No One Left to Tell (6 page)

"What? Why the hell would I—" Anger brought color to his cheeks. He pulled away from her, throwing his shirt to the floor. "You know how I feel about the damned police."

"And I wouldn't ask you to do this if it weren't my last option, Christian." She hated seeing his pain revisited. Every muscle in his body tensed with her cry for help. "I don't trust anyone else. Please."

"Damn it, Fiona!" He crossed his arms over his bare chest, his face tight with a grimace. After a long moment, he dropped his head and eased the tension in his muscles. "Damn it," he whispered. "What do you need me to do?"

Raven spotted another security camera following her every move in the observation room. The whole estate was overrun with red blinking eyes of the high-tech variety. Nudging her head in the direction of the surveillance equipment, she informed her partner.

"Looks like Big Brother is watching. They probably got cameras in the john. What do you think?"

"God, I hope not. I gotta use the facilities before we leave. If they got cameras in there, then my big secret will be out. Every woman in the greater Chicago area will be lookin' for some lovin' from Don Juan Rodriguez." He smirked, raising an eyebrow.

"Probably more like Speedy Gonzales. And it's amazing your ego fits in this room." She rolled her eyes, then turned to watch the drama unfolding in the war room. From this distance, she couldn't tell much about his looks, not having a clear view of his face. But it would appear Java boy didn't like his new assignment, gauging by his anger. This was just fine by her. She didn't need a new partner. "Would love to be a fly on the wall down there."

"With your luck, you'd get swatted once the lights went out. The guy's deadly in the dark."

"Story of my life, partner." She shrugged.

Before Tony asked what she meant by that, her cell phone rang. Saved by the bell. She answered the call, "Mackenzie."

"Detective Mackenzie?" a soft voice called her name amidst the static of a bad connection.

"Father Antonio? Is that you?" Knitting her brow, she pressed a finger to her other ear. "I can barely hear you."

"Yes, it's me. You said to call if I remembered anything." The priest raised his voice.

Raven paced the floor trying to get better reception, but nothing helped. "Yeah, I did. Do you have something to add?"

Leaning against the viewing window, she plugged her ear tighter. From the corner of her eye, she caught movement down below. Mrs. Dunhill and Christian Delacorte were headed upstairs, with Mr. Security slipping a T-shirt over his head. With her so close to the glass, she was pleased she couldn't be seen from their side of the two-way mirror. But soon, her privacy would be gone.

"There was a man in the cemetery last night."

"You saw someone?" Hunching her shoulders, she tried to find a spot that gave her the least amount of static. Had she heard the priest right? Tony stepped closer, nearer the viewing window.

"Yes, well, sort of. But he didn't come to the chapel that night. He broke the pattern."

"What are you saying, Father?"

"I'm sorry, I'm not making any sense. Let me start over. I saw a man in the cemetery last night, just before I went to the chapel. Probably why I was late."

"Did you recognize the man, Father Antonio?" She heard hope in her voice. But the sound of footsteps on the stairs, outside the room, made her heart beat faster. "What did you see?"

"I didn't really see his face clearly, but I know who he is from researching his family's gravesite. I've got newspaper clippings, articles from when they died. I know who he is."

A shadow fell over her shoulder, eclipsing the light from the war room chamber. Slowly, she turned, coming face-to-face with—

Christian Delacorte stood on the stair landing outside the observation deck. His eyes lined directly with hers, as if he knew exactly where she stood on the other side of the two-way mirror. With only thin glass between them, his stare stole her breath like a thief.

Most women would find him strikingly handsome with his dark green eyes, strong jawline, and full lips. Raw sensuality. His physical size surprised her. Up close, his broad chest, muscular arms, and narrow hips dominated her. With his skin still flush from exertion, it seemed to radiate the same heat to her face, warming her cheeks. On a cold night in Chicago, the man could replace her space heater, hands down.

Yet a glacial hardness to his eyes shot chills down her spine—an electrifying sensation that closely resembled desire, in her book. The word "intimidating" came to mind. Dangerous. Yet it was more than that. His masculinity commanded her senses in every way. No doubt, this man could push all her buttons—even ones not in the instruction manual. But he wasn't a man to trifle with.

