Dark Chocolate Demise (20 page)

“Yes, of course,” Angie said. “I've said that all along.”

“Maybe it's good that you're here then,” he said. “There's a lot of media. If you show support for Roach, maybe they'll get off his back.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Angie said.

“You know he's still in love with you, right?” the singer asked. His tone was hostile.

Angie nodded, looking uncomfortable.

“You still engaged to that other guy?” Jimbo asked.

Angie nodded again. “Listen, I'm marrying Tate Harper. That's not going to change, ever, but I will always care about Roach. Always.”

“Well, if that's all I can have, I guess I'll have to learn to live with it.”

Mel whirled around to find Roach standing behind them. The love in his eyes when he looked at Angie was painful to take in. Mel glanced away and she noted that the singer and Jimbo did, too.

“Oh, Roach,” Angie sighed. She stepped forward with her arms wide and hugged him close. “Why are you musicians so damn sensitive?”

He gave her a sad smile. “It makes us better songwriters.”

Angie nodded and pressed the top of her head into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, and they stood for just a moment as if no one else was there.

When Angie stepped back, Mel watched as Roach let his hands slide down her arms as if memorizing the feel of her before he let her go one last time. Mel felt her throat get tight, but she forced herself to smile when Roach's eyes, which were a bit damp, turned to her. He blinked.

“Good golly, Miss Molly!” he cried. “Is there a fire alarm ringing? Because, Melanie Cooper, you are smoking hot!”

Mel laughed out loud. She knew she'd always liked Roach for a reason.

“You big flatterer,” she said as she hugged him.

“Just speaking the truth,” Roach said with a grin. He turned back to Angie. “I can't believe you actually came. Is Todd with you?”

Angie closed her eyes for a moment, obviously channeling her patience.

“His name is Tate, which you know,” she said. “And no, he did not. Actually, I came to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”

Roach looked over her head at his manager. Jimbo glanced between them and gave a sharp nod.

“Ten minutes until showtime,” he warned.

“Cool,” Roach said. He took Angie's elbow to lead her to the far corner, and Mel fell in behind them.

She supposed they wanted to talk alone, but there was no way she was letting Angie out of her sight. She followed behind them, all the while scanning the place for the blue-haired zombie.

“Are you really coming with us?” Angie asked her.

“Yes,” Mel said.

“We're safe. No one knows we're here,” Angie said. “Relax.”

Roach glanced between them. “What do you mean no one knows you're here?”

They were off in a corner of the loft now. On one side of them was a blue glass wall separating them from the DJ's lair. The thirty-foot drop from the loft was on either side of them, and a substantial crowd filled the space. Mel tried to stand between Angie and the rest of the room.

“Mel's being paranoid,” Angie said.

“No, I'm not,” Mel protested. “I'm being cautious.”

“You can leave us alone to talk,” Angie said. “No one is going to gun me down up here. Security is too tight.”

“You two can say anything you have to right in front of me,” Mel said. “I won't even listen. I'll just keep an eye on the crowd.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Gun you down?” Roach asked. “What are you talking about?”

“You know the police think that Kristin, the woman at the zombie walk, might have been murdered because she was mistaken for me,” Angie said. “I am trying to prove that they're wrong.”

“By coming here and putting yourself in harm's way?” Roach asked. “Look when I invited you, I figured you'd bring all of the brothers or that the murderer would have been caught. Are you crazy coming here on your own? That is so irresponsible!”

“No, it's not!” Angie retorted. “You sent me passes and I wanted to come and clear the air with you. Besides, we have a mission. We're looking for one of the zombies from the zombie walk who was invited back for pictures.”

Roach stared at her for a moment then he pulled out his phone and began tapping a text message.

“What are you doing?” Angie demanded.

“I'm texting Tate to let him know what his crazy fiancée is up to,” he snapped.

“What?” Angie cried. “How did you get his number?”

“Hey, you called him Tate,” Mel said.

“I have his number from when you called him using my phone back when we were dating,” he said. “I kept it. No idea why.”

