Back in the days when he used to collect bruises in the park with her brother, Paul Larsen had been a skinny, cheerful kid with a dark cowlick and a toothy smile. He was old enough to shave now, and he was thicker around the middle, but he still had the cowlick and the grin.
When he saw Tess, he smoothed the first and flashed the second. "Tess DeLucca!"
"Hey, Paul." She smiled back tentatively. "I didn't know Connie let you out on weekends."
"I'm working," he explained, as if that weren't perfectly obvious with him in uniform and guarding the open doorway. Beyond his molded plastic chair, Tess could see the foot of a hospital bed. An observation window opened onto the hall, but green-striped curtains blocked her view of the room inside.
"Really? On a Saturday?"
He nodded importantly. "Patient protection."
"Wow. Big deal, huh?"
"Chief Denko asked me to come in," he confided. And then, as if even the name was enough to recall him to a sense of duty, he frowned. "What are you doing here?"
She looked at the decent young face of Mark's childhood friend and thought, I can't do this. "Oh, I brought Sherry some Palermo's crescents."
He whistled in appreciation. "She must have been a good girl."
She had to do this. For Mark's sake. Tess gave Paul her best let-me-out-of-this-ticket-officer look and said, "And have you been a good boy?"
He laughed and colored. "Pretty good."
"You should go get one. I brought extra."
He glanced at the open doorway behind him. "I don't know," he said doubtfully.
"Sherry could really use your help. And I don't just mean with the pastries. Some big guy was hassling the desk when I left."
Paul stood, straightening the crease in his uniform pants. "Well, that's no good."
"I could call you," Tess offered. "If I, like, hear anything in there."
"Yeah, okay." He took a few steps down the hall. "I'll be right back."
Tess nodded encouragingly. "I'll be waiting for you."
She watched him disappear around the corner to the nurses' station. Impulse warred with nerves in her stomach, already churning with the hazelnut cream she'd bolted down earlier.
Oh, boy. Jarek Denko was going to be royally pissed if he ever found out she'd decoyed Paul into deserting his post. Not to mention the chiefs reaction if he discovered she'd butted in on his investigation.
But really, she was helping him, Tess rationalized. She knew this town better than he did. She knew Carolyn— okay, not well, but better than he did. And in her heart, she knew better than anyone ever could that Mark absolutely could not have done whatever Jarek suspected him of doing.
Tess shot one more look down the empty hall. She wouldn't break her word to Paul. She would wait for him.
"But not out here," she muttered.
Delivering bad news never got any easier, Jarek thought as he escorted the Logans onto the elevator. It didn't matter how many times you did it. It didn't make any difference if you were breaking the heart of an old man whose wife didn't survive a blameless trip to buy bread or a single mother whose son wouldn't be getting into trouble any more.
There was always the pain.
There was always the anger.
There was always the feeling in his gut that he could or should have done some damn thing to prevent the tragedy.
He knew different, of course. Common sense told him he wasn't responsible for every attack that took place on his watch. Almost twenty years on Chicago's streets had convinced him that no power or police force on earth could stop the stupid, wicked, crazy things human beings chose to do to one another. But if Jarek no longer believed he could stop bad things from happening, he made damn sure whoever did the bad things paid.
In Carolyn Logan's case, he didn't even have that reassurance.
Beside him, Dr. Richard Logan stared at the bank of elevator buttons, his face carved like a Roman senator's and his eyes shattered. His wife Angela was talking spasmodically, in spurts of fury, bursts of grief.
The pressure at the back of Jarek's neck built with every restless rise of her voice. And when the elevator doors slid open and Jarek saw Officer Paul Larsen chatting up the round-faced nurse at the desk, it threatened to explode.
He balled his fists in his pockets. "Larsen," he said coldly.
The patrolman jerked like a trout on a line. "Chief! I was just—"
Jarek raised his eyebrows, conscious of Richard and Angela Logan listening anxiously beside him. "—asking about Ms. Logan's medical status?"
