Double Vision (Unknown Identities #2) (5 page)

Her gaze drifted as she rambled on. Any halfway decent investigator – or spy – would recognize the signs of a lie delivered poorly.

"Well
, let me walk you home at least."

"No, thanks.
I'll just take a cab when the police have my statement."

He really didn't want that to happen. For her sake, he assured himself.

"You have cash?"

Her eyes went wide as she patted her pockets. "Crap. The police will give me a ride home."

He laughed, unable to stop himself.

She planted her fists on her hips. "What's it to you?"

"Chivalry?" She didn't look convinced. "Come on. It's the right thing to do. Just let me help you get home or wherever you want to go."

"Forget it. I've had enough trouble for one night. You could be a serial killer. Maybe you
're the guy who took my purse."

"Wrong on both counts."
He held up his empty hands. "But call a cop if you want."

Still the woman dug in her heels. "The cabbie will wait while I grab cash from my apartment."

He laughed again. "I heard the city girls were tough, but you don't have to prove it for all of them on this one point." He tucked his hands into his pockets, going for the non-threatening, nice-guy effect. "Blame it on my Midwestern genes." That sounded like a valid excuse. She had no way of knowing that between being an orphan and signing on with the Unknown Identities program his genetics weren't much more than a vague rumor at this point.

It was tough not to push harder
. He wanted to get her someplace safe enough to discuss why she was in the middle of his mission. He felt like a sitting duck out here, on display for whoever might be watching her.

And him.

Like Player Three.

As if the thought summoned trouble, he heard someone call out her name.

The man jogged over with an easy lope, his detective shield reflecting the glare of the emergency lights from the vehicles still on the scene. He had a few inches on Adam and based on his impeccable attire he took his assignment in the Garment District seriously. The tie, knotted perfectly in a full Windsor style, the razor-sharp crease on the slacks, and the mirror-like polish on the shoes made a striking first impression designers probably appreciated. Adam figured it was a toss-up if the detective was smart, gay, or blessed with a style-savvy wife.

He tried to ignore his inner-analyst in favor of getting out of the street and back on task.

"Miss Vaccaro, I'm Detective Butcher." He handed her a card. "If you could just walk me through what happened up there."

"This can't wait until tomorrow?" Adam asked. "She's had a tough night."

"She's our witness." Detective Butcher gave Adam a long look he'd classified as New York skepticism. "You the Good Samaritan I heard about?"

Adam shrugged. "I didn't do much."
Yet
.

"I resisted his help," Vaccaro explained. She clutched the blanket the paramedics had provided closer to her chest. "But I didn't see anything. There was a
blinding bright light and then too much noise and smoke. Then my purse was gone."

"Why were you in the apartment?"

"Watering the plants for a friend who is traveling."

She delivered the line with more confidence this time. Good for her.

"At midnight?"

"I run a retail space. It was a busy day in a busy season."

"Uh-huh." The detective asked her the name and address of her showroom. "You had a key?"

Adam noted the way
Vaccaro's eyes narrowed.

"
Yes, I have – had – a copy of all
three
keys," she said, "and the security code too. But the power was out in the apartment, so that wasn't an issue."

"I see." He scribbled something on his notepad. "You're familiar with the apartment then?"

"Yes."

Adam didn't need any extra skill to see where this was leading, but it was too late to derail the situation.

"Could you come upstairs and tell us if anything is missing?"

"Is the power back on?" Adam asked in unison with Vaccaro.

He glanced her way but she was waiting for the detective's reply. Silently, Adam cheered her fortitude. Most people wouldn't be thinking so clearly after this kind of ordeal.

"No," Butcher admitted. "They're working on finding the source of the
power problem."

Good luck with that, Adam thought. The source of the problem had to be Player Three and Adam held no hope of New York City's finest getting a lead on that twist in this crime.

"What exactly did you see, Mr. Maxwell?"

Adam tried not to laugh. If he answered that question truthfully they'd send him to a psych ward. "I think it might have been some sort of smoke machine. The hallway was clogged, but it wasn't like smoke from a fire."

"Been in a lot of fires?"

"One.
When I was seven," Adam replied. "It's not an experience you forget."

Butcher's eyebrows went up and down again. "Did you see anything helpful through the smoke in the hallway?"

"I'd say it was a man, average build and height, carrying a bag of some sort under his arm."

