скачать книгу бесплатно
The moment Wayne Mercer laid eyes on the twins, it was love at first sight. He and Lori’s mother doted on the girls, and did everything in their power to help Lori get her life back on track. She graduated with honors from both high school and college, and, like Fiona, was near the top of her class in law school. The two of them had even been associates at the same law firm in the Loop, but then Lori had met Paul Guest, a Houston attorney, and was swept off her feet. They were married two months later, and he took Lori and the twins back to Texas with him.
For a couple of years after the move, Lori and Fiona kept in touch with phone calls and letters, but the calls eventually stopped, and gradually, the correspondence dwindled to only Christmas cards.
Then last summer, Lori called Fiona out of the blue. “I need to ask a big favor of you,” she said, after the two had spent a few minutes catching up. “The twins will be starting college in the fall.”
“That’s impossible,” Fiona insisted. “They were in kindergarten just last week.”
“They were already out of kindergarten by the time we started law school, Fiona.”
She groaned. “Stop. You’re making me feel ancient.”
“Now you know how I feel every day.” Lori laughed, but there was some tension in her voice. “Oh, Fiona, you should see them. They’re all grown up and so smart. And so beautiful! I know every mother thinks that about her children, but Alicia and Lexi are special. You wouldn’t believe all the modeling offers they’ve had. But Paul and I have tried to shelter them from all the attention because we don’t want them to get caught up in something they can’t handle.”
Fiona wondered if Lori was thinking about her own trouble as a teenager.
“We always planned on the girls going to school here in Houston,” she continued. “Paul wanted them to go to Rice. It’s a wonderful school, and his father is one of the trustees. And, of course, the best part is that they would be close enough for us to keep an eye on them.”
“I take it the girls have other ideas,” Fiona murmured. She could sympathize with Alicia and Lexi. Growing up with a father and three brothers who were all cops, Fiona had felt pretty smothered herself at times.
Lori sighed. “Evidently they talked to a recruiter from Hillsboro University, and now that’s where they want to go. They’re bound and determined, especially Lexi. Alicia, I think, would still like to go to Rice, but she’d never let her sister go off to Chicago alone. They have that twin thing, Fiona. Where one goes, the other goes. When one is upset, the other is upset. If one gets hurt, well, you get the idea. They’re so attuned to one another, it’s almost scary.”
Fiona frowned, still uncertain where she fit into the equation. “Hillsboro is an excellent school, Lori. My sister-in-law is head of the forensics anthropology lab there.”
“I know it’s a great school, but it’s so far away. And now that my parents are dead, I don’t have any family left in Chicago. No one to look after the girls.” Lori paused and took a deep breath. “That’s why I’m calling you, Fiona. Would it be a terrible imposition if I gave them your phone number? It would make me feel so much better to know there’s someone in the city they could call if they needed to.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Fiona said impulsively. “In fact, I insist. Tell you what, when are you coming up to help them settle in?”
“Next week.”
“Let’s all have dinner together so the girls can meet me. Maybe then they’ll feel less awkward about calling.”
“I’d love that. Oh, Fiona. I can’t tell you what this means to me.” Lori sounded so relieved that Fiona felt a little guilty. She’d readily agreed to the arrangement because it was an easy thing to do. She didn’t think, for one second, that two gorgeous teenage girls, on their own for the first time, would really feel the need to call on a complete stranger.
She didn’t say as much to Lori, however, and the following week, they met for dinner at a restaurant on Michigan Avenue. Lori and Fiona had arranged to arrive early so they could have a chance to chat before the girls joined them. They were exchanging stories about some of their more interesting cases when Lori suddenly touched Fiona’s hand. “There’s Alicia. She just came in.”
Lori’s whole face was suddenly aglow. For one split second, Fiona almost resented the adulation that radiated from her friend’s eyes. Motherhood couldn’t be that grand, could it? Fiona wasn’t missing out on something that spectacular, was she?
Then she turned. And for several long seconds, she could do nothing but stare at the girl making her way through the crowded tables toward them.
