Veiled Intentions (7 page)

“It's me,” she heard her brother say.

“Garrett, just the man I wanted to talk to.”

Joe must have felt the same because he pressed the speaker function on the phone. Probably because he wanted to hear anything official. But the official part would have to wait.

“Thanks for the expert packing job,” she tossed out at Garrett. “You do know this'll cost you in slow painful ways you can't even imagine?”

“I'm trembling in my Doc Martens.” But the sarcasm wasn't nearly strong enough, and it didn't come close to masking his concern. “I'll drop by in the morning, pretending to deliver breakfast. Anything I can bring you?”

“You mean other than Starbucks and some real clothes?” Katelyn inquired cautiously, feeling him out.

“Yeah. Other than that.”

Heck. He was placating her.

Never a good sign.

“What about you, Rico? You need anything?” Garrett asked.

Mercy. He'd moved from placating to being nice.

“No, thanks,” Joe let him know. “I've got some things in the trunk of my car.”

Garrett paused. Never a good sign, either. “So the plan is for you two to pick up Katelyn's car in the morning and then not come up for air again until it's
time to announce your engagement at Perfect Match on Thursday?”

“Great summary.” But Katelyn had reached her threshold for beating around the bush. “Spill it, Garrett. What's wrong?”

“I'm not sure, exactly.” Yet another hesitation. “Someone's digging through the fake files we created for your covers.”

“We expected that,” Joe pointed out. He sat up in his sleeping bag, leaning back against the side of the mattress.

“Yeah, but I didn't expect them to go at it this way. It's sloppy. Damn sloppy. And that slop leads right to Merrick. It makes me uncomfortable.”

Katelyn knew exactly how he felt. Merrick might be a killer, but from all accounts he was smart. If the cyber trail led to him, then it was probably because someone wanted them to think Merrick had done it.

Bruce Donovan, maybe?

Of course, there was also the angle that by being sloppy, Merrick was giving himself a very convincing out.

“If he's that smart,” Katelyn mumbled. “We're in serious trouble.”

“Yeah,” Garrett agreed.

Joe glanced at her. He had that did-I-miss-something? look. At least she thought that's what that glance was about until he shrugged. “I don't care how smart Merrick is. If he's making these sloppy searches to cover the fact he's the sniper, we'll still stop him.”

Well, they were all on the same page. Interesting. Most outsiders, including fellow cops, had trouble following Garrett's and her thought processes.

“There's more,” Garrett continued. “It sucks, so brace yourself. I got a call from an editor friend at the
Express News.
There'll be a story about the two shootings in the morning paper. They're linking them.”

“We knew this was coming,” Katelyn offered.

“An article, yeah. But there'll be photos. Some apparently taken at the icebreaker tonight. There'll be one with Rico and you kissing.”

Okay. So they hadn't known about this.

Judas.

A photo.

“Supposedly, it's a grainy shot, and you're in a lip lock, but still…” Garrett's explanation trailed off, leaving them with the general idea that this was not a good thing.

“How'd they get the photo?” Joe asked.

“Addison Merrick. He takes stills from the security feed. For some reason, he gave the press a couple of them when they came around sniffing for a story about two hours ago.”

And because she and Joe had signed those consent forms, it was all perfectly legal.

“He's suspicious,” Katelyn mumbled.

“It could be a ploy to get you to back off,” Garrett suggested. “Because something like this darn sure wouldn't be good for business.”

“Or maybe he's going for another sloppy tactic so
he can cover his butt,” Joe contributed. “The real killer probably wouldn't give up photos of potential victims, but a ruthless businessman trying to get some free publicity might.” He cursed. “Or a killer who wanted to appear to be an honest businessman might.”

Neither Garrett nor she disagreed with him.

“This changes nothing,” Joe insisted a moment later. “We'll stick with the plan and lay low here until Thursday afternoon when we'll make a return visit to Perfect Match. If the photo's clearer than expected, or if it causes any unwanted press, then I'll deal with it.”

