For Love or Vengeance (5 page)

Chapter Seven

The dream came to Miguel again that night. But this time, as the young woman began to scream, the wounded woman in her arms rose and faced him. Only it wasn’t the woman he had inadvertently killed.

It was Helene.

The right side of her face was covered in blood and her rich ebony curls were matted with it. In the center of her chest, a large gaping bullet wound bled profusely, staining the electric white of her shirt.

He lowered his weapon and stammered, “I—I’m sorry.”

Her lips thinned into a condemning line as she raised bloodstained hands. “You should have pulled the trigger.”

Miguel bolted upright in bed, soaked in sweat, his heart pounding. With a deep, shuddering breath, he reined in the fear that his nightmare had created. As he waited for his pulse to return to normal, he told himself it was just a dream. It was just the guilt he could not drive away. Not any kind of prophetic vision.

He got up, showered, and headed to the office early, stopping for his usual cup of coffee and bagel on the way. There was still a great deal to do on the Butcher case, and very little time if they were to prevent another killing.

It might already be too late. If their developing profile of the killer was accurate, the next victim was likely already dead.

As the elevator door opened and he stepped out, he could see Helene across the length of the room. His heart sped up again, but not with fear.

The wild curls of her hair flew as she jerked her head up and looked directly at him. Slowly her lips curved in a welcoming smile, dragging one to his own lips as he approached her desk.

There seemed to be something different about her this morning. Something more relaxed. If he didn’t know better, he would say that she had the look of a well-loved woman. But Helene didn’t strike him as the loving type. Maybe the wild monkey sex type.

He didn’t like that his gut tightened with jealousy at the idea that wild monkey sex was what had put that heavy-lidded, sensual shimmer in her eyes.

“Long night?” he blurted out, and immediately regretted it when her inviting smile became brittle.

“Jealous?” she zinged back.

Because shock was probably the only thing that would make a dent in his new partner’s overconfidence, he answered, “Possibly.”

It accomplished his goal. Her mouth flopped open and closed like a goldfish before she snapped it shut and said nothing else.

Nothing.

Score one for him
.

The taut silence between them was shattered by the chirp of both their cell phones.

He looked at his. “Detective Daly.”

She looked at hers, and said, “It’s the ADIC.”

They both answered and listened, gazes locked on each other.

Helene said, “We’ll get right on it,” and hung up. Miguel told Daly, “We’ll be at the scene shortly,” punched the off button, and cursed.

“We’re too late,” she said. Sadness and frustration tinged her voice.

He laid a hand on her shoulder in consolation. “We got this assignment too late to make a difference for this one, but we will next time.”

“If he keeps to his schedule, we’ve only got two weeks.”

“A lot can happen in two weeks,” he assured her.

She met his gaze. The earlier satisfaction in her eyes was gone, replaced by grim determination. But mixed in was another realization, which also flooded through him.

A lot could happen in two weeks. And not just about the case. But with them, too.

In the short time they had been working together, things had already drastically changed between them. In two weeks… He swallowed at the possibilities.

“We can do this. Together, right?” She surprised him by reaching out and taking hold of his hand.

“Together,” he said, giving hers a reassuring squeeze before they broke apart and headed for the elevator.

Victim number five was a white male in his mid-twenties, well-built in a men’s fitness magazine kind of way. It was hard to estimate his size in light of the way he was posed, body curled downward as if protecting the single red rose he held in his bound, lifeless hands.

Helene could tell the rose bothered Miguel. A lot.

“The unsub’s not getting the same satisfaction as before,” he said, frowning as he kneeled beside the body, reviewing the bindings on the victim’s ankles, thighs, and wrists. The position of the body was also likely hiding the worst of the injuries, but Helene suspected that they, too, would be more severe than before.

“For sure,” she said.

She knelt beside the body, and with her gloved hand touched the victim. A blur of sounds and images filled her mind, screaming for her to avenge him. The energies still lingering about the corpse were so intense a knot of pain formed in the center of her brain.

Pulling her hand away to end the connection, she gazed at Miguel intently. “You’re right. The killer’s not happy with his work and he’s trying to perfect it. That’s why he added the rose as a prop.”

