by Style, Linda
He set up a search for her former married name, and within the hour he had what he was looking for. Hilo, Hawaii. Her ex still lived there. It’s possible he’d know where she is. If she was still alive. But that was a whole other investigation. Then he remembered Rico was in Hawaii. He hated to disturb a guy on his honeymoon, but if anyone would understand, it would be Rico. His partner wanted DeMatta as much as the rest of the RHD. He punched in his partner’s number at the hotel where he and Macy were staying.
After making arrangements with Rico to contact the ex, and then finishing up his reports, he called Luke again. No answer. Damn. If Luke wasn’t home, or at the station, he was probably at Bernie’s.
Jordan piled up his work and headed for the bar. By the time he arrived it was getting dark outside. It was even darker inside.
The place was nearly empty. Luke sat at the bar, his glass shoved toward the bartender. “Hit me again,” he said loud enough for the handful of patrons to hear.
“You sure you haven’t had enough?” Dylan, the barrel-chested bartender, said gruffly.
Luke glanced up, squinting at the neon lights above the bar. “Not today.”
The bartender took the empty glass. “Okay, but give me your car keys first.”
Just then someone slid onto the stool next to Luke, who turned to look at the man. Jordan walked closer, but couldn’t identify the guy from the back and wasn’t sure if he should interrupt. He sat at a table behind the two men.
The other guy ordered a shot, and when he got it, he turned to Luke and said, “I’ve got a message for a friend of yours.”
Jordan took a second look at the guy. Fortyish. A burly man, wearing a dark suit. Nondescript, except for a mole on his left cheek.
“Yeah?” Luke said. “Well, I don’t have any friends.”
“Detective St. James.”
Jordan’s attention spiked.
“He’s no friend,” Luke said before he knocked back another shot. “Who’s the message from?”
“Someone who could have your friend’s job in a heartbeat.”
“Go screw yourself,” Luke snarled. “You got something to say to him, tell him yourself. Who the hell are you, anyway?”
“I work for someone who thinks your friend should leave well enough alone.”
Jordan bolted to his feet, but before he could act, Luke had grabbed the guy’s shirt collar and lifted him off the ground. “You slimy bastard.”
“Your friend could get hurt. The girl could get hurt—” The creep gurgled, his words cut off by Luke’s hand against his throat.
Within seconds, Luke had flipped the guy around and flattened him against the bar, pulled his hands back and cuffed him. “Call it in,” Luke ordered the bartender. He shoved his face next to the guy’s ear. “You got some more threats from your boss?” Frisking the guy, he removed a .38 Magnum from an inside holster. “You can tell me at the station.”
The big man laughed. “You’re wasting your time, pork chop. The only person I’m talking to is my lawyer, and he’ll have me out before you get me there.”
Jordan sidled up next to Luke. “Nice work, partner.”
Luke didn’t seem surprised to see him. “Just another day in the life of…” Luke mumbled, something Jordan couldn’t make out, adding, “You win some, you lose some.”
It was obvious Luke was in no shape for business. Jordan knew how to take care of it.
Less than five minutes later, two officers entered the building. “Detective St. James,” he said quickly, to cover for Luke.
“What’s the problem?” one of the uniforms asked.
“Disorderly conduct.” Jordan knew they wouldn’t take the guy downtown because he’d made a couple of threats.
“He’s lying,” the thug said.
One of the officers pulled out the suspect’s identification. “Dutch Greene. So, am I going to believe you or my fellow officer here?” He laughed as he said it. “You got anything else to say, you can tell us on the way downtown.”
Jordan watched them leave. Dutch Greene was a name he’d heard before. One of DeMatta’s men.
He turned to Luke. “Come on, buddy. I’m taking you home.”
***
The next morning, as Jordan pulled into the garage across the street from headquarters, he had two things on his mind. Laura and Cait’s safety. He had to get the guy in the black car. And then he had to talk to DeMatta about last night.
