Ruthless Game (A Captivating Suspense Novel) (16 page)

She opened the door to Greg's Chrysler LeBaron and sat down.

"Sleep?"

She shook her head. She'd spent the majority of the night hunched over a notepad in bed, trying to force what she knew into some logical solution. She felt no closer to an answer now than she had been that morning on Yolo.

"I didn't think so. You look like shit."

"Thanks."

"This might help." He handed her a tall Starbucks cup.

"You get me some frilly drink?"

"Tall French roast. Black."

Alex took a sip, letting it burn her tongue and the back of her throat. It was heaven.

Greg pulled from the curb and Alex strapped herself in. He took a long drink of his own coffee and Alex knew he hadn't slept either. He would've gotten off at seven this morning. It didn't give him any time to sleep. "You know a cockroach can live nine days without its head before it starves to death."

Alex looked at Greg. "That's nasty, Roback."

He shrugged. "Just trying to make conversation."

"You talk to Elsa?"

He nodded. "We're meeting them at nine-thirty."

"What'd you tell her?"

"That you got the print of someone messing with you, but you wanted to know who it was before you decided how to deal with it."

Alex stared out the window as they entered the Caldecott Tunnel. She remembered as a kid, she and James and Brittany had always held their breath coming through the tunnel. If you could hold it the whole way, you got a wish. Alex thought it might have been worth a try if she weren't so exhausted. She could certainly use the wish.

On the east side of the tunnel, Alex looked out at the rolling green hills of Moraga and Orinda. A series of wealthy hill neighborhoods, the area always seemed so different from the concrete jungles of Berkeley and Oakland. Elsa had moved out there ten years earlier to get away from the lousy schools in Oakland. While the schools were improving, Elsa and her husband Byron seemed more than happy to stay where they were.

Greg exited the freeway and pulled into a small parking lot. "Lillie's Kitchen. Here we are." He turned the car off as Alex took the last swig of coffee. "Anything you want to talk about before we go in?"

She shook her head. "Let me do the talking when it comes to how and where I found the print."

"I couldn't imagine it any other way."

"Smart ass," she muttered, pulling herself out of the car. It felt a few degrees cooler this side of the tunnel because there wasn't as much fog. Alex crossed her arms and shivered. Waiting for Greg, she looked around before they started inside. Lately, she always seemed to have one eye over her shoulder.

Lillie's was an old ranch-style house that had been converted into a restaurant. The inside was a cluster of small rooms filled with plain tables covered in checkered tablecloths. It was refreshingly toasty and Alex could smell strong coffee, both of which warmed her to the place immediately.

Elsa and Byron weren't there yet, so Greg and Alex got a table for four and sat down to wait.

A young woman with a long blond ponytail approached the table. She wore jeans and a white shirt with the clunky slides everyone was wearing now. Other than a new pair of running shoes or an athletic bra, Alex hadn't been shopping for clothes in years, and she was still wearing worn-out tennis shoes for all occasions.

"Coffee?" the waitress offered.

Alex nodded.

"Two," Greg said.

"You want to wait for the others to order?"

"Yeah. Shouldn't be longer than a couple of minutes," Greg said.

Alex found herself watching the door. She had the uncomfortable sensation of feeling out of place in her own skin. It was the lack of sleep. Even sitting, she couldn't get comfortable. She was anxious and yet too tired to move. Her eyes felt heavy, but she knew she wouldn't sleep. This stage of insomnia was the beginning of a bad cycle of exhaustion, and she knew she needed to try to break the pattern before it got too bad. Exercise would sometimes do it. After this was done, she told herself, she'd go to the gym where the cops hung out. She'd work out with some of the guys. They always pushed her. And today, she needed to push and be pushed.

The door to Lillie's opened and Elsa came in, followed by Byron. They were a striking pair, but not in the traditional go-together sense. Elsa was tiny with high cheekbones and the kind of coffee-ice-cream skin tone that came from mixed parents. Her husband, Byron, was tall, thick, and blond. He had bright blue eyes like a husky's and white-blond hair. He looked Northern European, a bit like a bleached Arnold Schwarzenegger. They came in holding hands, and the gesture looked as natural as if their hands had been in their pockets or dangling car keys.

Elsa caught their eye and led Byron to the table. They said hello and she re-introduced Byron to Alex and Greg. He'd met them both at various PD functions where he'd probably met fifty-plus cops in a single afternoon.

"Thanks for coming," Alex said.

"No problem," Elsa answered. "You know I appreciate what you've done for Jamie."

Alex nodded.

"He's not in trouble again, is he?" Byron asked.

Alex shook her head.

"I told you I already asked that," Elsa said to Byron. She looked back at Alex. "He's been roughing around again," she admitted.

"I haven't heard anything," Alex said. Typically, her nephew liked to hang out with his buddies on the edge of the Cal campus. Shattuck had a small population of punks and Jamie was usually among them. It was their beat, and Alex and Greg usually ran into him on Fridays after the gang had all been paid and could score some weed.

"I don't know where he's going. Seems like a new crowd." She shrugged. "My sister's got some new guy living there—a real creep."

Byron touched her arm. "Jamie'll be okay. He's coming out this afternoon to stay with us for a few days." He squeezed Elsa's hand. "I don't think they came to check on Jamie, babe."

