Dangerous (16 page)

“Throats…and pretty much everywhere else.” Another night as memorable as that weekend they'd spent together.

Understanding lit his brother's expression. “Okay. I don't need the details.”

“Don't worry. I wasn't planning on giving them to you.”

“So what's the problem?”

“Our being together doesn't make sense. We have different belief systems.”

“Not so different. You both have savior complexes.”

Drago started. “Bullshit! I just want what's right.”

“But you don't leave the solution to someone else. Neither does she. It would torture you both to do so.”

“She's a cop. She sees everything in black and white.”

“Not everything or she wouldn't have been after Angel on her own to begin with,” Justus reminded him. “Besides, you don't need another you, Drago. You need someone to complement you, someone with a different perspective who can pull you back when you go too far. Because you
do
go too far. You always have.” His expression intense, Justus said, “I think Camille Martell could be exactly what you need in your life.”

Drago wasn't the only one who'd needed a break. Camille felt as if she were drowning. She'd needed air. The ability to take a private breath. She and Drago had spent the last two days joined at the hip. And the last night joined far more intimately so many times she'd lost count. They'd practically made up for four years of separation in one night. Emotions were now battering her without a break. Guilt. Regret. Want. They made her impulsive. They taxed her strength. She didn't know what she was going to do about Drago. What she did know was that even thinking about him—rather, thinking about
them
—needed to be put on hold.

With renewed purpose, she pulled her laptop from her suitcase, got online, and searched various dating chat rooms for Angel. He wasn't signed in anywhere. Hoping he might be looking for her, she went back to the one where she'd finally connected with him. Hoping he was there, watching for her, she signed in. She waited for several minutes, rethinking strategy, when
Angel
popped up in the signed-in column.

Heart thudding, she focused. “C'mon, you bastard, talk to me.”

He waited her out as the usual sexy chatter and ads went on.

Minutes ticked by, threatening to shatter her nerves. What if he simply signed back out? Fearing that might happen if she didn't act now, she began typing…

Morrigan: Been looking for you, Angel.

Angel: bet you have. Missed me, didn't you?

hotgirl: skype hotgirl69 for window to my bedroom

Morrigan: Not my fault. Meet now?

Angel: sorry…won't find me unless I want you to.

BigMan: I'm available, Red.

Cougar: Available, but not worth it!

Morrigan: Angel, when we gonna meet?

Angel: when you least expect

Morrigan: Why not now?

Angel clicked out.

Making Camille want to scream in frustration.

Not ready to give up, she IM'd him:
You obviously want to meet me, so why the disappearing act? This is your chance, Angel. Surely you're not afraid…

As she waited for a response, her pulse quickened. And when it came, her heart nearly stopped:
You're the one who should be afraid, Detective Martell.

Detective?

“Damn it!” He knew who she was.

Then another IM:
Here's my latest art…

Her mouth went dry as she stared at the photo icon for a moment before clicking on it: another living-color display of Sandy.

Camille's stomach tightened. In addition to the red hair, Sandy now wore a thick application of eye makeup. Black eyeliner. Dark purple shadow. Blobs of mascara pooled beneath her lower lashes, smeared because the girl must have tried wiping away her tears.

The kid was one step closer to looking like the dead women.

Camille closed her eyes and again saw that CSI photo of Emily sprawled on the ground, her face frozen in horror.

My fault…all my fault…

“Camille?”

Thinking Angel had somehow spoken to her, she jerked back, wide-eyed. But nothing on the screen had changed.

“There you are.”

She flipped around to see Drago, closing his front door. “Oh, it's you.”

“Were you expecting someone else?” He looked over her shoulder at the computer screen. “Oh, Christ! How long ago did this come through?”

“Just a minute ago.”

Back to her laptop, she quickly typed:
Is a real woman too much for you?

“What the hell are you doing?” Drago demanded.

“Trying to challenge him. To make him respond to me.”

“He has the upper hand, Camille.” He put his hands on her shoulders and gently squeezed. “Our killer is not going to fall for that.”

