I'm Watching You

  “I burned a CD with all the information. I can work from home.”

  “That was probably against the rules.”

  Her smile went just a shade naughty and his heart skipped a beat. “You gonna arrest me, Reagan?”

  He chuckled ruefully. “I’m tempted. Let’s go before I get out the cuffs.” With his arm around her shoulders he led her out of the laundry room back into the kitchen, where the volume was louder than the dryer had been. Sean and Ruth’s kids were running around the kitchen like it was the Indy 500. Abe dropped a kiss on his mother’s cheek, then another on the cheek of the baby she held. His newest niece. “I’m back.”

  Becca looked amused and Abe knew Aidan had blabbed about the laundry room. “I can see that. Hi, Kristen.”

  Abe looked over to find Kristen staring at Ruth, a horrified expression on her face. “They’re all yours?”

  Ruth grinned, then cringed at the sound of broken glass. “Plus one other who will be losing his allowance for the rest of his life to pay for what he just broke.”

  Becca handed the baby to Ruth. “I’ll go see. Abe, I fixed you a plate. Microwave it.”

  Abe snorted. “Hell, I’m eating the leftover pie before Aidan knows it’s here.”

  Ruth shooed him. “Then eat it in the living room. I want to talk to Kristen. Coffee?”

  Kristen shook her head. “No thank you.”

  “Then sit, please.” Ruth gestured to the table and Kristen sat. “Becca told me you were here tonight. We were afraid you might not come back.”

  Kristen frowned. “Why?”

  “Well, you seemed so hurt when you left last night. You were trying not to be, but we could tell you were.”

  Last night. Last night she’d been with Reagan. Kissing Reagan. Before that she’d been attacked in her own bedroom by an assailant with a gun. But before that— “Oh. The thing about Debra. I’m sorry. I was hurt, a little. But after Abe took me home …” She hesitated. “Someone broke into my house and threatened me. Abe chased them away.”

  Ruth went still. “The same men that pulled you out of your car Friday night?”

  “Probably not.” They all suspected Jacob Conti, but there was no proof. Nothing but the skin Jack had scraped from her fingernails, but without a suspect to compare, the evidence meant very little. Kristen shrugged. “I’m okay, really. Just shaken up.”

  “Abe stayed with you last night, right? He didn’t leave you alone.”

  Kristen fought hard to keep her cheeks from flushing, but by the light in Ruth’s eyes knew she’d failed. “No,” she said, striving for some dignity. “He didn’t leave me alone.”

  Ruth reached across the table and covered her hand. “Good. I mean it, Kristen. Abe’s been alone for so long. He’s a good man. He deserves someone who will make him happy.”

  Kristen couldn’t stand the warm look in Ruth’s eyes. She made Abe happy now, she knew. But it wouldn’t last. “I don’t want you all to get your hopes up, Ruth. Abe is watching out for me because of this whole… thing.” She gestured aimlessly with one hand. “Media, killers, men with guns. I don’t expect him to stick around when it’s all over.”

  Ruth sighed. “This is your business, Kristen. Yours and Abe’s. Whatever happens between you is between the two of you. I just wanted you to know I was sorry for reacting like I did last night. It was so rude of me, but when I heard you laugh, it was like having Debra right here in the room.” She rocked the baby, and the sight tugged at Kristen’s heart. “It’s going to be hard for Abe, seeing Debra’s parents on Saturday.”

  The baby’s christening. Kristen dreaded the thought of christenings and had always managed to slide out of attending such ceremonies in the past, but she’d go with Abe if he asked her. It would dredge up still more old wounds, but she’d be there to support him even if it killed her inside. “Abe told me that they hadn’t agreed on Debra’s care.”

  Ruth stared pensively, then brushed a kiss on her baby’s downy head and again Kristen’s heart tugged at the sight. “Don’t hold it against them. My aunt and uncle believed they were acting in Debra’s best interest. I can’t imagine having to make such a choice.”

  Kristen watched Ruth hold the baby close and considered her words. Acting in your child’s best interest. Doing what was right even when it was enough to cut your own heart from your chest. She understood, better than anyone would know.