"My purse," Vaccaro muttered.

"Probably," Adam agreed.

"Can you take a report on my stolen purse?" she asked the detective.

"Yes, but the odds of recovery are low." He nodded to Adam. "Anything else you want to add?"

"Just that
I tried to follow him, but he shot at me."

"With a gun?"

Adam barely kept his gaze steady when he wanted to roll his eyes. "Yes. I was near the service elevator when I heard the commotion. Maybe one of those crime scene experts will find the bullet," he suggested, infusing his voice with an eager curiosity.

Butcher grunted.

Selena leaned forward. "Did anyone see a guy running away from this building with a purse? It was black, about so big," she held her hands apart, "and it had most of the things I rely on to get through my life, including the keys to my showroom."

Butcher wasn't moved.
"So far the two of you are it for witnesses here," he replied. "No one else has much to say except the reports of loud noises and smoke. What were you doing back there by the service elevator at the time, Mr. Maxwell?"

"Dumping a pizza box down the trash chute."
Odds were good in a building that size that someone had dumped a pizza box down the chute recently.

"What kind of pizza?"

Vaccaro laughed, the bitter sound cutting off his reply. "Really? That's the best you can offer? I'm cold and tired and what he had for dinner has no bearing on the bastard who stole my purse."

"Unless they were in on it together," the detective said, giving Adam another hard look.
"Pretty convenient you being right there."

"Good grief." Vaccaro tossed the blanket into the ambulance and slipped her hand around Adam's elbow. "
This
man pulled me
out
of that apartment when I was too scared to move. He persevered when I put up a fight. For the record I have older siblings and cousins and I
know
how to fight dirty. And now, Mr. Maxwell is taking me home. If you need any more information the building staff knows how to reach me." She gave a little tug on Adam's arm. "Let's go."

The woman was one surprise after another. He liked it a little too much. It hadn't been five minutes ago that she'd implied the same thing about his involvement
with the crime as the detective.

"Hang on a minute," Butcher started
following them.

"Sorry
," Adam cut him off. "I know better than to argue with a lady." He guided her on down the street waiting for the moment when she changed her mind and went bolting back to the security of someone more familiar, like Perry.

They were
headed in the general direction of her showroom, beyond that, he wasn't sure what to suggest. Or how long it would take before all the facts of her situation would sink in.

"Do you know where I live?"

"No," he lied. "If you really want me to walk you home, you'll have to give me some information."

She looked at her watch, and a strange groan seeped out of her.
"It's a quarter to one."

"Yeah?"

"I can't go home." Her voice cracked. "I can't – I don't have –" She cleared her throat. "I don't have a key to my house."

Selena stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Her legs were done cooperating with her bravado. The man who'd stolen her purse from Renata's apartment had everything. Her phone and her wallet. Her keys for both her apartment and the showroom. And knowing Renata's taste in jewelry, about twenty grand in watches.

She couldn't pull enough air into her lungs as reality
hit her. Someone had been in that apartment. Coincidence? Or had Galloway sent someone to wait for her, someone to take her out as soon as she recovered his property?

Covering her mouth with her hand, she sagged against the support of the building.
If the watch Galloway needed was in her bag, it was long gone, leaving her nothing to trade for Renata.

A trade which was supposed to happen
in less than fifteen minutes. Without her phone, she couldn't even call and explain the problem to Galloway. He wasn't the patient type. Hell, he wasn't the sane type. It felt selfish to be worried about her business – she had insurance – but it made her stomach roll, imaging what he might do to her showroom as well as her cousin if she didn't show up on time.

With the watch.
"Dear God. I might be sick." She looked back toward Renata's building, then in the general direction of her showroom.

"You'll be fine. Just breathe."

Breathe
? Impossible. She'd broken her moral code – for good reason, but it was still in pieces – and managed to get robbed in the process. Galloway wouldn't believe she'd lost the one thing he wanted her to retrieve which meant people she loved would suffer anyway.

Ideas, desperate, crazy ideas raced through her brain. She would go to the showroom and stall and Adam could bring the police. But she knew in her gut Galloway would retaliate in the ugliest of ways.

"What the hell am I doing?" She didn't have a clue anymore.

"Getting through pretty well from my perspective," he said.

If he only knew.
"I have to get back to the showroom."

"Why? I thought
the keys were in your purse."

