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Was there a frown attached to the question? Might be worth playing—to a point.
“Pete Peloni. He’s a guy I know. Tall. Very attractive. Really nice. He runs Peloni’s Place in Little Italy. It’s a sort of Italian restaurant with an upscale vibe, about ten blocks from the processing plant where Foret was killed. No segue intended. Liz and I go there sometimes for lunch. I guess she likes tofu…Yes, I’m coming, Moscow.” But she hesitated halfway to the door. “Why did you call, Noah?”
“I found a shoe site.”
“Excuse me?”
“Women’s shoes, thousands of them. It’s a French site. Designer boots and shoes at knock-off prices. Proof that one or two of my ancestors did in fact come from Europe.”
Delight mingled with astonishment. Delight won, hands down.
“I’ll go there tonight,” she promised, “and let you know tomorrow how big a hit my credit card takes.” With a motion to silence Moscow, she added a soft, “Thanks, Noah,” and ended the call. “Yes, I’m here,” she told the excited husky “Why the fuss?” Placing her palm on the frame, she looked through the viewer.
The corridor was empty.
“Took too long, huh? Well, it couldn’t have been Pete. He’d have left a bag of goodies big enough to feed everyone in the building.”
Which was only three other tenants, since the “building,” once a huge post-Revolution mansion, had been converted into four large condos. But Pete believed in stocked fridges as deeply as he believed in healthy eating.
Angel started to turn away. Then she frowned and did a double take through the viewer.
No box sat on the polished hallway floor—but something else did. After a quick second sweep, she snicked the bolt and opened the door.
It could have been a discarded grocery list lying there, but Angel’s instincts suggested otherwise. With Moscow sniffing the air, she used the back of her index finger to flick the paper over.
And seeing the words printed there, breathed a heartfelt, “Damn.”
NOAH HEARD THE WHIR of an approaching motor, followed by wheels rolling over damp pavement. From his crouch, and without looking back, he acknowledged the new arrival.
“Been a while, old friend.”
“Oh, just a few years. Like say—five?”
The belligerent thrust said it all. Noah half smiled at the ground. “Let me guess, you’re angry with Bergman.”
“Wouldn’t you be? He’s letting Pruneface Skater do the profile on this guy. So far all I’ve heard is that the killer’s a male—wow, that took a brain the size of Everest to figure—right-handed and he gets his victims from behind. A chimp could have told us that much, and a hell of a lot quicker than Pruneface did.”
“What do you want, Brian?”
The wheels ground closer. “Same as you. To nail the bastard who turned you into a ghost and me into a cripple.”
Noah reviewed the outline of Foret’s body that he’d drawn from memory. “You crippled yourself, and I withdrew by choice. We can’t blame a madman for everything.”
“No, we can’t do that. Some of the blame has to fall on other shoulders.”
And here it came, Noah thought.
The wheelchair gave a whiny rev. “The kid was green, Noah. You were supposed to be training him. That was the deal. Instead, you let him meet a murderer alone, with no backup and no idea what he was getting into.”
Noah stood slowly, felt the metal basket push into the side of his long coat. “What is it you want? Blood from a stone? Not gonna happen. Blood from another victim? Already done. You knew the killer wasn’t dead, and so did I.”
“That fire…”
“Only destroyed the warehouse and its contents.”
“The investigating agents said the flames were hot enough to incinerate bone.”
“But they didn’t.” Noah turned his head halfway. “Because there were no bones to burn, and when the fire was out, only another victim in the morgue. You drove too fast, I didn’t move fast enough, and it didn’t end that night.”
“And all of it, every last frigging scrap, was your fault, you bast…”
“Don’t.” Noah switched his gaze to the water. “You want to be bitter, go ahead. You want to wallow, be my guest. But don’t roll up to me on the spot where another victim lost his life and try to blame me for everything that went wrong that night. For what’s always been wrong in your life.”
Red-faced, Brian circled until they faced each other. “And your life’s just peachy, is it? Exactly the way you want it to be? Tell me you’re not bitter, that you’re not wallowing, that you don’t blame yourself for what happened. Tell me, and we’ll both have a good laugh.”
His voice trembled but whether from fury or sorrow, Noah couldn’t say. In any case, he softened his attitude and his expression. “It shouldn’t have gone the way it did. I should have known the kid would go off half-cocked with a bellyful of something to prove. Not sure if the proving was for your benefit or mine, but it doesn’t matter. He was green. I wasn’t. I should have seen it coming.”
Brian’s knuckles whitened on the steering handles. “Is that supposed to make me feel better—you admitting you were wrong?”
A faint smile touched Noah’s mouth. In the pocket of his coat his cell phone began to vibrate. “Not particularly. Just thought it should be said. The past’s done, Brian. Your feelings are your own. But I want this guy—for a lot of reasons.”
“And because you can’t be on the case, you’re prepared to use Angel to get him. No matter what the cost.”
Noah simply stared until Brian spun with a jerk. Slapping the motorized vehicle in gear, he zoomed through the shadows and into the access way.
But not before Noah glimpsed the glitter of contempt in his eyes—and the twist of hatred he didn’t bother to hide on his lips.
“NOT GOING TO OVERREACT,” Angel promised herself. “I’ve been threatened before and will again. This isn’t new.” With the phone to her ear, she paced the perimeter of her living room floor. “Pick up, Graydon. We were talking less than twenty minutes ago.”
“Didn’t like the shoes, huh?” he said at last.
Stopping at the window, she let her eyes flit to the park across the street. “Much as I love the sexy drawl, I got a note.”
That killed it. “When?” he demanded.
