had a dog once. But the animal had gotten so attached to Anna that he’d literally grieved himself to death after her murder. Sam had decided after that he’d stick with fish.
Anna. He didn’t say or think her name very often. He banished the images that immediately attempted to intrude on his thoughts. Anytime he did he was sorry for it. She was gone. There was nothing he could do to bring her back. Her parents hated him, held him responsible. He couldn’t blame them. He was responsible. It was his fault Anna had died.
“Nice place,” Smith said as he made the final turn.
His thoughts drifted back to the present with her comment. He parked in the driveway of his Oak Park home. The price he’d gotten for his Hollywood Hills home would have bought something much larger and in the ritziest market available in Chicago, but he hadn’t been looking for glamour or square footage.
This place gave him the peace and quiet he needed.
By the time he’d gotten out and rounded the hood, she had already emerged from the passenger side. He led the way up the walk and to the door.
“Seems quiet,” she remarked.
“It is.” Since school was out for the summer, there would be a little more excitement around the neighborhood throughout the day. Otherwise the neatly manicured lawns were clear of clutter and people during the morning hours.
First thing, he checked the aquarium and filled up the automatic feeder. He could be gone for two weeks and not have to worry. Fish didn’t need to be walked or boarded at the kennel. Didn’t need baths or any particular attention. Just a clean tank and food.
Uncomplicated. That was his new motto.
Smith stood in the middle of his living room looking around. He hadn’t bothered with any decorating and, admittedly, the furniture left something to be desired. But he didn’t spend much time here so he didn’t actually care. He’d sold his house in California fully furnished. Too many memories to bring any of the stuff with him.
“Have a seat. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
His new home had two bedrooms, one he’d turned into an office. That was the one part of his past he’d kept, his research books. As a forensics scientist, he’d used reference materials daily. So far he hadn’t really needed them in his new job, but it didn’t hurt to have them around.
He grabbed a duffel from his closet and stuffed it with two changes of dark-colored clothes, gloves and the necessary toiletries. He threw in a mini flashlight and a small first-aid kit.
“You kept your reference books.”
Sam turned at the sound of her voice. She stood in the open doorway, but made no move to enter his bedroom. That she’d peeked into his home office didn’t surprise him. A cop didn’t stop being a cop just because she or he wasn’t on official duty.
“I did.” He zipped the duffel and lifted it off the unmade bed. “I’m ready.”
“You didn’t keep any pictures of her?”
She stayed in that doorway almost as if she intended to have her answers before she let him pass. Evidently she’d already had herself a better look around than he’d realized.
“No.” He’d sold or put away everything, except the books, related to the past.
“You shouldn’t pretend she didn’t exist.”
If those brown eyes hadn’t looked so sincere, he might have considered that she was baiting him, but he could see that she was serious.
“She’s dead. She doesn’t care what I pretend.” He moved toward the door, expecting the nosy detective to step out of the way. She didn’t.
“That’s how you’re dealing with it?”
What the hell did she want from him? The last time he’d spoken with Detective Lisa Smith she’d been convinced he’d killed three men in cold blood. Did she believe she could get close to him like this and find that truth she wanted so badly to know?
“Let’s get one thing straight.”
She still didn’t back off, just looked directly into his eyes.
“My personal life is off-limits. It’s none of your business. End of story.”
“Strange,” she said with a puzzled expression. “I thought this whole thing was personal. Three members of a notorious gang killed your fiancée, then ended up dead a short time after. Lil Watts wants you dead. Sanford wants you on death row. What part of that do you feel isn’t personal?”
He stepped directly into her personal space and cranked up the irritation in his tone when he spoke. “This is never going to work, Smith.”
“Probably not,” she agreed without a glimmer of trepidation as she stared up at him. “But I don’t see any point in pretending I don’t want answers or that how you’re dealing with the past doesn’t matter.”
“Stick to the facts related to the case,” he ordered. “We’re not friends. We’ve never been friends. How I’m dealing with life in general isn’t your concern.”
She pivoted on her heel and walked back into the living room. He watched her go, tamped his emotions back down to a more manageable place.
If he got even an inkling that she was working a scam on him, this liaison was over.
For now he had no choice but to go along with her. He’d been out of touch with life in L.A. for more than four months. He needed the detective to get him back up to speed. Then he might just have to break out on his own. That option would be in her best interest, anyway. If she hung around him too long she would likely end up dead.
The Offices of the Equalizers 1:45 p.m.
“THAT SHOULD COVER IT.” Jim Colby shuffled the stack of reports they had just gone over. The reports included everything from seven-day weather forecasts to topographical maps of Los Angeles County.
The communication links were wireless and the tracking devices were state-of-the-art. Spencer Anders would serve as backup. Sam wasn’t exactly sure how that would work in real time, but he had to say he was glad for the support as long as Anders stayed out of the line of fire.
“You have a question, Detective Smith?”
Sam looked from Jim Colby to Smith. She’d picked up one of the reports from his stack and appeared to be studying it.
“I’m wondering how a private citizen in another state was able to get hold of an arrest record.” She dropped the report back onto the stack. “I don’t think I could have gotten it any faster.”
Renee Vaughn, another of Sam’s colleagues here at the Equalizers, stood. “I’m a former assistant prosecutor,” she said with a quick smile. “I know the ropes, Detective. However, if you take issue with our under-the-table contacts, I would suggest you take it up with the boss.” She aimed a wider smile at Jim Colby.
Smith held up both hands. “I have no issues with your tactics. I’m impressed, that’s all.”
