Still shaken by her reaction—obviously he’d gone too far—he only gradually realized another vehicle was following close behind.
The lights on the other vehicle rode too high for a passenger car. An SUV? He squinted into the side-view mirror and saw the outline of a ridiculously large truck. The lights flicked on high a few times, nearly blinding him. Undoubtedly he wasn’t going fast enough for the other driver, even though the speed limit was an even thirty.
Grumbling to himself, Dermot sped up only to note that the lights in his rearview mirror didn’t get any smaller. Archer Street was directly ahead. Deciding to take the street that angled its way in the general direction of home, he made a fast right.
The truck stayed close behind him.
“What the hell!”
When Dermot sped away without being able to put any distance between him and the truck, he neared his boiling point. He shot under the expressway and zigzagged down a couple of side streets and under the fancy arch that was the official Gateway to Chinatown. Still he couldn’t lose the truck. Who the hell was following him? Cops? Or someone who had a different kind of interest in Tony’s death?
He had to slow to allow for late-night diners.
A glance in his rearview mirror assured him a bunch of young pedestrians had brought the truck to a stop at last. Dermot saw his chance to escape.
A few more turns took him along a deserted street that backtracked under the expressway in a different location. He sped to the viaduct, but then slowed there and pulled to the far right, parking up against the foundation, where he cut his engine and lights.
Seconds later, familiar brights cut a swath through the night as the truck swept by him. Dermot got only a fast look. Black. A Ford, he thought. License plates XO 74 something.
Not that he intended to report it. The police only wanted to hear one thing from him, and that was a confession. So why had he been followed? he wondered. The pursuit had been too focused, too intense to believe he’d been a random playmate.
What, then? Dermot wondered.
He was still thinking of it several minutes later, when he started his engine, made a U-turn and headed for home.
THE DEATH THREAT floated from her fingers, and Stella went for her ankle holster. Within seconds she was armed, her snub-nosed revolver in hand. So the killer already knew she was on his or her trail. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear her pulse wash through her head.
Was whoever had left the warning still around?
She wasn’t about to go outside and find out. But what about inside?
Stella tried her front door. When it didn’t open, she took a calming breath. Even so, after unlocking the door, she cautiously slipped into the apartment and turned on the lights in every room, all the while ready to take on anyone waiting to attack her.
The apartment was empty.
She sagged with relief.
What to do?
If she reported the threat, she would be in trouble with the department. Mack would rescind her comp time until further notice and would forbid her from continuing with her private investigation. Her involvement would become a department matter, maybe the start of the end of her career.
“Damn it!”
Slipping the paper into a plastic zipper bag, Stella decided to give it to Logan. Now that he was back in the department, he could have it run for prints.
Wanting in the worst way to call Dermot and tell him they had the killer nervous, Stella knew that was the last thing she should do. If Dermot knew she’d been threatened, he would refuse her help, and she couldn’t have that.
She couldn’t rely on a weapon at her ankle, either. From now on, she would be properly armed.
Suddenly it struck her.
…haven’t you learned anything…
Her heart started to pound once more. Unless she was mistaken, that was a reference to the rape meant to shut her up. Twelve years ago she’d had information about some burglaries she’d meant to give to the police. The rape had been her punishment. And if she were to report the assault to the police, the rapist had threatened that her younger sister would have been next.
But now her rapist was in jail.
That meant someone other than Dermot knew what had happened to her all those years ago.
Tony’s murderer?
Was there a connection?
Chapter Six
As if he knew she was coming, Rick Lamey stepped out of the alleyway and stopped directly in front of her, blocking her path. “Where you think you’re goin’, Star?”
“Home.” She’d just left Candera’s Mercado where she’d bought milk and bread. Warily, she eyed the gang member with the meanest reputation in the neighborhood and said, “Get outta my way.”
“You think you can tell me what to do, bitch?”
With that he crowded her straight into the alley. Heart thumping, trying not to panic, she stumbled backward but caught herself before she fell.
“C’mon, Rick, let me alone. My ma’s waiting for me and I’m late already.”
“She’s gonna have to wait a while longer.” He whipped out a knife.
Her mouth went dry and her fingers went numb and her bag slipped from her fingers to crash against the alley pavement. Something wet splashed against her legs…the milk. She backed up farther, trying to keep a safe distance between them. If there was any such thing as safe where he and the other members of the Vipers were concerned.
“What is it you want, Rick? I don’t have much money, but—”
His laugh sent a chill up her spine.
“I don’t want your money, bitch. I’m gonna teach you a lesson you ain’t gonna forget.”
Then, before she could make a break for it, he grabbed her arm, whipped her around and dragged her farther from the street. She struggled, tried to fight, but she didn’t know how and she was no match for his strength. A quarter of the way down the alley, he threw her to the pavement where he knelt on her chest and pricked her neck with the knife tip.
She tried to scream but nothing came out. And then he slapped her hard.
