Catch a Shadow (13 page)

He could only hope she would decide to give him whatever Del had given her before the government found him. Or Adams reached her.

Sam followed him out to the porch. Jake was aware his gaze stayed with him until he reached his car and drove off.

Sam returned to Kirke's apartment. “You should be in bed,” he said.

She looked at the clock. Ten. “You should be at work.”

“I'm not on until ten thirty.”

Affection flooded her. He'd been ready to be pulverized for her sake. And she had no doubt that would have been the result of any contest between the two.

“I don't think you should be alone here.”

“I have Merlin.”

“I don't think Merlin would be all that effective against determined bad guys.”

“I don't think he's a bad guy.”

“Neither did the Boston Strangler's victims think he was a bad guy.”

“It's time to see what's in the envelope,” she said, ignoring his observation.

“Past time,” Sam said.

She went back inside her house and straight to Merlin's cage. She'd already released him, and he perched on top of the cage. “Merlin wants a cracker.”

“Merlin always wants a cracker. Merlin will have to wait a moment.”

She lifted the newspaper sheets in his cage until she found the envelope. She held it a moment. It had no name on it. But it did belong to someone else. She tried to inch the flap open. It was well glued shut.

“Should I steam it?”

“Just open it, Kirke,” Sam said.

She did. The anticipation had been building since it was first placed in her hands. She didn't know what to expect.

Definitely not what was there.

CHAPTER 11

One sheet of paper. No words on it. Only numbers. Seven numbers: 4481999.

Nothing more. No spaces. No hyphens.

She silently handed it to Sam.

He grabbed it, then a puzzled look settled on his face. “What in the hell …?”

“A phone number?” she ventured.

“No area code.”

“Maybe a secret bank account?”

“Beats me,” he said. “I have enough trouble keeping a few dollars in my ordinary one.”

Disappointment rose in her. She'd thought—hoped—the letter would solve some of the mysteries around the man who'd carried it and the one who wanted it.

She turned it over. The back of the page was blank. Her heart sank. The heaviness in her chest felt like a millstone. She'd truly thought she might solve the problem of what to do with it when she opened the envelope.

“I can't believe I worried so much,” she said. “I doubt it would have helped the police much.” She stared at it again. “The last part is 1999. The year maybe?”

“And the rest of it?” Sam asked.

She searched her mind for an answer. “Safe-deposit box? Post office box? Foreign bank account number?”

Sam shrugged. “I sure as hell wouldn't know about foreign bank accounts. Do they have seven numbers?”

“I don't know any more than you. But I rather think it's something else. A locker, maybe.”

She turned back to Sam. “I told you the guy who was just here called himself both David Cable and Jake Kelly. He also said he's Mitch Edwards.” She didn't add that he'd said he'd been in prison, because Sam would pressure her to go to the police if he didn't do it himself. She wasn't quite ready for that.

Sam's brows drew together. “So that's why you didn't give him the envelope.”

She shrugged. “I don't know what to think. I'm dizzy from the number of names he has, or says he has. Normal people have one. And he lied to me the first time we met. He's lied several times, in fact.”

“But you're thinking about giving it to him.”

She glanced down at the paper again. “I couldn't give it to him without knowing what was inside. Maybe it was evidence of a crime. Now … I don't know. The numbers are probably important to only one person, and that's the person it was meant for, but I'm going to do a little checking first.”

“Maybe you should make a call to one of your cop friends.”

“He said he was risking his freedom being here.”

“Then maybe he shouldn't be here,” he retorted. “In the meantime you should get some rest, and I'm going to get you that steak in my fridge.”

“Does it really work?” she asked.

“I've had a few black eyes in my life, and yes, it really does help.” He paused, then said, “I have to go, but I'll be back right after we finish tonight. If you feel safe enough.”

She nodded. “I'll make sure the alarm system is on, and I have your cell.”

“I'll leave my gun with you.”

She flinched. She knew he had a permit and carried a gun because he worked so late. He'd been robbed one time after a gig. He'd also insisted that she take lessons. She had, but she hadn't liked it, and she'd never gotten a permit. She saw too much evidence of what a gun could do to flesh and bone.

“Either that or I stay,” he said.

“Okay.”

“And use the steak on your eye.”

“Okay. Now go. You shouldn't be late.”

Before he could leave, though, her phone rang.

She answered, and it was her captain. Her heart sank.

“Can you fill in for Larry Greene tomorrow morning?” he asked. “His baby's back in the hospital.”

She hurt. Her eye ached, and so did several other parts of her. But she would feel just as bad if she stayed home tomorrow. “Of course,” she said, not mentioning her injuries. They all were concerned about Larry and his wife. The baby was born prematurely and had repeated lung problems.

“It may be only half a day,” the captain said.

“Okay.”

Sam's eyes questioned her.

“They need me to work tomorrow. Larry Greene's baby is back in the hospital.”

“You're the world's biggest softy,” Sam said. “You should have told him about the mugging.”

“I'm just a little sore. Larry would do it for me.”

Sam knew Larry. Kirke had several parties at her house for her fellow paramedics and their families. “I still think you need some rest,” he groused.

She grinned at him. “I'll get some right now.”

“Is that a hint?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” he said reluctantly and headed for the door. “Keep that cell phone next to you.”

She nodded. After he left, she turned on the alarm, then tucked the page with the numbers back in Merlin's cage. Though she'd memorized them, the message was proof.

What did they mean?

And should she hand them over to the man of many names?

Satisfied that she'd found a safe place for the letter, she sat down in her big overstuffed reading chair and held the steak to her eye.

She wanted to be alone. She wanted to puzzle out those unwanted feelings she'd experienced when David Cable, or Jake Kelly, or Mitch Edwards, or whoever he was, sat close to her. She wanted to think about that calm demeanor that implied everything was normal when, in reality, everything was upside down.

