by Jenna Ryan
Chapter Nineteen
“Riker’s in the hospital under twenty-four-hour guard.” Dugan slapped his file folder closed. “He won’t be going anywhere for a very long time.” He glanced at Jacob. “I, on the other hand, have a great deal of explaining to do to my captain.”
Devon had been smoldering for hours. Now, as midnight approached at the police station, she slid her first resentful look at Jacob’s unrevealing profile. When his head started to turn, however, she tore her gaze away and asked quietly, “How’s Rudy?”
“The old hard head?” Dugan snorted. “He’ll be singing Weird Al Christmas carols by morning.” He sobered. “I’m sorry I can’t say the same for your friend, Flaherty. Uniforms found his body in a storage locker Riker rented by the river. Corpse was frozen stiff. Not pretty.”
“Death never is,” Jacob muttered.
Devon rubbed her weary temples. “Did the officer assigned to watch the apartment building have a family?”
“Parents. A girlfriend. No kids. He was green but good. Riker just knew the right buttons to push. It isn’t your fault what happened.”
She stared at a distant spot on the floor. “It feels like my fault.”
“It isn’t,” Jacob repeated. He waited until she slid her reluctant gaze to his. “It’s mine and Riker’s.”
Dugan made a cranky sound. “Well, hell, you might as well toss my name into the mix, in that case. And Rudy’s. Brando’s, too, if you want to go broad on this. He ratted to Riker.”
“He was an addict,” Devon defended.
Dugan shrugged. “So was Riker’s mother, but he never touched the stuff. We make our own choices, Ms. Tremayne.”
“You don’t know how her addiction might have affected him in the womb, Detective. His adult brain hardly functioned in a reasonable capacity.”
Another shrug. “He hid his defects well.”
Devon speared Jacob with her eyes. “Lots of people hide lots of things well. I can’t decide if that’s a good or bad quality.”
Jacob stared at her solemnly, and, possibly flogged himself inside.
With a flick of his wrist, Dugan indicated a stack of paper. “Coombes’ll be undergoing a full psychiatric evaluation for his problems—and I’d say he’s got more than a few of those.”
Devon was silent for a moment, then she took a deep breath and finished it off. “Does anyone know how Riker found that Jimmy had his photo?”
Dugan’s lip curled in contempt. “Riker had a line into the whole police system, Devon. My guess is he discovered your friend’s snooping and kept an eye on it. Some things you were allowed to know; some things you weren’t. If Flaherty was a good hacker—”
“He was.”
“Then he must have snagged the photo before Riker could stop him. So he stopped him another way.”
“He might be insane, but he was on top of most things,” Jacob noted sourly.
“He was that.” Dugan glanced at his watch. “12:13 a.m. Christmas Eve. I don’t know about you people, but I’m whacked. What say we—yes, Benson?”
“Sir.” The uniformed woman who stuck her head through the door of the interrogation room moistened her lips, gnawed on the lower one, then straightened as her training kicked in. “Sir, we’ve just received a report from the hospital where Detective Riker was being held.”
Devon caught it. So did Jacob. Dugan stated it, tersely. “Was being held?”
The officer faltered slightly, then continued. “He’s dead, sir. Someone got in—strangled him in his hospital bed.”
“YOU LOVE THE MAN, Devon,” Hannah reminded patiently. “Love and forgiveness go hand in hand.”
“Not for me they don’t. Red dress or green?” Devon held both above her half-packed suitcase.
“Green. And yes they do, even for you. Especially for you. You’re the most forgiving person I know.” Shrewdly, Hannah switched tacks. “He did it for his sister in the beginning. Riker—” she shuddered lightly. “—murdered her. Wouldn’t you use any means at your disposal to catch the person who killed Daria or Sylvie or me?”
Devon threw both dresses on the bed and made an impatient motion. “You know I would. But he could have confided in me, Hannah. Maybe not at first, but later.”
“Later he was in love with you. He was afraid he’d lose you.”
Devon’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Is he upstairs? Did he put you up to this?”
“He’s with Rudy, and, no, I put me up to this.”
“Rudy.” His name rolled out on a vaguely wistful breath. “Now there’s a story. Jacob’s uncle. A real cop, really retired. I wonder who’d have been arrested for Gina Bartholomew’s death if Rudy’s gun, which Jacob was carrying, had surfaced as planned?”
“Does it matter now, Devon?”