"I—Yes, sir."
"And how is she?"
"I—"
The nurse stepped forward, eyes sharp and smile bright. "Mr. and Mrs. Logan? Carolyn's doctor must have told you her surgery went very well. She's recovered from the anesthesia, but she's been sedated to relieve the pain of the rib fractures and to calm her down. Waking up unexpectedly in the hospital is a little upsetting for most patients."
So was being raped and beaten to the point of death, Jarek thought but did not say.
The grooves dug deeper in Richard Logan's face. His wife pressed a hand to her mouth.
"Can we go back now?" Jarek asked.
"Of course." The nurse—Sherry Biddleman, her ID tag read—smiled sympathetically. "Down the hall and to your right."
Jarek shot Larsen a look that pinned him to the gray linoleum tiles. "Would you wait for me here, Officer Larsen?"
"Yes, sir. Sir—" he began urgently as Jarek started after the Logans.
Jarek checked his stride. But he'd already spent too many hours today on damage control. He'd blown precious time that could have been put into the case running interference between his new department and an amused and superior state investigative team. He'd wasted focus sparring with Call-Me-Tess DeLucca and her bad news brother. Whatever Larsen had to say could wait until Jarek had reunited the Logans with their daughter.
"Save it," he ordered.
"But, sir—"
If he had to listen to any more explanations or excuses he was going to blow, and that wouldn't be good for Larsen, the Logans or the case.
Jarek strode down the hall, hands still clenched in his pockets, and caught up with the Logans as they turned the corner. An empty chair sat vigil in the hall outside Carolyn's room. The green curtains over the observation window were drawn.
Jarek hung back to give the Logans a moment alone to adjust to the sight of their daughter.
And then he heard Angela Logan's voice rising in bewilderment from inside the room. "Who are you?"
Busted.
Tess stared across Carolyn Logan's hospital bed. The thin woman with the uneven lipstick and expertly frosted hair must be Carolyn's mother. The upright citizen type with the kicked puppy expression would be her dad. And behind them, glaring at her with cold murder in his eyes, was Chief Jarek Denko.
Oh, boy.
With the heel of her thumb, she swiped hastily at her tears. Her other hand still rested on Carolyn's. As surreptitiously as possible, she drew it back through the metal guard rails of the bed.
She was embarrassed at being caught. She hated being caught crying. She was here to give comfort, not receive it. Besides, streetwise reporters didn't break down at victims' bedsides.
Clearing her throat, she dredged up a smile. "Mrs. Logan? I'm Tess DeLucca. I stopped by to see how Carolyn was doing."
The woman's mouth worked. "Are you—are you a friend of Carolyn's?"
Conscience pinched Tess. "I— Actually we met last night. I was with her at the bar."
Mr. Logan scowled. "Carolyn was at a bar?"
The girl on the bed opened her eyes. "Daddy?" she whispered.
"Oh, my baby!" His wife stumbled across the room.
"Well." Tess stood awkwardly. "I'll just leave you to—"
"What do you know about what happened?" Mr. Logan demanded.
"Miss DeLucca has already given her statement to the police," Jarek said calmly. "We're following all available
leads, Mr. Logan."
Tess sidled past them. "If you want to ask me any questions—or anything—I'd be more than happy to meet with you." She stopped to dig in the bottom of her bag. "Here's my card. You can call me."
"I'm sure the Logans will want to spend some time alone with their daughter first," Denko said. His voice was smooth and warm. His gaze, meeting hers over Logan's shoulder, cut like a saw blade in February.
"Right," Tess said, fighting a shiver. "Well, I really should be getting along. Nice to meet you. Both of you."
Mrs. Logan stroked her daughter's hand, completely ignoring Tess. Tears streaked her foundation. Tears leaked from the corners of Carolyn's eyes and ran into her hair. Mr. Logan looked at Tess as if he hated her.
Oh, God. Had Jarek told them about Mark?
