I’m Watching You

Chapter Twelve

Saturday, February 21,

7:00 am.

The press was a barely suppressed horde, led by none other than Zoe Richardson who was currently tempting fate by brandishing a microphone way too close to Abe’s face.

„The public has a right to know the identity of this victim,“ Richardson demanded. „You can’t keep this quiet.“

„We will until we’ve notified the victim’s family,“ Abe said in a warning tone, cognizant that his every move was being recorded for the public’s „right to know.“ He motioned to the officer assigned to crowd control at the scene. „Just keep them behind this line.“ He walked back to the scene, sheltered by some trees just off the main road.

Julia stood beside Jack next to the shallow grave that had been topped with a marker that read renee dexter. Mia stood next to Kristen who had quietly told them the details of the case. It was much as she’d described the night before in her kitchen. Dexter was a rape victim who Skinner had verbally eviscerated on the stand.

„I objected and objected,“ she’d murmured, staring at the woman’s name forever inscribed in marble. „But the judge let Skinner tear that woman to shreds.“

Jack’s team was bringing the body up now, under Julia’s watchful eye. Once Skinner was on the ground the five of them gathered close and Mia knelt next to the body.

„He’s got something in his hand,“ she explained. „His fist is wrapped with duct tape.“ Jack carefully slit the tape, opening the hand. With a look of revulsion on her face Mia looked up and met Abe’s eyes. „Looks like the proverbial cat our humble servant let out of the bag got Skinner’s proverbial tongue.“

„‘He died without saying a word in his own defense,’“ Kristen quoted from the letter. „You’ve told his wife?“

Abe nodded. „Spinnelli arrived at the Skinners’ house at the same time we arrived here. We didn’t want the press to tell her first“

Still kneeling next to the body, Mia looked up at Julia. „Can a person die from having their tongue cut out?“

Julia knelt on the other side of Skinner’s body. „No. But look at these depressions on both sides of his skull. Same size, same placement just behind his ears.“

„Vise grip,“ Jack said and Julia looked up at him with approval.

„That would do it.“

„Do what?“ Abe asked.

Julia stood up. „I’ll be able to confirm it after the autopsy, but if your boy is consistent and this bullet hole in Skinner’s forehead is postmortem and not the cause of death, I’m thinking we’ll find blood in his lungs.“

Abe sighed. „Meaning he cut out Skinner’s tongue and immobilized his head with the vise so that he drowned in his own blood.“

Mia rose to her feet, brushing her knees. „I think we need to put a watch on the guy that was acquitted for Renee Dexter’s rape. It’s logical that that’s where he’ll strike next.“

They all stepped back as the ME’s office zipped Skinner into a body bag.

„He’s crossed the line,“ Kristen murmured. „Skinner was a bastard in the courtroom, but he never broke the law.“

„What’s next?“ Jack asked bitterly. „Judges?“

„Or prosecutors who don’t win,“ Abe said and Kristen’s eyes widened, meeting his. „This guy has no boundaries, Kristen. He doesn’t blame you yet, but that could change.“

„We asked Spinnelli to give you twenty-four/seven protection,“ Mia said and Kristen opened her mouth as if to protest, then closed it.

„Thank you,“ she said instead.

„And until then,“ Abe said, „you stay with one of us.“

Mia’s phone beeped and she flipped it open. „Mitchell.“ Her lips curved in a feral smile as she listened. „You don’t say. Ain’t technology grand? Hold on.“ She looked at Abe, blonde brows lifted. „They found Skinner’s car across town. It has one of those global positioning systems.“

Abe’s pulse jumped. Finally a break. „Ask them if they can track the car’s movements Thursday night.“

Mia looked satisfied. „They can and they did. Looks like we have our own little x-marks-the-spot.“

Saturday, February 21,

7:00 A.M.

He staggered back against his basement wall, nauseous. He slid to the floor. Gasping. His heart thundering as if it would claw its way out of his chest. His hands, his arms, his chest, his face… all covered in blood. I did this. Dear God… I did… this. This.

He closed his eyes. Relax. Take a deep breath. Get control of yourself.

He drew in the air with deep gulps, shuddered it out, felt control return in slow spurts. He was finished. Angelo Conti was dead. Very, very dead.

