Undone by Moonlight

by Wendy Etherington

  Victoria curled her lip. “Mine tastes like grape-

  flavored cough syrup.”

  “You’re a martini snob.”

  “And proud of it.”

  They were gathered at Shelby and Trevor’s for a gang meeting. They’d even invited Howard and Lieutenant Reid, though Devin insisted his lawyer was a consultant and Reid a guest speaker. Calla wasn’t sure why they were so exclusive all of a sudden, but with his badge still in Meyer’s desk drawer, she wasn’t going to push him on his reasoning.

  Over the past two days of going through case files—again—probing Devin’s memory for the tiniest of details and getting not-so-encouraging updates from Detective Anderson, one thing was clear: this homicidal woman had bested them long enough. It was time to take her down—whoever the heck she was.

  So they’d decided to compile all the theories, case files and bits of evidence to see if they’d overlooked something or had anything to go on besides a vague sketch and a vase of white flowers.

  Trevor answered the door when the bell rang, and since Howard was the only one not present, Calla assumed he’d arrived.

  “Sorry I’m late,” the lawyer said, rushing down the hall in front of Trevor. “Traffic was horrible as usual. Instead of cabs, a fleet of hovercrafts would be handy in this city.”

  “Trevor’s been threatening to open a dealership.” Shelby headed toward the bar. “What can I get you to drink? The custom martinis are a big hit.”

  Sitting on the sofa between Devin and Victoria, Calla poked her friend before she could argue with Shelby’s sales pitch.

  “Scotch and soda would be great,” Howard said.

  “Why don’t we move to the dining room table?” Reid suggested. “I’ve got several—”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Howard said, rising, “but I’d like to say something before we start.”

  Devin apparently knew what this mysterious announcement was, since he shook his head. “Leave it, Howard.”

  Howard ignored his client’s directive. “If you don’t find this mystery woman, they can still prosecute you for the assault charges.”

  “We don’t want to go to the prosecutor yet,” Reid said. “As long as the charges are pending, the killer thinks her plan is working.”

  Howard’s smile was weak. “How nice for her. However, I work for Detective Antonio. I want a guarantee he’ll be cleared of the charges and his position with the NYPD restored.”

  Reid’s mouth pulled into a thin line. “I can’t do that. This is an undercover operation. Secrecy is imperative, or all our jobs will be on the line.”

  “My heart bleeds, but, amazingly enough, I don’t work for you or Lieutenant Meyer, either.” Howard reached into his briefcase and pulled out a piece of paper, which he handed to Reid. “I took the liberty of drawing up a statement I’d like you to sign. If you don’t, my client’s cooperation with this investigation will be terminated.”

  “Hell” was Reid’s succinct comment.

  Howard extended his hands as he addressed everyone else. “Before the Lieutenant chokes, I’ll explain to the rest of you that in the statement Reid is agreeing that Devin is innocent of all charges and that he invited Devin to assist in the investigation. As long as the real culprit is found and arrested, I’ll destroy the document. If not, I’m going to the D.A.”

  “I’m really starting to like him,” Victoria whispered to Calla.

  “Let’s just hope we don’t have to see that talent in front of a jury,” Calla returned.

  Reid held out his hand. “Do you have a pen? I’ve got a job to get back to that doesn’t involve extortion.”

  With pen and statement exchanged, Howard lifted his glass in a toast. “Thank you, sir.”

  Trevor, impeccable in black pants and a dove-gray shirt, rose with a smile. “Why don’t I refresh drinks, while you adjourn to the dining room?”

  Calla linked hands with Devin as they crossed the room. “Smile. Robin Hood is on the case.”

  He didn’t, of course, but he squeezed her hand.

  He’d been quiet the past couple of days. They’d stayed at her place, since her fridge and pantry were better stocked. He liked standing on her balcony as the sun set, and the lights of the city flickered on like billions of fireflies coming to life at the same time. His lovemaking had been focused and intense and afterward she was pretty sure he slept little, since every time she woke during the night, he was rhythmically stroking her back or arm.