"They are."
The fear started as a quiver in her knees and quickly accelerated into full blow quaking. Her teeth clacked together. She'd never felt so helpless. "M-mm-maybe the purse snatcher is there, compounding his take."

"You want to make a citizen's arrest?"
He rubbed his palms lightly up and down her arms.

She nodded,
shaking enough to make her feel like a bobble-head doll. Looking up into his face, she wondered about the timing of this stranger who'd come to her aid. Well, he wasn't quite a stranger. They had a passing acquaintance at his food cart. And he'd purchased a tie from her today.

Still,
wasn't it more than a coincidence that he was delivering pizzas in Renata's building at the same time she'd been there? He could be anyone. From Kansas? That just sounded wacky. For all she knew he was part of the problem, someone working with Galloway to make sure she did what she'd promised.

It was a sneaky, Galloway thing to do.
She jerked away from Adam's touch, taking another two steps toward the showroom.

"Keep breathing," he said gently.

The shadows were playing with his features, painting him with an air of mystery. She couldn't call him striking, his features were too normal, too boy-next-door for that. His mouth curved up into another smile. A friendly expression, but not overdone.

Odd how that small, sincere detail put her at ease.
Maybe he really was from Kansas. She imagined anyone connected to Galloway would give off a more deceitful vibe. Right here with Adam, the only vibe she picked up was genuine. She blamed it on the dimple. The feature was a fine distraction she might want to explore if circumstances were different.

But this wasn't a speed-dating event. Not even a blind date.
And her circumstances couldn't get much worse. She clutched the watch in her pocket, the one that felt like a Rolex and might just be one, though she hadn't had time to confirm it. Considering she'd found it in Renata's small wall safe behind the landscape painting, odds were good it was what Galloway wanted. But if it wasn't… if the watch he wanted was in her purse…

She
had to think positively. There was still time to save her cousin if she could hold herself together long enough to make the exchange.

"Can you please just walk by the showroom with me? If I'm being robbed we can call it in. You do have a phone?
"

"Sure," he said, patting his
pocket.

She didn't think that flat Midwestern voice had been so pro
nounced when he'd been in the showroom earlier today. "Can I use it for a minute? Please?" She had Galloway's cell phone number memorized, but she wanted to call Uncle Torry while they walked. Just to check on him. She was behind schedule and there was no telling what a man like Galloway might do.

"
Do you want to call for my references?"

His joke startled her and though she tried to laugh, her voice cracke
d. "More like calling in relief for you," she lied. Her fingers fumbled as she tried to enter Uncle Torry's number. "You don't have to take care of me. I have family."

His warm palms enveloped her hands. "I said I'd
see you safely home and I will. If you want to stop at the showroom first, that's no bother." He put his arm around her shoulders and aimed her that direction.

She wanted to believe him, to believe that
he'd happened to be in the right place at just the right moment when she needed help. But this wasn't a James Bond movie and she wasn't an innocent bystander. She was hip deep in a mess orchestrated by a tricky criminal.

With her thumb over the green phone symbol to connect with her uncle, she changed her mind. "Thanks anyway."
She held it out to him. "Calling my family will only make them worry. There's just nowhere to turn."

The showroom was in the next block. In her mind she counted the steps. From this distance, she couldn't tell if anything was wrong. All of the cars on the street looked the same to her in the dark. She cursed Galloway and cursed herself for cooperating with him.

"I'm such an idiot."

"Easy, now.
Shhh
. You were a victim of a crime. Who knows what the thief might have taken if you hadn't interrupted him." He pulled her close into a big hug and she melted against his solid chest. His sweater smelled faintly of smoke, but a warm, masculine scent unique to him was strong underneath. If this is how they did things in Kansas, maybe she should visit. Or relocate.

It's not like she had a better option right now.

He patted her back as if he soothed crazy women for a living. Maybe he did. Maybe women broke down regularly in the process of ordering lunch at his food cart. Once more she forced herself away from his embrace and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"Sorry. I'm not always
such a flake."

"Not a problem. I'm not always from Kansas."

"What?"

"Bad joke." He waved it off. "Look, I was up there
in that mess. You've been through an ordeal." He brushed her bangs out of her eyes.

"Right."

"We work on the same block. I know you're not a flake."

