“Listen, I have work to do.” Kate retreated into her office, closing the door in Mona’s curious face. Then she leaned against it and closed her eyes.
In the end, she was too shaken up to get anything done. She’d meant to call the detention center back and have someone check to see who had signed the release order on Mario. She’d meant to call a couple of key witnesses who’d been slated to appear in court at her behest tomorrow before the whole schedule got hopelessly mangled and make sure they knew the trials had been postponed. She’d meant to check over the details of a suppression hearing still on the docket for early tomorrow morning, before everything in the judicial system stopped for Judge Moran’s, and, later the same day, two of the deputies’ funerals. She’d meant to . . .
To hell with it. She was going home. A glance at her watch confirmed it: She wouldn’t even be leaving early. It was just a few minutes before six o’clock.
For once she picked up her briefcase without bothering to check the contents—something she always did, adding and deleting files so that she had what she needed to work at home after Ben was in bed. The bag containing the basketball was on the floor behind her desk, too. She glanced at it, hesitating. Hating the fact that the reason it had been given to her still bothered her so, she picked that up, too, because if she didn’t it would just be sitting there with its bad juju in the morning. Then she headed out. Mona’s door was closed, and the light in her office was off, Kate saw as she passed it, and from that she surmised that Mona had left for the day. Bryan’s door was closed, but his light was still on, which meant he was still working.
As she neared the end of the hall, Kate got an unpleasant surprise.
Cindy was still seated at her desk, laughing and making big fluttering eyes at the man standing on the other side of it, who didn’t see Kate approaching because he had his back to her. Lean-hipped, broad-shouldered, black-haired, tall—there was no mistaking him for anyone else.
Braga.
As she recognized him, Kate felt a swift infusion of mixed hostility and unease.
What’s he still doing here?
She didn’t like to think. In fact, she wasn’t going to think. Whether he was flirting with Cindy or trying to pry information out of her, she just didn’t care.
She was physically and emotionally exhausted. And once again scared to death.
Because Mario could be anywhere. And tonight it would be just herself and Ben, on their own.
She shouldn’t have let Braga stay last night. Whatever his motives had been—and she was too tired to even try to sort out the possibilities—allowing herself to depend on somebody, even briefly, just made it that much worse when that somebody was no longer available.
You knew that. How could you have forgotten?
It was just that she had gotten used to not being scared.
With a quick, silent wave for Cindy—she was too mature to glare at Braga’s back—Kate hung a sharp left toward the elevator banks, where about a dozen assorted employees waited. She joined them, responding as needed to greetings and comments without ever really registering what was being said. With luck, she calculated, Braga would never even look around.
Unfortunately, luck didn’t seem to be on her side.
“Feel like talking yet?” A moment later, Braga had sidled up behind her, asking the question in a quiet voice that she was pretty sure only she could hear. With her back firmly turned to Cindy and her desk, Kate had been tracking the elevators’ positions by watching the numbers over the doors, and never even saw him coming.
Conscious of the potentially listening ears of her sporadically chattering coworkers, Kate didn’t respond. Instead, she stared fixedly at the closed elevator doors in front of her. Which, unfortunately, were brass. And reflective. So that she could see him, a little to her left and behind her. Looking at her.
Their eyes met through the brass.
She glared at him.
“Nope,” he concluded.
An elevator arrived just then. Kate and everybody else crowded on. Once again, Braga was behind her. And once again, she could see him in the brass.
Damned brass.
When the elevator reached the ground floor, Kate filed out with everyone else. Heading toward the door closest to the underground parking garage beneath the retail space next door where she had left her car, she was annoyed to find Braga right behind her.
“Go away,” she said over her shoulder as she pushed through the door, took a dozen steps across the alley between the buildings, and shoved through another door, all with Braga still following.
His reply was mild. “My car’s parked in here, too.”
Without replying, Kate walked briskly down a short stairwell into the cavernous parking garage. It was six levels deep, a vast, echoing concrete vault that smelled of gas fumes and rubber and was lit by small white lights recessed in the ceiling. The walls were solid, the corners shadowy and dark. Only people with permits were allowed to park here. She had a permit. She was almost sure Braga did not, but then cops seemed to be able to park just about wherever they wanted. A few people were in sight, heading along the uppermost level toward their parked cars. It looked to be about half-full, although during business hours there was usually not a spot to be had. Of course, a number of people would already have retrieved their vehicles and headed home. The sound of cars being driven up and down the spiraling ramps echoed throughout the structure. An occasional horn blared. As darkness had fallen—and it was almost full night now—the temperature had dropped. It was even colder in the garage than it was outside, and Kate shivered a little as she headed toward the nearby elevator.
“You want to talk to me, Kate.” Braga was right behind her. Of course, he would claim he was heading toward the elevator, too. “Believe it or not, I’m on your side.”
“Oh, right.” Furiously, she jabbed the elevator button.
These doors, thank God, were painted a very unreflective yellow. He might be standing beside her, but she didn’t have to look at him. “Does that work on many people? Because I have to tell you, it didn’t convince me.”
