Krychek held his ground for a moment longer, his gaze faintly menacing, before he stalked off behind Vreeland.
Doggett moved back to the body. He was glad they were gone. He needed a moment alone here, needed time to think. He frowned as he studied the dead woman. He was missing something.
Carefully he cataloged her features, trying to commit every detail of her person and the crime scene to memory. Hed go over it in his mind a dozen more times before this night was out.
He rubbed his chin. Something was bothering him about that mark on her left shoulder. Doggett had the niggling feeling that hed seen that symbol before, that it should mean something to him, but he didnt know what.
He was troubled by her appearance, too. The dress and shoes screamed for attention, but everything else, her makeup and jewelry, were understated. His gaze rested on her fingernails. They were neatly trimmed and squared off, but unpolished, as if this were a detail shed forgotten because she wasnt used to getting all dressed up. Or as if shed been in a hurry to go out.
You know what I think? I think you were pretending to be something youre not. You were trying to fool someone, werent you? But who? And why?
And suddenly, in asking those questions, Doggett found what had been missing for him, the connection he needed with the victim.
Im going to find out all about you, he silently told her. And then Im going to find out who did this to you. You have my word on that.
CHAPTER THREE
SO THIS IS WHERE YOU LIVE, Milo Cherry commented as Fiona climbed into his car, a vintage 69 Corvette Stingray beautifully restored. Nice neighborhood.
Thanks. She sank comfortably into the bucket seat and glanced around. Is this new? Ive never seen you drive it before.
Ive been working on it in my spare time for a couple of years now. Cars are kind of a hobby of mine.
She ran her hand over the leather. Im impressed, Milo. I had no idea you were so mechanically inclined.
He gave her an enigmatic smile. Theres a lot about me you dont know.
It would seem so.
Fiona was certainly witnessing a whole new side of him tonight, and it wasnt just the car. She was used to seeing Milo in his conservative, slightly geeky, lawyer personadark suits, sedate ties, brown hair neatly combed. Tonight his hair was gelled and he wore slim black pants and a black shirt opened at the collar.
But the change went deeper than just the surface. Milo was usually one of the most laid-back people Fiona knew, but tonight he seemed restless, almost wired. His fingers tapped a nervous tattoo on the steering wheel as he waited for her to settle in.
I dont mean to alarm you, she told him as he pulled away from the curb. But I think something may be burning in here.
Its just incense. I put it out earlier, but the smell is still kind of strong. Sorry.
No, its okay. But would you mind if I rolled down the window a little?
You cant. He shrugged another apology. The power windows dont work. Some kind of glitch with the wiring I havent been able to figure out.
Fiona smothered a sneeze. Youve got the address of the crime scene, right?
You said the corner of Bleaker and Radney. Thats a few blocks west of Rush Street. Speaking of which. His fingers continued to drum on the steering wheel as they headed down her street. I had no idea you lived so close to the party zone. Do you go there much?
To Rush Street? Fiona shook her head. Rarely.
Theres a nightclub on Division Street called Blondies. Have you ever heard of it?
No, but I dont get out much, she said dryly. And besides, Im not really the nightclub type.
He shot her a glance. I think you might like this place.
Is that where you were tonight when I called? she asked curiously.
He studied the road. What makes you think I wasnt home?
Oh, I dont know. She stared at his clothes. Maybe because you dont look as if you just woke up.
I never said I was asleep. An intriguing little smile played at the corners of his mouth, and it occurred to Fiona that he had the look of a man with a secret he was just dying to tell. She wondered if, like a lot of males shed known, he was preening over a recent conquest and couldnt wait to brag about it in the locker room. He glanced at her again. You want to go sometime?
Go where? Her mind had drifted, and shed forgotten what they were talking about.
To Blondies.
Are you sure a redhead can get in? she teased.
As long as youre with me, youll be okay. His tone was dead serious. What do you say?
Fiona hesitated. You dont mean like a date or anything, do you? She winced the moment she said it. Gee, Fiona. Could you be any more insulting.
