Dangerous (6 page)

“You already made arrangements this early?”

“I made arrangements last night when Justus told me what happened.”

She gaped at him in surprise, then asked, “Time to do what? What does this Stone guy do?”

Setting the plates in the sink to rinse them off, Drago still tried to dodge her. “He might be able to get information to track down Angel from your laptop. He's a computer expert.”

“You mean he's a
hacker
?”

The way she said it scraped up his spine. “Does it really matter if he can get us the information we need?” He turned to face her disapproving expression.

“I'm still a cop, Drago. Of course it matters.”

She had little room to judge here, and he had to force himself not to say so. “If Stone can get us the information we need, do you really care how?”

“I care.” She shook her head. “But if it's the only way…” Her expression closed and she turned to leave. “I'll go get ready.”

Drago watched until she disappeared from view.

She might have strayed from department procedure, but she wasn't a wild card. Other than her working on a case that wasn't hers anymore, she undoubtedly went by the CPD playbook. Which could get in his way during this investigation. His hands weren't tied by the same rules and regulations as someone who was part of the system. Of course if he had to, he could leave her out of the loop. Not that she would like that any more than she would like his methods if he needed to step out of the box.

As he thought more about Camille, he realized that even though she had worked on the case without her superior's knowledge, that was nothing compared to some of the things he'd done to keep people in his neighborhood safe. He was sure she'd put herself in equally dangerous situations when necessary, but the difference was that she believed in the system. He'd lost that naiveté the first time he'd been beaten for refusing to join a gang, and the police had done exactly nothing. No arrests. No investigation. He'd known then that he had to take care of himself.

When his brother had joined the force, Drago had been disbelieving. Justus had been a good cop, but one with a black-and-white mentality. He'd mentored Camille, who'd followed in his footsteps. Neither of them would fully approve of the shades of gray he'd accepted to loosen the grip of the Humboldt Lords in his neighborhood.

He had to accept that he and Camille were different in the most fundamental of ways.

Exactly why, once this job was over, they never could be together again.

Camille twitched with discomfort on the ride to the old Bucktown neighborhood where Stone lived and ran his illicit trade. Though she was on administrative leave and had been forced to turn in her star and her gun, she was still an officer of the law, and it went against her grain to ask for this kind of help from someone involved in criminal activity. The only way she could convince herself to go along with Drago was to justify the situation. Stone wasn't a violent criminal, while Angel was. A probable murderer held a young girl's life in his hands, and that fact trumped everything else.

She checked her watch halfway through the morning. He'd had Sandy for enough time to do some physical and psychological damage.

Her fault…all her fault…

“Are you ever going to talk to me?” Drago asked.

Realizing she'd sunk into her own thoughts, Camille said, “I'm not
not
talking to you. I'm just anxious.”

“Chill.” He put his hand over hers and made her pulse jump. “Stone's a pacifist. Not dangerous.”

“Right.”

Not like Drago.

Camille felt the danger like a live wire where they touched. Her pulse was racing, her throat grew tight. He wasn't for her. She shouldn't want him anyway.

Four years ago, after he'd been arrested, she'd looked into his background and learned he'd been involved in gang activity starting as a teenager. She'd known then that Drago Nance could be dangerous, even if he hadn't sported the usual tattoos that marked a member of a street gang and recorded his acts of violence. The only tattoo on Drago's body was a long black and red dragon inked down the left side of his back, the head on his shoulder breathing fire down his chest.

The ink had fascinated her, and she'd explored every inch of it with her fingers and tongue and the tips of her breasts.

Her body was responding to the memory. Shifting, she squeezed her thighs together. Lord, there was nothing she could do about her nipples tightening. She could only hope he didn't notice them pressing up against her shirt. Just thinking about the past practically made her wet wanting what she couldn't, shouldn't want to have.

“Settle down,” Drago said when he turned onto a side street. “We're here already.”

She was trying to settle down…and hoping he wasn't aware of how her discomfort had shifted from what they were doing professionally to what she couldn't let happen personally.

As he slowed and angled the car into what appeared to be a too small spot, Camille looked around. She'd worked this neighborhood on the job and had learned something of its history. Over a dozen decades, what had started as the “downtown” of a large Polish neighborhood had become home to an artist community, and now, a few more decades later, had been gentrified. Not that the street lined with old brown brick two- and three-story buildings looked anything but old.

“Ready?” Drago cut the ignition and pulled out his key.

“As I'll ever be.”

