Читать книгу Cavanaugh Pride - Marie Ferrarella - Страница 8

Riley dramatically placed her hand to her chest, like a heroine in a 1950s melodrama, feigning shock.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here, mingling with the masses,” she said to her brother as Frank approached their table.

Frank spared her a slight, reproving frown. He was bone tired and desperately in need of unwinding. “Give it a rest, Riley. This is after hours.”

Stealing an empty chair from the next table, he pulled it over to the one occupied by his sister and Julianne. He straddled the chair and folded his arms over the back.

Raising his hand, he made eye contact with the bartender and nodded. The barkeep took a mug and filled it with beer on tap and handed it to the lone waitress working the floor. Only then did Frank look at the detective from Mission Ridge and ask, “Mind if I join you?”

“No, I don’t mind,” she answered crisply. “I was on my way out, anyway.” Rising from her chair, she nodded at Riley. “Thanks for the ginger ale and the introductions.”

“Don’t mention it,” Riley replied, doing her best to hide her amusement.

“I’ll walk you out,” Brian volunteered, then told his stepchildren, “I promised your mother I’d be home early tonight. I just wanted to stop by and see how the new detective was doing.” And then he smiled at Julianne. “From the looks of it, I’d say she’s doing just fine.”

Not accustomed to compliments, Julianne murmured a barely audible, “Thanks,” before turning on her heel and heading for the front door.

Brian was right beside her.

“Well, that’s a first,” Riley said the moment she judged that Julianne was out of earshot. She looked at her brother with no small amazement. “I don’t think I ever saw a woman go out of her way to get away from you before.”

Frank handed the waitress a five and then picked up the mug she’d placed on the table in front of him. He shrugged, dismissing the incident. “She said she was leaving anyway.”

“She only said that after you sat down,” Riley pointed out. The waitress cleared away Julianne’s ginger ale and made her way back to the bar. “Face it, Frank, you’re losing your charm.”

Frank eyed his sister over the rim of his mug. “I’m also losing my patience with smart-alecky sisters.” He took a long sip, then added, “If you weren’t so damn good at your job, Riley, I’d have you taken off the task force.”

To which Riley merely shook her head, as if at a loss whether to pity him or hand his head to him. “Careful, Frank, this job is turning you sour.” And then she leaned in, her expression becoming more serious. “Really, Frank, lighten up a little. You’re trying too damn hard.”

They had a difference of opinion there. He’d had the case for over a month and in that time, they’d compiled nothing but data. Data and no viable suspects. And he had an uneasy feeling they were running out of time.

“Way I see it, I’m not trying hard enough.” His expression turned grim. “The killer’s still out there somewhere, daring us to catch him. Every second he’s out there is a second less the next victim has.”

“We’ll get him,” Riley said confidently. “You’ll get him,” she emphasized. It wasn’t often that she told him she thought he was good. But he was. “Just don’t alienate everyone else while you’re doing it.”

Rising, he turned his chair around so that he could sit in it properly. He sighed and picked up the mug again. Another long sip didn’t change anything. “Sometimes I think I’m in over my head.”

“We all are.” Riley laughed shortly. “This is where the dog paddle comes in really handy. We’re all just treading water until the killer makes a mistake. When he does, we’ve got him.”

The shrug was careless. He didn’t know if he bought into that philosophy. So far, the killer had been anything but careless. It was as if he was a ghost, depositing lifeless bodies into Dumpsters. Six in all, counting the one in Mission Ridge, and nobody had seen him.

To get his mind off the case, Frank changed the subject. “So, did you learn anything about the detective from Mission Ridge?” he asked, doing his best to sound offhanded.

Riley slanted a glance at her brother’s face. There was interest there, she’d bet a month’s pay on it. Personal probably although he’d try to keep it professional.

“Not a thing, except that she’s thorough.” The woman had studied the files without getting up from her desk all afternoon. “But she’s not exactly chatty.”

“Yeah, well, that might be a nice change,” he speculated, looking at her deliberately.

Riley swatted him.

“Hey,” he warned, pulling his head back. “You’re not supposed to hit your superior.”

“We’re off duty, remember?” Riley countered. “You’ve got to learn how to turn it off, little brother, or it’ll take you apart.”

