For Love or Vengeance Page 7

  He didn’t take the bait. “Have we heard from the telecom provider yet?”

  He walked to his desk and set down his coffee and the brown paper bag with his bagel. Before she answered, which was likely to cause a twist in his stomach, he tore open the bag and unwrapped the bagel, intent on finally eating one of his breakfasts.

  “Not yet. It’s still too early,” she said, and turned to look pensively toward the long wall of windows at one end of the room.

  The days were growing shorter with the coming of autumn and beyond the glass, it was still dark outside. Dawn wouldn’t be for another hour or more. He glanced at his watch. Five o’clock. Five o’fuckin’ clock. He’d had less than a few hours’ sleep last night.

  Had she slept at all? Had she thought of him the way he had her?

  He studied her for a moment, and realized she looked fresh and alert.

  Apparently not.

  Their gazes connected briefly and she seemed about to say something. Instead, she just picked up her cup of coffee and went back to her papers.

  He did the same, taking a sip of his java. He would need that cup and more to keep him going through the day.

  Shifting aside his own coffee and bagel, he opened the case file and decided to review his notes on the various locations they had visited. The dump site of the latest victim stuck with him, maybe because, as Helene had pointed out, the buildings were so unique. Killers didn’t usually pick such conspicuous places, unless they were somehow tied to the act itself.

  For good measure, he printed out one of the NYPD photos of the crime scene location. Then he did the same for each of the first four victims. He realized every one of the locations was either unique or close to another building or object that caught his interest.

  By the time he finished his coffee and bagel, he had photos to add to those in their war room. He walked over to Helene’s desk. “I think I’ve got something. Want to talk about it?”

  She leaned back in her chair and met his gaze. “Sure. In the war room?”

  With a bob of his head, he took off with photos in hand. From behind he heard the click-clack-click of her high heels as she followed. He went straight to the bulletin boards where they had tacked up the photos of the posed victims.

  Helene stood a few feet back, the distance telling. Normally, she would have stood right beside him, needing to be in the midst of things.

  Was she afraid to be close again because it might lead to a repeat of last night’s kiss?

  After he finished pinning up the photos, he tossed out his theory. “There’s something eye-catching about all of these locations. Tell me what you see.”

  She brought her hand to her mouth and rubbed her upper lip thoughtfully as she studied the photos. She pointed to the photo for victim number two. “The hull of a ship. The Intrepid, I’m guessing, from the battleship gray.”

  “That’s right,” he confirmed.

  Cocking one hip, she slapped her hand on it and tapped her lip again, tap-tap-tap. “All those fire escapes. It’s almost like art, the way they appear behind the body.”

  He nodded, and rapped on the photo from the last homicide with a knuckle. “And the castles you already pointed out, princess.”

  She shot him a warning glance, but a smile played on her lips. “Watch it, partner.”

  Taking back a step, she focused on a photo of a lower West Side pier. In the background was a collection of New York Sanitation Department buildings. He wasn’t sure if they’d be considered unique enough to rate with the views on the other photos.

  Helene apparently didn’t think so either. She wrinkled her nose as if she were smelling the trash. “NYSD garages? That doesn’t seem to fit.”

  With a heavy sigh, he agreed. “No, it doesn’t. But maybe the killer thought so. Whatever he’s saying with these poses, locations may be a key. He picked these places for a reason.”

  She nodded. Walking to the bulletin board, she added the locations to their profiles, then went to the map and wrote down keywords for each location.

  BATTLESHIP.

  RIVER.

  FIRE ESCAPES.

  CASTLES.

  GARBAGE DUMP.

  “It’s a start. A good start. Nice work,” she said, and turned to him, the tiny smile that had been on her lips now full-blown and welcoming. Totally accepting.

  He smiled back. “It was your view of the buildings that got me thinking.”

  Helene hid the pleasure Miguel’s words brought. Could he be that selfless?

