The Heart of A Killer (6 page)

She didn’t like it. It had all been too much like twelve years ago, the night humid and smelling like recent rain, the asphalt streets slick and mirrorlike as she’d driven onto the scene. She’d seen plenty of dead bodies and people standing over dead bodies since she’d been on the force, had worked plenty of crime scenes with Roman. It wasn’t until she’d spotted Dante and Gabe that the shock of awareness had hit her. The familiarity had cloaked her in heavy memories she still hadn’t been able to break free from, clouding her thoughts and jumbling her normally stellar police process. She was organized and relentless in pursuit of a case. Was this fate getting back at her for her part in what happened twelve years ago?

Fate was awfully fucked up sometimes.

“Well?”

She lifted her head, found Dante staring at her.

Losing herself in thought wasn’t like her, either.

“Well, what? I said I was busy.”

“I asked you to have a cup of coffee with me.”

“I’m on duty, Dante.”

“Later.”

“I won’t be finished for a while.”

“I’ll meet you in the morning.”

She sighed, feeling suddenly tired. “Why?”

“Because I want to talk to you.”

“Why?” She knew it was juvenile to repeat the question. She was stalling.

“Have coffee with me in the morning and I’ll tell you why.”

And so, apparently, was he. She should say no, walk away. Maybe then he’d go and leave her alone, leave the memories alone.

But for some reason, she couldn’t let it alone. Curiosity, maybe. And maybe he had some information on George’s death. A cup of coffee and some conversation could yield some info.

“Fine. Meet me at Uncle Bill’s Pancake House at seven-thirty.”

“See you then.”

She didn’t exhale until he walked away from her and got into his car.

She climbed into hers and drove to the precinct, her body on autopilot while her mind tried to process everything that had happened tonight.

A body in the alley, killed just like the guys had killed Tony Maclin. Beaten to death. And not just any body, but George Clemons, the boys’ foster father.

A connection.

Then the heart carving, just like hers.

Shoving the thoughts aside, she drove into the parking lot of the Metro police station, turned the engine off and sat there, needing a minute or two to collect her thoughts and just breathe.

What did it all mean? And why did it happen just as Dante came to town?

Was he the connection?

The station was always quiet at night, she thought as she walked in. She could use a little quiet right now, some time to think about the events of the night. She sat down at her desk and picked up the now-cold coffee, grimacing at the bitterness. She dumped it in the trash and went to the machine for a soda, then stared out the window at the few cars that passed by this time of night, wondering where they were going and what they were doing. Going to work, getting off work, leaving the bars?

Where was Dante right now?

Not that it mattered.

She still couldn’t believe he was back after all these years, after all this time and finally having reconciled herself to never seeing him again. She didn’t know whether to be angry or curious or how to feel about the ache inside her chest that had settled there ever since she’d seen him tonight.

There’d been too much to process at the crime scene.

Being in the alley again. Seeing the guys there. The body and how George was killed.

Dante.

And she’d still had to do her job.

This was a nightmare.

She took the drink back to her desk and stared at her computer monitor, knowing she had a report to file, and knowing she wouldn’t fill in the background information of what she knew had happened twelve years before.

But the past had just collided with the present, hadn’t it?

She didn’t like mysteries like this. And she definitely didn’t like questions without answers.

She rubbed that spot on her chest that always hurt on rainy nights, then opened a new investigation file to make some notes.

She looked at her watch: 3:00 a.m. and damn if she wasn’t already anticipating that breakfast.

Four

A
nna was an hour and a half late, figured Dante wouldn’t hang around and wait for her, or maybe wouldn’t show up at all.

She hoped he wouldn’t be there. One less thing she’d have to deal with. She was tired and she wanted to go home, take a shower and forget the night had happened.

She walked in and took a look around. He was easy to spot since it was past the breakfast rush hour. There were only two other tables occupied. Dante sat in a booth at the rear of the restaurant, his back to the wall.

Interesting.

