L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Series, Boxed Set: The Deceived, The Taken & The Silent

by Style, Linda

  “I thought I’d leave that up to you, boss.”

  “Shit. Do we have enough to arrest DeMatta first?”

  “I think so. I talked to Rico—he’s tracked down Delores Matthews through her ex-husband in Hawaii. She’s ripe to testify against DeMatta on Kolnikov’s murder. But she’s scared. I’ve also got a witness placing him at the scene of Eddie Gianni’s murder. We get a warrant for DeMatta’s place and snag him at the same time.”

  “He’ll lawyer up before we get the cuffs on him.”

  “We’ll have enough on him to stay bail. I can have both warrants in a couple hours.”

  “Who do you want on it with you?”

  “Coltrane and Houston, for sure.”

  “Santini’s back. How about him, Watson and McIntyre?”

  Watson and Mac were the greenest detectives in the RHD, but he had no choice. “Okay. This needs to be done now, or we’ll be blowing wind after the feds clean up.”

  “I’ll set it up,” Carlyle said. “We’ll be on it by midnight.”

  They parted company and Jordan drove to headquarters, called Laura to see if Cait could do an official photo ID and said he’d bring the photos to her. A half hour later he was at Laura’s with the book. When they finished and Cait had easily identified DeMatta as the man at the house the night her father died, he headed back to headquarters while Luke went for the warrants.

  At the RHD, the rest of the crew drifted in within the hour. Luke was last to come with the papers. Just as Jordan was about to brief everyone, Carlyle shouldered through the door.

  “Go ahead,” the captain said. “I’m in, too.”

  Jordan outlined the plan, which wasn’t complicated. He and Luke would go in with the arrest warrant while the others covered the team from various angles. Once they had DeMatta secured, Jordan and Rico would take him in while the others did the search.

  “Piece of cake,” Mac said.

  Jordan stared at the new detective. “No matter how simple an OP seems, it’s never a piece of cake. Lives are at stake.”

  Mac, a good-looking kid in his late twenties, lowered his gaze.

  Jordan knew he’d embarrassed him, but nothing could be taken for granted. He threw a jacket on over his Kevlar vest. “Any questions?”

  It was so quiet one could almost hear the collective hearts pounding, hear the men breathe. Jordan’s nerves danced under his skin. He took a breath to ease the tightness in his chest.

  “Okay. It’s showtime.”

  By midnight, after they’d disabled the electrical alarm system and satisfied DeMatta’s guard dogs with raw meat with tranquilizers in it, they had the exterior of the Bel Air mansion nailed down. Jordan and Luke banged on the door three times before the inside lights went on downstairs.

  One of DeMatta’s men appeared at the door, and it wasn’t the butler. Jordan recognized him from police records as a former wrestler who towered over his own six foot two. From the looks of his mashed nose, he’d been in one too many fights.

  He held up the papers. “We’d like to see Mr. DeMatta.”

  “He’s busy.”

  “Tell him to get unbusy.” But just then, DeMatta appeared at the top of the stairs still dressed in a suit and tie.

  “Gentlemen. What can I do for you?”

  “We’d like to talk to you. Either you come down or we come up.”

  DeMatta waited a moment, then started down the stairs. When he reached bottom, he crossed the room to Jordan. DeMatta clenched his hands, the gesture belying his otherwise cool-and-calm demeanor.

  DeMatta gave a nod to his man at the door, then turned to Jordan. “What’s this about?”

  “We’ve got a warrant for your arrest, Mr. DeMatta. For suspicion of murder. You have the right to remain—”

  Suddenly the lights dimmed, then everything went dark. Jordan lunged for DeMatta and jammed his gun against his neck. “Don’t move or you’re dead.” If DeMatta’s men wanted a shoot-out, their boss would be first to go.

  “I’ve got your back,” Luke called out.

  Somewhere glass shattered, then they heard a loud crash, as if someone was kicking down the front door, followed by shouting and spotlights crisscrossing the room. Jordan held his position with DeMatta as his hostage. “Call your goons off,” Jordan ordered.

  “Not my men,” DeMatta croaked out.

