Sweet Dreams Boxed Set (7 page)

He was smart. Alex had always liked smart guys. They just didn’t always like her. She was street smart. She could hold her own in a conversation, but she wasn’t like her dad. She wasn’t what people called “well-educated.” She didn’t do fabulous in school—good enough to get into UC Davis, but she had a feeling that was more to due with the fact that her father was an alum. And, she was an athlete. She’d played soccer in college, not because she wanted to but because it made the four years bearable. She didn’t graduate with any honors, but she’d done okay. 

The police academy—that was another story. She excelled, because she wanted it. She didn’t ace every test, but she scored well and graduated in the top ten percent. Because she’d played soccer since she was five, the physical tests were easy. She didn’t love running, but she was good at it. She’d been a goalie, which meant she wasn’t afraid of getting dirty or getting hit.

Matt was smart. Not just a lawyer, but a top lawyer, graduating from a top law school after serving a few years in the Navy Seals. He’d been elected to the State Senate at one point, but left after one term. He’d been the elected D.A. for the last three years.

She’d trusted Matt. Not just because of his background, but because he was her father’s friend. He was a prosecutor who thought the same about justice as she did. He was, basically, a good guy. When she was confronted with Tommy Cordell’s corruption, she didn’t know who else to go to. Internal Affairs? Absolutely not. Her boss? Hell, no. Her dad? She’d considered that ... but he would have either told her to talk to Matt or to go to IA. Matt seemed like a good idea at the time.

It wasn’t completely Matt’s fault that she’d been burned. She’d let herself be used by Matt and the FBI. She’d sought Matt out in the first place and told him about her partner. She’d been willing—reluctantly—to work with the FBI when Matt brought them in. She hadn’t told him no, keep them out—because his argument about why they needed to be involved was valid. And they’d already had an open investigation into Rykov, so she was just part of something that already existed.

It was your choice, your decision. Live with it.

At least she was alive. Her life might be a mess, but being dead would have been a lot worse.

She was about to get up to clear the plates, when Matt put his hand over hers. “I’ll do it,” he said.

She almost objected, but decided why volunteer to rinse dishes if there was someone else willing to do it?

Matt cleared their plates, rinsed them, and stacked them on the counter. Alex went back to the refrigerator, retrieved two beers and handed one to Matt. “Okay, spill, because I’m tired, have a full stomach, and plan to crash as soon as I can get these clothes off.” She shut her mouth. That was not an appropriate thing to say.

He smiled at her. “Let’s sit somewhere more comfortable. The den?”

She’d rather have put him in the stuffy living room with the hard sofa and ugly portrait of some disapproving old general. But she nodded and led Matt to the back of the house, which overlooked the tree-framed yard and small swimming pool. Her grandma’s cottage was on the other side of the pool, an eight hundred square foot one-bedroom guest house. Alex would never forget the battle her dad had when her grandma insisted that she live out there, rather than the house. Judge Morgan always expected to get his way—and he wanted his elderly mother to live in the main house, especially since all the kids were gone. But Jane had insisted she wanted her own space, and stubbornness definitely ran in the Morgan genes. As it was, the arrangement had worked out well for everyone.

Alex sank into one of the over-sized chairs and sat with her legs outstretched. She and her brothers, Aiden and AJ, had watched many football and baseball games in this room. Good memories. She missed those days.

She shifted, trying to get comfortable. She was stiff and sore, but tomorrow would be worse.

“Are you really okay?” Matt asked, concern in his green eyes. “I almost went over to the hotel after I saw the news.”

“I’m fine,” she snapped. “Don’t coddle me. I’m tired, so if you would please just tell me whatever it is you think I need to know, then go, I’d appreciate it.”

Matt tensed, and she almost felt guilty for snapping at him.
Almost
.

“I need to know that whatever I tell you stays between us. If you don’t agree to help, you can’t say anything to anyone.”

“Got it.” She crossed her heart, then sipped her beer. “Help with what?”

