For Love or Vengeance (16 page)

“I want a
lawyer
,” he shot back, and tried to pull out from her grip, but she held firm and called on her powers to project images into his mind.

“We have an agent on the way back with a warrant for your backpack. But you already know what we’ll find in there,” Helene pressed, flashing pictures into his brain of the fake casting call papers and the faces of the dead.

“There’s
nothing
in there. I haven’t done anything!” he shouted, spittle flying from his lips.

Helene kept her hold on him and fought how his evil energies wanted to slip into her. To battle that, she shoved back at the forces and showed him visions of the hurt that awaited him in jail.

His protests grew more forceful. “Let go! You’re hurting me!”

“But you
like
the pain. You
like
making other people hurt,” she said, tightening her grip even more.

The air in the room shifted, charged with energy, as she summoned even more of her power, wanting to reach into him, past the muck and the swirling, rage-filled malevolence, and see right to his black soul. Read the truth written there by his actions, and sear into his mind the agonies of hell.

Miguel had kept quiet up until now, letting Helene run with her bad cop act. But she’d gone too far, and now he was angry. And he suddenly wondered if it really was an act. With her prior record—

“What are you doing? Let me
go
,” Smith screeched at her, struggling vainly to jerk his arm free. He reared back from the table in an effort to break her grip, knocking over his chair.

“Agent Alexander!” Miguel jumped up and grabbed Helene’s other arm to make her let go. Instantly, a weird heat shot up his arm and a sharp pain jabbed him in the center of his brain. Wincing, he yanked her off Smith and shook his own arm to quell the stinging sensation.
What the hell was that?

Smith stumbled backward. Wild-eyed, he pressed himself against the wall, his gaze darting back and forth between them before locking on the mirror. He pointed a shaky finger at it. “You saw what she did to me. She’s crazy.
She’s
the one who should be behind bars. She assaulted—”

A knock at the door halted Smith’s tirade. It opened and Special Agent Reyes looked in, her face set in stern lines. She beckoned the two of them over. Miguel was sure Reyes would pull his partner out for a lecture, but she only said in a low tone, “Cut him loose. Judge wouldn’t give us a warrant.”

Helene looked ready to explode. Miguel urged the two women out into the hallway and shut the door behind them. “What happened?”

“The judge said we didn’t have probable cause,” Reyes said with disgust.

“But the guy ran,” he said.

“And it’s obvious he’s hiding something he doesn’t want us to see,” Helene protested.

But Reyes just shook her head and dragged her hand through her short-cropped hair. “Not enough for the judge. Especially on a high-profile case like this one. She said she didn’t want the search tossed by the grand jury and have everything that comes from it declared fruit of the poison tree. Then we’d have nothing.”

“Shit,” Helene said and fisted her hands on her hips. “Unless he talks—”

“He won’t talk,” Miguel replied angrily. “Especially after your little show in there. What
the fuck were you doing
?”

Reyes raised her hands. “You two settle this on your own time. Meanwhile, I’m going to keep on running Smith and Gold through our sources. See what else I can find.”

Reyes walked down the hall and Helene turned to him. “We can’t let this asshole go, Miguel. He’s the key to finding the Butcher.”

“Were you not listening? We’ve got nothing to hold him on.”

“Just a few more minutes in there and I can break him.”

“And violate the law. I can’t allow you to do that,” he said, his muscles so tense they were practically cramping. He took a deep, calming breath to control his anger and forced his body to unknot. “I thought I had gotten to know the real you, but now I’m not so sure.”

She glared at him, her jaw tight. “My only goal is to see that justice is done.”

Miguel shook his head and jerked a thumb back at the interrogation room. “What I saw in there had nothing to do with justice. We want the truth, not a forced confession. What if the creep is actually innocent? We’ve got no real evidence. All we’ve got is circumstantial, and gut instinct based solely out of—” he made air quotes—“feelings.”

“You’re wrong,” she fumed. “I
know
the man is guilty. He’s—”

He ground his teeth.“No, Helene. That is not seeking justice. What you’re after is vengeance, plain and simple.”

