Overkill (19 page)

In her gut, Marty thought she knew. But for the sake of fairness she wouldn’t say it. She didn’t know Eve Sutherland. “Maybe the guy from Midland didn’t want children,” she offered.

“I never asked. I’ll probably never know. To tell you the truth, I think Erica and I are better off not knowing.”

“You never told Erica?”

“I couldn’t. How do you tell a little girl her mom didn’t want her?”

Marty nodded. “And now Eve is back and wanting to know her daughter.”

“I told her I’d leave it up to Erica.”

“That’s more than fair.”

He drank some of the beer and set the empty bottle on the table. “It’s a mess.”

“Does she have legal rights?”

“I don’t know. Probably.”

Marty considered that a moment. “And now she wants to jump your bones. Package deal. Takes a lot of nerve.”

He chuckled. “Jesus, Hogan, why don’t you just say what’s on your mind?”

“Sorry. In case you haven’t noticed, I have a big mouth sometimes.”

“I’ve noticed.” He contemplated her, his stare so direct she had a difficult time holding it, but she did. “What about you?” he asked.

“What about me?”

“Do you want to jump my bones?”

Marty couldn’t help it; she laughed. But her heart was pounding. She couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened between them the other night. “Are you drunk, Chief?”

“Getting there.” He lifted his beer and checked how much was left, then returned his gaze to hers. “It isn’t the beer talking. I’ve been thinking about getting you into bed since I kissed you.”

“You’re not half-bad in the kissing department.”

“That’s a relief. How did I rate on a scale of one to ten?”

“You’re pretty close to being a ten.”

“So I could stand some improvement.”

“Or practice.”

“Is that a yes or no?”

“A stall tactic mostly.”

“So do you want to go into my bedroom and work off some of this tension?”

Marty’s heart jigged in her chest. The blood turned hot in her veins. She could feel the liquid heat leaching through her body, pooling low. Temptation tugged her in one direction, caution in another. “I think this is where I’m supposed to take your beer away from you.”

“Looking out for my dignity, huh?”

“And mine.”

“Premeditation isn’t your style, is it? For you it’s all about spontaneity.”

“And the rush, of course.”

One side of his mouth curved. “If I were to come over there and kiss you, you might change your mind.”

She swallowed, her head spinning, her body beginning to ache. He stared intently at her, but Marty didn’t dare look at him. She knew if she did, one of them would do something stupid. “Or I’d just stop thinking altogether. Once that happened, we’d both be in trouble.”

Conversation lagged, but the silence wasn’t unduly awkward. Marty drained her beer and set the bottle on the table before her. For several minutes they sat in amicable silence and watched the moon rise over the plain.

Clay broke the silence with the words Marty didn’t want to hear. “If you’re right about these ties you found to the Russian Mafia, we’ve got serious problems. You don’t want to take chances with these people. Until we get to the bottom of this thing, you can’t stay here.”

“I know.” Thinking of Erica, of the safe and wholesome life Clay had made for her here, she rose. “I shouldn’t even be here now.”

He rose simultaneously. “I’m not going to let you leave now.”

“What about—”

“We’ll get up early. We’ll go to the station and work this thing. See what we can find out. Then we’ll get you set up in a hotel in Amarillo.”

It was the last place Marty wanted to go, but she knew she didn’t have a choice in the matter. “And in the interim?”

He shrugged. “We watch our backs.”

“Do you have an alarm system?”

He shook his head. “Most home alarms in this town have four paws and a tail.”

“Or a hollow-point bullet.”

“You armed?”

“I locked the gun in my ammo box.” She cleared her throat. “Because of Erica.”

“She knows about firearm safety. You keep your weapon handy tonight. Don’t worry about Erica.”

“I hope we’re wrong about this.”

“Me, too.”

Nodding, Marty looked out over the moonlit prairie grass swaying in the breeze. Caprock Canyon seemed like one of the most benign places on earth. But for the first time, she sensed danger in the stark and hostile beauty of the high plains. She felt its presence as if it were a physical being, drawing ever closer, stalking her.

I’m ready for you,
she thought.

And she prayed that when the time came, she would be.

 
Katja drove all the way to Hereford for cigarettes and a
cheap bottle of vodka. She didn’t have to go that far; she could have bought both at the gas station off the interstate a few miles away. But if she hadn’t gotten out of the fucking dump they’d been staying in, she was going to go stark raving insane. Or maybe she’d just put a bullet in her brother’s empty head.

She’d already smoked four cigarettes and was working on the fifth when she walked through the door.

Radimir glared at her from his place on the sofa, where evidently, he’d been watching some late-night television crap. “Where the hell have you been?”

