Deadly Dreams (45 page)

“More like nightmares, I’d say.” Her spine stiffened as he wandered over to look at the sketches again. “Weird, the way dreams are, with everyone and anyone you’ve encountered in the last few days all jumbled together. Emmons. Muller.” He paused. “Geez, that’s a good likeness of Jett. Darrell.” He laughed a little. “Should I be hurt that I didn’t appear in your dreams?” She heard the sound of another page turning. Then silence.

Risa forced herself to turn around. And saw the exact moment he flipped to the page of Walter Eggers. He stilled. Stared at it fiercely. And when he didn’t speak . . . when one long minute stretched into the next, she made a tentative stab at an explanation. More of one then she’d ever offered anyone else, outside of Raiker.

“He’ll be next. Not last night. I called and he was still home in bed. But soon.” He stared at the sketch a moment longer. Then finally raised his gaze to meet hers. What she saw in it nearly made her weep.

“Risa . . . it was just a dream. A horrible one, I’m sure. But packed with visuals from our day, from our worries . . . hell, I don’t know.” He raked his hand through his short dark hair. “It’s our subconscious playing mind games on us. I used to have this recurring dream of being captured by a clown who insisted on painting a big-ass goofy grin and tear drops on me. It was terrifying. I hate clowns.”

His attempt at humor fell flat. “Dreams are the way I zeroed in on Martin Volk. Tyler Temple. And dozens of others before that. Hundreds.”

There was a guarded expression on his face that stabbed deeper than Volk’s knife had. Caused more damage. “You’re confusing instincts with something else.” Something, given his careful choosing of his words, that he didn’t want to identify.

“You need to put an around-the-clock guard on Eggers.” She hated the note of pleading in her tone.

“Because he’s going to be next.”

“Yes.”

The silence was interminable. Then he gave a short nod. “Okay.”

Stunned, she could only stare at him. Nate cocked a brow. “Even without . . . this”—he tapped the page with the drawing of the man—“we can be certain he has knowledge of the background leading up to this thing. With the IA investigation on him and his connection to our case, I can make a solid argument to Morales that he’s crucial to our investigation. He can go up the line and get the strings pulled to keep him on a desk job.” He paused questioningly and she nodded. That would take care of the man’s work hours.

“And you’ll keep him under surveillance after that?”

“I can keep an officer on him.”

Something inside her eased. A tendril of hope unfurled. “If the Cop Killer comes for him, we might be able to catch him in the act.”

Nate rifled through the pictures again. “Anyone else here you want us to keep an eye on? Although Juicy is a given . . . Hey, you even have a sketch of . . .” He looked at her. “Is that Kristin?”

She busied herself cracking eggs into a bowl she’d found in the cupboard. “Not everything in the dreams is relevant. A lot is open to interpretation.” Like the melding of one image into the next. Random snippets of conversation that made little sense.

“That’s what I’m saying, Risa.” Something in his tone alerted her. “They’re just dreams. Open to interpretation.”

Strength leeched out of her body. Her shoulders sagged. She felt as if she were folding in upon herself. Because it was clear by that statement that he still didn’t believe her. Like her mother hadn’t. Like she’d always known her ex wouldn’t.

She’d been stupid to think that Nate McGuire would be any different.

Jett Brandau was hovering outside Nate’s office when they arrived. Taking in the sight of Risa coming in behind him, he said, “Boy, you guys timed your arrival perfectly.” He stopped then, looked more carefully from one to the other.

Nate busied himself unlocking the door. “Is there a reason you’re haunting my office?”

Still watching them both, Jett said slowly, “Yeah, I got news. I told you I’d keep you both updated.” He followed them into the office, shot Nate a what-the-hell look.

Nate kept his expression carefully impassive. The man could draw his own conclusions about Risa’s and his simultaneous arrivals. But there was no way he could fail to pick up on the charged current between them. It’d been present all through the breakfast she’d cooked, then barely eaten. Had continued when she’d joined him in the station house lot. Walked with him inside.

Nate had the sinking feeling that he’d been given an opportunity and had failed miserably at it. The hell of it was, he wasn’t quite sure what his failure had been.

That he hadn’t, what, accepted her dreams as fact? As some sort of psychic road map outlining the future of this case? Just the idea summoned incredulity again. He was a man mired in logic. In reason. And dammit, Risa should be, too. She dealt with the same sort of facts and detail that he did himself. Their job required it.

He’d handled things badly back at the house. He could admit that now. Setting his computer case on his desk, he sat down. But for the life of him, he couldn’t see what he could have done differently.

The watch on Eggers had made sense. He’d accepted that readily enough. And she hadn’t mentioned anything else, so why the hell did he feel like he’d just bombed a test?

“You two are balls of joy in the morning.” Jett dropped into a free chair. “Should I have Darrell bring in coffee?”

“He doesn’t work weekends,” Nate responded automatically. Risa still hadn’t said a word. “I heard Morales tell him he wasn’t to let anyone talk him into trading hours either. They all take advantage of him.”

Jett looked crestfallen. “If I’d known that I’d have stopped somewhere for coffee before coming in this morning.” Then shaking off his disappointment, he got to the point. “I spoke to Lloyd Bennett again this morning. The battalion chief at the fire station that responded to Risa’s fire?” At Nate’s impatient nod, he went on. “Apparently the arson investigator isn’t coming up until today, but he started the interviews by phone yesterday afternoon and reviewed the photos last night. He told Bennett this morning that right now he’d qualify the fire as suspicious.”