His smile disappeared. Not a date date. Of course not. I thought we could drop by after work and have a drink sometime. Listen to some music. Maybe even dance if the mood strikes us. You know, do that whole Ally McBeal thing.
Fiona feigned shock. Dont tell me you actually watched that show?
He gave her a warning look. If you repeat that to anyone, Ill deny it. Plus, I may have to kill you.
Not funny, considering where were going, she grumbled.
Sorry. He downshifted as he rounded another corner. So is that a yes or a no to Blondies?
Its a maybe. Let me think about it.
He slanted her a glance. Just out of curiosity...if I had asked you for a date, what would your answer have been?
No. But its nothing personal, she was quick to assure him. I dont date people I work with.
Does that include big shots like, say, Guy Hardison?
Fiona turned in genuine shock. What?
Nothing. Forget I said that.
I dont want to forget it, she said sharply. Youve implied something I dont think I much care for, and now you owe me an explanation.
Look, its nothing. He lifted a hand off the steering wheel. Just talk around the office, thats all.
What kind of talk? Fiona folded her arms as she glared at him. She knew what he was getting at, but she wanted to hear him say it.
Nothing really. Just some grumbling about all the hot cases youve been getting lately.
If by hot you mean high profile, she snapped, Maybe its because I win them. It annoyed Fiona that she felt she had to defend herself. She was a damn good prosecutor. No one had given her anything.
Dont take it personally. Milo gave her a cool smile. Like I said, its just gossip.
Fuming, Fiona turned to stare out the window. She hated gossip. It had taken her a long time to live down all the talk after the scandal with David broke. She didnt need people speculating about her love life now and remembering what had happened to her in the past.
She certainly didnt need her own colleagues spreading rumors about her.
The silence grew so awkward that Fiona was relieved when they turned down Radney a few minutes later, and she saw the police cars and the crime scene unit pulled to the curb in front of the alley. Milo parked behind them, and Fiona started to get out, but the door wouldnt open. Another glitch, he said.
Good way to hold your dates captive, she muttered.
He turned back and stared at her. What?
She shrugged. Nothing.
She waited for him to come around and open the door, and then, still angry, she climbed out of the car and headed toward the alley without a word. Milo hurried after her and caught her arm. She spun, stared at his hand for a split second, then lifted her gaze to his.
He got the message loud and clear and removed his hand from her arm. Sorry. And Im sorry about earlier, too. I was out of line.
Yes, you were. She held his gaze for a moment longer, then relented. But lets just forget it. Weve got work to do.
He shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Id like to forget it, but I cant. Look, Fiona, Ive got to say this. Theres a reason why people are talking.
What reason? she asked coldly.
Its Hardison. The way he looks at you. He has a thing for you. Its obvious to everyone but you.
Thats ridiculous! Hes a happily married man, for Gods sake.
Is he? How long has it been since you saw the two of them together?
That gave Fiona a moments pause. Shed always thought Guy and Sherry Hardison had the perfect marriage. They seemed so close. Their marriage is none of my business. If theyre having difficulties, it has nothing to do with me. She started to turn away, but Milo stopped her again.
Just...be careful around Hardison, okay? Theres a lot more to that guy than he lets on.
Like what?
Take my word for it. Guy Hardison is not the picture of propriety he wants everyone to believe he is.
You know what I think? Fiona challenged him. I think youve been listening to too much office gossip.
And you know what I think? I think you have no idea the effect you have on men.
A shiver ran up Fionas spine at the strange note in Milos voice. She could barely make out his features in the darkness, but she could feel his eyes on her. She could sense his intensity, and the chill inside her deepened. She was suddenly aware of how alone they were on the street. There were cops at the scene, but their voices sounded a long way off. She felt a prickle of alarm as he continued to stare down at her.
Then he laughed softly, and his mood seemed to change instantly, as if the whole thing had been a huge joke. He jammed his hands into his pockets, looking like the Milo she saw every day at work. Lucky for me, he said with a disarming grin, Im immune to tall, gorgeous redheads. Blondes have always been my downfall.
