Dark Deeds Page 6

  That little crinkle formed between her eyes. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

  That was all he could say, so he did the only thing he could. He walked out the door.

  * * *

  Like a diehard geek at Comic-Con, the Fan trembled with the excitement of being so close to Damian and Becca, even if just for a few moments. From the bar just off the lobby, he’d seen them return from the rehearsal party, about a half hour apart, dressed to the nines and looking even more amazing up close.

  Had Becca received his text? He’d simply captured a photo from the diner’s website since he hadn’t been able to make it to observe the meeting itself, but the message should be clear. He knew where she was. He wanted to help. They were in this together.

  He was dying to know what she was thinking. He only had access to her email, since he’d paid a hacker for access to the SSAM accounts. What had she learned at the Hoboken diner about Samantha Manchester’s disappearance? If Becca would work with him, he could help, and become the ultimate hero in Damian’s eyes, and in hers.

  But she couldn’t accept his offer to partner just yet...he wasn’t making it that easy to find him. He had to protect himself, too. He wouldn’t let her find him until the conditions were just right...until he knew beyond a doubt that he could trust her with his own secrets.

  In the meantime, he would build their anticipation until Becca and Damian were eager to receive more from him. Eager to meet him. He was tired of being behind the scenes...he wanted to belong.

  He’d stumbled across the stories of SSAM’s triumphs years ago. And become intrigued long before Becca had made her contributions to the team. Now that he’d watched her in action for a couple years, this little pixie seemed to be the strongest of them all. She’d get knocked down, and get right back up. He might have summoned the nerve to get on the elevator with her when she’d returned to the hotel—she seemed friendly enough that he might have been able to talk to her—but she hadn’t been alone. She’d walked through the hotel entrance with a man whose glare could melt an iceberg. NYPD Detective Diego Sandoval, whom Becca had helped on a case months ago. Sandoval was also best man at the wedding, so it made sense that Becca would know him.

  The twin fangs of jealousy bit him in the belly. Becca was his partner. It was his gifts that allowed him to do this, to be here, and he’d embrace them.

  Just as he was about to abandon his post at the bar, Sandoval came out of the elevator, crossed the lobby and put his hand on the front door, bracing to push out into the cold, dark night. Suddenly, he dropped his hand, detoured and headed straight for him.

  * * *

  Diego tried to outrun the sharp-edged betrayal ripping up his insides, but when faced with the cold blackness outside the hotel windows, he decided getting a drink while he thought things through might be a better idea than letting adrenaline control his actions. And if Becca happened to come downstairs to do the same thing, maybe they could hash this out.

  He couldn’t stand her thinking the worst of him, but what would telling her the truth do? Maybe build her trust, but for what? She’d be leaving to return to Chicago in a little over twenty-four hours. Telling her could possibly ruin his cover, a cover he’d spent months building. Why couldn’t she just trust him? Had he done something to make her leave last summer, something that had destroyed their connection?

  He took a seat at the end of the bar where he could have some privacy, laying his coat over the barstool next to him to ensure nobody would sit beside him. “Scotch, neat,” he ordered.

  Since it was Friday night, the bar was relatively busy though it was near midnight. But the crowd was sedate, the music mellow jazz, which suited his mood. Tomorrow, he could blast his hard rock while pumping iron, but tonight he had to get through this anger and focus on the shipment coming at six in the morning.

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number he’d memorized for emergencies only. He didn’t want to scare her, but with Becca’s reference to a source, he had to be sure. It rang several times before a sleepy voice answered on the other side.

  “Hello?”

  “Selina?” A breath of relief whooshed out.

  “Who’s this?” Selina’s voice changed to slightly alarmed.

  “It’s me. The guy you called your guardian angel.”

  “Because you wouldn’t give me your name,” she said, a softness in her voice now.

  “I still can’t. I just needed to see if you’re okay.”

