Читать книгу Colby vs Colby - Debra Webb - Страница 9

Chapter Three

Sam watched Lisa Smith climb out of her rental car and survey the lot. She was looking for him. He shouldn’t keep her guessing like this, but he needed to be sure of her motives. He’d played a little switch-and-bait with her, falling in between a couple of other black sedans and then abruptly making an exit while she followed the others. Even with that one traffic signal to his advantage, he could only assume she’d been distracted, otherwise he wasn’t sure he would have fooled her so easily.

He’d taken a shortcut to the rental agency and parked where he could watch her arrive.

When she walked out of the rental office, an overnight bag in her hand, and took another long look around the lot, he decided to put her out of her misery. He backed out of the parking slot where he’d waited, then pulled up right in front of her.

She tried to act as if she weren’t surprised as she stowed her bag in the back, then slid into the passenger seat, but he knew better.

“Did you get an unexpected call?” he ventured as he merged into the traffic on the street.

Her startled glance in his direction gave him his answer. He’d been guessing, of course. But a cell phone call was the most likely culprit whenever a driver got distracted. Since she didn’t have any passengers, hadn’t been eating while driving and there hadn’t been any traffic incidents to vie for her attention, then the cell phone was the probable candidate. He’d gotten away from her too easily to believe that one traffic signal had done the trick. This lady was trained in surveillance.

“Or maybe you made one,” he went on when she couldn’t decide how to answer. “Maybe to let your partner know how and when we were arriving.”

The line of her jaw tightened. She didn’t have to be looking at him for him to sense her anger. He’d ticked her off by suggesting she was keeping something from him. That she didn’t deny his charges didn’t bode well. The detective was hiding something, it seemed.

“Detective Sanford called,” she said crisply, maintaining that steady watch on the traffic in front of their car.

“Did you give him an update on me?” He should have known that she wouldn’t be working alone. The cop mentality was pair oriented.

“I told him I was on my way to a spa appointment.” She looked at him then. “He thinks I’m in Cozumel on vacation.”

Sam fixed his attention on the street as he maneuvered through midmorning traffic. “If I find out you’re lying to me—”

“You won’t.”

Instead of driving directly to the office, he turned in the direction of his place. He might as well pack a bag and check the aquarium. Once preparation was underway back at the office, he didn’t want to have to break away for anything as menial as grabbing his toothbrush. He’d driven a dozen or so blocks before she spoke up. He hadn’t expected to get that far.

“Where are we going?”

“My place.” He took the next left. “I’m sure you already know the address.”

She didn’t bother denying his charge. He imagined that she knew all there was to know about him except the details of why and how the three scumbags who murdered Anna were executed.

He couldn’t really hold that against her. He’d done his research on her, as well as her partner, not long after his fiancée was murdered. At the time, he’d considered it his job to know if the cops on the case were up to snuff.

“I know a few things myself. Lisa Marie Smith,” he said out loud, mostly to unnerve her. “Thirty-one, born in San Diego, graduated Berkley with a degree in criminology. Made detective just over five years ago, much to the annoyance of your male peers. Assigned to homicide one month later. No family in L.A. Never been married. One dog.”

She continued her steady gaze out the windshield. “The dog died. Old age. I’d had him since I was in high school.”

“That’s a shame.” He slowed the car and took a right turn. “I’m sure you miss him.” He’d had a dog once. But the animal had gotten so attached to Anna that he’d literally grieved himself to death after her murder. Sam had decided after that he’d stick with fish.

Anna. He didn’t say or think her name very often. He banished the images that immediately attempted to intrude on his thoughts. Anytime he did he was sorry for it. She was gone. There was nothing he could do to bring her back. Her parents hated him, held him responsible. He couldn’t blame them. He was responsible. It was his fault Anna had died.

“Nice place,” Smith said as he made the final turn.

His thoughts drifted back to the present with her comment. He parked in the driveway of his Oak Park home. The price he’d gotten for his Hollywood Hills home would have bought something much larger and in the ritziest market available in Chicago, but he hadn’t been looking for glamour or square footage.

This place gave him the peace and quiet he needed.

By the time he’d gotten out and rounded the hood, she had already emerged from the passenger side. He led the way up the walk and to the door.

“Seems quiet,” she remarked.

“It is.” Since school was out for the summer, there would be a little more excitement around the neighborhood throughout the day. Otherwise the neatly manicured lawns were clear of clutter and people during the morning hours.

First thing, he checked the aquarium and filled up the automatic feeder. He could be gone for two weeks and not have to worry. Fish didn’t need to be walked or boarded at the kennel. Didn’t need baths or any particular attention. Just a clean tank and food.

