by Karen Rose
“It’s your special gift,” Adam said lightly. He glanced at Isenberg. “Any advice?”
“Don’t fuck it up,” she said, making him snort a laugh.
“Thank you, O wise one.”
Scarlett pointed to a box on one of the chairs. “Her personal effects. Including her cell phone. She received a call Thursday from an untraceable number. They talked for three minutes. She texted that same number this morning, saying ‘Thanks.’”
Adam retrieved the box. “Good to know. Thank you.” He left the observation room and entered the interview room, followed by Deacon, who’d slid his wraparounds over his eyes. He took the seat across from Colleen and motioned Deacon into the chair next to her.
Within thirty seconds Colleen began to squirm. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“I suppose that’s what we’re here to find out,” Adam said mildly.
“I don’t have to talk to you. I know my rights.”
“That’s true. But I hope you’ll decide to.” He made a show of checking the folder containing Scarlett’s report, then let out an annoyed sigh. “Bishop didn’t file this paperwork.”
“She was distracted,” Deacon said blandly. “Had to ice her jaw.”
Colleen glanced at Deacon, then at Adam. She said nothing, but her mouth took on a slight curve, her shoulders straightening. Instantly, she looked more hopeful. Which was exactly what Adam wanted.
“She’s always distracted by something,” Adam growled.
“I’ll make her file it when we’re done here,” Deacon promised. “Like I always do.”
Adam saw the flash of satisfaction in Colleen’s eyes. Good. By putting down Scarlett, they’d become Colleen’s allies. “So you’re the hostess at Buon Cibo.”
Her satisfaction dissipated. “I was,” she muttered.
Adam walked around the table and leaned against its edge, not quite in Colleen’s space, but close enough to make her cringe away. “Why ‘was’? Did you quit?”
“No,” she said sullenly.
“They fired you?” Adam pressed. “At Christmas? That’s unkind.”
“They haven’t fired me. Not yet.”
“I see.” Adam crossed his arms over his chest. “Your job is to seat people, so you seated the two women today. Is that correct?”
“You mean the redhead and the skinny girl?” Colleen asked, her chin jutting out rebelliously. But her lips trembled, ruining the effect.
“You mean the two guests who someone tried to murder?” Deacon’s voice was icy. He’d removed his sunglasses.
Colleen jerked her head sideways to reply, but she caught sight of Deacon’s eyes and her mouth fell open, her eyes growing wide. “You’re—”
“Why did you seat the redhead at the table by the window?” Adam interrupted, taking advantage of Colleen’s momentary shock at seeing his cousin’s bicolored catlike eyes, each one half-blue and half-brown.
“He told me to!” Colleen blurted out, then her eyes filled with sheer panic. She closed her eyes, her misery clear. “Fuck you both. I bet those are contact lenses.”
“Who told you to?” Adam demanded, huffing impatiently when Colleen shook her head stubbornly. “Miss Martel, I swear that I will dig so deep into your personal life that you’ll be able to see China.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Tears were now streaming down her cheeks.
Adam shrugged. “Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. Right now I don’t care. I just need to know who told you to seat Dr. Fallon and her companion at that particular table. Someone tried to blow up your place of employment today. Dozens of people could have been killed. You think he’s finished? You think he won’t come back?” Her teeth were still clenched, so he leaned in a little closer. “You think he won’t come back for you?”
Colleen recoiled, swallowing audibly. “Me? I didn’t do anything! Why would he come for me?” He wondered if she thought she was anything close to convincing.
Adam kept his voice gentle. “You communicated with him, Miss Martel. You just said ‘He told me to.’ You are a loose end.” He let that sink in. “If we catch him, you’ll be safe, so you’d be wise to tell me what you know. What you did. Otherwise, he stays out there on the street. You will be next and nobody wants that. Help us help you.”
Her shoulders sagged once again. “He asked me to seat them at that table. Said he was going to surprise her. That he was going to stand outside the window and propose.”