The elevator arrived. It was a small, dingy metal box that smelled of things Kate preferred not to think about. As the doors cranked slowly open, she stepped inside. Braga did, too.
“Maybe you’re ambidextrous,” Braga said. “You know, I never thought of that.”
At his baiting, Kate saw red.
“Go to hell.” She turned on him, her voice fierce.
“And take your damned ball with you.”
She thrust the bag containing the ball at him. Surprised, he took it. Then she turned and stepped back through the narrow fissure in the closing doors. The opening was now way too small for him to follow—she hoped. He lunged for the elevator button. The doors closed.
Hah.
Her last glimpse of him found him jabbing at the button and looking after her in frustration.
Just to make sure he didn’t catch up with her again, she turned and ran down two flights of fire stairs to the third level, where she had left her car. The place was so silent now, her footsteps echoed in her ears; the chilly gloom of all that empty concrete made her shiver. As she power-walked to her car, it occurred to her that Braga might come looking for her, but since—presumably—he had no idea where she had parked, he was unlikely to find her before she could get in her car and drive away. And if he had the gall to show up at her house later, she would order him to leave.
If she had anything to say about it, she would never speak to him again.
Still fuming, she clicked the unlock button, opened the door, chucked her briefcase into the passenger seat as she got in, then started the engine and backed out of the space. Changing direction, heading toward the ramp that led up and out, she was just noticing how very eerie and deserted the third level really was when she sensed—not saw but sensed—movement in the backseat.
Glancing compulsively over her shoulder, she almost jumped out of her skin when she saw
Mario levering himself up off the floorboard.
Chapter 20
KATE SQUEAKED. It would have been a scream, but she caught herself before the full force of the shriek that instinctively burst from her lungs could get out.
“Holy shit, watch where you’re going!” Mario yelped, planting his butt in the center of the backseat and bracing himself against the front passenger seat with one arm. In the tight confines of the small car, that was way too close for Kate.
Eyes flashing forward again, Kate saw that she was headed straight toward one of the fat concrete pillars that supported the structure, and corrected course just in time. The Camry swerved sharply but didn’t hit anything.
Heart thudding, she took a deep, much needed breath, which she hoped he would ascribe to the close call, and hit the brakes. The car rocked to a halt inches from a line of small cars parked against the opposite wall.
“Don’t stop,” he said. “Just keep on driving and we’ll get along fine.”
For a moment fear all but paralyzed her. Her breath caught. Cold sweat popped out along her hairline.
Oh my God, what should I do?
Kate did a lightning-fast mental assessment of the chances of getting away if she jumped from the car then and there and ran for it. She had not yet put on her seat belt. Still seething at Braga, she’d forgotten all about it, although she probably would have remembered before she’d reached the street. So getting out of the vehicle fast was doable. The problem was, this level of the parking garage was nearly deserted. And it was a long way to the nearest door. If Mario gave chase, he could probably catch her. The knowledge that Braga was almost certainly still somewhere in the garage provided a spurt of hope, but she didn’t know that for sure, or have any idea where exactly he was. She did know that he wasn’t on the third level. If she jumped from the car and ran away screaming, he might not hear her. She might not be heard, or heeded, by anyone, or help might not arrive in time. Then, if he caught her, Mario would be mad at her. And that would not be good.
Better to hang tough for now, and see how things went.
But she bitterly regretted ditching Braga in that elevator. And she kept her seat belt off.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing hiding in my car?” Her voice was tough, angry, as she gently hit the accelerator again and steered away from the parked cars, heading toward the exit ramp. She gave no indication that inside she had turned into a quivering mass of Jell-O, shaking and quaking and completely spineless in reaction to his presence. She had no doubt at all that this was not a friendly visit.
Never let them see fear.
O-kay.
“Waiting for you, baby.” Mario’s voice was silky-smooth. Something about it sent a cold finger of dread trailing down her spine.
Asking him how he’d gotten into her locked car was pointless. The Marios of the world never had any trouble doing things like that. Come to think of it, once upon a time she wouldn’t have had any trouble doing it, either.
“What do you want?” Reaching the ramp, she turned onto it and started heading up toward the street level. Whatever happened, she figured she would have a better chance of responding to it once she was out of the garage. The white lights were brighter and more garish on the ramp. She had the sense, fueled by moving shadows and whooshing sounds above and below them, of other cars also using the ramp, but she couldn’t see them. For all intents and purposes, they were alone.
“You didn’t come through for me. I’m pissed.”
Okay, so he knew she’d had nothing to do with getting him out. She could feel herself starting to sweat. The Mario of old never let a wrong go without exacting some kind of payback. She doubted he’d changed much over the years.
“You’re out, aren’t you?”
“No thanks to you.”
“I was working on it. I told you it wasn’t going to be easy.”
“Know what? You’re full of shit.”
“So why are you here?”
“I got some friends I want you to meet.”
