Cries in the Night (33 page)

Kate knew she shouldn’t have run away. It wasn’t even a conscious thought as much as an instinctive reaction to flee. When she heard the sirens, she knew help was near, and there was nothing she could do for any of the men lying on the sidewalk. She melted into the growing ring of curious bystanders and watched the emergency activity. As more and more people arrived, she had slid farther into the background until she just stepped away and disappeared into the night. Sooner or later she would have to talk to the police. Later, seemed to be the better plan.

She entered the bathroom and turned on the shower. It would take at least five minutes for the hot water to reach her second floor pipes, so she finished undressing while it ran. Her fingers fumbled as she took off her left earring, than reached for the right one. Touching the empty lobe of her ear, she sighed. Damn! The sparkling crystal hoops had been her favorite pair. She sighed and stepped out of her panties, then unhooked her bra. As she tossed it on the bed, a hundred dollar bill fluttered to the floor.

She blinked and stared at the crumpled bill for a few seconds without moving. Jameel had given it to her earlier in the evening, and because she hadn’t brought a purse, she’d tucked it into the cup of her bra. In all the excitement, she’d completely forgotten about it. Stepping over it as if it was a poisonous snake, she entered the shower and pulled the curtain closed behind her.

As expected, the water was barely lukewarm, but it still felt good, pouring over her, washing away all the physical reminders of the night. She scrubbed her face and body with a soapy washcloth until her skin felt raw. Even after the water
ran cold, she lingered in the protective cell of the tiled shower until she started shivering again. Reluctantly, she turned off the faucets and picked up a towel.

She made a half-hearted attempt to blow dry her hair, then wrapped a fluffy robe around her naked body. Suddenly overwhelmed by a debilitating exhaustion, she succumbed to her earlier instinct and crawled into bed. With all her lights blazing and her ruined clothes littering the floor, she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep. As much as she hated to think about it, she knew nothing would change before morning. Sooner or later, she’d have to deal with it all … but for the few hours left until dawn, she would try to find peace in the depths of sleep.

It was almost 4 a.m. when he reached the newsroom. In spite of the early hour, there were already a couple other reporters at their desks, working desperately on their latest tip, trying to develop it into a story that would make it to press.

Brian smiled as his fingers closed around the cell phone in his pocket. Let them scramble. Yesterday, he’d been one of them. But this morning, everything had changed. What might have been a back page filler had suddenly become a front page headline.

Somewhere between the shootings and the arrival of the coroner, he’d called his editor who had promised him two inches on the front page in today’s edition, plus a half page in tomorrow’s and a full spread on the website. All with his by-line.

For eight years he’d been working at this paper, doing every crap job there was just to stay on the payroll. Denver was a great city if you liked football or skiing. Brian liked neither. His pallor was well earned spending hours inside homes or bars or malls or whatever crazy location might produce an interesting story. He couldn’t get the big assignments until he’d proven himself. But he couldn’t prove himself until he found a big story. That vicious cycle had generated such fascinating assignments such as the man who had painted his house, lawn and even the dog Bronco orange and blue or the woman who trimmed one of her hedges in the image of Obama during the Democratic Convention.

No matter how small and unimportant each story was, he’d struggled to keep it fresh and give it his whole heart, knowing that one day, he’d get his shot at the big time. One day someone would notice the beautiful prose and the brilliant insight that he put into each and every piece.

And that one day was today. He’d already called in the brief report that barely made it into the morning edition. He had all day to write the more detailed
story that would appear in tomorrow’s edition. He wasn’t scheduled to be in the office until noon, but he was too energized to sleep. He could still remember the weight of the cop’s Glock in his hand and the kick when he pulled the trigger. Even hours later, the rancid smell of gun powder and blood still filled his nostrils. The adrenalin continued to pump through his veins, making his heart pound wildly in his chest.

Brian’s fingers danced across the keyboard as the words detailed the events of the night. This story was big enough and had a high enough profile to break him through that ink-stained barrier. And best of all, this story was all his.

KILLER DATE

CHAPTER ONE

A month ago I was in a private cabana at the Bellagio doing Beach Bum Jell-O shots off the rock-hard abs of the redhead I had cut in half ten hours before. Now? Vegas and super-hot showgirls were about twelve hundred miles away, although I’d done my share of Jell-O shots last night around the pool of my deceased father’s mansion on Lake Travis just outside of Austin.

I started to drag my fingers through my perfectly rumpled black hair, but my hand stopped as soon as I touched my forehead. Two days after getting out of the hospital, I still had a pounding headache. Even my skin hurt. In retrospect, hanging around the pool, downing shots and sangria probably hadn’t been the smartest idea, especially since my new-found siblings and I had almost been killed by Special K-spiked margaritas from a greedy bastard who had tried to burn us alive.

Then again, the fact that we had survived was definitely a great excuse for a party.

“Don’t take this wrong, Reno, but you look awful … are you sure your doctor cleared you to come back to work already?” Pam asked with motherly concern. Not that she was
my
mother. But she knew more about the Scandals detective agency that my four surprise siblings and I had inherited than any other person alive. Her real son, Christopher, was now part owner and general manager of Scandals, not to mention semi-attached to one of my new sisters, Killeen.

It was even more complicated than it sounded, and it made my head ache even worse when I spent too much time thinking about it.

“God, I hope I don’t look as bad as I feel,” I moaned. “Doc didn’t put any restrictions on us when he let us leave the hospital yesterday.”

“I doubt he has much experience treating someone who was knocked out by Ketamine and slammed their head on a tile floor.” She smiled, but her lips quivered, giving away how deeply worried she had been. “I’m glad you guys are okay. I still don’t understand how he put the drugs into the margaritas without anyone noticing.”

