Chapter Five

Nick shifted in the car, the morning paper curved over the door as he worked on the crossword. It was hotter than hell and the sun beating down through the windshield was baking him. He’d read in the paper that they were now officially calling it a heat wave, but he could have told them that two weeks ago.

Sam sat beside him not seeming to mind the fact that they were like two chickens in a Pyrex dish. In fact, she seemed to bask in the warmth. As though the hotter it was, the more comfortable she felt. He, on the other hand, was just plain roasting.

On the street where Sandi Walters had last lived with her mother, there was no shade on the block—no trees, not even much lawn, just one house on top of another.

Scanning the street, Nick didn’t see any adults, but the Walters’ neighborhood was alive with the sounds of children. Some rode old rusted or too small bikes up and down the street. Another group played in a sprinkler across the street, trying to find some relief from the heat, until a fat man with no shirt came out and yelled at them to stop.

Nick focused on the crossword, trying to ignore the heat. They were following normal procedure with Sandi Walters’ murder, starting by investigating people known to the victim. And they had to tread carefully, and keep a low profile on their suspicion of possible police involvement. Sam was coordinating a team to delve into the whereabouts of officers who had been involved in the Sloan case. Most of them were still on the force. Many were still in the area. There didn’t seem to be many good leads in either direction.

Nick felt the car shift beneath him and looked up from his crossword. Sam moved and frowned out the window. When she didn’t look over, he returned his attention to the puzzle. “Papal scarf,” second letter was “r.” He looked past it. “Court” was the next clue—three letters. “Woo,” he wrote. He glanced back at Sandi Walters’ house and then down again. “Tantalum symbol.” He wrote “totem.” The car bounced again. This time when he looked up, Sam was staring at him.

“What?”

“How do you stand it?”

Nick looked around. “The heat?”

She exhaled. “No. The waiting. Just sitting here is driving me crazy.”

He shrugged, looking back at the crossword. He kind of liked the solitude of surveillance. Of course, now he wasn’t alone. Sam’s constant motion made it hard to relax.

She moved again and he put the puzzle down. “You want to talk?”

Her eyes widened. “No,” she snapped as though he’d asked her to strip right there. He turned back to the crossword. “I can’t believe I’m on a stakeout,” she said a minute later.

He set the paper down. So she did want to talk.

She caught his look. “What?”

“Do you miss homicide?”

She frowned and shook her head. “No.” She stared out the windshield. “I’m doing good where I am.”

“Damn straight you are.”

“And it’s better for the boys. Detective hours were so unpredictable. I need to be there for them. More even than I am, I think.”

“You’re doing a great job with them, Sam.”

She smiled at him, and he turned away. He didn’t remember her smile being like that last time they’d done a stakeout together. He shifted in his seat, ready to leave.

Sam leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

He picked up the crossword again, thinking it was an easy solve compared to the puzzle sitting next to him. And a hell of a lot easier than fighting his own reactions when he watched her.

“I’m terrible at crosswords,” she said, sitting up and glancing over his shoulder.

He didn’t answer her. He was sure he’d already used all his good answers and there wasn’t another damn thing he could possibly say without evoking a negative reaction. Forty-seven down was “billiard shot”—five letters beginning “m-a.” He smiled and wrote “massé,” thinking about when he used to play pool with the guys from his uncle’s band. Now, when he saw a billiard table, it was usually because he was in the local pool hall hauling someone off to jail.

Sam sighed and rubbed her temples. “How long have we been waiting?”

Nick shrugged. “About two hours.”

“I should’ve brought something to do.”

He looked up, unable to keep from smiling. “You want to help with the puzzle?”

She shook her head. “I can’t do those things, I swear.” But she pulled the paper toward her.

He smelled her cucumber soap and the citrus scent of her shampoo. Alarms squealed through his head.

Moving back a safe distance, he dropped the page and pointed to a clue. “How about ‘Tennyson heroine’? Second letter is ‘l’.”

He watched as she concentrated, remembering when he’d first asked her what perfume she wore. She had waved her hand and sworn, “Nothing. I can’t stand the stuff.” And yet she was surrounded by beautiful smells, each of them reminding him that she didn’t want him—hadn’t wanted him since that one time. And it had not been enough.

It had been two and a half years, but he could still remember it clear as day. He had brought Rob and Derek home late one night after a ball game. They were the last of six or seven kids he’d taken home, and they had insisted that he come in to see the latest video game. Sam had tried to get them to bed, but they’d insisted. “Just one more game.” They’d played for over an hour, until Sam finally put her foot down and got them into bed.

