Читать книгу Killer Headline - Debby Giusti - Страница 12

“Violet, it’s Clay West.”

She stared at him, her eyes wide, limbs shaking.

“What happened?” he asked.

She gasped for air. “A man. In my kitchen. He ran out the back door.”

“Call the cops. Stay inside. Lock your doors.”

Clay raced through the house and out the kitchen door. A dog barked.

Searching the darkness, he saw movement in the distance and raced into the alleyway. A fleeing figure turned on to the main road.

Clay ran to the corner. The guy climbed into a late-model SUV, dark paint job, parked along the side of the road and drove away. Clay stood for a long moment watching the vehicle disappear then, hurrying back to Violet’s house, he tapped on the kitchen door.

“It’s Clay. Open up, Violet.”

She inched the door open and peered out at him from the shadows. Eyes wary, face drawn. His heart went out to her. For all her bravado, she looked scared to death.

“I called 911,” she said. “The police are on their way.” As if in response, a siren sounded in the distance.

“Did you see the guy?” Clay stepped inside and locked the door behind him.

“Not his face.”

Clay glanced around the kitchen. Nothing seemed out of place. Moving into the living room, he flipped on the overhead light.

The home was an eclectic assortment of mix-and-match furnishings. Comfy and cozy. Bright colors, soft pillows and knock-off artwork blended into a warm and inviting atmosphere he instantly liked. A desk in the far corner held a laptop, table lamp, phone and an assortment of papers.

Violet wrapped her arms around her waist. The color had drained from her pretty face. She raised a hand to her throat, her breath ragged.

“What…what are you doing here?” she asked.

As much as he wanted to reassure her, she needed the truth. “The FBI in Chicago feel you’re in danger. Special Agent-in-Charge Jackson McGraw asked me to pay you a visit. You’ve been digging into Mafia business, Violet. The mob silences anyone who comes too close.”

Her brows rose. “This wasn’t the mob. A bad element’s moved into the city. This was local, Clay.”

“And you came to that conclusion because—?”

“Because the intruder fled. The mob would have killed me.”

A visual flashed through Clay’s mind. He envisioned her bound and gagged with a gun to her head. Swallowing the bile that instantly filled his throat, Clay blinked twice, relieved to find a flesh-and-blood and very much unharmed Violet standing in front of him.

“You can’t be sure it wasn’t the mob.” Clay noted her drawn drapes, needing to turn his focus back to security issues instead of the way his pulse quickened whenever he was near her. “Are all your windows and doors locked?”

“Of course.” Then she hesitated. “Except in the laundry room.”

Violet stepped into the hallway and opened the door to a small room containing a washer and dryer. “I keep the window open to let out the hot air from the dryer.”

Just as she’d said, the window was open and the screen unattached. “Don’t touch anything. We’ll let the cops check it out. That might be the way the guy broke in.”

The siren neared. Clay and Violet returned to the living area. He opened the door. A beefy cop, short hair, wearing a bulletproof vest and named O’Reilly shook his hand and then Violet’s.

Clay explained he worked for Chicago P.D. and quickly detailed what had happened. After O’Reilly checked the house, he and Clay walked outside. Shining a flashlight around the laundry-room window and ground below, they found no evidence to prove or disprove the window was the point of entry.

Following the cop’s suggestion, Violet did a quick search of her valuables. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed.

The officer took Violet’s statement while Clay stood to the side, his attention focused on the pretty reporter. Everything he remembered about Violet had been true. She was fresh and young and beautiful and full of life and unaware of the effect she had on him.

Two years ago, he’d picked her out in the crowd at the Chicago bar and grill and known immediately the low-rent dive wasn’t the place for her dimples and curls and curves and the angora sweater that had hugged her body and made him want to wrap her protectively in his arms.

He still wanted to protect her. That’s why he’d been on the road for the last forty-eight hours on special assignment from the Chicago FBI.

Pay Violet Kramer a personal visit so she gets the message to back off, Jackson McGraw had told him. Violet had made too many inquiries into the Chicago mob’s activities. Bottom line, according to Jackson, she needed to stop investigating the Martino crime family and allow law enforcement to do their jobs.

Clay had tried to make that perfectly clear three nights ago when he’d received her unexpected phone call requesting information about the murdered women in Witness Protection.

