Sweet Reward (5 page)

Jared watched her walk away, admiring the way the flush of embarrassment blooming in her cheeks made her creamy skin look like the delicate blush of a rose. The woman continued to intrigue him. He shot another glance at her wall of photographs. He had been staring at them for at least five minutes. The more he had looked, the less comfortable he’d felt. Every picture told a story of an
adventurous daredevil with an insatiable need for excitement. Skydiving, mountain climbing, and surfing.

This house, her pets, and the delicious smells coming from the kitchen all said domestic goddess. The photographs said she loved adventure, excitement … danger.

Just who the hell was this woman?

Shaking his head at the puzzle she presented, Jared walked off toward the bathroom but stopped in the hallway. These walls held more photos, this time of various groups of people. And in many of them was a laughing, dark-haired woman with a love of life in her eyes.

After washing up, Jared took a quick tour of the first floor. A small office with papers and books stacked on top of a desk and more books everywhere—on shelves, on the floor, on chairs. He backed out of the room and stuck his head in another room: the master bedroom. Slightly rumpled bedspread, shoes lying in the middle of the floor, various pieces of clothing on the furniture and dresser. Not necessarily messy, but it definitely had a lived-in look.

He was returning to the living room when she called, “I’m in the kitchen.” Jared followed the delicious fragrance and found her sitting at a small kitchen table and arranging the food on their plates.

“Hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen. When I moved in here, the place had a dining room, but since I hate formal anythings, I turned it into a den.” She nodded at the chair across from her. “Have a seat. Hope you’re hungry.”

Jared sat down, picked up his fork, and proceeded to devour the best meal he’d had in years. Damn, the woman was right—she
was
a good cook. Questions pounded at him, clamoring to be asked. Halfway through the meal, he glanced up and said, “So who’s the real Mia Ryker?”

Her brow furrowed. “The real Mia? What do you mean?”

“The one who jumps from airplanes, climbs mountains, and rescues victims—or the woman who lives in a house suitable for Mayberry, owns a menagerie of pets, and cooks like this?”

She gave a half-laugh, half-gasp. “I can’t decide if you’re paying me a compliment for my cooking or calling me a liar.”

“I don’t pay compliments.”

“So you’re calling me a liar then?”

“I didn’t say that. You’re a good cook; that’s not a compliment, it’s the truth.”

“Ah, so you’re a man who always tells the truth?”

Jared shrugged. “Didn’t say that, either.”

She stared at him for several seconds, as if trying to figure him out. Finally, she said, “To answer your question, I’m both.” Her slender shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I’m just me.”

Jared considered her silently. He could delve deeper … something hammered at him to do just that, which bothered the hell out of him. He was here for one reason. Learning more about this woman, no matter how fascinating she seemed, wasn’t it. Getting information to find Lara’s child—that was his only purpose.

“This case you’re working on. Any leads other than this new one?”

Munching on a strip of zucchini, she shook her head. “Not really. The deeper I dug, the less I learned. It’s not a local group … at least not one I’ve heard of. There haven’t been any similar cases in the last few months. Lots of disappearances, but no abductions of infants that weren’t solved. I was almost convinced they’d moved on—sold the child and gotten out of town. Then, when
I heard about the Hempstead case, I started asking questions. That’s when I learned about the man who fit a description I already had.”

Jared took another bite of succulent meat and couldn’t help but ask, “Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

“Cooking classes.”

“So in between rescuing, you learned to cook?”

Her dark brows rose in a challenge. “You don’t think a person can be good at more than one thing?”

“Didn’t say that.”

“You don’t say a lot, do you?”

There were lots of reasons he wasn’t much of a conversationalist. When he talked, he had something to say. Inane chitchat was not his thing. However, he couldn’t deny that he found her chatter almost endearing. He mentally rolled his eyes.
Endearing?

“How long have you worked for LCR?”

Jared jerked at the question. Maybe her chatter wasn’t as charming as he’d thought. He didn’t talk about himself … ever, to anyone.

“Tell me about your informant.”