“You do that,” Garrett fired back.

Katelyn huffed because she understood that tone. It was his brotherly warning for her to be careful.

“I'm not stupid,” she responded. Katelyn reached over and hung up.

Joe gave her another of those looks, except this time she was fairly sure he was puzzled. “He's worried about us,” she interpreted.

And apparently, with reason.

The game had just escalated from dangerous to deadly. But then, Katelyn had known from day one that it was an inevitable escalation. Playing the killer's deadly game was the only way to stop him.

 

A
LOUD RINGING
sound jarred Joe from the dream to beat all dreams. He snapped to a sitting position and groped for the phone, the alarm or whatever the hell was making the noise so he could stop it.

Katelyn cursed, a couple of phrases worthy of the awful racket. However, her profanity clipped off unexpectedly about a split second after she latched on to her gun and fell off the bed.

She landed right on him.

His hands were suddenly filled with her. A warm, firm, armed woman who smelled like a strange mixture of sex and gunmetal. Her eyes were still ripe with sleep, and she blinked several times, staring at him as if trying to figure out how she'd gotten in his lap.

Katelyn obviously wasn't a morning person, either.

Thankfully, the noise stopped so Joe could get his bearings. It didn't take long, especially when he realized her fall had aligned their bodies in the best, and worst, possible ways. She was straddling him, her long athletic legs resting against the sides of his hips.

And he had an erection.

It was a product of the dream he'd been having. About her. She noticed it. But then, it would have been impossible not to notice.

“One of the advantages of being a woman,” she mumbled, her gaze drifting in the direction of where he was certainly testing the limits of his boxers. “We don't wear our…hearts on our sleeves.”

“Smart-ass,” he tossed back, because frankly he couldn't think of anything else to say.

Laughing lazily, she climbed off him. Staggered. And would have probably landed in his lap again if he hadn't caught her. Specifically, her left butt cheek. Not the particular part of her anatomy he'd wanted to
grab, but it was either that or risk having accidental sex with her.

Joe was certain he didn't want that to happen.

Well, almost certain, anyway.

“I think it was the doorbell.” Katelyn glanced at the clock. “Seven forty-five. It has to be Garrett. If he doesn't have coffee with him, he's a dead man.”

Joe got to his feet, somehow, and fought through the haze still in his head. When the buzzing sound started again, he realized she was right. It was the doorbell. And yep, it was probably Garrett. Still, Joe wasn't about to take any chances. He pulled on his pants, grabbed his gun and headed into the living room.

“Be careful,” she whispered unnecessarily.

He would. No amount of fatigue or dream remnants would cause him to do away with standard procedures. Joe eased against the wall, moving slowly. Quietly. Keeping away from the door, he lifted the blinds a fraction and peeked out.

Not Garrett.

“It's Bruce Donovan,” Joe let her know.

She already had her gun, but that caused her to assume a defensive position. No more ripe sleepy blinks or lazy laughter. She morphed into the cop.

Joe took another look outside. Donovan appeared to be holding some papers and wasn't visibly armed.

Which didn't mean anything.

Donovan was the type to carry concealed.

“Back me up,” Joe reminded her.

Using the door to hide his gun, Joe opened it. Not
a fraction, either. He might need the extra space if he had to fire.

“Yeah?” he greeted Donovan. Not nicely, either.

Surprise went through Donovan's eyes, and when he tried to speak, he fumbled his words. Definitely not the slick player he'd portrayed the night before at the icebreaker.

“I wanted to drop these off for Kate,” Donovan said, offering the papers to Joe. “It's a copy of the release form she signed and the questionnaire she originally filled out. I thought she'd like them for her personal records. Oh, and here's the newspaper. It was on this side of the stairs so I figured it was hers.”

Joe took the items with his left hand so he could still hold on to his gun. “This couldn't wait until later?”

Donovan shrugged. “I was headed to work to get an early start and decided to drop it off on my way.”

