No One Left to Tell (15 page)

"'Subtlety' is not a word I would associate with you, Detective." Hearing a soft knock at the suite door, Christian excused himself. "I believe that is your next appointment. I'm sorry to cut short our visit. Pardon me."

The man was an odd mixture of absolute appeal and outright frustration, bundled up in a delectably dangerous package. A part of her felt hopping mad, but mostly, she enjoyed the challenge.

Raven watched Delacorte step away to greet the representative from HR. Her eye caught Tony in the midst of a chuckle. He'd found a comfortable seat on a nearby sofa and was wiping his mouth with a napkin. She hadn't even picked up a plate, having time only to sip her coffee. But his dish and cup were empty.

"This has definitely been entertaining, and I got a front row seat. It just don't get any better than this." Tony shook his head, still amused. "I sincerely hope Delacorte is not our guy. The way he pushes your buttons, it's worth the price of admission."

"Haven't you ever heard of bad cop, good cop?" she teased.

"Yeah, but not sure bad cop, hungry cop plays as well." He cleared his throat to stifle his laughter, then volunteered, "Let me give him the good news that he's stuck with you for a while longer. He's gonna love our divide-and-conquer tactic."

Divide and conquer.
What had she been thinking? Her instincts told her to stick with him. The man was hiding something. It wouldn't be easy to extract it from him, especially not with Tony in plain sight. And with the secret they shared, her unexpected rendezvous with Christian at Blair's, Raven might have a chance to question him on the subject. So she'd proposed Tony take the HR appointment, leaving her alone with Delacorte.

Her partner agreed, reiterating his thoughts on her influence over Delacorte. "Influence" wouldn't be her first choice of words. Yet she had to admit, she consistently got a reaction from the guy. Now if only she could control her reaction to him.

Alone with Christian Delacorte. She didn't know what to make of her good fortune. One thought stuck in her brain. Every silver lining possessed a dark cloud. And without the stormy, unruly cloud, the silver lining wouldn't stand out as anything special. At least, that's what she told herself.

When had she become so philosophical—and so accepting of bullheaded storm clouds?

Christian thought he'd be rid of his guests so he could get on with his day. All they had to do was accompany the HR rep. He should have known Detective Mackenzie would find a way to spoil his plans. Now, he'd have to improvise. After all, the woman had ventured onto his turf at Dunhill. The advantage was his.

Or so he thought. Staring across the room at his tenacious visitor, he recalled the old adage about "best-laid plans." While her partner headed off to Human Resources, the willful Raven Mackenzie remained behind. Now, closing the door to his office, he was alone with her. Innocently smiling, she sat on his sofa, hands on her lap as if she awaited him to entertain her. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Dressed in dark gray slacks and an oversized ivory turtleneck sweater, she'd pulled her dark hair back into a ponytail, looking elegant in her simplicity. A small part of him wished they'd met under different circumstances, that his whole life had been different. But such maudlin thinking served no purpose.

He joined her in a chair near the sofa. Without fanfare, the detective spoke first. "You didn't sleep well."

It wasn't a question. He searched her eyes, surprised to discover concern. It stirred him. After their earlier verbal jousting, he hadn't expected such a personal remark.

Surprisingly, her presumption felt like comfort, that someone knew him well enough to confront him. So many people in his life left him alone, taking for granted his complete control. His pensive demeanor and aloofness sent a clear message by design. Yet with her boldness, Raven insinuated herself into his narrow circle of acquaintances. He should have resented her forwardness, but instead, he liked the way it felt.

With the precision of a laser, her dark eyes easily cut through the wall he'd erected, as if it were constructed of warm butter. Fearlessly and without effort, she debated him in her quiet way. The intimacy in her voice touched him.

"Sleep is overrated," he replied matter-of-factly, trying not to betray himself. "And it's for those who earn the right to it."

Avoiding her stare, he focused on the crumbs of pastry on the discarded plate of Detective Rodriguez. For most people, his response would've ended the subject, but not with Raven.

The woman calmly persisted. "Hardly. I've seen stone-cold killers sleep like babes." She reached across and touched his arm. He could no longer avoid the woman.