“No.” She squared her shoulders in an attempt to shed her mood. “Mandy said that mystery phone call Rudy received probably came from Riker. Rudy thought it was a tipster calling from the billiard hall. Riker must have wanted him out of the way, so he arranged a fake meeting at the hall. Except that Rudy stopped here en route to see if he could find Jacob. He saw the officer dead in his car, and figured the Christmas Murderer was inside. Or so Dugan says.”
“Thank heaven Riker didn’t kill Rudy.” Hannah almost contained a delicate shiver. “I wish I hadn’t missed him with that vase.”
“Strong and bloodthirsty.” Devon’s mood began to lift. “I underestimated you badly, Hannah.” She took her sister’s hands, sat beside her on the bed. “I’m sorry for that. Love is a lot of things, not the least of which is blind. I’m a prime example of the failing.”
“No, you’re a wonderful example. Joel Riker’s prime.”
“Was prime,” Devon reminded. She squeezed her eyes closed. “Strangled by person or persons unknown. God, I can’t believe how muddled I am. I actually feel sorry for him. And I’m mad at Jacob.”
Hannah smiled. “That’s because you love Jacob. Otherwise you’d feel sorry for him, too. Sorrier for him than for Riker.”
Devon slanted her a canny look. “Wisdom, too. You’d better watch it, or you’ll turn into a saint.”
“Just as long as I don’t turn into an angel.”
“Too late for that,” a man’s voice remarked from the doorway. “You already are one.”
Damn the man’s nerve. Devon’s eyes flashed upward. “I should have known you weren’t a cop, Jacob. You’re too good at breaking and entering to be official.”
Hannah smothered a grin. “I’d better go and pack.” Devon heard her cautionary, “Her temper’s still running on high,” as she passed Jacob in the bedroom doorway. Out of spite, Devon launched a slipper at Jacob’s chest.
He caught it neatly. “Lousy shot, Ms. Tremayne.”
“I wasn’t aiming at Hannah.”
He tossed the slipper aside and advanced, an undisputed threat in his black leather and jeans. “In that case, you’re a great shot.”
She stood, holding her ground. “I’m a lousy judge of character.”
“No, you’re not, and neither am I. As a rule.” He paused, let his gaze move away. “I missed Riker,” he said softly. “By a mile.”
Something stirred in Devon’s heart. Her expression melted slightly. “The police missed him, too, Jacob. Rudy, Dugan, everyone. And the ones who knew anything at all paid a high price for their knowledge. Brando, Gina, Jimmy—” she flinched at the last name. “Riker killed all of them. And eight others, including your sister. I don’t know where Casey Coombes fits in.”
Jacob didn’t crack a smile. “No one does yet, but his book deal’s deader than Marley’s ghost.” He started toward her again, stopped less than a foot in front of her but didn’t remove his hands from his jacket pockets. “You have a right to be angry, Devon.”
She refused to stroke his face or to touch the dark hair that tumbled onto his forehead. “I know I do. I am—I think.”
Amusement flitted briefly across his mouth. “You’re not sure? I’m encouraged
.”
She toughened her stance. “Don’t be. I can be a tediously thorough thinker when I choose.” She spun from him, arms folded at her waist. “You lied to me, Jacob. I hate liars.”
“So do I.”
“You have a strange way of showing it.”
She heard the thunder of distant memories in his tone. “My great-aunt was a liar, Devon. And my sister. The truth seldom suited their purpose. I fought with Laura the night she died. I thought our constant fighting somehow made it my fault that she died. I didn’t pay enough attention to her as a child. It was all lies anyway, so why bother? I had my own life to deal with. And she had Ida.”
Devon stole a quick look back. “Your great-aunt.”
“Another liar. She blamed me for Laura’s death. Of all the lies she told, I chose that one to believe. I don’t believe it any more.”
She felt his hand brushing aside the silky layers of her hair and fought a tremor of desire.
“I never meant to hurt you, Devon. I only wanted to absolve my feelings of guilt. I felt I owed Laura something for not caring as much as I should have over the years. I knew a long time ago how strong an influence Ida was on her, and I didn’t do a damned thing to stop it. Self-preservation, I suppose. I escaped the moment I could. For all her flaws, Ida was one hell of a powerful woman. I could have handled the power. It was the manipulation that drove me out of her life.”
“I have trouble picturing you being manipulated.”