Frank said nothing to confirm or deny the wisdom of her words. Instead, he just took another sip of his beer and thought about the woman fate—and his stepfather—had brought into his life.

Julianne could have driven back home. “Home” was only about forty-two miles away. But in the interest of time, Julianne had decided to rent a room in a hotel close to the police headquarters.

Taking the suitcase she’d thrown together last night out of the trunk of her car, she walked into the Aurora Hotel, a wide, three-story building that, from the outside, resembled one of those 24/7 gyms that had become the rage.

The decor inside could have used a little modernizing and upgrading. But in comparison to what she’d lived with when she was growing up, it was on par with the Taj Mahal.

The lobby was empty. No one sat in the five chairs scattered about, their gray color all but fading into the equally gray rug. The bored, sleepy-eyed desk clerk came to life as she approached the front desk, obviously grateful for any diversion that would make this long, drawn-out evening move a little faster to its conclusion.

Ten minutes later, with her keycard in her hand, Julianne got out on the third floor and walked to her room. As uninspired as the lobby, it at least gave the semblance of cleanliness, which was all she required. Setting her suitcase down by the pressboard writing desk, she didn’t bother unpacking. There was time enough for that later.

Right now, she had a job to do, which was the real reason she hadn’t balked at being loaned out to an adjacent police department. She had streets to drive up and down, people to question and show the picture she carried with her at all times.

Throwing some water into her face, Julianne was ready. Dinner would be fast food. She didn’t care what; it was just fuel anyway.

She wasn’t one to believe in miracles, but, as she’d said to Riley, she liked to think that she had an open mind about things. Silently, she challenged God to prove her wrong about miracles. Someone had told her that finding Mary would come under the heading of a miracle.

Mary.

Her cousin was out there somewhere because living on the street was preferable to living at home, subjected to nightly abuse at the hands of a father who didn’t deserve the name. “Monster” would have been a far more fitting title.

But he would never bother anyone again. Events had arranged themselves so that she could make that claim to Mary—when she found her—with certainty.

She hadn’t gone over to her uncle’s house to kill him even though she’d wished the man dead more than once. But when he’d come at her the way she knew in her heart that he had come at Mary time and again, she’d had no choice but to defend herself any way she could.

Julianne wasn’t even sure just how the knife had come into her hand. She only knew that when she’d told him she’d use it if he didn’t back off, her uncle had laughed at her. He’d mocked her, saying that she was just as cowardly as her father had been.

And then he’d told her what he’d do to her for daring to point the knife at him. She remembered her blood running cold. Remembered feeling almost paralyzing guilt for not having taken Mary with her before her cousin had been forced to run away.

Her uncle had lunged at her, knocking the knife from her hand and screaming obscenities at her. There’d been a struggle for possession of the weapon. They’d wrestled and though to this day she wasn’t certain how it happened, somehow the blade had wound up in his chest—up to the hilt.

Her first inclination had been to run. But she knew she could never outrun her own conscience, so she’d gone in to the captain without bothering to change her torn clothing. Numb, in shock, she’d told him the whole story.

People who lived in the vicinity knew the kind of man her uncle had been. In short order, Harry White Bear’s death was ruled self-defense, and she was free to go on with her life.

Her search for Mary began that day.

She wanted to bring her cousin home with her, the way she should have done right from the beginning instead of fleeing herself and leaving Mary behind. She’d left because her uncle had made advances, but she’d never, in her wildest dreams, thought that he would force himself on his own daughter.

That was when she still believed that there was some good in everyone.

She didn’t believe that anymore.

Julianne wanted to find Mary to let her know that she didn’t have to look over her shoulder anymore, that her father wasn’t going to hurt her again, that she could become something other than a woman who lived on the streets.

“I’m going to make it up to you, Mary. Somehow, someway, I’m going to make it up to you,” she murmured to the photograph she’d placed face up on the passenger seat. “But first, I’ve got to find you.”

Julianne knew she had a long night ahead of her. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was finding Mary.

The next morning, after only about four hours of sleep, Julianne was at her desk by seven-thirty. She wanted to go over the last of the files she hadn’t gotten to the previous day.