Nick had been on his way out. He had never felt awkward with Sam. They had similar jobs, saw the same things. They’d worked together on cases before Nick had started coaching Rob’s team. They had the job in common, and they both cared about Rob and Derek. Maybe Nick cared too much. He had wanted kids of his own, had thought his wife, Sheila, wanted them too. It hadn’t worked out that way. Sheila found a man with more money, and she had his kids. Nick always felt welcome with Derek and Rob, though, like he was helping, but Sam had never acknowledged it before.

As he passed through the kitchen, she had stopped him. She had actually touched his arm and then pulled her hand back as though he’d been on fire.

“Thank you for being so good with them,” she said.

He’d never seen anyone look so beautiful. And then she invited him to stay for a cup of coffee. Just a thank-you, he knew, but he felt the promise of so much more.

She was making coffee when the phone rang. He never found out who had called. All he knew was that her face went ashen when she answered it. She dropped the coffeepot, and the glass shattered on the floor, the hot liquid burning her legs. But she didn’t move.

The phone still pressed to one cheek, she stood there, shaking her head and whispering in the smallest voice he’d ever heard from a grown woman, “No, no, no.” When he finally rose from the table, the phone was dead.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

But Sam didn’t speak.

She’d just shaken her head and shivered like a child.

Nick forgot about getting answers from her. Instead, he cleaned up the broken glass and took her to her room to change her clothes.

But instead of changing, she simply sat on the edge of her bed and cried. The creamy skin of her neck, the scattered freckles that he imagined covered her breasts and stomach were all vivid in his mind. He tried to get her to talk about it, to tell him what was wrong, but she refused.

“Just hold me,” she said.

And he did. He wrapped his arms around her and she accepted his embrace. He would have stayed all night—would have stayed a week, if she’d let him. But after less than ten minutes, she composed herself and showed him to the door. Ten lousy minutes, and the next time he saw her, it was as though it had never happened. The wall was back up, and he’d never been able to bring it down again.

Not that there hadn’t been other women. He had dated off and on, but he hadn’t found anyone that he wanted the way he wanted Sam Chase.

And now they saw even more of each other. They went to the movies, took the boys out to dinner. Friends, she told him. He wondered if there was a more depressing word in the English language.

He moved his head further out the window, wishing for any sort of breeze. Damn, it was hot.

Sam grinned. “Elaine.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Tennyson heroine—Elaine.” She snatched the pen from his hand and wrote it in. Then, moving toward him on the seat, she shared the page. “What else?”

Nick pointed to another one, watching her from the corner of his eye. Her eyes were a warm sea green, like the Gulf off the coast of Texas. He watched her frown in concentration as she focused on a problem, then the grin of excitement when she got it right.

Beneath the hard, independent exterior, Sam hid the excitement of a child. He watched her reactions with people. Her eyes wide when people were kind, narrow and stubborn when the odds were stacked against her. What attracted him most was her passion for the job. He had seen her go after a scumbag and not let up. And yet another side of her was soft.

Sometimes when she looked at him, he would swear that her eyes were scared, maybe even of him. But before he could understand her, the curtain would fall and he’d be staring at the strong, hard Sam again.

Surveillance made him think about the damnedest things. He frowned, trying to push Sam out of his mind. With her sitting beside him, it was almost impossible. Suddenly he wished he were alone on the job.

He rubbed his eyes under the bridge of his sunglasses, pulling them off to massage the ache he got behind his left eye whenever Sam started to take over his brain.

He glanced at the house and wished this stint was over. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Sandi Walters wasn’t killed by anyone she knew. Damn if he wasn’t ready to give up. Sitting in this car with Sam beside him much longer was going to make him nuts.

He shifted in his seat and took a drink from the warm Coke on the dash. Just then, a beat-up brown Toyota Camry passed, followed by a white Buick Skylark. Nick watched the Skylark pull into Sandi’s driveway.

“Company.”

Sam dropped the puzzle and they both watched the car.

The driver, a heavyset man with a beard almost as big as his gut, pulled himself out of the car and dropped a smoking butt onto Sandi’s brown lawn. With a glance over his shoulder, he opened the front door and let himself in.

Nick snatched up the two-way radio. “Three-eleven, this is Thomas. Can you confirm I.D. ?”

“This is Three-eleven. That is a negative.”

“It’s not Mick Walters,” Nick repeated to confirm.