Bracing his feet on the cement floor, he pushed against the wall, forcing himself to his feet. And surveyed the carnage he’d left in the process. He’d lost control. He mustn’t allow that to happen again.

But Conti deserved it, the cocky punk. It had been no great mystery finding him last night. He’d just waited until Angelo came out of his favorite bar just off Northwestern’s campus, weaving drunkenly. He’d headed for his brand-new Corvette, obviously intending to get behind the wheel. Conti hadn’t cared that he was too drunk to walk. One would think the boy would be minding his manners after narrowly avoiding prison for the murder of Paula Garcia and her unborn son, but obviously Angelo thought himself charmed.

Angelo had been wrong…

He never saw me coming. He could have just hit Conti on the head and dragged him into the van, but something about that drunken swagger and the brand-new Corvette made his blood boil. So he’d popped his knees. Both of them.

Then he’d coshed him on the head and dragged him to the van.

He’d savored the anticipation of Conti’s return to consciousness, the fear that would make the boy’s eyes go glassy and his tongue finally stop flapping. But no. Angelo had roused from his stupor surprisingly alert and in seconds had figured out where he was.

And who I was.

He hadn’t stopped talking, and before I knew it, the tire iron was in my hand. The first few blows were to get his attention. But still Conti wouldn’t shut up. Then he started talking about Kristen.

And I lost control.

The things Conti had said… vicious, vile things. „How did she pay you for doin’ her dirty work, huh? How was she? I bet there’s a real tiger under that prissy suit.“ He kept talking, saying perverted, vile things about him, about Kristen. He just wouldn’t stop.

And then neither could I.

He drew a breath. No one would recognize Conti now. Most of his face was gone. There would be no sense in taking any Polaroids. He walked to where he’d left Conti’s things and found the boy’s wallet. His driver’s license had been taken away for too many DUI’s. But Conti did have a university-issued photo ID. That would have to do.

He busied himself, taking care of Conti. The sharp crack of his pistol and the acrid odor of a fired weapon soothed. It was routine by now.

He checked his watch and grimaced at the time. „I’m late,“ he murmured. He had to clean himself up and get back to work. Later, he’d return and make the marker. Paula Garcia and her unborn son deserved that much.

Saturday, February 21,

9:30 A.M.

Trevor Skinner’s wife was a thin, pale woman who looked as if she’d collapse at any moment. She was no help when it came to any questions about her husband’s whereabouts, any strange visitors, nothing that would explain how Skinner was lured to the place where he’d been shot Thursday night.

They’d found the ambush site easily, thanks to modern technology. Skinner subscribed to one of those global on-call services that track motorists by satellite so that they can send help should there be an emergency. The service also provided driving directions. Luck was with them. Skinner called for directions to an abandoned factory site, where the killer shot his kneecaps and moved him elsewhere. Apparently the car was then stolen by passing teens who drove it to where it was found that morning.

Abe was ready to call it quits with the hysterical Mrs.

Skinner when an elderly housekeeper tentatively tugged at his jacket sleeve. „Sir?“ she whispered. „There was a package delivered.“

At instant alert, Abe and Mia escorted the housekeeper to the next room where they could hear her soft voice over Mrs. Skinner’s understandable hysteria.

„When was this package delivered, ma’am?“ Abe asked.

„Thursday.“ She shrugged uncomfortably. „Maybe two o’clock.“

„Did you see anyone deliver it?“

„No, sir. Someone just rang the doorbell and left it there.“

„Can you describe this package, ma’am?“ Mia asked.

„It was wrapped with plain brown paper. There was a label, typed, just with Mr. Skinner’s name. It was very light, like air. About so big.“ She gestured with her hands.

Light like air. A single piece of paper, another letter, most likely and Abe wondered what could have been compelling enough to lure Skinner out. „Did you see a car, ma’am?“

„Yes, yes I did. It was a white van. I remember thinking it was odd because it was a florist van, but there were no flowers.“

„Yes,“ Mia muttered. „A flower by any other name smells just as sweet. Did you open the box?“

The housekeeper’s eyes widened in something akin to horror. „No. Mr. Skinner didn’t like us touching his things. He was very particular.“ The housekeeper looked over her shoulder at the sobbing Mrs. Skinner. „He’s really dead?“

Oh yeah, thought Abe. Mr. Skinner is very dead. „Yes, ma’am. We’re very sorry.“

Saturday, February 21,

4:00 p.m.