Eyes the color of dark chocolate and framed by thick black lashes widened only slightly at his abrupt transition. Yeah, he knew he’d been rude. Wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last. Just because they were sharing a meal didn’t mean they’d be sharing secrets, too. He was here to learn as much as he could about his case, and that was all.

“Spunky has been on my payroll almost from the moment I opened my doors. He has the amazing ability to gather information from all areas of the city, and he’s never let me down.”

“What kind of information do you think he has?”

“I don’t know. As soon as I got this case, I called him.
He’s had a hell of a time getting me anything. He’s the one who clued me in about the Hempstead abduction, and then, this morning, he said he had something else he wanted to tell me but it needed to be in person.”

Jared’s antennae clicked on. “Does he usually have to see you?”

“If it’s delicate information, yes.” She paused, then added, “I know what you’re thinking. It’s not a setup.”

Being told that anyone knew what he was thinking was new for Jared. He wasn’t sure that had ever happened. “Where’re you meeting?”

“In an alley behind a bar.”

And she didn’t think that was suspicious? Hell, if she trusted everyone this way, it was a wonder the woman was still alive.

“What time do we meet and where?”

“My office at eleven forty-five. It only takes a few minutes to get there. You can follow me.”

Jared nodded, dropped his napkin on the table, and stood. “Thanks for dinner.”

   Mia pulled her leather jacket tighter around her body and stomped her feet for warmth as she waited for Jared. It had been a while since she had worked with another person. Though she couldn’t really call this working with him. Jared was tagging along because he had serious doubts about her competence. That was clear. So what? She had nothing to prove to anyone … especially a gorgeous, hunky man she would probably never see again. She lived her life on her own terms.

That didn’t stop her from thinking about him and his background. He was so determined to show no emotions, to hide whatever he was thinking. A lot of LCR operatives came from bad backgrounds. Had Jared? It made
her sad to think that such a strong, obviously caring man had endured something terrible in his past.

Not that he’d appreciate being considered a caring man. He went out of his way to be rude. Asked blunt questions but abruptly changed the subject when asked something he didn’t want to talk about. His sudden departure after he’d finished his dinner had been an obvious tactic to keep her at a distance.

No one would ever accuse Jared Livingston of putting on the charm to impress a girl. So why the hell was she so enthralled with him? Okay, yes, he was good-looking enough to be on the cover of a magazine, but she’d been around many handsome men in her life. They’d never gotten her heart to thudding and sure as hell had never made her prattle like a deranged parakeet. No wonder he was questioning her competence.

A dark green SUV drove up and parked behind her Explorer—Jared’s rental. Mia stepped out onto the sidewalk where he could see her, then climbed into her vehicle. Telling him not to crowd her and to stay out of sight wasn’t necessary. He was an LCR operative—the man had been trained by the best. He knew how to hide in the shadows without getting caught.

The meeting place was only seven minutes away. One of the many bars lining Bishop Street, in midtown Chicago. She and Spunky tried to mix up their meeting places to ensure his safety. This would be the first time in months they’d met at this particular spot.

She turned up an alley between Mike’s Hangout and the Guzzling Goose, both of which seemed to still be jumping with activity. A glimpse of Jared’s vehicle in her rearview mirror as he drove by told her he’d probably park on the street and then sneak into the alley.

Mia parked, turned off her lights, and waited. The usual
signal was a lit cigarette. Spunky was incredibly adept at appearing suddenly and disappearing just as quickly. More than once, she’d swear, she had been staring at an empty space and then, out of nowhere, a glowing cigarette butt had appeared in it.

She checked the digital readout on her watch. Midnight exactly. Her eyes narrowed into a squint and tried to pierce the darkness. No moon and almost no overhead lights impeded her ability to see anything other than the dark shapes of the buildings and dumpsters lining the alley.

Seconds ticked away. One minute after midnight, Mia knew something was wrong. Spunky was never late. He’d told her more than once that an informant who was late couldn’t be trusted.