Her gaze held him as she spoke softly. "I believe a different kind of hell keeps you awake. And it's one I may know a little something about. If you ever want to talk—"

The woman had done her research. Now the look of concern made sense. He'd seen pity in her eyes. One of many reasons he avoided sharing himself with anyone. Pity was inevitable.

"Look, I appreciate your concern, but I don't need—" He stopped midsentence, hearing how he sounded. Her intentions were good, but most people had no idea of the living hell he'd endured. "Thanks. It's something I've lived with for a very long time. Not sure I'd know how to talk about it. But I appreciate the offer."

"My invitation still stands. I mean it." Once again, she squeezed his arm reassuringly, not backing down.

He nodded. His only reply to her invitation. He needed a change in subject.

"Mickey had an office on five and a gym locker in the basement. I'm sure you'd like to get on with your investigation. Shall we?"

As the detective stood and walked toward the door to his suite, Christian found himself wishing Raven met his expectation for a cop. It'd make resisting her so much easier.

And for what he had in mind to reclaim his day, he hoped she had a sense of humor.

"He ditched me, damn it." Raven grabbed Tony by the elbow as he exited the men's room on the twentieth floor, near the Dunhill human resources area. "I turned my back for only a second, and he pulled a fast one. Switched places with one of his security men."

"You mean he found a way to resist your feminine wiles? Amazing, Mac." He pulled away, facing her with a look of indignation. "Hey, did you follow me? How did you know I was in the men's room?"

"How long we been partners, Tony? I could set my watch by your morning constitutional." She smirked, temporarily setting aside her problems with Delacorte to tease her friend.

Without much discretion, he tucked the sports section of the paper under his arm. "Well, you know the expression—a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do." He grinned. "So you lost him, huh?"

Narrowing her eyes, she paced in front of him along the corridor. She gathered her thoughts, chewing the inside of her lip.

"As far as I can tell, he's not in the building. Believe me, I asked and searched a few floors." Leaning against the nearest wall, she crossed her arms over her chest. "And it seems Mrs. Dunhill is AWOL. I can't raise her on the cell phone Delacorte gave, and she's not in the building according to security. But they weren't exactly helpful, if you catch my meaning."

"That's because we don't sign their paychecks." He offered his explanation with a shrug. "I'm beginning to think this whole cooperation thing with the Dunhills has run its course. The chief won't want to hear that, but as I see it, we got an investigation to conduct. What say we grab our coats and blow this joint?"

"I'm with you, pal," she agreed, and accompanied him down the hall toward the elevators. "What did you find out?"

"Well, I got some general information on our vic, but nothing to shed any light on his extracurriculars, other than to make it painfully obvious the man was moonlighting. His salary didn't support the lifestyle he led, not enough jack to pay for all his bling. And what about you—find anything worth knowing?"

With her partner's question, Raven recalled the only high point of her search. Blair's office held few personal items, no photos or special mementos. The man had been a ghost at Dunhill, purposefully keeping his private life apart from his work. Considering Mickey had a more lucrative business venture outside Dunhill, this didn't surprise her. It looked as if she'd come up empty on any leads.

But catching a glint under his desk changed all that.

The waning sun had shone through Blair's former office window for only an instant, shedding some much-needed light. As she'd shoved a drawer closed and pushed back from the desk, a glimmer caught the fleeting rays of sunshine. Kneeling for a closer look, she'd crawled under for a better view and made a discovery. After punching the down button on the elevator panel, she turned toward Tony, holding her bonanza.

"I found a key, Tony." At eye level, she held up a plastic bag with a small silver key dropped inside. "It was on a ring along with the rest of his desk keys, inserted in a lock, just dangling there. It stood out from the rest 'cause it was a little longer."

"Longer gets noticed a lot. Trust me," he teased with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "Even though most women won't say it to your face."

"Well, this woman notices things like that." She grinned, letting him infer what he wanted from her remark. "So I compared the lock number to the ID on the keys and found that the longer one didn't match the set."

"That Mickey was a sly dog, hiding it in plain sight like that. Did you happen to find a home for that key?" Tony asked. The elevator door opened, and they stepped inside.