For a moment, she thought about shooting him. “What business is it of yours?”

“I’ve been worried!”

“Worried that I might kill the bitch cop without you, maybe.” Laughing, she shoved the pack of cigarettes at him. “Have a smoke.”

He slapped the pack out of her hand. “You don’t take the vehicle and drive away without letting me know. It’s fucking three o’clock in the morning!”

Katja turned on him. “I’m sick of sitting around and doing nothing. I came here to kill the cop who ruined our brother’s life. If you’re too much of a
manda
to finish the job, just say the word. I could have had that bitch a dozen times in the last few days.”

Radimir threw his head back and laughed. Katja didn’t like being laughed at, especially when she didn’t know the punch line. But she joined him. “What’s so funny?”

“There’s been a new development, sister.”

“What?” She feigned shock. “You grew balls?”

He shot her a nasty look. “The hillbilly police chief and our lady cop are fucking.”

Katja’s mind spun through all the ways the information could help them, landing on nothing concrete. “So?”

“So we use that to get to Hogan. They could be onto us.”

“They don’t know anything.”

“How can you say that? You shot at her in the can—”

“And she kicked your ass tonight,” she said teasingly.

“She was armed!” But Radimir looked sheepish and angry, like a little boy who’d been spanked by his mommy in front of his friends. “In any case, we have to be careful. And we have to move soon.”

Katja considered the new development. “She was probably at his house tonight.”

“You drove by her place?” he asked, incredulous.

“Half an hour ago.”

Radimir sighed, resigned to the fact that his sister would continue to tempt fate no matter how vehemently he complained.

“I was bored.”

Bending, he scooped up the pack of cigarettes, wondering what she might have done had Hogan been there. If she would have killed the lady cop without him. He shook out a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth. “The cops are going to be careful from here on out. Hogan won’t be easy to get to. I’ve been thinking about it, and I have a new plan.”

“What plan?”

“Listen up, sister,” he said. “It will suit your appetites perfectly.”

SIXTEEN

At six thirty the next morning, Marty sat in the spare of
fice at the police station with the phone plastered to her ear. She’d been on hold with the Brighton Beach PD for going on ten minutes and her patience was wearing thin.

In his office down the hall, Clay had already been in contact with the local FBI office in El Paso, Texas, where he was assigned Rubin Valdez, the special agent in charge of the American Criminal Enterprise Program. The ACEP umbrella encompassed, among other things, violent gangs and organized crime.

Valdez had plugged all the information Marty dug up on the Ivanov siblings into several law enforcement databases, promising to get back to Clay with information by the end of the day. Depending on the outcome of the inquiries, Valdez had a tentative visit planned for the end of the week. Marty didn’t think that was thorough enough or fast enough, but then she’d never been patient when it came to results.

She worked through breakfast, totally unaware of the passage of time. She was surprised to hear from her brother, Jack, midmorning. “I hear you’re in deep shit,” he said without preamble.

Jack was an Army Ranger, stationed in Iraq. Because she didn’t want him to worry, she hadn’t told him about the attempts on her life. “No more than usual.”

“Don’t lie to me, little sister. I just talked to Peck in Chicago. Why the hell didn’t you give me a heads-up on this?”

Marty’s hands stilled on the keyboard. She hadn’t liked leaving Jack in the dark about Rosetti and the attempt on her life, but she knew he would worry. In the middle of a war zone, he had enough on his plate; she didn’t want him to lose his focus. “There isn’t anything you can do. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I’m now officially worried, so you can stop with the omission of facts.” He paused, and the distance between them scratched over the line. “Have you talked to Peck?”

“No.”

“In that case, I’ll fill you in on the latest, so listen up. He talked to one of his State Police buddies down in Peoria a few minutes ago. A farmer found a body in his cornfield last week. The body was IDed this morning. Belongs to Aaron Christopher Meade. He’s a trooper who disappeared three weeks ago.”

She reached for coffee that had long since gone cold. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Meade had just transferred from Chicago PD to the state. He was on the scene the day you were involved in that car chase.”

The mug of coffee stopped midway to her lips. The vague memory of something pushed at her brain. She’d heard that name before. “How did he die?”

“This is all going down right now. No one in Peoria is releasing any information. But Peck’s buddy talked to one of the techs with the ME’s office. All he was able to tell me was that the body was nude. There were obvious signs of torture. Decapitation.”

“My God.” She set down the mug of coffee, her mind spinning with implications. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t be calling you to tell you to keep your eyeballs peeled if I wasn’t sure. Marty, this can’t be a coincidence. Two cops involved in that chase are dead. You need to watch your back.”