“When he said it was
AsomBroso 11 Year Anejo, we kind of dropped our guard. That shit costs
a $1,000 a bottle. We suspected he had killed Roger, but it never occurred to us that he’d have the balls to try to kill all six of us, too.”

“Seven, counting Killeen’s baby,” Pam reminded me.

“Yeah, who figured that would be what saved us? If she hadn’t been pregnant, she’d have been right in there with the margaritas.”

“Sounds like it caught him by surprise.”

I nodded ruefully. “It caught us all by surprise. I had no idea softball pitchers had that much speed … and accuracy. She pegged him right between his eyes. He never saw it coming.”
I leaned a leather-covered hip on Pam’s desk and hooked one leg on the edge.

“You kids were really lucky. I’m so sorry that Roger isn’t here. He would have so much fun running this business with you guys.”

“I feel a lot closer to him now,” I told her. After digging through his old stuff and meeting his past associates and friends, we found out a lot more about the man who had sired us, then disappeared off into the sunset. “It’s like he’s still here.”

“I’m glad you’re all going to stay.”

“We may kill each other in the process, but we’re learning how to be a family.”

“So where are Christopher and Killeen?” Pam asked.

“Probably fucking their brains out.” I suddenly remembered I was talking to Christopher’s mother and hurried to soften my comment. “I mean, they …”

Pam laughed. “I know what you mean. And I’m glad. Everyone could see that they were perfect for each other … except them.”

“Well, she had her chance to cut and run but she chose to stay and save his life … must be love.” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my tone. In my opinion, love was a highly over-rated emotion, but all sorts of irrational behavior could be blamed on it. I wasn’t sure what I would have done had I been in Killeen’s situation. Getting the hell out of the house and calling the cops might have been my first response. When given the choice of fight or flight, my history had always taken the latter path.

The front door opened and bright morning sun flowed through the doorway into the lobby of the agency. A slender woman glided into the lobby. She was short, probably no more than 5’ 3” and slender, but she had a knock-out body that was hidden beneath a scoop-necked yellow t-shirt and a pair of white shorts. Her coal black hair was cut into a shaggy pixie with spiky bangs reaching her huge emerald green eyes.

I typically go for the six-foot tall showgirls that are all legs and tits. This girl was definitely not my type … too short and compact. So no one was more surprised than me that my border patrol south of my belt-border went AWOL, and it took all my damaged brain cells to force my gaze upward to her small oval face. It had been a long, dry two weeks, and I was obviously horny as hell if this pixie got my juices flowing.

She met my gaze steadily with just the slightest hint of contempt in her expression. God, it was like she was reading my mind. In her hand was a Scandals’ business card. She held it out and I couldn’t help but notice the tattoo on the inside of her wrist of a pink heart, a yellow moon, a green clover and an orange star. What kind of woman had a Lucky Charms tattoo? Either she had a sense of humor hidden beneath her prickly exterior, or she
really
liked cereal.

I slid off the desk so abruptly that it startled her and she dropped the card. As she bent over to pick it up, I noticed the elaborate curlicues of another tattoo on her lower back. She straightened and held the card toward me again.

“I need you to find my sister,” she said in a surprisingly husky voice.

I grinned. I never could resist a girl with a tramp stamp. Nothing serious, of course, but maybe a temporary relief from my recent celibacy.

“Is Roger Elliott available?” she asked.

I took the card, glanced at it and saw it had Roger’s name printed on it. An unexpected sense of melancholy swept through me as I realized that my father … this man I had never even met … had been very much alive and well when he left this card wherever this young woman had found it.

When I didn’t immediately respond, Pam stood and extended her hand. “My name is Pam, and you are …?

“Jennifer Caldwell, but I go by Jenny.” The girl took Pam’s hand and managed a shaky smile.

“I’m sorry, but Roger Elliott has …,” Pam paused and swallowed back her still fresh emotions, “… he’s no longer with us.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t actually know him. Someone gave me his card.” She looked toward the offices in the back, completely ignoring me. “Anyone will do.”

I stepped in front of her line of sight. “
I’m Reno Marks, and I’m available.”

Jenny’s dark eyebrows lifted, disappearing beneath an uneven fringe of bangs. Now it was her turn to sweep me from head to toe with a look that clearly judged me to be lacking. “Is there someone … older … uh, more experienced?”

“I just finished solving a major murder case,” I assured her, ignoring the disapproving glance Pam shot me. Okay, so it had been my first case, and I hadn’t
been the only person involved in figuring out who had murdered Roger. Being a performer in Vegas involved a certain level of deception. In fact, my life with an alcoholic mother, an absentee father and a constant rotation of men who had no fatherly ambitions had caused me to escape into an imaginary world. It wasn’t that I was a liar; it was more that I was a survivor who did whatever I needed to do to control the outcome.

And, for some reason, it was suddenly very important that I gain this young woman’s trust and take on her case. My lips stretched into my finest showman’s smile, proven to melt even the frostiest attitude. I was not a man who was accustomed to being turned down … for anything.

“We’ll be in the conference room,” I informed Pam, then turned to Jenny. “Please follow me. I’m sure you want to be reunited with your sister as soon as possible.”

Mentioning her sister must have been the key phrase, because Jenny nodded and followed me without further protest. I had a moment of doubt. This was a serious situation, and, in truth, I had almost no experience. I could bluff my way through the meeting, but when it came down to actually finding someone who wasn’t in the same room as I was, I knew I was in over my head. As much as I wanted to impress this woman, I still didn’t want to screw up any chance of her sister being found.

“Because I’m sure time is of the essence, I’m going to bring in one of the partners on this,” I told her. “Pam, could you see if Christopher or Dallas are around and ask them to join us, please?” I called over my shoulder.