I'm Watching You (2 page)

Uneasily she glanced up and down the deserted hallway. She didn’t like loitering there any longer than she had to. So she walked into the elevator, annoyed as always when faced with the reality that despite ten years and five times as many self-therapy books, she was still afraid to be alone in a dark corridor. „Don’t call me ‘lady,’“ she snapped.

He followed her in and the doors slid closed. He faced her, his eyes now stern. „What was the first thing they taught you in that self-defense class,
ma’am
?“

She seethed under his patronizing tone. „Always to be aware of your surroundings.“

He simply lifted an arrogant brow and Kristen’s blood began to boil. „I was. I knew you were there, didn’t I? Even though you sneaked up on me.“ And he had. She swore he had not been there a moment before she sensed him and he hadn’t made a sound in his approach.

He snorted. „I’d been standing there for two whole minutes.“

Kristen narrowed her eyes. „I don’t believe you.“

He leaned back against the elevator wall, folding his arms across his chest. „‘Note to Maintenance,’“ he mimicked. „And my personal favorite, ‘Go home and rest, my ass.’“

Kristen felt her face flood with color. „Why haven’t we moved?“ she demanded, then rolled her eyes. Neither of them had punched a button. Quickly she jabbed the button for the second floor and the elevator began to move.

„And now I know where you’ve parked your car,“ he announced with a satisfied nod.

He was right. She’d ignored everything she’d learned about keeping herself safe. She rubbed her throbbing temples. „You were right, I was wrong. Are you satisfied now, sir?“

His lips curved at that and the sight took her breath away. A simple smile transformed his face from devastating to… devastating. Her poor, abused heart skipped a beat, and she had the good sense to be surprised at herself. She didn’t react to men, not
that
way, anyway. It wasn’t that she didn’t like them or notice them or even appreciate a good specimen here or there. And he was most definitely a good specimen. Tall, broad. Movie-star good looks. Of course she’d noticed him. She was human after all. Just slightly broken. The memory of a single word cut into her consciousness. No, there was no „slightly“ about it.

„No, ma’am,“ he said. „And I honestly didn’t mean to sneak up on you. You just seemed so pleasantly engaged in conversation with yourself and I didn’t want to barge in.“

Again her cheeks burned. „Don’t you ever talk to yourself?“

His smile dimmed and the look of almost desperate desolation returned to his eyes, making Kristen feel guilty for even asking the question. „On occasion,“ he murmured.

The elevator dinged again, and the doors opened to a darkened cavern of automobiles and the smell of stale oil and exhaust. This time his after-you gesture was much more subdued and Kristen wasn’t sure how to end the conversation.

„Look, I’m sorry I almost pepper-sprayed you. You were right. I should have been more aware of my surroundings.“

He studied her carefully. „You’re tired. People lower their guard when they’re tired.“

She smiled wryly. „So it shows, huh?“

He nodded. „Yeah. Just for my peace of mind, let me walk you to your car.“

Kristen narrowed her eyes. „Who are you?“

„I was wondering when you’d ask. Are you always this trusting, carrying on conversations with strange men in deserted elevators?“

No, she definitely wasn’t, definitely had the right not to be. „No, I normally pepper-spray first and ask questions later,“ she shot back and he smiled, this time in rueful acceptance.

„Then I guess I’m lucky once again,“ he said. „I’m Abe Reagan.“

Kristen frowned. „I know you. I know I do.“

He shook his dark head. „No, I would have remembered you.“

„Why?“

„Because I never forget a face.“

He said it matter-of-factly, as if there were no possibility of flirtation. And Kristen was annoyed to find herself disappointed.

„I have to be getting home.“ She turned on her heel, her key poking out from between two fingers as she’d been taught. She held her head high and looked and listened as she walked, but only heard his footsteps behind her. She stopped at her aged Toyota and he stopped, too. She looked up at his face, again in the shadows. „Thank you. You can go now.“

„I don’t think so,
ma’am
.“

Enough was enough. „Excuse me?“

He pointed to her tire. „See for yourself.“

Kristen looked and felt physically sick. Of all times, a flat tire. „Dammit.“

„Don’t worry, I’ll change it for you.“

Another day she might have refused, because she was certainly capable of changing a tire. Today, she’d let him knock himself out. „Thanks. I really appreciate it, Mr. Reagan.“

He took off his overcoat and laid it across her hood. „My friends call me Abe.“

She hesitated, then shrugged. If he’d planned anything evil, he would have done it by now. „I’m Kristen.“

„Then pop the trunk, Kristen, and we’ll have you on your way.“

Kristen did, wondering when she’d last opened her trunk, sincerely hoping she had a spare, already anticipating Mr. Know-it-all’s scathing response if she didn’t.