“But—”

“There’s a difference. A
dangerous
difference. And I don’t know if I can continue to partner with someone who doesn’t understand that.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

“ADIC Hernandez wants to see both of you in his office.”

Helene spun, ready to lash out at the messenger. But Miguel put a stiff hand on her shoulder and said, “We’ll be right there.”

She jerked it off and glowered at him. How
dare
he lecture her about justice? She was Nemesis! Goddess of Vengeance! She
would
have justice, or these lowly humans would suffer the consequences!

He stared back at her uncertainly, his mouth opening slightly, and he actually took a step back from her.

As well he should
.

“Fine,” she bit out. “As soon as this case is over, I’ll find myself a new partner.” With that, she stalked down the hall, heading for their boss’s office, no doubt to be handed her ass for a second time.

What the hell did they know?

When she and Miguel arrived, ADIC Hernandez was pacing the carpet, and Diana Reyes was sitting in a chair in front of his desk.

“Sit down,” he commanded as soon as they walked in.

“Sir—” Helene began, but he cut her off with a forceful slash of his hand.

“Not another word, Alexander. I don’t know what you were doing in there, but that doesn’t happen again on my watch. Understood?”

She reined in her churning emotions and slammed up the old shields that had kept them at bay for so many centuries—until Miguel had brought them down with a crash. She couldn’t believe she’d allowed it. Just see where
that
had gotten her.

“Understood,” she told the ADIC. Not that she agreed with him. If she thought it necessary again, she wouldn’t hesitate to use whatever means were needed to find their man. And Andrew Smith
was
the right man. He was involved in these killings. She was certain of it.

“We can continue to hold Smith for a while longer, but that’s not going to accomplish anything,” ADIC Hernandez clipped out.

“If you release him, he may lead you to something,” Diana chimed in.

Which earned a grunt of agreement from Miguel. “Like maybe his hiding place, or his accomplice.”

Helene shot a glance at him, but his back was ramrod straight, and he was facing forward, all his attention on the Assistant Director. The push of his anger, however, was red hot and directed at her. Waves of it seared her as his aura grew to a pulsing crimson red.

“Alexander. Do you agree we should turn Smith loose?” Hernandez asked.

She drove her mind away from her partner and thought briefly about the conflicting energies in Smith that she’d just barely touched during the interrogation. She needed more time to delve into Andrew’s psyche more deeply. Despite that, and given his limited intelligence, she had no doubt about one thing. “He’s not doing this alone,” she said. “Someone else is calling the shots and directing him.”

“You mentioned that before,” Miguel said, but his voice was chilly and held none of the camaraderie that had grown between them. “It makes sense, considering the poses of the victims and the dump sites. Andrew doesn’t strike me as the type who’d know enough about the shows to create those scenes.”

“For sure. That kind of detail comes from someone whose life revolves around Broadway,” Diana added.

“Or maybe used to revolve,” Helene suggested.

“Tim Gold,” they all said in unison.

“Release Smith. Tail him, see where he lands,” ADIC Hernandez instructed Miguel. “Then start turning over some rocks. I don’t care if it’s Smith, or Gold, or some other sociopath doing these killings, but we need evidence. Enough for a conviction. Or at least for a goddamn warrant.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Reyes and Alexander, I want you to dig deeper on Gold and Smith. I want more. A lot more. I want you to tell me what fucking color underwear they wore in the fifth grade,” he barked.

Helene immediately protested. “Sir, I’d be more useful on the street with—”

Hernandez glared at her. “Not a fucking chance. You need to cool the hell down. That stunt you pulled in there could have wrecked this case. Hell, it still might, if Smith files a complaint. Next time you even
think
about doing something like that, I’ll have your badge and gun. Do you hear me?”

She swallowed down her boiling frustration and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

When they all stood there, expecting more, Hernandez clapped his hands and said, “All of you, keep me informed. Now get out of here. I want this son of a bitch caught.”

They released Smith once Miguel was in place to follow. Banking her acute irritation, Helene followed Diana to the war room, to fire up the computers and start digging.