  Ruth cleared her throat. “Anyway, it might be easier if Abe had someone with him on Saturday. Would you come to the christening? I know it’s short notice, but…”

  He’d been there for her, so many times. “Of course. Thank you for asking me.”

  “Asking you to do what?” Abe appeared in the doorway, holding Kristen’s purse. He bent to kiss the baby’s head. “Your purse is ringing.”

  Kristen pushed to her feet. “My cell phone.” She dug it from her purse. “Mayhew.”

  Abe watched as she listened, his apprehension growing as her face paled. She sank into the chair, real fear in her eyes.

  “She’s all right?” Kristen said. She clutched the little cell phone so tightly that her knuckles were white. “You’re sure.” She listened, drew a deep breath. “I am calm. Do I need to come?” Her mouth twisted at the reply. “I suppose not. Did you call the police?” She gritted her teeth. “No, it’s not a damn prank, Dad… Just don’t touch the note or the flower, okay? I’m going to call the police. They’ll want the note and descriptions of anyone who came to the nursing home tonight.” Her lips pursed hard and she closed the flip phone with a hard snap. “Yeah,” she said bitterly to no one. “Whatever.”

  Abe sat on the edge of the table next to her. “Your mother?”

  She nodded. “Somebody left a black rose and a note on her pillow at the nursing home.” She flicked a glance at Ruth. “My mother’s in the final stages of Alzheimer’s.”

  Abe cupped her face in his hand and felt her tremble. “What did the note say?”

  “ ‘Who is he?’ ” She lurched to her feet, her face stark. “Where’s my coat?”

  “Are you going to Kansas?” Abe asked.

  Kristen shook her head, backing for the door. “No, I’m getting away from here. The guy last night said people close to me would die if I didn’t tell him who he was. There’s no way I’m putting your family in danger, Abe. Take me home.”

  From the corner of his eye Abe watched Ruth instinctively hold her baby closer to her chest. “Just calm down, Kristen,” he said, realizing too late that was the wrong thing to have said. Her father had apparently said the same thing.

  “I am calm,” she said coldly. “I’ll be calmer when you take me home.”

  Resigned, Abe stood up. “I’ll get your coat.”

  Monday, February 23, 11:00 P.M.

  It was too soon. He wasn’t giving himself time to rest between, but he was running out of time. So many names in the fishbowl. Crooks, lawyers. Judges.

  It was so cold. He shivered hard, his bones aching. He could feel his throat growing rawer by the minute. The rooftop was hard and icy under his stomach and his fingers were frozen. He’d been waiting for two hours. It didn’t appear William Carson was going to show up. He smiled grimly, his lips cracking. Perhaps the attorneys were wising up. Perhaps Skinner’s untimely demise had warned them against showing up at unseemly times of the night in seedy parts of town for damaging evidence against victims. Evidence that would help acquit the vermin they represented. But the media hadn’t picked up on how he lured his marks, so there was no real reason for Carson to be wary of anonymous tips.

  He scowled, bracing himself against the cold wind. If the media knew, that viper Zoe Richardson would have told it. Day after day she made her reports, day after day she suggested Kristen and the police knew more than they did. That woman should be stopped. Unfortunately, she hadn’t done anything illegal or even immoral. Just trashy.

  A movement caught his eye. He pushed himself to his aching elbows and peered into the darkness. So the rat had found the c
heese too irresistible to pass up.

  Excellent. He leaned down and pressed his eye to the sight, wincing when the frigid metal bit at his face. He centered on Carson’s forehead. One pump of the trigger… There was another movement on the fringe of his eyesight and he flinched just as his trigger finger moved. A piercing scream rent the air and Carson fell.

  I missed. He’s still alive.

  The thought had barely registered when another man appeared from the shadows, running to bend over Carson. He watched in horror as the man whipped out a cell phone. Carson hadn’t come alone. As if guided by an unseen hand, he once again bent, set his sight on the crouching man and fired. The man dropped without a sound, but Carson still writhed. He set the sight on Carson’s chest, pumped the trigger once. Carson’s body went still.

  Then he grabbed his rifle and ran.