Uncomplicated. That was his new motto.

Smith stood in the middle of his living room looking around. He hadn’t bothered with any decorating and, admittedly, the furniture left something to be desired. But he didn’t spend much time here so he didn’t actually care. He’d sold his house in California fully furnished. Too many memories to bring any of the stuff with him.

“Have a seat. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

His new home had two bedrooms, one he’d turned into an office. That was the one part of his past he’d kept, his research books. As a forensics scientist, he’d used reference materials daily. So far he hadn’t really needed them in his new job, but it didn’t hurt to have them around.

He grabbed a duffel from his closet and stuffed it with two changes of dark-colored clothes, gloves and the necessary toiletries. He threw in a mini flashlight and a small first-aid kit.

“You kept your reference books.”

Sam turned at the sound of her voice. She stood in the open doorway, but made no move to enter his bedroom. That she’d peeked into his home office didn’t surprise him. A cop didn’t stop being a cop just because she or he wasn’t on official duty.

“I did.” He zipped the duffel and lifted it off the unmade bed. “I’m ready.”

“You didn’t keep any pictures of her?”

She stayed in that doorway almost as if she intended to have her answers before she let him pass. Evidently she’d already had herself a better look around than he’d realized.

“No.” He’d sold or put away everything, except the books, related to the past.

“You shouldn’t pretend she didn’t exist.”

If those brown eyes hadn’t looked so sincere, he might have considered that she was baiting him, but he could see that she was serious.

“She’s dead. She doesn’t care what I pretend.” He moved toward the door, expecting the nosy detective to step out of the way. She didn’t.

“That’s how you’re dealing with it?”

What the hell did she want from him? The last time he’d spoken with Detective Lisa Smith she’d been convinced he’d killed three men in cold blood. Did she believe she could get close to him like this and find that truth she wanted so badly to know?

“Let’s get one thing straight.”

She still didn’t back off, just looked directly into his eyes.

“My personal life is off-limits. It’s none of your business. End of story.”

“Strange,” she said with a puzzled expression. “I thought this whole thing was personal. Three members of a notorious gang killed your fiancée, then ended up dead a short time after. Lil Watts wants you dead. Sanford wants you on death row. What part of that do you feel isn’t personal?”

He stepped directly into her personal space and cranked up the irritation in his tone when he spoke. “This is never going to work, Smith.”

“Probably not,” she agreed without a glimmer of trepidation as she stared up at him. “But I don’t see any point in pretending I don’t want answers or that how you’re dealing with the past doesn’t matter.”

“Stick to the facts related to the case,” he ordered. “We’re not friends. We’ve never been friends. How I’m dealing with life in general isn’t your concern.”

She pivoted on her heel and walked back into the living room. He watched her go, tamped his emotions back down to a more manageable place.

If he got even an inkling that she was working a scam on him, this liaison was over.

For now he had no choice but to go along with her. He’d been out of touch with life in L.A. for more than four months. He needed the detective to get him back up to speed. Then he might just have to break out on his own. That option would be in her best interest, anyway. If she hung around him too long she would likely end up dead.

The Offices of the Equalizers 1:45 p.m.

“THAT SHOULD COVER IT.” Jim Colby shuffled the stack of reports they had just gone over. The reports included everything from seven-day weather forecasts to topographical maps of Los Angeles County.

The communication links were wireless and the tracking devices were state-of-the-art. Spencer Anders would serve as backup. Sam wasn’t exactly sure how that would work in real time, but he had to say he was glad for the support as long as Anders stayed out of the line of fire.

“You have a question, Detective Smith?”

Sam looked from Jim Colby to Smith. She’d picked up one of the reports from his stack and appeared to be studying it.

“I’m wondering how a private citizen in another state was able to get hold of an arrest record.” She dropped the report back onto the stack. “I don’t think I could have gotten it any faster.”

Renee Vaughn, another of Sam’s colleagues here at the Equalizers, stood. “I’m a former assistant prosecutor,” she said with a quick smile. “I know the ropes, Detective. However, if you take issue with our under-the-table contacts, I would suggest you take it up with the boss.” She aimed a wider smile at Jim Colby.

Smith held up both hands. “I have no issues with your tactics. I’m impressed, that’s all.”

The tension in the room reduced significantly.

Spencer Anders grabbed a gear bag. “We should head for the airfield. Wheels up in one hour.”

Sam picked up the remaining bag. “Let’s do it.”

LISA CLIMBED into the backseat of the SUV belonging to Jim Colby.

“The pilot’s sitting on ready,” Jim announced as he closed his phone and started the vehicle. “Victoria has Brett Call and Jeff Battles rendezvousing with us there.”