“Who?” Deacon demanded coldly, maintaining his role of bad cop.
“I d-don’t know,” she stuttered nervously. “He didn’t give me a name. I never saw him. I only talked to him on the phone.”
Deacon sneered. “You expect us to believe that you did this out of the goodness of your heart?”
“No! I mean yes. I mean . . .” She closed her eyes in a long blink. “He told me that he’d leave me an envelope with cash at the podium where I sign customers in. A tip.”
“Two hundred dollars is an awfully big tip,” Adam said and held up his hand when she started to protest. “Don’t bother denying it. Your fingerprints were all over every bill.”
“You sold out two women for two hundred bucks.” Deacon ground out the furious words. “There might have been a hundred people hurt or killed if that bomb had gone off. You would have been killed, too, in case that fact missed your attention.”
Colleen began crying, but Adam didn’t believe her tears any more than he believed anything she’d said. “I didn’t know what he was going to do. He said he wanted to propose.”
“Even if that’s true, you didn’t think two hundred dollars was a lot of money just to seat his lady love?” Deacon asked, derision dripping from every word.
“That’s not my money. I found it. I was afraid you’d accuse me of something.” Colleen shrugged tearfully. “I don’t know what else you want from me.”
“We want you to tell the truth,” Adam snarled, suddenly furious. “When did he call you? I want a time and date.”
She flinched, then pointed to the folder. “If I tell you, will you still arrest me?”
“That depends on what you tell me,” Adam lied smoothly. Because she was so fucking arrested. “Time and date.”
“Thursday night. I don’t know the exact time. I was on duty at the front.”
She still hadn’t demanded a lawyer. “How did he contact you?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Restaurant phone, of course.”
Deacon fished her cell phone from the evidence box. “You got a call at eight thirty on Thursday.”
“That wasn’t him,” Colleen said. “I told you, he called on the restaurant’s phone.”
“Along with a dozen other people legitimately asking for reservations.” Deacon tilted his head, studying the young woman. “Clever, actually.”
Because that would be very difficult to disprove one way or the other. “She could be telling the truth,” Adam said, reassuming the good-cop role. “Who called your cell?”
Colleen licked her lips nervously. “My boyfriend.”
“Oh, good,” Adam said with a smile. “Then you won’t mind if Agent Novak calls your boyfriend right now. We’d like to rule him out as quickly as possible. Be sure to introduce yourself to whoever answers, Agent Novak. Use your whole title—you know, including the fact that you’re with the major case joint task force, investigating a homicide.”
Colleen glared. “Fine,” she gritted out. “You win, all right? Don’t call that number.”
“Because?” Adam asked, still playing nice.
“Because I don’t want him coming back for me!” Colleen shouted, then slumped into the chair. “Look. He did tell me that he wanted to propose. I did think it was a lot of money, but I didn’t know what he really planned to do, okay? That’s the truth. He didn’t sound very friendly, but who am I to judge?”<
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“How did he sound?” Deacon asked. “Be specific.”
“Deep and gravelly.” She shrugged, then met Adam’s eyes directly. “I did not know he was going to try to kill the redhead. And I’m sorry that the kid was killed.”
“You let the victim pass through,” Deacon said. “You didn’t walk him to a table.”
She looked uncomfortable. “The man on the phone asked me not to.”
“So he told you to expect someone to walk into the restaurant and up to the table?” Deacon asked.
“Yes. But I thought he was part of the proposal.”
“Did he look happy when he walked in?” Adam asked, knowing the answer. He’d seen the young man’s miserable expression on the tape Trip had shown him.
She hung her head. “No. But then I thought he was still part of it—like maybe he was serving her with divorce papers or something. I’ve seen that happen before. The amount of money made sense then. If he wanted to get her reaction on camera to something bad . . .” She trailed off, looking truly sorry for the first time. “I didn’t expect what happened. You gotta believe me.”