  She thought back to all her former partners, who were only too willing to claim all their successes for themselves.

  But then, if Miguel had been anything so far, it was surprising. Maybe because he was a regular Joe, as he’d said. One who didn’t need glory and fame. One who was content to do his job because it was the right thing to do.

  One who deserved to have a happy life with the right woman.

  Which wasn’t Helene.

  Damn if that didn’t bring an unbidden pang of jealousy, which made her put up her guard. “It’s progress, but not enough.”

  His cell phone began to ring. He glanced at the number. “Might be the telecom company.”

  It was, and she watched him nod and provide the person at the other end with his e-mail address. When he ended the call, he said, “They’re sending us the names of the two buyers for the phones.”

  “But those two could have resold them,” she reminded him. “Still. A little more progress.” She hoped with everything they’d put together so far, they would soon have a break in the case.

  With a nod, Miguel approached her, clearly hesitant. “About last night.”

  She raised a hand to silence him and stepped away. “It’s already forgotten,” she said, wishing it were true.

  The corner of his mouth tilted up in a crooked smile. “You’re not a very good liar, princess. But fine. We’ll leave it at that.”

  He strode out of the room, his hands jammed in his pockets. She hadn’t noticed that before. Was it because he was afraid he might touch her again? Just as she’d avoided getting near him because she wasn’t sure she could trust herself either.

  But she had to put the desire away. For starters, goddesses didn’t mix with humans. That had only created havoc and discord in the past. Case in point: Artemis and Orion. Not to mention the consequences of mixing mortal and immortal. Half-breeds never fared well. Just look at poor Achilles.

  There was no time for desire, let alone the insanity of an affair with her partner. She needed to concentrate on the case.

  She pivoted back to their boards. Smiled at their latest progress. Only a small lead, but it would be enough. She knew it in her bones.

  Justice would soon be served.

  Chapter Eleven

  His feet were aching. Miguel slipped off his shoes to ease the pain while Helene stabbed pin after pin into the map, her actions jerky. One dozen new bright blue pins for each of the stores where it was possible the prepaid cell phones had been purchased.

  The pins created an irregular and overly large patch in and around Midtown. A very large area—to which his aching feet could attest. They had gone from store to store attempting to nail down who had purchased the cell phones and precisely where. Despite laws that were supposed to force the vendors to obtain verifiable subscriber information and maintain it in light of terrorist concerns, many of the places they had visited today had fallen woefully short of good recordkeeping.

  “Doesn’t give us much, does it?” Helene said as she stepped back from the map, her hands on her hips. Her feet, strapped into another pair of amazingly high shoes, had to be hurting even more than his. But oh, what those sexy heels did for her legs.

  “We’ve got the vendors’ records. Maybe we’ll find our perp’s purchase in there,” Miguel said, then blurted out, “Aren’t your feet killing you?”

  Helene glanced over her shoulder at him and inched one perfectly waxed brow upward. “Seems your attention is in the wrong pl
ace, partner, and no, my feet are not killing me.”

  Unwelcome heat blossomed across his cheeks, confirming exactly where his attention had been. Abruptly, he picked up one of the stacks of cell phone receipts on the table. None of them were in any kind of order. They’d need to sift through them all to locate the telephone numbers they suspected the killer had used.

  Holding up the jumble of paper slips, he said, “It’s nearly eleven. Do you want to get started on these?”

  Her mouth turned down. She walked over and sat on the edge of the table close to him. “It’s late, and I’m not really good with numbers as it is. I’m worried I’ll mix them up and miss something important.”

  He was surprised she was admitting to any limitations. It was actually a good thing. It meant she was coming to trust him enough to expose her vulnerability.

  He put the papers back on the table. “Okay. My eyes would probably cross if we tried to do this tonight anyway. We can get started early.”

  She nodded, but instead of getting up to leave, she crossed her arms and stared at him intently. She seemed uncomfortable for a moment, then said, “I’m a little hungry. Thought I’d get a bite before heading home.”

