Guilty (40 page)

They kept falling.

Damn it.

Ducking into the nearest alley, she turned her back to the street and gave a mighty sniff and scrubbed at her cheeks with both hands.

She couldn't go back to work like ...

The thought was interrupted as a big black SUV nosed into the alley beside her.

She glanced at it in surprise at about the same time that something hard slammed into the back of her head.

Her eyes went wide, and then she crumpled without a sound.

C h a p t e r 27

BY THE TIME TOM reached the street, Kate was nowhere in sight. He was still furious enough to chew nails, still cursing under his breath, still calling himself ten kinds of an idiot for getting involved with her, for getting, as he suspected, played, but the bottom line was that no matter how many damned lies she told him, her life might still be in danger, and that wasn't something that he was prepared to take a chance on.

Castellanos had been killed with a single gunshot to the middle of the forehead. Just like the two guys in the burned-out U-Haul. And all of them were connected to the attempted escape from the Criminal Justice Center. It didn't require genius to deduce that maybe the same killer—or killers—had taken them all out. The questions were who and why, and what was the connection to Kate?

Until he knew for sure who was who and what was what, he was going to follow Kate around like a damned puppy dog unless she was actually at work, where he figured, in the midst of so many people, she was fairly sale.

And to hell with whether she liked it or not.

That Castellanos was the other man in the secure corridor, whom Charlie still wasn't one hundred percent positive he had seen, had been Tom's guess, although exactly how he had gotten himself out of the holding cell he'd been placed in and back in again would require some working out. But the more he'd tried fitting the puzzle pieces he knew with the puzzle pieces he didn't know, the more convinced he had become of it. Castellanos as Rodriguez's killer made a hell of a lot more sense than Kate in the role. But he still didn't have proof positive of it—except for Kate's face. Watching it as he spelled his theory out for her was better than a stack of sworn affidavits as far as he was concerned. Her eyes had flickered, and then she had gone white as a ghost.

Bingo.

The thing was, like he'd told Kate, so far he was the only one who had put it together. Maybe none of the others ever would. It was possible that, if he had forensics double-check Charlie's gun, the one with which Kate supposedly had killed Rodriguez, they would find a partial print, some DNA, something, belonging to Castellanos on it, and there would be the physical proof he needed. He should be on the phone right now, calling for those tests. But he wasn't. He was out on the damned street doing his best to pry secrets out of a woman whom he should be clapping handcuffs on and hauling off to jail about now. He wasn't briefing Fish, or Stella, or Kirchoff, on his newly gleaned insights, either. What he was doing was racking his damned brain to try to come up with some way, any way, to avoid doing just that. Given that Kate knew Castellanos; Castellanos had been part of the escape attempt and had, in fact, killed Rodriguez; and Kate had been in the secure corridor with Rodriguez and Castellanos when all this had gone down, the probability that she was involved in the escape attempt in some way seemed high. Add the fact that she had lied repeatedly to him and to everyone else about this, and the probability turned into a near certainty. The most obvious assistance she could have rendered the would-be escapees would have been to smuggle in the guns, which would make her, best-case scenario, an accessory to Murder One.

Worst-case scenario was something he didn't even want to think about.

But she had told him she hadn't had anything to do with any of that, and, God help him, he still—almost—believed her.

So then why was she lying? What was she scared of? What, exactly, was her connection to Castellanos? And what the hell had happened back there in that secure corridor? Because now that he thought about it, the terrified woman whose eyes had held his as she was dragged back in there was, in some indefinable way, different from the one who had come out.

Until he got more of a handle on exactly what Kate was hiding, he knew he wasn't going to put the puzzle pieces together for anyone else. Despite what he'd told her.

By keeping what he knew to himself, he was compromising his integrity, compromising the investigation, compromising his job. He made himself party to whatever the hell she was involved in. In all his years as a cop, he had never so much as been tempted to step over the line. Unlike some others in the department, his reputation was sterling. He was seen as—and he was, goddamn it—incorruptible.