Camille realized Drago was trying to comfort her. And that he had a point. The screen stayed eerily silent.

Sighing, she rose from her chair and faced him. “He figured out who I am. That I'm
Detective
Camille Martell. Which means he also knows that I'm after him and why.”

“Which makes him even more dangerous.”

“I don't think that's possible.”

He pulled her into his arms. “I meant
to you
.”

She let him hold her for a moment. This was a side of Drago that was normally elusive. Nurturing rather than tough. It felt so good to feel his arms around her, to be crushed against his chest, to feel his lips brush her forehead. To think that he might really care about her. She wanted to believe he could make everything all right. For a moment, she almost believed he would make certain that things would work out. For Sandy. Maybe even for them.

Almost.

Then she got real and untangled herself from his arms. She didn't miss the disappointment that flicked through his features before quickly disappearing.

“I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can. Under normal circumstances. But this guy is too dangerous to underestimate. You can't put yourself out there and use yourself as bait.”

“I don't know what else to do. I fear our time is running out. I'm worried that we won't find him soon enough.” Worried that she would have to live the rest of her life with another death on her conscience.

“You don't do anything about meeting Angel without letting me know. Think of me as your protection. We're getting close, Camille. He's interacting with you, showing off, and if we're lucky, he'll do something stupid and slip up.”

Staring at the photo of Sandy on her computer screen, it suddenly came to her. “Maybe he already has.”

“What? Did he say something that was significant?”

“No. He
did
something. The photos of Sandy show us how he's re-creating her,” Camille explained. “Making her look like the other victims. Why would he try to make them all look the same?”

“
Maybe
he was trying to make them look like someone else.”

“Exactly. Someone he hated. Someone he's killing through them.”

“Someone who spurned him?” Drago mused. “Why didn't he just kill
her
?”

“
Maybe
he did, but
maybe
that wasn't enough to satisfy him.”

“If we can figure out who
she
is—”

“—then maybe we
can
figure out who
he
is,” Camille finished for him. “That's it! We need to find Jackson.”

She grabbed her cell phone and texted the detective:
R U at office?

Her cell dinged seconds later, and she read:
Yes, what's up?

Don't leave. Will be there in 10.

She saved the latest photo of Sandy to the album of the other victims on her cell before saying, “Let's get over there.” She headed for the door, Drago right behind her.

They drove together. This time when they got to the office, he parked and went inside with her. Camille ignored the looks and whispers they generated and, praying Rodriguez was nowhere around, she stayed focused all the way into the room where the detectives had their desks. The place was nearly empty. Jackson sat at his, talking to Ross, a detective assigned to Vice, but when Jackson realized she had arrived, he abruptly ended that conversation. Ross moved off, nodding her way.

Camille and Drago stopped at Jackson's desk.

“What did you get?” The detective swung his gaze from her to Drago and back to her again.

“An idea of how to identify Angel.”

“I'm listening.”

Pulling out her cell, Camille brought up the album with photos of the women. She tapped the photo of Sandy and showed it to him. “Angel just IM'd this to me.”

The other detective's eyes widened. “What the hell!”

“He knows I'm in Homicide, Jackson. He's playing with me, so he's making Sandy look like his other victims. But I had to wonder why he made them look like
this
specifically. Unless—”

“It's like someone he knows,” Jackson finished for her.

“Or knew,” Drago added. “An unfaithful wife or girlfriend. A woman who rejected him or who didn't keep his secrets. Whoever it was, he could have killed her, too.”

“Probably he killed her before the others.” Jackson looked to Camille. “So what's your plan?”

“I thought you could have a composite drawn, using all three photos to get the details of the makeup and clothes. Then we can try to find her using that. Or find out who she was.”

Jackson nodded. “Might work. If we knew where to look.”

“He's one of the Humboldt Lords,” Drago said. “Someone in Humboldt Park has to recognize this woman.”

“One of the Lords? How do you know that?”

“LeRoy Walker was real chatty about it,” Camille said.

