The Killing Edge (8 page)

“I should have known all this before I went into that house.”

“Other than the fact that Chloe was there to listen in for us, what does the past have to do with a missing girl in the Keys? With a father who worries about his daughter, since it was her best friend who went missing?” Stuckey demanded. “Besides, you said you wanted total anonymity. In my defense, you’ve been worried that Chloe is going to spill the beans about you. If she didn’t know about you, she couldn’t have said anything.”

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have known about her. And now that she
does
know about me, how the hell am I going to keep my anonymity if Chloe Marin is as close as you say with the others?”

“I told her not to say anything, and she won’t,” Stuckey insisted.

“Not even to Victoria—who’ll end up telling someone else?”

“No. Believe me. Chloe’s rock solid. So what’s your next move?” Stuckey asked.

“Let’s go back for a minute. You were sure, absolutely sure, that the men who committed that massacre were the two men found in the Everglades?” Luke asked.

“Why are we back on the past? I’m sure. The killers were found, along with a bag holding black, hooded dive suits, one with the mask ripped, and knives covered with dried blood from the victims were found. Not to mention that one of the men matched Chloe’s sketch. Yeah, we’re sure. Why?”

“Those ‘killers’ just didn’t look the type, that’s all,” Luke said. “Especially the smaller guy.”

Stuckey shrugged. “They were found two days after the murder, with enough evidence to put my grandmother away. And the suicide note—the Church of the Real People denied any involvement, of course. They were devastated, claiming they had never condoned murder, that the killers must have been insane. The church pretty much fell apart after that, though it started rebuilding a few years later.”

“What I find interesting, if not out-and-out suspicious,” Luke said, “is that the kids were all killed with knives, but Abram Garcia shot Michael Donlevy, then himself.”

“What would you rather do? Cut yourself or die clean and neat from a bullet to the head?” Stuckey asked.

“So Garcia shot Donlevy in the head?”

“Yep. Point-blank range. Then himself.”

“He didn’t put the gun in his mouth?” Luke asked.

“No, shot himself in the temple.”

“Hmm.”

“Why ‘hmm’?” Stuckey sounded annoyed.

“I just find it odd. Suicides have a tendency to eat the gun.”

“Maybe he never took lessons on the proper way to commit suicide,” Stuckey said, sounding exasperated. “Here’s
another thing. The killers were found, and nothing like the killings happened again.”

“Sounds odder still,” Luke said. “They weren’t caught, so why stop? They could have kept going with their mission and ‘saved’ more kids from going on to lead lives of sin. Instead, they just killed themselves.”

“It was guilt,” Stuckey insisted. “You should have seen that place. It was a bloodbath. Those kids died without ever knowing what hit them.”

“There’s another thing,” Luke pointed out.

“What now?”

“Think about it. Mass murders are generally messy. People die trying to get away. This was methodical. Organized. Someone knew enough to wait, and then those kids were killed before they were really awake. And you know as well as I do, as easy as it sounds, it’s damn hard to slit a throat. Slice right through. It takes skill and strength, and it’s pretty hard to believe no one struggled and alerted the rest, which makes me think there were more than two killers, so it all got done quickly.”

Stuckey groaned. “What do you want me to do? Reopen the case? It was closed over ten years ago. And it has nothing to do with whatever happened to the Rodriguez girl. She’s what we have to worry about now.”

Luke shrugged. “Well, I promise you, I will find out what happened to Colleen Rodriguez, and if need be, I’ll keep it from happening to Rene Gonzalez, too. Because until we know what happened to her, every young woman
out there could be in danger. Victoria and Chloe are going on that shoot. Something could happen to them, too.”

“Don’t you think I’d stop them if I could?” Stuckey demanded.

“Is that really why you called me?”

Stuckey shook his head. “No. I called you because one girl’s missing and another girl’s parents are scared. And I sent you in undercover because there’s a strong possibility an insider is involved. And does it bother me that two women I know, women who have already been through more than their share of torment, may be in danger, even when no one can put a finger on what that danger might be…? Of course it does. But I’m a cop—I have to act like a cop. I have to follow the letter of the law, not to mention that this isn’t even my investigation. My hands are tied precisely because I’m a cop.”