  Was he slipping away from her, or holding on till the end of the case? Were past betrayals affecting them as a couple? Or were they building a relationship that meant something?

  Not only didn’t she know, she couldn’t find out.

  She was firmly on Detective Anderson’s page. She hated chick killers—in more ways than the obvious one.

  From behind her, someone put their hand on her shoulder. Turning, she looked up into the smiling brown eyes of Jared McKenna. “Quite a crew you’ve got here,” he said.

  “Thanks.” She worked up a smile. “I know you’re busy. I appreciate you carving out some time.”

  He winked. “The outdoor adventure business is a whole lot more interesting with you three ladies around.”

  As they gathered around the table, Reid stood at one end. “So, it’s possible Calla was right about the vase of gardenias she found in Jimmie’s bathroom.”

  Like the time she beat that snotty Virginia Porter in the Miss Sugar and Spice pageant, or the time she won Features Writer of the Year over backstabbing Will Carrier, Calla summoned a gracious attitude and managed not to tell Reid I told you so. “Way to lead with a headline, Lieutenant.”

  As if he sensed the triumph blossoming inside her, he directed his attention to her. “The lab found partial and smudged prints on the flowers as well as the ceramic vase. They’re only partials,” he repeated. “But there’s enough of one print to be certain they aren’t Jimmie’s. Before everybody gets too excited, we also haven’t found a match in the database. For all we know, the print could be from the employee who put together the arrangement at a retail store or manufacturer, some regular Joe who’s never been fingerprinted.”

  “Or it could be from Jimmie’s killer,” Devin said.

  Calla could tell Reid considered that a wild leap. “We’re running down where the arrangement came from to see if it’s sold separately or already put together,” he said neutrally. “But the print itself is likely a dead end.”

  “Unless you arrest someone to match it to,” Calla added.

  “Right. Unfortunately, that gets us nowhere in finding a suspect to arrest.” The strain of the investigation was etched into Reid’s face. “NYPD has used our sketch provided by the informant to canvass Jimmie’s apartment building, but, so far, nobody’s made a match.”

  “The informant was bribed to implicate Devin in a drug buy,” Trevor pointed out. “How reliable could he possibly be?”

  “That’s the other problem,” Reid admitted. “We think this guy’s more scared of us than whoever paid him off, but, ultimately, we have no idea how accurate the sketch is. He could be purposely misleading us.”

  Victoria drummed her fingernails against the table. “For somebody who’s done so many terrible things and made so many apparent mistakes, this woman certainly knows how to get her way.”

  “We do have one other lead.” This time Reid appeared to deliberately avoid Calla’s gaze. “The gold fabric Calla found near the alley where the assault took place was torn from a designer handbag.”

  He had buried the lead, Calla realized on a gasp.

  Shelby looked confused. “She brought a handbag to commit assault?”

  “Maybe she was trying to blend in,” Trevor said. “A black ski mask is certainly too obvious. She apparently got away from the scene without anybody spotting her.”

  “We don’t know this is related to our case,” Reid said, aggravation causing his face to redden. “Do you know how many of those bags were sold in the last six month
s in Manhattan alone?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Calla said. They were on to something. They had to be. “In my book, gardenia-scented fabric plus gardenia arrangement in dead man’s bathroom equals killer.”

  “This isn’t solid evidence,” Reid argued.

  Calla understood cops were restrained by laws, codes and rules the general public weren’t—Reid maybe a little more so than others—but they also trusted their instincts. And these minor details that may or may not be solid evidence led somewhere.

  If she was right, and this case was about revenge, the symbolism would be important. Gardenias meant something to her, or someone she cared about. Calla would bet her life on it.

  Seeing her wavy, mysterious figure in her mind’s eye, she couldn’t wait to flip vengeance back at the homicidal witch.

  Devin shoved back his chair and rose. “So, we have a handbag, an arrangement of gardenias and a sketch given by an unreliable informant who tried to convince the cops he just happened to be standing around when I bought heroin.” His gaze swept everyone at the table. “Are you guys sure this isn’t some elaborate practical joke?”

