As she stuffed the folder in her briefcase, she glanced at the chair on the other side of the desk. It was horribly uncomfortable, with a broken spring that poked you in the ass if you sat in it. There was no money in the budget for new furniture.
Ward hadn't seemed to mind. He hadn't shifted in his chair, hadn't squirmed. Almost as if he hadn't noticed the broken spring. It spoke to a single-mindedness, a focus, that could be dangerous.
Or seductive. She shivered, remembering the way his gaze had swept over her. Maybe he'd been focusing on…other things.
And maybe she was a complete idiot.
As she slipped on her jacket and headed down the hall, though, an image of Ward appeared in her mind again. Standing at her door, asking if she was going to check the visitor log at Cook County Jail.
Great ass or not, she wasn't going to take anything on faith.
Livvy pulled her phone out of her pocket, googled the number for the jail's visitor office and added it to her contacts.
She'd check with them tomorrow to see if Ward had visited Bates.
Chapter 2
As he turned his Toyota RAV-4 onto Lake Shore Drive, Ryan squeezed the steering wheel until the bumps on the bottom of the plastic dug painfully into his palms. How the hell had he ended up working with Cilla Marini's sister?
Stupid question. That son of a bitch Swenson was pulling another of his damned Machiavellian maneuvers, and his motive was painfully obvious. Swenson was trying to rattle him. Make him lose control. A witness who lost control was a witness who let things spill from his mouth without thinking.
Swenson was counting on Ryan being rattled by Olivia Marini's resemblance to her sister. Thrown off balance enough to lose the filter between his brain and his mouth.
Not going to happen.
He'd been in enough goddamn therapy in the last six months to learn the warning signs for loss of control. Now, he knew how to derail it.
He'd agreed to therapy in exchange for not being charged with battery after Cilla Marini arrested him. He'd hated the idea of spilling his guts to a shrink, had been pissed off about it when he walked into the office.
The therapist he'd been assigned to had actually been helpful. The distraction technique she proposed had been brilliant - attention to the details of his surroundings. As a cop, he did that already. He soaked observations up like a sponge, storing the images, sorting through them to find the odd sock. The thing out of place. Or missing.
That was when he started paying attention to what Mary was saying.
Time to use the tools he'd acquired to focus on something besides Olivia Marini and Gus Swenson.
He glanced in his rear view mirror, cataloging the cars behind him. Rush hour traffic, no one moving too fast, nothing stood out. A cold wind ruffled the lake on his right, sending breakers rolling over themselves and spreading on the sand. A few gulls walked the beach, looking for picnic leftovers. A handful of joggers ran on the path, exercising after work. Business as usual on that side.
Bumper to bumper traffic on his left. People heading downtown for dinner. To see a play. To catch the Blackhawks' game at the United Center.
He scanned the lane on his right for an opening and moved over to exit on Fullerton. He'd grab some takeout from Oscar's. Have a quiet evening at his place.
As he eased into the exit lane, a movement behind him caught his eye. Several vehicles behind his, a car swerved over three lanes and got into the exit lane, as well. As if he'd forgotten he needed to exit and realized it at the last moment.
If he hadn't been focusing on distracting himself from his anger at both Swenson and Bates, along with Olivia Marini, he wouldn't have noticed the quick maneuver of the car. A beat-up Honda Civic. Silver. As close as you could get to an anonymous car in the city.
He kept one eye on the car behind him as he headed for Oscar's. He took the normal route. Didn't try any evasive action. He wanted to see where this was headed.
The silver Honda stayed five cars back. As Ryan turned onto Broadway, he looked for a parking place. When he spotted a car getting ready to pull out, he slowed and turned on his signal.
By the time he'd slotted his SUV into the spot, several vehicles were lined up behind him. The silver Honda was still five cars back.
Ryan lingered in the car as traffic began to move again. The Honda rolled past, but it was hard to see the driver. Male, he thought. Couldn't make out anything else. The window was smeared with dirt. So was the license plate. Either the guy had been traveling on muddy, unpaved roads, or he'd deliberately mucked up the windows and license plates.