„Diana Givens won’t be able to help us.“ Mia’s pronouncement from the backseat of Reagan’s SUV was glum. „Nobody can help us. The bullet’s too damaged.“

CSU had found the bullet in the wood frame of a doorway in the old factory where Skinner had been abducted Thursday night. Analysis of the blood they’d found on the street would provide certainty that that’s where he’d been shot, but they were already pretty sure. The bullet was a huge find, especially since the killer had taken such pains to remove the bullet from King’s body, cutting him open and sewing him back up.

The bullet had some kind of a mark, a maker’s mark, ballistics had called it. But unfortunately the mark was severely marred, to the point of being unrecognizable.

„You don’t know that, Mia.“ Reagan smoothly parked his monster SUV in the lot of an older-looking gun shop and Mia hopped out.

„You coming, Kristen?“ Mia asked.

Kristen sighed. She’d been everywhere else in the city today. This would be their seventh gun shop. „Why not?“

Reagan shot her a sympathetic look. „I can take you home. Spinnelli should have your shadow assigned by now.“

The thought irked as much as it comforted. Her neighbors were already in a tizzy over having CSU’s bright lights illuminating the neighborhood half the evening. Now there would be a black-and-white stationed outside her house until… Well, until something changed, Kristen supposed. Until her humble servant was no longer watching her. Until she was no longer the target of rage-filled gangs or ravenous reporters. Until she was no longer a victim waiting to happen. She eyed the big sign in the gun shop window and made a decision.

„No, I’m coming.“

Reagan helped her down from the high seat and she held her breath until she was solidly on her own two feet. Her knee throbbed like hell, but she’d be damned before she let it show in case any cameras were lurking. „Any cameras?“ she murmured and Reagan looked up and down the street.

„No, I think everybody with a camera is at Spinnelli’s press conference.“ Reagan grimaced. „Better him than us. Especially now that our boy has widened his repertoire.“

„I’ve gotten fifteen calls on my cell from defense attorneys since Richardson broke the story on Skinner.“ Kristen took a test step and winced. „Everybody is scared to leave their houses.“ And if she felt a certain satisfaction in visualizing them all hiding in their homes, quaking in their boots, Kristen thought she was entitled. She’d never been able to understand the mentality of defense attorneys. They knew that most of their clients were guilty as hell, yet defended them as if the scum-suckers had been the victims themselves.

Reagan just grunted. „Serves the bastards right. Maybe it’ll be good for them, being scared for a day or two. We should have taken Mia’s car. Climbing up and down all day can’t be good for your knee.“

She chanced a glance up at him, but couldn’t see his eyes behind his dark sunglasses. It was better that way, she thought, swallowing the pang of regret. She was becoming too accustomed to the caring look in his eyes. „You heard Ruth. I’m not hurt.“

He said nothing, just offered his arm as they followed Mia into the store. „What’s that?“ Kristen asked, eyeing the case Mia carried by its handle. She’d insisted they stop at her apartment before starting their canvass of the gun stores and emerged with the case.

Reagan chuckled. „You’ll see.“

A big man stood behind the glass counter, glaring. „You’re back.“

„So it would seem,“ Mia said dryly. „Is Diana here?“

„No,“ the man snapped.

„Oh, Ernie, for God’s sake.“ An elderly woman appeared from the back, her arm in a sling. „Yes, I’m here, Detectives. What can I do for you today?“ She eyed Mia’s black case cagily, then openly appraised Kristen. „You’ve brought famous company.“

„Yeah, yeah, she’s a regular celebrity.“ Mia leaned on the counter. „It’s like this, Diana. We found a bullet in the course of our investigation.“ She brought out a bag and set it on the glass counter. „It’s not beautiful, but right now it’s all we have. What can you tell us about it?“

The old lady pursed her lips, sending wrinkles from the corners of her mouth like rays of the sun. She fidgeted with the bag holding the bullet. „So what’s in it for me?“

Mia tapped the black case she’d brought. „Be a good girl, and we shall see.“

„What is it?“ Kristen whispered to Reagan, but he shook his head and shushed her.