No what, only when, in a whip-sharp tone that had nothing to do with sexy. “Maybe twenty minutes ago. I followed procedure, checked out the stairwells and doors, front and back. Whoever delivered it was gone. My neighbors who are home didn’t see a thing. There are no foot or tire prints.” She dragged the elastic band from her hair, blew out a breath. “How does this guy choose his victims, Noah? I have no connection to Foret. I’m not a soccer mom with three kids, a biotech who analyzes ocean fungus, or the CEO of a national supermarket chain. Yes, there was an FBI agent on the list of victims, along with a cop and another lawyer, but we’re talking years of separation and no link between them that anyone could find, including you, who’d have dug up whatever was diggable. So all that leaves is the fact that I’m working this case.” A sudden thought brought her head around with a snap. “Oh, my God, Liz!”
“Calm down, Angel.”
She raked the hair from her face, held it there. Breathed. And again. “I am calm. I am,” she repeated. “Perfectly. That babble was just me sorting through the confusion.” Crossing to the land phone, she punched her partner’s number.
“Is Liz at home?”
“No idea. I’m calling her cell—which, of course, she’s not answering…Liz, it’s Angel. I need you to call me back. It’s urgent…” She swung around. “Noah, are we talking about a multiple-target killer here? You know, threaten a new victim before he’s disposed of another?”
His lack of response wasn’t encouraging. She entered her partner’s home number, then tried Joe on his cell, leaving urgent messages on both.
“Moscow, come away from the window.” She caught his collar with two fingers. “Why me, Noah? Because of the case or not?”
“Angel…”
“I know, I know.” She tugged harder. “You don’t know.” Frustration battled fear. And thankfully beat it back. “What’s that sound?”
“My truck. Stay inside. Doors and windows locked, lights off. I’ll handle the follow-up.”
“I promise you, the guy’s gone. I even went through my upstairs neighbor’s condo. I’m watering her plants while she’s away for the holidays. There was no one.”
“Humor me, okay?”
She heard a squeal of tires. “Well, yeah—if you get here. The door’s bolted, and Moscow may be young, but he’s trained. I have two guns, I was top ten in hand-to-hand, and I’ve got adrenaline to spare at this point.”
“Use it to think. Just make sure you do it inside your place.”
“I’m not…”
“Promise me, Angel.”
The words wanted to stick. However…“Okay, I promise. On one condition.”
“And that is?”
Another squeal had her wincing. “Make it two. First, that you slow down, and second, that you don’t tell Bergman about this.”
“No.”
Frustration bled into exasperation. “Why not? And don’t be obtuse. Foret’s not the only person with connections in the capitol. My uncle’s a congressman.”
“Retired and living in Juneau.”
“I said don’t be obtuse.”
“This isn’t a game, Angel.”
“I’m not playing one. This is my life and my case. If Bergman pulls me off, I’ll simply investigate on my own time, without partner or backup.”
“The note you got tonight is evidence. You’d have to withhold it. Federal offense, Agent Carter.”
“I’ll have it analyzed for prints and all the usual etceteras. Fully aware here, Graydon, whatever you might think.”
A final squeal of brakes told her he’d arrived. She couldn’t resist, she returned to the window and stared at the street below.
It had to be Noah who climbed from the large, black truck. His coat was long and, she suspected, also black. In fact, everything about him appeared black, even his hair, which she thought might skim his shoulders. She couldn’t tell because he was wearing a hat with a broad brim and, since it was still raining, had his collar turned up.
He was definitely tall. Over six feet, with a long stride and, she imagined, a lean build.
Unfortunately, no features were visible, and she only had a glimpse to go on as the shadows of the old house swallowed him up within seconds of his arrival.
Moscow wedged himself between her and the ledge and pushed on her legs.
“Okay.” She gave his side an appreciative pat. “Backing away.”
But she glanced toward the solarium. It felt downright spooky that she would have painted Noah almost exactly as she’d seen him tonight. A shadow within a shadow.
“I’m in.”
“What? Oh.” She’d forgotten about the active phone connection. A frown, then, “In the building?”
“I’ve already gone through the lobby.”
Not going to ask, she decided. “Noah?”
“Stay where you are,” he repeated.
“Yes, I got that part. I thought you’d like to know what the note said.”
“I was getting to it.” But he sounded distracted which probably meant he was searching again. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”
She unhooked and lowered the blind, didn’t need to see the words to recall them. “It said: THE CIRCLE OF UNDERSTANDING WILL BE COMPLETE AT LAST. He stenciled it on a scrap of yellow newsprint, the kind you use for notes in college.” She heard boots on the stair treads and added, “I went through the basement, too.”
“Did I mention the part about humoring me?”
“Did I mention the part about not telling Bergman?”
“Can’t hear you, Angel. Bad reception.”
“That’s not very original.” When he didn’t respond, she sighed, “Come on, Noah.”
Only silence reached her.
She debated for a moment, then shrugged and dropped the phone in the pocket of her pants. “In that case, ditto.” Pulling on her coat and boots, she picked up her gun, motioned to Moscow and slipped into the hall’s period lighting, glowing and romantic, perfect for a nineteenth-century mansion.
But the shadows that might have been deemed intimate in their day created a much less appealing atmosphere right now. Angel angled her gun toward the coffered ceiling as she started down the stairs.
Because the first-floor neighbors were abnormally nosy, she knew all the creaks and how to avoid them. Moscow padded ahead of her. Angel retrieved her cell and brought it to her ear.
“Noah, are you there?”
No answer.
Had the communication really broken up? Builders had added a layer of concrete between the first floor and cellar. It was possible, she supposed, if a little too convenient.
“Noah?”
Still no response.
“Don’t think I’m liking this, Moscow. Be very quiet.”
The dog’s ears twitched, but he obeyed.