  Calla, along with the rest of the gang, stared uncomprehendingly at Devin.

  “I know I’ve given you a hard time about interfering in police business,” he continued. “Crazy, I guess, for thinking you should do your jobs, while you let us do ours. I get the power of all for one and one for all, but—”

  “That’s the Three Musketeers,” Calla, Victoria and Shelby all said at once.

  “Okay,” Devin conceded. “Whatever your motto is, but I can’t get a handle on this case. Gardenias, gold lamé and heroin? Jumpin’ Jimmie assaults and frames me?” He shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

  Actually, the whole business made a sick kind of sense to Calla, so she didn’t know whether he was finally cracking under the pressure, or she had a strange sense of logic, but she had no idea what to say to him.

  Victoria, sitting on the other side of Devin, wrapped her fingers around his wrist and tugged him back to his seat. “Women are complicated creatures, Detective. Don’t worry. You’re in capable hands.”

  “Hear, hear.” Howard smiled as he lifted his glass. “Oscar Wilde, as always, is appropriate. Women are made to be loved, not understood.”

  As the other men nodded in agreement, Calla tried to decide if the statement was an insult or compliment. Women weren’t that complicated, were they? And did loved mean cherished or good-for-sex?

  While both were true, she wondered if the latter was more accurate for her and Devin. Were they using each other? She’d had a crush on him for months, and now that the fantasies about intimacy between them had been fulfilled, did they have anything else to build on?

  The extreme circumstances they found themselves connected by couldn’t be helping. Was he destined to be a hot lover she’d held for a time—or vice versa—then ultimately had to let go?

  Since the idea of letting Devin go made her stomach churn, she forced herself to smile at Howard, who, with an almost worshipful attitude toward women, had only been trying to lighten the mood.

  “Save it for the courtroom, Howard,” Reid said dryly.

  Howard waved the document he’d forced Reid to sign. “What courtroom?”

  “Thanks for the reminder, Counselor.” Reid braced his hands on the table. “Reluctantly, but at Detective Antonio’s urging, I’ve agreed to share sensitive NYPD case files with you. Apparently, your—” he paused before he went ahead “—group has had some success with cracking difficult cases. So I have a task for you.

  “Over the last few days, we’ve narrowed down Devin’s most likely closed investigations that could be connected to Jimmie. We’ve eliminated those who are deceased or still in prison. Go through the files and look for a female suspect, or any female connected to any of the men.”

  Calla stared at Reid. “You want us to look through files?”

  “Again?” Victoria asked in disbelief.

  Devin could apparently tell relations with Reid were going south, since he shot to his feet. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Leave the files. I’d like a word in private before you go.”

  They all gave Reid hearty goodbye and waited in silence for Devin to return. Calla clenched her hands together to keep from pounding her fists on the table.

  “Look, Calla,” Devin began in a consoling tone. “Reid doesn’t know the full capabilities—”

  Calla stood. “Who votes we sit on the sidelines and do paperwork?”

  Devin, naturally, was the only one who raised his hand.

  “It’s five to one,” Calla said smartly. “You lose.”

  “I thought we’d at least get to do surveillance or something,” Shelby said, her disappointment clear.

  “We will,” Calla promised. “I have a better idea.”

  “Of course you do.” Devin sighed. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to defy the lieutenant. I seem to remember you people going around me to bring down that investment scheme and your plan falling apart.”

  Shelby scowled. “That was my plan.”

  “And we all got to the same place eventually,” Calla reminded Devin.

  Trevor cleared his throat. “Not to buck your leadership or determination, Calla, but I am a bit worried about our involvement. This isn’t an embezzler or a jewel thief we’re after this time, it’s a killer.”

  “I know, and we’re not taking unnecessary chances,” Calla promised. “Neither are we going to defy Reid. We are looking through the files, and we are pulling out likely suspects. Then we’re going to interview them all.”

  “How?” Victoria asked, clearly skeptical. “Nobody in this room has a badge. Sorry, Devin.”

