Desperate Measures (Harlequin Intrigue) Read online

  “Don’t make me regret I told you all this,” he said. Damn, he should have never given her the names of the two men he suspected. That had been careless of him.

  “Then don’t try to cut me out of the action,” she replied. She reached out and covered his hand with hers, the unexpected pleasant touch sparking an electric jolt in him. “Please, Jake. Don’t try to shut me out of this.” She pulled her hand back. “Why don’t I plan on being at your house tomorrow night at eleven thirty and we can get started.”

  “Okay,” he finally relented. The last thing he wanted was for her to go off all half-cocked and either screw things up or get herself killed. He already had enough guilt in his heart to last a lifetime. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

  “I am,” she agreed.

  He’d already taken care of the tab, so they left the private room, walked through the main dining area and then stepped out into the hot night air.

  “Hey, bitch,” a deep voice shouted from behind them.

  They both turned and Jake got a quick look at a dark-haired scruffy-looking man standing on the sidewalk. The man raised his hand and threw something.

  Jake grabbed her to his chest and whirled her around to protect her as a beer bottle shattered on the sidewalk next to them.

  “What the hell?” With Monica behind him he turned to confront the man. But he was gone, the sound of his running feet on the pavement letting Jake know the man was retreating. A few moments later a car door slammed in the distance and then a car roared by them.

  “Bitch!” the man yelled out of the window as he drove by.

  “What was that all about?” he turned and asked Monica.

  “That was Larry Albright. He’s a local contractor I did an exposé on a couple of days ago. He had ripped off dozens of homeowners, mostly elderly people, by telling them they needed new roofs. He then not only overcharged them but also used substandard materials. Needless to say, he’s not happy with my reporting.”

  “What’s he doing? Stalking you?” Jake asked in alarm.

  “Apparently that’s what he did tonight.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “No, I don’t think he’s a real threat to me. And in any case, he’s been charged with half a dozen crimes and he was released on his own recognizance. He knows one phone call to the police from me and he’ll wind up in jail to await his trial. He’s just blowing off some steam. And now, thank you for dinner, and I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  He watched as she walked to her car. She looked gorgeous with the last gasp of sunlight playing in her dark hair. She walked with a sexy confidence despite the height of her heels.

  Still, no matter how attractive he found her, no matter how eager she was or how much he implicitly trusted her, he couldn’t help but feel this whole situation just might have disaster written all over it.

  Chapter Three

  “Join me again tomorrow night for part two of ‘Gang Violence in Kansas City.’ And as always, make sure you’re getting the right news with Monica Wright.”

  She clicked off her microphone and camera and scooted away from the desk. This spare room in her house was her “newsroom.” She had her high-dollar microphone, camera and computer. There were three televisions tuned to news stations. She also had a red, white and blue backdrop that looked professional.

  Tonight she’d started a six-part investigative report on the growing gang activities in the area. Each weekend there were more shootings and more deaths, mostly happening in the south of the downtown area.

  She’d been thrilled to snag an interview with a self-proclaimed gangbanger who, surprisingly, was an intelligent young man who had chosen a life as a dope dealer because he he’d seen no other future for himself.

  A life of poverty and a lack of opportunity had stolen his hopes and dreams of a different kind of future. It had ended up being a compelling piece that she was proud of, but it was her plans for later that night that had her pumped up and excited.

  Tonight she and Jake would begin their quest to catch a killer. A shiver of excitement worked up her spine as she changed from her business attire to a short-sleeved black blouse and black jeans.

  There was no question that she’d been shocked the night before when he’d told her about the plan the six men had come up with. She’d been shocked and yet oddly humbled that he had decided to trust her enough to give her that information.

  If she was a different kind of woman, a different kind of reporter, she could have taken what he’d told her and run with a sensational story of six bloodthirsty men on a quest for murder.

  She was far more interested in the end game of getting a killer off the streets and in jail. Besides, she found it hard to believe that anyone could find six men, no matter how angry or how much they were grieving, who would actually commit cold-blooded murder.

  The really big story would be identifying that killer and getting him arrested. That’s what she wanted: the final story of a killer’s end.

  She especially didn’t think Jake Lamont was the kind of a man who could murder another human being. Call it women’s intuition or her hope that she was a good judge of character, but she didn’t believe Jake Lamont had it in him to kill anyone no matter how crazy he’d been with grief and rage. Otherwise why would he have told her his story? Of course, she could always be wrong about him. Time would tell.

  At eleven she packed some snacks in her purse, grabbed a small cooler that held several cold drinks and then went out to her car. As she walked in the darkness toward where her car was parked in the driveway, she kept an eye out for anyone else in the area.

  Larry Albright’s attack the night before had shaken her up more than just a little bit. She’d never had anyone she’d reported on come after her. What she’d told Jake was true—she didn’t see him as a real threat—but still he’d surprised her by stalking her to the restaurant and throwing that bottle. She hoped that was the end of him bothering her.

