style="font-size:15px;"> It was a perfect ending to a night where nothing had gone exactly the way she’d planned.
She’d sat on Sam Vernelli’s steps for hours, getting colder and hungrier as the night wore on. She remembered closing her eyes and she must have fallen asleep. He’d scared the heck out of her when he’d suddenly appeared. Composure had vanished and suddenly it was as if she was thirteen again and her heart was racing as she sneaked into Tessa’s bedroom at home to stare at the picture of Sam that was pinned to the bulletin board.
Back then she’d thought he was fabulously handsome. Now, eleven years later, his frame was more muscular, his dark hair shorter, and while his face showed some wear and tear, he was still very good-looking. In her world, he had the look that moved product, especially if women were the target audience.
He’d been shocked when she’d said her name. She’d wanted to throw him off balance. She just hadn’t counted on the fact that her own equilibrium would be compromised.
He hadn’t tried to convince her that she was wrong. Over the past weeks, once she’d decided that she was going to confront him, she’d spent time anticipating his response. She never figured he’d admit the truth. The man was a cop—he wouldn’t be stupid enough to say that he’d murdered someone. No, she’d always assumed that he’d dismiss her accusations, maybe try to make her think she was crazy for thinking that she’d heard him threaten Tessa.
She hadn’t expected him to just stand there and take it. When he had, she’d expected to feel some sense of jubilation, but instead, all she’d felt was emptiness.
Going to see him had probably been a mistake. But she couldn’t change it now. Thank goodness there were three million people in the city of Chicago. What were the chances she’d ever run into Sam Vernelli?
Chapter Two
Sam read while Cruz drove. He hoped the gritty details of the latest homicide would keep him from obsessing about Claire Fontaine.
She was different than Tessa and it wasn’t just that her hair was dark and short while Tessa’s had been blond and hung halfway down her back. No, it was something not quite so tangible. Tessa had been the life of the party, everybody loved her, especially men. While they were together, Sam had spent more than one sleepless night worrying about that. He’d always figured he’d been lucky to catch her.
Tessa had been…uncomplicated. He’d spent five minutes with Claire and somehow knew there was nothing simple or easy about her.
The radio crackled, blessedly interrupting his thoughts. “All units. District 23. We’ve got shots fired at 810 Maple.”
Cruz grabbed the wheel with both hands. “We’re four blocks from there. Want to go?”
Detectives, unlike uniforms, weren’t required to respond to the all-unit calls. But neither Cruz nor Sam liked stuff happening in Area 5 that they didn’t know about. “Sure. Let’s roll.”
Cruz whipped the car into traffic. “What was that address again?”
“810 Maple.” As soon as he said it, Sam knew. He’d seen that address just the night before. “Drive faster,” he said, as he pulled the envelope out of the inner pocket of his suit coat.
Apartment 3C. As Cruz weaved in and out of traffic, Sam tried to focus. Just because it was Claire’s address, it didn’t mean she was in trouble. There were probably lots of apartments in the building. But he couldn’t shake the sick feeling that was in his gut.
By the time Cruz pulled up, police cars were stacked three deep. Sam grabbed his vest from the backseat and worked his way to the front. He slid in next to Bobby Horowitz, who crouched behind his vehicle, a phone to one ear, scribbling with a pen on paper that was balanced on his knee.
“What’s going on?” Sam whispered.
Bobby held up a finger and Sam waited, sweat trickling down his back. Finally, Bobby hung up.
“Talk to me, Bobby.”
“We got a report of shots fired. Neighbor across the hall called it in.”
“What apartment?”
“3C.” Bobby pointed toward the building. “It’s that sliding door, third one from the left.”
Sam leaned his head against the warm metal of the police car. He swallowed hard. “Any known injuries?”
Bobby shook his head. “Our guys got as far as the apartment door. They knocked and somebody started shooting. They grabbed the woman from across the hall and beat feet back down to the second floor. Ain’t been a sound out of the apartment since then. Unfortunately, the neighbor hasn’t shut up. She’d been going on and on about how the apartment was burglarized a couple weeks ago.”
“What?”
“I don’t know anything else. She didn’t have many details. Hopefully, HBT will get here soon and we can put this one to bed.”
Sam’s stomach turned. Hostage Barricade Team. The last hostage rescue operation he’d worked, the hostage had ended up with a bullet in his neck. No doubt Bobby remembered it, too. He’d been standing next to Sam, looking like he wanted to rip somebody’s head off.
Sam studied the building. It would be a long shot, but he thought he could do it. “Look, Bobby. From the balcony of the apartment next door, I can get over to that sliding door. The blinds are closed. They aren’t going to be able to see me from inside.”
“So, then what?”
“It’s been warm this week. I’m betting they open that sliding door. Because they’re on the third floor, they probably keep it unlocked.”
“I don’t know. You fall three stories and it’s my job.”
“I get them out of there and it’s the mayor calling you up, inviting you over for drinks.”
Bobby’s green eyes took on a familiar glow. “Yeah, I’d like that. Maybe the guys from HBT could drive me there.” He looked at his watch. “Get going. Super said every apartment is laid out the same. Railcar-style. That sliding door is to a bedroom, which connects to another bedroom, then there’s the living room, kitchen and finally the bath.”
“Make sure our guys on the second floor know I’m coming in,” Sam said, moving fast. He slipped inside the building, his gun drawn. When he got to the third floor, he stopped, listened and then moved toward the door he needed. He unlocked it and went inside. He listened again but didn’t hear anything from Claire’s apartment.
That didn’t necessarily mean good news.
He walked out onto the balcony, staying close to the building. After attaching the radio to his belt, he slipped his gun into his shoulder holster and inspected the bricks. He pushed his fingers in between them, hoping to get some kind of hold. It wasn’t much but it did provide some balance. He stepped up onto the wrought-iron railing, first one foot and then the other.
Then he made the mistake of looking down.
His heart thumped. One good jump, he reminded himself.
Right.