And stopped short, staring at the interior of the trunk she’d left clean and empty.

To say it wasn’t as she’d left it would be quite the understatement. She reached out a tentative hand, then snatched it back.
Don’t touch anything
. She squinted, trying to make sense of the three large shapes that had not been there before. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dim illumination provided by the little trunk light, her brain began to process what her eyes were seeing. And the resulting message from her brain sent her stomach churning. She’d thought her day couldn’t get any worse after the Conti mistrial.

She’d been very, very wrong.

Reagan’s voice cut through the fog in her brain. „This should only take a few minutes.“

„Um, I don’t think so.“

In an instant he was behind her, looking over her shoulder and she could hear him exhale on a hiss. „Holy shit.“

Either his eyes were better than hers or fatigue had put her in slow-motion mode because it had taken Abe Reagan only a split second to comprehend what had taken her multiple seconds to process to the point of being well and truly horrified.

„I need to call the police.“ Her voice trembled and she didn’t care. It wasn’t every day her personal space was violated. It sure as hell wasn’t every day she presided over her very own crime scene. And this one qualified as a real doozy.

Three plastic milk crates sat side by side. Each contained clothing topped by a manila envelope. Each envelope had a single Polaroid taped precisely in its center. And even from where she stood she could see the subject of each Polaroid was well and truly dead.

„I need to call the police,“ she repeated, grateful her voice was steady once again.

„You just did,“ Abe replied, his voice grim.

Kristen twisted, looking up at his face. „You’re a cop?“

He pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. „Detective Abe Reagan, Homicide.“ The gloves went on each hand with a surgical snapping sound that seemed to echo in the quiet of the garage. „This might be a good time to completely introduce yourself, Kristen.“

She watched as he carefully pulled the envelope from the crate on the far right. „Kristen Mayhew.“

His head jerked around, surprise on his face. „The prosecutor? Well, I’ll be damned,“ he added when she nodded. He studied her face intently. „It’s your hair,“ he announced and turned his attention back to the envelope in his hand.

„What about my hair?“

„It was pulled back.“ He held the envelope close to the trunk light. „I wish I had a flashlight.“

„I have one in the glove box.“

He shook his head, his eyes fixed on the Polaroid. „Don’t bother. I’ll have your car towed and dusted for prints, so don’t touch anything. Son of a gun. This boy is dead.“

„What, the bullet hole in his head tipped you off?“ Kristen asked wryly and Abe Reagan shot her a brief but equally wry grin.

„Hey, what can I say?“ Then he sobered, resuming his study. „Caucasian male, late twenties, early thirties. Hands tied in front of him…“ He squinted. „Wonderful,“ he said flatly.

Kristen leaned over his arm to stare. „What?“

„If I’m not mistaken, somebody’s stitched your boy up, stem to stern.“

Kristen grabbed his arm and tilted the picture toward the trunk light. Sure enough, a line started at the man’s sternum and stretched down his torso. „My God,“ she murmured. Horrified by a sudden thought her eyes flicked to the milk crates, then up to meet Reagan’s eyes. „You don’t think…“ She let the question trail off when his face twisted into a grimace.

„What, that whatever body parts that were removed are in these crates? Well, Counselor, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. Do you recognize this guy?“

She squinted, shook her head. „It’s too dark. Maybe I will when we get it in better light.“ She looked up at him, feeling stupid and helpless and hating both. „I’m sorry.“

„It’s okay, Kristen. We’ll figure this out.“ He flipped his cell phone open and punched some numbers. „It’s Reagan,“ he announced. „I’ve got a…“

„Situation,“ Kristen supplied, feeling hysterical laughter building down deep. She shoved it deeper. Someone had committed murder and stowed the evidence in the
trunk
of her
car
. There could be hearts and spleens and God-knew-what-else in the
trunk
of her
car
. She’d been driving around, blissfully unaware that an entire crime scene resided in the damn
trunk
of her
car
. She took a deep breath, relieved to smell stale oil and exhaust instead of putrid rotting internal organs.