She told the hostess she was meeting someone and headed toward where Dante sat nursing a cup of coffee, two menus sitting on the edge of the table.

“You waited.” She slid into the booth.

He lifted his head, smiled at her. “Yeah.”

“Sorry I’m late. Paperwork had to be done.”

He shrugged. “If you didn’t show, I’d head out.”

“So you ate already?”

“I got hungry after an hour or so, figured you’d chickened out.”

She bristled. “I don’t chicken out.”

He didn’t reply, so she poured coffee from the carafe on the table. “You sleep yet?”

“No. I’ll sleep later.”

“Where are you staying?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know yet.”

“So maybe you’re not staying?”

He lifted the cup to his lips, then smiled. “Trying to run me out of town, Detective?”

He was saved from her biting retort by the waitress, who took her breakfast order—actually her dinner order.

“You look tired. Long night?”

She nodded.

“Why the night shift?”

She took a long swallow of coffee. “More crime happens at night. Less time spent sitting at a desk. We’re out on the streets and that’s where I like it. Besides, I don’t have a shift. People don’t die on shifts. I work when I work.”

He leaned back in the booth and studied her with his unfathomable gaze. Years ago she couldn’t get enough of his eyes, could stare into them for hours, getting lost in the blue depths until she’d lost track of time. She used to think she was the luckiest girl in the world that Dante Renaldi had chosen her as his girlfriend.

They’d sit together in secluded spots like this and make all kinds of plans about their future together.

Until that one night changed everything.

And then Dante had up and left without a word.

So much for their pledge to spend forever together, no matter what.

“You thinking about work, or about me?” he asked, forcing her gaze from her cup of coffee and her thoughts away from the past.

“Work.” She wouldn’t tell him her thoughts had been centered on him. He didn’t need to know that him showing up had dredged up memories she’d long ago buried.

“Any leads on George?”

“I can’t tell you that. It’s an ongoing investigation, one in which you might be a suspect.”

He laughed, and the sound rippled through her nerve endings.

“You aren’t serious about that. It was George who was killed. My foster father.”

She shrugged. “So?”

“And I just got here.”

“I hear better excuses than that from people who pulled the trigger with witnesses standing right in front of them.”

“And probably lousy excuses from those who didn’t. Isn’t it your job to weed out those who did from those who didn’t?”

Wasn’t he a smart-ass? “Yes.”

“Then I guess it won’t take you long to figure out I had nothing to do with George’s murder.”

She drained the cup and refilled, not taking her eyes off Dante while she poured.

“You’re wondering about my motivation for showing up all of a sudden after twelve years, and ending up right in the middle of a murder.”

“You have no idea what I’m thinking.”

“Some things come back pretty easily.” He shrugged. “I used to know a lot about your thoughts.”

“I was sixteen at the time, Dante. I didn’t have too many thoughts back then that didn’t center on you. Pretty easy to figure me out.”

He leaned forward, clasped his hands together. “And now you’re all complex?”

She frowned. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. It’s easy enough to tell.” He leaned back. “You’d have to be with the job you do. Solving crime requires a lot of thought.”

She cracked a smile. “Any particular reason you’re trying to flatter me?”

“Just stating the obvious. No flattery intended. You can’t be a fumbling dumbass and make detective.”

Settling in and talking to him was easy. She hated that he’d made it so easy.

Her food arrived and just in time, since her stomach grumbled. Vending-machine food for the past ten hours just hadn’t cut it. She was starving. She dived in as if she hadn’t eaten in… God, she couldn’t remember when she’d had her last decent meal. Ignoring Dante, she put all her concentration into shoveling food in her mouth, not coming up for air until she’d scooped the last of her eggs onto her last bite of toast. She avoided licking her fingers because she had company at the table, instead used her napkin to wipe her hands.

When she looked up, Dante was studying her again.

“What?”

“You used to pick at your food. I was always afraid you were anorexic.”

She snorted. “I wasn’t. I was a picky eater. Clearly, I’m not one now.”

