9 Kill for Me

  Luke took her cold hands in his warm ones, steadying her. “Susannah, take a deep breath and tell me exactly what happened.”

  “It was the black car. It drove by, the window came down and I saw the gun. I tried to push her out of the way, then I heard the shot. I saw the license plate as they drove away. DRC119.”

  “The same black car that followed you this morning?” Luke asked.

  “You’re sure, Susannah?” Chase added.

  She glared at them both. “Dead sure.”

  “I’m sorry,” Luke said. “I didn’t mean to doubt you.”

  Her legs felt like rubber. “It’s damn hard for me to believe, and I was there.”

  “Why were you there?” Luke asked.

  She blinked up at him. “Because you asked me to come down and meet you.”

  The two men shared a look and Susannah felt a new shiver race down her spine. “You . . . didn’t ask me to come down and meet you?”

  “Who called you?” Luke asked, very quietly.

  “It was a woman. Her name sounded singsong. Brianna Bromley, that’s it. She said she was a stenographer in your office and that you’d asked her to call me.”

  “I didn’t ask anyone to call you,” Luke said.

  “And we don’t have any stenos named Brianna Bromley,” Chase added grimly.

  Susannah’s heart had gone from racing to a slow, painful thud. “So I was lured.”

  “I’ll trace the call,” Chase said. “Luke, did the nurse say anything before she died?”

  “Only what she said to Susannah.”

  “ ‘Bobby,’ ” Susannah quoted. “ ‘It was Bobby.’ Luke, if you didn’t call me, what are you doing here?”

  “I got a call on the hotline from a woman saying she knew information about Jane Doe. It must have been the nurse.”

  “But . . . If Jennifer called you, then who called me? And why?”

  “We now know two names—Bobby and Rocky. One or both had to have been in the black sedan. I think they wanted you to see Jennifer shot.”

  “So they had to know Jennifer would be standing there, too,” Chase said. “Which means either they were watching Jennifer . . .” He paused grimly. “Or we have a leak.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” Susannah said. “Tonight I’m standing next to Jane Doe’s nurse and she’s shot. Earlier I was standing next to Gretchen French in the cemetery and she’s shot by Kate. Was I the target both times or were they?”

  “I don’t know,” Luke said. “But Gretchen wasn’t shot by Kate Davis. There was at least one other shooter. Kate was murdered.”

  “But . . .” She looked from one man to the other. “I saw the police draw their guns.”

  “They never fired, Susannah,” Chase said gently. “We found the gun that killed Kate Davis. Someone was standing between you and Kate.”

  “Off to the left,” Susannah murmured.

  Luke leaned forward until his face was inches from hers. “How did you know that?”

  She met his eyes. “The woman in black. Al knocked me down and I looked up and saw this woman, all in black, with lace over her face. She stared at me. Then she was gone, into the crowd.”

  “Why didn’t you mention her before?”

  “I thought she was a mourner. I thought Kate had shot Gretchen, that the police had shot Kate.”

  “Can you describe this woman in black?”

  Susannah puffed out her cheeks. “She was very tall. There were people all around her, but she just stood there, like a little pocket of . . . calm. I don’t know how long she stared at me. It couldn’t have been more than a second or two. It was surreal. Oh, and she had red lips. I saw the red through the lace. Her dress was long. Old. I thought she was old. Creepy.” She closed her eyes, visualizing the scene, the frenzied movement around the woman who’d stood still as a statue. “She was wearing a cape, edged in black fur. She looked like someone from an old photo.”

  “What about her shoes?” Chase asked.

  “Blue.” She opened her eyes and looked up. “She had on blue running shoes. Her dress stopped above her ankles, like it was too short for her.”

  “Or him?” Luke asked.

  “Bobby,” she murmured. “Or Rocky. Oh, hell. Who is Bobby?”

  “Round puzzle,” Luke muttered.

  Chase nodded grimly. “All yellow.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Susannah demanded. “Goddammit.”

  Luke sighed. “It means that every time we peel away a layer, the onion sprouts a new one. You’re covered in blood again. I’m taking you back to your hotel.”

