Aim to Kill, page 5
Thank God she hadn’t slept with him. She’d never even told him how she felt. That one time when they almost ... well, they hadn’t. She didn’t really even know what she’d felt last year. But now there was no mistaking the sickening churn of betrayal.
“This has been a long day for you,” he said. “But Matt needs to talk to you, and you need to tell him about your theory.”
“I told Jim, and I told you. I don’t need to repeat it again.”
Her dad didn’t say anything, and that was somehow worse. He did that when he knew she was tired and crabby and he thought he was right. When he wanted her to believe he understood, when really it was just him giving her time to come to what he felt was the right decision.
Talking to Matt Elliott was not the right decision. Not anymore.
Yet, he was here, and she was here. Walking home wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities—her loft was exactly two point two miles from her dad’s house—but she was too tired and sore to even contemplate it. And why did she feel like crying? She was such a baby. She was going to be thirty-five at the end of the year. She had nothing. No career, no boyfriend, few friends. She had Gabriel and Selena. And her family.
She had something. Not as much as before, but she had something. And no matter how beaten up she felt after last summer, she still had her pride.
“Fine,” she said quietly. “I’ll listen to him. But dad—you don’t understand. You think you do, because you’ve made hard decisions and you run your courtroom with an iron gavel. You think because you’ve stood on your principles, even when it was difficult, that you understand what I’m feeling.” She looked at him in the dim garage light. “I did what was right last summer. I knew, even then, that I was going lose everything, but I did it anyway. What I didn’t know was how hard it would be to take the heat. I’m not as strong as you.”
Her voice cracked, and she moved to get out of the car, but her dad grabbed her wrist.
“Alexandra, look at me.”
Reluctantly, she looked at her father. He wasn’t a large man, but he was still imposing, with neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair and the same green eyes she had. He was still handsome at sixty-two. He could have married again—her mother had been dead for twenty years. But he’d once told her that he’d loved her mother two lifetimes in the nineteen years they’d been married, and he didn’t need or want another companion.
“You’re the strongest person I know, Alexandra. I’ve always been proud of you.”
Oh, God, now she was going to cry. No. She blinked back the tears and nodded, because if she talked, she would start blubbering.
“Tell Matt I need to change.”
He nodded and got out of the car.
She waited a minute, took a deep breath, and checked her emotions. She picked up the flowers from Hart and got out of the car, going directly to her old bedroom where she put the vase down on the dresser. There was a card attached.
She pulled it out.
Alexandra ~
No words are sufficient to show my thanks and appreciation for what you did for me today. You saved my life, and I am in your debt. Your heroism humbles me. If you ever need anything, please call.
~ Travis Hart
###
It was the rich aroma of meat, tomatoes, garlic and oregano that propelled Alex back downstairs. Though she didn’t live at her dad’s house anymore, she and her brothers always kept a few things in their old rooms. She wished, however, that she had something better to wear than faded sweatpants and her old police academy T-shirt.
She took a deep breath and walked into the large, family-style kitchen. “It smells great, grandma,” she said and gave her petite eighty-year-old grandma Jane a hug. “I’m starving.”
Matt Elliott, stood at the counter drinking sparkling water. She tried to ignore him.
“Sit down,” her grandmother said. “I’ll dish you both up.”
“You don’t need to feed me, Mrs. Morgan,” Matt said.
“Sit down,” she repeated. “You’re in my kitchen, it’s dinnertime, you’ll eat.”
Alex would have smiled if she wasn’t so twisted up inside. She grabbed a beer and sat down across from Matt in the breakfast nook. The table had two benches on either side and could comfortably seat four, six if they crowded in. “Where’s Dad?” she asked her grandmother.
“Upstairs.” Nothing more. Great. Her dad had abandoned her with the D.A. “You’d better not be drinking alcohol while taking medication.”
“I’m not on pain pills,” she said. “After today, I need this beer.”
Alex looked everywhere but at Matt. Her grandmother put two plates full of spaghetti and homemade sauce with meatballs on the table in front of them. Alex’s mouth watered.
“Where’s your plate?” Alex asked, half panicked. She really didn’t want to be alone with Matt.
“You don’t need me to eavesdrop,” her grandmother said. She put a beer in front of Matt, fresh grated parmesan cheese in the middle of the table, and warm sourdough bread next to the cheese. “I’m leaving, so I’m counting on you, Mr. Elliott, to make sure my granddaughter eats.”
Alex kissed her grandma on the cheek. “I love you, Mimi.”
Her grandma squeezed her uninjured arm. “I’m relieved you’re okay, sweetheart.” Then she left.
Matt Elliott stared at the plate. It was clear he wasn’t expecting food.
“Eat it, or you’ll hurt her feelings and then I’ll have to kill you,” Alex said.
“I’m sorry your dad put you on the spot, but I really need to talk to you.”
“Whatever.” She avoided eye contact.
She ate because she was hungry. She wasn’t going to ask why Matt wanted to speak with her. She was curious, but wasn’t going to let him know how curious she was, so she kept her mouth full.