Diana’s eyes had warmed considerably. „Long time since I’ve been called a girl.“

„Consider it part of the service,“ Mia said. „We think this bullet is hand-cast.“

Diana bent her mouth in a speculative frown. „It is. But it’s too mangled to get any specifics on the mold that made it.“ She picked up the bullet and narrowed her eyes. „It has a maker’s mark.“

„I know. My ballistics guy told me that much. He didn’t recognize it. Do you?“

She brought out a magnifying glass and examined the bullet with precision. „No, it’s too mangled, like I said. Not many people make their own bullets anymore.“

„Any of your customers?“ Mia asked. „Any on the list of marksmen you gave us?“

The old woman thought. „There are a handful, but none have a mark.“ She eyed the black case. „So what’s inside, Detective Mitchell?“

Mia popped the latches. „My dad’s gun.“ And she smiled when Diana’s eyes grew wide and reverent. „It’s a real treasure.“ Then she snapped the case closed when Diana reached out to touch it. „Maybe later.“

Diana lifted a brow. „Quid pro quo, huh?“

„Depends. Me and my partner need information on the mark on this bullet. If I can get a decent sketch, can you post it on your bulletin board?“

Diana conceded with a dignified nod. „I’m the cooperative sort, Detective Mitchell. In fact, I’ll do you one better. I’ll ask all my most enthusiastic sharpshooting friends to come in for a little get-together, and we’ll make you a list of all the marks we recall.“

Kristen heard Reagan’s laugh rumble softly above her ear. „She’s good, isn’t she?“ he asked and Kristen leaned her head back to look up at his profile. His eyes were focused on Mia, his mouth bent in a smile that held pride as well as amusement. He wasn’t a man to be threatened by the skill of another, even when the other was a woman, and that alone set him apart from most of the men she knew.

„Yes. Yes, she is. Where are we going next?“

„Mia and I are going to King High School. We got a picture off the surveillance video of the kid who delivered that box to your house and we want to pass it around. There’ll be kids on the basketball court across from the school all day since it’s Saturday.“

„If you’re thirty minutes late, is that a problem?“

He looked down at her with a puzzled frown. „I guess not. Why?“

Kristen turned to the glass counter. „Because I’m going to buy a gun.“

Saturday, February 21,

5:00 p.m.

„Can I talk to you for a minute, Jacob?“

Jacob Conti looked up to find Elaine standing in the doorway of his office, wringing her hands. „What is it, Elaine?“ But he knew.

She approached in that timid way of hers. She’d made him think of a delicate bird when he’d first met her, twenty-five years ago now. She still did. „I’ve been trying to reach Angelo all day. I’m starting to get very worried. He was supposed to meet his friends at the club for racquetball and he never showed up. Can you send Drake to search for him?“

Conti nodded. „Certainly, dear. Try not to worry.“

She came closer and kissed his cheek. „I’ll try. Thank you, Jacob.“

He let her leave without telling her that he already had Drake Edwards and three others searching for Angelo. So far, they’d turned up nothing.

A sick feeling settled in his stomach. Angelo, you had to go and open your big mouth. As if you weren’t a target in the first place, you had to go on television, for God’s sake.

If anything happened to his son… Someone would pay.

And Jacob Conti was not a man accustomed to making idle threats.

Saturday, February 21,

7:00 p.m.

She’d surprised him once again, Abe thought as he watched Kristen order their meal in Italian, then go on to converse fluently with their waiter. He’d brought her to Rossellini’s, an Italian place his family had loved since he was a boy. There was a cozy warmth here, and tremendous food. And unlike Mia, Kristen seemed to have an open mind for new culinary experiences.

Watching her smile as Italian flowed from her lips, he couldn’t help but wonder if she had an open mind for other experiences as well. All day as she’d sat next to him in the SUV he’d breathed in her fragrance, watched the play of emotions across her face, some subtle and others not so. He’d watched her tense every time her cell phone rang, knowing she endured harassment from the frightened defense attorneys who’d had the misfortune to share her courtroom. He’d watched her look over her shoulder all day, wondering if she was the subject of scrutiny of cameras or gang members or her humble servant.