When Jordan walked in, heads turned his way. As he passed the row of desks, Ralston said, “The captain’s gunning for you, big guy.”
Jordan heard Ralston chuckle under his breath but didn’t acknowledge him. As soon as he reached his desk, the light on his phone flashed. He picked up.
“In here now, St. James.”
What the hell? Jordan crossed to Carlyle’s office. “Nice vacation?” McIntyre called after him.
Jordan got the feeling Mac knew where he’d been. But it wasn’t possible. No one knew. “Perfect,” he shot back.
He palmed open the door of the captain’s office. “Good morning.”
“The hell it is.”
Okay. This was about more than Jordan taking an unannounced day off. He sat across from the boss. “That bad?”
“I hope you know what you’re doing on the Kolnikov case, because I’ve got both the chief and the mayor on my ass.”
“Why should they care?”
“They didn’t say.”
Jordan shrugged. He knew exactly what the captain wasn’t saying. Too bad. He didn’t give a crap about the private lives of the chief or the mayor or any of their friends. If they were dumb enough to stick out their…respective parts in questionable places, that was their problem. “I’m not looking to expose her client list, if that’s what they’re worried about. I want to solve Kolnikov’s murder, and I want to nail DeMatta.”
“You uncover one thing and more pops up. I don’t want this coming back to haunt me.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m not saying anything. I want you to wind it up.”
“They must really be tightening the screws,” Jordan said, disappointment grinding in the pit of his stomach. The captain had always done what he believed was right, never kowtowed to the powers that be.
“I’ve got three years to retirement.”
“And I’ve got a new lead.”
The captain stared at Jordan, as if weighing the possibilities. “Tell me.”
“The boyfriend no one mentioned before. His name is Nick. Apparently he had contact with Kolnikov a short time before her death.”
“You got somewhere to go with it?”
“I do.” It was a lie, but he was in so deep it didn’t matter. He just hoped the captain didn’t have to pay for it in the end. “And I got a new lead on Delores Matthews.”
The captain steepled his beefy hands, placed his fingertips against his lips. “A good lead?”
“Better than nothing.”
Jordan waited.
Finally the captain said, “You need help?”
“Not yet.”
Carlyle nodded. “Then do it.”
As Jordan got up to leave, he reached out and shook the captain’s hand. “You’ve restored my faith in the system.”
“Get out of here.” The captain waved him off.
Back at his desk, Jordan saw Luke coming in. Damn, he looked like crap. His clothes were the same ones he’d worn last night and it looked as if Luke had slept in them. His hair was just as bad.
Jordan caught his buddy near the door and pulled him back into the hall, the alcohol fumes overwhelming. “Let’s take a leak.”
They headed for the john, where Jordan checked to make sure they were alone. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday.”
Luke’s eyes resembled road maps. “No problem.”
“I’m your friend. It’s my problem.”
“Then give me a fucking break.”
Jordan crossed his arms. “Okay. Only you need to get w
ashed up. There’s a razor in my locker and a clean shirt.”
Luke rubbed his eyes as he slumped against the wall. “He would’ve been eight years old.”
Jordan’s heart ached for his friend. But he couldn’t let Luke wallow in self-pity, not if he wanted to remain in the department. “I know. And next year he’d be nine.”
Luke’s head snapped up.
“You can’t bring him back, Luke. No matter how much alcohol you siphon into your rapidly deteriorating body.”
His friend stood there, as if trying to absorb what Jordan had said. Finally, he straightened. “Right. You’re right. I’ll get cleaned up.”
Luke started to turn but stopped. “The guy at Bernie’s last night, I’m kinda foggy about what happened.”
“He lawyered up and split.”
“Who’re we talking about?”
“Dutch Greene. One of DeMatta’s crew. Same lawyer.”
Luke rubbed his eyes again. “I’ve got to get something to wake me up.”
As he remembered the threat—the threat toward not only him, but Laura and Caitlin—Jordan’s chest tightened. Hot blood coursed through his veins. He swung around.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to the source,” Jordan spat out. “Frank DeMatta.”
