L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Series, Boxed Set: The Deceived, The Taken & The Silent (65 page)

After tucking Cait in bed, she went downstairs, set the security alarm and built a fire. After pouring a glass of wine from the bottle they’d opened the night before, she wandered to the den to get a book. They all appeared to be leather-bound classics—Hemingway, Shakespeare. A bit pretentious, maybe?

Then she came across a photo album, stuck haphazardly in with the books. Odd.

She pulled it out and went into the great room by the fire and flipped it open to the first page. A family portrait stared back at her. A model family that could’ve been from the pages of Good Housekeeping. Mother, father and two small boys both the same height and about five years old, one dark, one blond. The caption on the photo read 1987. Curious, she flipped another page. More photos from the same time period. As she turned the pages, she watched the years pass. The blond boy looked oddly familiar, a devilish glint in his eyes. The two boys didn’t look alike and neither resembled the parents all that much.

She took a sip of wine, thinking she shouldn’t be snooping, but couldn’t help herself. Photo albums were meant to be viewed. She passed over the next section and reached 1995, finding a photo of the two teenage boys fishing. Her jaw dropped. That’s why the blond boy looked familiar. His hair was darker now, but there was no mistaking Jordan St. James.

No wonder he felt at home here. He’d been coming here with his friend since childhood. But that didn’t make sense. If he was just a friend, he wouldn’t be in all the family photos.

Unless... Awareness dawned. This wasn’t Jordan’s friend’s cabin, it was his family’s cabin. No wonder he knew his way around so well, seemed so comfortable. She clenched her jaw as she turned page after page and the photographs revealed the truth.

Jordan had lied to her.

It was obvious his family was wealthy, and it was also obvious he didn’t want her to know it. He’d made love to her, the most intimate act between two people, but he couldn’t confide in her. Did he want to keep his family separate from his job? She might believe that If he hadn’t said he’d brought her here as a friend—hadn’t said this wasn’t part of his job. And he’d been pretty convincing.

What did he think, that she’d try to shake him down?

The thought seemed ludicrous. Jordan had whisked her out of a dangerous situation, done everything he could to make her comfortable, and at this very moment, he was trying to find the guy he thought was stalking Laura and Cait. The guy who’d actually been with Alysa. How could she be questioning his motives? And truth be told, she hadn’t been honest with him, either.

But
she
had good reason. What possible reason could he have for withholding information about his family?

A loud rustling noise outside jerked her attention to the window. An animal, maybe. Jordan had said she should be watchful if she went outside, especially at night. The occasional mountain lion sometimes wandered down. Raccoons looking for food. Bears.

She put the photo album on the coffee table and picked up a book she’d also brought from the den. The noise again. She stilled. For the first time since Jordan left, she was aware of how isolated she was in a cabin miles away from anyone or anything. With a phone that might or might not work. If there were something…or someone out there, what would she do? Call Jordan? He was miles away.

And she was letting her imagination run amok. Her house in L.A. was a far more dangerous place to be, and if she were there, she’d simply go to the window, put the lights on and look outside.

Maybe it was the unfamiliarity. She was a stranger here. She didn’t know what to expect…what noises were normal. Besides, it was quiet now. No noise.

That’s what you need, Laura. Noise to quiet her runaway imagination. She clicked the remote for the television. Nothing. Jordan had said the cable satellite reception wasn’t always the greatest. How about not at all?

She glanced at the French windows, where ice crystals were forming in the corners, and saw more snow falling outside. As pretty as it was, she hoped it didn’t snow too much or Jordan might not make it back tomorrow. And right now, she wanted him back more than anything.

The wind howled through the trees, an eerie, mournful sound. A loud scratching at the window behind made her jump. She turned. A tree branch. It was a stupid tree branch scraping the window. She picked up Cait’s CD player from the table. Music would help—even if she had to listen to a former Mickey Mouse Club cheerleader.

She put on the headset and sat on the soft leather couch with her book. As she finished the second chapter, she caught movement outside the window in her peripheral vision. A shadow. Her heart raced.

She bolted to her feet, crossed the room to the door and flipped on the outside lights. The whole yard lit up. If any animals were out there, the lights should scare them away for sure.

Finally, she decided she’d feel better in her room where the windows had coverings and she wouldn’t get freaked out by every shadow and every scrape of a twig against the windows. She was in a new place, it was natural to think the noises were strange. At home she had every house noise memorized, every squeaky step, every creaking door.

She picked up the book, the glass of wine and, on second thought, took the rest of the bottle of wine along, too. There was an Almond Joy candy bar in her suitcase. Perfect. A good book, fine wine and chocolate. What could be better?