“That’s correct.”

He and Sam exchanged a look.

“He knows them well enough to have a key,” Sam said.

“Not someone we knew about.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like someone we ought to talk to.”

“I agree.” Nick picked up his wireless radio and pressed the black button on the side to speak. “Check registry on the vehicle.” He repeated the plate number and said, “Three-six, please stand by to enter the premises.”

He and Sam waited in silence for a response.

Nick pulled the search warrant from his pocket. He hoped he wouldn’t need it, especially since it was still blank. How could he have a judge sign it when he didn’t know what or who the hell he’d want to search?

“Thomas, this is dispatch.”

Nick activated the radio, keeping one eye on the empty car across the street. “I read you.”

“The car is registered to a James Lugino, address is listed in the city of Martinez.”

Nick made note of the suspect’s name. “Any priors?”

There was a brief pause. “Charged with possession during a routine traffic stop. He served ninety hours community service.”

Ninety hours of community service meant pot. “Mary Jane?”

“Affirmative,” came the response.

“Big step from smoking dope to shooting someone up with heroin and then raping and killing her,” Sam said, pulling her Kevlar vest down over her head and strapping the heavy Velcro on her left side. She put her holster on over it and a blazer over the whole ensemble, looking in all her layers like she was about to head out onto the ski slopes.

Nick pulled on his own vest. He slid the magazine out of his Glock and checked it. “Let’s hope for some answers and some damn air conditioning.”

“Wimp.”

He threw her a scathing look and spoke into the radio again. “Three-eleven, this is Thomas.”

“Three-eleven responding.”

“Please move your vehicle to block the suspect’s and remain in the car for backup. We will wait for you to be in place before moving in.”

“Yes, sir,” came the response.

Nick waited, watching as the unmarked cruiser approached and stopped behind James Lugino’s car. He saw no movement from within.

Tucking the extra magazine in his pocket, Nick holstered his gun, put on his windbreaker, and zipped it to cover the vest. He could already feel the sweat trickling down his back. The vest made it hotter, but he was better off hot than dead.

He’d learned a hard lesson in his first hours working for the detective division as a patrol officer. His partner, on a routine set of interviews, had decided not to don a vest. He’d been shot through a solid oak door as he approached a suspect’s house. Though the shot hadn’t killed him, he’d taken the round in his intestines. He’d been eating baby food since. And he was considered lucky.

Nick stepped out of the car and crossed over to the house, giving a half nod to the backup. Sam walked beside him, the two of them like normal people coming for a visit. Reaching the front door, he paused and looked at Sam. When she nodded, he knocked three times. After a moment, the door squeaked open and little Molly stood half hidden behind it.

Nick bent down a little as he spoke. “Molly, I’m looking for the man who’s here. Do you know him?”

Molly looked up and then behind her.

Nick stepped into the house. “Ms. Mayes. Mr. Lugino,” he called out.

No one answered.

“Where’s your grandma?” Sam asked.

Molly looked around as though someone might help her with the answer.

“I’m the detective helping with your mommy’s case. Can you tell me where your grandma is?”

Molly shook her head, strands of light brown hair falling across her cheeks. “She’s not here.”

“Is there a man here, Molly?” Sam asked.

Molly shook her head.

He didn’t get angry with her. These kids had been trained to lie. The abused ones had been doing it since they could talk. Nick stooped lower so his gaze was level with Molly’s. “Molly, it’s very important that I talk to him. Where is he?”

Molly looked puzzled, then put a hand on one hip like a miniature grown-up. “He went out when you got here.”

Nick stood. “Went out where?”

She pointed behind her. “The back door.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded seriously and pointed to the door. “See, it’s still open.”

Nick cursed inwardly. “Did he know who I was?”

She smiled proudly. “I told him you were Mommy’s ’tective.”

Sam laughed at her antics, and Molly’s grin widened.

Giving her a smile, Nick scanned the room. He didn’t think she was lying. “Good girl. Now lock the doors,” he said, as he raced back outside and scanned the street for Lugino. Sam was on his heels. The officers were still sitting in the car. McCafferty got out.

“He bolted,” Nick said. “McCafferty, call for backup and then stay posted on this car.” He pointed to Lugino’s Skylark. “Lewis, head around the block from this side. He’s got to be on foot.”

“They would’ve seen him if he’d come this way,” Sam said. “We should check the next block down.”