„A situation,“ Abe was repeating. „I’m here with Kristen Mayhew. Someone left what looks like evidence of a multiple homicide in the trunk of her car… We’re on the second floor of the parking garage next door to the courthouse. Seal the exits, just in case he’s still around.“ He listened, then looked down at her, and his eyes which she’d thought to be cold flared to life with heated interest. His eyes slid to her hands which she realized were still clutching his arm as if he were a lifeline. Quickly she stepped back and looked away, dropping her hands to her sides just as he said, „I’ll tell her… Yeah, I’ll be waiting.“ He snapped his phone shut and dropped it in his pocket. „You okay?“ he asked.

She nodded, hoping her face was only peony pink and hadn’t progressed to ruby red which clashed with her hair. Striving for dignity, she asked, „Tell me what?“ Then she looked up and whatever forced nonchalance she’d managed to work into her face just drained away.

He was still looking at her, his eyes intense, his jaw tight. A tingle started in her chest and sped to her extremities making her shiver and to her mortification she had to clench her hands to keep them from grabbing his arm again. „Spinnelli says to tell you that you didn’t have to go to so much trouble for department attention,“ he said, his voice low and nimbly. „Flowers and candy would have sufficed.“ The timbre of his voice alone intensified the sensation of fingertips trailing the back of her neck, and she suddenly wondered what it would be like if he did just that. But he’d turned back to her trunk and the other two crates, breaking the almost tangible connection between them and Kristen shivered again. „He’s sending a CSU team. This could take a while.“

Wednesday, February 18,

9:00 p.m.

Finally
. He sat in his car safely out of the flurry of uniformed activity taking place inside the parking garage. Lights flashed and yellow tape was strung everywhere. Either some political dignitary had been murdered in the garage or Kristen Mayhew had finally looked in her trunk. He was pretty certain he could disregard the former.

He’d been busy in the last weeks. He was up to six. Six down, about a million to go.

He’d taken his first in secret, painlessly and quietly.

And had discovered it wasn’t nearly enough. Not enough that he’d done such a thing for the world. For the victims. For his Leah. It wasn’t enough that he be the only one to know. It wasn’t enough that he be the only one to celebrate.

So he’d abruptly changed his plan and once done, it was easy to determine who else would know what he’d done. The person who most deserved to know.

„But he’s never done Homicide. I gotta have someone with some experience here.“

„He’s got experience, Mia.“ Spinnelli’s voice was soothing without being condescending. Abe liked that. „He’s been undercover in Narcotics for the last five years.“

Five years
. He’d gone under a year after Debra was shot, hoping the added risk would dull the pain of watching his wife exist in the life-support-induced limbo doctors called a persistent vegetative state. It hadn’t. A year ago she’d died and he stayed with his cover, hoping the risk would dull the pain of losing her completely. That it had done.

Mitchell was silent and Abe had started to knock when Spinnelli’s voice cut through once again, this time reproachful. „Did you read any of the information I gave you?“

Another half beat of silence, followed by Mitchell’s defensive answer. „I didn’t have time. I was making sure Cindy and the kids had food on the table.“

Cindy would be Mrs. Ray Rawlston, the widow of Mitchell’s former partner who’d been killed in an ambush that left Mitchell with a scar just above her ribs where a bullet narrowly missed every major organ. It would appear Mitchell was a lucky cop. It would also appear that Abe knew a lot more about her than she knew about him. No longer compelled to eavesdrop, he rifted his knuckles to the door in a hard knock.

„Come.“ Spinnelli sat behind his desk and Mitchell leaned against a wall, arms crossed over her chest, eyeing him sharply. At five-four, her 125 pounds was a well-distributed muscled mass. Her file said she was single, never been married, thirty-one years old. Her face looked a good deal younger. Her eyes, on the other hand… She might as well have been coming up for her retirement Timex. Abe knew the feeling.