  She reached her car and settled in, confident there was nobody watching her. Once she pulled out and got on the road, she kept her gaze on the rearview mirror for several miles, but didn’t see anyone following her.

  She’d spent much of her day researching what she could find out about the five other men Jake had named as belonging to the group.

  There had been two engagement announcements. Both Nick Simon and Troy Anderson had gotten engaged in the last month. She couldn’t find much information about any of the other men, but she assumed Jake would fill her in about them tonight.

  When she was about five miles from his house a new kind of excitement filled her. There was no question she found Jake attractive. She’d met a lot of attractive men in the past, had even dated a couple, but she had never allowed herself to get too close or emotionally involved.

  It’s about the story, stupid, she reminded herself. And over the next couple of nights hopefully she could get the information she needed to break the biggest story of her career.

  Light spilled out of Jake’s bay window. She parked in his driveway and then grabbed her things and headed for his front door. He answered on her first knock. He wore a pair of black jeans, a black T-shirt and a deep frown.

  “I was hoping you’d have changed your mind about coming with me,” he said.

  “No way,” she replied firmly.

  “I still think this is a bad idea.” His frown deepened.

  “I don’t know why,” she replied. “Starsky needed his Hutch, Batman needed his Robin. Heck, even Turner needed his Hooch.”

  The corner of his lower lip curled up. “Hooch? Really?”

  “Hey, you never know when you might need a big, slobbering dog. Woof.”

  His lips completed a full smile and then he shook his head. “I have a feeling this might be a long night.”

  She laughed. “Well, let’s get this party s
tarted.”

  Minutes later they were in his car and headed to Clay Rogers’s house. “Tell me about Clay,” she said as she tried to ignore the very pleasant spicy scent of Jake’s cologne.

  “He works the financials at a car dealership. His girlfriend went out for a run one night and never came back. Her body was found the next day in a field. She’d been raped and strangled.”

  “That’s tragic,” she replied, unable to even comprehend the kind of pain such an event would cause in a loved one.

  “Yeah, what’s even more tragic is they found the killer by checking out video in the area. His name is Charlie Cohen. He was seen following her in his car and then parking and getting out of his car and chasing after her.”

  “Let me guess, for some reason he walked free.”

  Jake nodded. In the dim lighting from the dashboard his handsome features appeared grim. “He had a high-dollar lawyer who argued Charlie had just wanted her to make a phone call for him because he had a flat tire. There was no actual footage of him actually grabbing her, and the jury hung. The prosecutor didn’t feel like he had the evidence to retry.”

  She fought the impulse to touch him, to reach over and stroke the tension out of his shoulders. “So you all not only felt the pain of your own loss, but it sounds like you shared each other’s pain as well.”

  “We did.” He released a deep sigh and some of the tension left him. “Clay was the youngest of all of us, and I liked him, but if he is the Vigilante Killer, then he needs to be stopped.”

  “And that’s why we’re in a car in the middle of the night,” she replied.

  They fell silent as they continued to drive the dark streets to Clay’s house. They had no idea when the killer would strike again, but Monica had a feeling it wouldn’t be too long.

  She believed Jake was right. This person liked what he was doing. It took a sick mind-set to slit somebody’s throat, but that’s how this man was killing his victims. And what was he going to do when he’d taken care of all the men who had wronged the six of them? Would he then move on to murder other people?

  She sat up straighter in the seat as Jake slowed the car. He turned onto a tree-lined street. The houses were modest and most of them were completely dark at this time of night.

  Jake pulled up to the curb and stopped the car. He doused his headlights and cut the engine. “That’s Clay’s house,” he said, and pointed to the house on the opposite side of the street from where they were parked.

  It was a small ranch house with a neat and tidy yard. It, too, was dark, but if he was the killer, it was possible lights could come on at any minute and he would leave the house with murder in mind.

  “Might as well get comfortable,” he said. He unfastened his seat belt and moved his seat back to give himself more legroom.

  She did the same and then opened her purse. “Want some licorice?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “What about some corn chips or spice drops or dried apple slices?”

  He turned in the seat to look at her, his features barely discernible in the faint illumination from a nearby streetlight. “Do you really have all those snacks in your purse?”

  “Ah, this isn’t an ordinary purse tonight. It’s a surveillance survivor kit. Not only do I have snacks, but I’ve also got antibiotic cream and bandage strips, a bottle of pain reliever and ChapStick just to name a few things.”

  “So I can eat spice drops while you bandage up a wound and make sure my lips don’t get chapped,” he replied.

  “Exactly. See, this is why you need me with you for surveillance.”

  “I’ve got a surveillance kit, too,” he said.

  “Really? What do you have?”

  “A flashlight and a gun.”

  His words instantly sobered her. This wasn’t just two people sitting in a car in the middle of the night laughing and eating junk food. This was a potentially dangerous situation. If the murderer saw them watching him, she had a feeling he wouldn’t hesitate to kill them.