“I’ve known Travis Hart for a long time, since we were both prosecutors together. I never liked Travis, didn’t trust him, and thought he’d intentionally screwed up a couple cases. When Sandy Cullen retired, she recruited me to run for District Attorney, so I did—and Travis ran against me. He lost. It was a bitter fight. He left the D.A.’s office shortly thereafter and took a position in a corporate law firm, then was appointed Lieutenant Governor when the former LG died in office last year.”

“What are you really saying? That you don’t like Hart and you’re the one who took a hit out on him?”

He stared at her as if he hadn’t heard what she said. “Excuse me?”

“I still don’t understand why you’re here. I’m not a cop anymore, remember? I don’t know Hart from Adam.”

“Sergei Rykov is one of Hart’s major donors.”

Her heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t say anything.

Matt continued. “The FBI has opened an investigating into Hart for racketeering and political corruption, but they haven’t found anything solid. There are a few gray areas, but the FBI hasn’t been able to get anyone on the inside. One of Hooper’s informants said Rykov and Hart are tight, but just because Rykov is a known criminal we can’t pin that on Hart. Rykov also has some legitimate businesses, and you know we’ve never been able to pin anything on him.”

“Because of me,” she said. “Just say it.”

“It’s not because of you.”

“Yes it is. Because I acted too soon, I couldn’t get in.”

“No one blames you, Alex. You can’t possibly think that.”

“It’s true. I was so close ... but I don’t know why you’re telling me this. You think Rykov put the hit out on Hart?”

“I honestly don’t know—Hart has made a lot of enemies, but as far as we know, he’s still tight with Rykov’s people. It could be a power play by another faction, or something unconnected.”

“I still don’t see what you think I can do.”

“Feel him out.”

“Excuse me?”

“You saved his life today. He’ll reach out to you. Probably give you an accommodation or something. It’s news, Alex. Hooper and I would like you to use that—any in he gives you, take it.”

She thought of the flowers, and the enclosed card.
If you need anything ...

Matt continued. “And talked to your dad. He’s going to invite Hart over for dinner or drinks to discuss his campaign.”

She couldn’t have heard him right. Her dad? A political campaign? She wrinkled her nose.

“Hart has been building endorsements from law and order independents like your dad,” Matt continued. “Andrew said Hart’s campaign already reached out to him, and the fact that you were shot protecting him is a good excuse for Andrew to call.”

“I can not believe you’re dragging my dad into this. And Hart wasn’t even the target.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Get a copy of the report,” she said. “I’m not a cop.”

“Dammit, Alex! How many times do I have to apologize? I feel like shit about what happened last summer. I’m upset that we couldn’t get Rykov, but more than anything I’m furious that you were hung out to dry by the department.”

“It’s my own fault,” she said. “I agreed with Hooper that it was best to keep the FBI out of it. If they have a chance to stop that bastard, I don’t want to get in the way.”

“You were nearly killed.”

“That’s on my partner,” she said flatly, “and he’s in jail.”

“Then why haven’t you talked to me in eight months?”

“Why would I? It’s not like we’re friends.”

“That’s not true. Alex—we are friends. At least, I thought we were.”

Maybe I don’t want to be friends.

“It was my decision and my responsibility.” She really didn’t blame Matt, but seeing him hurt. It reminded her of that difficult time. Working undercover. Lying to Jim and her friends. Getting shot. Losing her job.

She was going to start feeling sorry for herself again. Before Matt could say anything else, she turned the conversation back to the shooting. “I think his legislative aide or consultant or whatever—Eric Huang—was the intended target. I analyzed the angle the shooter had, and Hart was blocked by a display of flowers. Good snipers want a clear shot. If he moved five feet to the right or left, the angle would have been completely different and he’d have had a clear shot of Hart. But from where he was, at the time he fired, Hart was blocked and Huang was visible. I told Jim all this and I’m sure he’ll look into it.” Except, she didn’t think he agreed with her.

She put her empty beer bottle down on the coffee table and got up. Matt stared at her. “Sit down, Alex.”

“Don’t order me around.”

“Sit.”

She stared at him. He stared back. She really wanted to get out of this room. With all this talk, these damn, conflicted feelings resurfaced.

“Please,” he said quietly.

She sat on the edge of the ottoman.