“That’s for sticking your nose in our business. You ain’t gonna tell the pigs nothin’,” he whispered. “When I’m through with you, you’ll wish you never thought of squealing.”
With the knife still at her throat, he backed off enough so he could tear at her clothing.
A shrill scream echoed through her head…
Dark memories threatening to smother her, Stella popped straight up in bed and struggled to find her breath. Her heart was beating too fast, too hard, just as it had on that fateful night.
Only, it was morning now. Present day. Bright sunlight streamed in her twin windows and danced along the creamy gold walls.
The phone rang…and she recognized the shrill scream of her awful dream. The ringing had saved her from experiencing the full horror of the nightmare that she hadn’t had in years. No doubt the new threat had prompted its revival. Hand trembling, wondering who might be calling her so early, she reluctantly picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Star? You sound a little strange,” came a familiar voice filled with concern. “Did I interrupt something?”
“Frank. No, nothing. I was sleeping.”
“Sorry. Go on back to sleep. We’ll talk later.”
“No, I’m awake now.”
She didn’t want to go back to sleep…to dream…to relive the worst night of her life, something she hadn’t done in the last decade.
So why now?
Then she remembered the note…
“So what’s the word on the street, Frank?”
Throwing her legs over the edge of the bed, she stretched and pushed the past back where it belonged, at least for the moment. Despite the threat, she had to be objective. She knew that. She just had to figure out how.
“Louie Z.,” he said.
Shocked—Luis Zamora was another cop from the old neighborhood—Stella asked, “Why? What did you he
ar?”
“That he was on Tony like white on rice. They had a hate-hate relationship going on.”
Stella slid out of bed, and with her free hand straightened the hibiscus-red and spice-gold water-color linens, a little extravagance that made her hand-me-down bedroom furniture appear more luxurious.
“Cops don’t like criminals in general. And Luis was the cop who sent Tony up for the burglary charges, so of course they didn’t play nice together.”
“But apparently this particular cop likes Johnny Rincon well enough to play poker with him over at Skipper’s.”
Now that got her attention. “I thought Luis was through with Johnny.”
“Apparently not. Who knows what he’s doing for his old pal.”
If Luis was truly friends with Johnny again, that would be something of a bombshell, Stella thought.
Back in high school, Luis Zamora—then known as Louie Z.—had been Johnny’s best friend and a member of the Vipers. After graduation, Luis literally had to fight his way out of the gang. Then he’d severed his friendship with Johnny and had turned his life around, going to the community college and then the academy. She’d been in the same class with him. Not that they’d been friends even then.
“I hope you’re wrong about Luis.” She dreaded hearing about another cop gone bad. “Maybe it’s only poker.”
“Yeah, you could be right. A cop with a yen to gamble mixing it up with a known criminal, if one who hasn’t spent more than a few days in lock-up—yeah, that could be innocent enough.”
Of course it didn’t sound innocent, and Stella knew she would have to find out for herself. Though Johnny had been arrested on several occasions, he always managed to slip through the system. It had never occurred to her before that he might have help from the inside…
“Thanks, Frank. I knew I could count on you to come through for me.”
“We’re family. I hope you’ll always remember that.”
Guilt prompted her to say, “All right, I get the message. I promise not to neglect you because of work.”
“You can always come to me, Star, with any problem.”
For a moment she thought to tell Frank about the note, then decided against it. Nothing he could do about it but worry.
“And as for this thing,” Frank continued, “I’m not done on my end.”
Stella laughed. “Sounds like you’re getting into playing detective.”
“I have hidden talents you don’t know about.”
Wondering what they might be, she decided to leave it a mystery. “Thanks again for the lead.”
“My pleasure. Keep in touch.”
“Will do.”
Stella hung up and headed for the bathroom and the shower.
Louie Z. Surely he wasn’t involved with his old gang. But how to find out for certain?
Stella was thinking about it as she prepared a simple breakfast of low-fat cottage cheese and peaches. Of course! Logan. She ate with one hand, punched in the Area 4 number on her telephone with the other.
But when Logan got on the line, he didn’t give her a chance to tell him about Luis Zamora.
“How did you hear?” he asked.
“Hear what?”
He lowered his voice. “Norelli and Walker brought Dermot in again for further questioning.”
“Any idea of why?”
“No other suspects.”
“Is he alone?” she asked.
“Not this time. He brought Avery Stark with him.”
“Good. I’m on my way.”
Not that she had a plan. She figured she would simply hang around and improvise.
But mere moments after stepping foot in Area 4, she spotted Luis Zamora deep in conversation with another officer dressed in plain clothes.
What was he doing here? Stella wondered. He worked out of District 12, the same as she had before her promotion.
He sat on the desk and leaned over, his head close to the woman’s. With his dark good looks and dimpled chin, he was charming the desk dolly, who seemed to be doing most of the talking.
About what? The Vargas case?
Then he chucked the female officer under the chin, dropped a folder on her desk—no doubt delivering papers on a case being the reason he was here in the first place—then straightened to leave. And made direct eye contact with Stella. He looked away first and headed for the front door, where she hurriedly intercepted him.