At around three in the morning she awoke sweating like a bricklayer in the desert sun. Still half asleep she realized she’d drifted off long before she finished the wine. And with sleep came the dreams. Wonderful dreams she immediately allowed herself to drift back into. Jordan making love to her. Jordan helping her and Cait make snowmen. Jordan kissing her, holding her, Jordan standing with the other boy in the photo and with his family.

But suddenly the movie in her head switched. They were all laughing, but the laughter became louder and louder, their faces morphing into clowns with fire-engine-red gaping mouths. They were laughing at her. But Jordan wouldn’t laugh at her. He wouldn’t. Suddenly she was propelled into a dark, narrow corridor, like a house of mirrors at a carnival, and all the faces and bodies turned into distorted macabre caricatures of themselves.

Wake up. Wake up
. Crying and terrified, she clawed to pull herself from the dream, but her body was weighted down and a sudden and intense loneliness filled her. Bone-deep despair. No matter how hard she tried to force herself awake, she couldn’t pull herself from the black hole. She had no one. Jordan didn’t love her. He’d made love to her because she wanted him to and now he was laughing at her. His wealthy family laughed at her, too, and her heart shattered into a million pieces.

A loud crash jerked her from the nightmare. She bolted upright in bed, shivering. Her blankets and sheets had fallen to the floor. It took her a moment to realize the noise was real, not part of the dream. Or was it? She lurched from the bed and ran to Cait’s room, and taking her cell phone along, she punched in 911 as she went. Damn it, the phone was dead.

Reaching Cait’s room, she saw her daughter curled up in the Barbie doll quilt, pillows piled high around her. Laura went over and tucked her in even though she didn’t need it. Cait could sleep through anything.

Laura stood there…listening. Everything was quiet.

But what would make such a loud noise? It was too cold for thunder. A tree falling? An earthquake? She returned to her room, put on a robe and went to the window. Earlier, she’d turned on all the outside lights and the yard around the cabin was lit like a football stadium. She could even see animal tracks in the snow. Deer tracks, maybe.

And…footprints?
Footprints
. The falling snow would’ve covered any prints they’d made earlier. Blood suddenly roared in her ears. She jerked back, away from the window.

Had someone been there? Had the loud noise been someone knocking? No, the noise had been louder, like a crack of lightning…a sonic boom…or a gunshot.

She swallowed, mustered her courage and peered out the window again, this time from behind the curtain. She scanned the yard below.

The wind still howled through the pine trees, shaking the snow off the boughs and to the ground. The drifting snow gradually covered the footprints.

She shifted her gaze to the left, then right, to where they’d built the snowmen. That was weird. The snowman family looked as if they’d had something dumped on them…something dark…dark red.

Fear sliced like a knife down her spine. She took out her cell again and punched the on button. No signal. Not even static. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Cait. She had to protect Cait.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

JORDAN PARKED BEHIND a black sedan in front of Vincento’s Italian Restaurant in Studio City, DeMatta’s favorite meeting place. From previous cases, he knew most of DeMatta’s hangouts. The whole department knew. He glanced at the license plate. Nothing familiar, but he made a note to check later.

He checked the time. Ten p.m., DeMatta’s dinnertime, according to Al “Squeaky” Milano, the department’s Mafia snitch. Jordan had been here before. From the outside, the place looked like every other little Italian restaurant in the Valley, and made claim to the best Italian food in L.A. Having been inside before, he knew the layout—a long rectangular room, elegant. White linen tablecloths and napkins. Most important, he knew the location of the exits, two doors, one on the side and one in back.

Buttoning his suit jacket, he strode inside.

Apparently it wasn’t a busy night; most of the tables were empty. Or else the four men at the back were having a meeting and had kicked everyone out. Jordan saw DeMatta right off.

The mobster saw him immediately, too, and waved him over.

“Detective, what can I do for you this fine evening?”

“I’d like to talk to you. Alone.”

One gesture from DeMatta and the other guys left the table.

Jordan sat across from him. A tall man with wide shoulders and dark hair graying at the temples, he wore a designer suit and a crisp white shirt with a purple tie. He looked like a Donald Trump clone with better hair. If Jordan didn’t know better he’d think DeMatta was the CEO of a major corporation. Jordan flipped his shield.

“I know who you are, Detective.”

“Then you know why I’m here.” Jordan held the man’s stony gaze.

“Refresh my memory.”

“I heard you have a message for me, but your messenger had a problem getting the job done last night.”

DeMatta’s expression altered slightly. Questioning, now. The man almost seemed surprised.

“The problem being?”

Given DeMatta’s response, Jordan wasn’t sure he wanted to say. Was it possible DeMatta didn’t know? If so, that meant someone else in the organization was giving orders without the boss’s knowledge. It could mean problems within the ranks.