  “I’ll go back up to ICU and get my things.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  She started to tell him he didn’t need to babysit her, then thought of Gretchen and Jennifer and bit back the words. Maybe he did.

  Atlanta, Saturday, February 3, 6:30 p.m.

  “Is it true?” Nurse Ella demanded. “Is Jennifer dead?”

  Monica’s mind tensed, waiting for the answer.

  “I’m afraid so.” Susannah’s voice. “She was shot outside a few minutes ago.”

  Oh, God. Jennifer tried to keep me alive and now she’s dead.

  She felt a touch on her hand. “It’s Susannah. I have to leave, but I’ll be back tomorrow morning. I wish you’d wake up. There are so many things we need to know.”

  I am awake. Dammit, I am awake. Frustration bubbled up and over, then stilled when she felt warmth near her face. Lips. Susannah pressed her lips to Monica’s forehead and her frustration mixed with a longing so strong it hurt her chest.

  “Sleep,” Susannah murmured. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  No. Monica wanted to scream it. Don’t go. Don’t leave. Please don’t leave me.

  But Susannah was gone.

  Hot tears trickled from Monica’s eyes down her temples where they dried, unnoticed.

  Susannah came out of M. Jane Doe’s room to find Luke had been watching her, his black eyes intense. She felt her cheeks heat. “She’s just a kid. She must be scared.”

  He cupped her cheek, his palm warm and solid, and for a moment she again let herself lean into him. “You’re a good person,” he murmured. “You know that, don’t you?”

  Her throat tightened. When he said it, she almost believed it. She pulled away, her whole body tense, her smile plastic. “You’re kind.”

  Luke drew a frustrated breath and let it out. They rode down in the elevator and walked to Luke’s car in silence. When they were both buckled in, he looked straight ahead. “I promised Daniel I would watch over you. I can do that at your hotel or my apartment. I won’t ask anything except that you let me keep my promise to Daniel.”

  She was disappointed, she realized. Which was petty and small . . . and human. What woman wouldn’t want a man like Luke in pursuit? But he’d given up. So easily.

  You told him to. Don’t be snide because he listened. Still, she was disappointed. And too tired to argue. “If we go to your apartment, where will I sleep?”

  “In my room. I’ll take the sofa.”

  “All right. Let’s go.”

  Atlanta, Saturday, February 3, 6:45 p.m.

  “Are they gone?” Bobby asked when Tanner got back into the car.

  “Finally.” He handed the DRC plates across the front seat. “I changed the plates. Now I’m George Bentley if anyone stops us. Did you have fun?”

  “Oh yes,” Bobby said emphatically. “I’m glad you got back from Savannah in time to drive me. It would have been too hard to hit Oh-man’s chest from the driver’s side.”

  “So, back to Ridgefield House?”

  “Not yet. I got another report from my mole. GBI is closing in on Jersey Jameson. Apparently Daniel Vartanian saw a piece of his boat registration number on Friday.”

  “So where do we find Mr. Jameson?” Tanner asked.

  “I know some of the places he hangs. You ready to do a little pub crawling?”

  Tanner laughed. “It’ll be like old
times.”

  “Those were the days. You’d find the marks, I’d go in for the lure. Some of those guys still pay me, cash deposits to my offshore account on the first of every month.”

  “You were a good whore, Bobby.”

  “You were good at finding clients who’d pay to keep their perversions secret. I miss those days.”

  “We could pick up. Go somewhere else. Start over again.”

  “We could, but I like my life now. Once everything dies down, I still want that house on the hill. It’s mine.”

  “Arthur Vartanian will have left it to his legitimate children, Bobby.”

  “But I have a legal claim. And soon his legitimate children will be resting alongside the judge and his bitch of a wife.” The words left a bad taste in the mouth.

  “Well, when that happens,” Tanner said mildly, “you know what I want.”

  “Grandmother Vartanian’s silver tea service.” Bobby chuckled. “Yes, I know.”

  Atlanta, Saturday, February 3, 7:15 p.m.

