No One Left to Tell

“You want me to come with you?”

  “It would be better if you went to check on Maria. I’m worried about her. If anyone thinks she knows what Elena was carrying, her life could be in danger.”

  “If they find out you’ve got what she was carrying, your life could be in danger, too.”

  An icy finger ran down her spine. “Yeah. I know.”

  Tuesday, April 5, 8:55 a.m.

  Silas swallowed hard when he saw the caller ID on his cell phone. “Yeah?” he answered before the last ring, his voice flat. He’d learned to be a hell of an actor.

  “You lied to me.”

  Silas’s jaw tightened. “No, I did not.”

  “You never said that Elena spoke to anyone. But there’s video all over the Internet that shows that she did.”

  His blood went cold. Video? “From my vantage point I saw no words exchanged.”

  “You also didn’t mention the Good Samaritan who stopped to help her.”

  “Had I known they exchanged words, I would have killed her, too.”

  “I need to know what they said. I need to know what Elena knew.”

  “Did you speak with Denny? Ask what the woman had seen?”

  “Of course, but I haven’t gotten a straight answer yet.” There was a touch of amusement in his tone, punctuated by a guttural moan in the background. “But Mr. Sandoval did, after a little convincing, tell me that Elena saw you. That you arrived at the bar as she was escaping. That’s not what you told me, either. So you did lie to me.”

  “I didn’t tell you she didn’t see me. By the time I got there, she was already driving away. I had her in a place where I could run her off the road when Denny started shooting. I saw her heading into the apartment complex and I chose the building at the next driveway. That’s the truth. I got to the roof seconds before she crashed.”

  Just as the woman leaped out of the way.

  There was no answer, only heavy, angry silence. Silas closed his eyes. He couldn’t win this. He just had to survive. “What do you want me to do?”

  “That’s much better. Listen and obey, or you will not be a happy man.”

  He listened, his palms clammy. He’d do as he was told. The risk of disobedience was too high. When the instructions were complete, he disconnected. Just in time.

  He made his lips smile as he opened his arms to the little whirlwind who’d brought him back to life from the ashes. “Hey, baby.”

  “Papa.” She hugged him hard, then flattened her little seven-year-old hands on either side of his face, her eyes very serious. “You looked sad on the phone. Why?”

  He kissed her forehead. “Because your Fluffy ate the pie that Mama made me for dessert tonight.” He didn’t lie unless he absolutely had to, but he’d say anything, do anything, to keep her from knowing the real world. From knowing the truth about me.

  She laughed, a twinkling sound that soothed him. “Mama will make you more.”

  He brought her close, wished he could hug her with all the emotion in his heart. But he could break her if he wasn’t careful. He was always careful. “You be good today.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “There is no try,” he said with mock severity.

  “There is only do,” she responded, as she always did.

  “I love you, baby.”

  She burrowed into his neck. “I love you, too. I hafta go. The bell’s gonna ring.”

  He put her down, the smile still on his face as she darted away, waving over her shoulder. He turned for his van, waiting until he was inside before letting out the breath he’d held. But there was no relief. He’d been holding his breath for seven and a half years.

  Seven and a half years since he’d made a horrible choice. He watched her rejoin the other children, happy, safe. Loved. And he knew if he had it to do all over, he’d make the same horrible choice again.

  Tuesday, April 5, 11:15 a.m.

  “Did you call Anderson?” Daphne whispered as they sat at the prosecution table waiting for the Samson jury to come in. “Please say you did.”

  “Yeah, I did,” Grayson whispered back. “I had to deal that bastard Willis down.” And he was very unhappy about it. With good behavior, a man who’d murdered two convenience-store workers in cold blood would be out in three years. It sucked. He glanced up at the jury door as it opened and the first juror entered the courtroom.

  Anderson had wanted him to deal this case down, too. The Samson jury had been out too long and the boss didn’t believe they’d be delivering a guilty verdict.