“If you wait, I’ll go with you.”
Jordan clenched his hands into fists. “Thanks, but I need to do this alone.”
***
Using her laptop, Laura worked on the Victory House budget for the next year, homeschooled Cait for a few hours and spent the rest of the day outside with her daughter. She marveled at the quiet; the only sounds were their laughter and snow crunching underfoot. She was awed by the majesty of it all, the almost perfect symmetry of the trees, the pristine snow. So different from the Valley. Snow covered everything like a layer of spun cotton.
That night, the stars glittered like diamonds against a black-velvet backdrop. It was so clear, so unlike the sprawling city. Cait had pointed out a couple of constellations she knew and Laura helped her identify what she could. Maybe she was biased, but Cait seemed smarter than other almost eight-year-olds.
After tucking Cait in bed, she went downstairs, set the security alarm and built a fire. After pouring a glass of wine from the bottle they’d opened the night before, she wandered to the den to get a book. They all appeared to be leather-bound classics—Hemingway, Shakespeare. A bit pretentious, maybe?
Then she came across a photo album, stuck haphazardly in with the books. Odd.
She pulled it out and went into the great room by the fire and flipped it open to the first page. A family portrait stared back at her. A model family that could’ve been from the pages of Good Housekeeping. Mother, father and two small boys both the same height and about five years old, one dark, one blond. The caption on the photo read 1987. Curious, she flipped another page. More photos from the same time period. As she turned the pages, she watched the years pass. The blond boy looked oddly familiar, a devilish glint in his eyes. The two boys didn’t look alike and neither resembled the parents all that much.
She took a sip of wine, thinking she shouldn’t be snooping, but couldn’t help herself. Photo albums were meant to be viewed. She passed over the next section and reached 1995, finding a photo of the two teenage boys fishing. Her jaw dropped. That’s why the blond boy looked familiar. His hair was darker now, but there was no mistaking Jordan St. James.
No wonder he felt at home here. He’d been coming here with his friend since childhood. But that didn’t make sense. If he was just a friend, he wouldn’t be in all the family photos.
Unless… Awareness dawned. This wasn’t Jordan’s friend’s cabin, it was his family’s cabin. No wonder he knew his way around so well, seemed so comfortable. She clenched her jaw as she turned page after page and the photographs revealed the truth.
Jordan had lied to her.
It was obvious his family was wealthy, and it was also obvious he didn’t want her to know it. He’d made love to her, the most intimate act between two people, but he couldn’t confide in her. Did he want to keep his family separate from his job? She might believe that If he hadn’t said he’d brought her here as a friend—hadn’t said this wasn’t part of his job. And he’d been pretty convincing.
What did he think, that she’d try to shake him down?
The thought seemed ludicrous. Jordan had whisked her out of a dangerous situation, done everything he could to make her comfortable, and at this very moment, he was trying to find the guy he thought was stalking Laura and Cait. The guy who’d actually been with Alysa. How could she be questioning his motives? And truth be told, she hadn’t been honest with him, either.
But she had good reason. What possible reason could he have for withholding information about his family?
A loud rustling noise outside jerked her attention to the window. An animal, maybe. Jordan had said she should be watchful if she went outside, especially at night. The occasional mountain lion sometimes wandered down. Raccoons looking for food. Bears.
She put the photo album on the coffee table and picked up a book she’d also brought from the den. The noise again. She stilled. For the first time since Jordan left, she was aware of how isolated she was in a cabin miles away from anyone or anything. With a phone that might or might not work. If there were something…or someone out there, what would she do? Call Jordan? He was miles away.
And she was letting her imagination run amok. Her house in L.A. was a far more dangerous place to be, and if she were there, she’d simply go to the window, put the lights on and look outside.
Maybe it was the unfamiliarity. She was a stranger here. She didn’t know what to expect…what noises were normal. Besides, it was quiet now. No noise.
