The Heart of A Killer (34 page)

“Anna, let me take care of this,” Roman said.

Dante came to the door, saw the flowers. “Fuck.” He took Anna’s arm, but she wrenched it away.

“Enough. Enough of this.” She grabbed the flowers, not caring that she was ungloved, that they hadn’t been tested for prints. She walked out to the trash can, opened the lid and dumped them and the card inside, then stalked back into the house.

Dante and Roman walked in after her.

“You think that was such a good idea?” Roman asked.

She whirled on him. “You know what? I don’t care. I don’t want to know what was in the note and I don’t give a shit about the flowers. I don’t care about fingerprints because I already know he didn’t leave any. The son of a bitch killed my father. Goddammit, he killed my father.” She fell onto the couch and lifted her chin, daring either of them with her glare to go out there and retrieve those flowers and the note.

Roman raised his hands. “Okay. I understand.”

“I’ll catch up with you,” Dante said, then showed Roman to the door.

He closed the door and came into the room to sit down with her.

“I’m not going out there to get that note,” she said.

“Okay.”

Dante went into the kitchen. She followed him.

“You think I should.”

He grabbed a cup of coffee. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you think I should.”

He took a couple swallows. “I don’t think you should do anything you’re not comfortable with doing. You can leave the fucking flowers and the note in the trash if you want. I don’t care.”

“But there might be a lead in there.”

He didn’t say anything.

“He might have said something in the note that may tell us something.”

He still didn’t say anything.

“Goddammit.” She went to her kit and grabbed gloves, evidence bags and tweezers, walked outside to the trash and grabbed the note. She bagged the flowers, then brought the note inside and into the kitchen. Dante’s expression remained benign.

“What does it say?”

“Haven’t opened it yet. I wanted to get it into the bag first.”

She pulled the envelope open—it was unsealed, like the others—so she grabbed the end of the card with the tweezers and lifted it partially out of the envelope.

I did it for you, Anna.

Her stomach rolled and her hands shook.

Dante took the evidence bag with his gloved hands and laid it on the table, slipped the card back into the envelope with the tweezers and sealed it up.

All she could do was stare at it as her breathing increased.

Not for me. He didn’t do it for me.

She closed her eyes and her father’s smiling face swam before her. She felt the dizziness and pushed it away.

Not now. She wasn’t going to wallow in grief anymore. This son of a bitch was going down. “Anna.”

She opened her eyes and glared at Dante, her teeth clenched so tightly it made her jaw hurt.

“Don’t let him get to you. This is exactly the kind of reaction he wants from you.”

“I’m fine. He’s getting no reaction from me.”

He didn’t believe her and she knew it. “I’ll take this in and drop it off, see if maybe this time he left a print.”

“Whatever.” She wanted to explode. At Dante. Wrong person to take it out on, but he was the only one here.

He reached for her, but she slapped his hand away. He walked out to finish getting ready to leave.

She’d hurt him, just as she’d been hurting him since her father died.

She’d been brutal to him the past couple weeks, had hardly said anything to him. And when she did speak to him it was in short, clipped replies, or she was a downright bitch.

Yet he was still here. He’d stayed with her, held her hand even when she didn’t want him to. Despite cursing at him, screaming at him and telling him over and over again she wanted him out of her house and out of her life, he’d been a rock-solid presence, not once raising his voice to her in retaliation.

Maybe he liked abuse. Or maybe he realized she was grieving and he was letting her get it all out of her system at him.

He came back and filled one of the go cups with coffee.

“You’re leaving?” she asked in that same angry tone she’d used on him every time she talked to him.

“Yeah. Going to follow up a lead.”

Making a decision, she stood. “I’m going with you.”

He arched a brow. “You’re not cleared to go back to work.”

“That’s just a formality. Pohanski will clear me.”

“You think so?”

“Of course.” She picked up the phone and dialed Pohanski’s desk. He picked up on the second ring, said he was happy to hear from her, asked her how she was doing.

“I’m ready to come back to work, sir.”

