“They do,” he agreed.
* * *
Craig tried to concentrate on her words, on the potentially life-threatening situation.
But at this moment, he knew they were safe.
The light from the hallway created a halo of fire around her hair, turned her flesh to porcelain and highlighted her exquisite beauty. And the way she felt against him...
“Trust me, believe in me,” he said, and pulled her closer.
His lips found hers. His hands slid down her porcelain flesh, but it wasn’t really like porcelain at all. It was silk; it was warm and vibrant. She touched him in return, and soon they were making love again. The problems of the world seemed far away. It was as if they had entered a time warp, moved into a different dimension and existed in their own intimately urgent universe.
But, of course, eventually they were forced to come back to earth.
“I just can’t live like...this. I can’t be afraid of every man in a hoodie I see.”
He pulled her close. “Let’s worry about that tomorrow. Right now we need some rest.”
“Did you set an alarm for five again?” she asked him.
“Seven.”
“A little better,” she said, curling close. He held her, staring at the ceiling. He tried to remember the last time he had lain so with a woman and felt this way, but he couldn’t.
“Wrong,” she murmured.
“Very wrong,” he said. “But sometimes it’s good to be wrong.”
He saw the slight curve of her smile as she lay with her head on his chest. He kept an arm around her, feeling every little thing, the way her hair fell across his chest, the pressure of her body, the feel of her long, long legs.
He stared at the ceiling.
Oh, yeah, this was very wrong. And he had every intention of going on being wrong.
He felt her relax as she finally slept.
Eventually he drifted to sleep himself.
* * *
Craig’s alarm never had a chance to go off; his phone rang at 6:37 a.m.
It was Mike.
“They struck again, Craig. In New York this time. Vintage by Victoria, an antique place with a valuable jewelry collection, in the Diamond District. Meet me there.” Mike hesitated just a fraction of a second before speaking again. “They robbed the place, and they killed again. Vic was part of the cleaning crew. Aw, Jesus, Craig, she was just twenty-two, emigrated from Romania six months ago. Welcome to the American dream, right?”
* * *
Kieran finished up her notes on her interview with Tanya Lee Hampton earlier than she’d expected.
She’d been at work since 7:30 a.m., and somehow she’d even managed to concentrate on her job.
At first she’d had a hard time focusing, lost in her natural human sympathy for the woman who had been killed. She didn’t know the woman, of course, but her untimely death still hurt, and without the distraction of work, her thoughts now turned back in that direction.
Any decent person would feel that pain, she thought, then laughed drily as she realized she was practically quoting her suddenly famous phrase.
But someone out there had lost a daughter, a lover, a sister....
She thought the killer deserved the death penalty himself and hoped that he would be tried in a jurisdiction that allowed it, though she wasn’t sure what requirements defined a death-penalty case.
The murder must count as inhumane, right?
Didn’t people give up any claim to humanity when they took a life?
She gave up trying to solve that dilemma on behalf of the world, or even in her own mind, as her thoughts turned to the cataclysmal change in her own life.
Today was Friday. She’d only known Craig Frasier since Monday. She’d slept with him last night.
On the one hand, she’d deserved a night of incredible sensual pleasure. She barely remembered the last time she had even gone on a date. She’d been busy with school and her new job and, over the past three months or so, being a support system for Julie.
She’d been attracted to Craig from the beginning. He was, frankly, an Adonis. She realized that her attraction to him had caused her to react self-defensively and against her own interests, as when she’d told him just how wonderful Julie was.
She smiled to herself. He was the type of man who could have posed for the kind of calendar women hung on their walls—or hid in a drawer.
He was courteous.
And employed. She remembered when her dad had warned her never to date a guy who was unemployed.
He was educated, smart, caring....
And an FBI agent.
One she hadn’t even known for a full week.
What the hell had she been thinking?
Okay, maybe she was taking things a little too seriously. After all, even if Julie spilled the information that Danny had “borrowed” a diamond and Kieran had been there putting it back, what would he do? What could he do?
Arrest Danny?
There was no proof of any crime; the diamond was back where it was supposed to be.
Would he despise her?
Was that her real fear now?
She told herself that it wasn’t, that she was really afraid he would look into Danny’s juvenile records and discover what he—and Kevin, too—had gotten up to in their younger years.
Face it, she was still afraid of what Danny and Kevin might do. After all, Danny hadn’t realized that stealing a diamond made him a felon, even if he had done it for what he saw as the right reason.
She felt a little chill run through her.
She liked Craig, really liked him. And sex with him had been amazing. She tried to convince herself that she could have it all, hot nights with Craig and her brothers’ safety from punishment for the sins of the past.
The click of her office door reminded her that she’d come in so early because another jewelry store had been hit and another person had died.
And that a man in a hoodie might have pushed a girl into the path of an oncoming train—and that perhaps she was the one who’d been meant to meet a grisly end on the tracks.