Like hell I do. “Thank you,” Adam told her formally. “We’re finished for now.”
Colleen brightened. “Does this mean you won’t arrest me?”
Not on your life. Or on Meredith’s life. Or on the life of the John Doe whose body had grown cold on the floor of the crime scene. “No.”
Her mouth fell open again. “But you said . . . That’s not fair!”
Adam shrugged. “What can I say? Life’s a bitch.”
“He’ll kill me,” she said with all certainty.
Adam leaned in. “I believe that you believe that. Tell me how you know and I’ll be more likely to believe you, too.”
She turned away. “I’m a loose end, just like you said.”
“He had your personal cell phone number,” Adam commented.
Her gaze rocketed back to his. She truly seemed terrified. “I don’t know how.”
She still hadn’t lawyered up, despite being terrified of spending a night in jail. “You are entitled to an attorney, you know,” he said, testing the waters.
She blanched. “No. I don’t want one. I don’t want an attorney.”
“You not having an attorney won’t keep you out of court,” Deacon said quietly.
She dropped her chin to her chest with a moan, rocking in the chair to which she was cuffed. “I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead.”
Adam pushed to his feet. “I’ll be back.” He went to the observation room and closed the door. “The only truth she’s told is this right here. The fear that she’s going to be killed.”
“Agreed,” Isenberg said. “She’s more afraid of ‘him’ than of us. Recommendations?”
“Let her go with a tail and let ‘him’ find her,” Scarlett said bluntly. “Use her as bait.”
“Or . . . ,” Adam said, giving Scarlett a look of mild reproach, “we can put her in a high-security lockup and monitor anyone who comes close. That way she’s protected bait.”
Isenberg nodded. “Do it. Scarlett and Deacon can do the paperwork.”
Adam checked his phone. “Thanks, because I still have to meet Trip and pay a visit to Broderick Voss. I want to know if he has a deep, gravelly voice.” He handed the folder with the police report to Scarlett, who looked decidedly unhappy.
“I like my way better,” Scarlett muttered, touching her jaw gingerly. “Goddamn bitch in combat boots.”
Adam patted her back. “You can make up an awesome story to tell when people ask you where you got the bruise. Like you were fighting off ninjas. It’s way better than admitting you got kicked by a skinny girl with combat boots.”
Her lip curled in a sneer, but then her lips twitched. “I can get behind ninjas. But you gotta promise to back me up.”
“Deal.” Adam returned to the interview room where Colleen was still curled into herself, rocking on the chair, and he wondered if her fear was that acute or if she was trying to get a psych placement. He figured it was the second one.
“We’re going to put you in protective custody, Miss Martel,” Adam told her.
The rocking abruptly stopped and Colleen looked up, eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re under arrest, but we aren’t going to put you with the general population. You’ll be held in a secure area. In return, we expect your cooperation.”
“Like what?”
“Like participating in a vocal lineup. We’re going to want you to identify the voice you heard on the phone.”
She looked wary. “I think I can do that.”
“Good.” Adam motioned for Deacon to follow him into the hallway. They shut the door on Colleen and Adam said, “Scarlett’s got the paperwork. You’re both to escort her to high-security lockup.”
“Where are you off to?” Deacon asked.
“To see this guy.” Adam showed Deacon the surveillance photographs of Broderick Voss and explained who he was.
“You want me to go with you?” Deacon asked.
“No, but thanks. Trip’s meeting me here in a few. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
Cincinnati, Ohio
Saturday, December 19, 8:50 p.m.
“Meredith!” Kendra called from the front door. “I found something of yours.”
Meredith and Diesel hurried from the kitchen to the living room, where Kendra and her grandfather stood glaring at each other. Kendra carried several take-out bags in her hands. Her grandfather was wearing his heavy coat and boots.
“Papa?” Meredith asked tentatively. “I thought you were taking a nap.”
