The Woman Who Wasn't There

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she bit off.

  Troy paused to look back at her a second before going on to the second flight of stairs. “That wasn’t meant as a compliment.”

  It was to her. Stubbornness had been the key component to her survival. If she hadn’t been stubborn, she wouldn’t have been able to cling to life in that hospital bed. There was no doubt in her mind that she would have died there, on the fifth floor of Mercy General. It was stubbornness that had given her the will to live when another woman in her place would have felt she had nothing to live for. And it was stubbornness that had her utilizing the opportunity she’d inadvertently been given to make good her escape from a life that had promised her demise.

  Coming to the third-floor landing, several steps before her door, Troy took out his gun before inserting Delene’s key into the lock. He turned it very slowly, then pushed open the door.

  Nothing happened. The interior was pitch black.

  From behind him, a small, high-powered beam of light cut into the darkness. When he looked, he saw that Delene was shining a flashlight into her apartment.

  The woman was nothing if not prepared, he thought. He hadn’t even seen it in her possession. Silently he extended his hand. She placed the flashlight into it.

  Troy crossed the threshold and swept over the entrance with the flashlight. Very carefully he extended the arc he created until every shadow had danced with the light beam, leaving no corner untouched.

  There was no one in the loft.

  The next moment, the apartment was bathed in artificial light. Delene had turned on the main switch located just beside the doorjamb. No longer standing behind him but beside him, Delene quickly looked around.

  Nothing appeared to have been disturbed. And yet, she didn’t relax.

  Had whoever had come in just taken in the lay of the land and then left? Or was he hiding in the walk-in closet? she thought suddenly.

  As if reading her mind, Troy crossed to the loft’s single closet. Pausing for the count of two, he then jerked open the door. The closet wasn’t overly large but seemed that much bigger because there was so little in it.

  His sister with her high-powered suits could take a lesson from this woman, Troy thought. He wondered if Delene subscribed to the “less is more” theory. Her paychecks certainly weren’t finding their way to the local department stores. But he had a feeling she would have looked good even dressed in colored construction paper.

  He turned away from the closet and followed the same procedure with the bathroom. With the same results.

  “Nothing.” A look tinged in skepticism came into his eyes. She was human and humans were sometimes forgetful. “Are you sure you turned on the light before you left?”

  “I’m sure,” she snapped, then regretted being so short-tempered. After all, he didn’t have to go out of his way like this. But then, she hadn’t asked him to in the first place. She owed the man nothing, not even polite answers. “I always turn it on.”

  “Seems like a waste of electricity to me.”

  “Peace of mind, priceless,” Delene countered, paraphrasing a famous credit card commercial.

  Because being so close to him made her feel antsy, she walked over to the floor lamp and reached beneath the pleated shade to switch it on. Nothing happened. She tried twice more with the same results.

  “Looks like it blew out,” Troy observed, coming over to the lamp.

  When he tilted it so that he could look down at the top, he saw a deep black spot in the center of the bulb. At the same time, he glanced at the digital clock radio on the kitchen counter. The bright blue numbers that recorded the time were flashing, the way they would have had the unit just been plugged in and not set. The clock was flashing 4:20.

  He came to the obvious conclusion. “I think there was a power outage around here,” he guessed. “Approximately four hours ago.” Though she tried to mask it, he heard the sigh of relief as it escaped her lips. “Why do you leave your light on when you go out?”

  Her excuse was automatic. “I don’t like coming home to a dark apartment.”

  “That the only reason?”

  She lifted her chin. Definitely reminded him of his girl cousins, he thought. Both Teri and Rayne had the same habit. It was as if they were daring him to take a swing, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t.

  “I could make something up for you if you’d like,” she retorted.

  He had a feeling that she already had. “Want me to stick around for a few minutes while you look under the bed and get your bearings?”

  He was mocking her. She hated being the butt of a joke. Hated it with a passion. Because she had been. She’d been the butt of Russell’s vicious jokes.

  “No.” Her tone was dismissive. “All I want right now is to take a hot bath and relax.”

  It was easier than he thought possible for him to envision that. To see her shedding her unflattering uniform and slipping into filmy suds. The excellent figure D’Angelo possessed was not completely hidden by her uniform. There was enough of a hint for his healthy imagination to be off and running.

  “Maybe I want to stick around,” he told her.

  He thought he saw the faintest glimmer of a smile cross her lips. “Sorry. The house makes the rules and this is my house. You leave.” She nodded toward the door. And then she dropped her flippant tone for a moment. “And thanks.”

  Troy hadn’t expected her to say that. The woman had just spent the past ten minutes fighting his presence, tooth and nail.

  “No need to thank me, D’Angelo.” His smile was warm, easy and slipped over her like a soft evening wrap. “It’s my job. Serve and protect, right?”

  Delene realized that she hadn’t drawn a breath. She took one before answering. A long one. “Right.”

  At the door, he turned around to look at her again. She’d followed him and had to step back to avoid a collision. As it was, he brushed against her. And felt some kind of static-laced response. But the air was moist, not dry. Static electricity only made an appearance when it was dry, he thought.