"Okay." He made her feel steady, at ease despite the circumstances. Right here, nothing could hurt her.
Strange how a weird conversation could convey so much.

"
Your assistant though…"

She laughed then.
"He's the best sort of flake."

"Let's walk by the showroom, but on the other side of the street."

"Okay." It sounded like a smart idea. Of course, she didn't exactly trust her judgment on these things.

They moved along side by side in silence. None of the cars on the street were running. Wouldn't a spoiled man like Galloway keep the engine running if he were waiting for her?

"Looks pretty quiet to me," he said.

She agreed with a tight nod. Had
Galloway stood her up? "Do you,
umm
, recognize the cars out here?" She felt the lingering look he gave her, but she kept her gaze on the showroom across the street.

"Nothing looks out of place to me. What exactly do
you
think is happening, Miss Vaccaro?"

"I don't know. I'm rattled."

"Right."

She ignored the skepticism in his voice. Unless he was around back, Galloway wasn't here. Which meant Renata wasn't here. Her temper was simmering, burning through the haunting fear of the attack. Only one reason for Galloway to not be here, and that was if he'd sent the purse snatcher. "I'll kill him," she vowed
under her breath.

"
Beg your pardon?"

"
Nevermind."

He stopped, turning her to face him so her back was to her showroom. "You think you know who stole your purse."

"No."
Probably
.
Sort of
. "I told you I didn't see him. I only felt knit fabric of gym pants. Maybe it wasn't even a guy." She managed to stop rambling long enough to study him. His gaze roamed at the view over her shoulder. She didn't want to believe he was on Galloway's side, but the idea wouldn't go away. "Hang on a second. How did
you
see me through all of that chaos?"

"Blind luck," he replied.

S
he didn't believe him any more than he believed her right now.

"And I'm glad I was there."

Now, his eyes were on her and the shiver that rippled through her had nothing to do with stress or adrenaline. It was pure awareness on a feminine level. Whoa. Where had that come from?

This wasn't the time to get distracted by a wholesome Kansas face.
"Can we just take a peek around back?" she asked, forcing her mind back to Galloway.

"One condition."

She was tired of conditions, but she waited, praying for – something – she couldn't pinpoint exactly what kind of something beyond Renata's safe return.

"We'll walk
past the alley,
not
into it. And then you owe me a few minutes of your time."

"At this hour?"
Obviously annoyed, one eyebrow dipped low over his eye.

She caved.
"Deal." He'd been nothing but nice and she was taking advantage of his compassion. No way would she waltz around the street alone at this hour, especially not in this weather.

Mu
ch as they'd made the walk to this point, they continued around the corner and passed the alley. Her temper went from simmer to a boil when she saw zero action in the alley near her door.

"Satisfied?"

Not even close. Galloway had purposefully derailed her attempt to recover the watch. She couldn't fathom why, other than a sick power play. After all his posturing, he'd double-crossed
her
. She wanted to be mad, to do something constructive and take back control, but she didn't know where to start.

"I should call my assistant. He can unlock the door and we can take a
quick look around. The guy in the apartment did all that in the dark. Maybe –"

"Oh, no.
We had a deal and I won't let you renege. You're too wound up."

She wanted to protest, vehemently, but that would only pro
ve his point.

"
Give me those few minutes you promised and let's sort this out." He gestured to the bright glow of a twenty-four hour coffee shop across the street.

"But I must look terrible.
"

"Not so bad."
He shrugged and flashed that dimple again. "So what? Life happens."

"
You can't call this a date."

He jerked aside if she'd smacked him.
"I sure as hell hope not."

"What if that annoying detective spots us?"

"We'll burn that bridge when we get there. Come on."

Selena found her hand in his as they crossed the street. Apparently discussion was over.

* * *

John leaned against the cold concrete wall of the parking garage and stared at the dark blue sedan. "You're sure about this?"

They'd left Amelia in the hotel room in Queens, continuing the research she'd started hours ago in Hartford and continued during their drive into New York City. According to what she was digging up, Messenger had been increasingly involved with leading medical researchers around the world.

He shouldn't be
surprised, his personal experience within the Unknown Identities program had left him with a few permanent changes no one expected. Hell, he was standing next to a man who was basically invisible and more than a little warped emotionally from the process.

Supposedly, Unknown Identities agents were on the right side of any
mission, but John didn't like the way the various pieces were fitting together.