Night Shield (6 page)

“Back off!”

“Relax, Fletcher, I’m not jumping you. I like my women awake when we make love. I’m putting your seat back. If you’re going to sleep, you might as well get as close to horizontal as we can manage.”

“I’m all right.” Mortified but all right, she thought. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

He put a hand on her forehead, shoved her back. “Shut up, Allison.”

“I wasn’t sleeping. I was thinking.”

“Think tomorrow. You’re brain-dead.” He glanced over at her as he started to drive again. “How many hours have you been on duty?”

“That’s math. I can’t do math if I’m brain-dead.” She gave up and yawned. “I’m on eight-to-fours.”

“It’s closing in on 4:00 a.m. That gives you twenty hours. Why don’t you put in for night shift until this is over, or do you have a death wish?”

“It’s not my only case.” She’d already decided to talk to her lieutenant. She couldn’t give her best to the job on a couple of hours sleep a night. But it wasn’t any of Jonah’s business how she ran her life.

“I guess Denver’s not safe without you on the job.”

She might have been tired, but she still had a pretty good ear for sarcasm. “That’s right, Blackhawk. Without my watchful eye, the city’s in chaos. It’s a heavy burden but, well, somebody’s got to shoulder it. Just pull up at the corner. My building’s only a half a block down.”

He ignored her, drove through the light and pulled smoothly to the curb in front of her building. “Okay. Thanks.” She reached down to retrieve her bag from the floor.

He was already out of the car, skirting around the hood. Maybe it was fatigue that had her reacting so slowly, as if she were moving through syrup instead of air. But he had the outside handle of the door seconds before she had the inside handle.

For about five seconds they battled for control. Then, with a halfhearted snarl, Ally let him open the door for her. “What are you, from another century? Do I look incapable of operating the complex mechanism of a car door?”

“No. You look tired.”

“Well, I am. So good night.”

“I’ll walk you up.”

“Get a grip.”

But he fell into step beside her and, damn him, reached the door one pace ahead of her. Saying nothing, merely watching her with those impossibly clear green eyes, he held it open for her.

“I’ll have to curtsy in a minute,” she muttered under her breath.

He grinned at her back, then crossed to the lobby elevators with her, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“I can make it from here.”

“I’ll take you to your door.”

“It’s not a damn date.”

“Lack of sleep’s making you irritable.” He stepped into the elevator with her. “No, wait, you’re always irritable. My mistake.”

“I don’t like you.” She jabbed the button for the fourth floor.

“Thank God you cleared that up. I was afraid you were falling for me.”

The movement of the elevator tipped her already shaky balance. She swayed, and he closed a hand over her arm.

“Cut it out.”

“No.”

She jerked at her arm. He tightened his grip. “Don’t embarrass yourself, Fletcher. You’re asleep on your feet. What’s your apartment number?”

He was right, and it was stupid to pretend otherwise, and foolish to take it out on him. “Four-oh-nine. Let me go, will you? I’ll be all right after a couple hours’ sleep.”

“I don’t doubt it.” But he held on to her when the elevator opened.

“You’re not coming in.”

“Well, there go my plans to toss you over my shoulder, dump you in bed and have my wicked way with you. Next time. Key?”

“What?”

Her burnt-honey eyes were blurry, the delicate skin beneath them bruised. The wave of tenderness that swept inside him was a complete surprise, and far from comfortable. “Honey, give me your key.”

“Oh. I’m punchy.” She dug it out of her jacket pocket. “And don’t call me honey.”

“I meant Detective Honey.” He heard her snicker as he unlocked her door. He pulled the key back out of the lock, took her hand, dropped it in and closed her fingers around it. “Good night.”

“Yeah. Thanks for the lift.” Because it seemed the thing to do, she closed the door in his face.

Hell of a face, she thought as she stumbled toward the bedroom. Face that dangerous ought to be registered as a weapon. A woman who trusted a face like that got exactly what she deserved.

And probably enjoyed every minute of it.

Ally stripped off her jacket, whimpering a little as she pried off her shoes. She set her alarm, then fell facedown and fully clothed on the bed. And was instantly asleep.

*  *  *

Four and a half hours later, she was finishing up her morning meeting in the conference room at her station house. And her fourth cup of coffee.

