by Jo Davis
“Me? What would I know about a murder? Who’s this victim?”
“His name is Max Griffin.”
“Max? He’s dead?” His surprise sounded fake. Nor did he show much remorse.
“I’m afraid so. He was shot in the forehead, point-blank range, in one of our motels. We don’t like that sort of thing happening in our town, and we want to catch who did this.”
“Yes, of course. But I don’t know how I can help.”
Reaching into his jacket, Taylor removed a folded sheaf of papers. “You can start by telling us what you and Griffin talked about on your frequent phone calls. Especially the one he made to you right before he was murdered.”
Again, the predatory look. More than dislike, it was akin to hatred. “I don’t recall. We were golf buddies and occasionally had dinner together. Raised funds for charities with our wives—things like that.”
“Your wife? Are you married?”
“Yes.” His face grew pinched. “Does that matter?”
“You tell me. Does it?”
“I think not.”
“Okay.” Purposely, he switched gears fast. “You used to have a personal assistant named Jennifer Wright, didn’t you?”
The man actually paled, though he did his best to maintain a calm outward appearance. “Yes, I did. She died when her crazy husband killed her and my brother in a standoff—as you well know, since you were there, Detective.”
Ooh, careful there. Your shark’s teeth are showing.
“How would you recall that I was the officer inside the house that day? It’s been four years.” He tried to sound baffled.
“I remember everything about that horrible time. I read the papers, and the news wouldn’t stop talking about it.”
“I see. How did you feel about Jenny, Mr. Constantine? Was she more than just a PA to you?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern,” he said in a cold voice. “But the answer is no.”
“Murder is always our concern,” he replied in friendly tone. “Especially when a new one has something in common with an old one.”
There could be no missing the subtle threat in Taylor’s voice. He was serving notice to Dmitri, letting him know they’d made the connection back to him.
Taylor went on while the man in front of them seethed. “We don’t like loose ends, and we’ll tie them sooner rather than later. You know what I think?” He leaned forward, one hand on Constantine’s desk. “I believe Jenny was more than a PA to you, and that you can’t risk that ever getting out to your wife, to the people you work with. Prison was enough of a black mark. But this?”
“Shut up about Jennifer,” he snapped. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know I can subpoena her medical records to determine whose baby she was actually carrying. What do you think the tests would show? How far did you go to make sure Max would cover up your mistakes? How far did you go when he refused to play your games anymore?”
Bingo. Cold rage was etched on the man’s face. Here in his own offices, he could do nothing to really shut them up. Taylor gave him a smirk and walked out, Shane right at his side.
When they were safely downstairs, Shane murmured, “I hope you know what you’re doing. You leaned on him pretty hard. I thought he was going to pull a gun and shoot us both.”
“Not there. But he’ll come for me, which is what I want.”
In the SUV, Cara was waiting anxiously. “Well? How’d it go?”
Shane put the vehicle in gear and started straight for the airport.
“Dmitri is guilty as hell, in all of this up to his eyeballs.” Taylor sighed. “I know you said your sister was unhappy in her marriage. Did she ever confide in you about being more than Dmitri’s PA?”
Cara blanched. “No. But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t. I’ve often wondered why Damon was there helping her pack that day, even if she claimed he was a friend. He was Dmitri’s brother, and I never liked Dmitri much. It seems like something he would do, sending his own brother to do his dirty work, moving his mistress out of her husband’s home.”
“And it would explain why Connor completely lost it that day. What if he found out the baby wasn’t his, but Dmitri’s? A man couldn’t murder his own baby, but another man’s? If he’s crazy enough, he could.”
“And Connor was crazy.”
Cara looked miserable. “Now what?”
“We go home. I’m going to get our guys together and make a plan. He’s going to come after me, and when he does, we’re going to trap him.”
“We can fix you with a wire,” Shane suggested. “When you goad him again, we get a confession on digital.”
“Assuming he’ll come after me in person now, as I think he will, that’ll work.”
“We’ll be nearby, move in and grab him before he can blink.”
Operations like those were iffy at best. But in dealing with people like Constantine, who were full of hatred and the need for revenge, wringing a confession was a preferable way to go. The only other way was to catch his hit man or other employee, and get a confession from them, and then they were going on hearsay, which was inadmissible. They’d need records of transfer of funds, and it was hard to prove murder for hire when excuses could be made for the use of the money.
They made it to the airport and onto the plane without incident, and Taylor was able to breathe a temporary sigh of relief. He knew the reprieve wouldn’t last long.
He just had to hold on a bit longer. He’d baited his shark.
Almost time to reel him in.
• • •
Cara watched as Chris, Shane, and a couple of technical guys from the station outfitted her man with the latest in electronic-listening wear.
The “wire” actually didn’t include a wire at all, unlike on old TV shows, where the bad guy finds the cords running under the cop’s jacket and rips them out. This device was a high-tech mock shirt button, and it made her feel better to know that he was sporting something virtually undetectable. Chris fussed with the placement, finally getting it the way he wanted.