  With any other partner he would have assumed the statement was meant as an invitation. With Helene, who seemed to lack basic people skills most of the time, he didn’t want to take that chance. “I’m hungry, too. Would you like to get a bite together?”

  Her shoulders notched down as she uncrossed her arms, and said, “That would be nice.” He rose and they headed back to their desks. “That dirty-water hot dog wasn’t enough to hold me for long.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Those things are disgusting. Sitting in those carts for who knows how long.”

  He held out his hands, palms up. “It’s New York, baby.”

  Helene chuckled and shook her head. “It’s I-don’t-know-how-many germs in a turd of mystery meat.”

  “Gotta love it.” He reached his desk and grabbed his suit jacket from his chair, then removed his Glock from his locked drawer and tucked it into his shoulder holster.

  From the corner of his eye, he watched as Helene did the same. He caught his breath as the motion stretched the fabric of her dress across her beautifully full breasts. She grabbed her purse, and he tugged his suit jacket into place. “Do you have a craving, princess?”

  “Not particularly. Why, do you?”

  He smiled and nodded. “I do.”

  The place was a well-known Cuban-Chinese restaurant that was still fairly crowded despite the late hour. More than a dozen patrons were scattered at tables in the cafeteria-like dining room.

  When the menus arrived, Helene studied hers intently, and had no clue what to order. She was unfamiliar with any of the food on the menu.

  Miguel must have noticed her hesitation. “Would you like me to order food for us to share?”

  “That would be nice,” she said, and smiled.

  A waitress waddled over, her baby belly stretching a worn sweater. She was so large that Helene wondered how the woman hadn’t already given birth.

  “Twins,” the waitress said, with a sardonic smile.

  “Wow. That’ll be quite a handful,” Helene said, sympathizing, recalling the fun she’d had with Athena and Apollo, playing tricks on the older gods and goddesses. Slipping to Earth every now and then for a game of hide and seek in one of the forests or surfing with some of Poseidon’s kids.

  “Congratulations,” Miguel said, then quickly rattled off the names of several dishes. When he was done, he paused and asked her, “How about sharing a shake?”

  At her nod, he ordered a mango shake and the waitress waddled away once more, the burden of her belly affecting not only her gait, but making her back sway at an awkward angle.

  Helene grimaced. That had to be painful.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Miguel said, and leaned back in his chair.

  “Never pictured myself as a mother,” she said, but winced at the unintended harshness of her tone, and smiled wryly.

  Miguel’s gaze was sharp and probing. “Bad experience, princess?”

  If having your father rape you and your mother ignore it was considered bad, then yeah, you could say that.

  “Let’s just say I never had much of a home life. What about you?”

  A full smile, filled with pleasure and contentment, provided his answer even before he spoke. “I have a nice family. A mom and dad who were always there for me. My sister helped keep me sane after —”

  His happiness fled and even across the width of the narrow table, she sensed the weight of his guilt as it settled over him like a hair coat once more. Trying to relieve him of that blame or convince him of his innocence would accomplish little, but she couldn’t stand to see his pain, so she tried for a safer subject. “Tell me about your sister. Does she live in Miami?”

  He shook his head. “Atlanta. It’s one of the reasons I decided to transfer there. She relocated, and my mom and dad followed her since she was the one with the kids.”

  “The mug-giving kids?”

  “My niece. The baby of the family.” His smile returned then, not as unrestrained, but even that slightest hint of joy brought Helene pleasure. Which was strange, because the happiness of others had never mattered to her before.

  She had no time to consider the unusual feelings. The waitress, assisted by a bus boy, brought over the various dishes Miguel had ordered. The food filled every inch of the available space on the table, barely leaving room for their plates and the two glasses with the shake they were sharing. Damn. Too many choices.

