She drove carefully, never over the speed limit. All surface streets, with a hell of a lot of turns. Finally, she got to a dive motel in Reseda, and he waited and watched as she walked up the stairs to the far unit on the second floor.
It was showtime.
3
KATE’S HAND SHOOK AS she took the check out of her purse once again, praying she’d misread the amount. But no, it was half of what it should have been, not even three hundred dollars. She wanted to call Tyson and scream at him, but she couldn’t, could she? The deductions, of course. For the uniform she’d not returned, for her locker—which were in addition to tax deductions.
Altogether, more had been taken out than paid, putting her in an incredible bind. She’d never get an apartment and money for gas, food or much else, with this. Until Nate could come up with more cash, she was stuck here. In this dingy room, with the noise from the street keeping her up at night.
It wasn’t fair, but that had become the central theme of her life: Not Fair. Should Have Been Different. If Only.
She sat on the edge of the bed, the springs squeaking as if she weighed a ton. At least she had enough money to get to her interviews. It would have to do.
It took all her will, but she got up, put her coat in the measly closet and figured she’d make herself some tea, then start work on the ledgers. The tea, one of the essentials in her life along with her good soap, daily showers and a warm bed, would be made with her little heat coil. She’d picked it up in a travel shop four years ago and had taken it everywhere. She could survive on packaged soup, instant oatmeal and tea if she had to. Just add water.
From the closet floor, she got her box with the ledger pages and her laptop and put it next to the small table. But before she could get her cup, there was a knock on the door. Panic made her freeze and foolishness made her hope it was a mistake.
“Kate Rydell? It’s the police. Open up, please.”
Shit, shit, shit. Should she keep quiet and hope the cops hadn’t seen her come in? How in hell had they found her? Ellen. It had to be Ellen. Kate cursed again, knowing her friend hadn’t purposely betrayed her.
“I know you’re in there. Open the door.”
Kate shoved the box under the table, then went to obey. “Please hold your badge up to the peephole.”
He did, and she memorized the number, knowing all the while Omicron wouldn’t have a bit of trouble getting a fake badge. Or hiring a cop to do their dirty work.
“Open the door, Kate.”
She bristled at the use of her first name, but she managed not to shake as she turned the deadbolt. “Yes?”
The man on the other side looked as if he’d had a rough day. He was taller than her by a good five inches, wearing a brown overcoat. His tie was loosened and he hadn’t shaved in a day or two. His dark hair was messy, as if he’d run his hands through it and not looked in a mirror after. It was his eyes that really gave him away. They were oddly blue and filled with anger. “I’m here about the murder at the hotel.”
She thought about telling him he had the wrong person but dismissed that approach immediately. “What do you want to know?”
He looked past her into her room. “May I come in?”
“I don’t suppose it would do me any good to say no.”
“We could always do this at the precinct.”
She opened the door. Only after he was inside did it occur to her that he was alone. Her eyes narrowed. “Where’s your partner?”
“He’ll be here shortly. I’m Detective Yarrow, and I know you witnessed Tim Purchase’s murder.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Your cart was there. Open. And you hadn’t even finished restocking the refrigerator. I also have you on tape ten minutes after the murder, leaving the hotel.”
“I was there, but I didn’t see anything.”
“You were behind the bar.”
“That’s right. Where I hid.”
“You could see everything from there. In the mirror.”
“I suppose that would be true,” she said, “if I’d been looking up. I wasn’t.”
“You mean to tell me you didn’t see any part of it? Not even when he opened the door?”
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
“But you heard it.”
“Gunfire. That’s all. I’m sorry. I wish I could help, but I can’t.”
The anger in his eyes had turned to fury. His neck had darkened and his hands were fisted by his side. She’d faced a lot of angry men in her life and she knew this cop would stop at nothing. “You’re lying.”
“Excuse me?”
He stepped closer to her. “If you didn’t see anything, why did you run?”
“Gunshots. A dead guy.”
“A dead guy? Do you have any idea who it was lying up there in a pool of blood?”
“No.”
He turned briefly, running his hand through that tangle of hair. When he turned back, he seemed the tiniest bit calmer. “He was important. He was also a friend.”
“As I said, I wish I could help. But I can’t.”
“I can protect you.”
She laughed. She shouldn’t have, because he was so very serious. And because it told him more than she wanted him to know.
He almost smiled at her slip. “Did you recognize the gang? Were they wearing colors? Tattoos?”
“I didn’t see them.”
“Don’t. I just want to know—”
“Detective Yarrow, I appreciate that you’re trying to find whoever killed this man, but you’d be wise to look elsewhere. I can’t help you.”
“You can. And you will.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, he was studying her so closely she had to step away. “You’re mistaken.”
“No, I’m not. Listen to me, Kate. I need these punks. I need them like you wouldn’t believe. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get them.” He took a step closer, bridging the gap. “Whatever it takes.”
“I applaud your determination,” she said, standing her ground. “You’re asking for something I can’t give.”
He didn’t say anything as he continued to stare. Those strange blue eyes looked deeply, and she touched her throat. Then he broke away and walked over to the small table.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She was terrified that he’d look in the box underneath, that somehow he would understand what she had in her possession. The toe of his brown shoe touched the side of the box, and he turned his head so he could see.
Kate wanted to stop him, but she knew if she responded at all it would just increase his curiosity. The best thing she could do was act nonchalant. As if his questions weren’t making her feel guilty as hell, as if her very life and the lives of her friends didn’t depend on her lies.
If only her heart wouldn’t beat so hard. She felt sure he could hear it, that if he stayed one more minute he’d uncover the truth.
“Listen up, Kate,” he said, his voice very low, a whisper that made everything worse. “I know you saw who killed my friend. I know you ran because you think the gangs will come after you if you testify.