That he was ready to blow all that for Kate both appalled and infuriated him.

But he was.

Because he'd been damned stupid enough to let himself fall in love with her.

"MS. WHITE?" The voice was a man's. It was soft and raspy, with a menacing undertone that made Kate shiver even as she hovered on the brink of regaining full consciousness. "Can you hear me? Ms. White?"

Something cold touching the back of her neck made her jump. It shocked her back to full awareness. Her eyes popped open—to total blackness.

The cold thing was withdrawn. It had felt hard and metallic—like a gun.

Her heart lurched. Her pulse skyrocketed. She could see nothing— absolutely nothing at all. And it was the most terrifying thing in the world.

"You're awake." There was satisfaction in the voice.

Something—a cloth, smooth and dry, its texture like that of a sheet or pillowcase—was wrapped around her eyes, covering them. That was why it was so black. My God, had there been an accident? Was her head bandaged? There was a painful throbbing behind her right ear, and she remembered being hit on the head. She reached up instinctively, meaning to push the bandage out of the way, wanting to see, needing to see, only to discover that her hands were handcuffed together behind her back.

The hair rose on the back of her neck as she realized that what was covering her eyes wasn't a bandage but a blindfold.

"Who's there?" The question was meant to be sharp. Instead, it came out wobbly. At the same time she became aware that she was sitting on a cushiony leather or vinyl seat. There were people seated on either side of her: She could feel their bodies crowding against her, feel their heat, smell cologne or body spray and maybe garlic, hear their breathing—but the voice talking to her didn't belong to either of them. It was in front of her. She was conscious of being in motion, of certain sounds—a humming, a whooshing—and realized that she was in a vehicle of some sort. Seated in the rear, on a bench seat. The speaker, she felt, was in the front passenger seat.

All at once she remembered the black SUV that had pulled into the alley beside her.

"Let's just say we're friends of Mario's."
Oh my God.
She broke out in a cold sweat. "What do you want?" A chuckle. It made her skin crawl.

"Before I get to that, there's something you should know: Mario was a big talker. We know all about you and how you shot that cop at that convenience store in Baltimore."
Oh, no.

Her lungs seemed to have constricted, making it hard to breathe. Her heart hammered. Her pulse raced. She felt suddenly clammy as more cold sweat broke over her in a wave. A denial rose instantly to her lips, but she choked it back and didn't say a word. Whoever this was, whatever they wanted, pleading her innocence was clearly a waste of time. Anyway, even a denial confirmed that she at least knew what they were talking about, which could be a mistake. Best to say nothing.

"I'm sure you remember." There was a rustle of movement from the front seat, and one of her minders—or so she was beginning to think of the men (she was almost sure they were men) on either side of her—shifted in his seat, jostling her. "There's something else, too."

She heard a small metallic sound and instinctively flinched. But the weapon they were threatening her with wasn't a gun: It was a tape recorder.

Kate listened with a sense of shock. It was the phone conversation she had had with Mario. The one where she'd asked him to meet her at her house on the night he was killed.

"We also have the gun that was used to kill Mario," she said. "It has your fingerprints all over it. We made sure of it while you were unconscious just now. You're a prosecutor. You do the math."

Kate suddenly felt nauseated. Her head swam. Her heart pounded in sickening strokes. As a prosecutor, she knew very well she could take those vital pieces of evidence and run with them. To say nothing of what she could do with the murder of David Brady.

"Is there a point to this?" Her voice was surprisingly steady.

"Yeah, there's a point: Mario doesn't own you anymore. We do. And we want you to do us a favor."

Kate's breath caught. "What favor?"

Another chuckle. "Don't worry, when the time comes, we'll let you know. For now, just remember we're around."

The vehicle stopped. Kate's heart pounded so loudly that she could feel her pulse thudding against her eardrums. Her mouth went dry. What was happening now? Why were they stopping? The man on her right pushed her forward roughly, then reached behind her and unlocked the handcuffs.

