Darkness Calls (3 page)

It was a man. She squinted, but it was too dark to see his face even though he stood close. Too close for her to pull out her weapon. It was a true Mexican standoff, the two of them considering each other in the dim light, neither one speaking. In her ear, the running comments of various agents crackled and she tried not to let them distract her.

A few feet away, a small spot of moonlight appeared as the wind drove the clouds away. If the man across from her would only move that short distance, it might give her the answers she needed. “Step into the light,” she said, striving for a tone of authority despite the situation, hoping David and the others would hear.

The seconds of silence stretched out after her command and then came his short bark of a laugh. “And why would I want to do that?” he asked, his low voice gravelly, as if it had been a long time since he had used it. There was a trace of an accent. Southern, she thought. Louisiana, she confirmed as he issued his own determined instructions.

“Darlin', if you have a lick of sense, you'll turn right around and head back into the club.”

He surprised her with his tone of concern. She couldn't take that statement at face value as the others might have done, turning their backs on this man and then finding themselves…

It was likely David would be here within minutes. His instructions were to keep her in sight, and he had known where she was heading. But she couldn't wait for her partner. If this was the man, a delay might prove fatal and she had no intention of ending her life in an alley that stank of stale urine.

“Step into the light where I can see you and I'll go,” she said calmly, not trusting that he would listen. Preparing for what she would do if he didn't.

“Do you think—”

“You're a fool?” she finished for him.

He expelled a harsh breath and challenged, “I'm not the fool who's running around with a killer loose.” Despite his comment, there was resignation in his voice, as if he, too, recognized that there was little either of them could do. She wasn't surprised therefore when he said, “On three, we both move where we can see each other.”

“On three.” She counted down. As promised, she took the few steps to her right, mirroring his movement.

As they both reached the safety of the light, she detected a note of surprise in his features before he carefully schooled them. He had a severe yet handsome face. His eyes were a flat, unholy black against the dark of the night. They were intense, unblinking. Soulless, she thought for a moment, but then abruptly, as her gaze finally met his, there was a moment of connection. Within her, there was a sudden strange sense of…recognition. She berated herself silently for letting her imagination get the better of her.

“Satisfied?” he asked, his voice still husky. He stood mere feet away, a commanding presence. Tall and strong-bodied, he was dressed all in black, like most of the crowd inside. Only, on him, it was more than just a color. It was an aura of dangerous energy that made her take a step back.

“Who are you?” she pressed, aware that they were
still
the only ones in the alley. She listened to the chatter on the wire. Nothing to indicate help was on the way.

Before Diana could register his intentions, he closed the distance between them and grabbed hold of her wrist, yanking her to him.

Years of training took over. An elbow to his face had him rocking backward and she followed with a jab that straightened him, leaving him totally vulnerable for a full-force roundhouse kick. She connected to the side of his head with a thick thud, and he tumbled to the rough cobblestones. Before she could react, he was on his feet and moving toward her once more.

Diana struck out with a quick chopping motion. He blocked her blow forcefully and thrust her away, which sent her flying into the brick wall.

Her head hit hard and stars danced across her vision. She fought off the dazing blow and pressed her hands against the rough surface of the wall, struggling to find purchase so she wouldn't fall to the ground. The chatter had ceased in her ear, which meant the wire had stopped working, not that it had been doing much good up to this point.

As her assailant neared again, David finally called out, “Hold your position or I'll fire.”

She closed her eyes and held her breath for a moment. When there was silence, she struggled to focus her blurry gaze on her attacker, his hands on the top of his head. David stood behind him, inches shorter, his gun pointed at the base of the man's skull.

David looked at her and asked, “You okay?”

Her cheek was throbbing painfully and she realized that the man's defensive block had caught the side of her face. She raised her hand to the back of her head. There was a lump growing there beneath her hair. Even though her head was swimming and her vision was unclear, she told herself the bumps and bruises were nothing but minor discomforts. “I'm okay,” she replied, and took a step toward the man.

“Who are you?” she asked, getting right next to his face, her nose nearly bumping the edge of his jaw.

He smiled tightly and was about to answer when the bouncer realized that something was going on in the alley. “Boss man, you okay? Should I call the police?” the muscular man asked her assailant.