Barely minutes later, however, Miguel called to say that Smith had snagged a cab as soon as he left Federal Plaza, and Miguel hadn’t been able to flag another down in time to follow. In a strictly business voice, he gave Helene the cab’s license plate and ID number, and she was able to call the cab company and confirm that Smith had gone straight to Stage Left.

When she called Miguel back to let him know, he told her he would head right over there to set up surveillance.

An odd vibration sifted through her. A warning of impending doom. She shivered. “Please be careful, Miguel,” she said, and the awful memory of her vision flooded through her—Miguel lying dead on the floor in a pool of blood, her lipstick kiss on his shirt morphing into a gaping gunshot wound.

“Didn’t think you cared, Helene,” he said coldly, and he hung up before she could utter another word.

Damn him.
She
should be the one who was angry. He didn’t trust her. He didn’t like her methods. He didn’t want to be her partner anymore.
She
hadn’t done anything but try to fulfill her mission. Justice…vengeance…who gave a damn? The end result was the same. Punishment for the doer and closure for the victim. That’s what was important.

Wasn’t it?

Helene gnawed her lip and went back to the computer. She made herself concentrate on reading the half dozen of articles she had pulled up about Tim Gold’s accident. He had been rehearsing for his first big Broadway role nearly a decade earlier when the catwalk he was standing on had collapsed, sending him plummeting onto the stage. A large section of the twisted metal had landed on his back, shattering his spine. The theater’s negligence in maintaining the structure had been blamed for the collapse.

The incident had made the news, but there hadn’t been a media hoopla. All the articles had called Gold a rising star, but apparently his star had not risen high enough to rate any more than some second-rate news stories. No sympathy pieces about his paralyzed legs, no exposé on the penny-pinching theater, no outrage that a promising star’s career had been cut short. Just the facts and then he had been forgotten. To someone with an actor’s ego, that would have stung mightily. Combined with the bitterness of his career loss and his paralysis, it might be enough to push someone over the edge.

She called Miguel, and he answered with a gruff, “What?”

His attitude reminded her that she was supposed to be mad at him. But her anger had wound down by now, leaving just a sad emptiness in its wake. And a growing unease at the feeling that wouldn’t go away—that danger loomed all around him.

She cleared her throat and gave him the rundown on the accident. It wasn’t much. “That’s all I’ve got right now.”

“Not much more than before,” he said, his voice flat.

At the rebuff, an unfamiliar ache began inside her, right in the area of her heart. The pain was distressing and unexpected. In all her days posing as a mortal, she had never let anyone get close enough to hurt her this much. Or worry her. Her fear for him sat in her gut, tying her insides into a pretzel.

“Miguel, please,” she said softly, rose from her chair, and walked to the far side of the room for some privacy.

“No apologies needed, Helene. You were doing what you thought was best,” he said, slamming the door on any kind of discussion. “I just don’t agree with it.” Obviously, forgiveness was not on his agenda.

There wasn’t anything more to say. She wasn’t about to plead. Especially when she hadn’t done anything wrong. “I wasn’t apologizing,” she snapped, smarting. “Keep us posted on what’s happening.”

“Will do.” He hung up, the dead air more condemning than angry words.

Miguel put away his cell phone and squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds. He wasn’t so much furious with Helene as with himself. He’d known what she was like going into their relationship. She told him herself that she was hard and unfeeling. He’d thought she had changed, softened, begun to see things in all shades and colors, not just black and white. But he’d been deluding himself. She’d only changed on the surface, not deep inside. It broke his heart to let her go, but he was not going to give on this issue. He couldn’t. It was a matter of basic values—fairness, empathy, honor.

He opened his eyes, letting out a long, weary breath. And continued his surveillance from a hidden corner of the building across from Stage Left.

Smith had entered the shop hours earlier. Gold had greeted his employee as he walked in, and if Gold was angry, there’d been no indication from the look on his face or his actions. If anything, he had seemed genuinely concerned for Smith, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Of course, they’d already established that Gold was a gifted actor. Certainly gifted enough to fool the likes of a dumbass like Andrew Smith.