She had no idea what she was dealing with. Ordinary people didn't run around with multiple names. Nor did they exude barely contained anger. There was a tautness about him, an aura of danger that both repelled and attracted her. The strangest thing, though, was the lack of fear she felt in his presence. She wondered whether it was same calm felt by victims just before a cobra struck.

And now he claimed there was someone else out there. Someone who had seen the exchange between Mark Cable and herself. Someone dangerous. More dangerous than him?

Or had it been a ploy to get her to turn the envelope over to him?

She'd never thought she could be attracted to evil. But she'd always been drawn to the underdog.

Villain or victim? She wished she knew.

She simply had no idea what she was dealing with. She only wished she hadn't felt that strong empathy with the stranger. Empathize, hell.
Be honest
. She'd wanted to move closer to him, to feel his lips. Even now she wondered what it would be like to feel his body against hers.

She'd never felt that way before. Not so quickly. Not even with her ex. And certainly she hadn't felt that kind of desire since the divorce. She'd thought herself cured forever.

She curbed her impatience several more moments, then took the steak away from her eye and went to her computer. She Googled Jake Kelly. She'd hit a dead end with Mitch Edwards. Maybe she would have more luck with Jake Kelly. She typed in military. Then Special Forces. Army. Finally court-martial. Nothing. Not one likely hit.

From working on a newspaper, she knew military records were private. It was like pulling teeth to obtain any information about a soldier unless the army wanted to say nice things about him or her.

But surely a legal action, a court-martial would be public record. Doubts started to nag her. She turned to prisons. She came up with exactly nothing but a headache. After her shift tomorrow, she would call public information at Special Services headquarters. She knew how to ask questions. Maybe she would get something. Or find someone who knew Jake Kelly.

“Be on a plane this afternoon,” Ames told the purse snatcher. “Ditch the car and take the next plane home,” he said. “I have enough men on the way to do what's needed.”

The purse snatcher nodded.

Ames hoped he was a step ahead of Jake. That thought died when the man who'd taken Kirke's purse gave a very thorough description of the person who'd saved the bitch.

Kelly had been able to get to her when he had not. Dammit, he'd missed his chance two nights earlier when he'd barely escaped from her house when he heard a police siren. He'd gotten through the window and hadn't risked hanging around.

Ames had taken a real chance by going into her house alone, but then she was only a woman. And although he paid his employees very well, he wouldn't trust them with whatever was in the envelope he'd seen passed. He'd not been far away during the purse snatch, close enough to monitor the snatcher and see that he followed instructions. Look for a letter. Leave a tiny GPS device in the purse lining.

His mercenaries knew little about him, only that he was a very wealthy Argentinean of European descent. He spoke flawless Spanish and German, and Argentina had no extradition treaty with the United States. But despite plastic surgery and lift shoes, he was taking a terrible chance even being here.

Of course, whatever the woman had been told—or given—could be nothing at all. Or it could provide proof that Gene Adams—his cover name on the mission—was still alive.

Ames still had a friend in the CIA. Well, not a friend. But someone who had taken enough money from him to live in fear. If Ames was ever caught, he would go down as well.

Ames had always been very good at spotting weak points in people. Unfortunately, Jake Kelly's only weak spot had been honor. Within ten seconds of meeting the tight-assed Special Services captain, Ames knew Kelly wouldn't go along with the scheme that Ames had plotted for years.

Kelly was a dangerous adversary. When the mission was formed, he'd tried to have Jake Kelly removed from the team, but Kelly had supporters in the Special Forces, and the mission belonged to them.

He could have taken out Kelly several times in the past few days, but a violent death might lead someone to reopen the investigation. Even an accident might lead to some troublesome questions.

Then he had a thought. If Kelly was accused of murder, then no one would believe a word he said. He was already thought by many to have killed four men. He would be considered armed and dangerous.

And Kirke Palmer was the perfect victim.

CHAPTER 12

Kirke felt hungover when she arrived at the station. She'd had only a few hours' sleep, and her head ached. The cut also hurt when she smiled or frowned.

And she faced the teasing of the firefighting gang.

“Okay, who did it?” clamored one.

“The infamous door?” asked the other.

“I was mugged,” she admitted sheepishly.

“I thought we taught you better than that.”

“You did,” she said. “It was just … so sudden.”

The captain took a look at her face. “Why didn't you tell me?”

She shrugged. “I wouldn't feel any better at home.”

“I could have gotten someone else,” he said.

“It just aches a little.”

“Did the scumbag get anything?”

“A credit card and cell phone. My driver's license was in a different pocket, and the guy missed that.”

“You sure you can go out?” her captain asked.

She nodded.

“You'll ride with a rookie,” he warned, “but Tom said he would try to get back before noon.”

Her new partner looked as if he had just graduated from junior high. “I'm Ben Wright,” he said.

She resisted the impulse to ask him why he wasn't in school today. “Kirke Palmer,” she said curtly. Darn if she didn't already feel a hundred years old.

She'd wanted to call Robin last night, but too much had happened, then it was too late. She intended to do it today. There were just too many questions.

She'd been a fool to get involved. But now she was committed to seeing it through. She'd waited too long to suddenly say to the captain, to the police, “Oops, I forgot something.”

She was checking the supplies when her captain called her to his office.

There she saw a man in a dark business suit, white shirt, and dark blue tie. He was of medium height, and his face was unremarkable.

He pulled out a leather case. “Special Agent John Davis, FBI,” he said.

She looked at it closely. She'd seen her share of badges. It looked legit.

“What can I do for you?”

“I understand you tended to a hit-and-run driver two days ago,” he said.

Her worst nightmare. She nodded. “I did.”