When she heard someone entering the squad room shortly after she arrived, Julianne was surprised. From what she’d been told, the detectives came in at eight-thirty. She’d assumed that she’d have some time to herself before the room filled up with noise.

Her surprise doubled when she looked up and found Frank standing over her desk. Something instantly tightened inside of her. Every nerve ending had inexplicably gone on high alert and she wasn’t completely sure why.

“Can I help you?” she asked, successfully stripping her voice of all emotion and the tension.

He studied her for a moment before asking, “Whose picture were you showing around on McFadden last night, White Bear?”

The question caught her utterly off guard. Stunned, Julianne couldn’t answer him immediately. How had he known where she was last night? Was he following her? That had to be it, but why?

A sudden thrust of anger surged through her. This wasn’t going to work. She wanted out. Her eyes narrowed. “You were spying on me?”

He heard the accusation in her voice, but managed not to rise to the bait. While she was part of his task force, he was accountable for her. He needed to know exactly what he was getting himself into. “I was driving down McFadden when I saw you.”

Julianne pressed her lips together, trying to choose her words carefully. She had a temper, but most of the time managed to bury it. Now it was closer to the surface than usual. She wasn’t sure she believed him, and yet, what sense did it make for him to be spying on her?

For now, she gave him the benefit of the doubt—as long as he could answer her question to her satisfaction. “What were you doing there?”

How had this gotten turned around to be about him? Still, he’d learned that in order to get something, you had to give something. So rather than pull rank, which he was obviously entitled to do, he answered her question.

“I was retracing what I thought might have been the last victim’s steps. What were you doing there?”

He waited to see what kind of an answer she’d give him. It didn’t seem plausible that she would be out, her first night on the case—her first night in Aurora—showing around one of the victim’s photographs to the ladies of the evening on that particular corner of the world.

She hated being accountable to anyone. It had taken her a while before she could trust Captain Randolph and follow instructions. This was not going to be easy. But she owed it to Randolph to try. The man had put his reputation on the line and taken her side during the investigation into her uncle’s death.

“Asking questions,” she replied tersely.

His eyes never left hers. It impressed him that she didn’t flinch or look away. “Isn’t that a little in the overachiever range?”

She shrugged carelessly. “The sooner this case gets solved, the sooner I can go back to Mission Ridge—and get out of your hair.”

“Very noble of you,” he commented. She wasn’t sure she detected a note of sarcasm in his voice. And then he pressed, “So that’s all you were doing? Showing one of the victim’s photographs around?”

She raised her chin, silently daring him to disprove her. “Yes.”

His eyes pinned her. “Which one?”

Julianne blinked, her mind scrambling for a name. She stalled for time. “Excuse me?”

“Which victim?” he asked. “Which victim’s picture were you showing around? Seems like a simple enough question.” The longer she didn’t give him an answer, the less he believed her.

Damn him. She didn’t like being cornered. It took Julianne only half a beat to make a selection. He wouldn’t know the difference. Not unless he’d gotten out of the car and questioned the hookers she’d talked to after she was gone. And even then, he wouldn’t get an answer. Some of them seemed pretty out of it.

“That one.” Julianne pointed to the photograph of a somewhat bedraggled woman whose picture was heading up the third column.

He turned to look, then approached the bulletin board. “That’s Andrea Katz. She was a computer programmer for Dulles and Edwards.” He looked back at Julianne. “Why would you be asking around about her there? Andrea Katz wasn’t found anywhere near that part of town.”

Why was he pushing this? “Okay, so it was the one next to her.”

Again, he turned just to verify what he already knew. He’d gone over and over this board time and again, searching for the one connection he needed. The women’s likenesses were all embossed in his brain.

“Ramona Hernandez. Hooker. Found in a Dumpster behind a diner in the older part of the city,” he recited. “Want to try again?” he asked cheerfully.

It was getting harder and harder to hang on to her temper. “What do you want from me, McIntyre?”

“The truth, White Bear. I’d like the truth. Is that too much to ask?”

He was crowding her space. She was a very, very private person, one who had trouble filling out anything beyond her name on a form, feeling that it was her business, not anyone else’s. But what harm would telling him do, Julianne silently argued with herself. And if it would get him off her back, maybe telling him would be worth it.