She found herself looking out the window, at the passing cars, the pedestrians on the street, and she was only marginally reassured by the firm press of her holster against her hip. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

“I don’t like this, Marty. If these sons of bitches want revenge and followed you to Texas, it could get bad.”

“I’ll keep you posted.”

“I gotta go, sis. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Be careful.”

“Always.”

Marty dropped the phone into its cradle as she rose. Rounding the desk, she headed toward Clay’s office.

She opened the door without knocking. “I have news.”

“Why don’t you come in,” he said dryly, then spoke into the phone. “I’ve got to go.” He hung up.

Marty took the chair. “I just heard from my brother in Baghdad. Another cop was murdered. He was—”

“Baghdad?”

“My brother, Jack, was a cop in Chicago,” she said impatiently. “He joined the army after 9/11. But he keeps in touch with his cop buddies. Anyway, Jack was talking to one of the cops from Chicago about Rosetti and found out there was yet another cop who was on the scene the day of the chase who was murdered.”

“Murdered how?”

“Tortured to death. Just like Rosetti.”

“When did this happen?”

“Three weeks ago. The cop had just transferred from Chicago PD to the state. He was working in the Peoria area. That’s why it took so long for me to connect it to what happened in Chicago and Rosetti.”

That got Clay’s attention. He stared at her. She could see his mind working through this terrible new development, putting the pieces of the puzzle together, not liking the way they fit. “Was he involved in the beating?”

“No, but I just now remembered where I’ve heard his name before. There was a news clip that ran shortly after the incident. A television cameraman just happened to zoom in when this young cop was laughing. To the outside eye, it might have looked as if he was being insensitive about the beating.”

“Shit.” Clay rubbed at an invisible spot between his eyes. “Why didn’t we know about this sooner?”

“The body was only recently found and identified,” she said.

“How long had he been missing?”

“Three weeks.”

“So they murdered him three weeks ago.”

She nodded.

“That means they could be anywhere by now.”

Sensing where this was going, Marty said nothing.

“That means they could be here.” Clay rose slowly. “I can’t keep you on patrol.”

“What?” Marty rose with him.

“I’m going to have to put you on administrative leave.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Do you want me to repeat it? Put it in writing for you?”

“Don’t shut me down now. I want to work this. Damn it, I can help.”

“I know it goes against your grain, Hogan, but we’re out of our bailiwick here.”

Marty couldn’t believe it. Of all the things he could have done, this was the worst. Asking her to take a backseat while one, maybe two, cop killers hunted down their next victim. Her. “I’m not going to sit this out.”

“If you want to keep your job, you will.” Steel laced his voice. She could see it in his eyes, too. An icy resolve that hadn’t been there before.

For a crazy instant she was tempted to lay her revolver and badge on his desk. But she knew it was her pride talking, her emotions. She wasn’t going to let this finish off what was left of her career. But she wasn’t going to sit back on her heels, either. One way or another, she was going to bring these cop killers to justice.

“You’re overreacting,” she said, forcing a calm she didn’t feel into her voice.

“Yeah? Why don’t you tell Rosetti that?”

She winced at the mention of her friend’s name, and it took her a moment to find her voice. “You’re being unfair.”

“I’m being cautious, which is a lot more than I can say for you.” He pointed at her. “As far as we know you’re at the top of a cop killer’s hit list.”

Fear tingled from her nape and went all the way down her spine. A cold, uncomfortable sensation she didn’t want to feel. She hated being afraid. But Marty knew how ugly death could be. She didn’t want to end up like Rosetti or Meade. But she didn’t want to run, either. To do that was to deny who she was. And she was a cop first and foremost.

“I’m not going to run and hide,” she said.

“You’re not running. You’re following orders.”

“Would you do this if I were male?”

“Don’t play the sexist card. It’s insulting.”

Frustrated and angry, Marty threw up her hands. “Clay, damn it, I’m not some hysterical civilian. I’ve had SWAT training, for God’s sake. I know how to handle a weapon and I know how to handle myself.”

“You saying Rosetti didn’t handle things?”

She had to hand it to him; he knew just where to hit and just how much force to use. “Rosetti didn’t know someone wanted him dead.”

Stepping around the desk, Clay put his hands on the arms of her chair and got in her face. “So what are you going to do? Draw down on every person you pass in the street? What about the canyon? What if they don’t miss next time?”

“I’ll wear a vest,” she shot back.

“That’ll solve everything,” he said sarcastically. “Except maybe a head shot.”

“Damn it, Clay, a cop’s job is inherently dangerous. That doesn’t mean we tuck our tails between our legs and run away.”

“And you’re inherently stubborn!”