“You're not going to give Stone a hard time, are you?”

That wouldn't be prudent if she wanted the hacker's help. “I'm going to let you handle him.”

“Good.”

When they got out of the car, he took her arm. She wanted to tell him not to handle
her
as he guided her a few houses down. But that would only start an argument, so she suffered in silence. They approached the building on the second floor, which was on street level. Houses in Bucktown, as in a few other Chicago neighborhoods, had been built in low areas. More than a century ago, the city had raised streets to sea level, creating this oddity. As they waited for Stone to answer the door, she looked down into the bowl-shaped yard below and back to the underside of the vaulted sidewalk that held the remains of an old privy room.

Shortly the front door creaked open.

“Drago.”

She whipped around to see a skinny guy in the doorway. He was dressed in a plaid shirt, jeans, and work boots despite the warm summer weather. His light brown hair electrified around a too pale face; he looked like he hadn't seen the sun in a very long time.

“Stone, this is Camille Martell.”

She noticed Drago hadn't said
Detective
Camille Martell and wondered if the hacker had any clue that she was a cop.

“Hey, c'mon in.”

She let Drago take the lead. Inside, the long, narrow room was nearly devoid of furniture, but a giant LED television hung on the wall opposite the old couch. An upscale sound system covered a wall unit. And an open laptop sat on the coffee table. Stone didn't invite them to sit, rather kept going to a set of stairs that took them down a level, to what once had been the main floor.

“The heart of my operation.”

Camille took it all in, every inch of muted dark space crowded with electronics. A purposeful cave. The windows were all covered so not a speck of natural light entered the room. And no one could look inside at the multiple screens, CPUs, keyboards, and other expensive equipment she couldn't name. She recognized little of what Gary Stone used as the tools of his trade, but she was certain a potential thief would.

She asked, “You rent the whole building?”

“Nah. I own it.”

Of course he did. He was a hacker.

Drago gave her a warning look. She clamped her jaw shut. How Stone made his money wasn't her business. She had to keep her focus on the case.

“Here's the laptop.”

Drago handed it to Stone, who sat at his flagship desk and immediately hooked it up. Hoping against hope that at last she'd get a break on this case, that she could save an innocent girl, Camille's stomach knotted, and she had trouble taking an easy breath. Finding a seat at the back of the room, she let Drago take over. He seemed pretty computer savvy himself.

Breathe, she told herself. If only meditation techniques worked for her, she might be able to relax. Instead, she talked herself into believing that this would work. That between the two men, they would get the results she needed to find Angel and rescue Sandy Kawecki.

“Let me out of here!”

The closet door jarred when the girl's fist hit it over and over. He'd just come back to his place and within seconds he was ready to break her fucking neck. Apparently the drug he'd forced down her throat to calm her hysteria had worn off.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

“I want to go home!”

Thankfully, having an apartment in what looked like an abandoned building with boarded-up windows—a similar building on one side and a hole where a building used to exist on the other—meant no one was around to hear her screams. He unlocked the closet door and slammed it into her so she went flying backward, landing in a heap on the floor amid boxes he'd thrown in there. What a little maggot. He swooped down and grabbed the front of her shirt, easily lifting her into the air. She'd been crying, and tears and snot streamed down on him, so he pushed her away and gave her a threatening shake.

“P-please, don't h-hurt me,” she sobbed.

“Are you ready to tell me what I want to know?”

“I-I told you. I was using my neighbor's c-computer to look at my email when you IM'd her. I wasn't trying to trick you. I thought talking to you w-would be fun, that's all!”

Well, now she knew differently. He dragged her into the living room and tossed her to the couch. Immediately, she crawled into a corner, pulling up her knees and circling her arms around her legs in a defensive position.

He'd been too pissed off before to get the details from her. Now his anger had grown cold and deep.

“What's your neighbor's name?” he demanded.

“But you IM'd her. How could you do that if you don't know her?”

Fuck. He didn't have a clue as to the redhead's real identity. He was certain her name wasn't Morrigan any more than his was Angel. He'd picked the name because it was appropriate, him being the Angel of Death and all. He wasn't going to be cheated. He was going to find his mark and fuck her the way she deserved. The way he'd been imagining it for days now. If she did him good enough, he might even let her live. At least for a while, until he grew tired of her as he had of the others.

“I'm testing you,” he told the girl. “Her name.”

For a moment, she hesitated. Until he stepped closer, towering over her, fisting both hands so she could see his whitening knuckles.