Miguel stood and peered around the crime scene—an alley between two apartment buildings barely a mile and a half from the last dump site. A garbage crew had discovered the body when they went to empty the Dumpster behind the building.

“This area is much more exposed than the ones he’s used before,” he said. “He took a greater risk to place the body here.” He motioned to the nearby structures and the garbage truck, which sat just a few feet away. Every now and then a breeze blew into the alley and stirred up the stench from the truck’s hopper.

Helene glanced up at the buildings, then down the alley. The disjointed images she had gathered from the victim brought no connection with the location, which meant the victim had been dead before being brought here.

At the far end of the alley, two police cruisers pulled in. Detective Daly got out of one and headed their way.

“Detective,” Helene said with a nod as Daly came to stand beside them. Miguel echoed her greeting.

His face grim, Daly offered them a report. “First officer on the scene called it in and immediately had the area sealed off. The sanitation men are being taken to the local precinct. They’ve offered an initial statement, but we figured you’d want to conduct a more detailed interrogation.”

“You figured right, Daly,” Miguel replied.

“Anything from the occupants of either of the two buildings?” Helene asked.

“We just started a door-to-door, but this is New York. People aren’t going to pay much attention to what’s happening, especially at all hours of the night.” Daly gestured toward the victim. “No rigidity in the body yet. We’re estimating the TOD as around midnight. Once the ME gets him bagged and tagged, she can confirm that.”

Daly held up an evidence bag containing the victim’s driver’s license. “The Butcher left this beside the body.”

The implications hit Helene with certainty. “He thinks he’s smarter than we are. It’s a challenge for us to find him.”

Miguel nodded grimly. Unfortunately, he agreed.

As soon as the victim got to the morgue and the ME completed her examination, he and Helene would get more information for their profile. Meanwhile…

He looked at her and asked, “Are we done here?”

“I’m done.” She whirled and started back to their car. Abruptly, she stopped and turned back to him. “I’m sorry. Are you ready, partner?”

Miguel hid his pleasure at her clear attempt at thoughtfulness. She’d told him being friendly and a team player didn’t come easily to her. Bitchiness was more natural, she’d said. So he was happy that his time with her was creating a welcome change in her persona.

With a nod, he faced Daly. “Can you call us when the vic’s been transported to the ME?”

“Certainly,
partner
,” Daly replied with a wry grin.

“I assume we’re off to the nearest precinct?” Helene asked Miguel.

“We are,” he replied, and with that, she strode off toward the mouth of the alley where they had parked.

Daly muttered, “Man. She’s high maintenance.”

Miguel couldn’t deny it, but her attempt at being partnerly coupled with the sexy swing of her hips and the view of her gorgeous ass as she walked away made it all worth putting up with.

“Definitely a handful,” he agreed, and strode after her.

When he turned the corner to where they had parked, she was already sitting in the passenger seat, looking regal as she waited for him. Funny, really. Considering all the other ways she wanted to be dominant, when it came to driving, she always deferred to him.

He opened the door, leaned in, and teased, “What’s the matter, princess? Don’t feel like driving?”

With a roll of her eyes, she shifted toward the dash and peered up through the windshield. “Kind of Goth, don’t you think? Almost like a castle?”

Miguel turned and scanned the buildings. She was right. The architecture of the structures bordering the alley was different from the others around the area. Definitely more Gothic, especially with the crenellated tops.

He slid into the car and said, “Leave it to a princess to notice castles.”

“Why are you calling me that?” Annoyance flared in the tones of her voice.

He started up the engine. “You’ve got attitude, Helene. Although I appreciate that you are working on that.”

Helene regarded Miguel. Anyone else might have been angry at his comments, but she simply accepted their accuracy. She
did
have attitude, and didn’t consider it a bad thing. It was tough not to since she was a goddess.

A goddess who could cause him great pain by laying her hands on him. Not that she wanted to do that. She would never hurt him.

However, laying her hands on him…

She buried the thought deep.

“Would you rather I was milder? More subservient?”