  “Yeah. Had a visitor today.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. If she tracked you down, I’m worried other people can, too. People who aren’t as nice as Becca.”

  “So you’re on a first-name basis, huh? I’m glad to know I was right to trust her.”

  “You were right.” Even if Becca couldn’t trust him. “But please be extra careful. Call me at this number if you’re not sure whether you can trust someone. I’ll check them out for you.”

  “Why didn’t you give me this number before?”

  Diego took a swig of the scotch the bartender sat in front of him. “It’s risky to talk to me.” And he risked his own life contacting her. “What else did you tell Becca today?”

  “She wanted to know my story, and I told her what I could.”

  Including his name, but only as a mole within the NYPD. “What, specifically, did you tell her?”

  “Why? Was there something I shouldn’t have?”

  He sighed. “No.” He hadn’t told Selina his true identity all those months ago, preferring to remain her anonymous savior...in case the Circle tracked her down. He never expected the person to track her down would be Becca. The attempt at misdirection had failed. He’d assumed, if the Circle got a name out of Selina, his name would only be connected with the crimes they already attributed to him. If anything, it was meant to strengthen his cover story. Instead, it had broken his tenuous bond with Becca.

  “She wanted to know the details about where I’d been held, and how.”

  “Did you give her the address?”

  When Selina spoke, he could hear the frown in her voice. “You sound worried. I checked her out. She even gave me references. She’s legit.”

  “Oh, I know.” He knew how capable Becca was of investigating, and what she’d do with that information. She’d also go to hell and back to solve a case, to catch a monster. Apparently, he was now the monster. If she was planning to visit the building where Selina had been held, where the Circle held their human trafficking victims, he’d have to ensure that she’d find nothing...and that the Circle didn’t find her. “Did you meet Becca at a diner?”

  “Yes. I thought it’d be safe to meet in public.”

  That had to be the meaning of the photograph Becca had been sent, but why would the SSAM Fan send her that, with such a note? Someone was following Becca’s every move. “I strongly suggest you leave town for a bit. At the very least, mix up your routine.”

  “I thought you said I could trust her.”

  “You can. But someone else found out about your meeting.”

  Selina cursed. “I shouldn’t have taken the risk. I just wanted the Circle taken down.”

  “That’ll happen. In the meantime, be extra vigilant.” He hated scaring Selina. She’d been through so much, but a bit of fear meant to ensure survival was better than being dead.

  “I will. But what about Becca? Have you warned her?”

  “Let me worry about her.”

  He finished his call with Selina, then his drink, and scooped up his coat from the stool. A piece of paper slid to the floor and he bent to pick it up. It was a four-by-six-inch glossy photograph. The contents had his gaze snapping up to survey the people in the bar. Nobody was watching him. Nobody seemed out of place. When had this been placed here? He’d only been there ten minutes.

  He gestured to the bartender. “You remember anybody coming near this area?” He indicated the two stools where he’d been sitting.

 
The bartender shook his head. “No, but it’s a busy night.”

  “Thanks.” Diego pulled his coat on and tucked the photo in his pocket, not taking it out again until he was on the subway. The image was of a black woman tied to a chair with duct tape over her mouth. She’d obviously been crying and had a look of such despair that Diego knew she’d been killed. She’d been aware of what was coming. He could see it in her eyes.

  But where? How? Who? And why would anybody want to give this to him?

  Diego turned the photo over and read the careful block writing on the back. Unburden your conscience. Tell me no lies. A circle binds her forever...

  Circle? He looked closer at the woman’s upper arm, which was bare. And there was the thing he sought...the thing he feared he’d find...the circle tattoo, ringed in flames. It looked freshly imprinted, as it had been on Selina the night he’d found her in that cell. The Circle’s emblem. Diego had encouraged the Circle to discontinue the human trafficking after Selina had escaped. So what was it doing on this woman? And who had left this for him?

