by Peggy Jaeger
Anger percolated through her from across the room.
“Miss Laine—”
“Why am I still here? I gave my statement. I want my memory card and I want to go home. I have a ton of work to do.”
Ky reached down deep to curb his temper. “I need to clarify a few things first.”
“What things?” She leaned back against the wall, leveling him with a hard stare. “I told your partner everything I remember. In vivid detail.”
“Yes, I read your statement. Please.” He motioned to a chair. “Have a seat.”
“I’d rather stand.”
He couldn’t tell if she was being purposefully obnoxious when her chin tilted up defiantly at him or if it was a character trait. Regardless, he pulled the facing chair from the table and sat.
“You mentioned in your statement you were out walking when you noticed the shooting.”
“No, that’s not correct.” She must have forgotten her reason for standing because she moved back to the chair and settled into it. “I said I was out working and noticed the trio of men coming out of the restaurant.”
Ky knew that. He wanted to see if she’d change any of the details with time.
“The older man had an attention-grabbing face,” she continued, resting her arms on the table. “I’m on the lookout for interesting faces.”
“So you notice him, see his face and decide, what? To take his picture? Just like that?”
She nodded. “It’s what I do. I’m working on a book called Faces of New York.”
“What was so fascinating about his?”
“It wasn’t so much his face as the expression on it,” she said. “He’d just come out of Sam’s. I figured he’d eaten lunch because he was patting his stomach and had a contented, gratified smile on his lips. So I took his picture. A series of them, in fact, as he continued walking.”
“Why did you continue snapping away? You had your shot. Why take more?”
Gemma blew out a breath and leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over her chest again. “Do you know anything about photography?”
“No, not really.”
She sliced a finger through the side of her hair and tucked the strands behind her ears. It refused to settle and fell back across her cheeks the moment she removed her hand.
“There’s more to getting the shot you want than merely pressing a button. You have to consider the lighting, the motion, or absence of it. A million different things go into capturing the perfect image. A person’s face changes in a millisecond. You can go from an expression of rapture, to the simple turning up of the lips in the time it takes for a heart to beat just once. I wanted to make sure I got the look I wanted to convey. Taking several shots in a continuum ensures I will.”
Ky nodded. “So the only thing you knew about the older man was you liked the expression on his face?”
“Yes.”
“You had no idea who he was?”
“No. I still don’t. All I know is he and two other men were gunned down on a New York City street. And because of some quirk of nature, I was there when it happened.”
Ky waited a beat. “What made you continue taking pictures after the shooting started? Most people ran for cover, got out of harm’s way. You stayed where you were and continued to photograph what was happening. I have to ask myself why?”
Gemma’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not a news reporter or photojournalist. You don’t work for any national news publications. You own your own business, work for yourself. What were you hoping to gain from continuing to shoot?”
Gemma shot up, the chair falling to the floor behind her with a resounding thwack. “Your implication is insulting. You think I continued filming for some dark ulterior motive, don’t you? Like I wanted to sell the pictures, or in some way benefit from them. That’s not only insulting, it’s disgusting.”
“I don’t think I said anything along those lines.”
“Your veiled wording implies otherwise. For your bigoted information, my brother-in-law is in private security. I’ve assisted him a few times with surveillance photography, even helped his partner in various filming techniques when he’s gone undercover. I’m not a paparazzo looking for my next big photographic score. Agent—,” she flipped her hand in the air in lieu of addressing him by name, “I’m a professional photographer, and I reacted as one today. I kept filming because I could. I didn’t think I was in any danger. The van was speeding away from me, not toward me.”
Ky looked across the table at her, weighing her words. “For the record, again, it’s Pappandreos, and I never assumed you were anything other than what you’ve stated, Miss Laine. I simply need to make sure you had no prior knowledge of the men who were gunned down today.”
“I don’t know them from Adam.” Her voice dropped a notch as her gaze bore into his.
Ky wanted to believe her, but a cautious regard for human nature had always served him well.
“Do you recognize the name Mario Calafano?”
Her eyes narrowed again, her gaze never leaving his. “It sounds familiar, but I’m not sure. Why?”
Instead of answering he asked, “How about Jackson Hunter or Paul Ingersall?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Ky nodded. Rising, he told her, “I think we’re finished here, Miss Laine. We have your contact information. We’ll call when we’re done with the memory card.”
“I can’t have it now?”
The childlike whine in her husky voice reminded him of his nieces and nephews when they didn’t get their way.
“We haven’t finished with it yet. But I assure you, I’ll get it back to you.”
“When?”
“As I’ve said, when we’re finished with it.”
“This blows.” She frowned and crossed her arms in front of her again, this time her hands were fisted.
It wouldn’t have surprised him if she stomped her foot next. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his card. “These are my contact numbers. If you don’t hear from me in a few days, feel free to call.”
“A few days?” she cried. “That’s a lifetime to someone on a publishing deadline. I have a lot of work on that card and it needs to be uploaded and edited.”