  Monday, February 23, 11:35 P.M.

  Kristen stood at her front window, watching Abe’s SUV disappear down the street. Another one. But this one was different. Their man had missed, and left a target alive.

  Abe had struggled with leaving her, but in the end she’d insisted and knowing his duty, he’d gone. Now it was quiet again and she stood alone, unsettled and afraid in her own home. She went into the kitchen to make some tea, the routine movements providing some sparse comfort. Then she looked down to see her hairpins on the countertop where Reagan had left them. She thought back. Saturday night. Two nights ago. It seemed like twenty. He’d held her standing right here, kissed her for the first time and made her feel… alive. She wished he was here now.

  The doorbell rang and she jumped. “Ridiculous,” she murmured. “There’s a cop sitting outside.” A lot of good that did last night, she thought. The bell rang again, longer this time. Wishing the three-day waiting period was over and she had her new gun, she walked out of her own kitchen, her knees trembling. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and punched in 9-1-1 and poised her thumb over the send button. Just in case. Although she doubted anyone with nefarious intent would be so bold as to ring the bell. But stranger things had happened. This week. To me.

  She looked through the peephole in her door and exhaled in relief. “Kyle,” she said, opening the door and clearing the 9-1-1 from her cell phone.

  Kyle Reagan stepped inside, as large as his son. He was a quiet man, having said fewer than two dozen words to her the two times she’d visited the Reagan house. But he had an easy smile and a twinkle in his blue eyes that made her feel welcome each time. His blue eyes were sober now as he examined her face, likely for signs of strain. It was no secret that she’d left his house tonight in something less than a serene mood. He held out a bag. “Becca sent food.”

  Kristen’s lips quirked. Food was Becca’s panacea. “And Abe sent you?”

  He shrugged. “Something like that. You got any coffee? It’s cold out there.”

  “I was about to make myself some tea.”

  Kyle followed her into the kitchen and said nothing while she spooned tea into the teapot. “I suppose I should tell you that you shouldn’t have come,” she said. “But I’m glad you did.” Her hands clenched on the countertop. “I hate being afraid in my own house.”

  “I know,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to tell you not to be afraid, Kristen. It’s a human response and in your case, a good one. It’s keeping you aware.”

  “I bought a gun.”

  “I know. Abe told me. He said you’re a pretty good shot.”

  She leaned back against the counter. “He did?”

  “Sure. In fact, just about everyone in my family is singing your praises.”

  Kristen looked away. “I like your family, Kyle. I like them too much to drag them into all this.”

  “I know you do.” He studied her across the room, not belittling her fear for his family and her respect for him went up. “How is your mother?” he asked.

  “She’s all right. Thanks.” The kettle began to whistle and she lifted it from the stove. “I called the nursing home when we got back here.” Sitting on her sofa with Abe next to her, his arm around her shoulders for support. “I needed to hear from the staff myself. My father tends…to keep things from me.”

  “Parents do that. For some reason we don’t want our kids to worry.”

  Kristen shrugged. She knew better. “Perhaps.” She joined him at the table with the teapot and two cups and changed the subject. “Then Abe called the police in Kansas.”

  “Did he get anywhere with them?”

  “No. Nobody saw anything, and there aren’t any cameras in the nursing home.”

  “What about the note and the flower?”

  “Abe tried to get them to agree to ship it here, but they politely declined. They said they’d send it to their own crime lab in Topeka.”

  “If it was Conti, they won’t find anything,” Kyle said quietly.

  “I know.”

  He slipped his hand in his pocket and brought out a deck of cards. “I’ll stay here if you want to sleep. But if you can’t …” He waved the deck.

  Kristen knew she wouldn’t sleep a wink until Abe came back with news on the latest shooting. “I don’t know many card games,” she said. “My dad didn’t allow cards. But I need to get some work done anyway.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Do you know anything about databases?

  He grimaced. “About as much as you know about cards.”

  Kristen smiled. “Then just keep me company?”

  He dealt himself a hand of solitaire. “That I can do.”

  Tuesday, February 24, 12:05 A.M.