Marty could feel her heart rate cranking, her temper following suit. “Don’t do this. Please. I need to be involved. I need to work.”

Straightening, he crossed to a metal cabinet and yanked it open. “You’re going to check into a hotel and you’re going to stay put until I tell you otherwise.”

“This is unfair.”

“Life’s unfair.” Without warning, he pulled out a Kevlar vest and tossed it at her. “Deal with it.”

“You need my help.”

“I need your cooperation.”

Marty looked down at the vest in her hands. The urge to throw it at him was powerful, but she resisted. She knew a tantrum wouldn’t help the situation. But more than anything she wanted to work this case. She wanted to nail the sons of bitches who’d murdered Rosetti.

“What about you?” she asked.

“I’m going to gather my resources, pull out all the stops and do my job.” He looked at her and softened marginally. “You can work the computer end of it. Run information through some of the law enforcement databases. Make calls.”

Even with that small scrap of responsibility, Marty felt a surge of excitement. She leaned forward, too excited, like a kid in the seconds before the recess bell.

“But I don’t want you on patrol. I’ve already assigned your cruiser to Dugan.”

Frustration crawled into her chest and squeezed so hard she thought she might choke. She despised feeling so helpless, and for the first time she understood how some cops turned rogue. “I can’t believe you’re relegating me to the sidelines.”

Clay glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go.”

“Where?”

“I’m going to have Jett drive Erica over to my sister’s house in Tucumcari.”

“Tucumcari?”

“New Mexico. It’s a couple of hours from here.”

For the first time she realized fully the extent of his worry, the weight of his responsibility, and another quiver of fear went through her. “Do you think they’d go after Erica?”

“I think these people are capable of anything. I think they’ll do anything they think might be effective.”

Grabbing his keys off his desk, he started toward the door. “I’ll be back in half an hour. If you want to help, call the sheriff’s office and get an update. Field my calls. My radio’s on. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Jo Nell appeared at his office doorway as he started toward the door, her narrowed eyes going from Marty to Clay. “I’m starting to feel like a mushroom, kept in the dark and fed horseshit. What’s going on?”

Marty looked at Clay, wondering if they should fill her in or if this was one of those times when others were better off not knowing the details.

“Since Hogan won’t be leaving until I get back, she can fill you in.” Clay looked from Marty back to Jo Nell. “She’s on administrative leave. If she tries to walk out that door, shoot her.”

Jo Nell frowned. “What’d she do now?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Marty said defensively.

“Yeah, and I don’t smoke.”

Shaking his head, Clay walked out the door.

Marty stood in the hall, feeling like a grounded teenager.

“What’s got you two so wound up, anyway?” Reaching into a box of tissues, Jo Nell removed a hidden pack of cigarettes and offered one to Marty. “Aside from being in heat.”

Marty accepted the smoke and the two women lit up. Quickly, she explained what she and Clay had discovered about Katja and Radimir Ivanov.

“Those people are bad news,” Jo Nell said. “I saw that movie
The Departed
. I know what they do.”

“That was the Irish Mafia, not the Russians.”

“Mafia is Mafia. Don’t matter if they’re commies or micks. Dead is dead and that’s what’ll happen if you don’t do what the chief says.” Jo Nell snapped on the air cleaner unit, and the motor began to buzz. “The chief is right. You need to stay put.”

Marty knew she was right. But sitting this out wasn’t going to be easy. Having fallen from grace six months ago, she was desperate for a chance to prove herself.

“They murdered my partner,” she said. “My best friend.”

“So you going to give them what they want and let them murder you, too?” Jo Nell huffed. “Now there’s some poetic justice.”

“Give me some credit, will you?” Bursting with frustration, Marty began to pace. “I’m a cop, not some desperate housewife.”

“No one thinks that about you, Marty. The chief just gets a little protective sometimes. That’s how you know he cares. Don’t that matter to you?”

She stopped pacing and turned to look at the wrinkled little creature sitting behind the desk, holding a cigarette as if she were Lauren Bacall giving Humphrey Bogart a piece of her mind. “It matters,” she said.

“Then do what the hell he says and let the rest go. If anyone can nail these Mafia pukes, it’s the chief. He might be small town, but that don’t mean he ain’t good at what he does.”

Marty crossed to the desk and stubbed out the half-smoked butt.

Jo Nell did the same, then pulled out a can of citrus-scented air freshener and sprayed. “You scared?” she asked.

“No.” It was an impulse answer and not wholly true. Thinking of Rosetti, she amended it. “Yeah, I’m scared.”

“Smart person knows when to be scared.”

“No one’s ever accused me of being smart.”

“Smart-mouthed, maybe.” But the older woman smiled.