Kiss Me Awake (8 page)

“Keeping her safe from the likes of me?” Last night it was his shoulder Jaida cried on, so to speak. He found Auggie’s suggestion that she settle down amusing. Less amusing was the fact that he wasn’t considered suitable company for the fair Jaida.

Auggie shoved a stiff finger against his chest. “Just watch yourself, man.”

The camaraderie between them was gone. Lance could take it or leave it since it wasn’t formed to last in the first place, but it would be a wise decision to hold onto it a little while longer.

He nodded. “Will do.”

After Auggie left, Lance stood at the foot of the bed mulling over the woman in it. He was surprised she’d slept through their skirmish.

She was something special. He wouldn’t mind delving deeper, establishing an honest relationship without ulterior motives clouding it. But that was unrealistic. Onc
e she discovered why he was involved in her life, she would have his head on a platter.

The
line was busy. Jaida dropped the phone in the cradle and yawned. She’d been dialing Vickery’s office for an hour and a half and still could not get through.  

Either the machine was full of condolences to Vickery’s staff or someone left the phone off the hook. She stood, laced her fingers, and stretched her arms over her head then took a few steps across the black-and-white tile to work the numbness from her backside. The waiting was making her crazy.

She had an early morning meeting sc
heduled with the head of Baseel or she would already be on the freeway headed to Ventura. It would be tasteless to crash a funeral, but at the moment, need trumped etiquette.

She hit ‘speaker’ then ‘redial’ and got the same result. If
by the end of the day she couldn’t reach a live person, or a recording to leave a message, she would drive out there first thing tomorrow morning.

Vickery’s assistant was Barbara Ellenb
urg. She had located the woman’s name and was in the process of pulling up her cell number.

Her only concern was that Ms. Ellenburg
would stand by her boss’s views on attorney-client privilege. What if she refused to let her see the records? There was no reason they should be withheld. She was the only one they affected. Besides, who was left to object or even care what was in them?

She had always wondered if Eva knew the name of her birth mother. If she had she never let on, and Jaida could never bring herself to ask. What mother, adoptive or biological, would want to share her child’s heart with another woman?

She glanced at the clock. It was nearly eleven, and it was Monday. Her weekend grace period had officially ended. Soon, Auggie would make his appearance and inform her that the investigation on Gale was closed. Once again, she would be on her own. 

She sat back down at the desk and reached for the styrofoam cup. Sipping at the lukewarm coffee, she looked over the open folder. The pages of the year-old summary stared up at her. It was the last report in the file. How many times had she read through it already? Twenty? Thirty?

Jaida rolled the desk chair forward, the seat squealing in protest, and read the investigators remarks. She considered every angle the prosecutor could approach this from. Anything turned over had to be strong enough to stick. She had to be missing something that would seal this up for her, something small but significant, and that’s what she was searching for. Again.

Gale deserved more years behind bars than he had left to live. The video footage she’d viewed was macabre. A murder preserved on film, it mimicked a violent scene straight out of CSI. Only this was real.

The video alone should be enough to guarantee that charges would be filed, and a conviction would follow. But the quality was so poor it could be argued that it wasn’t Gale—that he was the victim of a look-alike’s heinous actions, another man with a similar face and build. And she had nothing in her arsenal to shoot that theory down with.

Even after video forensics spent hours cleaning it up, the image alone didn’t prove beyond a reasonable doubt that it was William Gale wielding the knife.

Jaida picked up the second page and looked it over, reading the first line once, twice, and then a third time before she gave up and tossed it back into the pile of loose papers. She couldn’t do this. Not today.

She dug her fingertips into her temples and rubbed, but the tension clawed tighter. This was not part of her job. She was to present the facts and the evidence then pass the baton onto the police in a collaborative effort. It was the State that would choose to prosecute…or not.

And therein lies the rub.
It was the ‘or not’ that had her stressing out and scrambling for surety in a system that was so unpredictable. 

Her own motives in this were hardly altruistic, but if she got what she wanted there would be a double win. She would learn the name of her mother, and for the victim, Marcus Dennison, justice would be served.

Jaida shrugged out of her sweater and let it slide between her and the back of the chair. With the thermostat set at an arctic chill, the white cashmere had become an office staple. Even in the middle of summer.

She eyed the long-stemmed red rose draped over the top of her inbox. Lance left it for her. She lifted it and pressed it to her nose, the sweet fragrance a stench in her nostrils, a reminder of one more mistake.

Her face burned hot with shame at what she’d done. But what was one more indiscretion? Why should it matter? She pressed her eyes closed. Maybe it shouldn’t, but the ache behind her ribs told her it did.

She rubbed one of the velvety petals between her thumb and forefinger. The shade of the rose was an uncommon deep purplish-red. Carmine red. Not true red. Not true love. No surprise there. If it weren’t for the art classes she took a hundred summers ago, red would just be red to her. But what did the color represent?

She set the rose down and typed “colors of roses and their meaning” into the internet’s search engine, and in the blink of an eye there were twelve million, seven hundred thousand results at her fingertips.

She scrolled down, randomly selected a link, and with a click of the mouse, the page opened to a spread of professionally photographed roses. She scanned the bullet list below it. Red meant true love—she knew that one. Her gaze drifted down the page, past the pinks and yellows. There it was. Carmine red—deceitful desire.

What kind of meaning was that? And whose deceitful desire did it refer to, the giver or the receiver? Jaida closed the page.

