Between Darkness and Daylight (27 page)

She made a beautiful corpse. Peaceful, silent, and telling no tales. Just the way Enrique wanted her, and needed her to be. Silent.

Most of his guilt and remorse had run their course soon after he struck the girl and ditched the stolen car several blocks away from the sports center in an abandoned block. But there had been a tiny bit of regret sitting like a rock in the pit of his stomach during the viewing the day before He salved his conscience with the knowledge that he had done the right thing, the best thing for him, for everyone involved—Frenchie, the kids. Killing that girl had just been a necessary means to his end, something he'd had to do. The same way he'd had to deal with his father.

He had no regrets for that death either.

He would not go to prison because of some slip-up or lack of conviction; he would not risk his reunion with weak spirit and mind, not when he was this close. Not when he could taste the sweetness of the impending reunion with his family on his tongue, soothing his heart and warming his chest with the notion of his own personal paradise regained.

Enrique watched the Diaz family members and friends congregate at the graveside, teary-eyed and somber as the priest said some words over the coffin. Manuela's immediate family dropped handfuls of dirt onto the mahogany-finished top as it slowly lowered into the ground.

He felt moisture in his eyes, but attributed it to the coolness of the fall wind blowing, the rawness of the late-November day. Nothing more, nothing less. He had done the right thing.

Glancing up, he saw Mr. Caseworker several yards away from the Diaz family, apart but staying as close as he could get. As was Enrique.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

He caught sight of the tall detective beside Mr. Caseworker, their heads together as if conferring. He could easily guess on what, but knew 188

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that they wouldn't find anything to help in their search. He hadn't left anything for them to find, had wiped the car clean, though he'd worn leather gloves during the theft. There was nothing.

His heart drummed as the detective glanced in his direction, then moved on to other gravesite ceremony attendees before turning back to Mr. Caseworker. He was glad Ransom and the woman had not come, that he wouldn't have that extra emotional burden to worry about. Tears—a woman's or a child's—didn't sit well with him, though he'd endure them if he had to. He didn't like thinking about depriving his young friend of a father figure, hoped that the boy would get over his grief quickly when the time came. Enrique decided he would be there to help Ransom along, if that's what was needed. Hell, he might even take him in, give Angela and Ricky an older big brother.

Enrique still hadn't decided what he was going to do about Mr.

Caseworker's woman. Killing her seemed like such an unnecessary waste, something totally avoidable, unlike his having to kill Manuela Diaz.

Besides, using her against his enemy was a much more attractive prospect.

Oh, the possibilities for long, drawn-out torture—not like discovering your wife's death after the fact. This would be better, more detailed and visual.

He would make Mr. Caseworker watch—a kind of a This Is Your Life moment flashing before his eyes.

The detective and Mr. Caseworker remained long after the Diaz family had left and Enrique decided it was time for him to make an exit before they noticed him and decided that he was worth a second glance. No reason to negate his rationale for killing the girl.

* * * *

"How's Ransom doing?"

"He's surviving."

"A lot like his uncle."

"I hope he's doing better than that."

Leary smiled, putting his arm around Zane's shoulder as the two of them left the cemetery and headed towards the parking lot. "Guess he didn't want to come?"

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"He didn't want me to come either. Said I was a glutton for punishment."

"That nephew of yours is a smart cookie."

"Up yours, Leary."

Leary chuckled. "How are you and Ms. Foxx coming along?"

Was it that obvious that they had a thing going? Had Zane been that transparent with his feelings at the precinct? He didn't think he had given anything away. Hell, he’d barely cared for Nova when he first laid eyes on her, but somehow the secret was out. "She's with Ransom about my coming here today, but more tolerant."

"She's an adult. We're a little more forgiving than kids, don't see things as all black or white like they do."

He wasn't so sure. There was nothing black and white or simple about Ransom's emotions, his state of mind. And Zane was only just learning how much resentment and disappointment the boy had been harboring since he’d had dragged him away from his home and school and everything he'd known and loved in his world with Sage.

His own feelings about Nova were an entirely different matter, though no more clear-cut and simple than Ransom's general angst.

He didn't know how it had happened, their making love the night of Manuela's death.

Those intense, not-so-brief moments haunted him day and night.

Flashes of the two of them together replayed in his mind like slow-mo action, taunting him with visions of what was missing in his life, visions of what he needed, had been needing for a very long time.

He had thought about nothing but himself—how to get off, how to stop the hurt, how to let Nova make him feel better. And she had—God, she had taken him away from the instant, the place, his misery, and given him so much more than he had imagined possible. He had allowed lust to override his sense of duty, his sense of right and wrong, to override everything that didn't have to do with his immediate physical pleasure and release.

He hadn't exercised his usual patience and enjoyed her body the way he should have, the way he wanted to. Hadn't taken the time to show her how important her pleasure was to him and what she meant to him. Hadn't shown his appreciation for what she had given him.

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He had just taken.

Why did she even stick with him? It wasn't like they had months and years invested in the relationship, so what was keeping her in his life?

They hadn't spoken about that night, and he was loath to broach the subject; his relationships with everyone and everything in his life just seemed too shaky.

"C'mon, I'll give you a ride to the city." Leary clamped him on the shoulder, leading him to his unmarked car.

"I wanted to talk to you some more about the hit-and-run."

"Like I told you over the phone the other day, we don't have much."

Zane got into the passenger's side as Leary got into the driver's seat and keyed the ignition. He slanted Leary a look from the corner of his eye, taking a deep breath. "What's not having 'much', Leary? You weren't very forthcoming about that." He didn't like insinuating that the detective had been anything but honest with him, but lately Zane had been getting the distinct impression that Leary was hiding something from him, that hadn't been open about all the aspects of Sinny's death. He couldn't put a finger on why he felt this way, felt as if something had been intentionally left out. To protect him? Or use against him at a later date?