“I didn’t think that it would take the FBI this long to build a case against Rykov. If I had I would never have urged you to agree to keep the real motive quiet. I thought the FBI had more than it did. So did Dean. Dean feels like shit, too, and he tried to make it right—but you turned him down.”

“You mean the job in Washington?” She shook her head. “It wasn’t me. It was like I was running away. Though now ... I probably should have taken it. At least then I’d have a job.”

“Except your family is here.”

She nodded. Matt did understand. He was close to his sister; she was close to her dad, her grandma, her brothers. Taking a position so far away felt more like a punishment than a reward.

“It’s still there for you, if you want it.” He paused. “To be selfish, I’m glad you didn’t take it. I don’t want you three thousand miles away.”

Alex didn’t know what to say. She could scarcely comprehend what Matt was saying.

I don’t want you three thousand miles away.

What did that mean?

“Talk to me,” Matt said.

“I—” She had nothing to say. She was stunned into silence.

Matt rose from his seat and walked over to her. He reached out to touch her and she turned her face away. Intellectually, she realized that he might have felt something of what she’d felt when they’d worked together last year. The attraction. The raw lust. But emotionally, she wasn’t ready for any of this.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she found herself saying. “I need to sleep on this.”

“Okay.” He hesitated, as if waiting for her to say something. She didn’t know what to tell him. She was so physically and emotionally exhausted all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for twelve hours.

Finally, he said, “I’ll let myself out.”

She watched him leave, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Chapter Six

Jim Perry sat at his desk Monday night finishing up his report. 

There wasn’t much to go on.

The video surveillance in the hotel covered the entire lobby, the elevators, the staircases, and each entrance. They had a few shots of the shooter coming and going, but nothing showed him standing at the railing. They determined that he’d come in through the convention center entrance at 11:35 and used the far staircase—the same staircase Alex had used fifteen minutes later—to go up to the second floor. At 11:53, immediately after the shooting, cameras caught him exiting via the door to the parking garage. Alex was less than a minute behind him. But he gained speed running down the staircase to the street. The only image they caught after that was a glimpse from a 12
th
and K Street security camera.

The coverage didn’t extend much beyond that, and while they suspected he’d crossed J Street, they couldn’t determine which way he’d gone, even after canvassing the neighborhood.

The shooter could have had a car, a getaway driver, changed his clothes, hopped a bus, or gone into a house for all anyone knew.

Steve hit Jim on the arm. “We got something. Ballistics came back an hour ago. The gun was used in the murder of a Russian prostitute three years ago.”

Jim scowled. This entire case was becoming far more complicated than he would have liked. “Why would the Russians go after Hart?”

“He was a prosecutor. Maybe he pissed off someone. The D.A.’s office is helping us pull his cases—it might speed things up if we pull only cases with a Russian connection.”

Jim considered the option. “Let’s prioritize that angle, but grab all his cases. Do you want me to reach out to the D.A. tomorrow?”

“I’ve been working with the D.A.’s head clerk, I can do it.” He grinned. “Her name is Zoey. She’s hot. Have you met her?”

“Don’t think so. Ask her out.”

Steve snorted. “She’s outta my league. Smart and sexy with a stick up her ass. But damn, she’s hot.”

“So what, she might say no? You tried. Besides, didn’t your last girlfriend call you a stud muffin?” Jim grinned and Steve hit him in the arm.

“Don’t start with me.” Steve leaned back in his chair. “So, what do you think of Alex’s theory?” Steve asked.

Jim rubbed his face. “Alex is smart, so I’ve given Eric Huang a solid look. But there’s nothing. Nada. Zilch. He’s thirty, never married, worked in the Capitol since he graduated from college, no arrests, no misdemeanors, one parking ticket that he paid promptly. Doesn’t live above his means, everyone seems to like him. He was jittery when I spoke to him, but I think he was nervous about the shooting.”

Jim glanced at the ballistics report. Definite match to the shooting three years ago. The lead detective on that case was John Black. They’d had no suspects, no evidence, nothing to go on with the hooker. Dead end. Maybe Jim would close both cases as soon as the shooter turned up. With the high-profile attempted assassination of a state elected official, the guy would turn up sooner or later.