation room.
The blond man, Steven Page, was seated at the table, cuffed to links on it. He appeared anxious, younger than his years, with his mussed sandy hair and wide eyes.
“This is ridiculous. I was just trying to steal a few things to pawn. I mean, it was wrong, but I should just be given a court date—”
“You didn’t ask for an attorney?” Adrien asked.
“Oh, yeah, they read me my rights, but I was hoping . . .”
“That we’d know you were really just a good guy in a bad situation and we’d just let you walk out of here?” Adrien asked.
“I didn’t really do anything. I was just fooling around at the door. Right? I mean, I didn’t do anything. I didn’t.”
“Why did you ‘didn’t do anything’?” Adrien asked him. “Tell me the truth, I’ll see what I can do.”
The man lowered his head. He started to cry.
“I—I was ordered to.”
“Who ordered you, and what were you supposed to do?”
“Kill the redheaded detective. Make her suffer first. Kill her.”
“Who ordered you?”
The man looked up at Adrien and said in a terrified whisper, “Hasani.”
“How? The man is in the hospital under guard.”
Steven Page started to laugh. “People get desperate pretty easily. And trust me, there are a few desperate people at that hospital.”
“But how did you receive the order?” Adrien pressed.
“I got a text.”
“From whom?”
“I don’t know . . . just from the hospital.”
“I need your phone.”
“They took it when they brought me in!” he protested.
Adrien stood quickly; they needed the phone, and they needed to trace the text. It was probably a burner phone and already tossed. But that it had come from someone at the hospital meant something might be done.
“Wait! What about me?” Steven Page demanded.
“Sit tight. I’ll be back, just sit tight!”
Adrien left the room.
He thought he just might have a plan to make it all come to an end.