Guns and Roses (22 page)

“Don’t fuck with me, Detective.”

“Your last victim died on the operating table after you stabbed her.”

I spoke loudly; several people heard my comment. I tossed my damp hair out of my face and smiled. “I will bury you,” I said quietly.

His hands clenched. I hoped he hit me. I’d have cuffs on him so fast he’d have to drop the cup. I practically felt the evidence bag burning in my back pocket.

I pushed. “Why blondes? What do you have against us? Some smart girl dump you because she found out you were a monster behind that pretty face? Or do you have mommy issues? Oh, no, that’s right—you had a nanny. I looked her up. She was blond, too. Maybe I’ll give her a call and find out just what kind of little boy you were.”

His eyes narrowed, but he smiled. “You should think twice about harassing me, Detective Black. You forget, sweetheart, I have access to files.
All
criminal files. Even reports made twelve years ago to campus police.”

My blood turned to ice as I realized he’d researched me.

 “Admit it, Selena,” he whispered, drawing out my name like a snake. “You’re just like every woman out there. You play the game, pretend you don’t want it, but secretly you crave being treated like a bitch in heat. Hot and horny. You wanted to fuck that poor dufus as much as he wanted to screw you. Then the next morning you wonder, what would people think if they knew you were a slut? So you cry rape, boo-hoo.” He smiled again, but his eyes were cold and I knew he’d kill me if he could. “Watch yourself. Sacramento is a dangerous town, especially for blondes.”

Then he disappeared into the Attorney General’s Office.

With his coffee cup.

Chapter Seven

I had screwed myself by following Keller. Not only had I put my career at risk, I’d put this case at risk.

The bastard was guilty and I had nothing but an inadmissible statement. He’d played me well—in front of my partner, no less, making me look like a lunatic cop.

I needed his DNA to compare. Patience would give it to me—there was no doubt in my mind that Keller would attack another woman. But that was the Catch-22 … how many women would be raped—how many would
die
—before I could stop him?

By the time I arrived back at the station, I’d already ignored calls from Joe and Ramirez. I thought my Sergeant was calling me because he was turning the case to Homicide, and this afternoon was soon enough.

Joe intercepted me before I was ten feet inside. “Don’t you ever answer your phone anymore?”

“I’m off-duty,” I said.

“What did you do?”

“What do you mean? I didn’t
do
anything.”

“Ramirez wants your head.”

Before I could probe Joe for more answers, Ramirez spotted me. “Black! My office.”

Joe squeezed my hand in support, but I went into Ramirez’s office alone.

“Sir?”

“Greg Keller’s attorney has filed a restraining order against you and is threatening a lawsuit against this department.”

“On what grounds?”

“Did you follow him this afternoon?”

“Very briefly, it was—”

“And confront him in front the Attorney General’s office?”

“He threatened me, sir.”

“If he didn’t draw a weapon, I don’t want to hear about it. I thought you were a grown-up, Black. One of my best detectives. Tempestuous at times, but sharp and dedicated. And you screw with the wrong guy.”

“He’s guilty!”

“And that’s your problem. From the beginning of the year, you’ve been focused on Keller. How many cases have you passed off to your team? I’ve looked—you’ve taken twelve percent fewer cases than anyone else. Is that fair to them?

“I want to catch this guy just as much as you and Joe and every other cop in this department. But I will not jeopardize the integrity of my team. The police chief
and
mayor are both up in arms over this.”

“He’s trying to—”

“Maybe. Maybe he is. Or maybe you stepped over the line.”

“I did not.” I cleared my throat. “You’re right about me passing off cases, and I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to my team. Today—I thought I could get him to slip up. You know how close we are, if we can get his DNA we have him.” I paused. “You heard Maggie Van Allen. She was a reliable witness. It wasn’t fair that her ID was tossed out.”