  “You do realize this could take more than a night or two,” he said, breaking into her frightening thoughts.

  “I know that, but I don’t think it’s going to be too long before he strikes again,” she replied.

  “I agree.” He stared past her and toward the house. “It’s also possible we’re sitting on the wrong man. I hope it isn’t Clay.”

  “Tell me about the other man... Adam Kincaid.”

  “Adam’s wife was murdered after she withdrew two hundred dollars from an ATM. A drug addict pulled her out of the car and beat her for the money. She might have survived, but he slammed her head into the pavement so hard it killed her. Before it went to trial, the perp was offered immunity in order to bring down a drug ring operating in the city.”

  “My God, I can’t believe how badly the justice system let you all down,” she replied.

  “Thank God cases like ours don’t happen every day and for the most part justice prevails.”

  “Still, it’s horrible how the six of you saw no justice,” she replied. “It must have been incredibly difficult for you to know Max was still walking around free after he murdered your sister.”

  “It was difficult,” he admitted.

  Once again she fought the impulse to reach out and touch him. She could understand the grief and rage that all these men felt.

  He grabbed a flashlight from the console. “I need to get out and check to make sure his car is in the garage. Otherwise he could already be gone, and we wouldn’t know we were sitting on an empty house.”

  “No,” she exclaimed, reaching out and grabbing hold of his arm. “I don’t want you to do that. It’s too dangerous.”

  “How dangerous could it be for me to just take a peek into the garage?” he asked.

  “Lights could flash on and an alarm could sound. Guard dogs could suddenly appear...dogs with big sharp teeth and trained to kill.”

  He gently pulled his arm out of her grasp. “If that happens, we implement plan B.”

  “And what’s plan B?” she asked.

  “You duck down and I run like hell.”

  * * *

  HE GOT OUT of the car as silently as possible and for a moment remained in place and stared at Clay’s house. Around him the night was silent other than the insects that clicked and whirred their normal night songs. The three-quarter moon overhead helped him see clearly.

  But that also meant the moonlight might help somebody else see him. He looked at all the other homes, assured by the darkness within each one. Hopefully the occupants were all soundly sleeping and would never know that he had been here.

  He didn’t need his flashlight as he raced across the street and toward the doors of the two-car garage, which each held a small window. His heart beat a steady rhythm and the scent of freshly mowed grass filled his nose.

  He reached the garage doors. A bright light suddenly bathed the area in front of the garage. His heart stopped. Was an alarm now ringing someplace inside the house? He took a moment to peek into one of the windows and then he took off running.

  His heart beat so hard it felt as if it was going to burst right out of his chest. He didn’t look back. He just ran. When he was three doors down from Clay’s place, he spied a large tree and ducked behind it.

  He drew in several long, deep breaths in an attempt to slow his heartbeat. Was this whole plan an act of stupidity? Maybe, but it was the only way he knew to identify the killer. And he felt morally responsible to do so.

  Several minutes passed and the light over Clay’s garage went off. There was no indication that anyone on the inside of the house had been roused out of sleep, no sign of anyone rushing to check things out.

  A simple motion detector light, that’s what Jake bet it was. Not an alarm or anything like that, just a light that came on to warn people away. A meandering cat or a dog c
ould have set it off.

  He waited another couple of minutes and then, assured that nothing more was going to happen, he raced back across the street and headed to his car.

  Monica was hunkered down half on the floor, her eyes huge as he slid back inside. “Are we safe?” she asked worriedly.

  “We’re safe. You can get up now.”

  She settled back in the seat and released a deep sigh. “That was a little bit scary.”

  “I warned you this could get a little scary. Are you ready to let me do this by myself? I could still keep you informed when I manage to identify the killer.”

  “No way,” she replied. “We’re partners in this until the very end.”

  He’d half hoped that she would insist he take her back to her car and that she’d allow him to do this by himself. She was a bit of a distraction with her citrusy-spicy scent eddying in the air. He was far too conscious of her, not as a partner, but as a woman...a very desirable woman.

  For the past two years he’d kept himself isolated. He’d shunned any kind of a social life and had focused only on his work. He would remain alone forever, as penance for the events that had unfolded on the night his sister was murdered.

  Monica was the first woman in the last couple of years to tempt him just a little bit. He couldn’t help but notice her petite but perfectly proportioned body. Her skin looked soft and touchable, and he liked the way her eyes sparkled and the shape of her mouth.

  But more than his physical attraction to her was the fact that he was somehow drawn to the energy that wafted from her. It was an energy that spoke of curiosity and intelligence and a real zest for living that reminded him of what life had been like for him before Suzanna’s murder.

  Thankfully, she obviously saw him only as a means to an end, so she wouldn’t be too much of a temptation for him. He just wanted to get the Vigilante Killer before he struck again.

  “Did you see if his car was in the garage?” she now asked.

  “It was there.”