“Obviously. You crammed every bite of food from that plate into your mouth. I was waiting for you to lick the plate clean.”

“I pondered it, then decided against it. You might have been appalled.”

He laughed. “Hey, if you’re hungry, go for it. Or you could just order another meal.”

She drained her orange juice and set the glass and plate to the side. “Not necessary. I’m sufficiently full now.”

“It’s nice to see you eating.”

“I’ve gained an appetite over the years.”

He shifted and looked under the table.

“What are you doing?”

He straightened, his gaze roaming from her face to the rest of her. “Checking to see if you have a hollow leg, because judging from your body there’s no way you can eat that much and not gain weight.”

She laughed. “I burn it all off working. And it’s not like I get three squares a day of food like this. Most of the time I’m lucky to grab a granola bar or crap from the vending machine at the precinct. A full plate like this is a rarity.”

“You have someone at home to cook for you?”

Clever. “You mean like a housekeeper?”

“No, like a husband.”

“Nice fishing expedition. No husband.”

He leaned back. “Just figured by now you’d be married with kids.”

“I am married. To my job.”

“You’re too beautiful to be married to your job.”

“That’s a sexist remark.”

He didn’t appear concerned, just took another sip of coffee, then said, “Okay, then. You’re too beautiful to be without a man.”

“I didn’t say I was without a man.”

“So you do have someone in your life.”

“I didn’t say that, either.”

His lips curled. “Cagey.”

Despite her intent to keep her conversation with him cool, she couldn’t help but enjoy this cat-and-mouse game of Twenty Questions. “What about you? You certainly look like too much man to be without a woman.”

He leveled one seriously hot look on her that made her toes curl.

“How do you know I’m without a woman?”

She laughed, letting out some of the stress that had been tightening her shoulders. “I think if you had a woman somewhere you wouldn’t be sitting here with me.”

“You
are
a good detective.”

She lifted her cup to her lips and smiled. “That’s what my dad says.”

“See, this is what surprises me. You never wanted to be a cop like your dad.”

Her smile died. “Things changed.”

“You mean what happened twelve years ago?”

“I don’t want to talk about twelve years ago.”

“What if I do?”

“Is that why you’re back? To bring up the past?”

“No. I came to see you, to see everyone.”

She hated asking it, didn’t want him to think she craved the answer. But the question needed to be answered. “Where’ve you been?”

He shrugged. “Here and there.”

“That’s a lousy answer to give a cop.”

His lips lifted. “Yeah. But, really, not much to tell. I drifted, wandered, picked up work in one spot, then moved to another. I didn’t stay in one place too long.”

“I could find out where you’ve been.”

His grin widened. “You could try.”

“Are you challenging me?” Irritation made her breakfast coil up like an angry snake in her stomach.

He reached across the table and grasped her hand. “No. I didn’t come back here to piss you off.”

She pulled her hand away. “You’re working pretty damn hard on it.”

He inhaled, blew it out. “There’s nothing to tell you. I saw a lot of the…country. I was restless. And I needed to get out of here.”

Escape would have been nice for her, too. But that hadn’t been an option. “You picked a hell of a time to just pick up and leave, Dante.”

He stared down at his coffee cup, then back up at her. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

That was it? She’d been attacked, had gone through the worst trauma of her life, and the one person she thought she could count on had abandoned her when she needed him the most. And all he had for her in the way of explanation was “sorry about that”?

She stared him down, refusing to let him run this time. “You know, that’s just not good enough.”

To his credit, he didn’t flinch, instead held her gaze. “I know it isn’t.”

“Pretty interesting coincidence that you show up and George is killed.”

He drained the last of the coffee in his cup. “Lousy coincidence. I wish I’d been back sooner.”

“How much sooner?”

“Soon enough that I could have prevented it.”

She leaned back in the booth. “How could you have prevented it?”

“I don’t know. Someone lured him to that alley and beat him to death. If I’d been here maybe I could have stopped it.”