Dalakis Passion 4 - Eternal Brothers (2 page)

Deveraux
when
they'd questioned her and that his attitude had been very protective. Whether he'd been
protecting himself or Delight, Zane hadn't been sure at the time. But now there was no
doubt in his mind that he'd been protecting his woman. The fact that they were now
married spoke volumes. However, it had also raised Zane's suspicions. What had
happened to the men in the alleyway?
Then there was the incident at The Club, a local hotspot, a short time later when
local crime lord
Jethro
Prince and his chief enforcer, a man known only as Smith, were
found murdered. Once again Sam Cassidy had been on the scene and it was written off
as hit from another crime syndicate--a falling-out among thieves.
But Zane hadn't been convinced. He'd snooped around the streets and alleys
around the club and found a drug addict who remembered a large man with fancy
clothing and long black hair entering the club. No one inside the club remembered
seeing such a man. That had raised Zane's hackles. The description easily fit Lucian
Dalakis
.
He'd dug further but had uncovered nothing.
Worried about his preoccupation
with this family, he'd resigned his job and returned to New York.
Then a new rumor
had reached his ears a few days ago. Sam Cassidy was now working for the
Dalakis
family. What that meant, he wasn't sure, but he'd had to find out.
Zane saw the man in question slinking out the side entrance of the garden,
searching the darkness. So Cassidy sensed that someone was out here. It wouldn't do to
underestimate this man. He was a good cop. Or at least he had been. Now Zane was no
longer sure. Turning, he walked swiftly down the street, careful to keep to the shadows.
He wouldn't learn much else tonight and wanted to return to his home to think.
He'd tried to resist the temptation of returning to New Orleans, but it was no use.
He had to know the truth, not only for his own sake, but also for the protection of the
people of this city.
And if the
Dalakis
brothers turned out to be what he feared they might be, then
he'd be left with no choice.
He'd have to kill them.
Chapter One
Sophia Daring
had met informants at all hours of the day and night, and in some
pretty unusual places, but this was bizarre even for her. She gazed around, trying to see
through the gloom and the mist. Like in some low-budget B movie, the fog was
hovering just above the ground. The dim glow from her flashlight barely cut through it.
Normally she liked fog. Just not at three o'clock in the morning while standing just
inside the gate at St. Louis No. 1 Cemetery.
Okay, she could do this. After all, her last name wasn't
Daring
for nothing. She'd
made her reputation by being tenacious and unafraid to go after the big story. Up until
a couple years ago, she'd made her living by freelancing with the local paper and
teaching writing classes at night. But Katrina had changed all that.
As a journalist, she'd stayed behind with some police officers, following them
through their days leading up to and following the devastating hurricane. Her work
had been picked up by national and international news media. Ever since then, she'd
been able to freelance fulltime. There was always a buyer for her work.
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to step away from the gate and walk
deeper into the cemetery. Like nearly everyone else who lived in this city, she'd been
here before, but always in the light of day. And boy did it ever look different. Tall,
majestic statues rose like ghosts from the mists. The tombs loomed large--perfect places
for someone to hide. The paths were uneven in spots and she had to watch her step. The
last thing she wanted to do was to trip and sprain an ankle.
A bead of sweat rolled down between her shoulder blades and she cursed herself
for not insisting that the meeting take place somewhere else. Anywhere else! But the
shrill ring of the phone had woken her and in her sleepy state, she'd barely had time to
jot down the meeting place, let alone think to change it.
The hoarse male voice on the other end of the line had assured her that what he had
to show her was well worth her time. The story would be all over the news tomorrow
and she'd have a jump on everyone else if she came now.
Not for the first time, she cursed her competitive streak and her inner drive. The
need to prove herself was always front and center and, more times than not, it got her
into trouble.