  Calla smiled. “We’ve got something better—the power of the first amendment. We think our killer is getting revenge against Devin for arresting her, or someone she cares about, right? So, we’ll tell all our suspects we’re writers, doing a story on wrongly imprisoned convicts.”

  Devin’s eyes widened. “I’m not sending you out in reporter-mode to talk to potential killers.”

  Calla wanted to inform him he didn’t send her anywhere, but chose to keep the peace. For the greater good, of course. “First of all, I won’t be the only one interviewing. We’ll need everybody in order to cover all the potentials, so we’ll go in pairs. The couples can be together. Well, except you, Devin. Our killer knows who you are. Howard, you can pose as my research assistant, can’t you?”

  Howard not only nodded, he looked wildly thrilled by the prospect.

  “I cook,” Shelby said. “How am I going to pull off being a professional writer?”

  Calla waved her hand. “It’s easy. Take a laptop or notebook and ask nosy questions.”

  “What if someone checks our credentials?” Jared asked.

  Calla had already considered and solved that stumbling block. “I’ll make business cards for all of you, and my editor will back up a fake resume.”

  “Aren’t we expanding this conspiracy too much?” Victoria wondered. “The more people we tell, the more likely our mission gets exposed.”

  “My editor at City Life worked for the Washington Post in his younger days,” Calla explained. “He’d go to jail rather than reveal a source. Which I’ll tell him all of you are.”

  “What if no one will talk to us?” Trevor asked.

  “That’s the beauty,” Calla said proudly. “If I’m right about this woman’s motivation for getting back at Devin, she won’t be able to help herself from talking about injustice. She might lie about why she feels the way she does, but she’ll talk.”

  “And if you’re wrong?” Victoria asked.

  Calla had no idea what direction they’d turn, but there was no use in worrying about that unless the time came. “We’ll think of something else.”

  “It’s a bold plan,” Jared said.

  “And we don’t have anything else,” Shelby added.

  Though Calla hadn’t gotten the rousing ovation she’
d been hoping for, she was confident her idea was the best chance they had. Although, the closer they got to closing the case, the closer she and Devin got to a crossroads in their relationship.

  She might be the leader of a mythical gang, but she couldn’t live in a fairy tale forever.

  * * *

  AS DEVIN LISTENED IN silent amazement to his girlfriend and her friends cook up their undercover operation, which couldn’t possibly succeed, he idly wondered if he could get a job in private security. Provided Howard was as good as he claimed and he could get Devin off on the assault charge, it might be time to polish his resume.

  The money was supposedly better, but what about a pension and health insurance? He’d be picky about the jobs he took, too. He didn’t mind taking a bullet to protect his city, but he wasn’t taking one for some starlet with a crazed stalker fan who wanted to prove his love by waving around a loaded pistol.

  “We can break rules the NYPD can’t,” Calla was saying, causing him to wince. “Let’s use that to our advantage.”

  Law and order had served him well for over a decade. He simply didn’t have the heart for vigilante justice. “I hate to trample all over your big idea, but—”

  “But, let me guess,” Victoria cut in. “You’re going to, anyway.”

  Devin ignored the sarcasm, which he’d expected. “Conducting an investigation is all about teamwork.”

  “Like we don’t know that?” Calla asked, irritated. “Our teamwork closed two cases in five months.”

  He also ignored that. “In addition, every investigation has a leader.”

  “I’m—”

  Devin rushed ahead before Calla could remind him about her gang position. “Our leader is Lieutenant Reid. In order to identify a suspect and build a case against her, we have to follow his directives.” Not to mention the idea of Calla sitting across the table from a cold-blooded killer made his own blood freeze. “As long as each member of the team does his or her part, the suspect is arrested and prosecuted. That’s how the system works.”

  “Do they teach you how to make scary speeches at the police academy?” Shelby asked.

  Calla planted her hands on her hips. “We’re not part of the system. The system has, in fact, failed you to this point. That’s the whole point of Robin Hood.” She turned her back on Devin and faced the table. “Unlike the NYPD, we can lie about whatever we want. We can lift fingerprints off the glass our suspect uses and have them tested against the partials the lab found. No warrant required.”