Elsa shook her head. "Course not. Sorry. Listen to me." She stopped, put her hands in her lap and looked up. "What's going on?"

"We'll look out for Jamie, Elsa," Alex told her.

"We always do," Greg added.

"I know. Thanks." She smiled. "Now, what can we do for you all?"

Alex pulled the manila envelope off her lap and opened it. Handling the edge of the paper, she drew the print out and showed it to Byron. "I need you to run this print."

With a sideways glance at Elsa, he took it and studied it for a minute. "Clean thumbprint. It's a tented arch, pretty unusual characteristics. If it's in the system and coded correctly, should be easy to match." He looked back at Alex with one eyebrow raised. "Lifted off skin. Yours?"

The question threw Alex off for a moment. She could feel Elsa staring at her. Finally, she nodded.

"He hurt you?" Elsa asked, concerned.

She shook her head. "It's someone messing with me, but I didn't get a look at him."

Byron looked at the print and nodded. He reached for the manila envelope and Alex handed it to him.

"Why not take it to our guys?" Elsa asked. "Nate Glazier could analyze it as easy as Byron. Even Lombardi's pretty good."

Alex didn't answer.

Byron put the fingerprint back in the envelope and looked up. "I think there are some things people want to handle without their colleagues knowing about them."

"That's exactly right," Greg said. "I hope you're comfortable with that, Elsa."

Elsa digested the situation slowly and nodded. "I certainly am. I know my Jamie has always appreciated the way you all have handled his issues."

Alex nodded. "Thank you, Elsa."

Byron tucked the envelope under the table just as the waitress returned to take their order. "I'll do it first thing in the morning. Now, let's eat. I'm positively starving."

They ordered huge breakfasts and Greg and Byron started talking final four. "It's going to be Michigan State this year with Dreaves."

"No way," Greg said. "UNC's got Phillips and Ramsey."

"You're both wrong," Alex said, leaning across the table. "It's going to be Syracuse. With Robinson and Ewing, they can't lose."

"I'm with Alex," Elsa chimed in. "Syracuse is the bomb."

Alex sparred with the guys as they talked sports, and thought about Elsa's choice of words. The bomb. Whoever the print belonged to had done a hell of a job setting off explosives in Alex's life.

It was like she was walking in a field of land mines and she wondered when the next one would detonate.

Chapter 12

Alex spent the afternoon with Diego Ruiz. At Alex's same height, Diego was 99 percent muscle. He seemed to move at one hundred miles an hour at all times and didn't need sleep. He was a beat cop who worked the night shift and spent his days at the gym. He was also one of the few gay men on the force brave enough to come out of the closet. He'd confided in Alex a few times about the difficulty of being gay in his family. First generation from Mexico, the machismo ran very deep.

His four older brothers mostly avoided him, his father didn't speak to him, and his mother continued to ask if he'd met any nice girls lately. Only his two sisters tried to understand.

When he'd come out at the station, he'd worried about retribution from other officers. But Alex was confident he was safe—you'd have to be a moron to mess with Diego. He was quick as a fox and strong as an ox. Mostly, though, he was just a nice, smart guy and people liked him even if they didn't all appreciate his lifestyle.

Alex almost always found him at the gym. Today, he was in the boxing ring running circles around a rookie, Jim, from Alex's class at the academy.

"I quit," Jim finally said, pulling off his face guard and gloves.

"You're smarter than you look," Diego said.

"Hey, I know when I'm beat."

"You're getting quicker, Jim. I really had to move out there."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't bullshit me. You barely broke a sweat," Jim moaned, wiping his wet brow on the edge of his gray T-shirt. "You come to get worked?" he asked Alex.

She nodded.

"You look like you already been worked," Diego said, climbing out of the ring. He motioned to her head. "You run into a building?"

"It ran into me," she corrected.

Jim laughed and headed for the locker room.

"I can tell you got troubles, girl," Diego said when they were alone. "You want to talk?"

"I want to sweat."

He nodded. "I can do that." Dropping his gloves on the ground, he motioned her to the punching bags. "Let's start here."

Diego worked her on the heavy bag, then the speed bag, before they sparred in the ring. He forced her to box as well as kick, and she used roundhouse and side kicks to hold him off. He pushed her just enough to get her to work to her body's limit. There were rarely any women in the gym, and today was no exception. Alex found that there were always a few men standing around watching when she got in the ring. Diego was kind to her, always giving her a chance to breathe when she got too tired, and never pounding her when she was losing steam.

But he didn't let her wimp out either. He consistently made head and neck shots so she was forced to stay on her toes to avoid getting knocked down. And, occasionally, she landed on her butt. Usually to a round of applause from the audience that gathered to watch. But Alex appreciated Diego's method and he was effective in motivating her to completely exhaust herself. By the time Greg showed up after his nap, her legs were shaking beneath her from exhaustion and she was barely able to lift her arms to push the sweaty bangs off her forehead.

On her back, she pulled her legs up over her head to stretch out, but ended up collapsing spread-eagle without moving.

"I was thinking of taking a little jog," Greg said, leaning over her. "You want to come or are you too tired?" He dragged out the word "tired" in his high-pitched "girl" voice and Alex growled at him.

"That your stomach?"

"Shut up," she groaned.

"Did you know that a starfish has no brain?"