Roach tapped the screen one more time, which Mel assumed meant he sent the message. Then he glanced at Angie with a frown. He looked as if he was seeing her in a whole new light and not a flattering one.

“You know for the first time ever, I'm glad you're his headache,” he said. “I can't handle you, but I'm betting he can, which is why you didn't tell him you were coming here, did you?”

Two red spots flared on Angie's cheeks. “It so happens that I'm not speaking to him right now.”

Roach glanced at his phone. “Well, you'd better get over that because he'll be here in ten minutes.”

Mel glanced between them, uncertain how Angie's temper was going to manifest itself and that's when she saw movement, a large shadow, against the blue glass wall. It occurred to her that the DJ's song sounded more like it was skipping than it was a repetitive beat. Her instincts went into overdrive and she lurched forward, catching Angie and Roach in an awkward tackle, which sent them all down to the ground.

Despite the VIP locale, the floor was sticky and dirty and smelled of stale alcohol and feet. Mel would have poked her head up but sharp popping sounds, not part of the skipping song, pierced the air over her head. She used her full body weight to keep both Angie and Roach down on the ground.

“What the—?” Angie cried.

“Someone's shooting at us,” Mel cried. “Stay down!”

Roach swore and yanked Mel down beneath him, blocking both her and Angie with his body. Mel's face was inches from Angie's and she could see the terror in her friend's face, which slowly gave way to rage.

Screams sounded behind them, and Mel glanced under Roach's arm to see that the rest of the VIP section was down on the ground as well. The big bouncer who had been at the bottom of the stairs came charging into the area with more security behind him.

Mel glanced at the blue glass and noted that the shadow was gone, the music was still skipping, and there appeared to be several bullet holes in the glass. She felt dizzy and thought she might throw up, but she forced it back down. One of the security personnel planted himself in front of their group.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

As one, the three of them nodded. Mel wondered if Roach could feel her shaking, and then she realized it wasn't her but Angie who was trembling.

“Stay down until we clear the area,” the officer ordered.

They waited on the hard floor while security accessed the DJ booth from another door in the wall. The men were gone just moments and the music abruptly stopped.

Another security guard, a female, came back and yelled, “The shooter is gone, but we need an ambulance. The DJ is alive but unconscious.”

The man who had told them to stay down knelt beside them and helped them to their feet while speaking into a radio, asking for an ambulance to come to the scene.

“Angie!” a voice bellowed from below. “Mel!”

Angie and Mel exchanged a nervous glance. Roach gave them a disgusted look and walked over to the railing.

“They're fine,” he called down. “They're right here.”

In seconds, Tate came barreling at the two of them with the ferocity of a grizzly bear. He was pale, looking wild-eyed and terrified. Without pausing, he swept Mel and Angie into his arms in a hug that suffocated.

Mel felt tears burn her eyes. She hugged him back hard and then she began to blubber.

She could hear Angie beside her, also sobbing, saying “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.”

Tate let them go. He stepped back and looked them over as if to be certain that they were all right. Then he looked at Roach.

The two men stared at each other and then Tate held out his hand. Roach clasped his hand in a solid shake, and then he gave him a solid thump on the shoulder.

“She's all yours, Tate,” Roach said. “I never thought I'd say this, but she's just too much for me. I'll be at the bar drinking if you want to join me.”

“Thanks,” Tate said. “I might.”

They watched as Roach joined his bandmates and manager at the bar. When Tate turned to face them, Mel expected his wrath to be unleashed. She was wrong. It wasn't anger that Tate let loose. It was worse. It was guilt.

He took one of their hands in each of his. “I think I aged five years when I got to the bar and heard there had been gunshots.” He looked at Mel. “You're my best friend. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you.”

Mel felt her throat close up. She would have apologized, but she couldn't seem to unclench her vocal cords. Instead, she squeezed his hand really tight and hoped he understood her unspoken apology.

“And you,” he said as he turned to Angie. “You are my life. I can't believe you would put yourself in harm's way and not tell me, no matter how mad you are at me.”

Tears were coursing down Angie's cheeks, ruining her makeup and making her look like she was just a kid playing dress up.

“I'm so sorry,” she choked.