“Are you sure? We can spare you if you need some extra time.”

“You can’t spare me. Roman told me you’re working everyone on double shifts. You need me.”

“That’s true. We do. We need you to work some of the other cases while we have people on your father’s case, and the related killings.”

She paused. “Captain, I want back on this case.”

He didn’t pause. “Not gonna happen, Pallino. You’re not going to work your father’s murder, and it’s directly related to the alley killings. You’re off that case.”

“Sir—”

“This isn’t open to discussion. You want to come back to work, I have a shitload of it for you. But it won’t be
that
case. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

She hung up and turned to face Dante. His expression remained impassive.

“You can’t work your father’s case.”

She grabbed her gun and holster. “And since when are you a stickler for the rules?”

He shrugged. “Fine with me. I don’t report to your captain.”

If glares could shoot bullets he’d be dead on the floor right now. “Fuck you, Dante. I’ve been ready since the day we buried my dad.”

He turned and walked out the front door to his car. She followed, fuming silently as she slid into the passenger side.

“Shit. Give me a minute,” she said, then hurried back into the house, ruffling her fingers over Rusty’s fur as she let him out the back door and filled his water bowl out there.

“I’ll be back later, Rusty. You be a good boy.”

When she came back out and buckled her seat belt, Dante’s lips quirked.

“What?” she asked.

“Forget you have a kid to take care of now?”

“You are so funny. Just drive.”

He didn’t say anything as they drove, which was probably a good thing considering she was teetering on the edge of another unreasonable outburst.

Then again, it wasn’t his fault that she’d wandered around in a fog the first week after her dad died. And she’d had to get some papers from her father’s house, and start figuring out what she was going to do with all his furniture, and then the house, too. So maybe she did have some stuff to deal with, and jumping right back into work wouldn’t have been a great idea.

And now she couldn’t work the case she’d been on since the beginning?

Damn Pohanski anyway. She was going to work it, even if she did it under the table.

He dropped off the evidence at Forensics first, then came back to the car. She was sitting there with her arms folded, still stewing.

“Done pouting over there yet?”

She shot him a look that he paid no attention to. “I’m not pouting.”

“Good. When you’re done not pouting we can strategize.”

It was a good thing his balls weren’t in kickable range. “About what?”

“Dr. Crey Robinson.”

Robinson, the doctor they had been heading over to talk to the night they made the detour to her father’s house first—the night her father had died. “Did you meet with him while I was off duty?”

“No. After…after that night he left town to attend a medical conference, then on vacation out of the country.”

How convenient. And suspicious. “Is he back now?”

“Yeah. Got back two days ago and is working today. That’s where we’re headed.”

“Okay.”

Dante motioned with his head to the folder lying on the seat between them. “That’s his file if you want to refresh.”

She grabbed it, reviewed Robinson’s school history and talked it over with Dante while they were driving. By the time they parked at the medical center, she was ready.

More than ready.

She didn’t think she’d have to walk into a hospital again so soon after losing her dad. The stark whiteness of everything was so incongruous to the blackness of death she’d experienced within the walls of the hospital where she lost her father.

Her throat tightened and she stopped in the middle of the hall. Something wasn’t right. The walls were moving. She blinked a couple times, then reached out for Dante as the overwhelming dizziness hit her.

Shit.

She vaguely heard the sound of Dante’s voice, felt his arm around her as he led her to a nearby chair and gently pushed her head down. She rested her forearms on her knees.

“Anna, breathe. You forgot to breathe. Slow and easy.”

His hand was cold and so was the corridor they sat in. She needed that. It helped.

“You can stop this before it starts. Remember, we have work to do.”

She couldn’t do it. She had to go home, wanted to forget all about hospitals and death and losing people she loved.

Sweat beaded and slid down her back. “It’s hot in here. I can’t breathe.”

“It’s not hot in here. It’s cold. And you
can
breathe. You control it. Slow. Breathe slow. We have work to do, Anna. Stop this and let’s get to work.”