  * * *

  By the time Diego took a cab from the Park Avenue hotel to East Harlem and walked into his apartment, he’d made the toughest decision of his life—one he hoped would protect both his career and Becca. He dialed his liaison at the Circle. The phone was answered immediately, despite the fact it was way after midnight and an important shipment was expected in less than five hours. But then, cockroaches did their best work at night.

  Had the photo been left by them? Was this a test? Was he supposed to prove his loyalty by coming to them first, instead of his brothers at the NYPD?

  “You’ve been compromised.” Diego’s skin crawled as it did with every tip he revealed to them.

  “What?” There was a note of alarm on the other end.

  “The cops know you’ve reopened the Cattle Call. I got a tip this evening.”

  “Shit, no. We haven’t done that in months.”

  This couldn’t be a dead end. “You sure?”

  “Positive. You got your wires crossed. I’d know if we reopened trafficking routes. Boss has been grumbling daily about the loss in revenue. Why? What’d you hear?”

  “I must have been wrong, then.”

  “Yeah.” His liaison’s laugh was like ragged stones in a rock tumbler. “You need new snitches. Guess dirty cops don’t get no respect after a while, huh?”

  Diego gritted his teeth and wished he could punch the guy in the face. “Yeah, well, without this dirty cop, you wouldn’t have traded several million dollars in guns last week.”

  He’d chewed his tongue to a pulp trying to keep from saying things that would ruin his undercover mission. Part of the task force’s goal was to get to the people at the top of the Circle, which meant letting their operations continue as smoothly as possible without police interruption...until everything was in place. His one exception had been Selina. She had been a moment of weakness, but he didn’t regret saving her. One day he wouldn’t have to put up with creeps like this and he’d have the satisfaction of seeing them behind bars...because he’d bitten his tongue when it counted.

  The liaison grew quiet for a moment. “Boss liked what you did for us there. You’ll be rewarded, especially if tomorrow goes through without a hitch.”

  “Now we’re talking.” Diego let the greed come through in his voice. “I appreciate the rewards. I’ll keep the NYPD away from the shipment in the morning...”

  “Everything will be fine. Relax.”

  “I get paid not to relax when I’m on watch. Just let me know if you hear the Cattle Call is starting up again so I can watch for trouble on my end.” The Cattle Call was Circle slang for human trafficking...and the way these victims were put on display for potential buyers. The women, and sometimes children, were even branded like cattle. “In the meantime, if you have any operations going down in the Brooklyn building, I’d start the move.”

  His contact sighed. “Your intel’s that reliable?”

  Diego pulled the picture out and stared at it again. If the Cattle Call was out of commission, what was this woman’s story? Though only a photo, the fear in her eyes was palpable. He thought of Becca receiving the same treatment for getting too close to the Circle. “It’s reliable,” he confirmed.

  “I’ll order them to clear out. See you at six.”

  Saturday, 12:25 a.m.

  Chicago

  As a responsible, single, attractive woman, Eve Reynolds knew showing up at murder scenes after midnight by herself wasn’t smart. But as an investigative journalist, such risks often came with the job. Besides, the scene was already populated with a couple of CPD’s finest. Watching from her car as they taped off the alley across the street, she dialed her partner in crime. She nibbled on a thumbnail as she waited for him to answer.

  “Yeah?” Patrick answered. “What’s up?”

  “Where are you?” she demanded. There was the soft sound of music in the background. Was he on a date? “I think I’ve got a lead on a good story. I need you here now.”

  “What?”

  “Focus,” she hissed impatiently. “I’ve been snapping pictures on my phone, but I need my cameraman.”

  “What’s the story?”

  “Dead prostitute in an alley.”

  Patrick snorted. “Doesn’t sound like breaking news.”

  She ignored his jaded tone. “The Circle’s involved.”

  “The Circle?” Finally, Patrick seemed to give her his full attention. “What the hell are you doing in their territory in the middle of the night?”

  “Following a lead.” Eve had to bite back impatience.