Somehow, Violet had pieced together bits of information about two seemingly random crimes in Montana and deduced the Mafia’s involvement.

She had beeped a warning on the FBI’s radar, and if they knew about her inquiries, the Mafia did, as well. Wouldn’t take long for organized crime to put a strangle hold on Violet Kramer—literally.

Clay’s job was to get to her first.

Finished with his paperwork, Officer O’Reilly handed a business card to Violet. “Keep that laundry-room window locked, and if you remember anything else, give me a call. You heard cars driving up and down the street. Someone’s been casing the neighborhood, but the intruder never expected you to walk in on him tonight.”

O’Reilly nodded to Clay. “Having you in pursuit probably scared him, as well. Doubtful he’ll hit this house again.”

Violet and Clay thanked the officer and walked him to the door. Once he drove off in his patrol car, Clay checked his watch. He still had a job to do.

“I know it’s late, Violet, but we need to go over some security measures you can take to protect yourself.” He pointed to the table lamps. “Leave a light on so you don’t come home from work to a dark house. Install dead bolts on your front and back doors. Lock all windows, even the one in the laundry room.”

She nodded, her mouth pursed. “I won’t leave it open again.”

He glanced at the phone on her desk. “Call home before you pull into the garage. If someone’s inside, the sound of the phone might encourage them to flee.”

She squared her shoulders. “I can take care of myself, Clay.”

He smiled at her flair of independence. “Seems to me you weren’t quite so confident about an hour ago when the guy was standing in your kitchen. Just as I mentioned earlier, it could have been the mob.”

“Could have, but wasn’t. The officer agreed with me. It was local riffraff.”

“In either case, don’t leave your notes on organized crime where someone can read them.” He pointed to the desk where her laptop sat, along with a stack of papers. The notes on top chronicled some of the Martino family’s most recent exploits, which he’d noticed when Violet was occupied with the cop.

She dropped her hands to her hips. “You have no right to rifle through my papers.”

Seems she was feeling a bit more confident now.

Violet cocked her hip. “Don’t tell me you drove over twelve hundred miles just to give me a security briefing.”

“I had a few days off and planned to take you out to dinner so we could discuss your security face-to-face.” He kept his voice calm. She had been through a lot this evening. He needed to cut her some slack.

“You’re probably hungry,” Clay said. “We can discuss how you’re going to stop gathering information on the mob over Chinese or Mexican. Maybe Thai?”

Anger flashed from her eyes. “You can’t tell me what to do, Clay.”

“For your own safety.”

“The mob isn’t the problem right now. You are.” Her voice was razor sharp.

“You’re upset,” he said. “Surely once you’ve eaten—”

“Leave now or I’ll call Officer O’Reilly and tell him I have another problem.”

“Violet, you’re acting irrational.”

He should have weighed his words.

She pointed to the door. “Goodbye, Clay.”

Things had certainly taken a turn for the worse. As much as he regretted upsetting her, Violet needed to realize her own vulnerability.

If a local punk could break and enter, the mob could, as well. Only they would have ensured she got the message to back off loud and clear, and their way of handling problems was usually fatal.

Hopefully, once Violet had time to process everything that had happened, she’d realize Clay’s advice was sound. He had made his point. One she’d remember. Better to leave while he was ahead.

“I’ll let myself out.” Clay headed for the kitchen door. The cold night air swirled around him when he stepped outside. A scrap of paper blew along the walkway. Clay bent to retrieve the note he hadn’t noticed earlier.

He unfolded the paper and read the typed message. Back off!

Had the man who’d broken into Violet’s house intended to leave the warning? Violet’s scream had frightened him, and the paper had probably fallen from his hand as he ran away.

The Mafia didn’t usually warn its victims, yet someone in Missoula knew Violet’s curiosity was taking her in a dangerous direction.

Was the mob using someone local to put the heat on Violet? If so, they wouldn’t let up until she was quieted once and for all.

Clay glanced at her home. The light from her kitchen window spilled into the darkness. He wouldn’t disturb her again tonight. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

His first duty was to convince Violet to stop digging around in Mafia business. The second was to learn where and how she got her information. The third was to ensure her safety. If the mob showed up in Missoula, he’d add a fourth bullet to the list.

Keep Violet alive.

