L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Series, Boxed Set: The Deceived, The Taken & The Silent (52 page)

“Yes, you did. I saw you. You’re a freaking liar!”

Gianni practically flew from the room to where the girls stood and shoved herself between them. She spoke softly so he couldn’t hear, but he could tell by the teens’ reactions whatever she’d said meant something. One girl’s shoulders slumped. The other shifted from one foot to the other, eyes cast down. Ms. Gianni stood her ground, said something else, and then came over to where Jordan now stood in the archway.

“I’m sorry, Detective. I can’t talk to you anymore. I have a job to do.”

“A very tough job, it seems.”

She looked surprised, then quickly shifted her expression to business again. “It is what it is. I’m sure your job is more difficult and certainly more dangerous. I’d like to help you, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Right. She’d like to help about as much as he liked going shopping with a woman. Hell, she couldn’t wait to get him out of there. He handed her his card. “I understand. But if you remember anything else, please call me.”

She took the card, pocketed it without looking at it…on her way to show him the door.

Where he stopped…turned. “Anything, no matter how insignificant. This woman’s murderer is still walking the streets. I’d like to make sure he doesn’t kill again.”

CHAPTER THREE

LAURA WATCHED THE DETECTIVE
leave, shut the door and slumped against it. Three years ago, she’d answered questions about Eddie and his uncle. She’d thought that had ended it.

But this wasn’t about Eddie, it was about Anna. The woman who’d helped her during the worst part of her life, helped her get off the streets. She’d spent years trying to forget her past, and for Caitlin’s sake, she wouldn’t open that door again.

Besides, anything she knew about Anna was from years ago and would be no help in finding her killer. She shouldn’t feel guilty about it.

The detective had caught her completely off guard when he’d starting asking questions about Frank DeMatta. A man she knew more about than she should. Eddie had known too much and he was dead. Just thinking about it made her shudder in fear.

Fear for her little girl. Caitlin.

She couldn’t get involved. No matter how much she wanted to see Anna’s killer behind bars, she couldn’t take the chance. She just couldn’t.

Dakota crossed the room. “I’m sorry. I forgot there was someone here.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Brandy said.

Laura pushed away from the door and attempted a smile. “It’s okay. I didn’t want to talk to him, anyway.” The teens laughed and Laura motioned for them to head for the dining room. “We’ve got some heavy studying to do.” Laura pulled out the workbooks and tossed them on the battered walnut table. “The GED test is only a week away.”

Neither girl had any desire to finish high school if it meant going to classes. A GED was the next best thing, and Laura intended to see they were prepared for the test. Both were smart but had been out of school for too long. A year for Dakota and two years for Brandy. Living on the streets had taken its toll physically and mentally.

They spent the next three hours studying and after lunch went grocery shopping. Most of the girls had few skills when it came to making a life for themselves. Learning to prepare a menu, cook, buy groceries, pay bills and do the laundry were as much a part of the shelter’s program as counseling.

Back home, as the girls put away the groceries, Laura was reminded of how far the shelter had come.

Everything had worked out perfectly. But if Detective St. James kept asking questions…

Her chest tightened at the thought.
Breathe
. She took a couple of deep breaths to ward off an attack. Too late. Her hands got clammy, her heartbeat pulsed erratically. Damn. Every time she thought she’d conquered the panic attacks, she was reminded that she hadn’t.

“I’ll be right back,” she said. Holding on to the wall, she crossed to the bathroom down the hall from the kitchen, bent over the old sink, stained with makeup from the girls, and splashed water on her face. Her pulse calming, she stared at herself in the mirror.

Had she done the right thing three years ago? God knew it wasn’t the first time she’d asked herself the question. She’d done what she thought best for her daughter at the time.

Then, in one brief moment at Eddie’s funeral, her need to protect her child became a desperate quest. She remembered it as vividly as if it were yesterday. Standing in the drizzling rain at the cemetery with Caitlin and Eddie’s mother at the gravesite, breathing in the scent of damp leaves. The rhythmic thud of heavy wet earth against the top of the casket decried the end of Eddie’s life. Her heart filled with sadness. Sadness and regret. Caitlin tugging on Laura’s shirtsleeve. “It’s him, Mommy. That’s the man who came to see Daddy.”