“Okay,” she bit off the word. “In my off hours, I thought I’d try to find my cousin, Mary. Mary White Bear. She’s a runaway. Just before I left Mission Ridge, someone told me that they thought they saw her in Aurora.” Again Julianne lifted her chin pugnaciously. He’d agitated her and part of her was almost spoiling for a fight. “Satisfied?”

Questions about the woman before him began materializing in Frank’s head at a prodigious rate. “No.”

Her eyes narrowed into annoyed slits. “Well, there’s nothing I can do about that, is there?”

Now there they had a difference of opinion. He allowed a smile to curve his mouth. “You could tell me why you thought you had to lie about that and keep it to yourself.”

She hadn’t told Randolph about Mary and she got along with the Captain fairly well. Julianne couldn’t see herself voluntarily sharing something so personal with a stranger. She shrugged carelessly, combing her fingers through her hair and sending it back over her shoulder. She said the first thing that came to mind. “I figured you wouldn’t want me distracted.”

“I don’t,” he agreed firmly. “But what you do in your time away from the job is none of my business.” And then, because there was an aura of danger about this woman he needed to find out more about, he qualified his statement. “Unless you wind up killing someone.”

Julianne looked at him sharply, adrenaline rushing through her veins. Had he looked into her background? Did he know about her uncle?

Frank saw the heightened awareness, saw the wary look that entered her eyes. White Bear, he realized, just might be capable of anything. If she turned out to be a loose cannon, he wanted her off his task force. “Did you wind up killing someone last night?”

“No.”

Well, that was a relief. But he was still going to keep an eye on her. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t have been a hardship. But her looks were distracting and he couldn’t afford to be distracted, not until the killer was caught and this case was closed.

“Okay then, I’ve got no problem with you looking for your cousin during your downtime.” Turning away from her, he began to walk toward the cubicle that served as his office. “Can I see it?”

“See what?” she asked warily.

This woman trusted no one, he thought, as more questions about her came to mind—the first being why was she so distrustful? “The photograph you were showing around. Maybe I’ve seen her,” he added when she made no effort to retrieve the photograph from her purse.

Maybe he had, Julianne thought.

No stone unturned, remember?

She was going to have to do something about her defensiveness, Julianne silently upbraided herself, taking her purse out of the desk’s bottom drawer. Opening it, she pulled out the photograph of her cousin and held it up to him.

The girl in the photograph looked like a younger version of Julianne. She had incredibly sad eyes. “Pretty girl,” he commented.

“She would have been better off if she wasn’t,” Julianne answered grimly, looking at the photograph herself.

“Meaning?”

Julianne raised her eyes to his. “Meaning that she looked a lot like my dead aunt. And the first one who noticed was my uncle.”

Her tone of voice had Frank quickly reading between the lines. Incest was a crime he could never quite wrap his head around. It was just too heinous. “So she ran away from home before he—”

“No,” Julianne contradicted angrily, “she ran away from home after he…”

She deliberately let her voice trail off without finishing the sentence, but there was no mistaking her meaning.

Frank took a breath. Maybe that was why this woman was so angry. It would have certainly made him angry to have a cousin of his violated by the very person who was supposed to protect her.

“Sorry to hear that,” he said, his voice as full of feeling as hers was monotone.

She thought he honestly meant that and it made her regret the tone she’d taken with him. When she reached for the photograph he was still holding, he didn’t surrender it immediately.

“Why don’t I have copies made of this?” Frank suggested. “Pass it around to the beat cops. Maybe one of them will see her and get back to us.”

Us. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she hadn’t asked for his help, but she swallowed the words. She had to start trusting someone somewhere along the line or she was just going to wind up self-destructing. That wasn’t going to help Mary at all.

Julianne pressed her lips together. Time to take the hand that was reaching out to her, she silently ordered. Taking it didn’t automatically make her weak.

“That would be good, yes,” she agreed.

But just as he began to head for the copy machine, the phone on Riley’s desk rang. Since he was closer to it than Julianne was, Frank picked it up.

“McIntyre.”

Julianne saw his face darken as he listened. His eyes went flat.

“We’ll be right there,” he said grimly before hanging up. “C’mon,” he told her, putting the photograph down on her desk. For now, it was going to have to wait. “They just found another body.”