Her eyes opened wide and she choked it out. “C-Camille.”

That was more like it. These pussies never had it in them to resist him for long. Not that he wanted this one for anything but information. Blond hair, not red. Not like his mother. And she didn't even have tits worth sucking yet. His cock hadn't stirred once since he'd first seen her in the mall.

“Camille
what
?”

She shook her head. “I don't remember her last name.”

“You're lying.”

“No. I never paid attention. She told me, but I forgot. She told me to call her Camille.”

“You were in her house.”

“Just to walk her dog after school and only for the last couple of weeks. I didn't know her before that. I just needed spending money.”

“You used her computer.”

“I wanted my email, and Mom confiscated my computer. I don't know Camille personally, I swear. It's not like we're friends or anything.”

He grabbed her again, this time by the throat.

She gagged and wildly shook her head while trying to pry his hand free. He could feel her sharp little nails in his flesh. That didn't even stir him. He liked them filled with fear, liked them fighting him, but he wanted them old enough to appreciate what they were about to get. He liked them old enough to have big tits with long, hard nipples and a fleshy twat that would drip with honey. To their shock and horror, he always managed to get it from them. Some just took longer than others. Needed incentive. That was the challenge and the high for him. If he had to, he wasn't past using a little something-something to loosen them up. Roaches
always
worked. Not that they remembered all the juicy things they did to come after.

“Do you know what I do to liars?” he asked.

He let up the pressure on her throat enough so that she could gasp, “I don't know her last name! I swear!”

“Then the address. Give me the address or I swear I'll break your scrawny neck.”

This time he got what he wanted.

He had business to take care of, but later he would find time. Maybe tonight if the deal went like clockwork. It would have to be late, though. Middle of the night late if he could even manage it tonight. If so, and if he was still in a dark, vengeful mood, then he would seek out “Morrigan” in person.

Stone had gotten what they needed—the name of Angel's Internet service provider, and the company address. It had been obvious that Camille had forced herself to thank the hacker before leaving. Now, while driving to Connect Chicago, Drago glanced her way and noted that she'd curled her nails into her palms. They finally had a solid lead. Her being anxious was only natural. But he was still irritated with her.

“You could have been a little more gracious to Stone.”

“I thanked him.” Her voice was tight. “And I didn't say what I was really thinking.”

“What? That he was helping you find a killer?”

She flushed. “You know what I mean.”

“Right.” She was going all cop on him. Black and white. No shades of gray. “People have different layers to them. They aren't necessarily just one thing. Believe it or not, Stone has a decent set of ethics when it comes to people. And a sense of justice. You might not approve of the way he makes his living, but he didn't have to do a damn thing for us, and he didn't ask for anything in return.”

Silent for a tension-filled moment, Camille finally said, “Okay. I could have been more gracious.”

Was that a note of regret he heard in her voice? Or was she playing him to shut him up? Drago couldn't tell. Didn't want to know if it wasn't real. Just wanted this case to be over, so he could get back to his own life. To forget Camille Martell.

As if…

Crossing a major intersection, he said, “We're almost there.”

He sensed her pulling herself together, getting her cop face on.

At the next block, he turned east. Connect Chicago was located in one of the sprawling office buildings along the North Branch of the Chicago River. Spotting the Connect Chicago sign, he pulled to the curb. Before he could shut off the engine, Camille threw open the passenger door and was already halfway out of the car. He hurriedly got out, catching up to her at the entrance. He put an arm across the door and stopped her from throwing it open.

“What do you think you're doing, Drago?”

Tension curled off Camille. She was all emotion. Her face had drained of color. It was apparent how important getting this killer was to her. So important, she was all wide-eyed and breathing shallow and fast. No wonder her lieutenant had taken her off the case.

“Take a deep breath first,” he said. “You need to relax before we go inside.” As he knew from his brother's experience when Justus had been part of the CPD, detectives quickly learned not to get personally involved with their cases. Camille was all about getting involved, at least with this one. “You're wound up a little too tight.”

“Of course I'm wound up.” With a trembling hand, she slashed a strand of errant hair from her face. “This could be it.”

“All the more reason. You need to focus. To be sharp. To employ logic instead of your gut. Now, breathe.”

“Okay.” She sucked in a lungful of air and let it out slowly.

“Again.”

Another slow, even breath and a little color returned to her cheeks. “Are we good?”

“One more.”

She did as he asked. That wild look left her eyes and she seemed steadier.