"Tell anybody about this, and you're dead," the voice said, and there was something in his tone that made Kate believe him. Then the handcuffs were pulled away, the blindfold was ripped off, and Kate was shoved out the door, which slammed shut behind her. She hit the ground on her hands and knees, hard. Tires squealed as the vehicle took off. It was the black SUV, but that was all she got. The license plate was impossible to read in the dark.

Because she
was
in the dark. While she'd been in the SUV, night had fallen. They had pushed her out, into the alley between her office and the parking garage where she usually left her car. Only today she hadn't. Someone had been going to drive it over from the impound lot and drop the keys off with security. The deal had been that Tom would meet her in her office at six, then walk her out to her car and follow her home.

It made her cold all over to think that the thugs in the SUV knew where she habitually parked her car.

And it made her cold in a different way to know that Tom wouldn't have been there anyway. They were over. History. He was too much the cop. And she had too much to hide.

Her whole life had blown up on her one more time. But she still had Ben to pick up. She still needed to get home.

Ignoring her aching head and stinging knees, she went inside to security and got the keys and location of her car from the guard on duty Since it was already almost six-thirty and the place had pretty much emptied out, he offered to walk her to her car, which was on the second level. Sparing a fleeting thought for her briefcase, which was still in her office—she wasn't up to fetching it and possibly facing whichever of her colleagues remained on the ninth floor—she accepted. Of course, that was pretty much like closing the barn door after the horse had run off, but still, there was always the chance those thugs might come back.

She shivered at the thought.

As soon as the elevator doors opened and she and her big, burly bodyguard—Bob, by name—stepped out onto the second level, she saw Tom. Her eyes widened. Her heart lurched. For a moment, merely a split second, she was so glad to see him that it was like a burst of warmth inside her. Then she remembered all the reasons why she wasn't glad to see him, and she frowned. He was pacing in front of her Camry, clearly agitated, running a hand through his hair as he talked on his cell phone. Then he turned, saw her, and stopped dead. Watching her walk toward him, he said something into the phone, then snapped it shut. His eyes stayed glued on her. His expression could best be described as savage.

"Is this gentleman a problem, Ms. White?" Bob asked, sounding worried, as her spine stiffened and her head came up in response to the glare Tom was focusing on her. Bob was already reaching for the two-way radio clipped to his belt as he spoke. "No."

"Are you sure? Because he looks—" Bob's voice broke off because they were within earshot of Tom. Kate knew what he was going to say, anyway: furiously angry. On the verge of losing it. Dangerous.

"Where the hell have you been?" Tom burst out when she was close enough. He came toward her, his eyes blasting her. He barely spared Bob a glance, which was another indication of how truly upset he was. "You scared the absolute shit out of me."

"Hey, buddy, you want to watch your mouth around—" Bob began, walking a little faster so that he was a pace or so ahead of her, putting himself between her and Tom. Tom snapped out his badge and flashed it at him, skewering him with his eyes at the same time, which had the effect that had undoubtedly been intended: Bob shut up and quit walking.

"It's okay," Kate said over her shoulder to Bob as she passed him. "I know him. Thanks for walking me to my car."

Looking unhappy, Bob faded away.

"Where'd you go?" Tom was breathing fire at her. "I've been up to your office multiple times. I've searched every damned floor of that building. I've walked every route I could think of between here and the temple. It was like you dropped off the face of the earth."

The good thing about Tom being so worked up was that any signs she might be exhibiting of her recent ordeal went right over his head.

As she reached him, she was absolutely cool and proud of herself for it. His car was parked next to hers, she saw.

When she continued walking past him, he caught her arm. "Wait a minute. I've been going out of my mind for a fucking hour and a half, and you're not even going to tell me where you've been?"

"It's none of your business." Kate pulled her arm free and glared at him. "Remember that whole call-my-lawyer conversation we had earlier? In case you couldn't tell, that was you getting dumped."

For a moment he simply looked at her as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. And she used that moment to slide into her car and power-lock all the doors.