She edged toward the door. "Call me if you need anything. I mean, I know you're from out of town, so if there's anything I can do—"
"Besides back off?" Denko murmured, very quietly.
She glared at him and tried for a dignified escape. But she should have figured the chief of police would track his man. Woman. Whatever.
He followed her into the hall. "I can't believe anybody would exploit a situation like that to get a story."
His low opinion stung. He was wrong about Mark. He had to be. And he was wrong about her.
She turned on him. "Is that what you think I was doing?"
"You gave him your card."
"In case they wanted to talk. Trauma can take the family of the victim that way. Sometimes talking is the only way to make what happened manageable. Bearable. You're a cop. You must know that."
Jarek's mouth thinned. "Is that what you were doing in Carolyn's room? Encouraging her to talk?"
Tess's heart hammered. "I wanted to see how she was doing."
Jarek tipped back his head and stared down at her. If he was trying to intimidate her, he was doing a great job. "I won't have you interfering with a witness."
She crossed her arms defensively. "I wasn't interfering."
"You didn't talk to her about the attack? You didn't question her?"
"Of course, we— I wanted to know if she remembered anything that could help."
"Help who?"
"Well…you," she said. And Mark, but now didn't seem like a real good time to bring that up.
"You want to help me," Jarek said without inflection.
She would not be bullied, however politely. All through her childhood, Tess had resisted the adults who looked down on her because she was a DeLucca. All her life, she'd fought the interference of patronizing teachers and meddling social workers and hostile cops.
"You ought to be glad that somebody wants to," she said. "I don't think you can rely on your department for this one, Chief."
"What are you saying?" Jarek asked, very quietly.
Oh, boy. "Carolyn said—she told me the car that stopped her, her attacker's car, had flashing red lights."
"And you suspect someone in my department."
"That's as likely as you suspecting my brother."
"Did Carolyn Logan tell you he didn't do it?"
Tess shook her head in frustration. "No. But she would have recognized Mark."
"Unless his face was covered."
Tess flinched.
Jarek went very still. "Is that it? Was her attacker wearing a mask?"
Tess nodded miserably. Had she just made things worse for Mark? "She thinks so. One of those stocking things. Like a bank robber on TV? She didn't see it at first, the headlights were behind him as he got out of his car. And by the time she got a good look at—at his face, she'd already unrolled her window. He unlocked her door."
"Did she see the vehicle? Was it a radio car?"
"No. She assumed it was an unmarked police car."
"Did she recognize the model? The make?" Jarek grilled her.
Dark and big and boxy, Carolyn's broken voice whispered in the back of Tess's mind. The description fit the chosen transportation of every weekend warrior in McCormick county. Half the population of Eden drove SUVs.
Or Jeep Cherokees.
"No," Tess said.
Jarek raised his eyebrows. "I'll talk to her."
"She thought she was getting pulled over by the police," Tess insisted. "That's at least as good a theory as saying my brother did it."
"Except that we know your brother had contact with the victim before she was attacked. There's no clear link between any member of the Eden police force and Carolyn Logan."
"That you know of. Yet."
"Police lights do not mean that the police are involved," Jarek said through his teeth. "EMTs have lights. Emergency responders like your brother have lights." He paused a moment to let that sink in and then said, "Chicago's only an hour away, and every fire fighter in the city has red flashers. Not to mention that any punk with a credit card and a hankering to play cop can buy signal lights over the Internet. We have to look for another connection."
Tess bit her lip. Okay, so the problem was bigger and more complicated than she'd thought. That was no reason to feel daunted. She was good at problems. "I could help."
"No."
"What are you afraid of? That I'll prove Mark is innocent?"
"You're the one who should be afraid," Jarek said roughly. "Look at Carolyn Logan. You think if her assailant suspects you're involved in this case he won't come after you?"
She was mad at him for trying to frighten her. Madder because—oh, admit it—for a second he succeeded. "Make up your mind, Chief. You can't have it both ways. Either my brother is a suspect, in which case you can't possibly believe I'm in danger. Or he's not a suspect, in which case I won't compromise your investigation and I could conceivably help. Which is it?"