  Then the lights came on and a dozen men with masks and heavy-duty assault rifles surrounded them. A SWAT team. Jordan didn’t move but kept holding DeMatta as a shield.

  “Drop it!” one of the men shouted at Jordan. “FBI.”

  As the irony hit him, Jordan shouted back, “LAPD!” He tipped his head to Luke, who held out his shield.

  The guy claiming to be FBI let out a string of curses. “The freaking LAPD is here!” he shouted to someone outside.

  A short, stocky man in a bad suit sauntered inside. Damn. Phil Ledbetter. Jordan recognized the agent immediately from another case they’d worked on. Phil was the special agent in charge. “Hey, Phil,” Jordan said, glad his own department had arrived first. “We seem to be in each other’s way here.”

  “My jurisdiction,” Ledbetter said. “Prostitution over state lines. Money laundering and extortion of a public official.”

  “Whoa. That beats my two tiny homicides all to hell, doesn’t it.”

  “I want a lawyer,” DeMatta snarled. “You got nothin’ on me.”

  Jordan tightened his grip around the mobster’s neck. “I think an eyewitness who saw you at Eddie Gianni’s place the night he died is good enough to take you downtown. And we’ve also got another witness who implicates you in Anna Kolnikov’s murder. Does the name Delores Matthews ring a bell?”

  “You got nothing. Mathews is a whore. Kolnikov was a whore.”

  Jordan’s stomach churned. He squeezed harder. “She was a human being,” he said through gritted teeth. He sucked in some air, willing away his fear, squelching his pride…to finally admit the truth. “And she was my mother.”

  Jordan’s body shook with the admission. He glanced at Ledbetter, then shoved DeMatta toward the agent. “You take him. I’m getting filth on my clothes.”

  In seconds, Ledbetter’s men cuffed DeMatta, read him his rights and hustled him toward the door. On his way out, DeMatta cursed. “You’re filth then, too! You ever think about who your father is?”

  Jordan swallowed hard, his throat squeezed tight. Yeah, he’d thought about it. A lot. And if he hadn’t known the answer before, he did now. He stepped forward, his face directly in DeMatta’s. “The man who raised me is my father. A sperm donor doesn’t count.” He glanced at his men, who, after hearing his great revelation, seemed frozen in place.

  “All right!” Jordan yelled out. “We’ve got a search warrant here. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  At headquarters after they finished, Rico came over and sat in the chair next to Jordan’s desk. “That took guts.”

  Jordan shrugged off his jacket and vest. “No, not guts. Just facing my own demons.”

  “It’s about time,” Luke mumbled.

  “Hey,” Jordan said to Rico. “Thanks for showing up. You and Macy must’ve just got back.”

  Rico shrugged, his dark eyes still glowing from the bust. “It’s my job. Besides, if DeMatta was going down, I wanted in on it.”

  Luke paced around his desk and Jordan could see he was still jazzed, too.

  “Let’s get a beer,” Rico said.

  But just then Carlyle called over, “St. James, Ledbetter wants you at his office in the morning. Apparently he’s got some issues.”

  Jordan stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Why doesn’t he come here?”

  “I asked the same thing. He said it was personal, between you and him.”

  ***

  Laura jerked awake from a fitful sleep and glanced at the clock. Freaking 6:00 a.m. Time to get up. For the first time since she’d opened the shelter, she didn’t feel like facing the day. She wanted to stay in bed and hibernate.
Away from all her problems—and she seemed to have so many. Her worst fear was that she’d simply exchanged one problem for another.

  After the FBI left last night with her books and DeMatta’s money, she’d wanted to collapse in a heap. But she’d had to stay calm, had to assure everyone that things were okay.

  That the FBI thought she was somehow involved with DeMatta was ludicrous. Jordan had said he’d help her work things out, but she didn’t know how he was going to do it. He worked for the LAPD, not the FBI. As far as she knew, someone could knock on her door any moment and take her downtown. A possibility she’d already discussed with Rose and Phoebe, just in case. Rose said she’d stay at the shelter for the night.

