by Janet Dailey
“Does the ballistic evidence bear that out?”
He glanced up at her. “Rock on, girl reporter. So far, yes. Though that could change. The scene’s been processed, but the analysis just got started.”
A muffled cell-phone chime echoed in the bare room.
“That’s yours,” Kelly said. “Or at least it isn’t mine.”
Deke reached into a pocket for the phone and looked at the small screen. “Hux. About time he checked in. I have to take this.”
“Not a problem.” She set the laptop on the coffee table.
Kelly got up, going back into her bedroom. She stripped the sheets off the bed, going to the closet for fresh linens to have something to do while she listened to Deke’s low voice. The conversation seemed fairly one-sided, with the other man doing most of the talking. Deke did say that he was looking at footage from the scene of the shootings, but he didn’t mention where he was or who he was with.
She had a pillow in her teeth and was yanking a pillowcase over it when Deke came into the room. He leaned one arm high on the door frame and watched her work.
“That was Huxton Smith, my partner on this case. Agency op, the real deal, on staff. Basically, he tells me what to do—or tries to.”
She let the pillow dangle in midair for a moment, holding it with both hands but not looking at him. On the threshold of her bedroom, Deke seemed too big for the space again. And much too hot to be standing within a few feet of a freshly made bed. It was too easy to imagine him in it.
“So what’s up?” she asked him nonchalantly.
“They might get definitive ID on all three guys from Interpol. Hux said he’d call later tonight.”
Kelly gave the pillow a plumping and tossed it toward the head of the bed. “And do I get to be in on this?”
“Let me find out who they are first.”
She picked up the second pillow and crammed it into a pillowcase. A few downy feathers floated free as the pillow heaved out partway. Kelly punched it back into the case and flung it against the headboard. “Why do I get the feeling I’m being handed the easy stuff?”
“I have to keep you safe,” he said bluntly. “You knowing too much or knowing dangerous things isn’t going to help.”
Kelly picked up a folded top sheet and moved away from him. She shook it open and whipped it out in high billows that made him disappear. When it floated down, Deke was on the opposite side of the bed. He grasped the edge of the sheet.
“Ready?” he asked.
They pulled the sheet taut and tucked it in. He straightened first and grinned with satisfaction. But he stayed where he was, as if he was waiting for her to say something.
“Thanks.” Kelly controlled herself and motioned him out. “Now go. Like I said, I have to get to work.”
“Send me that video file first. Got a pen and paper?”
She found both in the nightstand drawer and thrust them toward him. Deke jotted down a couple of lines and handed the pen and paper back.
“That’ll do it. See you around.”
Kelly didn’t walk him out. She waited until she heard him unlock the apartment door, then close it behind him.
She looked down at what he’d written. On the first line was his e-mail address, which didn’t end in .gov. The second line made her smile.
That was fun. You’re beautiful.
CHAPTER 7
The anchor set was empty. Kelly entered it from the side, holding a printout, hoping to retrieve script pages she’d left under the desk yesterday. A celebrity club brawl had sparked thousands of views of exclusive photos posted on the WBRX website. Monroe Capp wanted the six P.M. news to open with a recap and tantalizing new details of the story.
The spectacular fight had closed down the popular club, but Kelly couldn’t remember which celeb had allegedly thrown the first bottle. Vital information that the public had a right to know.
She slid her hands into the hidden space right under the desk, feeling around. Bingo. Kelly came up with several sheets of paper. She found the name she was looking for and added it to her printout of tonight’s script.
She stopped by an editor’s desk and asked him to add the information to the script that would roll on the TelePrompTer in less than an hour. Sometimes anchors had to ad lib, but she didn’t want to do it on purpose. The editor promised to take care of it and Kelly headed back to her office.
Her hair was done and so was her makeup. The facial tissues tucked into the neckband of her blouse to protect the material would be removed just before she stepped on the set with Dave Maples. Kelly pressed the tissues down to keep them from tickling her chin as she sat to read through her script, marking it up.