His instincts humming, Ryan opened the door and stepped out. If he was a betting man, he'd guess deliberate.
Why was someone following him? He'd just closed a case and hadn't been assigned a new one yet. He had nothing important pending – a few opens, mostly small-time drug cases. And as of today, he was on administrative leave.
Was this about Anson's case?
About his new lawyer's attempt to get bail for that bastard?
He walked into Oscar's, and decided to eat there rather than take his food home. He asked for a table next to the window, and chose a seat with a view of his car. He'd watch and see what developed.
He was half-way through his burger when the silver car with the obscured license plate and windows drove past again. Slowed a little, as if there was traffic ahead of him. The driver glanced toward Oscar's. Then he resumed his careful speed and kept going.
Hmm. Maybe Ryan would stick around and have a beer. See if the guy came by again.
Forty-five minutes later, after stretching one beer as far as he could and no sign of the silver car, he signaled for his check. As he reached for his wallet, the door opened and a group came in. Laughing and talking all at once. Someone was having a good time.
He scribbled his name, stood up and headed toward the door. Stopped.
The group next to the hostess' stand was the Donovan cops. All five of them, including the Fibbie. As he edged past them, the Fibbie gave Ryan the death glare.
Ryan held his gaze. Knocked shoulders as he passed the guy. The Fibbie narrowed his eyes. Too bad. The asshole was blocking the exit. What was Ryan supposed to do? Say 'pretty please, can I get through?'
Ryan pushed through the door into the chilly October weather. As he zipped his jacket, he checked out the Donovans. They were all smiling or laughing. Mia elbowed one of her brothers, then grinned at something he said to her. The lookalikes were talking to Mac. Brendan was on his phone.
They clearly enjoyed each other's company. Had fun together. They looked happy. The way a family should look. Last he'd heard, all of them but Mia were dating someone seriously. At least one was engaged.
The five of them were in their own little world. Solid together. When Ryan had walked by, he'd been a momentary distraction. As soon as he was out the door, they'd forgotten him.
He was a guy who passed through their lives like a ghost. A brief flutter of awareness, a momentary pause in their lives. Then nothing.
An outsider.
He'd made Cilla Marini an outsider in the station they'd shared. An invisible person. He'd gotten most of the other cops to shun her. She'd transferred to another district.
He'd been a bastard. No wonder her sister had been so pissed off about having to work with him.
Something burned in his throat, and he swallowed thickly. He had siblings, too. He'd be angry as hell if someone did that to Cammie.
He hadn't talked to his brother or his sister in months. Had no idea what was going on in their lives. Were they happy? Dating? Serious about someone?
Maybe he'd call them. See how they were doing. Reconnect with them.
His therapist had explained that sometimes kids who grew up in abusive homes drifted away from their siblings when they became adults. Trying to forget. To build new lives.
Is that what had happened with him and Cammie and Jesse? Would his family have turned out like the Donovans if they'd been raise
d differently? Had different parents?
He had no idea. He'd played the hand he'd been dealt and he'd done okay. He was a cop. He loved his job. Yeah, he'd drifted apart from his siblings along the way, but maybe he could repair that bond. Start building a more balanced life that included actual friendships. A real relationship.
Olivia Marini's face drifted into his mind, and he shoved it away. Not her. God, no. He liked party girls. Girls who were all about a good time and nothing more.
Marini was a serious person. Confident. Competent. Good at her job. And hot as a smoking gun.
Exactly the kind of person he'd be interested in if he was looking for a relationship. But she was off limits. After what had happened between him and Marini's sister, that was a closed door.
If she was so pissed off at him, even though he'd apologized to Cilla, she must be close to her sister. Given a choice between him and Cilla? It would be Cilla every time.
Why was he thinking about Olivia Marini, anyway? He had no time for dating, for relationships. Even if he did, he had zero chances with Cilla's sister.