Coming back to the moment, she’d snatched her daughter’s hand with the speed of light and held it in a vise grip to keep her from pointing. The man her daughter had been looking at was Frank DeMatta.

Shaking, Laura averted her gaze and ignored the man’s nod of acknowledgment. But on the way to the car, he’d stopped them, reached into his pocket and handed her a package wrapped in brown paper. “For you and the child,” he said. Then he added in a whisper only she could hear, “I take care of my own. Remember that.”

He couldn’t possibly know. Could he? And just because he’d been at the house didn’t mean he was Eddie’s murderer. Did it?

And if she believed that, she was living in a third dimension. She’d been on the streets long enough to know all about Frank DeMatta—and how he took care of people who crossed him.

Eddie had crossed him.

On the way home, she’d told Caitlin she was mistaken, explaining the man at the funeral had been out of the country for a long time. Cait had accepted the explanation and said maybe she’d dreamed it. And in the three years since, Cait had never brought it up again.

During the investigation of Eddie’s murder, she’d lived in a perpetual state of anxiety, worrying that somehow someone would find out Caitlin had been at her father’s that night. And then Eddie’s murderer would know. When the police closed the active case because they had no more viable leads, she’d nearly collapsed in relief.

But the guilt dogged her. Eddie’s murder would go unsolved, but her daughter’s safety superseded everything. The package DeMatta had given her contained money. A lot of money. And she knew the only money DeMatta had was blood money—money she would never use and couldn’t give back.

They hadn’t seen DeMatta again, and after a couple years, she’d been lulled into feeling safe. She closed her eyes. They weren’t safe. They’d never be safe. Not with Detective St. James’s asking questions. Everything could change in an instant.

“Okay, we’re done!”

She heard Brandy’s voice like a faint echo in her head. She splashed more water, took a couple more long breaths, went back into the kitchen and plastered on a smile. “Thanks, girls. Dinner at six.” Which meant the teens had the rest of the afternoon to themselves.

The front door slammed. “Second shift is here,” Rose announced.

The three women alternated schedules every other month, so no one had to take the worst hours all the time. The changing schedule gave Laura more evenings to spend with Caitlin.

Caitlin. Laura glanced at her watch. She wasn’t home yet and she should be. Hurrying through the living room, Laura checked her watch again, all senses on alert. Why had she ever agreed to let her walk home alone?

“I saw Cait down the block,” Rose said, stopping Laura before she reached the door.

She heaved a silent sigh of relief.

“Hey, everyone. My mother sent brownies.” Rose raised a cake pan for all to see, then turned to Laura. “Something change around here?”

It was no secret Laura was overprotective. “Nothing earth-shattering. Cait wanted to walk home with the other kids.”

A knowing smile crossed Rose Blackthorne’s face as she tugged off her tan leather jacket, then hung it on the coat tree by the front door. “Right.”

Laura wasn’t fooling anyone with her casual response. Rose knew how protective Laura was, knew exactly how big a deal it was for her to let Cait walk home by herself.

Rose was also a mother. And one of the most beautiful women Laura had ever met. Her smooth bronzed skin and well-toned body gave no indication she was over forty and had three children.

Laura, Phoebe and Rose had worked together for three years now, and both their business relationship and their friendships were unshakable. Each evening Rose went home to her children and her mother, who stayed with her, while Phoebe stayed at the shelter a few nights a week, along with Laura. Laura wished she had another home to go to sometimes, like Phoebe, a place for just her and Caitlin. But there was no money to hire someone to stay full-time. No money to buy another place, either.

“The cop come back today?”

“He did. He was asking questions, but not about anyone here.”

“Good. I hate when the police get involved.” Rose headed for the kitchen, and on her way she said to no one in particular, “Keep your mitts off the brownies till after dinner.”

Laura hurried to the front door to see if she could spot Caitlin through the window. If she went outside to look and Cait saw her, the poor kid would be embarrassed all over again.

She saw the two girls walking slowly toward the house, chatting and laughing, and Laura realized how much Caitlin needed the independence. As much as she hated letting go, she had to if her daughter was to live a normal life.

And Laura wanted that more than anything.