  Red lights flashed, creating a strobe effect as they reflected against no fewer than five police cars, six unmarked cars, a CSU van, and two ambulances.

  Mia was crouching by one of the two men. When she saw Abe, she stood up and beckoned him closer.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he apologized. “I had to find somebody to stay with Kristen.”

  “No problem. This is Rafe Muñoz,” she said, pointing to the big man lying on a stretcher, encased in an unzipped bodybag. “He’s a bodyguard. Was, anyway. That”—she pointed at the stretcher being loaded into an ambulance— “is William Carson.”

  Abe grimaced. He knew the name. He’d been unfortunate enough to be cross-examined by Carson when he was still in uniform, years before. “Another defense attorney. What’s Carson’s status?”

  “Iffy. May make it, may not. He was conscious for a few minutes after the first cruiser arrived. He ID’d Muñoz before he passed out. They’re taking him to Rush. Muñoz has a bullet hole in his head. Looks like he was kneeling next to Carson when he was hit. But Carson …” Even in the darkness Abe could see Mia’s eyes gleam. “The first shot hit him here, barely grazed him.” She tapped the top of her skull. “Second shot hit him square in the chest. We got an entry wound, but no exit.”

  Abe’s pulse spiked. “The bullet’s still in him.”

  “With any luck, before dawn we’ll have a maker’s mark to show Diana Givens.”

  “Where did the bullet come from?”

  Mia turned and pointed to the four-story building across the street. “He was waiting for Carson up there. Let’s go take a look.”

  Armed with a bright searchlight, they climbed the fire escape to the roof and gingerly crossed to where their sniper would have lain in wait.

  Mia whistled softly. “Do my eyes deceive me? Could I possibly be looking at what I think I’m looking at?”

  Abe looked at the cup with the plastic lid, his own heart doing a little victory dance. Still he felt compelled to keep them from getting their hopes up. “It might not be his.”

  Mia bent down, sniffed at it, pressed her latex gloved fingers to the side of the cup. “It’s coffee and it’s still lukewarm.” She grinned up at him. “Jack will be pleased.”

  Tuesday, February 24, 12:30 A.M.

  He sat at his kitchen table, his hands still shaking uncontrollably. He’d missed.

  He’d missed. And th
en he’d panicked and killed an innocent man.

  Well, he reasoned, the man was probably not that innocent. He was hanging around Carson, after all. Carson was a dirty lawyer who represented murderers and drug dealers and rapists. Anyone accompanying such a pariah couldn’t be entirely innocent.

  But it was a regrettable loss, he had to admit. Worse yet, he’d run without making sure both men were dead. He’d turned tail and run down the fire escape like a common criminal, like a thug with the police at his heels.

  The police still didn’t know who he was. Not yet. But perhaps it was time to be considering the end. He picked up the three cards he hadn’t added to the fishbowl. They were special names. He’d put off their executions, because as soon as all three were dead, the police would put two and two together and know exactly where to find him. He’d wanted to empty the fishbowl first, but time was growing shorter.

  He stood, feeling the ache deep in his bones. It hurt to swallow and his head throbbed. Hours of waiting in the cold, digging graves and hauling bodies were taking its toll. He’d barely been able to hold on at his day job. Things had to come to an end, and soon. He began making coffee, hoping to return some warmth to his body. He peeled back the lid from the can, then froze when the aroma of ground coffee met his nostrils.

  Coffee. He’d had a cup of coffee. And he’d left it behind.

  Jerking himself back into motion, he continued his task, scooping the coffee into the filter basket. The police were not fools. Reagan and Mitchell would find the coffee cup and they’d be able to get his DNA. It was bound to have happened sooner or later. He was bound to leave some physical evidence behind at some point, no matter how careful he was. Now he had, and he would pay. He had to take care of the three key players before the police figured out who he was. He owed it to Leah.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tuesday, February 24, 8:30 A.M.

  Jack was pleased. “We got more than a DNA sample from the lid of that coffee cup,” he announced. “Our guy’s got a sore throat. We found traces of mentholyptis in the coffee, like he’d been sucking a cough drop at the same time he was drinking.”