  So why…?

  She’d felt it, too, he realized, looking into her face. He stopped questioning the phenomenon and just enjoyed it. Troy nodded toward her breast pocket, where she’d placed the card he’d given her.

  “Keep that card handy.”

  She had to stop herself from touching it. She told herself it made no difference to her if the card was still in her pocket or not. There was no reason to see if it was. “I won’t be needing to call you.”

  He merely grinned. “You never know when another bulb might blow out.”

  The second Troy stepped over her threshold, she closed the door behind him. He heard her throw the lock, then slip a chain into place, barring any access—at least to weaklings. A burly man could probably put his shoulder into it and rip that sucker out.

  A man like that Jorge character who’d been with her this morning, he recalled. Not a bad man to use as a bodyguard, either. He wondered why she hadn’t sought his help with this “thing,” whatever it was.

  The woman was definitely afraid of something. Troy was thoughtful as he went back to his vehicle. Anyone with eyes could see her fear, despite how hard she attempted to cover it.

  He wondered where this need to be superhuman had come from.

  Had someone threatened her? It took no stretch of the imagination to believe that. Delene undoubtedly dealt with unsavory types all the time. You didn’t exactly meet the best class of people as a probation officer.

  Had she stepped on someone’s toes? Rated someone’s displeasure? Incurred someone’s anger? Miguel Mendoza and his little so-called cartel wasn’t exactly small potatoes. Was he the one after her for some reason?

  Or was something else going on? He recalled the look on her face when she stared up at her apartment window. There’d been vulnerability there, just for a split second.

  He wanted to find out why.

  After being with the pol
ice department for several years, he’d built up more than a few sources. Not to mention that he could fall back on the combined resources of his law-enforcement family.

  He got into his roomy vehicle and turned the engine and headlights back on. When he’d fired up his ignition, the oldies station came on the radio. The interior of the vehicle was the site of another British invasion as the musical group The Animals lamented the possibility of being misunderstood.

  He figured it should be an easy enough matter to find out if there was some kind of contract out on the street with Delene D’Angelo’s name on it.

  He couldn’t see her being afraid of anything else. She wasn’t the type.

  But in the meantime, he reminded himself as he shifted into reverse and crept out of the spot, he had a case to solve.

  ***

  Standing at her window, Delene watched as Troy pulled the oversize boat of a car out of its spot and onto the street. She stood there a long moment, her gaze sweeping over the parking lot—just in case—before letting the curtain fall back into place.

  She had to get a grip on herself. If she didn’t, then her escape would have been for nothing. And if she didn’t, it was only a matter of time before her boss would notice and make a recommendation that she visit the department shrink. That was the last thing she wanted to do. Talking to someone about her fears wasn’t going to help, wasn’t going to make them go away. Or make them any less real to her.

  This was something she had to tackle on her own. And she would. Just like she’d conquered everything else herself. She knew that while she worked with people who were friendly enough, whom she even liked, there was really no one in her corner but her. It was one of life’s harsh realities that she’d learned before she’d ever become Delene D’Angelo.

  You couldn’t rely on anyone but yourself.

  You couldn’t even rely on your own mother. That, too, she’d learned before she’d ever stepped foot in Aurora. She’d made one attempt at escape before she’d succeeded. She’d gone back home, to her mother, begging the woman to hide her for a little while. Her mother had recently moved to another city and Delene was certain that Russell didn’t know the new address.

  He didn’t have to. Her mother had called him shortly after she’d made her appearance. Called him and told him that she was hiding there. Russell came to get her in the middle of the night. He’d been all charm and smiles for her mother’s benefit, slipping her several folded hundred-dollar bills just before he’d taken her daughter’s arm and led her out the door to his waiting limousine.

  It wasn’t until they were inside the sleek black vehicle, with its soundproof glass separating them from the stone-faced driver, that Russell had taken out his rage on her. Beating her with his fists. Careful to leave bruises only where no one else could ever see them.

  She supposed she’d been lucky that he had completely lost his temper that last time. If he hadn’t, if he hadn’t gone berserk and beaten her within an inch of her life, she never would have been taken to the hospital.

  Never escaped.

  She hoped that Russell never found out about the orderly who’d helped her. When she could bring herself to pray, she prayed for the young man’s safety.

  She walked over to her computer and switched it on. A soft hum filled the silence as it went through its paces. She’d lied to Cavanaugh. She had no intentions of taking a bubble bath. Luxuries like that were beyond her ability to enjoy. She couldn’t relax in a tub. Stripped naked and reposing in sudsy water just made her feel vulnerable. It was hard enough shutting her eyes each night and trying to sleep.

  What she had planned for tonight was doing what she could to try to track down Clyde’s daughter. The girl deserved closure. It was the least she could do for Clyde, Delene thought. Seeing as how she was the one who had talked the man into giving evidence against Mendoza in the first place.

  After taking a can of diet soda from the refrigerator, Delene sat down at the table. Her fingers flew over several keys, as she connected to the Internet. A thought that had been nagging at her since she’d returned to the motel room moved forward in her brain.