That’s what you need, Laura. Noise to quiet her runaway imagination. She clicked the remote for the television. Nothing. Jordan had said the cable satellite reception wasn’t always the greatest. How about not at all?
She glanced at the French windows, where ice crystals were forming in the corners, and saw more snow falling outside. As pretty as it was, she hoped it didn’t snow too much or Jordan might not make it back tomorrow. And right now, she wanted him back more than anything.
The wind howled through the trees, an eerie, mournful sound. A loud scratching at the window behind made her jump. She turned. A tree branch. It was a stupid tree branch scraping the window. She picked up Cait’s CD player from the table. Music would help—even if she had to listen to a former Mickey Mouse Club cheerleader.
She put on the headset and sat on the soft leather couch with her book. As she finished the second chapter, she caught movement outside the window in her peripheral vision. A shadow. Her heart raced.
She bolted to her feet, crossed the room to the door and flipped on the outside lights. The whole yard lit up. If any animals were out there, the lights should scare them away for sure.
Finally, she decided she’d feel better in her room where the windows had coverings and she wouldn’t get freaked out by every shadow and every scrape of a twig against the windows. She was in a new place, it was natural to think the noises were strange. At home she had every house noise memorized, every squeaky step, every creaking door.
She picked up the book, the glass of wine and, on second thought, took the rest of the bottle of wine along, too. There was an Almond Joy candy bar in her suitcase. Perfect. A good book, fine wine and chocolate. What could be better?
At around three in the morning she awoke sweating like a bricklayer in the desert sun. Still half asleep she realized she’d drifted off long before she finished the wine. And with sleep came the dreams. Wonderful dreams she immediately allowed herself to drift back into. Jordan making love to her. Jordan helping her and Cait make snowmen. Jordan kissing her, holding her, Jordan standing with the other boy in the photo and with his family.
But suddenly the movie in her head switched. They were all laughing, but the laughter became louder and louder,
their faces morphing into clowns with fire-engine-red gaping mouths. They were laughing at her. But Jordan wouldn’t laugh at her. He wouldn’t. Suddenly she was propelled into a dark, narrow corridor, like a house of mirrors at a carnival, and all the faces and bodies turned into distorted macabre caricatures of themselves.
Wake up. Wake up. Crying and terrified, she clawed to pull herself from the dream, but her body was weighted down and a sudden and intense loneliness filled her. Bone-deep despair. No matter how hard she tried to force herself awake, she couldn’t pull herself from the black hole. She had no one. Jordan didn’t love her. He’d made love to her because she wanted him to and now he was laughing at her. His wealthy family laughed at her, too, and her heart shattered into a million pieces.
A loud crash jerked her from the nightmare. She bolted upright in bed, shivering. Her blankets and sheets had fallen to the floor. It took her a moment to realize the noise was real, not part of the dream. Or was it? She lurched from the bed and ran to Cait’s room, and taking her cell phone along, she punched in 911 as she went. Damn it, the phone was dead.
Reaching Cait’s room, she saw her daughter curled up in the Barbie doll quilt, pillows piled high around her. Laura went over and tucked her in even though she didn’t need it. Cait could sleep through anything.
Laura stood there…listening. Everything was quiet.
But what would make such a loud noise? It was too cold for thunder. A tree falling? An earthquake? She returned to her room, put on a robe and went to the window. Earlier, she’d turned on all the outside lights and the yard around the cabin was lit like a football stadium. She could even see animal tracks in the snow. Deer tracks, maybe.
And…footprints? Footprints. The falling snow would’ve covered any prints they’d made earlier. Blood suddenly roared in her ears. She jerked back, away from the window.
Had someone been there? Had the loud noise been someone knocking? No, the noise had been louder, like a crack of lightning…a sonic boom…or a gunshot.
She swallowed, mustered her courage and peered out the window again, this time from behind the curtain. She scanned the yard below.
The wind still howled through the pine trees, shaking the snow off the boughs and to the ground. The drifting snow gradually covered the footprints.
