The Avenger (28 page)

A startled moment passed through the room before Jack looked at her. "Olivia?"

A thrill of shock confused her, but she steadied herself against the cool stucco of the wall. Ted had spoken in Latin.
Cur me rogas?

Why are you asking me?

Immediately Jack changed his line of questioning. "You know Latin, Ted?"

A slow fusion of color started at the spot where the white of Ted's shirt met his neck, a dull red that inched its way up to his cheeks. He drew the back of his hand across the corner of his mouth before answering. "Maybe. A little," he amended.

"Just a little?" Jack asked, looking at Olivia, sending an unspoken message across the room.

Her mind whirled with the possibilities of Ted's fluency in Latin. She'd have to test him, play him, if she hoped to gain information. Walking back to the table, she sat down, leaned forward, and spoke earnestly to him.

"Prima facie tu es innocens."
At first sight you are innocent,
she said, lying straight to his face, willing him to believe her. Jack had explained that lying to suspects was allowed unless she was a prosecutor so she didn't feel a bit guilty about prevaricating.

Ted's eyes grew round as balls that matched the circle of his mouth. She realized that he didn't know about her own Latin expertise, probably because she wasn't currently teaching a linguistics class.

"Putasne?"
he said carefully.
You think so?

"Dic mihi ab initio,"
she spoke softly, although she knew the others wouldn't know the translation.
Tell me from the beginning .

"Sum innocens,"
he pleaded.
"Crede mihi."

You haven't been innocent in a long time, she thought, and there's no way in hell I'll believe you. But she strained to keep her features inviting and receptive.

"Scio,"
she said,
I know
. She pushed false sympathy into her voice. Ted Burrows was everything but innocent, was in fact heinously guilty of acts that were beyond her comprehension.

"Vera. Cupio vera,"
she whispered.
I want the truth .

But instead of telling her the truth, he laid his head on his folded arms.
"In calamitate sum,"
he said, his voice muffled within the folds of his shirt sleeve.

I'm in serious trouble.

Sine dubio,
Olivia thought, giving Ted a speculative look.
Without a doubt.
Jack's about to trap you and you're going straight to hell where I hope you burn eternally. You're in very big trouble.

At that moment, a sharp rap sounded on the door and Charles Barrington stepped in, gesturing for their attention. The deputy stayed with the suspect while Jack, Olivia, and Slater met Barrington and Isabella Torres outside the door.

Without preamble, Barrington said, "No deal for Burrows."

"What the hell?" Jack said, clearly annoyed at losing the momentum of the interview. He narrowed his eyes and loomed over the little man.

Barrington took a step back.

Isabella Torres spoke apologetically. "Charles thinks if Burrows is the Dead Language Killer, a deal would be bad publicity for the D.A.'s office."

"I can't risk that," Barrington whined.

"Prick," Slater mumbled under his breath.

"Idiot," Jack growled. "I can get him on federal charges without your cooperation."

"Ted knows somethi – " Olivia began as her cell phone vibrated inside her jacket pocket. She retrieved it and turned away from the others, flipping open the phone before looking at the readout.

A coarse voice boomed from the tiny receiver. "You gringa bitch. You are dead."

Jack must have heard the message because he whipped quickly around. "Bill?"

She shook her head in confusion. "The voice was muffled. I'm not sure, but I don't think so."

"Shit!" He took the phone from her boneless fingers and scrolled the calls received.
Blocked.

While Barrington slinked off, Isabella stepped forward and put a sympathetic hand on Olivia's arm. "A threat?"

Olivia nodded while Jack looked as if he'd like to punch someone. He turned to Slater. "That settles it. She has a crazy ex-husband, Diego Vargas, that henchman Santos. Who else?" He rammed his fingers through his glossy black hair, overlong now, she thought irrelevantly. "She can't stay at her place. It's too dangerous. We need to find a safe house for her."

"Don't talk about me as if I'm not ... " But suddenly, a growing buzz in Olivia's ears sounded as if she were clawing her way through a swarm of hornets. Don't throw up, she warned herself as clamminess washed over her.