David kept his bead on her attacker and Diana approached the bouncer. “You know this man?”

“That's Ryder Latimer. He's the owner of the club. Came out to make sure nothing funny was going on,” the bouncer explained.

Diana sighed harshly and glanced at her partner, who lowered his weapon, holstered it and then spoke softly into the wire, calling off the imminent arrival of reinforcements.

She walked up to the man and noted he bore an imprint below his left eye from one of the blows she had inflicted. Her satisfaction was tempered by guilt, the burning pain across her cheek and the pounding in her head. “I guess we all need to talk.”

“I guess we do at that,” he said, and turned on his heel, barking a command to the bouncer on his way to the door of the club.

David and Diana remained behind, staring after him in surprise. The bouncer moved his head in the direction of the door and held out his hand. “After you,” he said facetiously.

Diana gritted her teeth to hold back her comment. A mistake. The movement sent a shaft of pain up the side of her face and into her skull. She moaned, and David reached out to steady her as she swayed.

“You need to see a doctor,” he said as she closed her eyes and battled the swirling dizziness in her head. She reached for the wall and instead encountered a rock-hard body.

Opening her eyes, she met the sharp-eyed gaze of her unwitting assailant, who actually seemed concerned. It was the last thing she thought as she passed out into his arms.

S
he tried to open her eyes, but the glare of the light forced them closed. Reaching for her forehead, she grasped both sides of her head and cradled it gingerly.

“It's about time you came to,” Ryder said, and the words ricocheted around her skull, causing more pain.

Somehow she found the grit to face him. “Haven't you done enough?” she said, surprised that all she could muster was a whisper. Each movement of her jaw brought fresh waves of pain. She moaned, and a moment later she was rewarded with the chill of an ice pack against the throbbing side of her face and the gentle pass of his hand across her brow.

“Lean back and try to stay still. I called for a doctor,” he said, and Diana chose not to argue with him. If she argued, the pounding punishment in her skull would outweigh any satisfaction she might get.

A footfall alerted Diana to the entry of someone else. Diana opened her eyes to mere slits. An elegantly dressed young woman came into the room, followed by David.

“Your friend is finally awake,” she said, and Diana assumed this was the doctor the club owner had called. The woman's voice was soft and cultured, colored with the accents of exclusive prep schools and money. Despite her easy tone, Diana's pain increased.

“Easy,” her assailant murmured, and stroked a gentling hand across Diana's forehead once more. The tips of his fingers were rough and yet somehow comforting.

“Ryder, you never cease to amaze me. Is this another lady you've charmed?” the physician teased.

Diana wished the doctor would shut up and examine her. “Please. Let's get this over with,” she whispered. A second later the doctor pried open one of Diana's eyelids, flashed a light in her eye, then repeated the same with the other eye. It was a small penlight, but it had the strength of a laser, burning away what little was left of Diana's brain cells.

“Open those eyes and tell me how many fingers I have up?” the doctor asked.

Diana slowly eased her eyes open, letting them adjust to the light. It took a while, and she had to force herself to focus so she could count the fingers the physician was wiggling in her face. “Three,” she growled, then closed her eyes and leaned back against the cushions of the couch.

“She'll live, Ryder, although she's got a slight concussion,” the young woman proclaimed. “Next time, try to take it a little easier on the ladies. I thought you considered yourself a gentleman.” The doctor stowed the penlight in her pocket and reached into her bag. She took out a small foil packet of medicine and handed it to David.

“Here are some meds for your partner. She should be watched overnight. If there's no one who can—”

“My brother can do it, David. I don't want to go to any hospital,” she replied.

The young woman nodded and glanced at Ryder. “See you later, Ryder?” she asked.

“I'll be by, unless the agents need to keep me for some reason,” he replied, but David shook his head.

“Great, then. Thanks for your help, Danvers,” Ryder said. The doctor walked from the room, mumbling under her breath as she did so. The calming, pain-killing chill of the ice pack returned, however, and Diana wondered why this man was being so solicitous. And why she was wondering what kind of relationship he and the good doctor shared.