Didn't want any chances with her. Her job as the ASA was to turn him into a rat. Get him to betray his partner, and by extension, every other cop on the force. He'd tell her and her boss Gus Swenson to go screw themselves, but he couldn't do it.
He hadn't realized his partner was running a criminal enterprise. Why had he been so blind? So unable to see who Anson really was?
For whatever reason, Ryan had fucked up. Big time. Bates had been selling drugs right under his nose. So Ward would help put his partner away for good.
Maybe that would ease the guilt he felt over his ignorance. His lack of attention to what his partner was doing. Maybe seeing the prison door slam closed on Bates would bring some measure of redemption.
He'd cooperate with Olivia Marini. Didn't mean he had to like it. Anson had committed a lot of crimes, but Marini couldn't make him enjoy crashing through that blue wall of silence.
Dealing with this mess with Bates was the first step. Once he put that behind him, he could straighten out the rest of his life. Fix what was broken in his family. Maybe even find a woman to get involved with. Explore a relationship that was deeper than a puddle of water.
An image of Olivia Marini crept into his mind. Someone like her.
The fact that it wouldn't be Olivia herself caused a pang of regret that was a little harder than it should be.
* * *
Staring at nothing, Ryan sprawled on his coach as the sky lightened outside his window the next morning, rolling a flash drive over and over in his hand. He'd read the transcript the night before, circling several things that didn't sound right. He'd tossed and turned until five a.m., wondering about those details.
Finally, when he hadn't been able to sleep, he'd gotten out of bed and retrieved the flash drive he'd hidden in a box of books on his hall closet shelf.
The night Anson had been arrested, Ryan had bought the two biggest flash drives he could find. He'd stayed at the station into the early hours and copied all the case files he and his partner had worked together.
The next morning, he'd listened to every word his partner said in the interrogation room. The knowledge that Anson had been able to fool him so completely had burned like acid in his gut. As he'd listened to the solid evidence against his partner, his anger had built. Swelled until it consumed him.
He'd been a fool. A blind, stupid patsy that Anson had played like a virtuoso. It had been mortifying.
So had the bitter truth that his partner had been laughing at him behind his back.
After listening to the whole, painful interrogation, Ryan had deposited one of the flash drives in a safe deposit box. He'd hidden the other in his apartment.
Those two bits of plastic and metal were his insurance. He'd have proof if someone tampered with those files. Anyone with access to the system, or a good hacker, could erase details that might help convict Bates. Add details that might incriminate Ryan.
He curled his fingers around the black plastic fob on his palm. While he'd been downloading the files that night, a tiny voice whispered he was being ridiculous. Paranoid.
He'd copied them anyway.
Listening to Anson's interrogation, Ryan had been damn glad he'd copied them.
Maybe he'd been right to be paranoid. Someone had followed him tonight. Right after he met with an assistant state's attorney.
He opened his palm and looked at the small piece of plastic and metal. Thank God that second flash drive was safely stowed away in a bank vault.
One question had consumed him since the night Anson was arrested. Why hadn't he noticed something was off with Bates? Looking back, his partner had done a lot of things that were innocuous at the time, but suspicious in hindsight. Little things, but little things added up to bigger things.
Maybe his subconscious had noticed something. Why else would he have thought to copy those case files when Anson was arrested?
Ryan had been so stupid. He'd worked with Bates for five years and trusted him completely. Defended him, even to the point of getting arrested. Cilla Marini had found him shoving a hooker up against a wall, questioning her claim that Anson was stealing money and drugs from her.
Ryan uncurled his hand and stared at the flash drive again. Opened his laptop. Turned off his wireless in case someone was cyber-stalking him. Then he plugged in the flash drive.
He'd look at every case he'd worked with Anson. Find the details that would be ammunition against his request for bail, enough that he'd hear the prison door slam shut behind his former partner. In the meantime, he'd continue to visit his former partner in Cook County jail every couple of weeks and pretend he was on Anson's side. Wait for him to spill something important.