"I told you before, I don't theorize ahead of my facts. And I don't need you playing amateur sleuth on my watch."
"I am not an amateur sleuth. I am an investigative reporter."
His eyes gleamed. "Fine. Go report something."
"No gag order?"
"What?"
She angled her chin. "Am I allowed to report on Carolyn Logan's assault in my paper? Or would it be too damaging to the public's confidence in our fabulous police force if people in Eden knew that some joker with red lights was pulling women to the side of the road and attacking them?"
Jarek's mouth was a grim line. For a moment, he looked so serious that he almost revived Tess's moribund faith in the justice system. "It's not an issue of public confidence. It's a matter of public safety. Print your story. But leave the girl's name out of it."
Tess pulled herself up. "You can trust my discretion."
"No," Jarek said. He sounded faintly regretful. "I can't. I can't trust anybody."
How lonely. She pushed that thought away.
"That's mighty cynical of you," she said.
"Not cynical. Practical. I've worked with the media before." His gaze met hers in direct challenge. "You're not after the truth. You're after a story."
Chapter 6
"Terrible thing to read about in the paper," George Tompkins proclaimed as he rang up a customer at the hardware store.
Jarek, puzzling over paint samples one aisle over, stiffened. Despite his determination to put the case aside for a few hours, he caught himself listening for the unseen patron's reply.
"It was a terrible thing to happen," George's customer answered dryly. "Whether I reported it in the paper or not."
Tess DeLucca. Jarek recognized her husky drawl. He stared at the pink-striped paper in his hand, his insides churning with a whole mess of emotions. Anticipation. Regret. And a profound caution.
The feature story in yesterday's Gazette had painted a wincingly clear picture of his inexperienced officers trampling the crime scene. But if Tess hadn't spared his department, she hadn't pilloried it, either. The article stated plainly that the victim had been pulled over by an unmarked car flashing red lights. Tess had included Jarek's warning that female motorists signaled by any unidentified veh
icle should drive to a well-lit, attended area before stopping. But she had made it clear that the unknown assailant was more likely to be an imposter than a member of Eden's own police force.
Jarek admired Tess's objectivity. And was grateful for it. He hadn't counted on her being fair, not after he'd ticked her off by vacuuming out her brother's car and making that crack about the media.
"The Chamber of Commerce is talking. An attack like that is bad for the town," George Tompkins was saying.
Tess's voice sharpened. "It's worse for the victim. Or are you suggesting we hush it all up and let the tourists take their chances? Not to mention the women who live here."
Jarek was tempted to applaud, which surprised him. He'd never really gone for the outspoken type. His ex-wife, Linda, had been the quiet sort.
Until she decided she wanted out.
He pulled another card at random—Cotton Candy through Dogwood Dream—and compared it with the one in his hand.
George Tompkins cleared his throat. "All I'm saying is, we didn't have this kind of trouble when Walter was police chief."
Jarek's hand tightened on the two strips of paper. Hell.
"Good thing, too," Tess replied smartly. "Because Walter Dale couldn't have solved a serious crime if his or anybody else's life depended on it. At least Denko has experience."
"He had to leave his job in Chicago. For personal reasons, I heard. You think maybe he drinks or something?"
The store owner's voice shifted suddenly. "Oh, sorry, Tess, I—"
She cut him off. "Where did you hear that?"
"Dick Freer."
Jarek frowned. Richard Freer—owner of Liberty Guns and Ammo—had been on the search committee that selected him.
"Well, I checked with Chicago, and our new chief is clean," Tess said. "You can tell that to Dick Freer."
Jarek heard the rattle of the cash register and then Tess swung around the stacked cans of paint at the end of the aisle, brown bag in hand, heading for the door with her long, get-out-of-my-way stride.
Jarek moved deliberately in front of her. "Thanks," he said.
She stopped. He watched, fascinated, as color swept from her throat to the tips of her ears. "You heard?"
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