  “I can’t make it,” he said. “We can cover the story later. You don’t need pictures from the scene.”

  “Bullshit. It’s not that far from your house and it’ll take them a while to process the alley for evidence. This story is big. National-news-network big. Nothing about the Circle has popped up in ages.” Her reputation as a don’t-take-no, tough investigative journalist wasn’t for nothing. She’d built it from the ground up, taking shit assignments and paying her dues. After years of hard work, pounding the pavement for stories and making contacts, she’d finally started getting recognized for her work. One of her stories had even won a national award. But the Circle? They’d been untouchable. Nobody would talk on camera, and certainly not to her. Breaking this story was going to blow her competition out of the water.

  “How’d you find a lead on the Circle?” he asked.

  She resented the doubt she heard in his voice. After two years working stories together, one would think he’d trust her instincts. “You’re not the only one with resources. I know someone inside. He gives me tidbits now and then, asks me to sit on them until he’s done with his work.” But this one, he’d let her follow up on.

  “Who?”

  No way was she going to reveal her source. Besides, what she had with Nico was between the two of them. “Not important.”

  “If you’re chasing after the Circle, it damn well is important. I’m not putting my neck on the line until I know who’s giving you tips. Besides, it’s not like you needed me when you accepted that award last month...all by yourself.”

  Now Patrick was going to grow a pair? She liked him so much partly because he was malleable, agreeable—and a damn good cameraman.

  “Never mind,” she said. “I’ll cover this. You hug your teddy bear, or your blow-up doll, or whatever, and go back to sleep.”

  He sighed. “Good night, Eve. Let me know how it works out.”

  Eve got out of her car, squared her shoulders and crossed the street. Thankfully, she remembered one of the CPD officer’s names. “Hey, Phil. Tough night to be out on the streets.”

  Phil’s eyes widened in recognition. “Cold, but no snow, thank God. What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for a story, of course. Girl’s gotta eat.” She winked and smiled with satisfaction as male interest sparked in his eyes. Eve had used her long dark hair and movi
e-star smile to her advantage before. It looked like it would come in handy tonight, too.

  His gaze slid over her and she mentally winced. The cold had prevented her from wearing a skirt and heels, as she would normally do. Instead, she was in sweats and boots.

  “Yeah, I’m hoping to get my story and call it a night. Maybe a hot bath with plenty of bubbles to warm up first.”

  At this image, his cheeks flushed pink in an adorable way. “Detective’s been held up, but he’ll be here in thirty.”

  “Minutes? Geez. Good thing I brought coffee. Want a cup?” She pulled out the Thermos she’d lugged from the car. You never knew when you’d have to bribe a cop, or any other potential source. She had everything from chocolate bars to cigarettes in her backseat.

  Phil rubbed his hands together, then nodded. She touched the thermos’s cup to her lips, then held it to him. He picked up on the sensual vibe she was going for. Nico would have smirked at this guy’s gullibility, but Phil was a valuable resource. Something to be respected and rewarded.

  She leaned into him a bit, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Can’t you give me something to tide me over?”

  His gaze slid across her face, then to his fellow officer, who was pretending to tape off the other end of the alley but was shooting them curious glances.

  Eve caught a glimpse of legs covered in fishnet-stockings sticking out from behind the Dumpster, and her stomach flip-flopped. “Who is she?”

  Phil seemed to soften. “We don’t know yet. A prostitute, judging by her extreme clothing, especially in this weather.”

  “Nothing to identify her?”

  “Only a strange tattoo on her upper arm. Well, not really a tattoo...almost as if it had been branded by a hot iron. It’s a little bigger than a cigar burn, so maybe it could be something like that.” He looked around nervously, as if realizing he shouldn’t be talking to her.

  “What was it?” She nudged the coffee cup to Phil’s lips again.

  He took a sip, then responded. “A circle, with jagged triangles shooting outward. Almost like a sun, or...”