Torres put an arm around her waist.

"You're thinking it was her husband?" Slater asked Jack.

"My
ex-husband,"
Olivia muttered from a distance.

Slater shook his head and continued, "Why bother? He's in the wind and can't make good on any threats."

"Because he's possessive and vicious," Jack snarled.

"At least we know it's not Burrows." Slater said.

Olivia steadied herself and took her phone from Jack's hand. "I'll stay in a hotel for a few nights."

"No, come home with me," Isabella Torres suggested quickly. "I've got plenty of room and only we four will know where you are."

"Oh, no, I couldn't impose," Olivia said, looking to Jack, wondering why he didn't offer to stay with her or let her share Slater's guest house.

Jack frowned and stared at Isabella. "You'll watch out for her?"

"Sure," she replied. "And it's no trouble at all," she assured Olivia.

Chapter Twenty-five

Olivia let her eyes wander around the small living room of Isabella Torres' duplex. The sofa where she sat faced the window in a ground-floor apartment and offered a spectacular view of a wooded area across the street.

She felt uncomfortable staying in the home of a virtual stranger, but Isabella's friendly eyes met hers from across the room where she stood by the window. "Pretty, huh? The area is environmentally protected so developers can't throw up another set of apartments."

Both women were silent, watching the late afternoon sun play over the small brook that trailed through the foliage across the narrow street. A child rode by on his tricycle, head helmeted like a soldier. Olivia liked the quiet here, but she missed the familiarity of her own home.

After Olivia had translated Ted's words for the team, she and Isabella had driven to Sacramento where Olivia packed a small bag and vanity case. The others continued Ted's interrogation while the two women came straight here and Olivia settled her belongings into the guest room.

"It's awfully nice of you to offer your home to a stranger, but I don't need a babysitter."

Isabella smiled wryly as if she agreed with Olivia. "Your Agent Holt insists you're not safe in your own home."

"He's not my – " Olivia began abruptly and stopped.
Was Jack hers? Had he always been?

Isabella walked into the small kitchen off the living area where she reached into a high cabinet for a bottle of pills. "Don't worry. I'm not sticking around very long. No one's going to figure out where you are so you can get some rest, okay?"

Olivia followed Isabella into the kitchen and sat on a bar stool near the counter that divided the two rooms. "I appreciate it."

"De nada.
No problem. Just promise you'll get some rest." She handed Olivia the bottle of sleeping pills. "These will help. You've been through a lot during the last few days."

Olivia blew her breath out and tried to get her mind to focus. "Ted Burrows talked about being in big trouble, but he said he was innocent ... "

"They all say that." Isabella reached for a towel under the sink. "Charles thinks Burrows is trying to minimize his own part in all this. His lawyer will probably call a halt to further questioning unless a deal's on the table."

A sudden wave of exhaustion swept over Olivia. A good night's sleep sounded appealing right now even though the sun hadn't set.

Within an hour after Isabella left, Olivia had showered off the grime of being in the same room with Ted Burrows, and tucked herself into the guest bed. Her lids drooped from the effects of the sleeping pills Isabella had foisted on her. As she drifted off, her mind scrolled through the words Ted had used in their short conversation. Casual talk, words that were benign and meant nothing.

Drowsy and fuzzy-brained, she forced herself to think. Although his words meant nothing, they demonstrated his expertise in spoken Latin. Ted's Latin conversation was perfect. He was almost as good as she was, definitely had the ability to ... to ... to what? She couldn't remember.

Just as the curtain of sleep fell over her consciousness, she recalled that, in addition to his assistant status at the university, Ted taught a Latin rhetoric class.

A class for Howard Randolph. She almost laughed through the haze of drugs. Silly Howard wasn't much of a threat.

#

The police were on to his accomplice! May already have him in custody!

The Avenger sped as fast as he dared on Interstate 80, taking the Capital City Freeway just south of the Madison Avenue exit. Although he hadn't yet formulated a plan, speed drove him relentlessly. He rubbed the clammy flesh at the back of his neck and turned the air conditioning on high, letting the cool air blast his heated body. A spasm tightened his cheek and he massaged the spot hard with two fingers.