Dr. Miro entered the office, smiling, and Kieran breathed a sigh of relief.
“Kieran, hard at work as always, I see. Did you know you’re still all over the news? ‘Any decent person would lend a hand.’ Everyone’s saying it now. And of course,” she added wryly, “you really did lend that young woman a hand. The media will get to that eventually, I’m sure. Meanwhile, you’re certainly giving this office a lot of great press.”
“I’m so glad,” Kieran murmured, wishing the media would just stop talking about her. “I’ve finished my notes on Tanya Lee Hampton. She was abused for a long time before she finally turned on her husband. I think we need to help with her defense.”
“Then we will.” Dr. Miro sat in the visitor chair and took the file Kieran handed to her. She skimmed through it, her lips pursing, then looked over at Kieran.
“I agree,” she said. “How is she going to look on the witness stand?”
“Her attorney needs to thoroughly prep her. But I believe that if she lets go and reveals her emotions along with the truth, it will serve her well.”
“Good. I’ll speak with her attorney, but you should be prepared to take the stand yourself.”
“Happy to,” Kieran assured her.
“On another note,” Dr. Miro said, folding her hands on her lap, “we’ve had a call from assistant director Richard Eagan of the FBI.”
“Oh?” Kieran said, suddenly feeling guilty.
He knew! He was calling her to tell her to keep her hands off his agent.
She told herself that was ridiculous.
And, of course, it was.
“You heard about th
is morning?” Dr. Miro said, shaking her head. “There’s been another robbery, and another murder.”
Kieran nodded.
I heard about it before 7:00 a.m.
Dr. Miro went on. “Eagan was very impressed with your work on the robbery you were caught up in, and he’d like your help again as his agents continue interviewing the men from the other night.”
“I’ve interviewed them once already, and I said I didn’t believe that they were the killers, which has now been established,” Kieran said.
“They’re looking for something different now.”
“Where and when one or all of them might have come in contact with the killers,” Kieran said.
“You are intuitive,” Dr. Miro said, sounding impressed.
“Ah, yes, intuitive,” Kieran said, deciding not to explain that she really knew because Craig had told her so.
“Eagan seems to think that you’re the woman for the job of interviewing them again. Apparently they were all more comfortable and talkative with you than with his agents, so he’d like you to talk to them, see if you can find the connection between them and the killers,” Dr. Miro said, patting down her short gray hair as she rose. “I wanted to let you know an agent will be arriving to escort you back to Rikers.”
An agent?
Craig Frasier?
Kieran looked at her cell. He hadn’t called her. He had driven her to the office that morning, and he hadn’t left until she was inside with the door double-locked since it was too early for anyone else to be there.
But he’d been distracted, grim. No surprise. As soon as he left her he was on his way to the scene of a crime.
The murder of a twenty-two-year-old woman.
These people killed without blinking, and she couldn’t help but be afraid that she was on their radar.
After all, she’d been on the news after the robbery, and then she had been the “any decent person” to lend a hand to the girl on the tracks.
The girl who might have been there in her place.
She sat at her desk and began jotting down questions she might ask the thieves that afternoon.
It suddenly seemed more imperative than ever that the killers be caught as swiftly as possible. So many lives might well be at stake.
Including her own.
CHAPTER
NINE
AS LONG AS he had been in the field, Craig still had a tough time when it came to viewing victims of violent crime. It was hardest to bear when it was a child, when the crime had been particularly heinous or when torture had been involved—even when death had been a blessing after torture had been inflicted.
Maria Antonescu lay in the narrow little alley behind a row of jewelry stores, faceup. She’d died with her eyes open; they seemed to mirror shock and confusion.
Why?
She lay on her back, knocked down by the impact of the bullet.
Death had been quick, at least. They’d shot her straight through the heart.
Young, so young. Pretty, a little bit round, and working as a cleaning woman to stay in the United States. They’d checked immediately to discover if any of the other stores that had been held up used the same service, but none did.
Craig felt a momentary rage rip through him; he couldn’t begin to comprehend the callousness that allowed these men to kill people as easily as they swatted flies.
He hunkered down by the body. Despite his feelings, it was necessary. The medical examiner was there; he’d determined time of death to have been between 11:00 p.m. and 1:00 a.m.
“Her equipment was packed, vacuum back in the closet, along with her brooms and mops,” Craig said, looking at Mike, who’d been waiting for him at the scene and had stayed with the ME. “She was almost finished here. If she’d left five minutes earlier, she’d still be alive. The owner’s been using the same cleaning service for over twenty-five years. All diamonds are locked in the vaults at night, and all workers—his own staff and contractors like Miss Antonescu—are bonded. That’s why she was allowed to work through the night with no one else present. They’ve never had an incident before. The alarm never went off, so she must have shut down the system while she was working.”