  “It’s nice,” Susannah said, looking around Luke’s apartment.

  “It’s clean, thanks to my . . .” The thought trailed when he saw his dining room table, covered in a white linen cloth and set for two. He didn’t need a second look to know the china was his mother’s, as was the ornate silver candelabra that stood, ready to light.

  Susannah was looking at the table, one side of her mouth turned up. “Your mother?”

  “Yeah.”

  Susannah smiled wistfully. “She nearly smothered Daniel with a hug. I like her.”

  “Everybody likes my mother.”

  “What about your father?”

  “Oh, she smothers him with hugs, too,” he said wryly. “Pop has a restaurant with his brothers. Greek, of course. In the old days, Mama was head chef. Now my cousins take care of the daily stuff. Leaves my dad and my uncles time to finally enjoy life, but Mama misses it. She makes up for it by cooking for all my friends.” From his closet he pulled the suit from the day before and gave it a sniff. “Barely a hint of smoke and rotting fish.”

  “Your dry cleaner delivers inside your apartment?”

  “My dry cleaner is my cousin Johnny. He has a key. I get free delivery, he gets to watch the fights on my flatscreen when they’re on pay per view.”

  “I wonder if he can get those red clay stains out of Chloe Hathaway’s black dress.”

  “If Johnny can’t, nobody can.” His stomach growled and he rubbed it. “I’m starving.”

  “So am I.” She hesitated. “I can cook. A little.”

  “Mama said she left food in the fridge.” He went into the kitchen and she followed.

  “Can I do anything?”

  “Change your clothes.” He shot her a smile as he opened the fridge door. “Again.”

  She looked down at her blood-spattered shirt. “I’ll be back.”

  His careless smile disappeared along with her. “You do that,” he murmured, then began warming the meal his mother had left, still thinking about Susannah.

  On the way to his apartment, she’d received a call on her cell phone from Gretchen French, who’d scheduled a press conference for tomorrow afternoon. “You might want to talk to her,” she’d told him when she’d hung up. “She still thinks Kate Davis shot her.”

  “You’re sure you want to do this?” he’d asked. “Once you sit with those women in front of a bunch of microphones, there’s no going back.”

  She’d gone very still. “Once I stepped on the plane yesterday morning, there was no going back, Luke. I knew that then. I’m all right with this. I’ll do what needs to be done.”

  He’d been struck with a respect so profound . . . And on its heels had come a desire so intense it had taken his breath away. It wasn’t her face, or the quiet elegance of her manner. It was deeper. She was, quite simply, what he’d always been looking for.

  Now, standing in his kitchen, he knew it didn’t matter what he’d wanted or what he’d believed he’d found. In front of the ER she’d been shaking like a leaf. Still she clung to him, trusting him. She was here now, trusting him to keep her safe. But until she trusted him with that soul she claimed not to want, nothing else mattered.

  He’d put dinner in the oven to warm and was pulling the cork from a bottle of wine when the doorbell rang. Leaving the wine to breathe, he went to the door and looked through the peep hole. And sighed. “Talia,” he said when he’d opened the door.

  Talia Scott held the leash of Judge Borenson’s bulldog. “You forgot the dog.”

  “I’ve been a little busy.”

  Her smile was sympathetic. “I heard what happened at the ER. Sorry.”

  He sighed again. “I guess I should ask you in.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Talia said dryly. “Such hospitality.”

  He opened the door wider. Talia and dog came inside, the dog plopping down on Luke’s feet with an even bigger sigh, and Talia laughed. “Her name is Darlin’.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Of course it is. Does she have food?”

  Talia pulled a Ziploc bag filled with kibble from her backpack. “Enough to last you till tomorrow. Here’s her leash and bowl.”

  “Nobody wanted her?” Luke pressed as she pushed the dog’s things into his arms.

  “No. Borenson had hunting dogs the neighbors wanted, but nobody wanted Darlin’. I smell food.” Then she saw the table set with the china. “But you have company. I’ll go.”