“Stuckey, what exactly do you want from me?”

Stuckey paused for a moment, then said, “I pulled you in because you’re not a cop, but you’re no-nonsense and you have integrity. I want you to do whatever you have to do to discover the truth. Without warrants. Without reading anyone their rights. Just do me a favor, huh? Don’t go getting caught—or shot up or sliced to ribbons—when you’re doing whatever illegal thing it is you
need
to do to get to the truth.”

S
he should have been expecting him.

And maybe, in a way, she had been.

When Victoria drove into the cul-de-sac to drop her off at her house, Chloe saw Luke Cane leaning against his car just outside her driveway. She was annoyed to realize that just seeing him made her heart start pounding a little too quickly. She had never seen anyone who appeared to be so relaxed and at ease, and yet ready to spring. She rationalized that it was the tension in the man that made him so sexually attractive, though it didn’t hurt that he had the whole rugged-good-looks thing down pat.

“Odd car for a designer, don’t you think?” Victoria asked.

It was a Subaru Forester, a few years old, though not in bad shape; in fact, it looked as if he even washed it regu
larly. Lots of people in south Florida—including herself, on occasion—believed that the rain came just to keep cars clean.

“Maybe he likes driving up mountains,” Chloe said.

Victoria stared at her. “Right. The mountains of Miami.”

“Okay, so maybe he rides out to the Everglades to spy on the Miccosukees and Seminoles so he can work their traditional designs into his clothing line,” Chloe suggested.

Victoria laughed. “I guess he could be a sportsman. He looks like one. Odd for a designer, but I suppose you can be artistic and…masculine. Anyway, he’s hot, and he’s obviously into you. I mean, you guys already took off for a walk on the beach.”

“Oh, yeah. Right. He’s into me,” Chloe murmured dryly.

Victoria waved to the man she knew as Jack Smith, smiling. He smiled, too, and returned her wave, as she suggested sagely, “Give him a chance. Even Lacy was drooling over him last night.”

“Lacy has been known to drool over a correctly proportioned blow-up doll,” Chloe pointed out, grinning. She didn’t intend the words viciously—Lacy readily admitted that she was interested only in sleek, muscle-bound men. Arm candy, of the male variety.

“Hey, he might be arm candy,” Victoria said, as if reading her mind, “but he was polite, and he didn’t get sloshed. You’re pickier than Lacy. It’s like you’re looking for a superhero. You’re such a do-gooder yourself, it’s like you have tunnel vision. If a guy isn’t trying to save the world, you’re not interested.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then you should go for him. I think he’s perfect,” Victoria said.

Except that he’s a liar and a sham.

“Get out, go. He’s waiting,” Victoria said.

Chloe climbed out of the car, waving goodbye to Victoria, who waved back and drove away.

Chloe stood without speaking and stared at Luke Cane.

“May we talk?” he asked her.

Chloe lifted her hands. “I suppose so. You know where I live, so I can’t exactly hide from you. And you’re safe enough, according to Stuckey.”

“I’m really sorry we got off to a bad start. I’d like to try again,” he told her.

She was sure he wasn’t actually sorry, that he just thought it was the right thing to say, but she offered him a dry smile and said, “Okay, talk.”

“I need your help,” he said flatly.

She looked up at him, suddenly wanting to say no, and run into her house and hide, but she knew that wasn’t a response to what he’d said but to her own response to him. She tried analyzing her feelings toward him, then gave up. It was chemistry. Just pheromones, aroused by his face, his eyes, the way he moved, the sound of his voice.

“Please. I really need your help,” he repeated, and she could tell he meant it.

She forced herself to shrug casually. “All right. Come on in and we’ll talk.”

“Nice place,” he said, looking admiringly at the main house.

“I don’t live there—I’m over on the side, in the carriage house. The main house is my uncle Leo’s.”

“So at least it’s all in the family, right?”

“Yes, it’s all in the family.”

He waited as she keyed in the code for the gate, then followed her along the tile walkway that led to the entrance of the refurbished carriage house. She could feel him behind her all the way.

She opened her door and keyed another code into the alarm pad.

“It’s a good setup, after what you’ve been through,” he said, nodding. “All the security, and your uncle living right next door.”

