No Chance in Hell (8 page)

He reached over and touched her cheek next to one of the small Band-Aids. “I’ve failed you today. If you want to replace me as lead on your case, you won’t get any pushback from me.”

“What? How could you have known somebody would take a shot at me? We don’t even know for sure I was the target.” Chris caught Marcus’s hand and held on for one brief moment. His strength wasn’t something she wanted to lose. “No way. We started this together. Let’s finish it.”

“We can’t control what the killer does, but we have to stay prepared.” He cut a glance sideways. “After Wayne and Tomas check out your house, we’ll go to the office. Nate or Dalton will have come up with some additional information by now. We’ll dig through every bit of it. The cops must have missed something. It’s that something that will lead us to this bastard.”

“It’s just so weird he would try to shoot me.”

“It doesn’t fit his preferred method. He brutalized your sister. A gun wouldn’t give him the satisfaction that an up, close and personal kill would.” Marcus smacked the steering wheel with his hand. “I’m sorry. That descriptive language was too strong.”

“The only way to uncover the killer’s identity is to talk about him.” She didn’t understand how she’d so easily grown to trust Marcus, but he made her feel protected. When he’d tucked her under his arm, his pulse had quickened. Was it his nerves or had he felt a spark of interest in her? It was time to get her hormones under control. She wasn’t going to be one of those women who developed a crush on every handsome man she met.
 

“What facts did the investigating detectives share with you about your sister?” Marcus asked.

“That she’d hung around with some pretty bad drug dealers and maybe she’d gotten caught in the middle of a deal gone wrong.”

“I wonder just how wide a net they threw.” Marcus pushed a button on his steering wheel and asked the monotone recording to dial Dalton Murphy.
 

“Marcus,” the familiar voice said.
 

“Dalton, Chris Holland is with me. We’re on our way to her house. The killer paid her a visit last night. If that wasn’t enough, somebody took a shot at her today.”

“You hurt, Chris?”

“No. A few scratches.”

“I don’t get it,” Dalton said. “Why didn’t he kill you last night?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” she answered. “That seems to be everybody’s question.”

Marcus muttered something under his breath. “It’s a damned good one.”

“What can I do?” Dalton asked.

“DPD didn’t mention any murders that matched Chelsea in Chris’s file. You and Nate are looking, but why don’t you check across the US for similar murders?”

“You think this bastard doesn’t kill the same way twice?”

“You know more about that profiling stuff than I do. But maybe he’s just perfecting his style.”

“Actually, that does happen. The killer sometimes evolves as he goes. Let me see what I can do. Anything else?”

“That’s it for now.”

Somehow, Chris felt safer. The call had lasted only a couple of minutes, but she liked that Marcus believed in her and didn’t hesitate to ask for additional information. He parked in front of her house. The plain blue car carrying Wayne and his partner followed. Marcus caught her arm, stopping her from getting out. “Give me your keys. Let us take a look around before you get out.”

Suddenly too tired to answer, she nodded.

He turned to Diablo and spoke in a low tone. She didn’t hear what was said, but the dog crawled over the seatback and joined her. He snuggled against her, his big paw resting on her knee as if to hold her in place. She buried her fingers in the thick fur. “You’ll protect me, won’t you?”

“That’s the idea.” Marcus smiled.

Just that lift of his lips generated a coil of heat low in her stomach.
 

Tomas and Wayne waited at the edge of her sidewalk.

“I’m not sure I ever want to go back in there.”

“Then let’s move you to a safe house.”

“And let that bastard win? No, thanks.”

“Then let me check inside first.” He held out his hand. “Key?”

“Oh, that.” She laughed and handed it over.
 

Marcus joined the two detectives, and Chris watched as they disappeared inside her house. She wondered about Marcus’s life away from work. He’d said there was no wife, but was there a woman? Did he live alone? Chris wouldn’t describe him as sullen, but he certainly had a mysterious air about him. While keeping his personal life to himself, he’d allowed her to chatter away about her family history.

The dog put both feet on her leg and stood. He leaned toward her window. His lips pulled back, revealing razor-sharp teeth. A low growl came from deep inside.
 

Chapter 6

“Don’t open that door,” Marcus shouted. Caught up in her daydreams, Chris hadn’t noticed the detective approach the car. If memory served, this was Tomas.

Tomas’s hands went up in surrender. “What the hell? That dog knows me.”
 

Marcus crossed her lawn in long strides. “Relax. He’s protecting my car and anything inside.”

“He’s a damn good judge of character, too,” Wayne called out, poking fun at his partner. He laughed at his own joke, and ten years disappeared from his face. “Marcus, you should be training police dogs for a living.”
 

“No, thanks. It took a lot of work to break him of his bad habits.” Marcus opened the back door, grabbed the dog leash, and clipped it on to Diablo’s collar. “You ready, Chris?” At her nod, he let them both out.

“Everything clear?” she asked.

“Inside and out.” Tomas spoke to her for the first time. “Marcus was right. There were no signs of forced entry. Bypassing that alarm took a smart guy. It was no easy feat.”

Marcus caught her hand and pulled her closer, again positioning himself between her and the street. “Who else has access to your place?”

“The onsite manager has a key,” Chris said. “I just remembered something. The killer said he was smart.” She closed her eyes. “Damn it. What else did he say that I’ve forgotten?”

“Don’t try to force it.” Marcus glanced around the parking lot. “Let’s get you inside.”

She shifted her purse to her right shoulder and started up the sidewalk. Even with Marcus and two detectives, she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “I’m getting paranoid. It’s like I can feel his eyes on me.”

Wayne turned and studied the horizon. “I don’t see anyone.” He followed Marcus inside. “So how else can we help?”