  She started to leave and he grabbed her jacket. “Susannah Vartanian’s here.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  “It’s not what you think. You should stay. Come on in. I’ve got a bottle of wine.”

  He went to the kitchen, the dog literally on his heels. Every time he stopped, the dog lay at his feet. Every time he moved, so did she. “I can’t keep her. I’m never home.”

  Talia sat at the counter. “Then she goes to the shelter. Then, who knows?”

  Luke scowled. “You’re a cruel woman.”

  She laughed. “And you’re a sweet man.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t let it get around. Did you meet with Mr. Csorka?”

  She sobered. “I did. He came with dental records, DNA samples, and pictures of Ashley with her trophies. She’s a swimmer. She’s earned a full college scholarship for next year.”

  “It’s been more than twenty-four hours now. They could be anywhere.”

  “True, but now we’re broadcasting the face of one of the missing girls to every PD in the Southeast. She’s seventeen for another few weeks, so I set up an Amber alert.” She leaned over, squeezed his hand. “It’s better than we had yesterday.”

  “I used your—” Susannah stopped short, damp towels folded neatly in her arms, her gaze fixed on their joined hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

  Smiling, Talia extended her hand. “I’m Talia Scott. I work with Luke and Daniel.”

  Susannah shifted the towels to one arm so that she could shake Talia’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. You talked to Gretchen French.”

  “And all the other victims,” Talia said. “Except you,” she added gently.

  Susannah’s cheeks darkened. “I gave my statement to ASA Hathaway.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I spoke with all the women, making sure they understood their rights and the resources available to them.”

  Susannah’s smile was brittle. “I’m a prosecutor. I know my rights. But thank you.”

  “You know how to tell other people their rights,” Talia said, undaunted. “You might not think about them for yourself in the same way. You can call me any time if you’d like to talk.” She held out her card, her easy smile still in place.

  Reluctantly Susannah took it. “Gretchen speaks highly of you,” she said quietly. Then she lifted her brows at the bag of kibble on the counter. “Is that dinner?”

  Luke looked down at his feet and scowled again. “It’s hers.”

  Susannah’s face lit up
in a smile that made his chest hurt. “Oh, look.” She dropped to her knees, setting the towels aside, petting the dog’s head. “Is she yours, Talia?”

  Talia chuckled and winked at him. “Nope. She’s Luke’s.”

  “I don’t like you,” he muttered, and Talia chuckled again.

  Then Susannah looked up at him, the smile still on her face. “She’s yours? Really?”

  He sighed. “Yeah. I guess so, until I can find her another home. She’s Judge Borenson’s. If he turns up alive, she goes back to Judge Borenson.”

  Susannah turned back to the ugly bulldog. “I have a dog. At home in New York.”

  “What kind?” Talia asked.

  “Sheltie. Her name is Thor.”

  Talia laughed. “A sheltie named Thor? That sounds like a story.”

  “It is. She’s in the kennel, probably wondering when I’m coming back to get her.” The dog licked Susannah’s face, making her laugh, and the small sound of joy took the pain in his chest and gave it a twist.

  “What’s her name?” she asked.

  “Darlin’,” he said softly, and she looked up, meeting his eyes.

  “That’s nice.” Her smile faltered. “Do you always take in strays, Luke?”

  “Not usually,” he said, then, aware that he’d been staring, looked away.

  “We’re having wine, Susannah,” Talia said, taking pity on him. “Want some?”

  “I don’t drink, but you go ahead. Dinner smells wonderful. Are you staying, Talia?”

  “Yes,” Luke said.

  “No,” Talia said at the same time. “I have to be getting home.”

  “You’re sure you can’t take the dog?” Luke asked under his breath.

  “Nope,” Talia said cheerfully. “My roommate said no more when I brought home the fourth one. I think she means it this time. So it’s you or the pound, Luka.” She reached over the counter, patted his cheek. “Just think what joy a dog can add to your home.”

  Luke had to laugh at the sparkle in her eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

  “Walk me to the door. It was nice to meet you, Susannah. Call me any time.”

  Luke walked Talia to the door, Darlin’ at his heels once more. “What?” he asked.