And all through the day, Abe replayed the events of the night before in his mind. The heated interest in her normally wary green eyes. The simple compassion when she’d urged him to talk about Debra. And he’d wondered what it would be like.

With her.

He wondered what it would be like to see her solemn face smile every day, to hear her laugh, unfettered by worry. Then he wondered if he was being foolish, latching on to the first wholesome woman he’d come across since coming out from undercover. Kristen was a woman of integrity, intelligence. Beauty and grace. He’d met very few women with those qualities in the last five years. They didn’t tend to hang around drug and weapons dealers.

He kept remembering the day he first saw her. He hadn’t lied the night before. He had been stunned. Then captivated. Then aroused. Incredibly, unmistakably aroused. He’d stayed in the character of his cover that day, spouting innuendo and earning a few slaps on the back from his underworld accomplices. But the mental images hadn’t faded, had stayed fixed in his mind as he’d completed the arrest that had been staged to give his cover credibility. He was one of them then, arrested, with a record. He’d been released on bail shortly thereafter and had returned to the dark, dirty part of the city his cover called home.

But as soon as he’d been able, he slipped away to see Debra in the hospice center, sitting by her bed, massaging her hands and feet, quietly speaking her name while mentally tormenting himself with guilty self-recriminations. He’d lusted after another woman while his wife lay in a silent hell.

Now, his wife was at peace, finally. And he still lusted after Kristen Mayhew.

It was with obvious regret that the waiter broke off their conversation to get back to his other customers. Kristen turned to him, then her green eyes widened and he realized what he was thinking must be written all over his face. For a moment he considered casually laughing it off. But her eyes slowly heated and a rosy blush darkened her cheeks. The tip of her tongue appeared, wetting her lips and Abe almost groaned aloud.

„I’m sorry,“ she said. „That was rude of me to ignore you. It’s just been a long time since I’ve had a chance to use my Italian.“

„Don’t apologize. I enjoyed listening to you. I didn’t know you spoke Italian.“

She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. „I spent a year in Italy when I was in college. I picked up a lot of conversational Italian, but I’m sure my grammar is atrocious. I know I’m rusty as hell.“ She picked up her menu, fidgeting with the corner. „You didn’t have to take me to dinner, you know. Spinnelli has a cruiser stationed outside my house. I think I’ll be all right on my own.“

Something inside him stirred, hot and restless. „Did it occur to you that I might want to be with you? That my bringing you here has nothing to do with this case?“

She looked up and met his eyes. „Yes.“ Her voice had dropped, gone husky, sending tingles of sensation racing across his skin. „Yes, it did.“

He swallowed hard. A thousand responses ran through his mind, all of them completely inappropriate and guaranteed to make her pull away.

„Ah, signorina.“

Abe bit back a curse at the interruption as Kristen’s face lifted to a beaming Tony Rossellini, the heart and soul of the restaurant and one of his parents’ oldest friends. He made himself smile. „Tony, it’s so good to see you.“

Tony’s eyes widened in surprise, and with amusement Abe realized the old man hadn’t come by to see him. „Abe. Abe Reagan. My nephew did not tell me it was you with this beautiful signorina tonight. It is good to see you. Your parents were in just last week and never mentioned you were back in town.“

It was the family’s story, one they’d told to all their friends and even their own small children. Abe had moved to Los Angeles and came back only periodically for visits. As far as he knew, even Rachel believed it. It would have been too dangerous for one of the kids to inadvertently mention his true movements. He shot Kristen a look and saw she understood the subterfuge and would not expose it.

„Yes, sir. I’m back now, assigned to the Homicide Division. This is Kristen Mayhew.“

Tony’s wizened old face scrunched in concentration as he struggled to place the name, then his brows shot up his forehead when he did. „Ah. Well, we’ll not speak of such things tonight. Tonight is not for work, but for play.“ He produced a bottle of red wine from behind his back. An excellent label, Abe could see at a glance. „My nephew told me only of a pretty lady who had spent a year in the beautiful city of my father and grandfather.“ With the skill of the well practiced, he whipped the cork from the bottle. „It has been some time since I have been to Firenze, but it is always in my heart.“ He set about filling their glasses with pride, and it was then Abe remembered Kristen didn’t drink.