She shivered and pulled the lapels of her beige sweater closer around her. Tucking
the flashlight beneath her arm, she reached into her large shoulder bag and pulled out a
mini-recorder. She made sure it was on before slipping it back into the outside mesh
pocket of her bag. It would tape any conversation so she could refer to it later, but it
was also her preferred way of making notes. Talking out loud allowed her to capture
her initial impressions of a scene or an event. She grasped the smooth end of the
flashlight again, for all the good it did her, and kept watch for the first landmark.
The enormous white stone angel seemed to appear from out of the mist, hovering
over her, warning her to turn back. Now she was just getting fanciful. Like a kid who'd
watched a horror movie while her parents were away, she was freaking herself out. The
dead couldn't hurt her. It was the living she had to worry about.
Her sneakers barely made any noise against the gravel path as she turned left and
kept going. The night air was chilly, but her jeans and sweater were keeping her warm.
Still, a shiver raced down her spine and she stopped and listened. Had she heard
something?
"Hello? Is anyone there?" Even as she said it, she held her breath, not sure she
really wanted an answer. Whoever else was here at this time of night, she didn't think
she really wanted to talk to them.
Her informant had told her that he would be long gone by the time she got here.
Still, she was hopeful that he might be hanging around. Whoever he was, he wasn't one
of her regular snitches. She hadn't recognized his voice at all. When she'd asked him
why he'd called her, he'd replied, "Because you won't be afraid to search for the truth."
Sometimes she cursed her newfound reputation.
She glanced down at her watch, using her flashlight to read the hands. She'd been
here five minutes, even though it felt more like an hour. "The quicker done, the quicker
you can go home and crawl back into your comfortable bed," she muttered. Not that
she was sleeping much these days. The past two years, she'd become something of an
insomniac,
awake most of the night and napping during the day--an occupational
hazard of her chosen profession. Then there were the dreams.
When she did sleep, her dreams were filled with strange, erotic images that left her
hot and bothered when she awoke. More than one night she'd woke in a pool of sweat
and longing, reaching out to a phantom lover who wasn't really there. She had to get
out more. It was probably her psyche reminding her that she hadn't even been on a date
in almost three years. But relationships were way too much trouble and Sophia had
gotten burned more than once. She'd stick with her dreams and her trusty vibrator,
thank you very much.
She heard a slight rustling in the distance as she crept forward. It was probably just
a mouse or maybe a cat. What was it about cemeteries that made a person want to be
quiet? It wasn't as if she could disturb anyone. Still, she wasn't taking any chances that
someone else, of the living variety, was out there.
A tingling began between her shoulder blades and the hair at her nape lifted. More
shivers coasted down her arms and legs. She couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't
alone.
Stop it
, she admonished herself. She was a grown woman, not some frightened
child.
According to her informant, she should be almost to the place he'd told her about.
She just wished that he'd told her what it was she was looking for. He'd laughed when
she'd asked, telling her that she wouldn't be able to miss it. That certainly wasn't
encouraging. At this moment, her mind could conjure up all kinds of scenarios, none of
them good.
Panning the beam of her light around, she narrowed her gaze to search through the
darkness. The weight of the flashlight gave her some comfort. If necessary, it could be
used as a weapon.
She was so intent on her search that she stumbled over something on the ground.
Sophia pitched forward but managed to catch herself before she ended up facedown in
the dirt. She flicked the light over the ground, searching for whatever had tripped her.
Whatever it was, it was better for her to move it so she didn't trip up again on her way
out. The glow of the flashlight picked up a flash of color. The toe of her sneaker was no
longer white. Red stained the leather. "Oh, shit."
Sucking in a breath, she moved the trembling beam forward. The bottom of a pair
of jeans came into view first. Biting her lower lip to keep from screaming, she shifted
the light farther along the ground. Flesh came next. Definitely
female,
and she was
naked from the waist up. Swallowing hard, Sophia kept going.