She opened her eyes. This time it took only a few seconds for her to focus on his too-handsome face, which was filled with concern—and a trace of guilt. “It seems as if we should know each other's names by now,” she said.

It was amazing that such a small hint of a smile could transform the harsh planes of his face, brightening his dark countenance. She sensed he didn't smile often. “Ryder Latimer. Proprietor of this club. And you two would be—”

“Special Agent Harris.” Her partner walked up to Ryder, who sat on the edge of a low coffee table beside Diana.

Ryder stood as the other man approached and they shook hands. He sat down once more and faced her.

“Diana Reyes,” she answered, and held out her hand. He took it in his, and when he noticed the dull rose across her knuckles from their earlier fisticuffs, his lips thinned into a tight line. Smoothing a finger across the fresh marks, he gazed at her, his face hard. His touch sent a wave of heat skittering up her arm. “I'm sorry about hurting you,” Ryder said softly.

“You were watching me,” she pressed, disturbingly aware of him. This close, his face was striking, undeniably masculine. A sharp, straight slash of a nose. Those dark, nearly black eyes that made her feel as if she could sink into their depths to rest. And his lips—full and well-defined…

Maybe it was the blow to her head that was distorting her sense of things, but it seemed she had seen that face before. That she knew him somehow…and knew she could trust him.

“I read the papers the other morning,” he started with a shrug. “I was worried the killer might be here—”

“Maybe because of your clientele and the bar's motif?” asked David, sitting on the couch by Diana's feet.

Ryder shifted to face him, his legs spread. He rested his forearms on thick-muscled thighs and steepled his hands. He had capable hands. Large, with blunt fingers. Diana had to tear her gaze away from the sight of them. She was a sucker for men with strong hands.

“There are all kinds at the club,” Ryder answered. “For most, it's a way to cut loose and be a little different.”

“Why did you follow me?” she asked, although she was quite certain he had been in the alley before she arrived.

“I didn't. I was already out there. Beat you down from the catwalks.”

He caught her off guard with his answer. She had been expecting him to lie. Needing time to regroup and get a fresh perspective, she peered at her partner past the pack of ice she still held to her face and said, “I think I'd like to talk to Mr. Latimer in the morning. Bright and early.”

“First thing in the a.m.?” Ryder questioned, dread in his voice.

“Not an early bird, I gather,” Diana replied as she rose and handed him the half-melted ice pack.

“You can't even begin to imagine,” he answered, and as Diana met his gaze, she sensed there was a wealth of meaning in those simple words.

“No, I don't think I can,” she acknowledged, some extrasensory perception kicking in to warn her: Ryder Latimer was clearly not what he appeared to be.

 

Diana turned her attention to the lists of convicted sex offenders in the area, sipping an oversize cup of café latte she had picked up on her way to work. Her caffeine-and-sugar rush was humming nicely when David showed up at nine. He plopped himself on the sofa and she brought over the lists she had already reviewed. “I've flagged a couple who seem like possible suspects.”

David rubbed at his eyes, where a bleary network of red obscured the normally bright blue. “Tired?” she asked, dropping onto the sofa next to him.

“Hmm,” he grunted, and grabbed the lists from her. As he examined them, he asked, “How long do we give Latimer before we chase him down?”

Diana glanced at her watch. It was already nine-fifteen with no word from him. Latimer didn't strike her as the type who would be late, which could only mean that he had no intention of showing up. She fought back the sudden disappointment and mustered righteous anger. He had not kept his promise. So much for the trust she had felt last night.

Trust being a funny and fragile thing, she thought as she ran her hand along her right cheek. It was still sore, and this morning she'd woken with a pounding headache. The medication the doctor had given her had eased the pain enough for her to concentrate on her work. Still, every time she moved her jaw, a slight sting reminded her.

She glanced at her watch again even though only seconds had passed. “At nine-thirty we go after him. If he refuses to cooperate, we'll get a warrant.”

It was as if Latimer had heard; a moment later her phone rang. She hurried from the couch and grabbed it. Anger blossomed inside her as the secretary said Latimer's lawyer was upstairs. “Bastard,” she mumbled under her breath as she hung up the phone, all of her earlier interest in him blown away by the call.