At first bite, she remembered that she’d been too nervous about the interview to eat more than a couple bites of a muffin with her coffee this morning. And then came the assassination attempt, getting shot, chasing the suspect, talking to Jim, and then being stuck at the hospital for hours. Thankfully, Matt kept his mouth shut—except to eat.
She eyed him discreetly. He looked good. Of course he did. He was born to wear a suit, even though he’d taken off the jacket and loosened his tie. He always dressed well when in court, but she’d also seen him during his free time. He looked just as good in jeans and a T-shirt. Maybe better.
He was smart. Alex had always liked smart guys. They just didn’t always like her. She was street smart. She could hold her own in a conversation, but she wasn’t like her dad. She wasn’t what people called “well-educated.” She hadn’t been a fabulous student—good enough to get into UC Davis, but she had a feeling that was more to due with the fact that her father was an alum. And, she was an athlete. She’d played soccer in college, not because she wanted to but because it made the four years bearable. She didn’t graduate with any honors, but she’d passed all her classes.
The police academy—that was another story. She excelled, because she wanted it. She didn’t ace every test, but she scored well and graduated in the top ten percent. Because she’d played soccer since she was five, the physical tests were easy. She didn’t love running, but she was good at it. She’d been a goalie, which meant she wasn’t afraid of getting dirty or getting hit.
Matt was smart. Not just a lawyer, but graduating from a top law school after serving a couple years in the Navy. He’d been elected to the State Senate at one point, but left after one term. He’d been the D.A. for the last three years.
She trusted Matt. Not just because of his background, but because he was her father’s friend. He was a prosecutor who shared her feelings about justice. He was, at his core, a good guy. When she’d been confronted with Tommy Cordell’s corruption, she didn’t know who else to turn to. Internal Affairs? Absolutely not. Her boss? Hell, no. Her dad? She’d considered that ... but he would have either told her to talk to Matt or to go to IA. As soon as she considered talking to Matt, she felt it had been the right decision. At least, at the time it had seemed like a good plan.
It wasn’t completely Matt’s fault that she’d been burned. She’d let herself be used by the FBI. She’d sought Matt out in the first place and told him about her partner. She’d been willing—reluctantly—to work with the FBI when Matt brought them in. She hadn’t told him not to bring them in—his argument about why they needed to be involved was valid. They already had an open investigation into Rykov, so she was really part of something that already existed.
It was your choice, your decision. Live with it.
At least she was alive. Her life might be a mess, but being dead would have been a lot worse.
She was about to get up to clear the plates, when Matt put his hand over hers. “I’ll do it,” he said.
She almost objected, but decided why volunteer to rinse dishes if there was someone else willing to do it?
Matt cleared their plates, rinsed them, and stacked them on the counter. Alex went back to the refrigerator, retrieved two beers and handed one to Matt. “Okay, spill, because I’m tired, have a full stomach, and plan to crash as soon as I can get these clothes off.” She shut her mouth. That was not an appropriate thing to say.
He smiled at her. “Let’s sit somewhere more comfortable. The den?”
She’d rather have put him in the stuffy living room with the hard sofa and ugly portrait of some disapproving old general. But she nodded and led Matt to the back of the house, which overlooked the tree-framed yard and small swimming pool. Her grandma’s cottage was on the other side of the pool, an eight hundred square foot one-bedroom guest house. Alex would never forget the battle her dad had when her grandma insisted that she live out there, rather than in the house. Judge Morgan always expected to get his way—and he wanted his elderly mother to live in the main house, especially since all the kids were gone. But Jane had insisted she wanted her own space, and stubbornness definitely ran in the Morgan genes. As it was, the arrangement had worked out well for everyone.
Alex sank into one of the over-sized chairs and sat with her legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles. She and her brothers, Aiden and AJ, had watched many ball games in this room. Good memories. She missed those days.
She shifted, trying to get comfortable. She was stiff and sore, but tomorrow would be worse.
“Are you really okay?” Matt asked, concern in his green eyes. “I almost went over to the hotel after I saw the news.”
“I’m fine,” she snapped. “Don’t coddle me. I’m tired, so if you would please just tell me whatever it is you think I need to know, then go, I’d appreciate it.”
Matt tensed, and she almost felt guilty for snapping at him. Almost.
“I need to know that whatever I tell you stays between us. If you don’t agree to help, you can’t say anything to anyone.”
“Got it.” She crossed her heart, then sipped her beer. “Help with what?”
“I’ve known Travis Hart since we were both prosecutors together—seventeen years ago. I never liked Travis, didn’t trust him, and thought he’d intentionally screwed up a couple cases. When Sandy Cullen retired, she recruited me to run for District Attorney, so I did—and Travis ran against me. He lost. It was a bitter fight. He left the D.A.’s office shortly thereafter and took a position in a corporate law firm, then was appointed Lieutenant Governor when the former LG died in office last year.”
“What are you really saying? That you don’t like Hart and you’re the one who took a hit out on him?”
He stared at her as if he hadn’t heard what she said. “Excuse me?”