  Grayson was betting on the jury. I guess in a few minutes we’ll know who was right.

  “Dammit. I’m sorry.” Daphne pursed her lips. “Did you tell Bashears about Elena?”

  He nodded. “They’re trying to find out who else she talked to about her husband.”

  “Did you call your mother?”

  He grimaced. “Crap.”

  “Grayson,” she scolded.

  “I’ve been busy.” He’d been going over his files on the Muñoz case, when he really should have been doing other things. Like calling his mother. “I’ll call her when we’re done. Ah, finally,” he added as the last of the jurors filed in. “Cross your fingers.”

  “And toes,” Daphne muttered. “Defense is looking damn smug.”

  The judge entered, the tension in the courtroom palpable. “Does the jury have a verdict?” the judge asked.

  Grayson held his breath. Having to deal a murderer down still stung. Grayson didn’t want another loss on his conscience. Elena’s murder is a tragedy, but not your fault.

  Except he’d been telling himself that all morning and it wasn’t helping. Rereading the file had left him with the uncomfortable feeling that he’d missed something.

  “On the charge of murder in the first degree, we the jury find the defendant guilty.”

  “Yes,” Grayson breathed, indulging in a single hammer of his fist against the table.

  Chatter broke out through the courtroom, celebration from the victim’s family and devastation from the defendant’s. An anguished scream had Grayson twisting left to where Donald Samson’s mother had thrown her arms around her son.

  Ramon Muñoz’s mother had done the same. As had his wife.

  But of course, every con in the joint had a mother or wife who swore six ways to Tuesday that he was innocent. Muñoz had been guilty. There was DNA on the weapon found in his closet. And there was no alibi. So put it out of your head.

  Grayson gave a nod to Daphne. She’d worked hard on this case. They both had. He turned to shake the hands of the victim’s family seated behind him.

  Then froze. It was her. Her. The woman from the video. She stood in the back row, watching. Me. She’s watching me. Why? What’s she doing here?

  His heart began to race as he stared back. She was even more stunning in person than she’d been on the television screen, taller than he’d expected, her black hair longer. Her face was no longer stark white with shock, but a beautiful bronze, whether left over from a summer tan or a result of her parents’ genetics he couldn’t tell.

  She was dressed in a way that was both professional and sensual all at once. The tailored black trousers couldn’t hide the fact that her legs were long, her hips curvy. The black sweater was one of those that draped at the neck, clinging to well-endowed breasts without actually showing a damn thing.

  Her eyes were just as black as he’d remembered. And piercing in their careful scrutiny. She was watching him, all right. Why, he had no clue.

  “Thank you, Mr. Smith.” The quavering voice jerked Grayson’s focus away from the woman and into the face of the elderly woman who’d taken his hand. She was the grandmother of the newly convicted murderer’s victim. Tears shimmered in her eyes as she shook his hand. “Thank you,” she said again.

  “You’re welcome,” he said quietly. He covered her hand with his. “Are you all right?”

  Her chin lifted. “Yes. My granddaughter can rest now. So can I.”

  The other
family members gathered. This was closure. While he could never bring their lost one back, he could give them this. When the last hand was shaken, he looked up. The woman was still there, still watching him, a red coat neatly draped over her arm.

  He didn’t need a law degree to know this was all about Elena Muñoz. When he started toward her, she slipped out the doors at the back of the courtroom. By the time he made it into the hall, she was nowhere to be seen.

  “That woman from the video,” Daphne said. “Do you know her?”

  “No,” Grayson answered, troubled. “Do you?”

  “Nope. But I’d lay you dollars to doughnuts that you will. Are you gonna tell Bashears and Morton that she was here?”

  “No,” he murmured and was happy she didn’t ask why not, because he didn’t know himself. “It’s showtime.” Together they headed out to the sea of reporters.

  “Mr. Smith! Mr. Smith!”