Nearly dropping the phone, she cleared her throat and finished her call. "That's good, Father. We'll be right over." Fumbling with her phone to disconnect the call, she couldn't take her eyes from Delacorte. His glare never wavered.

She whispered, "Can he see me, Tony? How the hell can he see me?"

"'Cause he ain't human, that's why I think I seen this on
Buffy the Vampire Slayer."

Fiona Dunhill touched Christian on the arm in an apparent effort to stop him from playing his intimidation game. But before Cruella De Vil and Count Dracula joined her and Tony, Raven let her partner know what was going on.

"We've got a stop to make before we head back to the station house, Tony. Our priest may be a witness after all."

Fiona stepped into the observation room before him. His eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. Christian squinted, searching the room for—

"Detective Raven Mackenzie." A woman with dark hair stepped forward, extending her hand. Her dark eyes never flinched, even when he returned a glare. She spoke again, "And this is my partner, Detective Tony Rodriguez."

With only a brief glance down to her hand, he ignored the gesture and walked by her, totally neglecting the other man. He winced at the pain of a burgeoning headache. Today would be bad. He pressed a finger to his temple, hiding his discomfort.

"Sorry. I need to wash up." He knew that sounded lame, but he didn't give a damn.

His sweat gave him a pathetic excuse not to be more civil. Normally, he wouldn't care what they thought, but Fiona might. It was the best he could do with the war still raging in his head. His war games took a toll every time he indulged in them. But they were a compulsion he couldn't ignore. They had been his salvation—and his curse.

"Yeah, well—" The woman pointed a finger at him. "Nice meeting you, too."

Fiona broke the tension in the room. "Christian agreed to work with you. As we discussed, he's to be part of your investigative team, with all privileges. That's the only way you'll get my full cooperation. Do we have an understanding? Or shall I call Chief Markham and have him settle this?"

Christian turned back and eyed the female detective. He let his gaze take liberties. The rude behavior had been intended to intimidate the cop. But once he got started, the maneuver backfired. He liked what he saw.
Liked it a lot.

Her shapely legs and the hint of an athletic build under her suit only conjured up distracting images of the bare skin underneath. And her jacket did little to disguise her full breasts. When she caught him staring, the woman crossed her arms and returned the gesture. He cocked an eyebrow.

Interesting . . . and gutsy.

Her piercing eyes nailed him, strafing his body with greedy interest. And apparently, she had no intention of backing down. She refused to be intimidated.
Yet another seductive quality.

Her partner's voice interrupted their restrained skirmish.

"No, no need for that, Mrs. Dunhill. I think we understand one another." Detective Rodriguez stepped forward, placing himself in front of Raven to break the growing tension. Directing his next question, the detective sent a clear message for him to back off. "I'd say our next step is to set up a game plan. If you're free later this afternoon, say around three, I'd like to have you come to Central Station on South State Street to catch up on what we have so far. Does that work for you, Chris?"

With his deliberate and pointed use of the familiar nickname, Detective Rodriguez got the desired results. Slowly shifting his eyes, Christian refocused his attention toward the man. "The name's Delacorte. And if you'll give me some time to freshen up, I can come with you now."

Abruptly, the female detective interceded, "No, that won't be necessary. And like you said earlier, you need to wash up. An excellent idea." Her dark eyes full of attitude, she tilted her head. "Take your time. We have an errand to run. Three will be soon enough."

He ignored the obvious bum's rush she gave him, curious about the woman. But dark memories had already started to rise to the surface of his consciousness—a white noise that would escalate. He didn't have much time before the onslaught began.

"Raven. That's an unusual name."

"If you ask Tony here, he thinks it's because I come from a long line of Raven lunatics."

"I can see the family resemblance." He hurled the first volley across her bow, but didn't stick around to see the indignation he knew would be in her eyes. "See you at three."

