This from Johnson.
Lisa’s gaze met his. “He has no reason to drive by my place.”
The sound system vibrated, signaling the pilot was about to make an announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, please prepare for takeoff.”
Safety belts were fastened into place across laps. Johnson was still studying her as if he suspected she’d volunteered her home for some reason that would be detrimental to him. Lisa focused her attention out the window on the people still standing near the SUVs.
Victoria Colby-Camp and her son Jim Colby waited, not quite side-by-side, since several feet separated them, for the plane to roll toward takeoff. Both watched the aircraft as if their full attention was required for proper function.
What was it between those two?
Lisa stole a glance at Sam Johnson. He’d redirected his attention to the reports spread across his lap. This uneasiness between the two of them was multifaceted for sure. There was the rage still simmering inside him at the loss of his fiancée. She sensed that emotion even as he outwardly denied it. Lisa had watched him lying in agony in that hospital room as he’d slowly recovered from the near lethal beating he’d taken that night. Before being allowed to lose consciousness, he’d been forced to watch the brutal rape and murder of the woman he loved.
Closing her eyes, Lisa shoved those images away. She’d gotten far too attached to him during those long months she and Sanford had been assigned to the case. Then the three suspects had gotten themselves murdered. Heinously so. Everyone in the division, all the way up to the chief, suspected that Sam Johnson had gotten his revenge. But there hadn’t been a trace of evidence tying him to any of the scenes. Sanford had grilled him repeatedly. Followed him, harassed him, actually. Lisa had tried to pull him back, but Sanford was senior and he refused. Until the chief had ordered them off the case.
Then, three days ago, all hell broke loose. Lisa had known when The Man died that Sam Johnson’s name would come up again. Somehow, Johnson had entered into an unholy alliance with the deceased leader of the Crew. His death had unleashed months of pent-up rage against Johnson. Now he was a wanted man. On more than one front. Charles Sanford would like nothing better than to nail him for multiple homicides.
When Lisa looked Sam Johnson in the eye, she couldn’t say that she was 100 percent sure that he hadn’t killed those men, but she couldn’t say he had, either. He’d had motive, that was certain. Means? She supposed so. Opportunity? Probably. But did he possess the ability to disengage emotionally so completely that he could kill not just in cold blood, but in a truly evil manner?
Lisa didn’t think so.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t be totally objective about that. Mainly because she’d fallen for the guy during those long months of watching him grieve. But she couldn’t tell a soul, least of all him.
She felt his eyes on her once more. The woman in her pondered whether he’d ever felt that connection—that thin thread of electricity that somehow tethered them. She turned from the window, met his assessing gaze.
No matter what happened, she could never let him know how she felt. Not only would it be a mistake ethically, she was also certain it would be a huge personal error in judgment. He could never know.
If she’d been smart she would have closed the file on this case months ago. Tucked the whole package into a box and filed it away with all the other cold cases belonging to L.A. County’s Priority Homicide Division.
As she held that analyzing stare, she had to admit that perhaps she wasn’t nearly so smart as her detective’s examination would indicate. But this had nothing to do with her intelligence level. This had to do with keeping Sam Johnson alive. If they didn’t extinguish the volatile situation surrounding the murders of those three scumbags once and for all, Sam Johnson was going to pay the price:
His head delivered to the new man in charge.
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