“We’ll canvass the neighborhood,” Ally said. “We could get lucky. In that kind of development, people tend to look out for each other. Some sort of vehicle was necessary to get the perpetrators to the Chamberses’ and to transport at least some of the stolen goods. The sports car they boosted wouldn’t hold that much. We have a full description of the car, and the APB’s out on it.”

Lieutenant Kiniki nodded. He was a toughly built man in his mid-forties who enjoyed the way command sat on his shoulders. “The Starfire’s a new pool for them. I want two men over there to check out the setup. Soft clothes,” he added, indicating he wanted his detectives to dress casually rather than in suit jackets. “Let’s keep it low-key.”

“Hickman and Carson are canvassing pawnshops, pressuring known fences.” Ally glanced toward her two associates.

“Nothing there.” Hickman lifted his hands. “Lydia and I’ve got a couple of good sources, and we’ve put the heat on. Nobody knows anything. My take is that whoever’s running this has an outside channel.”

“Keep the heat on,” Kiniki ordered. “What about the insurance angle?”

“It doesn’t play out,” Ally told him. “We’ve got seven hits and five different insurance companies. We’re still trying to find a connection, but so far that’s a dead end. We’ve got no common links between the victims that carry through,” she went on. “Out of the eleven we’ve got four different banks, three different brokerage houses, eleven different doctors, eleven different places of employment.”

She rubbed the ache at the back of her neck and went down her list. “Two of the women go to the
same hair salon—different operators, different schedules. They use different cleaning services, different mechanics. Now, two of the targets used the same caterer in the last six months, and we’re running that. But it doesn’t look like a hook. The only common link so far is a night on the town.”

“Give me the rundown on Blackhawk’s,” Kiniki ordered.

“The place does a hell of a business,” Ally began. “Pulls in a big crowd, and the crowd varies, though it’s heavy on the upwardly mobile. Couples, singles on the prowl, groups. He’s got good security.”

Absently Ally rubbed her eyes, then remembered herself and lowered them. “He’s got cameras, and I’m working on getting the security tapes. Sloan is the floater. He works the public areas, has access to everything. There are six tables in the bar area and thirty-two in the club. People push them together if they get friendly. There’s a coat check but not everybody bothers with it. I couldn’t count the number of handbags left on tables when the dancing started.”

“People mill,” Lydia added. “Especially the younger customers. It’s a regular meeting ground for them, and they tend to table hop. Lots of sex vibes.” She gave Hickman a bland look when he chortled. “It’s a sexy place. People get careless when their blood’s hot. There’s a ripple when Blackhawk comes through.”

“A ripple?” Hickman repeated. “Is that a technical term?”

“The women watch him. They don’t watch their bags.”

“That’s accurate.” Ally walked over to the board where the list of victims and stolen items were posted. “Every hit involved a woman. There are no single men on the list. The female’s the prime target. What’s a woman carry in her purse?”

“That,” Hickman said, “is one of life’s most complex mysteries.”

“Her keys,” Ally continued. “Her wallet—with ID, credit cards. Pictures of her kids if she has them. None of the victims had children at home. If we break this down to its basic element, we’re looking first for a pickpocket. Somebody with good fingers who can get what he needs out of a bag, then put it back before the victim knows she’s been hit. Do an imprint of the key, make a copy.”

“If you pick the pocket, why put the stuff back?” Hickman asked.

“Keep the victim unaware, buy more time. A woman goes into the bathroom, she takes her purse. If she reaches in for her lipstick and doesn’t find her wallet, she’s going to send up an alarm. This way, the house is hit and the perpetrators are out before the victims get home. Whatever time they get home.”

She turned back to the board. “Twelve thirty, one fifteen, twelve ten and so on. Somebody at the club alerts the burglars when the victims call for their check. Somebody’s on the inside, or a regular and repeat customer. At Blackhawk’s the average time between calling for the check and leaving the club was about twenty minutes.”

“We have two other clubs involved now, besides Blackhawk’s.” Kiniki’s brow furrowed. “We’ll need stakeouts on all of them.”

“Yes, sir. But Blackhawk’s is where they’ll come back. That’s the money tree.”

“Find a way to cut down the tree, Fletcher.” He got to his feet. “And take some personal time today. Get some sleep.”