“Never, princess. You’re much more fun this way.”

What did he mean by that? He didn’t look at her as he spoke, focusing instead on making a U-turn so they could drive to the precinct.

Befuddled that it was so difficult to gauge his true emotions, she opened her inner eye just a bit, and let that special vision probe him.

Within him she found acceptance of her, much as his tone had implied. She also found desire, so strong that she pulled her vision back abruptly. She didn’t want to explore that any more.

Was his desire for her even stronger than hers for him?
The possibility created a coil of warmth in her center. Had her itching to once again release that special sight to confirm she hadn’t made a mistake.

But she didn’t.

Her new partner was far too dangerous a mix of brains, honor, and a too-wicked body. Best leave him alone for now. She concentrated instead on processing all she had seen at the crime scene, as well as the disjointed images that had come to her when she touched the body. Images of the red rose, and rough hands posing the body. The muddled sound of voices, too indistinct to be of any help.

Mentally, she compared those images to everything she had already gathered from the prior victims.

The rose stood out in her memory, blood red and jarring against the pale skin of the victim’s naked body and the dull gray of the alley floor.

“What did you think about the rose?” she asked Miguel.

He shrugged. “Sometimes a rose is just a rose.”

“Do you really think that?” she pressed, leaning toward him to get a better read of his expression.

He shot her a glance and his lips thinned into a tight line. “No. I think we’re going to have even less time to catch him before he grabs someone else.”

Sadly, she totally agreed.

Chapter Eight

At the precinct, the interrogation of the two sanitation workers yielded no more information than what Helene and Miguel had gathered from their visit to the crime scene. She tried to tamp down her frustration. It wasn’t easy. She needed to stop this killer!

With a copy of the victim’s license in hand, they drove to the victim’s residence—a small studio apartment on the edges of Chelsea. The manager of the building opened the door to the apartment for them without hesitation, although he hung around at the entrance, shouting out questions about what had happened to the victim. They ignored him as they worked, each of them focused on a different task. Though Helene was keenly aware of what Miguel was doing.

It was a first for her—being so attuned to her partner that verbal communication was unnecessary. She just knew Miguel would do things correctly, which lifted a huge burden from her. One that she hadn’t really even acknowledged until now.

It felt good not to be going it alone. To have Miguel to rely on.

As at other victims’ homes, they found a few newspapers with casting calls and jobs for performers. Victim number five had circled several listings. They would have to follow up on those ads. Compare them to what they’d found for the earlier homicides.

A knapsack sat leaning against a tiny, cluttered desk. Helene bent and peered into the bag. “There’s a laptop in here. We’ll have to send it to the lab. See what’s on it.”

“Hopefully something useful.” Miguel walked to the center of the room, placed his hands on his hips, and blew out a tired sigh. “No signs of forced entry. No signs of anything out of the ordinary.”

“Which probably confirms what we already suspected—that the killer lures the victims to another location. My guess is a bogus job audition.”

“Then he slips them something to knock them out and ties them up,” Miguel said.

“Follows with a chaser of torture, murder, and the posing.”

He waggled a finger. “The posing is what gets me. There’s a message there. A message that we’re missing.”

She walked over to him, snagged his finger, and playfully tugged on it. “It’ll hit you when you least expect it.”

It was hitting him already,
Miguel thought
.
Just how close Helene was, and how warm and smooth the skin of her fingers felt against his.

Covering up his reaction with a cough, he said, “It’ll come to me. To us.”

She slowly released his finger. “To us. Yes, d—definitely.” The slight stammer in her words told him she, too, had felt something in that simple touch.

She quickly took a step back from him. “NYPD CSU will be here shortly to process this residence. We should ask them for the knapsack and all the paperwork on the desk once they’re through with them.”

He nodded. “Meanwhile, let’s head back to the office and start tracking down employer and phone logs. See if there’s anything there that can help us.”

Miguel watched intently as Helene moved from the bulletin board to the map, methodically filling in information and sticking pins into the new locations for the fifth homicide.