His fingers grazed the soft skin of her neck. “Picture an eight-year-old child and a very old, very opinionated, very vocal Russian woman.”
“Really?” She couldn’t resist turning. “I thought you were Irish?”
“I didn’t share blood with Ida.”
But he had with Laura. Meltdown all but complete, Devon reflected with a resigned sigh. How could she stay angry when she knew she would have done exactly the same thing in his position? Still...
She managed one last reproachful stab. “You could have considered trusting me with the truth.”
He rubbed his thumb over her chin. “I did consider it.”
“What stopped you?”
His eyes glinted. “We made love. I fell. Men in love don’t always think with their brains.”
That did it. Laughter climbed into her throat. Her palms pressed lightly against his chest as his arms closed around her. “One thing about you, Jacob. You’re hell and gone removed from Sydney Carton.”
A smile tugged on his lips. “I love you, Devon. Is that a noble enough declaration for you?”
“No.” She brought her mouth up to tempt his. “But it’s close enough for this ex-Christmas Angel.”
Epilogue
“I told Hannah we’d leave for our parents’ place at five,” Devon said to Jacob as they drove toward Tanya’s dingy riverside apartment.
“We’ll make it.” He sent her a wry smile. “If I’m pulled over for speeding, I’ll flash my fake badge.”
Devon, who’d been counting presents—two for Pop, two for Tanya, one for the woman who’d taken Tanya in—flopped back in her seat. “I didn’t hear that.” She cast a look at the seat between them. “Your phone’s ringing.”
“It’s in your purse.”
Devon made a face as she drew it out.
Alma’s voice greeted her. “Devon, my dear, I’ve just received the oddest note. Someone slid it under my front door. I don’t know when. Possibly this morning sometime.”
Devon stopped fiddling with the bows. “A note?”
“Let me read it to you.” Alma cleared her throat. “It says: ‘Angels and others deserve to have their revenge. The thin blue line broke. So did I. I am not an angel.’”
“IT’S A CONFESSION,” Devon maintained ten minutes later as she and Jacob climbed the stairs to Tanya’s apartment. “I don’t know why it was delivered to Alma, but that’s what it is. Whoever killed Riker wants his or her statement aired on the Wave.”
“It’s a reasonable assumption.” Jacob gave Tanya’s door a tap. “What was that about a thin blue line?”
“‘The thin blue line broke.’” Devon’s brow furrowed. “I’ve heard that somewhere before.”
Tanya was tucking her red hair under a dramatic black wig when she answered the door. Her eyes widened when she spied Devon. “You came,” she said simply. “I didn’t think...” A wary veil dropped over her features. “Why are you here?”
“Presents.” Jacob studied her. “You look—different today.”
“I got a job.” She jerked her head. “Over at the Midnight Club. Dancing.” Her eyes glinted. “I got the news about Riker. The real Riker, that is. Bastard cop. Heard all about the capture first-hand.” She cocked a brow. “I was bailing out a friend at the time. They made me wait. Suddenly, all hell broke loose. It was a circus, and I had a front-row seat.”
“You know that Riker killed Brando?” Jacob’s tone was questioning.
Her breath hitched, then settled. “Yeah, I know. About him and you. You had Pop fooled, Mr. Big Shot Magazine owner, and me. But not Brando. Then again, my Brando he’d been around the block. He hated blue liners, really hated them, but he knew that sometimes a person’s gotta take advantage of an opportunity.”
Blue liners... The blue line broke...
Devon handed her the presents with great deliberation, “I imagine security was awfully tight at the hospital where Riker was being held,” she mused out loud. “I wonder how someone managed to sneak past the guards on his room?”
Tanya fingered a shiny red bow. “Diversion maybe. Probably. Wouldn’t be hard to create one in a hospital. Just takes an inventive mind.”
“Anger breeds inventiveness.” Devon flicked a glance at Jacob’s impassive face. “From what I’ve observed.” She regrouped and smiled. “So, the Midnight Club? Sounds interesting.”
“It is, so far. The manager and I get along pretty good. Well,” Tanya moved a shoulder, “except for one thing.”
“He wants you to dye your hair black?” Jacob guessed.
Tanya’s eyes came up, rock steady. A defiant challenge fired their depths. “He wants to bill me as the Midnight Angel. I told him no way. I am not an angel....”
ISBN : 978-1-4592-5151-9
THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT
Copyright © 1999 by Jacqueline Goff
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part In any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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