Around dinnertime, Gold waved Smith off the register and handed him some cash. Pocketing the money, Smith nodded and left the shop.

Miguel followed. The young man’s pace was unhurried, although he did look around every now and then, as if checking to see if he was being tailed. So Miguel was careful to keep a good distance between them, blending into the crowds along the theater district.

Smith headed to a small hole-in-wall restaurant on Ninth, placed an order, and several minutes later, he emerged with a bag of food. Then Smith made a beeline straight back to Stage Left, where he went through a set of doors in the rear of the shop. Probably a storeroom or office. Gold followed after him, but came out just a few minutes later.

An hour went by with no sign of Smith.

As he waited, Miguel thought back to what had happened earlier. To Smith’s bizarre behavior, and Helene’s action.

Helene.
He gave in, no longer able to keep thoughts of her from filling his mind.

Had he really heard a note of caring in her voice earlier? Or even contrition? Was she even capable of such emotions?

He tried to harden his heart. His feelings for her were interfering with his impartiality on the case. Damaging his professionalism.

Sure, he’d been angry at what she had done in the interrogation room. But the repercussions it had on their relationship concerned him a lot more. The big issue wasn’t just about whether they could be partners at work. But whether they could be partners for life.

He’d really thought he’d fallen in love with her. Or was well on the way to loving her.

But he didn’t know if he could love someone who had such a fluid perception of right and wrong. That was not something he would compromise on.

Nor, he suspected, would Helene compromise her twisted sense of justice. Not for anyone. Even for him. Which told him in no uncertain terms what position he held on her list of priorities.

Not at the top, that was for sure.

With another sigh, Miguel settled back against the brick wall where he’d found a bit of shade, and glanced at his watch. Two hours had gone by since Smith returned with the food.

He had been keeping an eye on both doors after checking behind the building to make sure there was no other way out. He hadn’t seen another door, since the shop sat back to back with another business. But it had him wondering if he was wrong.

Or maybe Smith was still working in the storage room or office. He’d give it a while longer.

When yet another hour had gone by and it was near closing time for the store, Miguel had no choice but to venture back inside. Before he did, he called Helene to let her know what he was doing.

“You need to wait for backup,” she said. “I’ll—”

“No time. The place is closing in a few minutes.”

She was silent for a moment, then said, “Okay. We’ll have someone there soon. Wait for them and don’t do anything risky. Please, Miguel, be careful.” There was that surprising note of worry in her voice again.

“If I didn’t know better, Special Agent Alexander, I might think you actually care what happens to me,” he said, still pissed off.

“I do care.”

Maybe. But not enough to make a difference.

“I’ll call if anything comes up,” he said, snapping his cell phone shut before he headed into the shop.

A bell rang by the door and Gold looked up from his spot behind the register. “Good evening. You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” he said cheerfully.

“The other day with my wife. She took a real fancy to Broadway—the theaters and stuff—and she loved your shop. I thought I’d get her a gift here before we left for home,” he said, continuing with the cover they’d used the other day with Gold. Although if Smith came out, it would be blown.

Gold wheeled his chair around the counter. “If I can help you with anything, just let me know.”

Miguel smiled politely. “Thanks.”

The store owner wheeled away. Miguel strolled around the shop, carefully watching the open door where Smith had disappeared, hoping he’d get a glimpse of the young man, or at least find out what was back there. He ambled through the café in the rear of the shop, stopping near the door. Pretending to be interested in the wall of framed Broadway memorabilia he remembered Helene liking last time, he glanced at the posters and programs.

Something about the collection snared his attention. He leaned forward, taking a closer look. There was a program for
West Side Story
and another for
The Little Mermaid
, and posters for
Stomp
and
South Pacific
.

And suddenly it hit him.

The poses and backdrops on the images were eerily similar to those the Butcher had chosen for his victims. Excitement burst through him. Sure enough, Tim Gold was listed as one of the headliners on a poster for a local theater company’s production of
Beauty and the Beast.