Kate remembered Mario’s “friend” who’d showed up at her house, and shuddered inwardly. Were they Black Dragons? She figured the chances were good the answer was yes. Her hands were clamped so tightly around the wheel now her knuckles showed white. Her back was so rigid it was starting to ache. The Camry’s headlights flashed along the graffiti-covered concrete wall that rose straight and smooth to her right, while the car climbed the spiraling ramp at a steady pace.
What to do?
“Sorry. Bad timing. I’m busy tonight.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
Mario scooted forward so that he was pressed up close to the space between the front bucket seats. He was wearing black sweatpants and a black hoodie with the Eagles logo on it, she saw with a quick glance through the rearview mirror, and had a diamond stud in his left ear. Standard punk attire for Philly. His thick legs were bent at the knees and spread wide to fit into the tight space. His arms were draped over the front bucket seats. She caught a faint odor of onions and something else—sweat, perhaps? He was big, way big for the small rear area, and his posture was intimidating. Deliberately so, Kate knew, and she tried to will herself not to let it get to her. Then she felt something tap her left shoulder and glanced toward it.
A gun. Mario was holding a big black pistol. With him being left-handed and his arm draped over the seat, the weapon was between her and the driver’s-side door.
Her heart gave a great leap in her chest. The bottom dropped out of her stomach. Her mouth went dry. So much for making a quick exit from the car.
From somewhere she managed to summon the necessary bravado to keep him from guessing how much he was beginning to scare her.
She gave a faux-disbelieving little laugh. “What, are you going to shoot me now?”
“Nah.” He rubbed the side of her neck with the barrel of the gun. Under other circumstances, with something other than a gun, it might almost have been mistaken for an affectionate gesture. As it was, it was a terrifying parody. The cold metal made her skin crawl. She tried not to let it show. “Not unless you make me. I always did like you, Kitty-cat.”
Lucky me.
“Then get the damned gun away from me. I don’t like it.”
“Yeah. No can do.” The gun stayed where it was.
So much for the direct approach.
By now the Camry had nosed its way to the surface. The parking garage attendant’s hut was empty, as was usual at this time of night, curse the luck. All she had to do was pull up to the turnstile, and the automatic arm would sense the presence of a vehicle and lift.
“Head for the Vine Street Expressway,” Mario directed, as the Camry reached the turnstile.
The arm lifted, and they were through. The parking garage exited into one of the narrow, dark alleys for which Philly was infamous. Along with rats and stray cats, drunks and predators loved them. The rest of the city, not so much. As she turned, the headlights arced over windowless brick walls and a big, green industrial dumpster and clusters of battered garbage cans. The alley ran parallel to Arch Street, ending at Thirteenth. She could turn right there, drive two blocks, and then hit the on-ramp for the expressway. If she were to miss the ramp “accidentally,” she calculated, as the Camry bumped along the alley, Thirteenth led straight through one of the seediest sections of downtown. Populated by pimps, hos, druggies, and people in search of the same, it was crowded with adult bookstores, strip clubs, and run-down bars. The out-of-town convention traffic kept the area hopping. If she were to drive that way and somehow manage to bolt from the car without getting shot, at least she’d be running down a highly populated street. Whether or not anyone would help her if Mario gave chase was debatable, though, especially if he was flashing the gun. People tended to mind their own business around Thirteenth.
Still, it was probably the best chance she was going to get. Once on the expressway, she would have no chance to jump. And she had absolutely no wish at all to find herself in some
deserted area with him, or to meet his “friends.”
“The way things are going in your life, you ought to thank your lucky stars that you have a friend like me in the prosecutor’s office,” Kate tried, operating on the hope that letting him think she was prepared to help him next time he got into trouble was the best way to keep him in line.
Mario snorted. “Thing is, you were going to screw me over. I don’t trust you no more.”
“I was not going to screw you over.”
“Don’t matter anymore, does it? I’m out.”
“You got a place to stay? A family, maybe?” She was trying to pretend to be his friend, because at the moment the “old friend” card was the only one she had to play. The gun on her shoulder wasn’t pointed at her, but still its presence was making her sweat.
“I got people who take care of me, just like I take care of them.”
The Black Dragons? The question was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it. Best not to let on that she knew anything about that.
She thought about telling him about Ben, that she was already late to pick up her son, that he was only nine, with no other family in the world, but she didn’t. She knew Mario wouldn’t care. And although he was aware of Ben’s existence, she didn’t want to bring any unnecessary attention to her son’s presence in her life.
“You in touch with any of the old group? Jason, or Leah, or anybody?”
He laughed. “Don’t you know, baby? They’re dead. All of ’em. Car crash, about three months after you left us. I probably would’ve been with them, except I was in jail at the time.” He leaned closer. “And just for the record, it was your boyfriend who shot that security guard, not me.”
Liar. It was never Jason; it was you. Kate screamed the words at him in her mind as she reeled inwardly at the news. All of them—her friends, Jason with the blue eyes—dead.
What kind of terrible world was it when she and Mario were the only ones left?
“Turn right up here at Thirteenth. And don’t miss the expressway turnoff. I won’t like that.”
He tapped her cheek admonishingly with the gun barrel.
Guilty Page 23