***

“I’m not sure Ms. Gianni was telling me everything,” Jordan said to Luke across the table at Bailey’s Sports Bar and Grill. Along with Rico Santini, Luke Coltrane and Will Houston were the best detectives in the RHD. They also happened to be his best friends. Rico, who’d convinced Jordan to come to the bar, hadn’t made it after all, and Will, aka Tex, had been there earlier with Simon McIntyre, one of the newer detectives in the unit, but both had left on a call out.

“You think she’s lying?”

As reruns of highlights and best plays in last week’s football game showed on the big screen, Jordan picked up the pitcher of beer and half filled his own glass. Luke was drinking soda. The announcer’s voice rose above the din of clinking glasses and the raised voices of the regulars—mostly cops—going head-to-head on the plays. “No. Not lying,” he answered Tex. “Withholding. Not telling me what she knows.”

“And her motive for that would be?” Luke leaned back on two legs of his chair, eyes riveted on the television.

“She seemed edgy when I asked about DeMatta.”

“That slime would make anyone nervous. We all know what happens to people who get on his list.”

“But why would she worry?”

Luke looked at Jordan. “No reason—unless she has something to hide.”

Luke was familiar with the Eddie Gianni case—they all were. Luke had even worked on the case for a brief period after the botched protection job.

“My thought, too. She said she’d met Kolnikov.”

“Anything good?”

“No. We got interrupted and I left. I should’ve stayed, been persistent,” Jordan said, more to himself than to Luke. His buddy’s attention was back on the screen.

He should’ve asked Laura more questions. She’d said Kolnikov seemed nice. That she was kind. Obviously Gianni didn’t know the whole story there. But he did. He tightened his grip on his glass and refocused on the television.

Except his mind wouldn’t cooperate. The Gianni woman knew more than she was saying. He saw it in her body language, the way she avoided looking him in the eyes. He didn’t know what she was withholding, but his instincts were usually on target.

For about the hundredth time, he asked himself the same question Rico had asked earlier—why was he was so interested in this case? Anyone who housed young girls and prostituted them for money was scum. A woman who’d slept with DeMatta and worked for him for thirty years had to be as amoral as DeMatta himself. Why bother?

The answer was always the same.

Because he had to.

Because it was personal.

What he knew so far was documented in three different case files. Kolnikov’s, Eddie Gianni’s, and that of Delores Matthews, one of DeMatta’s girlfriends who’d done a disappearing act. Speculation had it she was either dead or hiding out so she didn’t get dead. Among the three cases he knew a few things for sure. The LAPD suspected Kolnikov housed the women DeMatta’s pimps recruited. They suspected DeMatta was involved in her death. But they couldn’t prove either.

Jordan knew Matthews had worked for Kolnikov. He knew Kolnikov’s clientele were high rollers, and both women had been arrested more than once. He also knew Kolnikov had influential friends.

Combine that with the best attorneys available and you had a walk every time.

The one common thread in the cases was Frank DeMatta. And the focus of all three of the investigations hadn’t been so much on solving the crimes as it was pinning something on the mobster. With good reason. If they took DeMatta down, half the illegal businesses in L.A. would crumble.

Luke suddenly launched to his feet, his arms pumping. “Hoo-yeah!” His hoots joined with a cacophony of other shouts. Then, as if just noticing him, Luke clapped Jordan on the shoulder. “Hey, man, what’s with you?”

“Yeah, great play,” Jordan answered.

“You still thinking about the case?” Luke grinned. “Or the woman?”

Jordan wasn’t in the mood for their usual banter.

“She’s a stunning woman,” Luke said, his tone implying he didn’t know how Jordan could resist.

Stunning, yes. Great hair and fascinating eyes. Those facts hadn’t escaped him. She was tall and had more curves than the skinny model types he usually dated. She was also too classy to be married to a punk like Gianni. “Lots of pretty women in the world. Besides, she’s off-limits. You know how that works.”

“I know, but life doesn’t always work the way it’s supposed to. I might’ve tried for a date myself if I hadn’t been going through divorce hell.”

“So, what’s keeping you from it now?” Jordan needled.

Luke turned away. “I’ve got other interests.”

Jordan doubted it. He knew Luke hadn’t been involved with anyone in ages because he was still in love with his ex-wife. They’d lost a child and the stress had been so overwhelming, the marriage crumbled under the pressure. Luke had spent the next two years in a deep depression, medicating with booze.