Kelly shook her head, preoccupied. It wasn’t much of a story, but Monroe Capp had told everyone to play it up big. He wanted to see a ratings boost before Friday and try to pick up extra viewers going into the weekend when people tended not to watch the news much.
Good luck. It had been a slow Thursday, and there was nothing else exciting for her and Dave Maples to talk about. Kelly put down the script and leafed through the folder of circulating memos. The news blackout on the shooting at the abandoned building was still in effect, apparently. Not one mention.
There was a knock on the door. Distracted, Kelly looked up to see her co-anchor grinning at her. Dave Maples’s collar was lined with tissues just like hers, his healthy tan supplied by June with a makeup brush and bronzer.
“What, no smile? Turn on the personality, kiddo. You’re wanted on the set.” His booming voice made the tissues flutter.
“Thanks, Dave. Be right there. You go ahead.”
The older man left, whistling as he walked away. Kelly usually preferred to wait until a production assistant came to get her, but she decided to indulge Dave just this once. She picked up the script and left the other papers on her desk.
June was doing a last-minute touchup on Dave’s face. Done, she whisked away the tissues and turned to Kelly, studying her with a critical eye and finally adding a dab of light powder to her nose.
“There. Now you’re perfect.”
“Thanks to you,” Kelly replied with a smile.
The broadcast went smoothly. No mispronounced words, no gaffes. But then there was no important news. Finishing up with her usual sign-off and listening to Dave do the same, Kelly looked directly into the lens that stayed on her and waited for the signal that they were off the air.
The lights went off and the broadcast director called it a wrap.
“Doing anything special tonight, Kelly?” Dave asked.
After what had happened today, she wasn’t sure how to take the commonplace question. It couldn’t be a come-on. Dave Maples had been married to the same woman forever, as far as she knew. Kelly slid off the anchor chair as she answered. “Just heading home. A friend might come over. That’s about it.”
“Sounds good,” Dave said affably. “Jenny and I plan to watch a movie in the den.” He winked at her. “Getting old. But I like it.”
Kelly relaxed. “Give Jenny my regards.”
“Will do. See you tomorrow.”
Back in her office, she changed the on-air suit for jeans and a casual top. She could have done it in the makeup room, but Kelly preferred her privacy. The wardrobe assistant would stop by to pick up the suit and send it out for cleaning. Magically, another outfit would appear in her closet by tomorrow.
Looking into her mirror, she used a makeup-remover pad to get off most of the matte foundation and contouring. The eyeliner and mascara stayed—June had a knack for creating sultry eyes. If Deke Bannon came over instead of calling, Kelly was ready.
Of course, he might not do either.
She left the station and drove home. Her phone was in the cup holder where she could hear it ring. If he called, she would call him back once she was in the apartment.
The traffic going through Atlanta was relatively heavy. She got off before her exit and took side streets, arriving before ten. The phone had be
en silent. She checked it anyway. No voicemails, no texts.
Kelly slipped it into her handbag and left the car to be valet-parked, going directly up to her apartment but lost in thought, recalling Dave’s plans for a cozy evening. What would it be like to have someone to come home to?
Someone like Deke Bannon.
She reached for her keys as the elevator doors opened onto her floor. Kelly snapped out of it, looking both ways down the empty hall before she walked to her apartment door. When she realized what she was doing, she smiled to herself.
Deke was here even if he wasn’t.
The ringing phone woke her up. Kelly looked at the time on its screen, rubbing her eyes. Her bedroom was bright with morning light. She’d conked out without drawing the curtains and stayed asleep with her back to the sunrise. The phone display read five minutes after nine.
Deke Bannon. The letters of his name glowed above his phone number. Kelly told herself not to be ridiculous. That was what smartphones did. Her accountant’s name and number glowed just as brightly.
But she didn’t get the same thrill. Kelly took a deep breath and answered the call.
“Hello,” she said calmly.