She was, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful young women Fiona had ever laid eyes on. “Oh, my God,” she blurted. “No wonder you didn’t want to let them out of your sight.”
Lori’s smile turned wistful. “She is lovely, isn’t she?”
Lovely was an understatement. In spite of the sedate way she dressed, Alicia Mercer turned heads as she walked through the crowded restaurant. But when she sat down at the table, she seemed oblivious to the stares and admiration. Fiona was instantly charmed. The girl was as modest and unassuming as she was gorgeous. She was almost too good to be true.
And then her sister walked in.
Lexi Mercer was tall like Alicia, with the same pale blond hair and blue eyes, but there was nothing understated about her appearance. She had on low-rider jeans and a cropped shirt that showed off a very flat, tanned stomach and a belly button ring that sparkled in the lighting.
If admiring eyes had noticed Alicia, men literally drooled over Lexi. It was more than just her physical beauty. She had a kind of magnetism that would make even the most principled man have some very dark thoughts.
Fiona tore her gaze away long enough to glance at Alicia. She was staring at her sister, too, and there was something in her eyes. Not jealousy. Not envy. Not even resentment, but...something.
It made Fiona wonder instantly what it must have been like, growing up in Lexi’s shadow. In any other family, Alicia would have been the golden child, and even now, she would still be the most desirable woman in any room—until her sister arrived.
And Lori? What had it been like raising such a child? Lori was still a young, beautiful woman in her own right, but in her daughter’s presence—
Let’s face it, Fiona thought grimly. With Lexi Mercer around, we all look like hags.
But in spite of any latent rivalry, it was obvious the three women were close and had such a wonderful relationship that Fiona again felt twinges of jealousy. It was at that moment that she suddenly became aware of the ominous ticking of her own biological clock.
After that day, Fiona didn’t see the girls again until just before Christmas, when Alicia called to set up a dinner. Fiona had been so pleasantly surprised at how much she enjoyed the girls’ company that she’d honestly meant to keep in touch. But work became extremely hectic. Cases piled up. Every once in a while, if she thought about the Mercer twins, Fiona would promise herself she’d call them when she had a spare moment, just to say hello.
But that spare moment never came. Not even to return Alicia’s call last week.
And now it was too late.
Soon, it would be Lori who received a phone call, one that would turn her perfect little world into a nightmare.
CHAPTER FIVE
“WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO WALK up with you?” Milo asked as he pulled to the curb in front of Fiona’s building. In spite of the earlier tension between them, he’d been very solicitous since they’d left Lexi’s apartment, and Fiona appreciated his effort to return their relationship to normal. The last thing either of them needed was a strained working environment.
She gave him a tired smile. “No, thanks. I still need to do some work on the DeMarco case. We’re due in court in...exactly...” She glanced at her watch and groaned. “Four and a half hours. What about you? Are you ready?”
“I will be.” He frowned suddenly. “Tell me the truth, Fiona. Do you think we have even an outside shot at a conviction?”
“I don’t know. It’s always hard to predict what a jury will do in a he said-she said case like this. With no forensic evidence, it’ll be a hard sale to the jury.”
“How could there not be one single piece of evidence against that bastard?” Milo muttered. “I get that he wore a condom, but no hair, no fibers, no DNA beneath her fingernails? What the hell did he do, scrub her down afterward?”
“You know what happened,” Fiona said. “Same thing that happens in too many of these cases. She went home and showered.” Although in Kimbra’s case, she’d gone to a runaway shelter. She’d gotten rid of her clothes, too, because she’d never planned to report the rape at all. But Rachel Torres, a woman who ran the runaway shelter, saw the bruises and forced the truth from Kimbra. She was the one who took her to the emergency room, but by then a rape kit was almost useless. Whatever evidence there might have been to help put DeMarco away had been washed down the drain.
“I watched the jury yesterday when DeMarco took the stand,” Fiona said. “He scored some serious points.” And nothing she’d been able to do during cross-examination had rattled him. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn the man was on something. How could anyone remain that calm when she’d gone straight for the jugular?
Milo nodded morosely. “I thought so, too. And Kimbra’s testimony was shaky, at best.”
