Relentless

“Did you get the job?” he asked pleasantly.

“Please get away from my car. I have appointments.”

He pushed off the Toyota and smiled brightly, just to piss her off. “Great. Where are we going next?”

She looked daggers at him as she went around the front of the car.

“There’s a simple way to get me to go.”

Nothing. Not a look, not a glance.

“Maybe during the next interview, I’ll come in. Who knows, they might want a character reference.”

That got her. She spun on him, eyes narrow, lips tight. “I’m not one of the bad guys,” she said. “I didn’t hurt anyone. I didn’t see anything. You’re trying to get blood from stone.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but a flash out of the corner of his eye made him turn. Behind a large trash bin was a familiar face. The bruise was new and rather spectacular.

“Wow,” Vince said. “That looks like it’s gotta hurt.”

The reporter approached them, his camera in one hand, a small recorder in the other. “So this is your material witness?”

Vince blocked him with his body before he could reach Kate. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I figured Emerson would like to know what you’re up to.”

“Emerson told me to relax. Get laid. I’m just following his advice.”

“Bullshit, Yarrow. I know who she is.”

“You don’t know—” Vince stopped at the sound of the engine, and turned just in time to see Kate take off like a bat out of hell. Damn it.

“Oh, I like her,” Baker said. “Feisty.”

“Shut up, you asshole.”

“See you in the funny papers.” The reporter walked away, whistling, just to be a jerk.

Vince jogged to his car, cursing the reporter and cursing Kate. He had no idea where she’d gone, but he had to find her. If the gangbangers saw her picture in the paper, they’d make sure she’d never testify.

4

SHE CAME BACK AT SEVEN. Vince was sitting on the floor next to her motel door, a cold cup of coffee in his hand, a smile hiding his frustration at a day that had knocked the wind out of him. His informant Eddie, a junkie too long without a fix, had given him nothing at all, and it was only a matter of time until the Captain had his ass in a permanent sling.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

Kate didn’t look like her day had been much better. She stood in front of him, scowling. On her, it looked pretty good. “Nothing’s changed. You’re still making my life miserable. Who was that guy, and why did he take my picture?”

Vince got to his feet, his knees cracking like split kindling. “I’ve missed you. Any luck on the new job?”

“I’m not interested in chatting with you. I want you gone. Out of my life.”

“No can do. Especially now.”

She closed her eyes. “Why?”

“Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but that wasn’t a guy. It was a reporter.”

She cursed, and, oddly, that looked good on her, too. “What have you done to me?”

“Me? I didn’t do a thing. The minute you give me your statement, I’m all about protection. You wouldn’t have a thing to worry about.”

“Except for gangbangers coming to kill me.”

“We should talk about that.”

She gazed at him for a long moment. He needed a shower, a shave, some sleep. She wished he didn’t.

Then she opened her door and walked silently into the motel room, leaving him to follow. She put her coat and bag away, ran a hand through that silky hair, then nodded toward the little table. “I’ve got tea and instant coffee.”

“Coffee would be great.”

“I hope you take it black.”

“Yep.” He took a wobbly seat and watched her move about the small, tidy room. Her clothes matched what he knew about her, that she’d gone from one low-level job to another, from one crummy apartment to the next. He still didn’t quite believe the stalker story. Not because it couldn’t have happened—that kind of crap was more prevalent than anyone wanted to believe—but because he’d found nothing about it in the records. No restraining orders, no complaints at all.

More than her plain sweater and beige pants, the thing that didn’t fit her was her presence. She was a woman to be reckoned with. Nothing about her was timid or weak. He wanted, more than he should, to figure out this mystery.

She brought out a heating coil and plugged it in the wall, then took two foam cups and put in instant coffee for him, a tea bag for her. The whole process took about five minutes. He continued to watch. Mostly her hands, which were strong and lean, her nails short but neat, and her face, which showed no expression other than a quiet determination.

When she handed him the coffee, she took her tea and sat on the edge of the bed. “So talk.”

Damn, he liked her. Straightforward, no games, not in the least coy. Other than lying through her teeth, she was all right. “The reporter’s name is Baker, and he’s a prick of the first order. I don’t know how he found out about you. Maybe the same way I did.”

“The videotape.”

“Right.”

“What paper does he work for?”

“The Times.”

She looked away for a moment. When she looked back, she seemed infinitely tired. “Is there any way you can stop him from running the picture?”

“No.”

“So these murderers are going to think I can ID them.”

“Yes.”