“Guess I’m not that exciting.” The warmth in his voice was better than a blanket. Kelly could use one. She’d slept wrapped in the top sheet and nothing else.
She sidestepped the leading remark. A cute comment scrawled on a notepad didn’t get him past the guards at the gate.
“I’m not completely awake. What’s up?”
“We got the info from Interpol. They ID’d the thugs. Looks like they were guns for hire—”
“Who hired them?”
“Hux and I have a few theories. Can we come over?”
The second we finally got her attention. So she wasn’t going to see Deke alone. Maybe the agent he worked with, Huxton Smith, thought Deke needed babysitting. Or maybe Hux just wanted to meet her and Deke wanted to show off.
“I need coffee,” she said curtly. Last night’s romantic fantasies about Deke were going up in smoke. She had wanted him to call, had looked forward to being with him—but it hadn’t happened. Having a crush on a criminal investigator was just plain stupid. They worked late hours. They were busiest on weekends. They would sell their souls for a juicy case that they could really get their teeth into.
Not too different from investigative reporters. Kelly knew she would have to be on her toes if she wanted to do that again. Becoming an anchor and delivering the news from a chair had knocked her off her game.
“We’ll bring you coffee,” Deke was saying. “How do you like it?”
“Huh? Oh—tall. Dash of cream. No sugar.”
“Anything else?”
“No. But give me time to take a shower.”
“Half an hour?”
“All right,” she said reluctantly. If this was strictly professional, they might as well not dawdle. She was curious about the Interpol report.
Deke hung up and Kelly got out of bed, leaving the top sheet in a hopeless tangle. She went into the bathroom, catching a glimpse of herself in the cabinet mirror.
Kelly flinched. Her hair badly needed brushing. The thick mascara and smoky eyeliner had smeared into dark circles under her eyes. So much for sultry. She looked like a raccoon having a very bad fur day.
The morning light was providing way too much information. She grabbed a hand towel and used it to conceal the mirror while she brushed her teeth. A long, hot shower washed away most of her irritation and a washcloth took care of nearly all the eye makeup. She felt human again when she stepped out, bundling herself up into a robe before she wet-combed her hair.
Blouse and jeans from last night, she decided. Good enough. The doorman buzzed the intercom and she told him to let Deke and Hux come up. Kelly wasn’t going to get a chance to dry her hair, but she didn’t really care. She took the towel off the mirror. There was still just a trace of the eye makeup left and her wet, dark lashes looked better than mascara.
The knock on the door came sooner than she’d expected. Kelly padded barefoot over the carpet to open it. Deke stood there with a capped takeout cup, a thickset, middle-aged man at his side.
He was wearing that battered leather jacket today, over clean jeans and a dark T-shirt that nonetheless revealed a fair amount of muscle. Easy on the eyes. Even with that annoying grin on his face.
“Here you go.” Deke held out the cup. “Cream, no sugar?”
Kelly gave him a semi-smile. “Whatever’s in there, I’ll drink it. I don’t even have instant.”
She took the cup from him and stepped to one side to let them in.
“You must be Huxton Smith,” she said to the other man. “I’m Kelly Johns. Come on in.”
“Thanks. Very pleased to meet you. Sorry to wake you up. He said you wouldn’t mind.”
Kelly waved both men toward the white table in the kitchen. “He doesn’t know me that well.”
She brushed past Deke as she went to the sink, setting the takeout cup down in it and carefully removing the lid.
“Did I get it right?” he asked.
She took a taste. “Yes. Thanks.”
He exchanged a look with Hux, who moved to the table, putting a laptop onto it and quickly booting it up.
Kelly raised a questioning eyebrow as she turned to them, sipping the coffee. “Is that your laptop or his?”
“Neither. Government machine,” Deke told her absently. He looked back at the screen. “It seemed simpler to bring it along since I can’t e-mail you classified documents. The Interpol report is on it.”
