No One Left To Tell

'I'd anticipated that.' He stood and stepped toward the glass, then turned abruptly to face her, leaning his back on the mirror with his arms folded across his chest. 'You'll get what you need.'

Raven believed in a strong offense when everything else failed. Time to be direct.

'St. Sebastian's. Are you acquainted with the church?' She stood and stepped toward the man, mimicking his stance, standing a safe distance from him. 'It's quite charming, a historical area of Chicago.'

A long moment passed. Silence. His face changed almost imperceptibly. Then a lazy smile curved his lips. She found her eyes drawn to those lips—like a damned moth to a proverbial flame.

'You're fishing, Detective, and without a license. I came here in the spirit of cooperation. You and your partner in there have turned this into an interrogation.' Without a glance over his shoulder, he rapped on the mirror twice, a signal for Tony to quit playing games. 'Am I a suspect?'

Before she answered, the door opened, with her partner holding a cup of coffee. 'Took a little longer than I figured. Sorry.'

Raven commended Tony's effort, but by the look on Delacorte's face, he wasn't buying any of it. Ignoring her partner's poor acting, the Dunhill Security man offered more.

'I was at the cemetery that night. But I think you know that. And I'm not in the mood to share anything more on the subject. So if you're gonna book me, then let's do it. I'd like time to call my attorney so I can make it out by dinnertime. Otherwise, I'm out of here.'

His jaw clenched, and the look in his eyes dropped the temperature in the room. Christian pushed by her, but stopped when she placed her hand on his chest and raised her voice.

'Hold it.'

She tried pushing him back to a comfortable distance, but he wouldn't budge. The man's chest felt as solid as a brick wall. And he wielded his gaze like a weapon. Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand.

'Okay then. You like cards on the table, let's do it.'

She persisted as her blood churned. 'What do you think about the message on the body? I didn't figure Mickey for a religious fanatic, not after seeing his criminal record. So my next leap was to assume the message had been intended for someone. And lo and behold, we meet you, Christian. Now that's what I call too much coincidence. Seek the truth, Christian. What does it mean?'

'I have no idea,' he replied. 'But I think you'll have to agree, it's not likely I'd kill the man, then sign my own work, directing the police to my door.' He remained calm, staring at her and completely ignoring her partner. 'Am I free to go?'

Closing her eyes, she filled her lungs, then let out a breath. Calm down, Mackenzie. He was right, of course. Still, she needed to make another point.

'We've granted you some privileges with regard to this investigation, in exchange for the complete cooperation of your employer. We could have subpoenaed the information we needed and left you out in the cold, yet we extended Mrs. Dunhill a special courtesy. Cooperation is a two-way street, Delacorte. I get the distinct impression you're holding out on me.'

Raven knew she was posturing, having no intention of allowing him into the investigation completely. But what he didn't know would be no skin off her nose.

His eyes narrowed. She felt him harness his emotion, his hostility given away only by the slight stiffening of his jaw. In a move she hadn't anticipated, he stepped toward her, closing a gap already too awkward. Instinctively, she sucked in a breath and held it, filling her senses with the subtle cologne that tempered his act of intimidation.

'The police will get all the cooperation deserved, Detective.' His voice low, he embellished his message. 'I'll make sure of it.'

Raven heard his underlying meaning clearly. A line had been drawn in the sand of mutual cooperation. Christian Delacorte had no intention of cooperating. She saw it in those captivating eyes. He'd conduct his own investigation, sharing only meaningless information under the guise of collaboration. He'd race ahead, outpacing her and Tony. And with the resources of Dunhill behind him, it would be an uphill battle to fight him.

Before she admitted defeat, her partner relieved the tension in the cramped room. 'But don't you want your coffee? I brewed it myself.' Tony held it out to Christian. 'The city's finest.'

'That's what I'm afraid of.' Green eyes glared at Tony. 'Some other time.' Turning his attention back to her, he added, 'Eight sharp, tomorrow. Coffee will be on me.'

After Delacorte left, Tony closed the door, lowering his voice. 'That's one cool hombre. If he's our guy, it's gonna be tough to nail him. But I admire your grit, girl.'

'I don't know, Tony. I don't like him for this. He's not our guy. But my gut tells me he knows something. It's in his eyes.'

'Yeah, maybe. And off the record, you may not like him for the murder, but you like him fine otherwise.' He grinned.

'What the hell are you talking about? He's a suspect in a murder investigation. I'd have to be pretty hard up to—'

Seeing his insufferable enjoyment, Raven stopped her flimsy justification and thumped him on the shoulder with a finger.

'Next you'll accuse me of cruising the mug books.'

'Hey, not a bad idea. For my sister-in-law, that'd be a step up.' He chuckled. 'Protest all you want, Mackenzie, but a partner knows such things. You just got this soft feminine thing going on, in between all the chest butting and bullying you tried on him. Personally, I found it charming. Would've worked on me, if I was single and into women with handcuffs.'

Walking out the door at her heels, he poked fun at himself—a full-time job. 'Now I'm just an old married guy into women with handcuffs. There's a big difference.'

Damn it! Her partner was a perceptive son of a gun. An endearing yet lethal quality when directed her way.

'Yeah, well, enough of that. Come on. We've got a medical examiner waiting.'

Something had indeed just happened between her and Delacorte. And she hadn't been prepared for it. Next time, she would be.

Christian's mind reeled as he rode down the elevator. It'd taken all his discipline to keep his reaction to a minimum. Who the hell had killed Blair, leaving a clear message to him?

Seek the truth about what?

Fiona had kept something from him. He felt it as sure as his heart beat in his chest. But he knew the woman. It wouldn't be easy to persuade his surrogate mother to reveal her secret.

And the point Detective Mackenzie had made about Blair's expensive taste hit home, too. He wondered about it himself, having special insight into the man's earnings as his boss. Walking out the front door of the police station, he welcomed the chill. The cold kept him on edge and sharp.

Heading for the parking garage, he made a decision. He would confront Fiona, throwing himself on her mercy. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, he felt certain she had no idea of the personal message directed at him, pinned to Blair's corpse.

Fiona had asked for his help in serving as the Dunhill liaison with the police, to be her eyes and ears in the investigation. He owed Fiona so much more than his loyalty. Perhaps it would make a difference if she knew he was nearly accused of the crime himself. That dark-haired detective with the fierce eyes looked like she'd rather lock him up and throw away the key.

One thing was certain. He'd conduct his own investigation. And he wasn't about to share anything with the damned police.

The naked body of Mickey Blair lay on a gurney pulled up to a sink, a sheet covering the lower extremity of the torso. No matter how many times Raven had observed an autopsy, she never got used to it. Medicinal odors mixed with the smell of death—a tang that triggered her worst memories. Long ago, she'd forced herself to get over the feeling that each victim's privacy had been invaded. Hell, in Blair's case, being sliced across the throat was the