Drawing his gun, Nick nodded and made his way around the side of the house. There was nowhere to hide in the Walters’ small backyard, so Nick assumed Lugino had taken off. Despite his frustration, he couldn’t help but smile when he remembered the sound of Molly’s little voice talking about her mommy’s ’tective.

Nick ran to the street behind the Walters’. Sam held back ten feet or so, covering in case Lugino appeared. Like Molly’s house, the houses on this street were small, mostly ranch-style single-family homes.

Nick looked in both directions. The streets were clear. He hadn’t expected to find Lugino on the street, though. If Nick were the one on the run, he would want to find a place where the cops couldn’t find him. He looked back at Sam, and she pointed to the right. “Further from the main street.”

Nodding, Nick followed her lead. Moving down the middle of the street, he surveyed each house. He was looking for deep bush, a hidden stairwell, a visible backyard, an empty-looking house—anything big enough for a human body. He got halfway down the block when something stirred behind him. He whipped around to see a little black girl coming out of a house, cradling a baby doll in her arms and whispering to it. She walked down the three steps to the sidewalk and started to climb onto a tricycle.

“Back inside,” he urged her.

The girl froze and looked up, her eyes wide.

“Please go inside,” he repeated, motioning to her. He didn’t want to scare her, but he didn’t want her on the street at the moment, either.

She looked around, clearly frightened. Then, squeezing the doll tight to her, she raced up the steps and inside the house, screaming.

Sam stopped at the curb. Nick could see her checking the street for signs of their suspect.

“Anything?”

“Nada,” she said.

Nick exhaled. He had started to turn around when he noticed a crawl space beneath the deck of the girl’s house. Walking slowly, he pulled out his flashlight and turned the light toward the deck.

Silently, he crossed the grass and started to kneel.

“What the hell are you doing?” someone hollered.

Nick jumped back.

A woman, holding a bat, stood above him, leaning over the deck. “Get the hell off my lawn. Where do you get off scaring my girl that way?”

Nick raised his hand. “I’m a police officer, ma’am. I didn’t want your daughter out here because I’m looking for a suspect in a murder case.”

The woman didn’t lower her bat. Instead, she took a couple of steps backward and scanned the area. “Let me see some I.D.”

“Ma’am.”

She waved the bat around in a small circle like she was winding up to hit one home. “I’ll go back in that house and call the police ’less you show me your goddamn badge.”

Sam came forward, her badge drawn. “Special agent for the Department of Justice.”

The woman frowned, and the dark lines of her face suddenly looked painted on. “Not you,” she said to Sam and then pointed to Nick. “Him.”

He took a careful look around for Lugino. By now, he was probably on a bus for the next county.

“I.D., mister,” the woman repeated.

Sam was right behind him now. “You’re clear,” she said.

“Okay,” Nick agreed. Still holding his gun, he found his badge with his left hand and brought it out, handing it to the woman.

He looked around again and slowly holstered his gun.

The woman studied his badge, then looked at him.

Nick sensed movement in the crawl space under the porch behind him.

The woman screamed.

“Freeze!” Sam commanded.

Nick spun around, reaching for his gun.

Lugino stood behind him, swinging the tricycle.

Nick ducked, unable to reach his gun in time. The tricycle missed his head but hit him hard against his right shoulder. He moaned, falling forward.

“Drop it and freeze,” Sam repeated.

Lugino didn’t listen. He took off down the street.

The woman ran back into the house.

“Fuck,” Sam cursed, taking off after Lugino.

Nick forced himself up and cupped his right arm to his chest. He shook it loose slowly, the pain already starting to pulse in his muscles.

Lugino was moving, but not fast, and Sam reached him easily. When Sam was within arm’s reach, Lugino dove right, but Sam caught his arm and whipped him around. Without giving him a chance to pause, she kneed him in the balls and watched him drop to the ground. He moaned and rolled to his side, bringing his legs up in the fetal position. She put her hand in his hair and pressed his face into the ground, her gun at his back.

“Nice cover,” Nick said when he reached Sam. “I thought you were watching my back.”

She didn’t answer him but instead got on her knees and straddled Lugino. Her gun holstered, she pulled out a pair of cuffs and slapped them on Lugino. Nick wished again that he was alone out here. Watching her work was too much.

When she was done, she stood up and turned toward him. “You okay?”

He nodded.

Lugino moaned as Nick pulled him to his feet. “My nuts, man. That bitch crushed my nuts.”

“You shouldn’t have tried to crush my head,” Nick muttered, leading him toward the car.