He evidently knew a lot about her, she thought, irritated. Either Stuckey had filled him in or he’d been looking her up on Google. Sometimes she hated the Internet. It made way too much information available on people.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked politely.

“Nothing, thank you. But, please, feel free.”

She stretched out a hand, indicating that he was welcome to take a seat in the living room. He seemed to note everything about her place. Bookcases lined one wall, there was a picture window in the front, a pass-through to the kitchen and an entertainment center that held her television, stereo system and game console.

“Nice place,” he told her.

“Gee, thanks. So what do you want?” she asked.

“We’re on the same side, you know,” he said.

“I do know. I’m sorry, but I guess I don’t do well with deceit.”

He took a seat on the sofa, and she picked up the pillow from the armchair across from him and sat down. “I’m not a spy, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said.

“I’m not a spy, either.”

She laughed. “I know. You’re a fisherman. I saw your license, remember?”

“I really do love fishing.”

She realized that while he had done his homework on her, she knew almost nothing about him. She would have to rectify that later. “Okay, you need my help to get to Rene. I’ll try to work something out.”

He leaned forward easily, folding his hands, casually propping his elbows on his knees. “Here’s the hard part,” he said, and flashed her a rueful smile. “I need you to act as if you actually like me and trust me—especially around the mansion.”

She had to admit, that crooked and somehow self-mocking smile changed him. Made him seem human and…touchable. And that wasn’t good. The way he looked at her, as if he liked her, as if he found her attractive…that spelled danger. Or maybe she was reading signs that weren’t there. She’d already seen a ghost in the mirror earlier today.

She shook off that memory. She had enough to do just dealing with Luke Cane. She could
feel
him again, some kind of vibrant heat that filled a room when he was in it. He had a unique scent, too, a mix of good soap, sea air and a touch of something just a bit musky. He was confident, but not
taken with himself. And he was strong and knew how to fight, as she had discovered last night on the beach. Grudgingly, she realized that he would be a good man to have on her side if she was ever in trouble.

“I hadn’t actually known there was a problem between Rene and her parents,” she said.

He shrugged. “Octavio Gonzalez came to me—referred by Stuckey—because he’s convinced that his daughter is in danger, that whatever happened to Colleen Rodriguez is going to happen to her, too.”

“Even if something
did
happen to Colleen—” Chloe began.

“Let’s face it—we both know something happened to her,” Luke said, interrupting.

“Even so, why are they so worried the same thing will happen to Rene? There will be at least twelve girls going on that shoot, and I’m not even sure Rene will be one of them.”

“Here’s the problem. She cut her parents off because she believes—with reason—that they are trying to control her and keep her from pursuing her dream. She and Colleen were best friends, and her parents, who are already upset because she won’t talk to them, feel that she’s in special danger because of that fact. If someone did abduct Colleen, if she is dead, maybe it was because she knew something—and the killer may think Rene has the same information. I want to get to the bottom of whatever happened to Colleen and make sure the same thing doesn’t happen to Rene.”

“Do you really expect people to believe you’re a designer?” Chloe asked skeptically.

“If they don’t, I’ll show them my portfolio.”

“You have a portfolio?”

Again that charming grin. “Yes, filled with designs I guarantee people will love.”

“So in your spare time you really
are
a designer?” she asked. This time she added amusement to her skepticism.

He laughed. “No, but I have a friend who’s good enough to break out, and I’m using her work, with her full agreement. Who knows? Maybe this will help her career. She’s been telling me for years that it isn’t what you know, it’s who you know, and I’ll be getting her work in front of some very important people. As for me, all I know comes from the cramming I’ve been doing.”

“Make sure you’re up on your handbags and shoes,” Chloe warned.

He frowned.

“Shoes?”

“I guess you never watched
Sex and the City.”

“I’m afraid not.”

Chloe stood. “I think we should go shopping.”

“Pardon?”

“You need to know something about women’s accessories if you’re going to pass yourself off much longer. I’ll drive. I know where to go.”

“You’re willing to take me shopping?”

Chloe drew a deep breath. “We’re on the trail of the same mystery. Seeing as you’ve been willing to admit you need me, I’ll help you.”

“You’re going on that shoot, right?” he asked her.