“Right.” The apartment wasn't on the way to Perfect Match. Donovan was checking on them. Now, the real question was why. Was it because he was the killer, or because he'd planned to hit on Katelyn again?

If it was the latter, the man had a death wish.

One more attempt by Donovan to grope her breasts, and Katelyn would almost certainly go after him. And Joe would stand back and let her.

“So are you off from work today or what?” Donovan asked.

“I decided to take a little vacation time.”

“From your freelance journalism job?” Donovan
paused as if waiting for Joe to confirm that. Joe didn't. “I'm the one who ran your computer matches. Personally, I figured you'd go for the blond speech therapist, but then I didn't know about your past history with Kate.”

It seemed like a good idea just to nod. For a man on a delivery mission, Donovan was asking a lot of questions and providing a lot of unnecessary information.

Joe heard Katelyn move around behind him, but he had no idea what she was up to until she ducked under his arm and snuggled against him. She'd stripped off her pajama bottoms, tousled her hair around her face, and with the top that hit her at mid-thigh, she looked as if she'd just finished up a thoroughly satisfying round of sex. And was ready for round two.

“Kate.” Donovan attempted a smile and failed.

“Morning, Mr. Donovan. It's early.” She slid her left arm around Joe's waist, and with her right hand, she pressed her gun directly against the back side of the door. She aimed it at Donovan. With that Glock, she'd easily be able to shoot through the thick wood if necessary.

Donovan tipped his head to the forms he'd just given to Joe. “I decided to drop off those.”

“I heard.”

Her tone conveyed no interest whatsoever, and she eased her left hand slightly lower. From Joe's waist and just into his pants—which he hadn't gotten around to zipping fully. She rubbed her fingers gently
over the muscles that led directly to his groin. It wasn't just an intimate gesture. It was a sexually charged one.

“Thanks,” she added to Donovan.

There was a definite “get lost” at the end of it. For extra measure, she put her mouth against Joe's ear, mumbled a seriously raunchy suggestion that involved them naked on the kitchen table. She issued a goodbye, shut the door in their visitor's face and locked it.

“If Donovan had any doubts about us being lovers,” Katelyn whispered as she took her hand from his pants, “he doesn't now.”

No. The charade was about good as it could get. Maybe even a little too good.

Man.

Joe stood there for a moment and tried to get his lungs to work.

How the devil was he supposed to handle three and a half more days of this?

While he was staving off another erection, she took the newspaper from him, tore off the plastic wrapper and sank onto the sofa.

“Good news. We didn't make the front page.” A moment later, she groaned. “But we made the second.”

Katelyn held it up for him. There were three small black and white photos accompanying the article entitled Dying For Love? Theirs was in the center, and even though they were practically wrapped around each other, Katelyn's face was visible.

And clear.

Too clear.

“No,” she snarled, looking directly at him. She tossed the paper aside and practically charged at him. “You're not taking me off this case.”

“Your cover might have been compromised,” Joe pointed out.

“
Might
is the operative word there. But if you pull me now, it'll take weeks to create another cover—if that's even possible at this point. I won't let innocent people die because there's a possibility that someone could identify me from that photo.”

In addition to her hand, the woman certainly knew where to aim her arguments. Joe didn't want anyone else dying, either—including her.

“Please,” she added.

That cost her. No doubt about it. It was as close to begging as Katelyn O'Malley probably ever got, and it had to have stung her pride for him to be the recipient of that request.

Joe groaned, knowing how this would play out. “I would attach a condition or two—something along the lines of insisting you follow orders and don't improvise—but I won't bother.”

“Does that mean you won't cut me from the case?”

He nodded, after making her wait a couple of seconds. “Not unless I have definite proof that your cover's been blown. And don't you dare smile, O'Malley, because you know I just handed you a gift.”

No smile. Not even close. But he did see a lot of relief on her face. “Thank you. You won't regret it.”

Wrong.

He already did. A lot. But for better or worse, Katelyn was his best shot at stopping another murder.