She was reading too much into a simple gesture. The idea of Lance choosing a flower based on the color was ridiculous. To most men a rose was
just a rose.

The phone rang. She lifted the receiver to her ear. “Detective Martin.”

Silence.

She glanced at the caller ID.
Unknown caller.
Jaida opened her mouth again, but it was another voice that spoke.

“I told you to come alone.”

Her fingers tightened on the receiver. “Who is this?”

“You don’t know?”

“I do now,” she said. It was Ray. His voice didn’t sound natural, but it had been altered in some manner since the first call. Not electronically. It was just unusual.

“Did you recognize me at the bar?” he asked.

Was this a trick question? “You weren’t at the bar.”

“No, I wasn’t. I gave you very simple rules, Detective Martin. Did you think you could break those rules and get away with it?”

“I don’t understand. I did exactly as you asked.”

“I told you to come alone.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. It wasn’t a lie. Not really. Technically she had come alone. She didn’t know where Auggie was until he grabbed her on the street.

“I won’t tolerate being played. If you want my cooperation, you’ll stick to my rules.”

“How about tonight?” she asked. “Same bar, same get-up if you like.”

His anger was palpable. “I will say where and I will say when
if
I choose to meet you at all.”

Pompous, self-important, little…
She bit back the angry words and worked an agreeable smile into her voice. “As you wish, Ray. Feel free to call me if you decide you’re still interested in talking.”

The phone clicked. He hung up first. It was a waiting game now. Jaida set the receiver on the hook and pressed her eyes closed.
Please, please, call back.

She had the leverage she needed now, the excuse for keeping the case open. Ray’s call had given her that much if nothing else. Her office door banged open, and she swung around.

“Delivery.” Auggie entered carrying two white paper sacks. “Something wrong? You look troubled,” he said then shoved the door shut with his foot.

“I had a phone call.”

“Was it our man?” He found a small square of exposed wood in the sea of her paperwork and set the bags down on the desk.

“It was,” she said, hesitant to say much more. His hand disappeared in one of the sacks then reappeared with a paper carton. He handed it to her. 

Jaida opened the flap and a small burst of steam released the scent of General Tsao’s chicken. It was her favorite.

Auggie opened another one and handed it to her.  “Mmmm, pork lo mein. You are my hero.” This was just what she needed after living on coffee all morning.

He grinned and licked an orange sauce from his thumb. “I take it the conversation didn’t go well.” He drew another container from the bag and set it in front of him. Drinks followed.

“He knew you were there,” she said. He looked up at that. Let him mull that over for a while. That way when she stepped outside his authority and handled this herself, he would understand, because the next time their informant made her an offer to meet she would be going alone.

“Impossible. Did he specifically identify me?”

“No, but he knew I had backup.” She twisted the plastic fork in the middle of the noodles and tucked the bite in her mouth.

“When does he want to meet?”

She chewed then quickly swallowed. “We haven’t gotten around to that yet. I think right now he’s about proving he’s the one with all the power.”

“Next time we’ll just have to be more careful. No meeting up with me afterward unless it’s an emergency. Maybe it was just a hunch on his part until he saw us together on the street.”

“Maybe,” she said, but she wasn’t convinced. She sank into the chair and waved her fork over the food. “Thanks for the Chinese.”

“No problem.” Auggie slouched down in the armchair across from her and propped his feet up on the desk.

“Just to be clear, this means you’re keeping the case open now, right?”

He nodded then jerked his chin at the open file lying next to the shabby Nikes he wore. “I see you’re hard at work on it. Are you making any headway?”

“Trying.” But not succeeding, though she wasn’t inclined to reveal that little nugget of information. Auggie might be her friend, but he was also her superior.

“Let me guess. Lance has you sidetracked.”

In a way, yes he did. She grinned and pointed her fork at him. “You are just too good of a detective.”

He eyed her over the tops of his feet. “Just a friendly suggestion, but I don’t think you should see him anymore.”

“Why?” She hadn’t expected that, not after he tried to pawn her off on Kevin.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Intuition. Something tells me he’s a bad idea.”

“Yeah, and you thought Kevin was a good idea.”

His feet dropped to the floor, and he held up his hands in surrender. “All right, I admitted I was wrong there, but the guy is so pathetic when it comes to women, you in particular. It’s like he’s some awkward adolescent tripping all over himself. You can’t help but have a little compassion.”

“You make him sound like such an attractive prospect.” Jaida laughed. “Besides, I thought you liked Lance.”

“I’m just telling you what I think. Let’s leave it at that.”

‘Let’s leave it at that,’ implied there was more, but she wouldn’t ask. Not today. Not with everything else she had to deal with.

“Fair enough.” She bit into the shrimp-stuffed egg roll Auggie unwrapped for her.

His fork invaded her territory and speared a piece of her chicken. She leaned forward and guarded the remains of her food with her arms. “Eat your own.”

“You can have some of mine.” He shoved his carton at her, and she looked inside the empty cavern. Empty, save for a skimpy mouthful of white rice, tinted red from the sweet-and-sour sauce.

“Thanks.” She made a face at him then frowned, a somber mood overtaking her. “Why do you think Ray wants to help?  I mean, what exactly does he get out of this?  He’s putting himself on the line, and the man he’s about to expose repays favors like that with a bullet to the head.”

He shrugged. “A grievance, a vendetta…he didn't get what he was promised. Could be anything. Guys like this have revenge in their blood. Once we’re through with him, if he’s still breathing, he’ll probably be begging for a new identity and a boat ride to some uncharted island.”