Christian had to get out, unable to wait any longer. Leaving Fiona to deal with them, he stepped through the door into the second-floor hallway. His footsteps echoed in the corridor, then down the staircase. He headed for his quarters, a small cottage near the pool that had been closed for the season. All the while, his mind was adrift in the past. With war games fresh in his memory, the images blurred with his childhood terror, as they always did.

Not like always, Delacorte! This time is worse.

The flashes of memory came—wave after wave. Fiona's request must have instigated the intensity of his reaction. But he couldn't stop it. The violent images intruded on everything. Even in broad daylight, their assault clouded the familiar sight of his cottage.

Unending darkness escalated into suffocating fear. Torturous screams stabbed his memory, only drowned out by incessant gunfire and a painful ringing in his ears. And the feeling of being completely defenseless unleashed debilitating despair.

God, please. Not now!

Catching sight of the cottage, he quickened his steps and distracted himself with a recollection. As a boy, he'd been terrified of the dark after that night, when his life had been changed forever. But now, he found an odd sense of relief with the anonymity of it. It took him years to cultivate the feeling. But in doing so, he'd paid a price—isolating himself in his obsession.

Get a grip, Delacorte!

Closing his front door behind him, he shut his eyes and slowed his breathing. Clammy skin scurried chills across his chest. His demons were never far from the surface.

"God, Fiona. This time, you've asked too much."

Gray slush glistened on the road, plastering Raven's wheel wells with melted snow, dirt, and salt. The sun fought a losing battle, eventually covered by the onslaught of dingy clouds. When she drove by the chapel, Raven caught sight of the yellow police tape whipping in the breeze. In the stark daylight, it served as a cruel reminder of what had taken place only last night. Children played on the sidewalk, yards from the barrier. The murder investigation, coupled with the renovations to the cathedral, left this neighborhood without its shining spiritual beacon. Another obligation tugged at her. She had to find the killer and restore balance to this community. Pulling into a parking spot in front of the rectory, she listened halfheartedly to Tony's advice.

"All I'm saying is, you better not push this guy too hard. He doesn't look like the kind of guy who'd take it well. He's dangerous, Raven."

"Yeah, I hear ya, partner." Killing the engine, she turned to him. "It's just that he got under my skin. And when people do that, I push."

"Don't I know that." He chuckled. After sliding out of the car, he slammed the door. "Hey, before we go in there, just wanted you to know I have no intention of sharing everything with our new partner from Transylvania. You and I are gonna sanitize that file. He's only gonna see what we want him to see. It's still our case."

"Glad to hear you say that, partner." She grinned and tapped her fist to the top of her gray-splattered Crown Vic. "Now let's see what the priest has to say."

On the stoop, Raven pushed the doorbell, hearing the buzzer muffled behind the door. Father Antonio answered the chime. Eyes puffy from lack of sleep, the young priest looked older.

"Thank you for coming so quickly. Can I get you any hot tea or coffee? It's such a chilly day."

"I could use some coffee if it's made," Raven replied. Tony followed them, letting her establish rapport with the priest once again. A practiced maneuver. "You didn't get much sleep, huh?"

A fleeting smile flashed across the cleric's face. "No, not much. But it helped to pray. I didn't feel alone."

Knitting her brow, Raven wondered if it would be that easy. Could she erase the images of death with prayer? Or would her petition fall on deaf ears? A part of her didn't want to know the answer to that question.

"I brought the file from my room. It's on the table," he offered. He gestured around the small kitchen and break room. "Please, fix whatever you would like."

Raven quickly filled a mug with black coffee, forgoing her usual cream. She couldn't take her eyes from the manila folder on the table. Once at the table, she pulled out a chair and sat near the priest.

"So, tell me about what you saw last night, Father."

"When I was on my way to the chapel, I saw him at his family's gravesite. He comes here often."

"You said before that the man didn't follow the pattern. What did you mean by that?" she asked.

"I think he saw me watching him. That's probably why he didn't stay. The man's eyes. I have to admit it. He scares me." Father Antonio met her gaze, then clarified, "He usually goes to the cemetery, then comes into the smaller chapel. He never talks to anyone, just sits in the back pew. But last night, he—"