Читать книгу Relentless - Jo Leigh - Страница 8

SHE CAME BACK AT SEVEN. Vince was sitting on the floor next to her motel door, a cold cup of coffee in his hand, a smile hiding his frustration at a day that had knocked the wind out of him. His informant Eddie, a junkie too long without a fix, had given him nothing at all, and it was only a matter of time until the Captain had his ass in a permanent sling.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

Kate didn’t look like her day had been much better. She stood in front of him, scowling. On her, it looked pretty good. “Nothing’s changed. You’re still making my life miserable. Who was that guy, and why did he take my picture?”

Vince got to his feet, his knees cracking like split kindling. “I’ve missed you. Any luck on the new job?”

“I’m not interested in chatting with you. I want you gone. Out of my life.”

“No can do. Especially now.”

She closed her eyes. “Why?”

“Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but that wasn’t a guy. It was a reporter.”

She cursed, and, oddly, that looked good on her, too. “What have you done to me?”

“Me? I didn’t do a thing. The minute you give me your statement, I’m all about protection. You wouldn’t have a thing to worry about.”

“Except for gangbangers coming to kill me.”

“We should talk about that.”

She gazed at him for a long moment. He needed a shower, a shave, some sleep. She wished he didn’t.

Then she opened her door and walked silently into the motel room, leaving him to follow. She put her coat and bag away, ran a hand through that silky hair, then nodded toward the little table. “I’ve got tea and instant coffee.”

“Coffee would be great.”

“I hope you take it black.”

“Yep.” He took a wobbly seat and watched her move about the small, tidy room. Her clothes matched what he knew about her, that she’d gone from one low-level job to another, from one crummy apartment to the next. He still didn’t quite believe the stalker story. Not because it couldn’t have happened—that kind of crap was more prevalent than anyone wanted to believe—but because he’d found nothing about it in the records. No restraining orders, no complaints at all.

More than her plain sweater and beige pants, the thing that didn’t fit her was her presence. She was a woman to be reckoned with. Nothing about her was timid or weak. He wanted, more than he should, to figure out this mystery.

She brought out a heating coil and plugged it in the wall, then took two foam cups and put in instant coffee for him, a tea bag for her. The whole process took about five minutes. He continued to watch. Mostly her hands, which were strong and lean, her nails short but neat, and her face, which showed no expression other than a quiet determination.

When she handed him the coffee, she took her tea and sat on the edge of the bed. “So talk.”

Damn, he liked her. Straightforward, no games, not in the least coy. Other than lying through her teeth, she was all right. “The reporter’s name is Baker, and he’s a prick of the first order. I don’t know how he found out about you. Maybe the same way I did.”

“The videotape.”

“Right.”

“What paper does he work for?”

“The Times.”

She looked away for a moment. When she looked back, she seemed infinitely tired. “Is there any way you can stop him from running the picture?”

“No.”

“So these murderers are going to think I can ID them.”

“Yes.”

“And they’ll come after me.”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful. Would it do any good for you to tell this reporter that I didn’t see them?”

“I doubt it, but I can try.”

She sipped her tea. “Are you telling me the truth? That you didn’t tell Baker to force me into testifying?”

“I am. Although I still want you to do that.”

“Why is it so hard for you to believe me?”

He put his cup down and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I’d like to. Honest. But I was there. I crouched down, just where you’d have been, and I looked in that mirror. There’s no way you would have known it was killers coming into the room. Tim heard a knock. He went to the door. You could see the door. It’s human nature to look. You’d want to know. It’s as simple as that.”

“I was doing my job.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’d have looked. Anyone would have. And even if you saw them for a few seconds, that would have been enough. You would have seen if they were black, Caucasian, Hispanic, Asian. You’d have seen clothing. Weapons. Maybe tattoos.”

“It makes a lot of sense, what you just said. But I didn’t see. I would tell you if I did. I didn’t.”

He sat back up. “Sorry. Not buying it.”

“When I was a kid,” she said, “I had this phobia. I had nightmares about it, even though I have no recollection of where the fear started. I used to dream that I was being held prisoner and that I was being tortured. The guard wanted me to tell him something, but I had no clue what he was talking about. I wanted, more than anything, to tell him what he wanted to know, but I couldn’t. So I just kept getting tortured. Sound familiar?”

“Wow,” he said. “You’re good.”

“You’re making this very difficult.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Harassment? Endangering my life? Nice job you’ve got there.”

He stood, and walked over to the bed. Kate didn’t seem alarmed, not even when he sat down next to her. “If you don’t want to testify, I suppose there’s not much I can do to force you. But I’d bet good money that Baker’s gonna run that picture, and when he does, you’re going to need help.”

“Now it’s blackmail? Nice.”

He studied her eyes. They were brown, a café au lait, and they were intelligent. Observant. And very attractive. He shifted his gaze down to her lips, and, once again, they were surprising. Not terribly lush, not like what was so popular right now, but they were smooth and perfect with her face. Altogether a remarkable looking woman who was working very hard to be as unremarkable as possible. “I can keep you safe.”

“How?”

“Let me make some phone calls.”

“Gonna call the cops?”

“Yeah.”

She put her cup down on the rickety nightstand. “Tell me something. How do you have so much time to devote to little old me? Don’t take this the wrong way, but I know your friend’s death isn’t the only crime this city has seen for two days.”

“It’s the only one I care about.”

“So they just let you pick your cases?”

He smiled. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“I think I could follow along.”

“I’ll bet you could. If I could tell you.”

“Detective Yarrow, I think you’re full of crap. I have things to do. Coffee hour is over.”

“This isn’t a joke, Kate. These gangbangers’ll kill you without a second thought.”

She sighed. “Make your phone calls. Then let me know what you’re offering.”

“Good enough.” He went to her door, but before he left he turned once again. “I’m curious. This guy that’s stalking you. How come you never reported him to the police.”

“I did.”

“No, you didn’t. I looked.”

“You looked in the wrong place. Now I really do have things to do.”

Damn, he really did like her. He sincerely hoped she’d get out of this alive.