The only thing he knew for sure was that someone wanted Jordan off the investigation and that Dutch Greene worked for DeMatta. On the other hand, DeMatta might be blowing smoke. “He got pinched before he could give me the message. Your man Fratianni got him out on bond.”

Jordan could see the wheels turning. “Ask Dutch,” he suggested.

“Dutch!” DeMatta yelled out. When Dutch came over, DeMatta said evenly. “I hear you have a message for Detective St. James you weren’t able to deliver.”

The big guy stepped back, his gaze darting. “I’m in the dark here, Frankie.”

“Tell me about last night.”

Dutch shrugged. “I got in a bar fight with some drunk cop. He called the screws and I called Fratianni.” He glared at Jordan. “No big fucking deal.”

Yeah, no big deal. If DeMatta believed the creep.

The bells on the front door jangled. Jordan looked up. Another one of DeMatta’s thugs.

The man sauntered toward their table.

“You’re late,” DeMatta said, his displeasure undisguised.

“Traffic.” The guy looked at Jordan.

“Nicholas here is from New York—” DeMatta looked at Jordan “—and he’s still getting used to the urban sprawl. Thinks we’re not as organized as those East Coast guys”

The subtext in DeMatta’s words told Jordan there was unrest in the ranks. He was well aware of the rivalry between New York and L.A. mobsters.

He studied the man. Nicholas. “I didn’t get the last name.”

The other man smiled. “I didn’t give it.”

Tall, blond and good-looking, he fit Rita Valdez’s description. Not to mention his name was Nick.

“Detective St. James was just leaving,” DeMatta said, then dismissed Jordan with a wave of his hand.

Not likely. Jordan leaned forward, hands flat on the table. He locked eyes with DeMatta. Though his insides burned with anger, he kept his voice low. Even. “If your thugs have any more messages for me, tell them to deliver them to me, not my partner.”

In his peripheral vision he saw one of the goons at the other table lumber to his feet. DeMatta signaled a negative and the guy dropped back in the chair. Nicholas didn’t flinch.

Still looking at DeMatta, Jordan said, “I’m reinvestigating the murder of Anna Kolnikov.” He took a photo from his inside pocket and handed it to the other man. “You ever meet her, Nick?”

Jordan watched for subtle signs of recognition, but Nick didn’t blink, just kept his steel gray eyes locked with Jordan’s.

“Never saw her before.”

“He pulled out another of Kolnikov’s body in the alley. “No? You don’t remember her?”

The guy gave a scant glance at the photo. Shook his head.

“You sure?” Jordan wanted him to know he didn’t believe it. And he wanted DeMatta to know he wasn’t intimidated. “Because I have a witness who says differently.”

DeMatta shot to his feet, his chair scraping noisily across the wood floor, and standing shoulder to shoulder with Jordan, said, “You have nothing, Detective. And we both know it.”

Jordan waited. “You sure about that?”

The mobster stuck two fingers in his tie to loosen it at the neck. “Yeah. I’m sure. You got a witness, then, bring her on.” He looked at Nicholas and laughed. “Until then, get the fuck out of here.”

Jordan kept a poker face and headed for the door, as if duly chastised. But on his way out, he turned. Gave a broad smile of his own. “I didn’t say the witness was female.”

***

Laura’s heart pounded wildly as she again punched in 911 on her cell phone. Still nothing. She couldn’t go downstairs to investigate because she couldn’t leave Cait up here alone. But if someone wanted to hurt them, why leave such a cryptic warning in the middle of the night? They’d been there alone all day, outside for a good part of it. Plenty of opportunity.

But all the rationalization in the world couldn’t quell her terror. She glanced around the room for something to serve as a weapon. Seeing nothing, she went out, found the lock pick above the door, then locked Cait’s door behind her, and with only the hall nightlight as her guide, hurried to the next bedroom. She couldn’t turn on any lights and risk disclosing her location.

But the between the yard lights and the hall light, she could see easily, and from what she could see, the room didn’t look like a guest room. There were personal things lying around—a Dodger’s baseball cap, a pair of hunting boots. And the bedding was rumpled, as if someone had slept there recently.

She crossed to the walk-in closet, found the light switch on the wall, slid the door shut and flipped on the light. One side was lined with shelves of sweaters and sweatshirts. The other side was filled with drawers. She pulled open one after the other, lifting socks and underwear as she shuffled through, hoping to find something to defend herself and Cait. A gun, maybe.

Nothing. Her panic grew as she opened the last drawer and lifted some T-shirts. Damn!

Shoving a hand through her hair, she opened the door, switched off the light, and charged from the closet—into a solid mass of flesh.

The man grabbed her arms, squeezing so hard so she couldn’t move. “Can I help you with something?” His voice was sharp. Menacing.