“Gee whiz. My first peek at something classified.” Kelly took a middle chair, leaving the opposite ends of the table to Deke and Hux.
“We owe you,” Hux told her. “I wanted to thank you personally for the tape from the scene. The digital forensics team is on it. We got some twists and turns to figure out. Dead perps, missing lady.”
Deke settled himself into a chair and slid the laptop in front of her. “Read the profiles. Let me know if anything rings a bell.”
“I barely saw those guys,” Kelly protested. She skimmed, more interested in the photos than the detailed profiles. Aliases, underworld connections, crimes—there were too many of those to count.
She never would have connected the well-dressed men in the luxury cars to these mug shots. All were different nationalities. Pyotr Zaminsky. Russian. Age 31. Avery Twiller. American. Age 27. Estaban Lopez. Mexican. Age 23. The word DECEASED was stamped in red across each face.
“We know who they are, for what that’s worth,” Deke said. “But not why they were meeting at that building or what went wrong.”
Kelly studied the photos. “Just going by their names, I would say you’re dealing with a global enterprise.”
Huxton Smith nodded. “The government task force on this is huge. Exactly where to begin is the big question.”
“Simple.” Kelly pushed the laptop back toward Deke, who shut it down. “Go after the biggest guy.”
Deke grinned. “I like the way she thinks, don’t you, Hux?”
She finished her coffee and stood up, putting the empty cup on the counter. “I don’t actually know if that’s the right thing to do. But that would be the best story.”
Hux raised a hand. “Whoa. Much as we appreciate the cooperation of the media, we’re not ready to go public yet.”
“You have nothing to worry about. The official news blackout is still in place, at least where I work.”
“Good to know.” Hux seemed satisfied with that.
“Deke, I wanted to ask you—” Kelly turned toward him. “What happened with that voiceprint?”
“Nothing yet,” Deke said a little too quickly. “We’re waiting for an in-depth analysis.”
“We are? What are you talking about?” Hux looked from Kelly to Deke.
A little too late, Kelly realized she’d crossed an invisible line. But why wouldn’t Huxton Smith know about her lunch with Bach? It had been Deke’s id
ea. and he’d said it was part of the case that the two men were working together.
“I’ll let Deke explain,” she told Hux.
Hux jabbed at the button panel in the elevator. “I know you had to get her to give up that footage, but why didn’t you leave it at that? Now she’s a partner in the whole investigation?”
“Not quite.”
“I can’t believe you asked her to sweet-talk that Bach guy. That’s not what I meant by keeping her busy.”
“I had to come up with something that involved an aspect of the case so I could stay with it. The contract you heard about is still on offer, right?” Deke watched the doors slowly close as Hux nodded. “You’re the one who told me to keep her close.”
“I wish I hadn’t.” Hux kept his gaze on the decreasing floor numbers. “Down we go. I hate high buildings.”
“She practically volunteered, Hux. Kelly was an investigative reporter before she became an anchor. This case is heating up fast. I need someone like her.”
“Reporter, anchor—you don’t want her to know too much. Can you trust her to keep her mouth shut?”
Deke waved away the question. “The tape she got was excellent. I needed Gunther Bach’s voice for comparison to the one we didn’t know. Job done.”
Hux sighed. “I bet Bach got dizzy just looking at her. She’s much too beautiful to work undercover. And too well-known.”
“That right there is an advantage,” Deke said. “And she’s a natural, particularly with men. She keeps them from thinking.”
Hux rocked back and forth on his feet. “What does that say about you?”
Deke smiled a little sheepishly. “I can handle her. But thanks for your concern.”
“You’re welcome. There’s another problem. A big one. Kelly’s a civilian.”
“Technically, so am I,” Deke retorted. “Different rulebook. Not yours.”
“What does that mean?” Hux glared at him. “That you get to make up your own rules as you go along?”
A soft stop made Huxton lurch. He righted himself. The elevator doors opened into the lobby. Deke and Hux walked past the doorman, putting their argument on hold.