  Pushing the woman to the edge of his mind, Grayson gave his attention to the reporters. “This was a victory for the victims,” he said. “And closure for their families. We’re satisfied with the jury’s decision. Justice was done here today.”

  A flash of red caught his eye and he glanced left. She was standing alone, despite the people milling around her. She gave him the briefest of nods before she lifted the bloodred hood of her coat, hiding her face as she walked away.

  He stepped around the cameras. “Any more has to come from the Public Affairs Office.” He took the courthouse stairs two at time, heading in the direction she’d gone.

  “You’re going to talk to her?” Daphne asked, her heels clicking on the pavement as she barely kept up with him.

  “If I can catch her,” Grayson said grimly. She must have already turned a corner.

  “And if you can’t?”

  Grayson thought of the sign behind Phin Radcliffe when he’d reported the story that morning. Brae Brooke Village Apartments. “Then I know where she lives.”

  “As does everyone in the free world with an Internet connection.”

  He thought of Elena, of the bullet hole in her head. “I know. Do me a favor. Go back to the office and find out everything you can about her.”

  “Starting with her name?” Daphne asked.

  “Yeah. Start with that. Thanks, Daphne.”

  The woman lived on the outskirts of the city. If she’d driven in, she had to park somewhere. There was a parking garage a block ahead. Be there. Let me catch you.

  Tuesday, April 5, 11:50 a.m.

  Well, that was useless. Paige walked back to her truck, her step as brisk as her stiff knees would allow. I’ll know if I can trust him, she thought sardonically. I’m an idiot.

  She came, she saw, she left more conflicted than before. All she could honestly say was that Grayson Smith’s photographs didn’t do him justice. He was broodingly handsome in the newspaper photos, but in person he… dominated. It was his physical size, true. The man could have been a linebacker, but it was more than that. He had a presence. Like… Don’t worry. I’m here. I’ll fix everything.

  The people who’d gathered to shake his hand had felt it, too. It was written all over their grateful faces as they thanked him for getting justice for their murdered loved one.

  She could say he was a successful prosecutor with a passion for his work, but she’d known that already. What she suspected by watching him was that he had a passion for a great many other things, most of which she hadn’t done in way too many months.

  She might admit, in a weak moment, that he’d fascinated her. And that she had been entirely too attracted for her own good.

  What she still didn’t know was if she could trust him. Damned if she didn’t want to, though. But she’d been taken in by a pretty face too many times in the past to succumb.

  She’d wanted to trust every man she’d let into her life. Too many times. Too many men. But “in the past” was key. There’d been a time when she hadn’t let a week go by after breaking up with one disappointment, only to fly to the next one.

  Looking for love in all the wrong places, hating myself for being so pathetic.

  No more. It had been eighteen months since she’d allowed herself to succumb. Eighteen months since she’d watched her best friend find the real thing. What Olivia had with David made every one of Paige’s relationships pale in comparison.

  She wanted what Olivia and David had. She wanted to find the one who’d be her happy ever after. And so she’d gone cold turkey on her man habit, waiting until she found the right one.

  Which meant she’d gone cold turkey on sex, too. Eighteen fucking months.

  Or… non-fucking months, as Olivia would always say.

  Olivia. Hell. I should have called her. She’ll be so worried. All her friends would be worried. The light turned red and Paige halted at the corner. Checking her phone, she was chagrined to find her voice mail full, mostly numbers she didn’t recognize. Apparently the press had obtained her number. Not too hard if they were any good at their job.

  The Minneapolis numbers she did recognize. Olivia had called six times. Paige hit speed dial one and prepared for a tirade. She wasn’t disappointed.

  “Oh. My. God. David and I were so worried.”

  “I’m okay, Olivia,” Paige said calmly. “I wasn’t hurt and I’m fine.”

  “You were almost shot. What the hell were you thinking?”

  “That somebody needed help? Hello? Pot calling the kettle much? Like you guys wouldn’t have done the same?”

  Olivia was a homicide detective, her husband a firefighter. They made their living putting themselves in danger for people who needed help.