Drago adding, “He saw the second body being dumped in Logan Square. LeRoy says he also saw the brand on the killer's arm.”

“Huh. Then our killer's days are numbered.”

An hour later, they were ready to leave. Camille had checked her cell for another IM from Angel a dozen times, but nothing. Now both she and Drago had the drawing on their cells and printed flyers in a folder. Drago had already texted Justus and Eva and sent them copies, as well.

“I'm getting a team together right now to canvass the area, and to pick up any members of the Humboldt Lords they can find,” Jackson assured them. “If Rodriguez asks—”

“Tell him whatever you want,” Camille said. “I don't care about the credit. I just care about the girl. And about stopping Angel before he can kill again.”

“Where do we start?” Camille asked after Drago texted Eva and Justus while stopped at a red light. “You know the area better than I do.”

The light changed. Drago pocketed his cell phone and took off. “North Avenue, starting at the park and going west. I asked Eva to take Division, and Justus to go up Grand.”

“I'll suggest Jackson has his team take Pulaski and the small businesses on side streets.”

Drago glanced at her as she texted that information to the detective. Then checked his rearview mirror. When they'd left her place, he'd had the uneasy feeling they weren't alone. But if anyone had followed them, he hadn't been able to spot the vehicle. Leaving the area office, he'd been relieved the feeling had passed. But his paranoia hadn't. He kept looking for trouble.

So when a few minutes later Drago pulled to the curb on the block west of the park and Camille said, “Let's split up so we can hit more storefronts faster,” he had to stop himself from objecting.

He didn't want to let her out of his sight. But she had a point about the time issue. “All right. You take the beauty salon and I'll get the café next door. We can hopscotch, taking alternate businesses.”

Even though he agreed, he kept an eye on her as they went in and out of doorways. Every time he looked for her, he also scanned the street in both directions for any sign of trouble.

Camille was on his mind every bit as much as Angel and the kid. He couldn't stop thinking about what Justus had said, that maybe Camille was exactly what he needed in his life. Was she? Maybe. She threw her heart into her job—into saving people or bringing them justice, making her beautiful to him inside as well as out. His gut twisted every time he thought about her. His chest tightened at unexpected moments when he was near her.

Unfortunately, Drago was pretty sure Camille didn't need or want what he had to offer. Well, outside of sex anyway. No argument that they fit there. They were perfect for each other in that regard.

It was the rest of the ride he questioned.

They hit both shops and businesses, including a couple of fast-eat joints, a bakery, a hair salon, a dentist's office, a pawnshop, and a car insurance agent. So far, no luck. No one recognized the woman in the sketch. They looped around from one side of the street to the other, and each time they finished both sides of a block, they moved the car up to the next one and started again.

What the hell was taking his team so long to return his text? Angel wondered. And after he'd told them to be ready to act tonight. He'd let the others know that it was time to set the plan in motion several minutes ago.

They'd better not try to back out on their deal or he would make sure they were sorry.

Or dead.

Ass wipes should have more enthusiasm for the job, considering what a pain Drago Nance had been to the Humboldt Lords for as long as he could remember. He hadn't forgotten the prick hammering him into the ground a few years back, just because he'd ripped the purse out of an old lady's hands. Revenge would be sweet.

Parked a block east of where Drago had left his car, Angel watched him and Camille go in and out of stores. What were they doing? Must have something to do with their stopping at the police station. He'd tracked them using the GPS transponder he'd attached to the bottom of the Trans Am while Drago had been fucking Camille early that morning. Sixty seconds and he'd been all set.

Then he'd driven off, knowing he could track them anytime he wanted. All he'd had to do was use the app on his cell. Which he had done more than an hour ago. Now he was anxious for the show to start. No one would try to stop them. Not in this neighborhood. No one had the
cojones
that Drago did, but he would be outnumbered. Finally, Drago Nance would be taken out of the equation for good.

And then he would have the satisfaction he'd been lusting for.

He was getting a hard-on just thinking about the things he would make Detective Camille Martell do for him.

And if she didn't want to cooperate, he still had the girl to use as incentive.