Her hand slid down to her ankle holster and pulled out her Beretta Tomcat. Her eyes watchful and wary, she slowly opened her door and stepped out. The instant her foot touched the pavement, she saw the butt of a lit cigarette. Relieved breath whooshed from her. Maybe he’d gotten caught in traffic. She looked forward to teasing him about being late.

Taking several steps forward, she whispered, “I was getting worried.”

No answer.

Something wasn’t right. Instinct and training told her to move. Quick! Mia dove sideways an instant before she heard the sharp blast of a gun. She landed hard on her right side but was back up in a crouch half a second later. Gun in hand, she peered around a dumpster. Dammit, too dark to make out anything. She squinted, strained her eyes to see.

Scuffling, a viciously worded curse, and another gunshot. Pounding feet—and then nothing.

“Mia, where the hell are you?”

She sprang from her crouched position. “Jared?”

“Are you okay?” He sounded both worried and pissed.

“I’m fine. Can’t see a thing, though.”

“Hold on.”

Seconds later the bright glow of a flashlight appeared. Mia headed toward the light, noticing that it was pointed toward the ground, next to a dumpster. The darkness prevented her from seeing more than the outline of Jared’s body, but she could tell he was looking down at something … or someone.

She speeded up as her mind told her what her heart didn’t want to accept. Skidding to a stop, she swallowed a gasp. Surrounded by garbage, a man lay faceup on the asphalt. The flashlight revealed the small, abused body of Hosea Spunky Mendoza. Mia swallowed back bile. Multiple bruises covered his thin, craggy face. Whoever had done this hadn’t just beaten him. Spunky had been tortured.

She dropped to her knees, but Jared grabbed her arm and jerked her back up. “I checked. He’s dead. It’s a crime scene now. Don’t touch anything.”

Swallowing around a lump, Mia nodded numbly. She knew that, but to see poor Spunky just lying on the filthy, wet pavement made her want to cover him or hold his hand. He’d had a tough life; had been gruff and rough around the edges, but she’d seen beneath all of that. He had liked helping rescue people. And he had only ever been kind to her.

In a distant part of her mind, she heard Jared call the police, but her focus didn’t move from the poor, huddled form lying before her. Why would someone torture and kill him? Was it related to this case or another one?

“You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

Mia shook her head. “I’m fine. I knew something was wrong and got out of the way just in time.”

“I’m assuming the dead guy is your informant?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Apparently he had some information no one wanted you to know.”

“The man with the gun—did you see what he looked like?”

“Got a glimpse. About five foot seven, slender build, and has a limp. He took off the instant I fired my weapon.”

“Why didn’t you run after him?”

Several heartbeats later, he answered, “He was too fast.”

The man ran with a limp but was too fast for an LCR operative?
Yeah, right
. Jared had stayed back because of her. There was no point in pursuing it further. The killer was long gone.

Police cars turned down the alley toward them. Mia stepped away from Spunky. She’d been through murder investigations before, but this was the first time the victim was someone she knew and cared about.

For the first time in years, she felt vulnerable and uncertain. And though she figured Jared wished he were anywhere else, she was grateful he was here with her.

   While Mia gave her statement to one officer, Jared gave his to another. And as he answered questions, he kept an eye on her. She was in shock. The guy had meant something to her other than a means of getting information. How on earth did the woman function with so many emotions? Especially in this kind of business. Never had he seen anyone less suited for this profession. What would have happened if he hadn’t been here? Sure, she had a gun, but would she have actually used it?

Why was she in this business in the first place? And how had she stayed alive this long?

Jared didn’t know what angered him most: that McCall had thought she was worth a visit, that Mia Ryker was obviously too soft and inexperienced for this kind of life, or that he gave a damn.

One good thing—the only good thing he could come up with—was that she obviously had some clout with the police department. In a relatively short period of time and not nearly as many questions as he would have expected, the cops let them leave.

He watched as Mia gently touched the sheet that covered the body of her informant. It was apparent that she didn’t want to leave her friend. There was nothing more that could be done for the guy. Whoever had done this to him had been thorough and had obviously enjoyed the work. The small man, probably no more than five foot two and wire thin, was a mass of broken bones, cigarette burns and knife slashes.