Violet locked the door behind Clay, feeling relieved to have him out of her home. But when she looked at the spot where the intruder had stood, she wished she hadn’t been so hasty sending Clay away. He offered security and a voice of reason. She regretted her outburst. Of course, she wasn’t thinking clearly.

Having her home broken into had thrown her usual levelheaded composure into a tailspin. Clay’s insistence on turning her misfortune into a teaching moment had rubbed her already stretched nerves to the point of breaking.

Peeved as she was at Clay, she knew he was right. Her inquiries about the mob could be her downfall if the Martino family found out. She needed to be careful.

Violet rechecked her front and back doors to ensure they were locked. As an added precaution, she wedged a straight-back kitchen chair under each doorknob to provide another obstacle should tonight’s mystery guest return or Clay’s warning about the mob prove true.

What had brought him to Missoula? Something more than her phone call the other night. The big guns in Chicago wouldn’t have sent Clay on a wild goose chase to Missoula if she hadn’t ruffled a few feathers in Illinois or stepped on someone’s toes.

Her dark mood brightened. A knowing smile slipped across her lips. Score one for the home team.

Not bad, Vi. Not bad at all.

Officer O’Reilly had assured her tonight’s intruder wouldn’t be back, which was a relief. In addition, Clay’s warnings wouldn’t change her mind.

The undercover cop from Chicago hadn’t scared her off. In fact, he’d made her more convinced than ever to continue the course she was on. She must have uncovered something that the cops and the Feds didn’t want exposed. This story about the mob could be bigger than even she had expected.

Kicking off her heels, Violet settled into her desk chair and booted up her computer. She pulled up her e-mail and started a new message.

Her cursor followed each keystroke as she typed in Gwyn’s address and Need more info as the subject line. In the message box, she typed, Tell me everything you know about Clay West.

“Thank you, Clay,” she mumbled. “If it hadn’t been for you, I might have given up on this story about women killed by the mob.”

But nothing, not even a handsome cop, would stop her now.

Clay hustled down the dark street to where he’d parked his car. Sliding behind the wheel, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called Chicago.

FBI Special Agent-in-Charge Jackson McGraw answered on the second ring.

“Someone broke into the reporter’s home. I chased the guy a couple blocks but lost him.”

“One of Martino’s guys?”

“The cops suspect locals. They’ve had a number of recent petty crimes in the area.” Clay told Jackson about following the perpetrator, and the note Clay found when he left Violet’s house later that night. “Doubtful the mob would have left a warning message.

But they may have alerted someone local to keep her under watch. If the guy’s being strong-armed to do the mob’s bidding, he may have thought scaring Violet off would work to his advantage.”

“Which is exactly what we’re trying to do, as well.”

“I drove home the point about her security issues. In fact, I conducted a little training exercise within the home as you requested.”

Jackson chuckled. “Let me guess. Violet wasn’t impressed.”

“Irritated would be a better word to use.”

“You pushed hard, eh?”

“Which seems to be my modus operandi.” Clay thought of the hot water he’d landed in recently. “I’m not convinced she’s willing to back off.”

“Ms. Kramer has a history of charging headlong into situations without weighing the consequences. At least that’s what I picked up from a friend on the Chicago Gazette.”

“I got the same story before I left town. Someone who works with the internship program filled me in. The woman knows no fear.”

Clay thought of Violet standing in her living room. His presence had startled her, yet she’d recovered faster than most. Later, after the danger had passed and the cop had left, she’d pulled an extra layer of attitude around her slender shoulders. When that hadn’t worked, she’d let her temper get the best of her. Through it all, she’d put up a tough defense.

“I’ve got a motel room for the night located near the highway coming into town. I’ll spend tonight watching her house in case the guy decides to come back.”

Clay glanced at the modest but comfortable homes lining the street. “Tomorrow, I’ll look for a place closer in. If I stay a few days, I can keep an eye on her and find out what she knows. Remember the old adage about never underestimate the enemy?”

“From the sound of your voice, I take it the woman got under your skin.”

Clay straightened and squared his shoulders. “Absolutely not.”

“Just make sure she understands the mob plays for keeps.”

“Anything new on your end?” Clay asked.

“We’ve had additional confirmation the two women’s deaths were tied with the Martino family. No news about Eloise. If we can’t trace her, I’m praying the mob can’t, either.”

“I’d feel better if you knew she was safe,” Clay said.

