“Why the hell didn’t you take care of it yourself?” she asked when he finished describing what had happened at the hotel.
“I couldn’t take the chance,” he replied, taken aback by her display of temper. “My face might already be on that surveillance footage.”
“So you sent a moron? It was a very simple order: find out what they have. How does that translate to ‘put a DA in the hospital’? That idiot just made the case priority number one.”
Her anger stung-in no small part because she was right. He should’ve known better than to give the job to a new hire.
“He grabbed her wallet too,” he said. “Maybe they’ll just think-”
Lilah froze him with a look.
“You’re right,” he said. “You’re right.”
Her voice now quiet and much more ominous, Lilah outlined what she wanted him to do.
When he left, she took a deep breath and went over to the window. Her head had begun to throb and the sunlight pierced her eyes. As she pushed the button to close the shades, she noticed that her hands were shaking. The attack on that prosecutor was exactly the kind of bush-league mistake that could ruin her. She was getting that familiar, hated vulnerable feeling-the sense that events were spinning out of her control. That feeling always brought on the towering rage that had fueled so many of her murderous nightmares.
Action typically made her feel better, but it was too dangerous to make a move now, without a plan. She pressed her hands together to stop them from shaking and went to the kitchenette. She found the bottle of Xanax and popped three milligrams, then threw ice into a towel, held it to her forehead, and lay down on the couch, willing the fury to abate. A fury that, if ever unleashed, would make those murderous nightmares a reality.
61
“If he took the photo, then whoever attacked you-,” Bailey began.
“-is involved somehow in Simon’s murder,” I finished. “Whether it was the stabber himself or a cohort, it’s clear now: somebody’s tracking us. Has been tracking us.”
Which explained that creepy “being watched” feeling I’d been having. Though it was a relief to know that I hadn’t been hallucinating, the knowledge that someone, likely a murderer, was following me was less than wonderful. A lot less.
“He could’ve killed you-but he didn’t.”
“Killing me makes it a bigger deal. I’d bet his first choice was to break into my room, but those doors are built like a vault’s.”
“Still, the attack on you shows he’ll go as far as he has to-regardless of what his first choice is,” Bailey said, looking worried. She pulled up in front of the courthouse. “Call me when you’re ready to leave, and I’ll come pick you up,” she said. “Got it?”
I sighed. “Fine,” I said. “But I’m leaving early.” I looked at her challengingly.
“See you in a couple of hours,” she said.
I got out and swam upstream against the wave of lunch-bound hordes. When I got back to my office, I saw that I had a message to contact Eric. Melia was at her desk, but her eyes were glued to the tabloid rag in her lap. It was a pleasure to interrupt her.
“I’m here to see Eric,” I said.
Her head popped up, mouth open. “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah.” She buzzed him and told him I was there. “He says you can go on in,” she said, then immediately dropped her attention back to her lap.
Eric stood up when I walked into his office.
“I just heard about what happened,” he said.
“Who told you?” I asked.
“Hotel security,” he replied. “They wanted to coordinate your protection. Naturally, I said we’d be glad to work with them.” Eric gave me a pointed look.
Uh-oh.
“But first, are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I said, lowering myself slowly into one of the chairs in front of his desk.
“Yeah, you look great,” Eric said dryly, watching my descent. “Any idea who did it?”
I shook my head. “Someone connected to Simon Bayer’s murder. Could’ve been the murderer himself.”
I told him about the missing photograph.
He looked down at his desk, pensive. “This worries me a great deal-”
I cut him off. “Don’t even think about reassigning the case.” I tried to collect myself and speak in a rational tone. “It won’t be any less dangerous for any other deputy. And I’ve been in on it from the start-”
Eric held up a hand and looked at me for a long moment. He slowly nodded. “You’re right.” He sighed and frowned. “But I’m assigning you security. We’re putting DA investigators on your tail and in your hotel. Starting now.” He gave me a stern look. “And you’ll be fully cooperative with them.”
“Got it,” I said, knowing it was no use to protest even if I’d minded. Which, at the moment, I had to admit, I didn’t.
“And now, I have to give you a heads-up,” Eric said. “I hate to give you anything else to worry about, but Phil Hemet’s been in the chief deputy’s ear, claiming you’ve been out playing around when you say you’re in the field. He came to tell me personally that someone saw you and Bailey partying it up at Guido’s-”
I protested hotly. “This is complete bullshit, Eric!” I’d known Hemet was up to something, but this was just an out-and-out lie. I told him about Melia’s encounter with the reporter.
Eric nodded. “It figures. Hemet’s got someone in the newsroom who’s all fired up to do an article on how special unit-and especially Special Trials-deputies screw around on company time. Apparently he’s got quite a few buddies in the news business.” Eric’s voice was low, but the underlying anger was palpable. “And I know what he said is horseshit, Rachel. But Hemet’s out for blood, and I don’t think he cares what’s true anymore.”
I tried to control my voice despite the rage and frustration boiling in my gut. “So what’re we going to do about it? We can’t just let him spread these lies around,” I said.
“No, but there’s nothing we can do at the moment,” Eric replied. “Just give him as little fodder as possible. I understand you had to be out of the office to get this case rolling. But just be careful from here on out about what you do and when you do it when you’re in public.”
I tried to console myself with the knowledge that at least Hemet hadn’t tipped the press to the Simon Bayer case, but it didn’t help much. Now that Hemet had promised a mudslinging insider exclusive, the press would be watching. I’d known that someone was bound to figure out what I was working on sooner or later, but now, thanks to that asshat Hemet, it would be sooner. Much sooner. I’d have to move faster-if that was possible. I sifted through my in-box and got the most pressing business on my other cases out of the way. To avoid the fun and hilarity of lowering myself into my chair one inch at a time, I did it standing up. Then I pulled out my Lilah to-do list and did what could be accomplished at a desk, but by four thirty I’d hit a dead end. Again. I was ready to pack it in. But after my chat with Eric, I knew it wouldn’t look good to leave that early.
The fact that I had to worry about that infuriated me all over again. I put in so much overtime (unpaid, of course) that my hourly wage was about a dollar and a quarter. And I never had a chance to take my comp time. So now, not only was I being stalked by a murderer but I’d been targeted by a dickhead middle manager with a petty grudge. Adding insult to injury, the very same manager who was the number one supporter of that useless sack Brandon Averill-the prosecutor whose slipshod, lousy work got me into this mess to begin with. I eyed the bottom drawer of my desk where I kept the Glenlivet but didn’t want to waste good scotch on bad lawyers. I made myself work until five o’clock, then called Bailey.
“I’m pulling the plug,” I said.
“Thought you were leaving early.”
“I am,” I said testily. “Should I see if Toni’s around?”