Die for Me (5 page)

“They took lots of clothes,” Frank said. “Their suitcases are gone.”

“This doesn’t make a lick of sense.” Daniel walked into each room again, pausing in his father’s office. “He was a judge for twenty years, Frank. He made enemies.”

“I considered that. I asked Wanda to pull records of his old cases.”

Surprised and comforted, Daniel gave Frank a weary smile. “Thanks.”

Frank shrugged. “Wanda will be thankful for the overtime. Come on, Daniel. Let’s go back to town, get something to eat and figure out what to do next.”

“In a minute. Let me check his desk.” He pulled on the drawer, surprised when it slid right open. Staring up at him was a brochure for the Grand Canyon and his throat tightened. His mother had always wanted to see the Grand Canyon, but his father was always too busy and they never went. It looked like he’d finally made the time to go.

Suddenly the reality of his mother’s cancer hit him square in the face, becoming more than a secret she’d withheld.
My mother’s going to die.
He cleared his throat harshly. “Look, Frank.” He moved the brochures to the blotter, fanning them out.

“Grand Canyon, Lake Tahoe, Mount Rushmore.” Frank sighed. “I guess your daddy finally took her on that trip he’d been promising all these years.”

“But why not just say that’s where they were going? Why all the lies?”

Frank squeezed his shoulder. “I guess your mama doesn’t want anyone to know she’s sick. For Carol, it’s a pride thing. Let her have her dignity. Let’s go get supper.”

His heart heavy, Daniel started to rise but a noise stopped him. “What was that?”

“What?” Frank asked. “I didn’t hear anything.”

Daniel listened and heard it again. A high whirring sound. “His computer is running.”

“That’s impossible. It’s turned off.”

The monitor was dark. But Daniel laid his hand on the computer and his breath caught. “It’s warm and it’s running. Somebody is using this computer, right now.” He hit the button on the monitor and together they watched an online banking screen appear. The cursor moved with ghostly precision, untouched by either of them.

“Shit, it’s like watching a Ouija board,” Frank murmured.

“It’s Dad’s online bill pay system. Someone just paid Dad’s mortgage.”

“Your daddy?” Frank asked, confusion obvious in his voice.

“I don’t know.” Daniel’s jaw hardened. “But you can be damn sure I’ll find out.”

Philadelphia, Sunday, January 14, 2:15
P.M.

Vito stared at the “funky ape sculpture” with increasing annoyance. He’d been waiting for more than half an hour but there was no sign of Katherine’s friend. He was frustrated and cold, having rolled down his window for fresh air. The smell of Jane Doe was in his hair and his sinuses and he couldn’t stand himself.

He’d called Katherine a half dozen times with no success. He couldn’t have missed her. He’d been early and the only person he’d seen was a college girl sitting on a bench at the bus stop about fifteen feet behind his truck.

The girl looked about twenty and had long, long blond hair that had to touch her butt when she stood up. A red bandana covered the top of her head and two thin braids hung from her temples, but the rest of her hair fell loose, covering her like a cape. Enormous gold hoops swung from her ears and her face was half-covered by the round frames of her purple sunglasses. And to top it all off, she wore an old army surplus camouflage jacket that looked about four sizes too big.

College kids,
he thought, shaking his head. She looked up the street, then down before drawing her knees up under her coat, propping her thick-soled army boots on the bench. She must be freezing. God knew he was and he had the truck’s heater going.

Finally his cell rang. “Dammit, Katherine, where have you been?”

“In the morgue, getting your Jane Doe settled for the night. What do you need?”

“Your friend’s cell number.” He looked up at the knock on the passenger window. It was the college girl. “Hold on, Katherine.” He rolled the far window down. “Yes?”

The girl’s full lips were quivering. “Um . . . I’m waiting for someone and I think it might be you.”

She was even prettier up close, and asking for trouble approaching men like that. “Hell of a pickup line, but I’m not interested. Go practice on somebody your own age.”

“Wait!” she shouted, but he rolled the window back up.

“Who was that?” Katherine asked, amusement in her voice.