“Yes.”

“And you couldn’t be convinced to stay home?”

She shook her head.

“Then let’s go shopping.”

Money wasn’t an issue for Luke. He had enough. No matter what he did for the rest of his life, he had enough. Money was useful for what you needed—or whatever game he needed to play to get what he needed. His tastes tended to be simple. A decent beer, preferably on tap, and Jamieson whiskey. Fresh local fish. Good cotton sheets. Dependable dive gear and a car that wouldn’t leave him stuck in the swamp. Clothes were fine, but he bought them for comfort and durability, not by label. The same with shoes.

He couldn’t believe the price tags on sandals made from about five dollars’ worth of materials. This was a foreign world to him. At least a sports car offered a premium engine and high performance.

He saw the point of leather handbags, sort of. At least they were leather and they would last. But the prices—sometimes thousands of dollars just because they dangled a little insignia of some kind, from a metallic sheep to someone’s initials? “I don’t get it—I really don’t,” he admitted.

“Frankly? Most of the time, neither do I.” Chloe shrugged. “Sometimes something’s ridiculous, but I really love it, so I buy it. And sometimes I’m in a thrift store and see something I really love, so I buy
that.
To me, if you love it and it fits well, who cares who made it? Sadly, I have a few very similar suits—I seem to go for the same thing over and over—for my real work, and some fun casual beach stuff, one good
coat…though I do like sandals. But you can find supercute sandals in the bargain basements, too. The truth is, I don’t like shopping very much.”

“Could have fooled me,” he assured her with a laugh.

She smiled back at him. “Hey, just because I happen to know what’s out there…”

She was so unusual, Luke thought. Maybe it was her eyes. Cat’s eyes. She had an amazing mouth, as well, with kissably full lips, and then there were those elegant cheekbones. He was only a man, after all, and she was simply stunning. A dead man would have responded where this woman was concerned. There had been a few moments earlier—bending down to fasten the buckles of a pair of sandals for her, his fingers brushing her flesh—when he’d felt his libido move into truly dangerous territory.

But they were partners in an investigation, he reminded himself. Admittedly, now that they’d spent some time together, he realized that he liked her. Really liked her. But he sure as hell didn’t want to get sexually involved with someone he worked with, no matter how much he admired her.

Sex had become something casual for him. Two people playing the game, leading to a hookup that was about having a good time, not commitment.

And yet, there was something about being with her. Something
nice
.

“I would never cast aspersions,” he joked, to break the moment.

“Well,” Chloe said, looking away, maybe feeling the same
sense of attraction and just as uncomfortable with it, “if you’re going to carry off your charade, you need to know all this.”

“If I’m going to stay awake, I wouldn’t mind some coffee.”

“Lincoln Road. Books and Books,” she said. “We’re not far.”

He knew Lincoln Road; he knew a lot of the shops they’d been in, too.

He just hadn’t known shoes.

Before they were seated, Chloe found some books she thought he should have. One was several hundred heavily illustrated pages just on shoes.

He’d never imagined that anyone could write an entire book on shoes.

Another was on contemporary fashion, a third on the history of fashion.

“How were you planning to pull off this fashion-designer thing?” she asked curiously once they were seated at a table in the in-store café.

He’d expected her to choose an herbal tea or some frothy coffee concoction, but instead she had opted for plain old coffee and he’d been the one to go with a latte.

“I told you. I have a friend. Her name is Amy Anderson. She doesn’t have a lot of faith in her own talent, and she’s shy, so this is really helping both of us.”

Chloe shook her head. “Aren’t you afraid of being found out?”

“Aren’t
you?
”

“I can’t get found out—I’m not really doing anything,” she said.

“If someone did kill Colleen, what do you think he’d do
if he found you do work for the police? That you may be unofficial, but you’re looking for him?” he asked.

She shook her head. “The agency knows exactly what I do for a living.”

“Art therapy. Right. But these days, everything is available online. Your uncle’s position. What happened to you in the past.”

She flushed, uneasy, looking away to the shoppers and Sunday strollers on the pedestrian pathway outside. Dog walkers. Old people, young ones. A group so excited about the movie they had just seen that their conversation was loud enough to slip through the doors of the café.