“I still don’t understand why you’re here. I’m not a cop anymore, remember? I don’t know Hart from Adam.”
“Sergei Rykov is one of Hart’s major donors.”
Her heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t say anything. She had a sick feeling she knew where this was going.
Matt continued. “The FBI has opened an investigations into Hart for racketeering and political corruption, but they haven’t found anything solid. There are a few gray areas, but the FBI hasn’t been able to get anyone on the inside. One of Hooper’s informants said Rykov and Hart are tight, but just because Rykov is a known criminal we can’t pin that on Hart. Rykov also has some legitimate businesses, and you know we’ve never been able to pin anything on him.”
“Because of me,” she said. “Just say it.”
“It’s not because of you.”
“Yes it is. Because I acted too soon, I couldn’t get inside his operation like we’d planned.”
“No one blames you, Alex. You can’t possibly think that.”
“It’s true. I was so close ... but I don’t know why you’re telling me this. You think Rykov put the hit out on Hart?”
“I honestly don’t know—Hart has made a lot of enemies, but as far as we know, he’s still tight with Rykov’s people. It could be a power play by another faction, or something unconnected.”
“I still don’t see what you think I can do.”
“Feel him out.”
“Excuse me?”
“You saved his life today. He’ll reach out to you. Probably give you an commendation or something. It’s news, Alex. Hooper and I would like you to use that—any in he gives you, take it.”
She thought of the flowers, and the enclosed card. If you need anything ...
Matt continued. “And I talked to your dad. He’s going to invite Hart over for dinner or drinks to discuss his campaign.”
She couldn’t have heard him right. Her dad? A political campaign? She wrinkled her nose.
“Hart has been building endorsements from law and order independents like your dad,” Matt continued. “Andrew said Hart’s campaign already reached out to him, and the fact that you were shot protecting him is a good excuse for Andrew to call.”
“I can not believe you’re dragging my dad into this. And Hart wasn’t even the target.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Get a copy of the report,” she snapped. “I’m not a cop.”
“Dammit, Alex! How many times do I have to apologize? I feel like shit about what happened last summer. I’m upset that we couldn’t get Rykov, but more than anything I’m furious that you were hung out to dry by the department.”
“It’s my own fault,” she said, rubbing her eyes. Why was she taking this out on Matt? Was it because she’d lost her job ... or because she’d lost any chance of exploring a relationship with him? “I agreed with Hooper that letting me take the heat was the best to keep the FBI out of it. If they have a chance to stop that bastard, I don’t want to get in the way.”
“You were nearly killed.”
“That’s on my partner,” she said flatly, “and he’s in jail.”
“Then why haven’t you talked to me in eight months?”
“Why would I? It’s not like we’re friends.”
“That’s not true. Alex—we are friends. At least, I thought we were.”
Maybe I don’t want to be friends. I don’t want to be just friends.
“It was my decision and my responsibility.” She really didn’t blame Matt, but seeing him hurt. It reminded her of that difficult time. Working undercover. Lying to Jim and her friends. Getting shot. Losing her job.
Before she started feeling sorry for herself again, she turned the conversation back to the shooting. “I think Hart’s legislative aide or consultant or whatever—Eric Huang—was the intended target. I analyzed the angle the shooter had, and Hart was blocked by a display of flowers. Good snipers want a clear shot. If he moved five feet to the right or left, the angle would have been completely different and he’d have had a clear shot of Hart. But from where he was, at the time he fired, Hart was blocked and Huang was visible. I told Jim all this and I’m sure he’ll look into it.” Except, she didn’t think he agreed with her.
She put her empty beer bottle down on the coffee table and got up. Matt stared at her. “Sit down, Alex.”
“Don’t order me around.”
“Sit.”
She stared at him. He stared back. She really wanted to get out of this room. With all this talk, these damn, conflicted feelings resurfaced.
“Please,” he said quietly.
She sat on the edge of the ottoman.
“I didn’t think that it would take the FBI this long to build a case against Rykov. If I had I would never have urged you to agree to keep the real motive quiet. I thought the FBI had more than it did. So did Dean. Dean feels like shit, too, and he tried to make it right—but you turned him down.”
“You mean the job in Washington?” She shook her head. “It wasn’t me. It was like I was running away. Though now ... I probably should have taken it. At least then I’d have a job.”
“But your family is here.”
She nodded. Matt did understand. He was close to his sister; she was close to her dad, her grandma, her brothers. Taking a position so far away felt more like a punishment than a reward.
“It’s still there for you, if you want it.” He paused. “To be selfish, I’m glad you didn’t take it. I don’t want you three thousand miles away.”
Alex didn’t know what to say. She could scarcely comprehend what Matt was saying.
I don’t want you three thousand miles away.
What did that mean?
“Talk to me,” Matt said.
“I—” She had nothing to say. She was stunned into silence.
Matt rose from his seat and walked over to her. He reached out to touch her and she turned her face away. Intellectually, she realized that he might have felt something of what she’d felt when they’d worked together last year. The attraction. The raw lust. But emotionally, she wasn’t ready for any of this.