David picked up his head from the sofa back. “Let me guess—”

“Latimer sent his lawyer down. Probably to throw up roadblocks so we couldn't question him.”

“Testy this morning, aren't we?” he said, noting her irritation.

“I don't like games. He said he'd be here. If I'd thought otherwise, I would have hauled him down here last night.” She walked to her desk, slipped her jacket off her chair and put it on.

“Especially after the little incident?” She shot David a glare as she headed for the door of her office. Of course she was mad about the “incident,” but she also felt betrayed.

That sense of betrayal fueled her anger as she and David arrived at the anteroom to the assistant director in charge's office. His secretary nodded and gave them a tight, uncomfortable smile. “He's waiting for the two of you.”

Diana took a breath and knocked on the door. After hearing the soft “Come in,” she and David entered.

In a chair opposite ADIC Jesus Hernandez sat a middle-aged man. Hernandez immediately identified him as Latimer's lawyer and the man rose, offering his hand.

Diana and David shook hands with the man but continued to stand even though the lawyer motioned for them to sit. “Mr. Ruggiero. I wish I could say it was good to see you, but I would have much rather had your client come down as he promised last night,” Diana said.

The man glanced up at her and then at David. “My client has every intention of presenting himself—this afternoon.”

“He agreed to come down this morning. Is there some reason—”

“Mr. Latimer made that concession under duress, Special Agent Reyes. We both know that after the altercation—”

“Brought about by your client attacking—”

“My client advises that you struck first. He was only defending himself,” Ruggiero shot back.

“Your client has a foot and at least one hundred pounds over my partner, Mr. Ruggiero,” David said.

Hernandez finally joined the fray and brought silence to the room with a sharply barked “Enough.”

Diana nodded and at Hernandez's prompting, sat in the chair next to Ryder's lawyer. David took a seat on the couch. As she sat and listened to her boss's briefing, she wondered why Latimer had sent a shark rather than come himself.

The nattily dressed lawyer sat calmly as Hernandez advised them on Latimer's concerns and his willingness to cooperate in any way he could, including presenting himself in the late afternoon for questioning. The lawyer nodded, confirming each of Hernandez's statements.

Ruggiero must have taken fashion tips from an early
Godfather
movie—his brown hair was ruthlessly slicked back with gel and his silk suit was shiny, the oily sheen in keeping with the unctuous smile he had given her when they met. He had on an overpowering cologne that made her nauseous, as did his tight, ferretlike smile.

“My client will do everything in his power to cooperate,” Ruggiero replied in seemingly sincere tones, and she wondered how he could lie so easily. Latimer clearly had something to hide, and this man was here to help him do so.

“Tell me, Mr. Ruggiero. Does your client's idea of cooperation include attempting to restrain a federal officer?” Diana countered, and gave the man some credit when he had the grace to blush.

“A misunderstanding, Agent—”

“Special Agent in Charge, Mr. Ruggiero,” David corrected him.

Diana shot her partner a glare, hating that he had paraded her title. In her book, titles alone didn't earn respect. She addressed the lawyer calmly, her tone brooking no disagreement. “If your client doesn't appear by this afternoon, he'll leave me no option but to issue a warrant.”

“My client has rights—”

“And it's well within his rights for us to ask him to answer a few questions. If he feels uncomfortable, he has the right to counsel and to refuse to answer. In which case, we'll charge him as the suspect and hold him for additional proceedings,” Hernandez answered calmly, attempting to stop further disputes. “Do you think your client can come by this afternoon, at let's say…”

Hernandez stopped and glanced at Diana to continue. “Four o'clock would be fine,” she confirmed.

The attorney nodded, rose and walked out the door.

After he was gone, Diana let out a stinging Spanish expletive. Hernandez whistled beneath his breath. David coughed uncomfortably.

“Well, what does he think we're going to do? Chinese water torture or boiling in hot oil? The last thing we want is to lose a suspect due to a technicality,” she said hotly.

David shrugged. “You and Latimer got off on the wrong foot last night. Maybe that worried him.”

“And speaking of that, Diana, I understand from your reports that you and this suspect had a physical altercation. One in which you may have suffered a possible injury?” Hernandez glanced at a file as he spoke.