“Or she turned it off because she was on her way out,” Mike said.
“Either that, or...” Craig murmured.
“Or?”
Craig hesitated. The dead girl was stretched out before him, that look of horror still in her eyes.
“Or she was involved and she let them in.”
“But how the hell did they know the combination to the safe?” Mike demanded. “She wouldn’t have known that, and the cops who were first on the scene said it hadn’t been forced.”
Craig shook his head. “That I don’t know,” he said. “What I do know is that they dragged her out here and...” He rose to demonstrate what he thought had happened. “My guess is someone had her by the arm, forced her out the door and pushed her forward. Then someone else shot her at point-blank range. With something powerful. A .44 Magnum, I suspect.”
“New gun. The others were killed with a .45,” Mike commented.
“Different shooter?” Craig suggested.
“Please tell me you don’t think we have another copycat group.”
Craig shook his head. “No, I don’t think you’d get another group together like this—organized and cold as ice, and all willing to kill hostages who pose no threat. It’s true, I don’t want to admit the possibility. But also, logic backs me up.”
He nodded at the medical examiner, who assured him that Maria Antonescu would be a priority case.
“Anybody find her cell phone?” Craig called.
Someone called out, “No cell.”
“Let’s take a walk through the store again,” Craig said to Mike, and headed to the still-open back door.
The display windows were still blocked by the heavy shutters that were pulled down every night, and the front doors were locked.
The showroom was filled with glass cases. Two rooms stood off to the side, private spaces where special clients could be taken, and past them, a hall with three offices. The safe was set into the wall between two of the offices.
In the back was the diamond cutters studio, behind that a storage area, and a small room with a few chairs, a microwave and a small refrigerator—and the door to the alley.
Like the other stores that had been held up by the copycats, the rear exit led to a small alley that was open at both ends but was too narrow for vehicle traffic. This particular building dated from the end of the nineteenth century, but even then, no carriage would have been able to navigate the alley.
“These thieves definitely know the layouts of the neighborhoods they hit,” Craig said to Mike.
Detective Peter Mayo had overheard their conversation and walked over to join them. “You think?” he asked.
Craig liked Mayo, who was with the major crimes unit. The years he had spent in the unit showed on his deeply creased face. He was nearing sixty, probably nearing retirement. Craig was going to be sad to see the day Mayo left the force.
Mayo was a true old-style detective. He was grateful for any help received from computers and technicians, but he always said that people perpetrated crimes and people had to solve them.
He hadn’t been sarcastic when he spoke, and now he was looking at Craig thoughtfully.
“The original group wasn’t as careful about alleys. There weren’t any at the first two stores they hit. Each time the killers have struck, there’s been an exit onto an alley,” Craig said.
“We’re sure we know who did which stores?” Mayo asked.
Craig nodded. “We can see differences in height and build on the surveillance tapes.”
“Yeah, I read that in the reports,” Mayo said. “Jus
t wanted to make sure you agreed with it. I’ve been assigned lead on this now that the killers have hit the city, along with my new partner, Joey. Not sure you know Joey. I was working with Liz Grable, but she decided to take early retirement and live out her golden years sailing the world with her husband. Can’t blame her. Joey’s a little wet behind the ears, but he’s a good kid. Still, gotta train him before I retire myself.”
Mike laughed. “I know the feeling.”
“You’re just a kid yourself,” Mayo said lightly, though his face was so creased, it was hard to tell a smile from a frown.
“So what are you seeing?” Mayo asked, returning to business.
Craig and Mike went over their earlier conversation. Crime-scene techs were everywhere, looking for prints, for fibers—for anything. The NYPD had cordoned off the street. Neighboring business owners were out on the sidewalk, simultaneously complaining that they were losing business for the day and thanking God that it hadn’t been them.
“This place is owned by a Harry Belvedere,” Craig said. “I’m going to have a conversation with him now.” He hesitated. “My gut says this has to be an inside job.”
Mayo nodded. “Because the safe wasn’t hacked? Yeah, someone knew something. You take Belvedere. I’ll take Joey and start with the employees. Five of them, not counting any other cleaning crew who’ve been here recently. The dead girl...that look in her eyes. Can’t believe she was in on it, but who knows.”
Mayo went off, leaving Mike and Craig to head into Harry Belvedere’s office.
Craig almost wondered if you had to be a distinguished-looking older man to own a diamond store.
Belvedere was wearing a pin-striped suit, pink shirt and gray vest. He had steel-gray hair cut short and combed back.
He was sitting at his desk doing nothing, just staring ahead into space. The uniformed cop who had been watching over him nodded briefly to Mike and Craig, then left them alone with the owner.
“Mr. Belvedere,” Craig said quietly.
The man didn’t respond.
Craig said his name again, louder this time.