The air was let out of Ramirez and he sank into his chair, his broad shoulders seeming to deflate. He rubbed a hand over his weathered face and said, “Our job isn’t always easy, Selena,” he said. “We face criminals every day, people we know are guilty, and we can’t always stop them. Early in my career, barely out of rookie status, I responded to a domestic violence call. A woman had burned her three-year-old daughter’s arm on the stove. She claimed it was an accident, but I saw that little girl’s eyes and I took her away, to the hospital, and told the doctors that I thought the mother was lying. They came back with inconclusive on abuse and passed it over to social services. But the crux of the problem was that while the bureaucrats were trying to follow all the laws and protect the rights of the mother, the little girl was put back in the home with weekly social worker visits.” Ramirez stared me in the eyes. “The little girl was named Regina. I was at her funeral six months later. The mother pled to involuntary manslaughter and got ten years. Regina deserved to live, deserved a mother who hugged her, not hit her. I know it wasn’t fair then, and what happened to Keller’s five victims wasn’t fair to them, or that Keller has friends in high places that are making our job impossible. But our hands are tied—we can’t touch him right now.”

Ramirez straightened his spine and started moving files off his desk. “The case is at homicide now.”

“I’d like to assist—”

He put up his hand. “Don’t. You’re on administrative leave as of today. You can come back after you talk to the police psychologist.”

“You want me to talk to the shrink? But you just said—”

“It’s not what you’re doing, Detective. It’s how it’s affecting you. Joe told me what happened in the courthouse today.”

My partner hadn’t believed me, but worse, he’d repeated his misperception. I was empty.

I pulled my badge from my pocket and put it on Ramirez’s desk. I removed my gun from its holster and put it on top of the badge. My boss just watched me, and maybe if I cared I’d have noticed then that he looked as depressed as I felt.

I walked out. Right into the middle of another downpour.

I didn’t notice the passage of time, didn’t much think about anything except searching my soul for answers that couldn’t be found.

Could I stay on the job with people who didn’t trust me? Did I even want to? Had I crossed the line? If so, how? How many women were going to be hurt because Keller was well-connected?

I found myself at Gabriel’s loft well after dark, rubbing the key between my fingers, not knowing what I should do. If I should even be here. But I knocked on his door. Quietly. Maybe thinking he wouldn’t hear me. Or that he wasn’t home. I hoped he wasn’t home. I hoped he was.

Greg Keller knew everything about me. All the secrets I’d kept from everyone—my brother, my partner, the police department—and he knew.

He’d emotionally raped me. I felt as raw as I’d had twelve years ago when I’d trusted the wrong guy and he drugged me.

The door opened. Gabriel stood there wearing jeans and a button-down shirt, a glass of red wine in his hand. And for a moment, I thought he had company.

“I’m disturbing you.”

“I was expecting you.” He took my arm and pulled me inside. “You’re drenched.”

I had forgotten. Dinner, eight. “I—”

“Shh.” He hugged me though I was dripping onto his beautiful hardwood floor. I’d barely noticed while I walked across town that the rain had soaked through all layers of my clothing, but now I began to shake, as much from the cold as anguish, and relief. Relief to be here, with Gabriel.

He steered me into his living room. “Wait.” He left the room and returned with a towel and bathrobe. I took both. The bathrobe smelled like Gabriel.

“Thank you.” I went into the bathroom and stripped. Even my panties and bra were soaked from the rain. How long had I wandered? I’d parked at my apartment, but hadn’t wanted to go inside, too depressed, too lonely, so I walked aimlessly, lost in miserable thoughts—until I ended up here.

Maybe my subconscious knew this was where I needed to be.

I returned to the living room and Gabriel had food on the table. “It’s lasagna. I was keeping it warm.”

“Homemade?” I asked.

He feigned shock that I had even asked. “Of course. My mother’s Italian; she’d skin me alive if I bought pre-made anything. She’d even frown on the pre-made noodles.”

“Your mom makes her own pasta?”