“Slippery dog,” Diesel drawled with amused respect. “You snuck out the back.”
“Which was far too easy to do,” Clarke said. “You have a blind spot along the back of your house, Merry. Anyone can get in the basement door.”
Kendra’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “He really is your grandfather?”
“Yes, of course. Who did you think he was?”
“Some asshole trying to hurt you. I caught him lurking out back.”
Clarke looked at Kendra with suspicion. “She says she’s a cop.”
“She is,” Meredith said.
“Told you,” Kendra muttered to Clarke.
“Well, how was I supposed to know she was telling the truth?” Clarke said, his tone sulky. “She also said she was Wendi’s sister!”
“She is,” Meredith said again, then popped a light smack on Diesel’s arm because he was snickering. “Not funny.”
“Totally funny.” Diesel laughed and Meredith found herself smiling because it was a little funny. Wendi was tiny and vampirishly pale. Kendra was nearly six feet tall in her stocking feet, with ebony skin.
“They were foster sisters,” Meredith told her grandfather. “They were adopted by the same lovely lady.” Who continued to take foster kids, giving them the best of homes.
Diesel shook his head. “She has to be one hell of a lady to put up with you two.” He pretended to be afraid of Kendra’s scowl. “Hell, Kenny, you know it’s true.”
“It’s fair,” Kendra allowed, then nudged Clarke into the house. “Freezing my ass off here. And could someone take these bags? My fingers are frozen, too. Don’t want my trigger finger to crack off.”
“Gross,” Meredith said, taking the bags and peeking inside. “Yum. My favorites.” Skyline chili and Graeter’s ice cream. “Thanks, Kenny.”
“There should be enough cheese coneys for six or seven people,” Kendra said. “So enough for the two of us and these two bruisers.” She stomped the snow off her boots on Meredith’s welcome mat, then kicked them off and went into the living room. “Glad I got the Graeter’s. It was the only thing that convinced Gramps here that I really knew you.”
“Only a
crazy person would buy ice cream in this weather,” Clarke declared, still a little sulky.
“Only a crazy person would go for a walk in this weather,” Kendra countered.
Pausing midway to the kitchen, Meredith looked over her shoulder. “Why were you outside, Papa?”
Clarke huffed. “I was checking the security around your house. It sucks ass, Merry. Luckily, you have two unmarked cars watching over you.”
Meredith turned, fully facing them. “I do? Kendra, did you know about this?”
Kendra nodded. “One car has a pair of CPD detectives. The other’s got two Feds. I guess Isenberg and Zimmerman are sharing resources. Now that I know there’s a blind spot in the back I’ll ask one of the cars to sit on the next street over in case your shooter tries to sneak in through the basement. Kimble set it up. Didn’t he tell you?”
“No. He didn’t.” She’d have to add it to the list of things he needed to explain. “Should we at least offer the officers some hot coffee? They have to be freezing out there.”
“I offered already,” Clarke said. “They have a thermos, but might take a refill later.”
Kendra stared at him. “You talked to them? Really? They’re unmarked for a reason.”
“Which I did not know because they were unmarked,” Clarke said, giving her a warning glare. “I see two strange cars on this street, each with two guys, I’m gonna check it out. They could have been waiting for Meredith to come outside so they could finish what they started today.”
Kendra didn’t back down. “If they had been, they would have dropped you where you stood. Whoever did this has demonstrated they have no regard for the lives of innocent bystanders.”
Meredith sucked in a pained breath, her vision going temporarily gray as the memory of the young man’s exploding head filled her mind. “Papa,” she whispered.
Her face must have shown her horror because Clarke sighed and crossed the room to pull her into a hug. “I’m fine, Merry. It was fine.”
“But it might not have been. You can’t take chances like that. Please. I can’t . . . I saw that boy die today. I can’t . . . You have to be more careful.”
“All right.” He patted her back. “I won’t take any more chances. I’m sorry, honey.”