“There,” he said, straightening. “Shane and I will be in the van first, monitoring. Then a new shift will take our place after twelve hours, and we’ll rotate like that until we get this bastard.”
Taylor’s phone rang and he answered. After a short, terse exchange, he hung up. “Constantine has left L.A., but there’s no proof he’s on his way here. Our people have lost him.”
“Dammit,” Shane swore. “He could be anywhere. Even left the country.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think so. Is that it?” Taylor studied his button microphone in the hallway mirror.
“For now. Go on about your business, but stay away from Cara after this.” Shane waved a hand between them. “Say your goodbyes for the time being. It’s safer for her that way.”
The rest of the troops left, and she stepped into Taylor’s arms, sinking into his comforting heat. “I’m glad Blake is staying with Shane and Daisy until this is finished.”
“Me, too.” He frowned. “I don’t want to say good-bye, even for a few days. I hate that this bastard is taking over our lives. He’s as crazy as Connor was.”
“To kill to keep your indiscretions secret? Yes.”
“People have killed for less. To feel powerful, for money. Passion. Seems like Dmitri fit all of these.”
“I’m sorry my sister got caught in Connor’s wrath, too.”
“So am I. I would have liked to have met her.”
“She wasn’t perfect, but none of us are. She would’ve liked you.”
Talking about that, the truth of it, made her sad. She clung to her man and didn’t let go for a long time. When she finally pulled back, he took her upstairs and made love to her for the better part of the afternoon—with the microphone stuffed in the closet.
&n
bsp; Later, when he dressed again, he snickered into the device. “Sorry, guys. For our ears only.”
She pictured them rolling their eyes, and laughed. “Hungry?”
“I could eat. Let’s go find something, and afterward I’ll take you home, where one of the officers is going to stay with you.”
She didn’t like it, but had no choice.
As they entered the kitchen, a whisper of sound made her turn to her right—and she shrieked to see Dmitri standing in Taylor’s kitchen with two other men, his gun trained on them, smiling as though he’d been invited for dinner.
Taylor had no chance to reach for his weapon.
“Take your gun out nice and slow,” Dmitri said. “Drop it to the floor.”
Jaw ticking in rage, he did. Every muscle was tense with the need to fight, but they were outnumbered. “Is this how you did away with Max? Got the drop on him in that motel room and put the bullet in the middle of his forehead?”
The reminder made tears sting her eyes. But she knew he had to get a confession.
“That was my associate, Snyder,” he said, pointing to the huge man in question. This must’ve been the one Taylor chased the other night and shot. The man had a bandage around one biceps. “Snyder took care of Griffin for me, since the man was no longer inclined to cooperate in keeping my secrets. And Web is here as extra insurance that this job gets done right.”
The other man was younger, smaller and wiry, but appeared no less vicious. He raked Cara with a lascivious look, and she felt ill. She’d die before she let this creep touch her that way.
“Is that why you’re here? To make sure the job gets done, since Snyder wasn’t capable on his own?”
The barb struck home and Snyder unloaded a punch to Taylor’s midsection that doubled him over. She cried out, grabbing his arm to steady him. Gradually he straightened, expression stony. She hoped he didn’t goad them much more, but that hope was futile.
“Takes a real pussy to kill old men and con married women into sleeping with him.”
Dmitri’s eyes narrowed. “There was no con. She was lonely, and I wanted her. I always get what I want.”
“Since she’s dead, I’m inclined to disagree.”
That earned him another hard punch. He coughed and stood up again, this time with more difficulty.
“What did you do? Blackmail Jenny into being with you?”
“There was no need, since she was in love with me. And when she turned up pregnant with my child, even better. She wanted to be with me, and she didn’t want darling hubby to find out before she was out the door.”
“But he did find out,” Taylor pressed. “How? Did you tell him after all?”
“No. I don’t know how he learned about the baby, and I guess I never will. Could be that she told him herself, out of desperation when he caught her packing, but we’ll never know. What I do know is that you’re going to pay for getting Jennifer and my brother killed.”
“Connor killed them,” Taylor said firmly. In that moment, Cara knew he really had forgiven himself. “I did the best I could in a bad situation. I believe he would’ve killed them all no matter what.”
The gun waved as Dmitri fought his anger. “It no longer matters what you believe. You murdered my brother, my lover, and my child. Now you’re going to die.”
Cara caught Taylor’s gaze for a second and knew he was thinking the same thing.
Where are Chris and Shane?
• • •
Chris was guiding the van into a parking place when the sound feed on the microphone crackled. Taylor and Cara had been on their way downstairs to eat something; then Taylor was taking her home. Now Chris was getting some annoying interference.
“Are those other voices?” Chris said quietly.
“Shh.”
They listened intently, catching pieces of phrases. With the feed acting up, it was hard to tell who was speaking.
“Should we go back?”
Shane listened harder, fiddled with some of the buttons on the sound recording system. The unit crackled again and the feed cleared up.
“Takes a real pussy to kill old men and con married women into sleeping with him.”