Never one to panic, he beat down the flutters of concern, breathed deeply, and considered his options. The situation necessitated action. Still, he doubted his assistant could reveal anything very incriminating. For all the man's high IQ, he proved remarkably dull-witted when it came to covering his ass.

Momentarily, he lamented involving the man, but little could be done now. He sighed and shook off his regret, a wasteful enterprise at best. At the time he'd needed the release their little adventures brought him. Especially when the latest punishments he meted out failed to satisfy him. Failed to tether the pulsating urges that overtook him.

No, the accomplice knew enough about the Avenger's business, but not the most damning – the notes. He wouldn't make a connection between the case and the Avenger. And whatever he did remember would be lost in the enormous maze of other guilty activities.

So, his plan – clear away the artifacts first, the most egregious evidence. The thought of destroying his mementoes wrenched his gut with an almost palpable blow, but it was necessary. Leave no testament to what he'd done. Expunge all traces that the sacrifices had any link to him.

Next – destroy all connections with his assistant. That would be more difficult, but manageable. If the police arrested the man, let him take the full weight of the law.

He began to relax. No need to panic. The situation was unfortunate, but not insoluble. Let the authorities do what they would. Let the system run its natural course. Their focus on his assistant would take the heat off the Avenger. Renewed boldness surged through his body.

Over to the right, off the freeway, he spied the lighted sign of a sports bar and cantina.
Luis,
it shouted in large florescent letters. The green glow winked seductively at him like a woman beckoning from a warm bed. Impulsively, he pulled off the freeway, drove into the packed parking lot, and edged into a free spot at the rear of the building. He needed a drink, something to settle his nerves, put him back on track so he could continue his work.

Twenty minutes later, he'd finished his third highball when the woman sidled up to the barstool next to him. Her nails caught his attention first. Long and curved, painted bright red, they looked lethal, like enamel-coated Samurai swords extending from the tips of her fingers. A stirring in his groin prompted him to follow the line of her arm to the neckline of a dangerously low-cut black dress. Sleeveless and tight. She had the full-bodied figure no longer popular among today's anorexic women. He enjoyed the lushness of her body as she edged even closer to him.

"Buy you a drink, mister?" Her throaty voice slurred the words. This was not her first drink.

Suddenly a surge of sanity ripped through him, and with it, fury. A common whore! She sought to drag him into the iniquities of her flesh. She wanted him to grab her and do all kinds of dirty things to her in the back seat of a car, in an alley, even on the floor in front of these strangers. Disgusting, vile creature!

The bulge in his trousers expanded.

The Avenger blinked furiously. He must leave before he did something foolish. He'd come too far in his journey to fall into a woman's trap. He tossed several bills on the counter and slid off the barstool.

"Hey, whass wrong?" The overhead lighting caught the woman's features and cast them in a greenish hue, made her blonde hair brassy and her face mannequin plastic.

Without answering, he hurried toward the door, out into the cool night, and around the corner where he'd parked the sports car. As he fumbled with the unlock button on his remote, he sensed her behind him. He turned. She tottered in impossibly high heels, her skimpy black dress hiked up to her thighs, a stupid grin on her face.

"Hey, baby, come on. I just wanna have a good time." She reached him and ran her talons down the sleeve of his jacket. "I know how to have a real good time. Wha' cha say?"

He took her capture of him as another sign and herded her into the McLaren.

#

Jack had the federal agents checking on Latin experts in northern California, starting with the universities. Jesus, how many could there be? Too many, he thought. He'd like to get Ted Burrows alone for five minutes, just five. He ran both hands through the hair at his temples and linked his fingers behind his head as he leaned back in the extra office chair in Slater's office.

"We're not gonna get anything else out of Burrows," Slater declared with finality.

"Maybe not, but there was something in the little prick's eyes. If he wrote those notes," Jack eyed Slater as he fiddled with his computer keyboard, "he didn't write them in a vacuum. He knows the person he wrote them for."