“See if you can get the original case file on Chelsea Holland. Chris has one, but I wonder if they gave her everything. Dalton is pitching in from his side, but can you tell us who did the detective’s interview? Contacts, friends, and neighbors? If we duplicate information, it will help verify facts. I’ll take anything that might help.”

Tomas pulled out his notepad and wrote something down. “I’ll take care of it.”

“It doesn’t take both of us to do that.” Wayne sat on the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him. “I’ll take a turn here. Give you a break,” he said to Marcus.

“Tomas leaves, and you won’t have a car,” Marcus reasoned. “Besides, I don’t need a break. I’ll stay with Chris.”

“Sure I will.” Wayne’s tone was that of someone unused to getting pushback. “Tomas can have a patrol car pick him up and haul him to our parking lot.”

“Yep.” Tomas unclipped his cell and typed something. “Done.”

Marcus had spoken highly of these two men. If he trusted them, so would she. She put her hand on his bicep, sending a flash of heat rolling up her arm.

“Wayne can stay with me.” Marcus scowled down at her, spreading that heat through her blood. Maybe it was a good idea for them to be apart for a few hours. “Really. You’ll be here tonight. Go get a change of clothes.”

Marcus’s eyebrows pulled together. “I’ll swing by the office and pick up everything Kay has dug up. I’m due a shower and that change of clothes, but I won’t be gone long.” He pressed on. “If you’d feel safer not sleeping here, we can move. All it takes is a phone call to the office.”

“I’ll do what you think is best,” she conceded. No way could she ask him to sleep on her couch. Not with his long legs. The image of him stretched out on her bed flashed vividly in her mind. Her face burned. “If I’m not staying here, should I cancel the security system upgrade?”

“No,” Marcus answered quickly. “A woman living alone should take precautions.”

“I’ll be packed when you get back.”

Wayne walked Tomas and Marcus out to their cars, leaving her to dig something out for supper. Cold cuts would have to do. The door behind her opened and closed. The snick of the lock told her they were alone.

“Anything I can do to help?” With Wayne’s drawl, the three-letter word “can” had stretched into two syllables.
 

“Grab that bread. Our gourmet dish for tonight is turkey sandwiches.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They fixed their plates in silence. “Have a seat anywhere at the table. I have a few bottles of water or I can brew a pot of coffee.”

“Water works for me.” Wayne moved to the far side of the table, placing his back to the wall and keeping the front and back doors in his line of sight. “So how long have you known Marcus?”

“Since yesterday.” He’d asked the question she’d wanted to ask. “You?”

“We crossed swords last year when Nate’s wife had a little trouble. Between Nate, Ty, and Marcus, they pushed the boundaries a little.” Wayne was quiet for a minute. “I’ll just say they tend to take matters into their own hands and leave it at that.”

“Yet you work with them.”
 

“In the end, they’re helping people. Besides, Tomas and I go way back with Kay. We worked a few cases with her when she was with Child Protective Services.”

“She and Nate are so outgoing. Much more so than Marcus.”

“He’s pretty tight-lipped. Nate says he’s been that way since his wife was killed in a car wreck.”

Her heart clenched. “That explains why he’s all business. He talks, just not about himself.”

Wayne finished his sandwich and washed down his last chip with a swallow of water. “Let’s see what we can find on television.”

Chris took that as his way of ending the conversation.
 

****

DaVinci drained his drink without blinking. He grabbed the bottle and sloshed another couple of fingers of whiskey into his glass. He turned away from the feed on his laptop for fear he’d hurl the damn thing across the room. Did she think he was stupid? Surrounding herself with men would result only in somebody getting hurt. Judging by the unmarked car, she’d involved the police.

She was alone with one of them. What were they doing? Plotting ways to catch him? The thought was laughable. He had street sense and was savvy to the ways of survival. She’d never been homeless and desperate. Never gone hungry. Never been afraid to go to sleep for fear of being molested. Well, she’d know fear before this was over.
 

He rubbed his eyes in an effort to clear his head. He moved to his media room and turned on the TV. He grabbed the channel selector, looking for anything to take his mind off Christine.

A local newscaster’s lead-in story about a mysterious shooting held no interest. His finger was poised over the button when the camera panned across a parking lot.
 

The whiskey in his stomach soured. He turned up the volume on the television. Christine slowed long enough to brush off the reporter, but the facility manager was all too eager to spill his guts. A sniper had taken a shot at her. Anger spiked his blood, sending a sharp pain to his temple. She was his to kill. He sprang to his feet and paced back and forth. The answer hit so hard it buckled his knees.
 

He fished his phone from his pocket. With trembling fingers, he punched in Michelangelo’s secret number.

On the third ring, he picked up. “My boy. What a nice surprise.”

“Where are you?” The taste of betrayal filled his mouth as he waited for the answer.

“In my room at the Regency. Why?”

“Do not lie to me.” His voice quivered with anger. “Just don’t.”

“I don’t like your tone of voice or your accusation. Why are you attacking me?”

“Did you take a shot at Christine today?”
 

“Considering I don’t have access to a long-range missile, I have to ask the question... What the hell are you talking about?”

DaVinci sank into a chair. “Someone tried to kill her today. You insinuated you might try.”

“How many drinks have you had?”

The question shocked him. “Two.”

“I think more than that. Call me with an apology. When you’re sober.”

The line went dead. Fuck. His mentor and friend had never lied to him. Had he faked his indignation? Calling the hotel in London to confirm Michelangelo’s claim would be a waste of time. He wouldn’t have done the deed himself. He’d have ordered one of his minions to kill her.

DaVinci returned to his private office and watched the camera feed. Christine thought she could outsmart him. No cop or bodyguard in the world could keep him from her. She lived at his convenience, a lesson she had yet to learn.