Gabriel nodded and pulled out a chair for me. I felt oddly ladylike, even in the bathrobe.

“I don’t know if I can eat,” I said. I picked up the wine glass and sipped.

“You will eat. You need energy.”

I ate, because Gabriel wanted me to. By the third bite I was crying.

He took my hand and led me over to the couch, putting my head on his shoulder. “Shh,” he said. “Lena, I’m here.”

“I screwed up,” I said, trying to make the tears stop, but they refused. “I wanted his coffee cup. Courts have upheld time and again DNA collected from items that are thrown away or left in a public place. I knew his schedule, followed him, watched him, and then—he looked at me. And he knew what I wanted. He taunted me! “And still, I pushed him. Wanting him to slip up, but he’s been playing me all along.”

“I don’t understand.”

I had never told anyone what happened twelve years ago. No one—not even the Sacramento Police Department when they hired me. I’d lied on my questionnaire. Maybe I had been in denial, or maybe I just didn’t want to answer any questions about that day.

“Twelve years ago, I was a freshman at San Diego State. Pre-law. My dad was a cop, my brother was a cop, I didn’t want to be one, but I wanted to be a D.A. Nailing the coffin tight on the scum who people like my dad and brother arrested.

“It was a gorgeous spring day. I went to the beach after my classes. I used to love the ocean.” Except now it reminded me of pain and humiliation.

“The T.A. in my favorite class invited me out. He’d been flirting with me all semester. I wasn’t used to the attention—I was tall and homely and awkward, especially back then.”

“You’re beautiful,” Gabriel said and took my hand.

I stared at our enjoined hands, gathered the strength to continue. “It was a nice date, then he—I had a couple beers. In one he slipped me a mickey. I told him no, but I couldn’t fight back, and then I didn’t think it was really happening, like I was looking at a stranger being—” I took a deep breath. “He left me on the beach where he’d raped me. I remember the waves most of all, the sand in my mouth. But it was unreal.”

I couldn’t look Gabriel in the eye; I stared on our hands. My knuckles were white with tension. “I could lie and say I forgot everything that happened. I remembered everything. I was confused and scared and very angry mad. Angry at him and at myself.

“I don’t remember how I got home. I think I walked. It was a couple miles. When I woke up, I was in my own bed. I was sticky and sore and bleeding. I showered until the water was cold, and then stayed there, completely paralyzed. Then I drank. A lot. I didn’t report it until the next day. To the campus police. It didn’t go over well. The guy I accused said it was consensual sex. He was respected and well liked and had a rich donor father. The professor he T.A.’d for stood by him. But ultimately, there was no evidence. I still had my clothes, but they said they couldn’t do anything about that. I should have gone to the hospital. I should have gone to them first. I should never have showered, or gotten drunk, or anything. I was so stupid! My dad had been a cop! I knew what to do if I was ever attacked, but I was nineteen and in complete denial. I never told my dad or my brother. Not then, not now. I told no one.

“But,” I continued, “I lied on my employment application. Under penalty of perjury, I lied and said I’d never been a victim of a sexual assault. No one knew, because I never pursued it. The campus police made me feel cheap and stupid, like I had sex because I wanted to, but regretted it later. But Greg Keller knows.”

Something inside me had broken, and I didn’t know how to fix it.

“How does he know?”

“He got the file. He knew the details.”

“He told you?”

I nodded, wiped away my tears with the bathrobe sleeve.

“What happened?”

“He’s been playing with me all along. The courthouse this morning—Joe walked in and Keller acted like I had nearly attacked him. I didn’t!”

“You don’t have to defend yourself with me, Lena.”

“Joe didn’t believe me. And then this afternoon, I followed him, and now he’s threatening to sue. Ashley’s case was moved to homicide. I—I was suspended. Ramirez wants me to see a shrink.” I barked out of laugh that sounded crazy to me. “Maybe I need one.”