When he knew Anson would never see the light of day again, he'd get on with his life. Focus on figuring out why he'd bought Anson's line of bullshit.
Once he did that, he'd make sure it never happened again. He'd been gullible. A total fool to follow Bates so blindly. He'd learned his lesson, though. No one else was going to sneak under his defenses.
From now on, the only person he trusted was himself.
* * *
Ryan pulled into a parking spot at the Garfield Park Conservatory and killed his engine. He was pretty sure no one had followed him this morning. But meeting at this conservatory on the west side of Chicago? Marini must be freaking-out-paranoid about this case. Had someone been following her, too?
She was waiting for him in the gift shop, as she'd promised. When he walked into the small room, he spotted her immediately. She wore tight, dark jeans and a green sweater that looked as if it might slip off one shoulder at any moment. Her hair was loose in a spill of whisky-colored waves over her shoulders.
He swallowed. She'd been attractive yesterday in her conservative dark suit, her hair wound into some kind of intricate braid.
Today, dressed casually, she took his breath away.
She looked up suddenly from the book she'd been examining and met his gaze. Holding it a moment too long, she set the book down and walked over to him. Instead of the power heels she'd worn yesterday, today she wore blue Chucks.
"Mr. Ward," she said, holding out her hand. "Thanks for coming all the way down here."
"Not a problem, Ms. Marini," he said, curling his fingers around hers. Her skin was like silk, and her hand felt tiny and fragile in his. He swallowed once and loosened his grip on her hand when he felt her tug a little. "Interesting choice for a meeting, though."
"Yeah. Sorry." She shrugged, biting her lower lip, and he wanted to lean forward and taste it. "Hope it's not going to make you late for work."
"No." The only work waiting for him was those case files on the flash drive. "Why here, though? Are you that paranoid that someone will overhear us talking?"
She blew out a breath. "Nothing so simple. My sister is looking at wedding venues, and she wanted my opinion on this place. Since I'd already made plans to be out of the offi
ce to talk to you, I figured I could talk to Cilla before we met. Two birds with one stone."
"Is your sister still here?" He looked over his shoulder, to make sure he hadn't missed her in the lobby.
"No, she left ten minutes ago." She tilted her head and studied him. "I told her I was working with you. She shrugged it off. Said you'd apologized to her. That you told her she was right to arrest you." Her lips thinned. "There wouldn’t have been a scene if Cilla were still here. She doesn't hold a grudge, Mr. Ward."
"Unlike you," he said, keeping his gaze on her. "You hold a grudge big enough for two people."
"She's my baby sister," Livvy said. "She's always been there for me. Now it's my turn to do something for her."
"Carrying the torch against me?" He raised one eyebrow.
"I'm an attorney. I'm cautious. I don't take anything on faith. Cilla might have forgiven you, but I haven't forgotten what you did to her." She blinked several times. "Cilla loved working at the twenty-second district."
"I already told her I was sorry. That I'd take it back if I could. What more do you want from me?"
"There's nothing I want from you, Mr. Ward." Her eyes were chilly. Her voice was cool. A little distant. "Except information that will help me keep Anson Bates in jail."
He wanted to rip that distance apart. Shake her up. Make her see him.
Right now, all she saw was the guy who'd tormented her sister. A guy whose partner was a crook.
He wanted to be more than that. He wanted his self-respect back. He wanted to shed the guilt of being Anson Bates' partner.
He'd have to settle for helping Oliva Marini keep Bates behind bars for a long, long time.
The silence stretched uncomfortably long. Finally, Olivia said, "There's a patio in back of the conservatory. Less chance of being overheard. Do you mind sitting back there, Mr. Ward?"
"Call me Ryan," he said gruffly. "Mr. Ward sounds like my old man."
"Okay," she said after a moment. "I'm Livvy."
Save Me Page 2