*  *  *

She took him up on it and curled up on the small sofa in the coffee room, leaving word that she was to be notified when the reports she was waiting for came in.

She got ninety minutes and felt very close to human when Hickman shook her shoulder.

“Did you steal my cheese bagel?”

“What?” She pushed herself up, shoved back her hair.

“You like cheese bagels. I had one. It’s gone. I’m detecting.”

Shaking off sleep, she dug her clip out of her pocket and pulled back her hair. “It didn’t have your name on it.”

“Did, too.”

She circled her shoulders. “Is your name Pineview Bakery? Besides I only ate half of it.” She checked her watch. “The first-on-scene reports in yet?”

“Yeah, and so’s your warrant.”

“Great.” She swung to her feet, adjusted her weapon harness. “I’ll be in the field.”

“I want a cheese bagel back in that box by end of shift.”

“I only ate half of it,” she called out and stopped by her desk for the paperwork. Scanning it, ignoring the backwash of noise from the detectives’ bull pen, she hitched her harness into a more comfortable position, then shrugged into her jacket.

She glanced up when the noise became a murmur, and watched her father walk in. Like Blackhawk, she thought, this was a man who created ripples.

She knew a few of her fellow officers harbored some resentment over her rapid rise to detective. There were mutters now and then, just loud enough for her to hear, about favoritism and oiling the ranks.

She’d earned her badge and knew it. Ally was too proud of her father and too secure in her own abilities to let mutters worry her.

“Commissioner.”

“Detective. Got a minute?”

“A couple.” She pulled her shoulder bag from her bottom desk drawer. “Can we walk and talk? I’m on my way out. Got a warrant to serve on Jonah Blackhawk.”

“Ah.” He stepped back to let her pass, and his eyes scanned the room. If there were any mutters, they would wait until he was well out of range.

“Stairs okay with you?” she asked. “I didn’t have time to work out this morning.”

“I think I can keep up with you. What’s the warrant?”

“To confiscate and view Blackhawk’s security tapes. He got pissy about it yesterday. I seem to put his back up.”

Boyd pushed open the door to the stairwell, then angled his head to study his daughter’s back as she passed through. “I seem to detect a few ruffled feathers on yours.”

“Okay, good eye. We put each other’s backs up.”

“I figured you would. You both like to do things your own way.”

“Why would I want to do them someone else’s way?”

“Exactly.” Boyd skimmed a hand down the long, sleek tail of her hair. His little girl had always had a mind of her own, and a very hard head around it. “Speaking of ruffled feathers, I have a meeting with the mayor in an hour.”

“Better you than me,” Ally said cheerfully as she jogged down the stairs.

“What can you tell me about last night’s break-in?”

“Same M.O. They hit a real treasure trove with the Chamberses. Mrs. Chambers got me the loss list this morning. The woman’s efficient. They were fully insured—value of stolen items comes to a solid two hundred and twenty-five thousand.”

“That’s the biggest haul so far.”

“Yeah. I’m hoping it makes them cocky. They took some art this time. I don’t know if it was dumb luck or if somebody knew what they had when they saw it. They have to have somewhere to keep the goods before they turn them. Big enough for a car.”

“A decent chop shop could have a car dismantled and turned in a couple hours.”

“Yeah, but …” She started to push open the next door herself, but her father beat her to it. It reminded her oddly, and not entirely happily, of Jonah.

“But?” he prompted as they crossed the lobby.

“I don’t think that’s the route. Somebody likes nice things. Somebody has really good taste. At the second hit, they took a collection of rare books, but they left an antique clock. It was appraised at five thousand, but it was dead ugly. It’s like they said, Please, don’t insult us. There’ve been other cars at other scenes, but they’ve only taken two. Cool cars.”

“Burglars with standards.”

“Yeah, I think so.” When they stepped outside she blinked against the brilliant sunlight until she pulled out her shaded glasses. “And a kind of arrogance. Arrogance is a mistake. That’s going to turn it my way.”

“I hope so. The pressure’s on, Ally.” He walked her to her car, opened the door for her in a way that made her frown and think of Jonah again. “We’re getting press, the kind that makes the mayor uncomfortable.”

“In my best judgment, they won’t wait more than a week. They’re rolling now. They’ll come back to Blackhawk’s.”