Lisa wondered why Jim called his mother by her first name. Perhaps it was an effort to keep the conversation on a strictly professional level. But it felt like more than that. The tension she’d noted between the two went deeper than a need to maintain professionalism.

The drive to the private airfield utilized by the Colby Agency took just over half an hour. Spencer Anders and Sam Johnson kept a running dialogue regarding the gear they carried and the possible technical problems they might encounter. Lisa didn’t mind that they left her out of the discussion loop. More than once she noticed Jim Colby watching her in the rearview mirror. She’d been with Sam Johnson since he’d learned of her presence in Chicago, so she was relatively sure the two men hadn’t talked privately. Maybe she was being paranoid, but she had the feeling that Jim Colby was suspicious of her.

Then again, his conclusions about her could have more to do with Victoria taking her case than with anything else. Time would tell, she supposed.

Once at the airfield, Jim followed the signs to Hangar 3. Another SUV, black like the one belonging to Jim, waited. The Lear jet sat on the tarmac, fueled and ready for takeoff.

Lisa unloaded as soon as the SUV was parked. She joined the others at the rear and handled her own bag. Both Anders and Sam carried their personal bags, as well as a gear bag. There was more they’d have to come back for, the additional weapons and more sensitive communications equipment.

As they strode toward the aircraft, the occupants of the other SUV emerged. Victoria Colby-Camp and three men, members of her staff, Lisa presumed.

“Detective Smith,” Victoria said as she approached, “this is Ian Michaels, my second in command, and investigators Brett Call and Jeff Battles.”

Lisa shook hands with each of the men. Ian Michaels had the dark, mysterious look of a true spymaster. Jeff Battles would blend right in on any West Coast beach with his surfer-guy tan and blond hair. Brett Call had the broad shoulders of a football linebacker, but the red hair and freckles gave him the appearance of the boy next door. Judging by what she’d learned about the Colby Agency in her research, there was probably a great deal more than met the eye with these gentlemen.

“Don’t hesitate to call on Jeff and Brett,” Victoria reminded Lisa. “The Colby Agency’s every asset is at your disposal.”

“Anything you need,” Jim Colby interjected with a look first at Lisa then at Sam, “I’m one phone call away.”

Something like fear flashed in Victoria’s eyes, puzzling Lisa for a moment, then she recognized it for what it was. Concern for her son’s well-being. Lisa considered the tall, well-muscled man in question. It didn’t make sense for Victoria to worry on that level. The guy certainly looked as if he could take care of himself in most any situation. But there was something more, beyond the obvious. Lisa had noticed it before.

“Sam,” Victoria said, drawing his attention to her. “Brett and Jeff are prepared to follow whatever instructions you feel appropriate for the protection of your family. I would suggest that Jeff tag around the university with your sister. He fits the proper profile.”

“Those decisions will be made en route,” Jim pointed out. Though his tone was cool and calm there was no mistaking his insistence on maintaining the lead.

Glad when the time came, Lisa was the first to go aboard the aircraft.

“Good afternoon, Detective Smith. I’m Race Payne, I’m your pilot.” The tall, slender man gestured to the seating area that had all the markings of an elegant conference room. “Looks like you get first pick.”

“Thank you.” This was definitely traveling in style.

“You may keep your bag with you or stow it in the luggage closet at the rear of the passenger cabin.”

She thanked him again and moved on to the seating area. Once she’d selected a seat close to a window, she dropped her handbag there and carried her overnight bag to the storage area. There was a minibar and a short corridor that led to the toilet and another door that was unmarked. She wondered if that was a private room or a store room.

“Private conference room.”

Startled, she turned to face Brett Call. “Oh, thanks. I wondered about that.”

Brett stashed his bags. “This is my second flight on the Colby bird.” He hitched a thumb toward the bar. “Would you care for refreshments?”

Lisa shook her head. “I’m good, thanks.”

Anders and Johnson had already taken their seats. Jeff Battles put his bag away and joined Brett at the bar for refreshments.

Lisa hoped it wasn’t going to be this “us against them” the entire flight. In some ways, they were on opposing teams, but the operation was a joint effort. Behaving that way would be in the best interest of getting the job done.

After settling into her seat, she watched the men who represented the Equalizers. They spoke quietly as they moved through a stack of papers similar to the ones they’d viewed in Jim Colby’s office. Hopefully, the two would be sharing that information with the Colby Agency representatives.

Deciding not to wait and see, Lisa spoke up as soon as Battles and Call had taken their seats. “Shall we start the briefing?”