  “Well, yeah,” Olivia admitted grumpily. “But you should have called us. I had to get the news from David, who had to get it from one of the guys at the firehouse who saw you on YouTube.”

  “It’s been an… eventful morning.”

  “I guess so. Are you really all right? You looked like you took a hard fall.”

  “I’m okay,” she said again. “Shaken, but okay.”

  There was a moment of silence, then Olivia sighed. “That’s not what I’m really worried about,” she confessed. “Paige, you’ve seen two women gunned down in front of you, in less than a year. You can’t be okay. I was just thinking that maybe you’d want to see someone.”

  “Like a shrink?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t need a shrink,” Paige said decisively.

  “I never thought I would, either. Seeing all the death creeps up on you, though. I found talking to someone really helped. At least I can sleep at night. Can you?”

  “No,” Paige murmured.

  “The same dream?”

  Paige swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “What happened today can’t make that any better. Promise me you’ll consider finding a counselor. Do it for me. Please.”

  “I promise.”

  “Which? That you’ll consider it or that you’ll do it?”

  “At least the first one,” Paige hedged.

  Olivia sighed. “I didn’t expect any more than that.” There was muted conversation in the background. “David says to tell you he posted pictures of his belt ceremony on Facebook. He missed having you there last night. We all missed you.”

  Paige stared up at the light, willing it to turn green. “I wanted to be there for him. Second-dan black belt.” It was an honor. An achievement. She should have been there. But she’d been doing something important—saving Zachary Davis. “Tell him I’m proud of him.”

  “Have you found a dojo?” Olivia asked, in a way that said she knew the answer.

  “No, not yet. I’ve been working out at the gym. Practicing on my own.”

  “You said that the last time I asked you.”

  And I’ll say it the next time, too. Her karate dojo had once been like her second home, her family. But after what happened last summer, Paige hadn’t been able to walk through a dojo door.

  There were bloodstains on her gi that she’d
never get out. A few months after the attack she’d bought a new gi, brightly white, but she’d never put it on. She simply couldn’t. She’d tried. Many times. Finally she’d packed the gis away.

  Someday she’d be ready to go back. She’d kept her body toned, her skills sharp. But the dojo with its sense of family… Yes, someday she’d go back. Soon.

  The light finally turned green and Paige took off like a rocket. Her other coat pocket started to buzz, startling her until she realized it was her disposable phone. Clay was the only one who called her on the disposable. “I have to go, Liv. Give everyone my love. I’ll call you later.” She hung up before Olivia could protest, and flipped the disposable open. “What’s up?”

  “Where are you?” Clay asked tersely.

  “Still downtown. Why? What’s happened?”

  “Maria Muñoz is in the ER,” Clay told her.

  “What? Why?”

  “Heart attack. Her younger son said it wasn’t the first one she’d had. She collapsed when the cops came to tell them about Elena. She’s conscious now and her son told me she’d said nothing about the case or you to the cops. None of them have.”

  “Dear God. Did you tell them about the flash drive?”

  “No. I figured the fewer people who knew, the better. From what I can tell, Elena didn’t tell anyone in her family that she had it. They knew she was going to the bar and all of them had begged her not to go, but she was determined to get proof.”

  “We need to find out how she got the drive to start with. She just didn’t walk into the bar and find it in a bowl of nuts.”

  “I think I can guess.” Clay sighed. “Elena looked different six years ago.”

  “I know. She said she lost almost a hundred pounds after Ramon was jailed.” The family business was a physically taxing one. “Why is that important?”

  “Because Ramon’s little brother said Elena told everyone in their circle that she was tired of cleaning toilets and sweeping floors because Ramon couldn’t keep it in his pants six years ago. She wanted out of the family business. The brother said the family knew it was a ruse, but they all played along. Elena got hired at the bar.”

  “Ramon’s alibi bar? I told her to stay away from that place. That I’d check it out.”