"The car was stolen from a nearby lot. No prints, no other kind of DNA evidence from the scene, except that of the victim. And no viable witnesses. Yet."

"What about the owner? He's totally out?"

"Didn't discover the theft until he came out to the parking lot with his family a couple of hours after the incident. He's out. No connection."

Zane slammed a fist against the dashboard.

"Breaking your hand's not going to help matters."

He didn't respond at first, but stared straight ahead, jaws feverishly working. "You tell me what
will
help, Leary," he finally bit out.

"Have you been totally forthcoming with me about that day?"

"That day?"

"What really happened between Manuela and your girlfriend in that parking lot?"

"What are you suggesting?"

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Leary shrugged, smoothly merged into I-95 traffic. "Just that by her own admission and yours, words were exchanged, and they weren't all pleasant."

"It was just a little misunderstanding."

"Between your bodyguard and the girl whose mother tried to shish kabob ya."

"It's not like that, Leary."

"Like what? You don't think I understand human nature, Youngblood?

I'm a cop. I do this for a living. Now what is it not like?"

"Nova wouldn't do something like that."

"Something like what? Kill someone to protect you?"

He glared at the side of the detective's head and Leary mildly gzeed back.

"Are you going to tell me it's not that serious between you two?"

"What I'm saying is that there are much more efficient ways to get someone out of the way than a hit-and-run."

"Oh, I'd say whoever did it was pretty efficient. The girl is dead."

"You know what I mean, Leary. There were a lot of things that could have gone wrong. Whoever did it took a lot of risks."

"So you're saying that your girlfriend would have done it in a much more efficient and careful manner?"

"I'm not saying anything of the sort, and you're purposely misconstruing my meaning."

"I suppose she has an alibi for the time of the accident?"

"Just what the hell do you think you're insinuating, Leary?"

"I'm not insinuating anything. I'm asking you: Does she have an alibi?"

"I don't think I like where this conversation is going." Zane folded his arms across his chest. "Or is it an interrogation? And if that's the case, then maybe I should wait until I have my lawyer present."

"In that case, you'll probably need one for your girlfriend too, then."

Leary wrinkled his brow as he passed the SUV in front of him. "And for your information, I haven't liked where the conversation has been going since we talked at the hospital. A girl is dead and I don't know who did it, or why. But I have the sneaking suspicion that her death is connected to your wife's murder one way or another. And I'll tell you another thing; I don't like unsolved cases, Youngblood. They stick in my craw."

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"You have any other theories? Think we have a serial killer on the loose?" Zane turned in his seat and pinned the detective with a look.

"The MO is inconstant at best, unrelated at worse. The killings are spaced pretty far apart to make an accurate connection, but at this point I'm not discounting anything. And if we do have a serial killer out there, the common thread, again, is you. Which leads me to believe that you, or anyone close to you, is a target. How's that for theories?"

"She was with me when I got the call from the hospital," Zane murmured. "She never left my side from the moment we left the sports center until we got home that afternoon."

"You're the only one who can vouch for her?"

"And Ransom."

Leary nodded, didn't even flinch, and Zane couldn't imagine what it would be like to be in a glass-encased interrogation room alone with this man, couldn't imagine how traumatized his teenage nephew had been when Leary had taken him into custody.

"So we're back at square one."

"Wherever that is," Zane muttered.

Leary cut him a glance, and grinned. "I hope you know I'm only doing my job, Youngblood. I have to attack all the angles."

"Nova's not an angle. She didn't do it."

"I know that now. No opportunity."

"But you still think she has motive?"

"Hell, we've all got motives, one way or another. Did she have a motive to do in Manuela? Yes. Opportunity, according to you, no."

"Thanks for believing me."

"Don't thank me, Youngblood. You and she aren't out of the woods yet."

* * * *

"How'd it go?"

Zane shrugged, flinging his leather jacket onto the pegboard and wrapping an arm around Nova's shoulder as they walked to the living room sectional. "Where's Ransom?"

"He's over at Miss Ruben's, spending some time with Schneider."

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"Didn't want to face me when I got back, huh?"

She hugged him, tried to ease his wounded ego, because she knew he was right. Ransom had said as much to her.

Though they'd reconciled some major differences and aired out some problems, Zane and his nephew still had a long way to go before seeing eye to eye, and one of their biggest differences was still about whether or not Zane should have gone to Manuela Diaz's funeral.

Caught in the middle, Nova felt nothing but respect for both positions, and love and admiration for the two men in her life who were so stubbornly sticking to their guns. She just wished things didn't have to be so unpleasant between them.

This and her cowardice were her biggest obstacles to leveling with Zane, though she'd been thinking about it more every day, especially in the last week. Especially after they'd made love. Once they'd crossed that ultimate chasm to trust and slept together, she didn't think she could in good faith continue a relationship without telling him about herself, about what she knew of him, at least some of it. Problem was, would he believe her?

"He'll come around," she said finally.

"You're so sure?"

"He did before. He's a reasonable kid, if nothing else."

Zane cocked a brow. "You really think that?"

"Sure I do." She sat in a corner of the sectional and pulled his hand, made him sit down beside her. "Look who his uncle is."

"Your point?"

"Like I said, look who his uncle is. You're both smart-alecks."

He pulled her close and nuzzled her neck, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, as if fortifying himself with her soft vanilla musk. "How long has he been gone?"

"Most of the afternoon."

She knew where his mind was going but didn't think she'd have nearly enough time to do with him what she wanted, had promised herself she wouldn't start something she wouldn't be able to finish the right way.