  “Who else is joining us—and where’s the Chinese food?” she asked as she scanned the assorted dishes.

  “It’s Cuban-Chinese,” he said with a chuckle. “I don’t know if anyone actually orders Chinese here.”

  She recalled a favorite Cuban TV icon, and said, “Lucy, you’ve got some ’splainin’ to do,” motioning to the half dozen or more plates crammed into the space before them.

  Miguel grinned and pointed. “Plátanos maduros.” At her confused look, he used the English instead for each dish he named. “Ripe plantains, which are very sweet. Green plantains, which aren’t. Rice. Black beans. Avocado salad. Ropa vieja, which is shredded meat in a tomato sauce. Last, but never least, roast pork.”

  The smells from the foods were enticing. He passed each dish to her first, urging her to place a little on her plate before helping himself. When their plates were overflowing, she took a bite of the roast pork. Heavenly. Deliciously tender, flavorfully spiced with citrus and cumin.

  “Wonderful,” she said, and went for another bite.

  “Always my favorite,” he said, digging in. “Mami makes it every Christmas Eve. When I was a kid, I would help her juice all the different citrus fruits for the marinade.”

  “You like your family,” Helene said, caught up in his deep feelings for them.

  “I love them. And you? What about your family?”

  Instead of answering, she asked, “Do you miss them?”

  “I do. We always have a good time together. But…” Not enough for him to stay in Atlanta after what had happened. She didn’t want those memories dragging down an enjoyable night. So she asked him a question sure to provoke a good memory. “Did you ever help your mother—your mami, is it?”

  “Mi mami,” he confirmed.

  “Did you always help your mami cook?”

  As expected, he told her stories about sitting with his mother and sister, helping to shred meat, chop vegetables, stir pots. Stealing a cook’s treat every now and then.

  “More now than then,” he confessed.

  The delicious food satisfied her hunger, but his stories touched a need she had been ignoring for too long. A pleasant warmth filled her heart where before there had only been pain and bitterness.

  When they finished, they ordered coffee and a creamy custard he called flan.

  “So why don’t you have a family of your own?” she a
sked, curious as to why this handsome man who obviously cherished family was still single.

  His shrug barely shifted his suit jacket, but then he paused with his spoon hovering over the flan and sent her a look. “Maybe because I haven’t met the right woman yet,” he said, his dark green eyes filled with warmth and longing.

  A shiver trailed up her spine at that look. It was a look that said he thought maybe she might be that woman, with time.

  She should have jumped all over it with very vocal denial, only—

  The way she was feeling had her wondering what it would be like to have a man like this in her life. Beside her at night. Inside her. At the thought, a heavy pulse of need awoke within her. Insistent. Unrelenting.

  She wasn’t stupid enough to believe love and forever was possible for her. But she was willing to take a chance that a night with him might be quite rewarding.

  Because she knew no other way but to be direct, she said, “Would you like to come home with me tonight, Miguel?”

  His spoon fell to the plate, clattering, and with a shaky hand, he raised his cup of coffee and took a bracing sip. When he put it down, his hand was steady again. As his gaze met hers, there was no doubt about his answer.

  Chapter Twelve

  “She’s headed for a fall,” Hera said, rising from her throne and wringing her hands as the scenes from Earth played out on the misty cloud screen she had conjured up.

  “She’s a big girl,” her husband, Zeus, said, a perverse gleam in his eyes as he, too, watched his daughter.

  “But you didn’t tell her the truth,” Hera reminded him, pleading with the husband she both loved and despised.

  Zeus tsked and shook his head. “I warned her if she failed her mission, her time as a goddess on Earth would end.”

  “But you neglected to tell her that she would become mortal, with all the risks of being human. No second sight or greater physical power. No immortality.”

  Zeus laughed, the sound booming like thunderclaps. “When have we ever told anyone the whole truth? Isn’t it our role to test? To find the true measure of a person, whether mortal or immortal?”