The face came into view. The woman was young and quite pretty. Or she had been
before someone had slit her throat. The gaping wound was obscene against the smooth
paleness of her skin. Her eyes were wide open and her mouth was parted. Sophia could
almost hear the young woman's screams as she pleaded for her life. Her arms had been
splayed out by her side and both her wrists had been gashed wide open as well. She
couldn't have been much more than twenty.
A light breeze whipped up and the stench of death reached Sophia's nostrils. After
covering Katrina, she was well aware of what death smelled like. The acrid scent was
something you never truly forgot, something that never truly left you.
Stumbling back, she was brought up solid against a headstone. Leaning over the
side, she lost the contents of her stomach. For once, she was grateful she'd missed
supper. Swiping her hand over her mouth, she leaned against the stone and
concentrated on taking several deep breaths through her mouth and not her nose. The
last thing she wanted was to breathe in more death through her nostrils.
"Oh God.
Oh God.
Oh God."
She didn't know if she was praying for the
unfortunate soul on the ground or for herself because she knew as sure as she was
standing here that she'd be seeing that young woman's face in her dreams for the rest of
her life.
Shoving her hand into her sweater pocket, she jerked out her cell phone and dialed.
When the police dispatcher answered, Sophia quickly gave her name and location.
Although the dispatcher wanted her to stay on the line, she hung up her phone and
returned it to her pocket.
The need to do something for this girl, anything at all, burned in her gut. She made
a pledge then and there that she'd find out who murdered her in such a brutal fashion.
Had the murderer been the one who called her? She'd have to turn over her answering
machine tape to the police.
After she'd made a copy for herself, of course.
Forcing
herself
to move, she took a step closer to the body. She knew better than to
compromise the crime scene, but she wanted to take notes before she forgot anything.
Some people might find it morbid, but Sophia knew that the best way to help this
woman was to bring her murderer to justice. Before the next day was gone, Sophia
would know a lot more about this unknown woman. Their lives were now entwined
and there was no changing that fact.
Walking in a circle, she made note of how the victim was laid out, what she was
and wasn't wearing, the wounds to the neck and wrists and the lack of blood on the
ground. Even though her hands shook, she rummaged around in her bag until she
found her digital camera and managed to take a few shots. Not that she'd ever forget
this scene as long as she lived, but she didn't want to trust that her memory would
retain all the little details. And one never knew when a tiny shred of evidence might
make the difference in solving the crime. As she returned to the victim's feet, she saw a
piece of paper sticking out from beneath her body. It fluttered in the breeze like a white
banner, taunting her.
Chewing on her bottom lip, she glanced at the path and then back at the body.
Sirens were screaming in the distance and Sophia knew that within the next five
minutes this cemetery would be teeming with cops and the forensic team and she'd be
escorted away and interviewed. They'd never tell her what was on that note.
Maybe it was nothing more than a piece of garbage. "Yeah, like you believe that,"
she muttered as she gingerly stepped forward. Leaning down, she gripped the paper
between the tips of two fingers and tugged. Sighing with relief when it came away
easily, she took a step back and shone her flashlight on it.
The paper was heavy vellum and the writing was stylized scrip.
Certainly not
garbage.
It contained only two words. She read it twice, but it still made no sense.
"
Dalakis
.
Revenge."
She said the words out loud. What did they mean? Which
Dalakis
did the note refer to and what did he want revenge for?
Footsteps pounded on the path, jolting her back to the situation at hand. She knew
she had to hand the piece of paper over to the police. It was the right thing, the only
thing, to do. She was already in enough trouble as it was for moving it, probably
ruining any fingerprints that might be on it. If nothing else, she'd contaminated the
crime scene. Even as she reasoned it out, she knew she wouldn't do it. All her instincts
were screaming at her to keep quiet about the note, at least for now. Her instincts had
kept her alive in more than one dangerous situation and she trusted them now.
Knowing it was wrong, even
criminal,
she shoved the paper into her pocket as she
shone her light toward the shouts. "Here. I'm down here."
The first officer to come into view glanced at her and then at the body spread across