When she finished, she stood there carefully surveying what she had done, intense in her concentration. For a moment, he wondered. What it would be like if she directed all that intensity toward him, to have all that femininity, intelligence, and passion focused on only him?

She whirled, jerking his mind back to the task at hand.

She walked back to the table and stood close to where he was seated. “Nothing different yet. Same area where he’s hunting. We’ve got to narrow down that area to find him.”

Miguel flipped through his notes. “I don’t think their last actual acting gigs will help. I’m willing to bet they’re unrelated to their murders.”

Helene tapped a long finger to her full lips. “I think you’re right. None of the victims worked on any of the same projects or jobs.”

“No evidence from the bodies to lead us to where they were murdered, either,” he said with another flip through his papers.

“Nothing to give us a clue as to where they went for their final auditions for the murderer. Only a bunch of calls to prepaid cell phone numbers right before they disappeared.” She went back to her notes and examined them again. “Where did the Butcher buy the cell phones? Did he go out of his way to hide his tracks, or just pick them up on his way to work?”

Miguel nodded. “Definitely need to follow that lead, princess.”

“Thanks,” she said, clearly uncomfortable and obviously unaccustomed to such approval. He wondered whether commendation from men was an uncommon thing for her.

He wanted to make sure she’d get used to it. That maybe the change being drawn out of her from being around him would be a welcome and useful thing for her. A smile blossomed on her face as she seemed to realize it also and she added, “I guess we should get on it then, partner.”

“For sure, princess,” he answered, the tone teasing. The emphasis on her nickname was decidedly endearing. He was pleasantly pleased when Helene didn’t complain about it.

Hours later Miguel finally had the name of the cell phone provider and confirmation that the phones were sold in large lots. The carrier’s supervisor said he’d have to check their records to see who the phones had been sold to, but warned him that sometimes their buyers resold the phones in smaller lots to other businesses.

“We’ll need that information as soon as possible. No later than tomorrow,” Miguel told the supervisor.

“I’ll get working on it immediately,” the woman replied, and despite the tired tones of her voice, he got the sense she would do as she promised.

He hung up the phone and met Helene’s gaze. “There’s not much to do now but wait.”

She peeked at her watch. “It’s past midnight. We probably won’t hear from her again until the morning.”

“Time to call it a night,” he said, and rose from the table. A stitch in his side made him wince, snaring her attention.

“You okay?” Her rich manicured brows knitted together as she focused on him, her concern evident.

“Just a cramp. Happens every now and then.”

She motioned to his side. “Is that where you were shot?”

He reached for his papers and began putting them in order, avoiding her question, but she didn’t get the message.

“So, is it? The shot broke a few ribs?”

He slammed his files shut, jammed his fists on the table, and reluctantly raised his gaze to hers. “Two ribs. I got off easy.”

She walked over to him, her gaze never leaving his. When she was barely a foot away, she said, “Why does it bother you that you lived and she died?”

Her gaze, that amazingly vibrant, nearly fathomless gaze, held no condemnation, only puzzlement. She truly didn’t get it. He wasn’t sure she ever would. He tried to explain because it was important that she understand him. Understand what mattered to him.

“My job was to protect her,” he finally said through a tightness in his chest that threatened to strangle him.

To his shock, she reached up and cradled the side of his face. Her palm was smooth. So smooth. So warm and…comforting. He had never expected that a woman as hard as Helene could offer comfort, but there it was, adding yet another intriguing layer to his partner. That sensation coursed through him, freeing up the tension in his chest so he could breathe again.

“It was her time. Nothing you did could have changed that,” she said with absolute certainty.

Her words resonated within him, bringing unexpected peace as if she were a priest who had just granted him absolution.

He brushed his hand against the thick waves of her hair and urged them away from her cheek. Then he dug his fingers into their softness, cupped her jaw, and tracked his thumb along the edge of her mouth.

“Thank you,” he said, at a loss to find any other words to express what he was feeling. Knowing in his gut that there was only one thing that might.

He leaned forward until her warm breath spilled against his lips. Her gaze filled with part surprise and part anticipation. A heartbeat later, he allowed insanity to take over.