He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped, his entire body stiffening when he felt her hand slide across his. He looked at her and she shook her head, a minute movement meant only for him. Then her hand was gone and she lifted her glass to Tony in a toast. She spoke in Italian, and whatever she said made Tony beam even brighter. He responded in kind before turning to Abe with a great smile.

„Now that you are home you will come often, yes, Abe? And when you come, you will bring the signorina.“

„I will.“ Whether Abe meant the first or both, he couldn’t say. „Tony, we’ve been followed all day by reporters. If anyone comes in that looks suspicious, could you…?“

Tony frowned. „Say no more, Abe. They will not bother you here.“ He went back to the kitchen, not waiting for a response.

Kristen carefully set the wineglass on the table and looked away. „A nice man.“

„Mmm, yes. Tony is an old friend of my parents.“

He tilted his head, willing her to look at him, but she didn’t. His fingers itched to touch her, to slide across the table and cover her hand as she had his. But he didn’t, instead lifting his own wineglass to his lips. „I thought you said you didn’t drink.“

„I don’t, but I didn’t want to insult him by denying his hospitality. I’ll have a sip or two over the evening, and you’ll be the only one to know.“

And there it was again, her simple regard for the feelings of others. He thought of the look in her eyes the night before as she’d torn the sandpaper in two and handed him half. He’d seen compassion and understanding, but also something more. That something more had kept him awake most of the rest of the night.

„Kristen.“ He waited, but she kept her eyes steadily focused on a point across the restaurant. „You could have gone home at any point after Spinnelli assigned your shadow. Mia offered to drop you off on her way to meet her date. Why are you here with me?“

It was another long moment before she met his eyes, but when she did he saw both interest and a vulnerability that made his heart stutter even as his blood kindled. „Did it ever occur to you that I’m here because I wanted to be with you, too?“ she asked quietly.

„I’d hoped,“ he answered honestly and her lips curved, so slightly he would have missed it had he not been staring. He covered her hand with his, feeling her quick flinch. But she didn’t pull away and he took that as a positive sign. „Why Italy?“

She blinked, clearly not anticipating the question. „Excuse me?“

He slipped his thumb beneath her hand, sweeping back and forth against her palm in a gentle caress. She grew rigid, but still didn’t pull away. „Why a year in Italy?“

Her eyes dropped to their joined hands. „I was studying in Florence.“

„Art?“

She looked up, a little smile on her face, and his heart stuttered again. „Does anyone go to Florence to study anything else?“

„I thought you had an eye for color,“ he said. „So if you studied art in Florence, how did you end up a lawyer? Why aren’t you painting or sculpting or whatever you studied?“

Her smile dimmed. „Life doesn’t always end up the way you plan. But I suppose you know that, too.“

That he did. „Yeah.“

She visibly shook herself. „I’m being selfish here. You invite me to share a nice dinner and I go all maudlin on you. Let’s talk about something else.“

„Okay, something else.“ He tilted his head, scrutinizing her. „You surprised us this afternoon at the target range. You never told us you could shoot.“ But she could. He’d watched her standing in front of Diana Givens’s glass counter methodically choosing her weapon, his mind thinking about how pleasurable it would be to show her the fundamentals of handling a firearm. How it would feel to put his arms around her, to feel her slender body against his. His body had responded instantly to the fantasy, leaving him almost relieved when she’d declined his and Mia’s offers of help. Instead, she’d emptied the magazine into the paper target with speed and accuracy, leaving them all momentarily speechless. „You hit the chest cavity every time.“

„I’m no sharpshooter, but I can hold my own with a tin can on a fence rail.“

„So you lived on a farm in Kansas?“ he asked, pulling together the scant details about her life she’d let drop over the last few days.