That was another thing that made this case so difficult. The accused wasn’t just any cop. DeMarco was a decorated veteran of the Chicago Police Department and a war hero from Desert Storm. Good-looking, well-educated, the kind of defendant that was easy to root for because people wanted to believe he was exactly what he seemed to be—one of the good guys.
Kimbra, on the other hand, was a troubled young girl who’d lived on the streets for years. Moody, defiant, and tough as nails, she’d been a difficult and reluctant witness from the start, the kind that sometimes made Fiona wonder if the aggravation was worth it.
She sighed wearily. “Since we didn’t get any help from Kimbra, it’s imperative we make up ground in the closing argument. We’ll both have to be at the top of our game, Milo.”
“Oh, no pressure there,” he grumbled as he got out of the car and came around to open her door. When she stepped out, he said awkwardly, “Look, Fiona, that business about Guy—”
She cut him off. “Let’s just forget it, okay? I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“I understand.” He ran a hand through his hair, messing his gel job. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. About the gossip, I mean. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable at the office.”
She shrugged. “I hate gossip, but maybe it’s best that you did bring it to my attention. It’s always a good idea to know what people are saying about you behind your back. But just for the record? I’m not involved with Guy Hardison. On any level. I want you to know that. I want you to believe that.”
“Maybe you’re not involved, but—”
“Milo.” Her tone held a warning note. “There is nothing going on between Guy Hardison and me. Period.”
He nodded. “Okay. I get the message. Case closed. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
They said their good-nights, and then Fiona ran up the front steps and inserted her key into the lock. She couldn’t wait to be inside her own apartment, to lock the door behind her and close herself off from the rest of the world, if only for the next few hours.
Resolving herself to the work she’d left earlier, she went into her tiny kitchen to brew a fresh pot of coffee. But instead, she climbed up on the counter and reached into the far corner of a top cabinet to retrieve the bottle of scotch she’d stashed several months ago when she’d quit drinking.
She stared at the bottle for a moment, then got out a glass and poured herself a drink. Her grandmother’s voice seemed to echo through the silent apartment. “You drink alone, you’re apt to die alone, Fiona Colleen.”
“Sorry, Gran,” she muttered. But dying alone was pretty much a foregone conclusion for her anyway.
Fiona downed the whiskey sitting on the edge of the counter, then poured herself another. The liquor seared a comforting path all the way to her stomach, and she closed her eyes, letting the familiar numbness take hold.
Hopping off the counter, she carried the bottle and the glass into the other room and dropped into a chair at the dining table. Sipping her drink, she read over the notes she’d made earlier.
One out of three women in this country will be sexually assaulted in her lifetime. One out of every three.
She finished her drink, then began to write.
It could happen to me, it could happen to you, it could happen to anyone at any time.
She stared at the words and frowned. Had Alicia been sexually assaulted? Was that the reason she’d been murdered?
They would have to wait for the autopsy to find out, and even then the results, except in the more brutal cases, could be ambiguous.
However, the way she’d been murdered, one shot to the back of the head, suggested—as Guy had said earlier—an execution-style hit. Very deliberate, premeditated, someone wanting to shut her up. But why? What could an eighteen-year-old girl who’d lived a very sheltered and protected existence know that would make someone want to kill her? What might she have seen? Who might she have seen?
And where the hell was Lexi?
The questions swirled inside Fiona’s brain, and she rubbed her temples, trying to shut them out so that she could concentrate on her work. She poured herself another drink and scribbled:
Think of three women in your own life. Your mother, your daughter, your sister...
As she stared at what she’d written, Lori Guest’s words suddenly came back to her.
“They have that twin thing, Fiona. Where one goes, the other goes. When one is upset, the other is upset. If one gets hurt, well, you get the idea. They’re so attuned to one another, it’s almost scary.”
Had Lexi sensed that Alicia was in trouble? Had she felt her sister’s terror?
Did she know the exact moment when the bullet had pierced her sister’s skull?
Or was Lexi...beyond knowing?
“Why did you call me, Alicia?” Fiona wondered aloud. “And why in God’s name didn’t I call you back?”
