Ted's eyes grew round as balls that matched the circle of his mouth. She realized that he didn't know about her own Latin expertise, probably because she wasn't currently teaching a linguistics class.
"Putasne?" he said carefully. You think so?
"Dic mihi ab initio," she spoke softly, although she knew the others wouldn't know the translation. Tell me from the beginning.
"Sum innocens," he pleaded. "Crede mihi."
You haven't been innocent in a long time, she thought, and there's no way in hell I'll believe you. But she strained to keep her features inviting and receptive.
"Scio," she said, I know. She pushed false sympathy into her voice. Ted Burrows was everything but innocent, was in fact heinously guilty of acts that were beyond her comprehension.
"Vera. Cupio vera," she whispered. I want the truth.
But instead of telling her the truth, he laid his head on his folded arms. "In calamitate sum," he said, his voice muffled within the folds of his shirt sleeve.
I'm in serious trouble.
Sine dubio, Olivia thought, giving Ted a speculative look. Without a doubt. Jack's about to trap you and you're going straight to hell where I hope you burn eternally. You're in very big trouble.
At that moment, a sharp rap sounded on the door and Charles Barrington stepped in, gesturing for their attention. The deputy stayed with the suspect while Jack, Olivia, and Slater met Barrington and Isabella Torres outside the door.
Without preamble, Barrington said, "No deal for Burrows."
"What the hell?" Jack said, clearly annoyed at losing the momentum of the interview. He narrowed his eyes and loomed over the little man.
Barrington took a step back.
Isabella Torres spoke apologetically. "Charles thinks if Burrows is the Dead Language Killer, a deal would be bad publicity for the D.A.'s office."
"I can't risk that," Barrington whined.
"Prick," Slater mumbled under his breath.
"Idiot," Jack growled. "I can get him on federal charges without your cooperation."
"Ted knows somethi – " Olivia began as her cell phone vibrated inside her jacket pocket. She retrieved it and turned away from the others, flipping open the phone before looking at the readout.
A coarse voice boomed from the tiny receiver. "You gringa bitch. You are dead."
Jack must have heard the message because he whipped quickly around. "Bill?"
She shook her head in confusion. "The voice was muffled. I'm not sure, but I don't think so."
"Shit!" He took the phone from her boneless fingers and scrolled the calls received. Blocked.
While Barrington slinked off, Isabella stepped forward and put a sympathetic hand on Olivia's arm. "A threat?"
Olivia nodded while Jack looked as if he'd like to punch someone. He turned to Slater. "That settles it. She has a crazy ex-husband, Diego Vargas, that henchman Santos. Who else?" He rammed his fingers through his glossy black hair, overlong now, she thought irrelevantly. "She can't stay at her place. It's too dangerous. We need to find a safe house for her."
"Don't talk about me as if I'm not… " But suddenly, a growing buzz in Olivia's ears sounded as if she were clawing her way through a swarm of hornets. Don't throw up, she warned herself as clamminess washed over her.
Torres put an arm around her waist.
"You're thinking it was her husband?" Slater asked Jack.
"My ex-husband," Olivia muttered from a distance.
Slater shook his head and continued, "Why bother? He's in the wind and can't make good on any threats."
"Because he's possessive and vicious," Jack snarled.
"At least we know it's not Burrows." Slater said.
Olivia steadied herself and took her phone from Jack's hand. "I'll stay in a hotel for a few nights."
"No, come home with me," Isabella Torres suggested quickly. "I've got plenty of room and only we four will know where you are."
"Oh, no, I couldn't impose," Olivia said, looking to Jack, wondering why he didn't offer to stay with her or let her share Slater's guest house.
Jack frowned and stared at Isabella. "You'll watch out for her?"
"Sure," she replied. "And it's no trouble at all," she assured Olivia.
Chapter Twenty-five
Olivia let her eyes wander around the small living room of Isabella Torres' duplex. The sofa where she sat faced the window in a ground-floor apartment and offered a spectacular view of a wooded area across the street.
She felt uncomfortable staying in the home of a virtual stranger, but Isabella's friendly eyes met hers from across the room where she stood by the window. "Pretty, huh? The area is environmentally protected so developers can't throw up another set of apartments."
Both women were silent, watching the late afternoon sun play over the small brook that trailed through the foliage across the narrow street. A child rode by on his tricycle, head helmeted like a soldier. Olivia liked the quiet here, but she missed the familiarity of her own home.
After Olivia had translated Ted's words for the team, she and Isabella had driven to Sacramento where Olivia packed a small bag and vanity case. The others continued Ted's interrogation while the two women came straight here and Olivia settled her belongings into the guest room.
"It's awfully nice of you to offer your home to a stranger, but I don't need a babysitter."
Isabella smiled wryly as if she agreed with Olivia. "Your Agent Holt insists you're not safe in your own home."
"He's not my – " Olivia began abruptly and stopped. Was Jack hers? Had he always been?
Isabella walked into the small kitchen off the living area where she reached into a high cabinet for a bottle of pills. "Don't worry. I'm not sticking around very long. No one's going to figure out where you are so you can get some rest, okay?"
Olivia followed Isabella into the kitchen and sat on a bar stool near the counter that divided the two rooms. "I appreciate it."
"De nada. No problem. Just promise you'll get some rest." She handed Olivia the bottle of sleeping pills. "These will help. You've been through a lot during the last few days."
Olivia blew her breath out and tried to get her mind to focus. "Ted Burrows talked about being in big trouble, but he said he was innocent… "
"They all say that." Isabella reached for a towel under the sink. "Charles thinks Burrows is trying to minimize his own part in all this. His lawyer will probably call a halt to further questioning unless a deal's on the table."
A sudden wave of exhaustion swept over Olivia. A good night's sleep sounded appealing right now even though the sun hadn't set.
Within an hour after Isabella left, Olivia had showered off the grime of being in the same room with Ted Burrows, and tucked herself into the guest bed. Her lids drooped from the effects of the sleeping pills Isabella had foisted on her. As she drifted off, her mind scrolled through the words Ted had used in their short conversation. Casual talk, words that were benign and meant nothing.
Drowsy and fuzzy-brained, she forced herself to think. Although his words meant nothing, they demonstrated his expertise in spoken Latin. Ted's Latin conversation was perfect. He was almost as good as she was, definitely had the ability to… to… to what? She couldn't remember.
Just as the curtain of sleep fell over her consciousness, she recalled that, in addition to his assistant status at the university, Ted taught a Latin rhetoric class.
A class for Howard Randolph. She almost laughed through the haze of drugs. Silly Howard wasn't much of a threat.