Spencer Anders took charge. “Mr. Battles, you will be assigned to Mallory Johnson.” Anders provided a photo and background info sheet on Sam’s sister. “As Mrs. Colby-Camp pointed out, Mallory is a student at UCLA and you’ll fit in well there.”

Jeff took the photo and info sheet. “Will Miss Johnson be aware of my assignment?”

Sam shook his head. “I think it would be better if they didn’t know.”

Lisa was surprised at that. Was he purposely leaving his folks in the dark just so he didn’t have to see them? Would he even notify them that he was in L.A.?

“Your parents are retired?” Brett inquired.

“Yes.” Johnson handed photos and the needed info to Brett. “You might have a hard time keeping up with them on the golf course. Other than that, you’ll find their routine fairly mundane.”

“I’ll maintain a command post of sorts,” Anders added. “As soon as I have the location, I’ll notify the team.”

The team. That was a step in the right direction. Lisa saw an opportunity to take it one step farther. “We can use my place as the command post.”

All eyes turned to her.

“The location is central, quiet and out of the high-traffic areas.”

Anders nodded. “Good.”

She felt Sam’s gaze on her, but she avoided eye contact. “There are two phone lines, one’s for a fax. My neighbors are older so they don’t get out much. As long as you keep your vehicle parked in the garage there shouldn’t be any questions.”

“What about your partner?” This from Johnson.

Lisa’s gaze met his. “He has no reason to drive by my place.”

The sound system vibrated, signaling the pilot was about to make an announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, please prepare for takeoff.”

Safety belts were fastened into place across laps. Johnson was still studying her as if he suspected she’d volunteered her home for some reason that would be detrimental to him. Lisa focused her attention out the window on the people still standing near the SUVs.

Victoria Colby-Camp and her son Jim Colby waited, not quite side-by-side, since several feet separated them, for the plane to roll toward takeoff. Both watched the aircraft as if their full attention was required for proper function.

What was it between those two?

Lisa stole a glance at Sam Johnson. He’d redirected his attention to the reports spread across his lap. This uneasiness between the two of them was multifaceted for sure. There was the rage still simmering inside him at the loss of his fiancée. She sensed that emotion even as he outwardly denied it. Lisa had watched him lying in agony in that hospital room as he’d slowly recovered from the near lethal beating he’d taken that night. Before being allowed to lose consciousness, he’d been forced to watch the brutal rape and murder of the woman he loved.

Closing her eyes, Lisa shoved those images away. She’d gotten far too attached to him during those long months she and Sanford had been assigned to the case. Then the three suspects had gotten themselves murdered. Heinously so. Everyone in the division, all the way up to the chief, suspected that Sam Johnson had gotten his revenge. But there hadn’t been a trace of evidence tying him to any of the scenes. Sanford had grilled him repeatedly. Followed him, harassed him, actually. Lisa had tried to pull him back, but Sanford was senior and he refused. Until the chief had ordered them off the case.

Then, three days ago, all hell broke loose. Lisa had known when The Man died that Sam Johnson’s name would come up again. Somehow, Johnson had entered into an unholy alliance with the deceased leader of the Crew. His death had unleashed months of pent-up rage against Johnson. Now he was a wanted man. On more than one front. Charles Sanford would like nothing better than to nail him for multiple homicides.

When Lisa looked Sam Johnson in the eye, she couldn’t say that she was 100 percent sure that he hadn’t killed those men, but she couldn’t say he had, either. He’d had motive, that was certain. Means? She supposed so. Opportunity? Probably. But did he possess the ability to disengage emotionally so completely that he could kill not just in cold blood, but in a truly evil manner?

Lisa didn’t think so.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t be totally objective about that. Mainly because she’d fallen for the guy during those long months of watching him grieve. But she couldn’t tell a soul, least of all him.

She felt his eyes on her once more. The woman in her pondered whether he’d ever felt that connection—that thin thread of electricity that somehow tethered them. She turned from the window, met his assessing gaze.

No matter what happened, she could never let him know how she felt. Not only would it be a mistake ethically, she was also certain it would be a huge personal error in judgment. He could never know.

If she’d been smart she would have closed the file on this case months ago. Tucked the whole package into a box and filed it away with all the other cold cases belonging to L.A. County’s Priority Homicide Division.

As she held that analyzing stare, she had to admit that perhaps she wasn’t nearly so smart as her detective’s examination would indicate. But this had nothing to do with her intelligence level. This had to do with keeping Sam Johnson alive. If they didn’t extinguish the volatile situation surrounding the murders of those three scumbags once and for all, Sam Johnson was going to pay the price:

His head delivered to the new man in charge.