Don’t dwell on it. Nothing could be done about it now. Recriminations could come later, but for now, the only productive thing Fiona could do was concentrate on her work.
She glanced back down at her notes, tried to pull her thoughts together once again, but her mind kept rambling and the words on the page blurred. Her eyes suddenly burned with exhaustion, and Fiona thought that if she could just rest them for a moment, she’d be good to go.
But the moment she closed her eyes, she drifted off and the image of Alicia’s pale, still features materialized in her dream. Mist swirled around the body as Fiona stared down at her, and somewhere in the darkness behind her, a tape played over and over. “Fiona? This is Alicia Mercer. Please call me when you get this message. I really need to talk to you.”
And then suddenly the tape stopped. The fog faded, and Fiona was standing on a lonely road in the harsh glare of headlights as she stared down at David Mackenzie’s lifeless body. Someone said in horror, “He’s dead, Fiona. My God, you killed him.”
She came awake with a start, the ringing of the telephone as jarring in the early morning hours as a scream. Glancing around, Fiona tried to orient herself, and when the sound persisted, she finally got up to answer it. Finding herself not quite steady on her feet, she put a hand on the table for balance.
Carefully she walked across the room to the sofa where she’d tossed the cordless phone earlier. Halfway there, she realized it wasn’t the phone ringing, but the doorbell.
She adjusted course and moved very deliberately to the door to glance through the peephole. Detective Doggett stood on the other side. She undid the dead bolts and drew back the door to let him in.
He walked inside and glanced back at all the locks. “How many of those things you got on there?”
Not enough. Fiona pulled fingers through her messy hair as she closed the door, then turning, she caught her breath when she found him standing right behind her. His eyes...those laser blue eyes...were staring at her intently. And he was frowning. Fiona had the vague notion that he was scowling at her in disapproval.
Not a comfortable revelation for any woman.
“Sorry to drop by like this,” he said. “But I told you I’d be in touch as soon as I heard something.”
Fiona had made sure he had her home phone number before they left the crime scene, expecting that he would simply call when he had news. But here he was, alive and in person, and she realized that he must have looked up her address in the cross directory. She wondered if she should be annoyed at his presumption. Maybe when she was thinking a little more clearly she would be.
She felt dizzy, all of a sudden, and put a hand to her forehead.
“Hey, you okay?” Doggett asked her.
“I’m fine.” But her words sounded slurred even to her.
“Maybe we’d better sit down. You don’t look too steady on your feet.”
“No, I told you I’m fine—” But Fiona was horrified to feel herself sway. She put out a hand to stop the room from spinning, but there was nothing to grab hold of. “I think I’m going to—”
The next thing she knew, she was lying on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. Doggett was standing over her. Still scowling. Still disapproving.
“I’m all right,” she muttered. “I just felt a little woozy.” So woozy, in fact, she couldn’t quite remember having gotten from the door to the sofa.
“You fainted,” Doggett said. “Or maybe I should say, you passed out.”
Disgust in his voice. Not a good sign. Fiona gritted her teeth and sat up. “I couldn’t have. I didn’t have that much to drink.”
“You had enough to knock you on your butt. Is that the norm for you? You come home from a crime scene at four o’clock in the morning and start drinking?” His expression was so grim that Fiona thought if he’d had a rolled up newspaper, he probably would have bopped her on the nose with it. She had the sudden urge to tuck her tail between her legs and slink off to the nearest corner.
“I didn’t get home until four-thirty,” she said coolly as if that made any kind of difference whatsoever. Humiliation always made her irreverent...irrelevant...shit. “And if I want to have a drink in the privacy of my own home, I don’t see how that’s your business.”
“I’ll tell you how it’s my business. You’re the prosecutor assigned to my case. I don’t want a bad guy slipping through the cracks because you weren’t up to the job.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” Fiona assured him, wishing she didn’t feel as if she might throw up at any moment. Barfing on Doggett’s shoes would definitely undermine her credibility. “I know how to do my job. You just make sure the bad guy doesn’t slip through the cracks because you or some other detective in your division decides to ride roughshod over his rights.”