“When I asked yesterday, Hannah was unsure whether she’d closed the windows that night,” Risa said quietly. “She did seem fairly certain that she hadn’t opened all you reported that were found open. And she flatly denied taking the batteries out of the smoke detectors.”

Nate hadn’t heard that conversation. It must have taken place when he’d been on the phone. But although Risa had seemed to accept what that meant, there still was doubt in his mind.

Or hell. More like hope. He was already distracted by Kristin and Tucker’s disappearance. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate on the case knowing the Cop Killer had Risa in his sights? His nape prickled. That he’d already made one attempt on her life?

Jett was talking again. “You and your mom have a place to stay? Because I know this gal who runs this sweet little bed-and-breakfast just over the line in Montgomery County.” He grinned. “If I send her some business, she just might start talking to me again.”

“Risa’s staying with me.” The brusque pronouncement had both of the others looking at Nate. Jett with surprise, Risa with something a bit more dangerous. He directed his explanation to her. “We’re not going to let this guy get another shot at you.”

“Meaning that a woman on her own is fair game, but one with a big strong man around will scare him off?”

He didn’t trust the sweetness of her tone. Knew her well enough to be certain sarcasm lurked beneath it.

Help arrived from an unexpected quarter. “He’s right,” Jett told her. “Hell, there’s safety in numbers.” To Nate, he said, “But it wouldn’t hurt to double-check your security system. Your smoke detectors.” His expression was sober. “If Risa’s a target, so are you. Hell, maybe anyone affiliated with the investigation is.”

The rap on the door sounded a mere instant before it was pushed open. Captain Morales stood in the doorway, taking in its occupants with one sweeping gaze. “Good, you’re here,” he said, looking at Nate. “Javon Emmons was scooped up in the BOLO last night. The commissioner says we get first shot at him.”

Emmons was slouched in his chair, a hat pulled low over his eyes. He was more dressed up than the last time they’d seen him. Black-striped jeans and a collared shirt were topped with a butter-soft leather jacket the color of olives. His expression was the same, though. Cocky, with a hint of underlying slyness.

“McGuire. I hear you’re looking at my old apartment. Want to rent it, I hear.” His teeth flashed. “Man, I’ll let you in on a secret. Place has cockroaches the size of rats. Matter of fact, I seen a death match between a cockroach and a rat in the building. Crowned that roach champ.”

“Good to know.” Nate sat back in his chair and surveyed him. “You’re a hard man to find.”

“I’m a rolling stone. Got people to see. Can’t be sitting around waiting for the po-po to come calling every time you gets a notion.”

“Tell us about your brother,” Risa put in.

He sent a lazy glance her way. “Which one? I got lots of brothers. I got stepbrothers, half brothers, full brothers . . . got sisters, too. Want to hear about them?”

“No. Just Lamont Fredericks.”

Something flashed in his eyes, there and gone too quickly to identify. “What about him? Lamont, he was a half brother and a lot older than me. Hardly knew him. He died when I was just a kid.”

“He died in that fire at Tory’s.”

“That’s right.” He slipped a little farther down in his chair. “He wasn’t wearin’ his asbestos pjs. Never made it out of the fire alive.”

“Who do you think is to blame for that?”

“Well, I guess it’d be whoever created fire.”

“The police report indicated the origin was undetermined. Do you know what that means?”

“Shit means they don’t know if someone started it or not.”

“That’s right.” Risa nodded. “If someone started it, who do you think would want to burn Tory’s down?”

He shrugged. “My brother was a businessman, just like me. Had a lot of enemies.”

“Did those enemies have names?” Nate asked.

Javon spread his hands expansively. “Now, this is nice. Warms my heart to see y’all so worried about how Lamont died. More than twenty years late, but hey, that’s the rate you guys get things done, ain’t it? Better late than never.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

He looked at Risa. “Naw, I don’t know. How would I? I was just a little kid at the time.”

“But you’re in the same kind of business he was in. Even the same territory, from what I can figure.”

Juicy wagged a finger at Nate. “Now that sort of talk is what they call entrapment. Trying to make me say something that ain’t true. I sell . . . what you call it? Mary Kay products.” He laughed.

“Tell us more about Tory Baltes’s son.” She folded her arms across her chest. “The one you used to run with sometimes when you were kids.”

Humor faded to be replaced by boredom. “What about him?”

“Do you remember his name?”

“Should I? He was some kid. Kids came and went in that neighborhood all the time. Still do.”

“The name Samuel Baltes ring a bell?” Nate watched the man closely.

“Sammy. Yeah, maybe it was Sammy. Never saw him again after that fire. His old lady grabbed him and moved away.”

“That’s interesting.” Risa took a sheet out of the file folder in front of her and pushed it over for him to look at. “Because you sold him a car a few years back.” She paused a beat. “So you must have seen him at least once more after he moved.”

He heaved a long breath. “I meant I didn’t see him any more when we was kids. Saw him once or twice after that. When we were grown.”

“And one of those times you sold him a car.”

“That’s right.” Nate’s words didn’t seem to faze him. “Dumb shit got himself killed in it, too.” His shrug said it didn’t matter to him one way or another. “It’s a dangerous world out there.”