* * *
THEY SHOWED THEIR credentials to the police officer guarding the perimeter, and then Milo went off to find the medical examiner.
Whos in charge of the investigation? Fiona asked the uniformed officer.
Talk to Doggett. He nodded toward a man who stood a few feet away, busily scribbling something in his notebook.
Thanks. Fiona knew most of the detectives who worked out of the Area Three Detective Division, but she didnt recognize this man. Are you Detective Doggett? she asked as she approached him.
He didnt look up. Who wants to know?
His voice caught Fiona off guard. It was deep and husky. Might even be considered sexy in certain situations.
But the man himself was nothing to write home about. He was around forty or so, with close-cropped brown hair, high, rugged cheekbones and lips that were well-shaped but humorless. Fiona had the immediate impression he wouldnt be an especially pleasant man to be around, but that could be said for about ninety percent of the cops shed met in her lifetime. And shed met plenty.
Im Fiona Gallagher. Im with the states attorneys office.
Gallagher? He finally looked up, and she was immediately struck by his eyes. They were a light, eerie blue. Piercing one might say.
And that stare. That stare could freeze meat, Fiona thought with a shiver.
You related to Tony Gallagher? he asked her.
Hes my brother. Do you know him?
Yeah, I know him.
And judging by his scowl, the experience hadnt been all that pleasant. Fiona wondered what the source of friction had been between Doggett and her brother. Tony could be a bit...unpredictable at times. She suspected the same was probably true of Doggett.
Are you the lead detective on this case? she asked briskly.
Lets assume that I am.
She wasnt sure what he meant by that, but the last thing Fiona wanted was to become embroiled in a turf war between two homicide detectives. What can you tell me about the investigation?
He gave her a mild once-over, but that laser beam stare didnt tell her a damn thing about what he was thinking. The victim was shot in the back of the head with what looks to be a .45 caliber slug.
Have you identified her yet?
Were running her prints now.
Any witnesses?
Not that weve found so far. The buildings in this area are mostly office space, and everythings closed at this hour.
What about security cameras? Maybe something was caught on tape.
Doggett nodded. Were working on that.
Someone called out his name, and he turned as another detective hurried toward him. When the man saw Fiona, he stopped abruptly.
This is Fiona Gallagher. Shes an ASA, Doggett said. This is Detective Vreeland.
Vreeland nodded. Weve met. His tone inferred it had been a pleasure hed just as soon not repeat.
Vreeland and his partner, Jay Krychek, along with Vincent DeMarco, had been part of the Internal Affairs investigation into the allegations of misconduct by some of the detectives under Frank Quinlans command. Unlike DeMarco and Krychek, Vreeland had struck Fiona as a by-the-book cop. A basically honorable man doing a sometimes impossible job. If anything unethical and illegal had gone on during Quinlans watch, she doubted Vreeland had been a party to it. But, like any good cop, he wasnt about to testify against one of his own.
He turned back to Doggett. We checked the cross directory. The number isnt in there, which means its either unlisted or a cell phone.
You try calling it? Doggett asked.
Vreeland shook his head. We didnt want to tip our hand unless we had to.
What phone number? Fiona asked.
The crime scene techs found a purse in the Dumpster they think belonged to the victim. A phone number was stashed inside a compact, and were trying to track down a name to go with it. Doggett took out his cell phone, and turned back to Vreeland. Lets give it a shot. Maybe well get lucky and get a name off an answering machine.
Doggett punched in the number, then lifted the unit to his ear and listened. A second later, the phone in Fionas purse started to ring.
CHAPTER FOUR
THAT HAS TO BE A coincidence, Fiona said as she fished in her purse for her cell phone. The timings too perfect to be anything else.
One way to find out, Doggett said.
She pressed the talk button and lifted the phone to her ear. Hello?
Coincidence, huh?
Fiona was looking at Doggett, saw his lips move, but it took her brain a split second to register his voice in her ear. Then her gaze met his, and simultaneously they hung up their phones.