  Laura had been on edge ever since Cait had identified the photo of DeMatta—and even with the police doing double duty, the waiting was excruciating. Jordan’s phone call in the middle of the night telling her DeMatta was in custody gave her a modicum of relief.

  But he couldn’t give her all the information right then, he said, and would come over in the morning and explain.

  The phone rang, the sound seeming louder than normal, piercing her sensitivities. Her hand trembled when she picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

  “Hi, it’s Jordan. Did I wake you?”

  Her nerves untangled as a wave of relief washed over her. “No, I was awake.”

  “Can I come over, or would you rather talk somewhere private?”

  “Somewhere else.” In just a half hour, everyone would be up, vying for the bathroom and complaining about not having time to get ready. “Name the spot.”

  After taking down the address, she got up, showered and threw on a pair of jeans and a baby-blue T-shirt with a black sweater over it. On her way to the kitchen, she heard a banging against the outside of the house. She peered out the window and saw a teenage boy who looked as strung out as anyone she’d ever seen.

  It was the boy Brandy had been living with before she came to Victory House. Her drug supplier. The guy who’d pimp his own girlfriend to get more money for their habit. A story she heard all too often.

  “Can I help you?” she said, opening the door.

  “You! You’re the reason she won’t see me anymore.”

  Laura girded her reserves. “I will help you if you want me to, but I won’t allow you to stand out here and disturb my neighbors.”

  He wavered on his feet. “D’ya think I give a flying shit what you think? D’ya think I give a flying shit what anyone in this fucked up, shit hole world thinks?” His voice rose an octave with each ranting sentence.

  Laura might’ve been wary, but given his condition, she was sure she could push him over with one finger. “If you don’t want my help, go home or I’ll call the police.”

  He waved his arms. “I don’t got no home to go to.”

  That was probably true. But she knew no one could help someone who didn’t want to be helped. “Are you hungry? I’ll give you some breakfast.”

  He stared at her. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  He started inside just as Phoebe drove up. “What’s going on?”

  “He’s hungry. I’m going to fix him something to eat.”

  “And then what?”

  She took Phoebe aside. “I’ve got to leave to meet Jordan. If I fix him some food, can you call someone to help him? The men’s shelter, maybe.”

  Phoebe nodded. “I’ll be back in a minute after I put my stuff away.”

  Laura hurried to make some scrambled eggs, enough for Cait, too, when she woke. The child had stayed up late last night watching girl movies with Alysa and Claire, so Laura didn’t expect it would be soon.

  As Laura finished scooping the scrambled eggs onto the boy’s plate, he stared at her with bloodshot eyes.

  “You’re nice,” he said. “How come you’re nice.” He looked at his food. “I didn’t think you’d be nice.”

  He was obviously too far gone to remember she’d sent him away before and had even called the police on him once.

  “I didn’t mean to wreck your stuff. I just got so mad when I couldn’t see Brandy.”

  Placing the pan back on the stove, Laura stopped in her tracks. “Wreck my stuff?”

  He shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “The blankets and stuff. I’m sorry. I just wanted to see Brandy.”

  Oh, God. “You ruined Cait’s quilt?”

  His eyes bugged out and he jerked to his feet. “I d-didn’t want to. I just got mad because I couldn’t see Brandy. You needed to be punished.”

  “You broke in here?” she repeated incredulously.

  Suddenly fear shone in his eyes. He shoved to his feet and the chair scraped backward and crashed to the floor. The boy turned and, obviously panicked, stumbled toward the door and fell down the stairs. He scrambled to his feet and started running.

  “Wait!” Laura called after him. “It’s okay.” But he didn’t stop and she didn’t have time to go after him. What did he mean? Who told him she was keeping him and Brandy apart?

  Phoebe came back into the kitchen. “Where is he?”

  “Gone.” Feeling incredibly weary, Laura sighed. “He said he was the one who destroyed Cait’s quilt. All because he couldn’t see Brandy.”

  Phoebe didn’t seem surprised. “Lots of things are done in the name of love.”

  While Laura was relieved to know who’d broken in, she couldn’t sit around and talk. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  “We’re cool. Really. I can take care of things quite well.”