“A few days are all we need.”
She mumbled something he couldn’t hear and didn’t think he wanted to, figuring it was something derogatory about himself. Ky made arrangements for an agent to drive her home and then watched as she was escorted out of the office.
“Hell hath no fury.” Jon chuckled.
“The quote pertains to a woman scorned.”
“Scorned or not, she’s one seriously pissed but fine-looking female.”
Ky agreed, on both counts. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
* * *
Gemma let herself into her condo, threw her keys down on the entrance table, toed off her shoes, and then plopped down onto her couch.
“Jerk.” She rubbed her tired eyes with the heels of her palms and dropped her chin to her chest. “Special Agent Jerk.”
Seething, she thought about all the shots she’d taken before the shooting. Pictures she now couldn’t work on. An entire day’s filming, shot. Literally. Shot to hell.
And there were some great images in the batch, too. The toddler twins running down the street with their parents laughingly chasing after them; the tiny, elderly woman carrying her equally frail Pomeranian; the Asian shopkeeper sweeping outside her grocery store, an e-cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth.
All pictures she knew would be perfect for the book. Only now she had to wait for them to be returned. And if there was one thing Gemma Laine hated, it was waiting.
That, and arrogant special agents.
She blew out a breath, her bangs dancing up off her forehead. Since s
even o’clock that morning, she’d been walking around Manhattan, looking for inspiration. She hadn’t stopped to eat or drink before the shooting, and waiting at FBI headquarters had chewed up another few hours with nothing in her system. A loud growl snarled up from her empty stomach and echoed in the apartment.
A quick inventory of the refrigerator reminded her she’d wanted to stop at the local grocery today when she’d finished working. All that stared back at her from the cool interior was a pint of skim milk, a few bottles of beer from the last time her sister and brother-in-law had visited, and three eggs.
“Oh, well. An omelet it is.”
She put the frying pan her sister had given her for Christmas on the stovetop and turned the coil to medium heat. She’d never be the chef Kandy was, but she knew the basics for making a great breakfast. After whisking the eggs with some of the milk, she added a sprinkling of black pepper and nutmeg to the mix.
When the pan was the perfect temperature and she was about to pour in the eggs, the doorbell rang.
Since she lived in a doorman-controlled condo and all her family were well known to the man on duty, she assumed it was one of them. Without looking through the peephole, she opened the door. Her smile died in an instant.
“Scream and I’ll shoot,” a man holding a gun aimed at her face declared.
Gemma’s first instinct was to run. She pulled back, using the door as armor and pushed. Her intruder pushed right back, knocking her to the floor when the force of the door smashed into her. Flat on her butt, she crab crawled backward and tried to stand while the man flew into the apartment, banged the door shut and was on her in a second.
He grabbed a fist full of her hair and pulled her up by it.
Tears of pain sprang into her eyes. She ignored them, slipping into full defense mode. She flattened one of her hands over the one he had on her hair, pushed down and twisted, turning to face him as she’d been taught to do. If she stood upright she knew she’d be taller than he was, so she stayed stooped. He was attempting to yank on her hair again, but Gemma pulled her other hand back and, opening the web between her thumb and index finger wide, shot her hand out like a snake, striking him with the “V” straight in the throat.
The hit had its intended effect. He let go of her hair and staggered backward, one of his hands flying to his gullet. Gemma took a split second to stand tall, stepped one foot behind her and then, raising her opposite leg, kicked him full force straight in the chest with the ball of her foot, knocking him back. The gun dropped from his hand and she ran to it, but he reached out and grabbed her leg, jerking her down hard to the floor. Gemma felt her knee splinter into the hardwood floor and she recoiled into a fetal position from the impact. With his advantage, the intruder jumped over her, grabbed the gun and pointed it straight at her face again.
“Bitch! I should kill you now.” His neck was bright red from her strike, his voice raspy and raw like sandpaper gliding along fresh-cut wood.
“What do you want?” The gun bobbed up and down in his hand as she stared down its barrel.
“Where is it?”
“What?”
“The camera you were using today.”
His eyes flicked around the living room and then back to her, the gun still pointed straight at her face. “Where is it?” he repeated.
“I don’t have it. The police took it.” She rubbed her knee, gauging if she’d be able to stand on it. It wasn’t broken, but she’d landed hard.
“Try again. I watched you leave the FBI building. You had it in your hands. Now stop wasting my time and give it to me.”
Gemma quickly ran through all her options. Her knee was pounding, she had a lethal weapon pointed at her face and she was on the floor flat on her butt: a very bad position to deal from. Her gaze swept from the gun to the man’s face, memorizing it, detail by detail.
“It’s in the kitchen,” she told him, rolling over and trying to rise up on her uninjured leg.
“Get it. Now.”
“My knee is blown,” she told him, standing upright on her good foot. “I can’t move fast.”
To prove her point she tried to walk and hobbled, almost going down to the floor again.