Overpowering terror ripped away any reserve she might’ve had. A scream started low in her throat, but he slammed her against the wall, one arm pressed against her throat, cutting off all sound. She couldn’t breathe, much less scream.

Every bone, every muscle in her body went into fight mode, but when she tried to move, he increased the pressure against her neck.

“What are you doing here?” he spat out.

It took her a second to realize he’d asked a question. But she couldn’t answer with his arm cutting off her air supply.

Just as she thought she was going to pass out, he eased his hold a fraction. “Answer me.”

“I—I’m a guest.” A whisper was all she could manage.

He reached around and flipped on the closet lights…and she recognized him immediately. Jordan’s friend at the airplane hangar. Then, looking more closely, she realized he was the other boy in the photographs, now an adult. He had to be Jordan’s brother.

“Jordan brought me here.”

He snatched his arm away and backed up, staring at her, recognition dawning. “What the hell.” He took a step back, then forward, as if he didn’t know where to go. “I’m sorry. I really am.” He turned away, then turned back again. “I didn’t know it was you… Jordan could’ve told me…. Damn him.”

Laura swallowed. Jordan didn’t tell him because he didn’t tell anyone. And she couldn’t tell him she was hiding out. “My daughter is sleeping in the other room. If we make too much noise we’ll scare her.”

“Yeah, sure.” He lowered his voice, shoved his hands into his pockets and started pacing. “Where’s Jordan?”

“He’ll be back tomorrow.”

He stopped, rubbed a hand against his chin, eyes narrow. “What were you doing in here? This is my room.”

Rubbing her neck, she braced against the wall, feeling some of her tension dissipate, but not entirely. “I heard a noise outside. I was looking for something to protect myself.”

His unchanged expression said he didn’t believe her.

“If Jordan brought you here, why would you think you needed to protect yourself?”

She shrugged. “I heard a really loud crash. I didn’t know what it was. I think I kinda freaked.” The second she said it, she realized it was partly true. She’d freaked—about everything. Everything but the snowmen.

After a couple of uncomfortable moments in silence, Harry said, “Sounds magnify in the mountains. A car backfiring sounds like a war zone.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel better.” She smiled at his attempt to assure her everything was fine. Jordan would’ve done the same.

He tilted his head from side to side, as if getting out a kink. Then he said, “I’m going downstairs for a drink. Want to join me?”

It was the last thing she wanted to do, but maybe it would show goodwill on her part. “Okay. I’ll be there in a minute.”

After he went downstairs, she checked Cait again, then went back into her room and threw on some sweats instead of her robe and nightshirt.

On her way downstairs, another thought hit her. It was 3:00 a.m. What was Harry doing arriving here in the middle of the night? Something didn’t feel right. But right or not, it was his house and she was glad to have another human being with her. A strong man. He was Jordan’s brother, he had to be trustworthy.

Downstairs, she glanced around. Everything seemed in place. Harry must have turned off the alarm system, she realized. Before heading into the kitchen, she went to the window in the great room and looked out. The wind had blown drifts over the snowmen and she couldn’t see any markings. She wondered if she’d really seen what she thought she had. She’d check later, and until she did, she saw no reason to confide in Harry.

When she walked into the kitchen, he was sitting at the center island on a barstool, two glasses of wine on the counter. She slipped onto the stool beside him and took the glass he offered. “Thanks.”

“So,” Harry said. “I didn’t know Jordan was—he seemed to struggle for the right words “—involved with anyone.”

His comment was unexpected, and she hesitated to answer. Even though she and Jordan had been intimate, they weren’t involved. “Jordan brought me here because I was…having some problems and needed a place to get away. We’re just friends.”

“Oh.” His eyelids lowered seductively. “That puts things in a different light.” His gaze roamed over her and he surprised her by gently slipping a hand over hers. “You mentioned a daughter. Are you married?”

With his face so close to hers, his eyelids at half mast and reeking of alcohol, she realized he was drunk. She pulled her hand away. “No. I’m a widow.”

He sloshed down the rest of his wine. “Sorry.”

“It was a few years ago. I’ve gotten on with my life.”

“But not with Jordan.”

It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t answer.

“I’m surprised. Jordan rarely lets the good ones get away.”

The implication wasn’t lost. She shifted on the stool, as if getting comfortable, but moving back a little. Half joking, she said, “Are you saying Jordan is a player?” Not that it mattered. Just because they’d had some intimate moments didn’t mean she had a lock on his heart.

Harry laughed. “That would be an understatement.”

Her chest constricted. She cleared her throat. “Well, I guess that’s his business, isn’t it.”

“Sometimes,” he drawled, bitterness heavy in his voice. “But not when he gets it on with his brother’s wife.”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I want any more wine. I’m going up to check on my little girl and then turn in.”