“Micah’s helping us.”

“Convenient to have a brother who’s a Deputy U.S. Marshal in Montana.”

Jackson chuckled again. “Unless sibling rivalry gets in the way.”

Clay wouldn’t know. No siblings, no parents, no wife or ex-wife, for that matter. Family reunions were a one-man show.

“Remember the baby Eloise gave up for adoption?” the agent asked.

“Of course, I remember Kristin. You arranged for her to be adopted by a family named Perry. He was a lawyer from Billings.”

Jackson was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was cold. “How do you know that information?”

Clay let out a lungful of air. “Look, Jackson. Eloise was important to me. Like family. I wanted to ensure the child’s life wouldn’t be tainted by the mob. You did everything by the book.”

“Hopefully the mob wasn’t as determined as you were to track her down.”

“Hasn’t Kristin been safe all these years?”

“Yeah, you’re right. But her adoptive parents died recently, and she’s trying to find her birth mother. Kristin paid Micah a visit not long ago.”

Clay thought of Violet. “So another woman’s sticking her nose where she shouldn’t?”

“Exactly. Micah told Kristin to go home and let the Marshals find Eloise.”

“I hope Kristin’s not as headstrong as our friend the reporter.”

“There’s another complication. The Billings newspaper ran an article on Mr. and Mrs. Perry, including a color photo of the family. Kristin looks like her mom, green eyes and all.”

“You think the Martino family might see the article?”

“Anything’s possible.”

“What’s your brother say?”

“Micah’s convinced the Marshals can find Eloise. Although his main interest recently has been another woman. Seems my dear brother’s fallen in love. You heard about Ruby Summers Maxwell?”

“The woman in Witness Protection murdered last month?”

“That’s right. Micah met her twin sister, Jade, while he was investigating the crime. One thing led to another. Now they’re talking marriage.”

“Which should be good news. How come I hear frustration in your voice, Jackson?”

When the FBI agent failed to respond, Clay filled in the blanks. “Has to do with Eloise, doesn’t it?”

Jackson inhaled sharply. “She was long ago, Clay. A man has to move on.”

“But you haven’t.”

“I still think about her.”

“Doubtful I could have survived the Southside Foster Home without Eloise. You would have thought I was her long-lost kid brother the way she showed me the ropes and made me feel included.”

Not that Eloise hadn’t made her own mistakes. She’d given her heart to the wrong guy, gotten pregnant and ended up witnessing Salvatore Martino shoot two men in cold blood. One of the victims had been the father of her child. Jackson had been the rookie agent assigned to her case.

Although he rarely talked about his feelings, Jackson had fallen in love with Eloise. His job demanded he place her in the Witness Protection Program, which meant he’d never see her again.

“Keep me updated on your progress with Ms. Kramer,” Jackson said. “And watch your back. After what happened to Cameron Trimble, I’m sure you’re not on the Martino family’s list of favorite people. I wouldn’t want a supposed get-away trip to Missoula, Montana, to cost Chicago P.D. one of their finest officers.”

Clay appreciated Jackson’s support. Especially when his future on the force still hung in the balance.

“Thanks for going to bat for me.”

“Cameron was a brazen punk who deserved what he got.”

“Unfortunately, the inquiry board may not see it the way you do.”

“They know you’ve been under a lot of pressure working undercover, Clay. Coming face-to-face with Trimble put you over the edge.”

“A mistake I shouldn’t have made.”

“The chief said a road trip would do you good. ‘Blow off steam’ were his exact words. That was after I explained the inquisitive Violet Kramer needed to be stopped. Since she called you the other night demanding information on the mob, you’re our go-to guy. Plus, you’ve got a history with her.”

“We had a couple run-ins in Chicago, nothing more.”

“Okay, but she knows you. That helps. Call me if you find out anything new. When people push hard there’s usually a reason.”

Clay thought of Eloise, who had been forced into Witness Protection, and Sylvia, who had turned her back on their marriage. He had lost both of them, but that was the past, and he needed to focus on the present.

Currently, his number-one priority was ensuring Violet Kramer didn’t get hurt. Maybe he needed to change tactics. If he worked with her, she might let down her guard and tell him what she knew about the Martino family and the Montana murders.

Some duties were easier than others. Hopefully, getting close to the feisty Ms. Kramer would be a piece of cake.