  Laura smiled. “I know. And I don’t give you enough credit for all the things you do.”

  “Get out of here,” Phoebe said, her discomfort with the compliment undisguised.

  On the freeway, Laura got out the address Jordan had given her. His home, he’d said. It would be easier to talk there. Good. She’d been curious about the other parts of his life, whether he lived as if he had tons of money, or as if he was an officer of the law? The Brentwood address gave her the answer…and made her realize just how far apart their lives were. Also good. A strong dose of reality would help her get back on the normal road again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  JORDAN ENTERED THE FBI field office headquarters building on Wilshire Boulevard and went directly to the screening desk.

  “Special Agent Ledbetter will see you in the conference room on the fifth floor,” the guard at the desk said after Jordan had signed in. He gave Jordan a visitor’s badge.

  Jordan hoped to hell this was quick. He had to meet Laura. In the few hours before coming here, Jordan had gone through every scenario Ledbetter might come up with. But none would be reason enough to get him down here. And he’d said it was personal. Jordan couldn’t think of one thing he had in common with Ledbetter, personal or otherwise. Except that they both worked in law enforcement.

  “St. James,” Ledbetter said, when Jordan walked into the room.

  Three other agents sat in chairs at the long mahogany conference table.

  “Have a seat.”

  Jordan did as asked. “What’s up, Phil? I know you didn’t ask me here to chat about old times.”

  Phil gave a weak laugh. “No, you’re right there.” He cleared his throat. “This is not my deal. One of my agents made a request to talk to you, but since he’s undercover, this is a high-security clearance issue. I want your assurance you won’t mention it to anyone.”

  Though wary, Jordan couldn’t think of any reason not to agree. “Okay. You’ve got my word.”

  “Good. Wait here.” With that, the four suits left the room.

  Waiting, for what he didn’t know, Jordan drummed his fingers on the shiny table. His nerves twitched, and he got more tense as the minutes passed. He stood. After a few minutes of pacing, he finally heard voices outside, and then the door opened.

  If ever there was a time he could’ve been knocked over with a feather, this was it.

  Nick Stanton entered the room.

  “Good morning,” Stan
ton said.

  Jordan was certain his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. Finally he managed, “You’re an undercover agent?”

  Stanton nodded. “On this gig for four years. Ever since the Kolnikov murder.”

  Jordan’s hands went clammy. “Your meetings with her were part of the sting?”

  He shook his head, his blond brows drawn together. “No. Something else brought me to see her initially.”

  “Something that will help my case?”

  Stanton narrowed his gaze, as if debating some deeper issue. Hell, the question wasn’t that tough.

  “It’s about what you said to DeMatta,” Stanton said.

  “What I said to DeMatta?”

  “About Anna Kolnikov being your mother.”

  Jordan had already blocked it from his mind. He’d admitted it, then forgot it. He squared his shoulders. “If you’re wondering if I have some kind of inside information on Kolnikov and DeMatta because of that, I don’t. I only found out she was my mother after she was murdered.”

  “That’s not it.” Stanton sat in a chair and indicated Jordan should do the same. “I was raised by my father and stepmother in New Paltz, New York. The same town where Kolnikov grew up.”

  “I know where she lived and I know your history, or at least I thought I did. I guess your prison record was just a setup for your cover.”

  Stanton nodded. “True. But the reason I wanted to talk—” He cleared his throat. “Prior to meeting Anna Kolnikov, I’d learned she was my biological mother. I went to see her. It…it was a shock. I’d had all these fantasies about what she’d be like, what kind of relationship we’d have.” His blue eyes darkened. “Later, when I heard she’d been murdered—well, that was another blow.”

  Jordan stared at the guy. It couldn’t be. He searched the man’s face for something familiar. He could see a resemblance to Kolnikov…even something of himself looking back at him. The eyes, maybe. Then he shook his head, reeling from the implications. “This is like some weird science-fiction movie where nothing is as it seems.”

  “You can imagine how I felt standing in my SWAT gear with a gun on you and DeMatta—and then hearing we were half brothers.”

  Half brothers. Jordan steadied himself against the boardroom table. “You were on the DeMatta case because of her murder?”