Vito was not amused. “College kid trying for an older guy. Your friend isn’t here.”

“If she said she’d be there, she’s there, Vito. Sophie’s very reliable.”

“And I’m telling you—Goddammit.” It was the girl again, at his window now. “Look here,” he said to the girl, “I said I’m not interested. That means go away.” He started to raise the window, but she slammed her palms on the edge of the glass, curling her fingers into claws as she fought the window’s ascent. The gloves she wore were thin knit and every finger was a different color of the rainbow, clashing with the camouflage.

Vito was reaching for his badge when the girl took off her sunglasses. She rolled eyes that were bright green. “Do you know Katherine?” she demanded and it was then he realized she was no girl. She was at least thirty, maybe a few years older.

He gritted his teeth. “Katherine,” he said slowly. “What does your friend look like?”

“Like the woman standing at your window,” Katherine said, chuckling. “Long hair, blond, thirtyish. Eclectic fashion sense. Sorry, Vito.”

He bit back his smartass retort. “I was looking for someone your age. You said you’d known her for twenty-five years.”

“Twenty-eight, actually. Since I was in kindergarten,” the woman said brusquely and stuck out her multicolored hand. “Sophie Johannsen. Hello, Katherine,” she called into the phone. “You should have given us cell phone numbers,” she added in a tone that was singsong on top, but underneath was taut with impatience.

Katherine sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go, Vito. I have company coming for dinner and I still have to check on Sophie’s grandmother on my way home.”

Vito closed his phone and met the woman’s narrowed green eyes, feeling like a total and complete idiot. “I’m sorry. I thought you were twenty.”

One side of her full mouth lifted in a wry smile and he was struck with the certainty that he’d been wrong yet again. She wasn’t simply pretty up close. She was absolutely beautiful. Vito found his fingers itching to touch her lips.
A woman could do amazing things with that mouth.
Abruptly he clenched his jaw, both annoyed and shocked at the vividness of the images stampeding through his mind.
Rein it in, Chick. Now.

“I guess I’m flattered. It’s been a long time since somebody mistook me for a college coed.” She pointed an electric blue finger at the building. “The equipment we need is just inside. There’s too much for one trip and I didn’t want to leave it on the curb while I went back for the rest of it. It’s pretty expensive. Can you give me a hand?”

Controlling his thoughts with considerable difficulty, he followed her to the building. “We appreciate your help, Dr. Johannsen,” he said as she unlocked the door.

“It’s my pleasure. Katherine’s been there for me more times than I can count. And please, call me Sophie. Nobody calls me Dr. Johannsen. Even my students call me Dr. J—but I think that’s more of a basketball reference, because I’m tall.”

She offered the last line with a self-deprecating smile and Vito couldn’t take his eyes off her face. Devoid of a speck of makeup, she had a natural, wholesome glow despite the hippie earrings and army surplus clothes and rainbow fingers. He was hit with a rush of yearning so keen it nearly stole his breath. Before . . . that had been lust. This was something different. He searched for a word, but only one came to mind.
Home.
Looking at her face was like coming home.

Her cheeks grew pink and Vito realized he’d been staring. For three beats of his heart she stared back, then abruptly turned to tug hard on the heavy door, taking a stumbling step back against him when it flew open. His hands gripped her shoulders to hold her upright, bringing her against him.
Let her go.
But his hands did not obey. Instead they held on and for one moment she seemed to relax, resting against him.

Then she leaped forward as if stung, lunging to catch the door before it closed again, breaking the contact and ending the moment.

He’d held her for only a few seconds, but it was like touching a live wire, and he took a step back, physically and mentally. Shaken and not liking it, he drew a breath.
It’s just because it’s today,
he told himself.
Get a grip, Chick, before you make a fool of yourself.
But he blinked in surprise as the next words tumbled from his mouth.

“Call me Vito.” He usually preferred being called “Detective” when he was working. It kept things nice and separate. But it was too late now.

“Okay.” The single word came out on an exhale, as if she’d been holding her breath. “Here are the things we need to take.”