"Not yet. It didn't fit anything in his office or his personal Dunhill locker. But I'm gonna ask around, see if anyone knows about a place outside of work that he could've had a locker or office."

Once on the ground floor, bundled in her coat, Raven stopped at the front security kiosk to check out of the building.

"Let's grab a bite to eat on our way back—" Raven's cell phone chimed, stopping her in midsentence. "Mackenzie here. Talk to me."

"Hey, Raven. It's Scott. Got something interesting on that property search. Looks like your long shot paid off in spades," the CSI man joked.

"Tell me something good, my friend."

"We got a download of properties, but there was one that stood out from the rest—an old armory belonging to the Dunhill Corporation. Any bells going off for you?"

"Loud and clear." She reached into her purse and pulled out a pad and pen to jot down the information. "Give me the address."

Tony's voice droned in the background as he grabbed the notepad from her hand. He was on his cell calling in the information so authorization would be granted to enter the vacant property. Thinking ahead, he wanted a jump on the paperwork while they made their way back to the station house.

"I owe you one, buddy. Thanks." Raven finished her call, then turned to her partner. "Guess we can forget lunch for now, partner. We got places to be and things to do."

But her mood quickly changed. Stepping up her pace with Tony by her side, Raven tuned everything out, thinking only of Delacorte as she navigated the busy thoroughfare. She had a bad feeling that Christian was involved in Fiona's mess.

How much did he know?

He had deliberately ditched her earlier. She was sure of it. How far would he go to protect Fiona's interests, or worse, cover up a crime he committed? Her stomach twisted in a knot just examining the many questions in her mind.
Could she have been that wrong about him?
Even more disturbing—why did she care?

"Don't borrow trouble." Tony's voice brought her back to the steady hum of traffic.

"What?"

"My mother always used to say that, when she thought I was worrying over something I had no control over," he ventured. "Don't borrow trouble, Raven. Let's just see what we see, okay?"

She stopped for a moment to search his eyes, then smiled. "How did I get to be so lucky, having a partner like you?"

"He works in mysterious ways," Tony offered.

Surprised by the reference, Raven asked, "Who? God?"

"No, the chief. Same difference." Tony laughed.

It reminded her how much she loved her partner.

The limousine rolled quietly through the shabby neighborhood with the full-bodied sound of an orchestra playing faintly over the speakers nearest his ear. Music fortified his tolerance, but did nothing for his disdain at the squalor. He had no sympathy. There would always be poor.

"How else would civility stand out if not for the dregs of society?" His voice resounded off the glass pane. Boredom tainted his tone.

Gazing through the window, Nicholas Charboneau bore witness to the depth of disgrace as if it were a boorish documentary unfolding. He distanced himself from it. On the surface, a thin shield of bulletproof glass insulated him from the rest of humanity. Yet so much more distinguished him from the multitudes.

Slender pale fingers slid down his thigh, long red nails glistening. The scent of exotic spice wafted by him. Turning, he met her eyes. For as long as he'd known her, touch had been her preferred way of communicating. She quietly observed life when it suited her, but her sultry voice beckoned his complete attention.

"You forget yourself, Nicky. Remember, you thrive on the misfortune of others. Do not now condemn them."

Elegantly dressed, the petite woman at his side wore a silk dress of midnight blue, her coat tossed onto the seat. Her dark hair was pulled loosely from her face, accentuating her slender neck and delectable jawline. Because she was of Chinese descent, her serene dark eyes masterfully slanted, giving her a mysterious and intelligent quality. Flawless skin reminded him of creamery butter.

His young bodyguard was exquisite—and quite deadly.

"You know me well. And you are most correct, dear one. I can attribute my livelihood to the weaknesses of others. In theory, I should celebrate their adversity."

Good-naturedly, he laughed at her bold observation.

Being the heir to a crime family, he often found himself surrounded by people who guarded their true opinion. They told him only what they thought he wanted to hear. Not Jasmine Lee. She always spoke her mind. He remembered how they'd met. And it always brought a smile to his lips.