  What if it wasn’t Mendoza, or more accurately, one of his men, who had killed Clyde? But if not Mendoza, then who? A disgruntled junkie? Someone wanting Clyde’s stash? They hadn’t found any drugs or money in the room, so it could have been something as simple as a robbery gone wrong.

  Except that they didn’t know if there were any drugs or money to be gotten. Most of the time, Clyde was completely tapped out.

  Delene sighed. She had an entire boatload of cases on her desk back at the probation office, demanding her attention. Just like everyone else. They were all overloaded at the department. She had no excuse for devoting any more time to a case where the man whose name was on the top of the file was dead.

  No excuse but her own conscience.

  It was enough.

  As the musical tones of her service provider came on, cheerfully welcoming her back, Delene began to type.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news,” Eric Blalock, the crime scene investigation’s technician from Ballistics, said to Troy as he approached his desk. The gangly blonde’s lopsided grin dared him to go for the bad first. “What order do you want to hear it in?”

  Troy looked up from the latest notes he’d just been handed. It had been three days since Delene and company had discovered Petrie’s body and called in the homicide. All three of their statements had already been taken and processed. So far, they were going nowhere in the investigation, despite the man hours he and Kara had put in.

  He pushed back from his desk. “I could use a little good news, Eric. Hit me with that first.”

  Eric took a deep breath and launched into his presentation. “As you know, the bullet responsible for taking Clyde Petrie’s life was in almost perfect condition.”

  Troy spun his hand around rapidly, signaling that the technician should speed it up. Eric had a tendency to be long-winded once he got going. “Give me the short version, Eric.”

  Looking somewhat petulant at having to abbreviate his moment of glory, Eric nevertheless did as he was asked. “The gun’s been used before. Specifically in the commission of a bank robbery. One of the bullets found its way into the leg of a sixty-seven-year-old security guard.”

  This gave them someone to look at, Troy thought, heartened. “And the bad news?”

  Eric placed his report on Troy’s desk. “Joe Sheffield, the guy whose gun it was, is still in prison, so he can’t be your guy.”

  “Wait a minute.” Drawn by the technician’s voice, Kara came around the side of the cubicle to join the two men. “If they got the bank robber, shouldn’t his weapon be in the property room?”

  Eric looked a tad sheepish. “That’s actually worse news.”

  “You didn’t say there was ‘worse news,’” Troy pointed out as he leaned forward in his chair.

  “I didn’t want to bum you out right away,” Eric confessed. “The gun was never found. They convicted him anyway because his mask slipped as he was running off with the money and they got it on the surveillance tape.”

  “Best-laid plans of mice and men,” Troy murmured under his breath. He wished all the criminals they came across were as inept as the former owner of the gun.

  Kara looked at Troy. “Maybe Sheffield gave someone the gun for ‘safekeeping.’”

  “If he had any brains, he would have thrown the gun away.” Troy got to his feet. A long shot was better than no shot at all. “C’mon, Kara. Let’s go pay the man a visit anyway.”

  ***

  Wearing the baggy orange jumpsuit that served as the county’s prison garb, Joe Sheffield sat with his feet sprawled out before him as he indolently eyed his two unexpected visitors. His contempt for the duo and law enforcement agents in general fairly reeked from every pore of his wide body.

  “Dunno what gun you’re talking about. I never robbed no ban
k. I’m a victim of mistaken identity,” he maintained when Troy asked him for the second time what had happened to the gun he’d used when he’d tried to rob the bank.

  “We’re not here to debate your innocence or guilt, Sheffield,” Troy said evenly.

  “Then you’re wasting my time,” Sheffield informed them.

  “Your gun was used in a homicide,” Kara said.

  Sheffield’s expression never changed. He crossed his arms defiantly before him, staring straight at the female member of the duo in the room. “Couldn’t have been. I don’t own a gun. Never did.”

  “C’mon, Kara, we’re wasting our time with Johnny One-Note here.” Troy rose from the table, his eyes steely as he eyed the prisoner. “I don’t know what you’re looking to gain by this.”

  A bloodless smile curved the full lips. “Nothin’. I just like watching you people squirm.”

  Troy paused at the doorway, allowing Kara to cross the threshold first. A guard was already rousting the manacled Sheffield to his feet. “From where I stand, you’re the one squirming, Sheffield. And it’s going to be for a really long time.”

  Sheffield’s smile vanished and he shouted an obscenity after Troy.

  “Well, that went real well,” Kara commented as they walked out.

  “Wait,” Troy cautioned, an optimistic note in his voice. “It’s not over yet.” He had a feeling that Sheffield would change his mind about talking once he had an opportunity to mull the situation over. The man didn’t strike him as the sharpest knife in the drawer, but neither was he the dullest.

  ***

  Troy and Kara had just enough time to return to the station and reach their respective desks before the phone call came in.

  It was Sheffield’s lawyer. The man went straight to the point. “My client says he might have something to tell you if you can offer him something.”