Four suitcases sat by the door and Vito picked up the two largest. She got the other two and pulled the door closed. “I’ll need to get these back to the university tonight,” she said briskly. “One of the professors has the GPR signed out for a field trip tomorrow.”

It seemed she’d shrugged the moment away and Vito decided to do the same, but his eyes had a mind of their own. He couldn’t stop looking at her face, searching her profile as they walked to his truck. Her lips were still quivering from the cold and he felt a pang of guilt. “Why didn’t you just come up to me earlier?” he asked.

“You said to be discreet,” she said, looking straight ahead. “I wasn’t sure you were Katherine’s cop and you weren’t in a police car. I kept thinking that if you weren’t the right one, you might not appreciate me blabbing your name. Katherine didn’t tell me what you looked like and she didn’t give me the secret handshake. So I waited.”

While she froze, he thought, remembering the way she’d drawn her body up under the coat for warmth. He put the two large suitcases in the bed of his truck and secured them. When he reached for the smaller cases she held, she shook her head. “These are delicate. Given a choice, I’d ride in the bed and buckle these in my seat.”

“I think I can find room for you both.” He stowed the cases in the back floorboard, then opened her door. “After you . . .” His mind derailed when she moved past him. She smelled like the roses he’d thrown behind his seat in the truck, fragrant and sweet.

He stood motionless, just breathing in her scent. She looked nothing like his Andrea, who’d been dark and petite. Sophie Johannsen was an Amazon, tall, blond, and . . . alive.
She’s alive, Chick. And today, that’s just enough to get you into trouble.
By tomorrow, he’d be blessedly numb once more.

“Sophie,” she said warily. “I’m Sophie.”

“I’m sorry.”
Focus, Chick.
One unidentified body, perhaps more. That was what should be occupying his thoughts, not Sophie Johannsen’s perfume. He gestured to the front seat, determined to pull their interaction back to the professional level. “Please.”

“Thanks.” She climbed in and he heard the clinking of metal coming from her coat.

“What do you have in your pockets?”

“Oh, all kinds of things. This is my field jacket.” From one of the pockets she pulled a handful of garden stakes. “Markers for what we find.”

I sure as hell hope you brought enough,
he thought, remembering the red flags Nick would be removing before they got back. They wanted a clean investigation with no prejudicing the expert before she started her scan. “Let’s go.”

Once they were under way, Sophie held her frozen fingers up to the truck’s heater. Without a word, Vito leaned forward and twisted a knob, turning the temperature up.

When her fingers were warm again, she settled into the seat and studied Vito Ciccotelli. His appearance had come as a surprise. With a name like Vito, she’d expected him to be a brawny thug with a face that had gone too many rounds with the champ. She could not have been more mistaken. Which was why she’d stared. She’d been taken off guard.
You go right on thinking that.

He was at least six-two. She’d had to look up to meet his eyes, and at five-eleven herself, that didn’t happen very often. His shoulders were broad in his leather jacket, but there was a lean toughness to him that spoke more of a large cat than a scrappy bulldog. He had the kind of rugged, chiseled face that one saw in fashion magazines. Not that she read fashion magazines herself, of course. That was Aunt Freya’s vice.

Sophie imagined most women would consider Vito Ciccotelli swooningly handsome and fall helplessly at his feet. That was probably why he’d been so quick to rebuff her earlier—women probably hit on him all the time. It was a good thing she wasn’t most women, she thought dryly. Falling helplessly at his feet was the last thing on her mind.

Although that’s very nearly what she’d done. How embarrassing.
But for that one moment when he’d held her against him she’d felt comfort and the solidity of welcome. As if she could lay her head back against his shoulder and rest.
Don’t be ridiculous, Sophie.
Men that looked like Vito were too accustomed to getting exactly what they wanted with the bat of an eyelash. But somehow that assessment felt unfair. As if it mattered. He’d come for her GPR. Nothing more.
So focus on what you’re here for.
A chance to work again. To do something important. Still, her eyes were drawn to his face.