“Luis. It’s been a while.”
“Stella.”
His tone was cool, and he seemed about to push past her but she kept in his way and put a staying hand on his arm.
“We need to talk.”
His jaw clenched, hardening his features. “I only got a minute.”
“Then we’ll talk fast.” She hooked a hand in the crook of his elbow and pulled him out of the line of traffic.
“About?”
“Tony Vargas.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I understand you had a coupla run-ins with him shortly before he was offed.”
His eyes narrowing, he asked, “You got a point here?”
She shrugged. “I thought maybe you knew what he was up to.”
“If I knew he was up to no good, I would’ve arrested him.”
Did Luis sound defensive or was she imagining it?
“So you were what…” Stella asked. “Hassling him to keep him straight?”
Luis’s jaw worked and he took a deep breath before asking, “What’re you suggesting, Stella?”
She gave him an innocent shrug. “Just trying to get the facts to help a friend.”
“I think that detective’s star has gone to your head. Or maybe the suspect has gotten to something more personal,” he said.
Heat searing her at his obvious implication, Stella didn’t try to stop Luis when he moved away from her and made for the exit. She was too busy wondering why he was so defensive. At least he didn’t call her any of the names that no doubt tempted him—women on the force too often put up with verbal abuse from male cops. Did Luis really have something to hide or did he simply resent her questioning him?
“Anything?” came a low voice from behind her as Logan sauntered by and stopped at a nearby drinking fountain.
She got behind him as if she, too, were thirsty. “Just more questions.”
“Stark was making…a big noise…when I went by the interrogation room,” he said of Dermot’s lawyer between sips.
“Frank gave me a lead. Luis Zamora didn’t like Tony. I just saw him and tried to find out why. He gave me the brush-off.”
“I’ll dig around some.” Logan straightened and said, “Dermot should be out of there any minute now.”
“One more thing.” Stella slipped him the plastic bag containing the warning she’d gotten the night before. “Someone doesn’t want me on this case. Have the lab check for fingerprints. And don’t say a word to Dermot.”
“Stella—”
But another detective was coming down the hall, so Logan slid the note into his pocket and casually moved away from the fountain.
Stella nodded and stooped to take a sip. Then, thinking she ought to hook up with Dermot outside where she wouldn’t ruffle any more feathers than she already had, she left the building and leaned against the trunk of a tree in the parkway.
The wait wasn’t long, less than twenty minutes. And Dermot left the building alone. His lawyer must have had other business.
“Dermot, over here,” she said with a wave.
Stella’s mouth went dry as she watched Dermot walk toward her, his expression serious. And why not—he had reason to fear being railroaded. He was suited up today, and the expensive, tailored look fit him perfectly. Hell, anything would look good on him…nothing at all would look even better.
Telling herself to keep it in check, she stepped out to the sidewalk.
Dermot stopped directly in front of her, so close that his heat lit her from the inside out, exactly the way it had when they’d kissed the
night before.
“How did it go?” she choked out.
If he caught her nervousness, he didn’t show it.
“Better than I expected, thanks to that lawyer you got me. They dragged me in to ask about the velvet ropes again—they keep coming back to two being stolen when only one was found with Tony, as if I kept the second one for my next victim. Stark knows what he’s doing,” Dermot admitted, his gaze narrowing on her. “This isn’t a coincidence—your being here this morning, I mean.”
“No, Logan alerted me. Instinct. I got here before I thought it through.”
“Well, then, having someone working on the inside appears to be a good thing.”
“Not that my coming down here actually accomplished anything.” Other than pissing off Luis Zamora.
“You brightened my day.”
She couldn’t help her reaction to his words. Her pulse fluttered and her mouth curved into a smile. “Well, it was worth the trip, then. And as long as no one links Logan with me, he should be able to squeeze whatever information there is to be had from Norelli and Walker.”
And get an ID on those fingerprints. She knew she ought to be open with Dermot about last night, but she didn’t want to start the day with him ordering her to back off. Telling him could wait.
“What now?” Dermot asked. “I assume you dropped whatever you were doing to rush down here and be my moral support.”
“Frank handed me a lead this morning. I thought I would follow that up.”
“Could you use some company?”
“If you’re the company, absolutely.”
Truth be told, she would take any company she could get after that morning’s nightmare. She hadn’t been back to Candera’s Mercado since the night of her rape, and she wouldn’t be going there now if it wasn’t for Dermot.
They took both of their cars and met on 18th Street within view of the el station with its ethnic murals, public artwork being an integral part of the neighborhood.
As they walked down the block together, Dermot took her arm. His fingers through her jacket were firm and telegraphed a sensual message she figured he didn’t mean to all parts of her body. Stella tried to relieve her growing tension—not only because of him being so close, but because of where they were—by reiterating Frank’s phone call and her fruitless chat with Luis Zamora.
Velvet Ropes Page 7