Tate let go of Mel's hand and took Angie's free one in his so that they were holding hands and facing each other.

“‘Love means never having to say you're sorry,'” Tate said as he pressed his forehead to hers.

“Awww,” Angie bawled. Sobs wracked her frame, and she used their clasped hands to wipe the tears dripping off her chin. “
Love Story
. Really? I can't believe you just used the stupidest movie quote ever on me.”

She cried harder and Tate waited patiently while she got it all out.

“I really didn't think anything was going to happen. I would never have put myself or Mel at risk. You know that, right? I love you too much, way too much, to ever leave you, Tate.”

“I know,” he said. Tate let go of her hands and cupped her face. He wiped her tears away with his thumbs and kissed her lips. “I love you, Angie DeLaura, but we're going to have a long chat about acceptable risks and the lines of communication in this relationship. Yes?”

“Yes,” Angie agreed. She looked crestfallen. “I thought, no, I really believed that it wasn't me that they were after.”

“It wasn't,” Detective Manny Martinez said as he joined them.

“You're here!” Mel exclaimed. She moved over to let Manny join their little group. He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at her.

“What?” she asked. She self-consciously tugged at the back of her dress to make sure her rear was covered. It was.

“It wasn't Angie they were after, it was you,” he said.

“Now don't scare her just to get even,” Uncle Stan said as he joined them. He was huffing and puffing, probably from the climb up the stairs.

“I'm not,” Manny began but Stan interrupted.

“Yeah, you are, because seeing her here scared the snot out of you. Me, too,” he said. He swept Mel into a fierce hug. “I'm glad you're okay, kiddo, quick thinking on the tackle, but if you ever do anything this stupid again, I swear I'll arrest you and throw away the key.”

“I won't. I promise,” Mel said. She felt like a sponge absorbing her uncle's solid strength into her shaking hands and knocking knees.

When Stan released her, Manny stepped forward and hugged her close, too. He pressed his face against her hair as if to reacquaint himself with the scent and feel of her. When he stepped back, he looked like he wanted, well, more, but he just shook his head and cleared his throat.

“What he said,” he growled.

Mel saw the concern on his face and it was heartwarming, until she realized there was no way he could be here so quickly unless . . .

“How did you know to be here?” Mel asked. She looked at Manny. “I only texted you a little while ago, and I did not mention that we were doing this.”

Neither Stan nor Manny spoke. She raised her eyebrows. “You followed us, didn't you?”

“There might have been an undercover detail on Angie that tracked you from the mall to the club,” Uncle Stan said. He did not look the least bit repentant, and given how it had played out, Mel didn't figure she had any moral high ground.

“Did you catch the shooter?” Mel asked.

Stan and Manny exchanged a look. Mel knew that look. It was the sort of look people make when they are trying to figure out how to phrase bad news.

“You didn't, did you?” she asked.

“No,” Stan growled. “We had uniforms at every exit. He just disappeared like a freaking ghost.”

“Unless he's still here,” Tate said. He clutched Angie close and said, “Sorry, guys, if you have questions for the girls, you're going to have to ask them at home. I am getting these two out of here.”

“I'll help,” Manny agreed.

Uncle Stan scanned the nightclub as if looking for the barrel of a gun to poke out at them. He gave them a somber nod. “Take them through the back. Go!”

Manny hustled them down a staircase that was crawling with uniformed police officers. Once outside, he signaled two officers to escort them to Tate's car. The two men in vests bookended them until they were inside the vehicle.

“Take them straight home,” Manny said. He looked at Mel. “Text me as soon as you're safe.”

“I promise,” she said. She leaned forward and put a hand on his cheek just to let him know she cared. She hated to think of him out there with a shooter at large.

“You saved several lives tonight, including your own,” he said. He looked chagrined. “That's not how this—” he gestured between them—“is supposed to work.”

“Maybe not,” she said. She thought about the shooter being trapped inside. “Promise you'll be careful.”

“Always,” he said. He glanced at Angie, looking grim. “I know you were hoping that you weren't the target, but clearly, the shooter is gunning for you. I'll be sending a team to your house to watch over you and they'll be staying until the shooter is caught.”