She shifted uncomfortably, but nodded. „My father had an old.38 we used to use for target practice.“

She’d effectively sidestepped that question about the old Mayhew family homestead. „So who got your father’s gun when he died?“

Her expression chilled. „My father isn’t dead.“

Abe frowned. „But you said you don’t have any family.“

„Because I don’t.“ Once again she drew a breath and visibly shook herself. „I’m sorry. There I go again. I’m just mad I have to wait three days to get my gun. The reality of gun laws hit me pretty squarely when I was filling out the paperwork.“

„What do you mean?“

She grimaced. „Just that the guys I’m protecting myself against will have purchased theirs from a dealer that doesn’t exactly comply with gun laws. They’re armed while I wait“

„You probably could have the waiting period waived.“

„And wouldn’t that look just peachy in Zoe Richardson’s report?“ She shook her head. „I don’t think so. No, I’ll just keep a tire iron under my pillow until I get my permit.“

He opened his mouth to say more, then closed it on a groan when the restaurant door opened. Kristen instantly sat up and pulled her hand back to her side of the table. „What?“ she asked, twisting to look behind her, alarm on her face. „More reporters?“

„No, worse. My sister.“ It was true. Rachel came in with what appeared to be a busload of teenagers, and the volume in the restaurant became suddenly overwhelming.

That Rachel wouldn’t see him was too much to hope. That she wouldn’t recognize Kristen was just pipe dreaming. From across the restaurant he could see Rachel’s eyes grow wide, and in less than a minute she was standing beside their table.

„Abe!“ She leaned down and pecked his cheek. „I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight. Did you ask her? Did you?“

Abe sighed. Rachel’s request for an interview with Kristen for her school project. In all the activity it had simply slipped his mind. „No, Rach, we’ve been busy.“

Rachel frowned her displeasure. „Then at least introduce me so I can. Please?“

Abe sighed, more heavily this time. „Kristen Mayhew, this is my youngest sister Rachel. Rachel, this is Assistant State’s Attorney Mayhew.“

Saturday, February 21,

7:30 p.m.

„He doesn’t want to be disturbed.“

Jacob Conti could hear the voice of his butler outside the door of his darkened office where a tenor’s voice soared from the speakers to greet the final notes of his favorite aria. Normally he found this the most relaxing way to end the day, but today it was a farce. Angelo was missing, Elaine was in tears and Jacob knew what came next would be bad.

„He’ll want to see me,“ Drake Edwards said.

No, I don’t want to see you, Jacob thought. But he silenced the aria with the remote. „Let him in.“ He rose, furious that his legs trembled. He took one look at Drake’s face and sank back down into his chair. His head of security looked grim.

„I’m sorry, Jacob,“ Drake said quietly. He brought a set of keys from his shirt pocket and Jacob instantly recognized the Northwestern emblem hanging from the chain. „We found the Corvette. Some kids say they found the keys on the front seat and were taking a joy ride.“

„And Angelo?“ Jacob’s voice was hoarse.

Drake shook his head. „He was last seen at a bar off campus. His friends say he’d had a lot to drink, but he wouldn’t let anybody call him a cab.“

Stupid, stupid boy. „No, I guess he wouldn’t. Not Angelo.“

„Jacob, we…“ Drake closed his eyes, his expression pained. „We found blood spattered on the driver’s seat.“

Jacob drew a breath. He’d have to tell Elaine. This would kill her. „I’ll wait to tell Mrs. Conti until we’re certain. Keep looking, Drake. And put men on Mayhew and those two detectives… Mitchell and Reagan. According to Richardson, the killer sends Mayhew letters. If Angelo’s – “ He forced the word from his mouth, „hurt, they’ll know soon enough.“

Drake nodded stiffly. This was hard on him, too, Jacob thought. Drake had been with him for a long time, long before he was Jacob Conti, wealthy Chicago industrialist. Drake had been his right-hand man since he was running two-bit cons on lonely old ladies and doing the dirty work of others on the side. Drake was family. He’d changed Angelo’s diapers, taken him to the circus when he was just a kid. Drake’s heart had to be breaking.

„I already put men on the three of them and their bosses and the Richardson woman,“ Drake said. „Jacob, try to get some rest I won’t stop until we find Angelo.“

No, Drake wouldn’t stop looking. Jacob knew it as well as he knew his own name. But when he does find Angelo, will I still have a son?