“There was no con. She was lonely, and I wanted her. I always get what I want.”
“Since she’s dead, I’m inclined to disagree.”
The sound of a hard punch could be heard. Coughing.
“What did you do? Blackmail Jenny into being with you?”
“There was no need, since she was in love with me. And when she turned up pregnant with my child, even better. She wanted to be with me, and she didn’t want darling hubby to find out before she was out the door.”
“But he did find out. How? Did you tell him after all?” Taylor pressed.
“No. I don’t know how he learned about the baby, and I guess I never will. Could be that she told him herself, out of desperation when he caught her packing, but we’ll never know. What I do know is that you’re going to pay for getting Jennifer and my brother killed.”
“Connor killed them,” Taylor said. “I did the best I could in a bad situation. I believe he would’ve killed them all no matter what.”
“It no longer matters what you believe. You murdered my brother, my lover, and my child. Now you’re going to die.”
Chris laid rubber, wheeling the van from the lot.
13
In the van two miles away, Shane shouted to Chris, panic blinding him.
“Go, goddammit, go, go!”
Dmitri Constantine had waited years to make Taylor pay for the death of his brother and unborn child. Now he planned to have his vengeance.
His companion floored the accelerator while Shane prayed.
If Dmitri Constantine touched one hair on his friends’ heads, he was one dead son of a bitch.
• • •
“I can almost forgive Max’s sudden attack of conscience that led him to disobey me. This is going to give me great pleasure.”
Dmitri shoved Taylor into the room, hard, and Taylor stumbled and fell to his knees. Shane! She knew Taylor had to make sure his partner heard enough to put this creep away for good.
If Dmitri realized the button was a wire, they were screwed.
Taylor sat up and looked into Cara’s eyes, his face etched with regret as he spoke for the benefit of the van’s recordings. “Dmitri here was having an affair with Jenny. The baby Jenny was carrying was his, not Connor’s. She wanted to leave her husband for this cocksucker, though God knows why—”
That earned him a swift reprimand. Dmitri lunged, swinging the butt of his gun to deliver a blow to the side of Taylor’s head. Cara cried out as he slumped to the floor. Immediately, he pushed to his hands and knees, head hanging.
His shaggy blond hair enveloped his face, blood dripping to the polished floor. Just as he tried to stand, Constantine kicked him forcefully in the ribs, sending him crashing sideways into the coffee table.
“I loved Jennifer. You killed her and my child! You should have chosen her life when you had the chance!” Lips pulled back into a feral snarl, Constantine advanced, kicking him again and again in the ribs, the head. Moaning, Taylor curled into the fetal position, but it offered no protection against the vicious onslaught.
“Stop!” Cara screamed, dropping to his side. “You’re killing him!”
Her plea penetrated Constantine’s rage, but not for the reason she’d obviously hoped. While she gathered Taylor into her arms, the man stood back, face flushed from exertion.
“You’re right.” He gave a cold smile. “I can’t have him dying on me too quickly, after all. That would be rather anticlimactic. Boys, let’s take these two to a place where I can introduce them to the full meaning of a slow, painful death.”
From somewhere outside, the squeal of tires could be heard rounding a cor
ner down the street.
Constantine gestured with his gun. “Take them out the back and hurry the fuck up. Put them in your truck; make them keep their heads down. You know where to go. I’ll follow in my car.”
They won’t get away. Shane is coming, she consoled herself. But not fast enough to stop them. Yet. Thank God Blake is at work!
Snyder reached down and jerked Taylor from her arms, half-dragging him toward the kitchen. “Try anything, and your sweetheart gets a bullet in the head.” Web went along, the muzzle of his gun against Taylor’s temple.
Pushing up, she started after them, her knees like water. Constantine walked behind her, his gun digging into the small of her back. All the way through the kitchen and out the back door, she numbly tried to grasp how things had gone bad so quickly. How this could be happening in broad daylight.
These men were planning to kill them. And Dmitri would make sure Taylor suffered first.
They were taken to a double-cab pickup parked next to the back fence. Taylor was shoved headfirst into the backseat of the truck, his forehead smacking the doorframe. He dragged himself in and collapsed across the seat, unmoving.
“You can kneel on the floor beside him. Move it!” Snyder growled.
She got in as the truck peeled out, and wedged herself between the seats, facing Taylor. His beautiful green eyes were half-open, and his bruised cheek lay against the leather upholstery in a smear of blood.
“Cara.” He coughed, grimacing in pain. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t talk, baby,” she whispered, taking his hand. “We’ll be fine.”
God, don’t let that be a lie. Constantine, that monster, had beaten him badly. A widening patch of dark hair glistened, sticky with blood. A crimson droplet trickled from his temple down his exposed cheek, like a tear. Grabbing the edge of her shirt, she leaned over him, wiping it away. When she dabbed the side of his head, he winced, sucking in a sharp breath.
No use. Pressing on the wound didn’t staunch the flow, and only hurt him more. She settled back again, squeezing his hand.
“I love you,” he said, closing his eyes.