Tate shook Manny's hand. “Thanks.”

“Be careful,” Manny said.

Mel only got a glance at his face before Tate drove away, but as always, things remained complicated between her and the detective.

“I think we should book a room at a hotel,” Tate said. “You know, someplace with an armed guard at the gate and vicious dogs roaming the grounds.”

“My house will be fine,” Angie said. “I imagine the brothers are already there, armed with righteous brotherly rage and in full lecture mode.”

Tate gave her a sidelong glance that Mel took to mean yes, the brothers were there, and he was not admitting to being the one who called them.

“Drop me off at the bakery, please,” she said.

Angie whipped her head around, and Tate frowned at her in the rearview mirror. They both opened their mouths to argue, but Mel held up her hand.

“I need to go home. I need to check on Captain Jack and the bakery, and I am not up for company right now.”

“But . . .” Tate clearly was not getting her need for quiet.

“Tony's cameras are still on at the bakery,” she said. “I'm sure he'll be monitoring my every movement.”

“But what if—” Angie began but Mel interrupted her.

“I'll be fine,” she said. “The shooter isn't after me.”

There. She said it. Angie pressed her lips together. There was no argument to be made. Their mission to find the blue-haired zombie woman was futile. It hadn't been Scott Streubel trying to whack his wife and blame it on the mob. The shooter had been aiming for Angie and had killed Kristin by mistake, and everyone knew it.

Angie looked like she would argue, but Mel wasn't up for that.

“If you don't drop me off now I'll just catch a cab from your place, which would be infinitely more dangerous, don't you think?”

Angie and Tate exchanged a look. They did not look happy with her choice. Too bad. She was feeling borderline hysterical and needed to hold her cat and sob into her pillow.

“Fine, but it's under protest,” Angie said.

“Noted,” Mel said.

Tate dropped her off at the lot behind her house and then walked her up the stairs. Mel jogged up the steps as best as she could in her ridiculously high heels, because she didn't want Angie left alone in the car. The whole night had shaken her right down to her strappy shoes, and the need to wail and moan was becoming too hard to keep a lid on.

At the door, Tate grabbed her arm and hugged her close. When he stepped back, he wagged his finger at her.

“Any weird noise, a footstep, a cough, a sigh, and you call me right away. Got it?”

“Yes,” she said. She hugged him quick and then shooed him away. “Take Angie home and text me when you get there.”

Tate nodded. He turned and bolted down the stairs as soon as Mel shut the door behind her.

Captain Jack came skidding across the floor almost as if his feline senses had told him something traumatic had happened to his kitty mama. Mel scooped him close and then buried her nose in his fur while he purred like an idling V-8 engine.

Mel felt the shiver start at the top of her head and rocket through her body like a summer storm, short but powerful. She'd thought she'd be doubled up and sobbing, but instead the memory of the moment she realized there was someone behind the blue glass wall kept replaying in her head like a film loop. Something was bothering her about it, but she couldn't figure out what.

She crossed her apartment with Captain Jack in her arms. The only light she turned on was the living room light. She felt less exposed that way. She didn't really think anyone was after her, but she couldn't help but be wary.

She glanced at the window but since it was dark outside all she could see was her reflection, and her slinky dress sure gave her a heck of a reflection. That's when it hit her. The air pushed out of her lungs in a whoosh. The shadow she had seen behind the blue glass had been the silhouette of a woman.

It was a woman who was the shooter! This changed everything. None of Tucci's goons that Manny had told her about were women, so who was she and how did she fit in? Mel racked her brain trying to think of any women tied to the Tucci case. There were none, at least none that anyone knew about.

Then a horrible thought struck, and her hands started to shake. What if it was the woman Scott had been kissing? What if she was the shooter? And what if she was still gunning for Angie, trying to make it look like it was a professional hit to keep the suspicion off of Scott? She had to tell Joe.

She lifted Captain Jack up to her face. The black patch of fur over his eye gave him the air of being one who considers the rules more as guidelines. She knew he'd understand what she had to do.