Her intruder swore. “Forget it. I’ll get it.” He turned his head, the gun still directed at her. “In here?”
“It’s on the table.”
He never moved from her sight as he went into the kitchen. Gemma took the few moments to think what to do.
With the camera in his hand, he popped the back open and asked, “Where’s the memory card?”
“The FBI took it.”
He swore again and threw the camera against the wall, smashing it. The anger on his face was murderous as he came at her.
“You stupid bitch. You could have told me that instead of wasting my time.”
He lifted the gun to her eye level and just as he pulled the hammer back, Gemma went into action. Sidestepping backward on her uninjured leg, she brought the other one up to her chest and in one fluid, swift move, knocked the gun from his hand with the front of her foot. Pain recoiled all the way up her leg, but she ignored it. While the gun bounced across the floor she spun and, using her injured leg again, struck three swift kicks to his temple, knocking him to the floor. The effect of the single-footed spin unbalanced her, and she fell flat on her backside again. Her recovery was swifter than his, though, and she shot up, jumped to the door on her good leg, and, throwing it open, screamed as loud as she could.
She fell into the hall and, due to the early evening hour, doors around her opened, quizzical heads popping out from the commotion of her shouting.
The intruder didn’t waste a second. He sprang up and ran from the apartment, sprinting down the hallway toward the stairwell.
Breathing hard and in serious pain, Gemma collapsed against the wall as her neighbors gathered around her.
Chapter Two
“She gonna be okay?” Ky asked the emergency room resident when he came out of Gemma’s cubicle.
“You family?”
Ky held up his badge.
“Oh. She should be. Knee is pretty tender. Not broken though, which is good. She needs to keep it elevated for a while, ice it down. Other than that, she should be good in a day or so.”
Ky thanked him and turned to his partner. “Anything?”
Jon shook his head. “Not yet. She gave a dynamite description of the guy. Profetti’s making copies of his sketch right now. She’s got a good eye for catching details.”
“Considering she was getting pummeled at the time.” Ky sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, I’ll get her statement. Why don’t you try to find out what you can about the guy who attacked her.”
“CSU should be done with her apartment. I’ll see if he left any prints. The gun might be an avenue.”
Ky nodded and turned his attention back to the emergency room cubicle.
When her call had come through to his cell he’d been packing it in for the day, just about to head back to his apartment. She sounded totally in control when she told him about the armed man who’d shoved his way into her apartment, demanding her camera. In less than ten minutes he and Jon were at her condo, which was already packed with people, including two paramedics and most of the neighbors on her floor. She was being tended to by one of the EMTs when she spotted him. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to feel that right jab to his stomach when he saw her again, but the minute she lifted those china-blue eyes and caught his stare, it came: quick, hard, and undeniable.
With little emotion, she told them what happened. When Ky asked Gemma if she could describe the man, figuring the answer would be “no,” he was shocked when she gave them a detailed rundown of the intruder’s appearance. She told Jon to get a sketch artist and she could give even more details, and he’d arranged for one to meet them in the emergency room. While waiti
ng to be x-rayed, she’d done just as she’d told them. The sketch was almost like a photograph, it was so comprehensive and thorough. Just as Agent Profetti had finished, Gemma’s sister and brother-in-law arrived and were with Gemma now.
Ky entered the room and the conversation between the trio stopped.
“Agent Pappandreos?” Kandy Laine came toward him, her hand extended. “I’m Gemma’s sister, Kandy.”
“I recognize you, Miss Laine. The women in my family are huge fans.” He gave her a small smile and took her hand.
“Actually,” Kandy said, turning to her husband, “It’s Keane. This is my husband, Josh.”
The men shook hands, and Ky was quick to note he was being sized up by them both.
“Can I leave now?” Gemma asked from the bed.
He turned his attention to her. She was still clad in the hospital gown she’d been given when her leg had been x-rayed.
“I believe the doctor is signing the discharge papers right now.”
“Hallelujah.” She threw her arms up in the air.
“Have they found the man who did this?” Kandy asked Ky. “Do they know who he is?”
“No, ma’am. But your sister gave a very extensive description of him and my partner is running his likeness through our database. As for why he did it, well, that part’s obvious.”
He turned to Gemma.
“He thought I had the pictures of what happened today,” she said, folding her hands into her lap. “He said he saw me leave your office and followed me home.”
Ky nodded.
“Is my sister in danger because of this?” Kandy moved to Gemma’s side and placed a hand on her shoulder. Gemma snaked her own hand up and covered it.
Ky shot a quick glance at Josh. “I’m afraid so. They know who she is and where she lives. And now she’s seen one of them up close and can identify him. That makes her a liability.”
“Jesus,” Kandy said, tightening her grip. “Josh—,” she looked over at her husband, a plea on her face. He nodded.
“Agent Pappandreos, take a walk with me,” Josh said.
The men left the room together and Ky heard Kandy say something in a soothing voice to her sister.