His words penetrated. Work. They had to talk to Dr. Robinson. If she went home and crawled into the fetal position, they’d never find out who killed her dad. And George and Jeff.

She wouldn’t allow her weakness to win. She closed her mouth and controlled her breath.

“She okay?” she heard a female voice ask.

“She’s fine. Just a panic attack. She hates hospitals.”

Whoever it was laughed. “Me, too, and I work here.”

“You’re doing it. Bring yourself out of it,” Dante said, not coddling her, his voice firm.

The haze began to clear and she finally began to feel the cool air surrounding her. The tightness in her chest loosened and the dizziness lifted enough that she could raise her head. She met Dante’s gaze.

“You okay now?”

She nodded.

“Sit right here. I’ll go get a bottle of water.”

By the time Dante came back she felt in control again.

“I’m okay.”

“Sit here a minute anyway and take a couple sips.”

She did, and then she stood, her legs not even wobbly. She capped the bottle and shoved it in her bag, then turned to Dante. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Let’s go find Robinson.”

He never treated her as if she was weak or a hindrance. And she’d treated him like shit for almost two weeks.

She didn’t deserve having someone like him in her life.

She grabbed his hand, pulled on it. “Dante, wait.”

He stopped, frowned. “What?”

She drew him to her, wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest. She tilted her head back and stared into his most gorgeous face. “I’ve been a bitch. You’ve been patient.
Sorry
seems like such an inept word. I can’t thank you enough for being there for me.”

He dragged his thumb over her jaw, then her bottom lip, making her quiver.

“You lost your dad. You were entitled to be as big a bitch as you wanted to be. You don’t have to apologize for that.” He bent and brushed his lips over hers.

She sighed against him, leaning her body into his chest.

He broke the kiss and stared down at her with a deeply sensual look. “You keep kissing me like that and I’m going to find a supply closet and we’ll end up playing doctor instead of interviewing one.”

Feeling better than she had in a long time, she said, “I like this playing-doctor idea.”

He cocked her a grin. “Come on.”

They found the neurology department, showed their badges and asked a woman at the desk to page Crey Robinson. She informed them he had just finished up a surgery, so there might be a short delay.

Short delay her ass. They waited two hours with no word on how soon it would be until Dr. Robinson would show.

And she really hated hospitals.

“You know I’m going to have to take the lead on this because you’re not supposed to be on this case,” Dante said.

Anna held back her irritation. It wasn’t in her nature to be secondary to anyone, and she was so ready to sink her teeth into Crey Robinson.

She hated that it had to be like this. Damn Pohanski.

“I know,” she said.

Finally, a tall, very handsome man with shaggy dark hair and black glasses sauntered down the hall toward them. With his striking good looks and air of supreme confidence, Anna was surprised women weren’t swooning as he walked by.

She knew the type. He presented an air of I-am-a-god-and-you-should-worship-me. She’d seen it before in doctors she had to question in cases.

This should be fun.

He came to a halt in front of them. “I’m Dr. Creighton Robinson, chief resident of neurosurgery. You wanted to see me?”

Anna started forward, but Dante flipped his badge. “Special Agent Dante Renaldi of the FBI. This is my colleague from the St. Louis Police Department, Anna Pallino. Is there someplace we can talk?”

He frowned. “What’s this about?”

“Someplace we can talk?” he asked again.

Since Dante wasn’t swooning over him, and neither was she, the poor doctor didn’t know how to react.

“Uh, yes, sure. Follow me.”

Dr. Robinson led them into a conference room and shut the door, then stared at the clock. “I have a meeting in about ten minutes.”

“Have a seat, Dr. Robinson,” Dante said. “We’ll try to be brief.”

Obviously not used to being ordered around on his own turf, he said, “I’ll stand.”

“Fine. We’re here to talk about Tony Maclin.”

He paused for a second, then asked, “Who?”

“Tony Maclin. He went to the same high school as you did, but he was a few years behind you.”

Robinson crossed his arms. “Then I wouldn’t have known him.”

“He was murdered in an alley off Lindell twelve years ago,” Dante said. “Beaten to death.”