“I have to tell him,” she said. “He's the one who will know if Frank Tucci has a female thug on his payroll or whether this woman is in league with Scott.”

Jack cocked his head to the side and shoved the top of his head into her hand. She took it as an affirmative.

“I'm not calling him,” she said. “What if the phone is tapped or he's not in his office. Or worse, what if Scott answers? I don't think I could fake any sympathy or friendliness right now. No, I need to talk to Joe face-to-face. If anyone comes by, tell them I'm in the bathroom.”

As she put him down on the counter, she was pretty sure he winked at her. She locked the door behind her and hurried down the stairs. She couldn't help but feel as if eyes were watching her, but then she remembered Tony's camera. This was not going to go over well with Tate and Angie. She really didn't care. The need to see Joe was overriding every lick of common sense she had.

Mel knew the first place to look was Joe's office. He had a couch in the front room that he used for power naps. If the trial was as dicey as the media had reported, she knew every non-courtroom moment he had would be spent in his office. When they had first begun dating he'd had an all-consuming case, so she knew the drill.

She hopped into her Mini and sped over to Joe's office. It was located in downtown Phoenix in a square-shaped building that she'd always assumed was built that way to intimidate criminals or wannabe criminals.

Although it was probably locked up for the night, she figured she could either charm the security guard into letting her in or call Joe when she was right outside and give him no choice but to let her in.

The streets were quiet at this time of night, and she managed to get to Joe's office in no time. She parked on the street, grateful that there was no major sporting event clogging up the available parking. She hurried to the entrance of the building and yanked on the doors. They were locked.

She pressed her hands up against the glass, feeling like a kid checking out a candy store after hours. The security desk was empty so she couldn't even flag someone over to open the door.

She fumbled for her cell phone. She still had Joe in her contacts list. She tried his cell phone first hoping he'd answer. On the fourth ring, he did.

“Mel, you shouldn't be calling me,” he said. He sounded tired. “It's too dangerous. Cell phones can be compromised.”

“Given that a bullet almost made Swiss cheese out of me an hour ago, the cell phone thing, yeah, not really that scary,” she said. “But standing outside your office in the dark right now, yeah, kind of creepy.”

“What?” Joe shouted. “Hang on!”

In less time than it took to order a pizza, Mel saw a security guard racing towards the door. Nice to see her man, former man, whatever, had some pull.

She recognized Jesus Gonzales from when she used to come downtown to have lunch with Joe. He had a tight military crew cut and was broad shouldered, making the seams on his security uniform strain. Mel hadn't thought she was nervous until he unlocked the door and hustled her inside. As he closed and locked the door behind her, she felt her shoulders drop from around her ears.

“Hi, Jesus,” she said.

He gave her a flat look with no returning smile. “You shouldn't be here.”

“I know but it's important,” she said.

“Mel!”

She turned towards the bank of elevators and there was Joe. She didn't pause to think about what she was doing. Despite the ridiculous height of her heels and the very real probability that she might break her leg on the polished floor, she broke into a gimpy run. Joe surpassed her speed, sprinting towards her in an unbuttoned, necktie-askew, disheveled state that warmed her heart.

They met in the middle of the lobby. Joe crushed her to him in a hug that left her short of breath in the best possible way. Then he kissed her. It consumed her from the inside out like a fire burning away all of the oxygen in her bloodstream. She didn't care.

Mel clung to him. When bullets had zipped overhead, she had realized with the clarity that only comes from an unfortunate staring contest with death that the only regret she had in life was not being with Joe.

“Ahem.”

Mel wasn't sure how many times Jesus had cleared his throat to get their attention, but she suspected it was more than once. She broke the kiss before Joe did, but when she would have stepped back, he kept her close.

Then he whispered in her ear, “Your phone call about stopped my heart, but the dress is going to kill me for sure.”

Mel pressed her forehead against his. “Oh, Joe.”

“Not to break it up, but you two might want to get out of sight of the windows,” Jesus said.

“Yes, of course,” Joe said. He moved away from her with great reluctance, but twined his fingers with hers as he led her to the elevator. “She's coming with me.”