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  Knowing her blowing the whistle on him had prompted the extraordinary number of cases as punishment—perhaps the first of many—she chose to take the work from him without comment.

  Trading his office for her cubicle, Renata wondered if she told her fellow agents what had happened to her last night, would they believe her? Or care? Or would they, too, dismiss her with a cold warning to watch her own back?

  A co-worker was waiting for her in her cubicle— Thomas Alan Garvey, otherwise known as Tag, was sitting on her desk. The tall, lanky man with the hands of a master craftsman was the best shot on the S.A.F.E. sniper team and had been one of the men whose bullets had taken Hawass down.

  “Good morning,” she said optimistically.

  “What the hell is good about it?” Tag demanded, his buzz cut seeming to bristle. “Unless you mean you really screwed your colleagues over good.”

  “I’m only trying to get to the truth, Tag. And to protect the citizens of this city,” she added. “That doesn’t mean I’m accusing anyone of anything but being led down the wrong path. And if Hawass wasn’t the City Sniper, the shooter is still out there.”

  “Hawass was the sniper. What do you think was in that package? The rifle,” he said. “The labs came back positive. But that makes no nevermind for those of us who were in the trenches that day. The media won’t leave us alone. And that means Internal Affairs is gonna get involved.”

  Renata tried to wrap her mind around this. “The labs were positive?”

  “Hawass probably went for the rifle so he could set up his next target.”

  “Or he was set up—”

  “Convince yourself of that if you can,” Tag said, launching himself off her desk and out into the bull-pen.

  Renata stared after the agency’s top sharpshooter for a long few seconds before she took her seat behind her desk. Somehow she hadn’t expected the rifle Hawass was carrying to be the one used to kill those five people. No wonder no one wanted to listen to her.

  Even she started to second-guess herself…but no…she knew what she knew.

  GABE WAITED until halfway through the day for Renata to call, hoping against hope that he’d gotten to his only link to Mulvihill.

  When it became apparent that she wasn’t going to call, he decided he would do the honors. Two rings and she picked up.

  “Fox here.”

  Her honeyed voice sent a thrill through him that Gabe tried to ignore. “Agent Fox. Gabe Connor here.”

  Silence.

  He waited it out.

  Finally, she said, “What is it you want?”

  “To help you. I told you that last night.”

  The honeyed voice became stiff with impatience. “And I told you I don’t believe you.”

  “Why don’t we get together to talk about it?”

  “I don’t need to get together. I’ve made up my mind. This is agency business.”

  “Then I’ll have to work alone.”

  “What?”

  “I mean, it would be more effective if we worked together, but—”

  “You’re a civilian!” Her voice was rich with indignation. “Stay out of this. You could get hurt!”

  “Worried about me?” Gabe asked. “I’m flattered.”

  “Don’t be. It’s nothing personal. I would be worried about anyone who seemed crazy enough to go off on his own and get himself into trouble.”

  “Who says I’ll get into trouble?”

  “Look, Mr. Connor—”

  “Gabe,” he reminded her.

  “I will handle this investigation. Go do whatever it is you do—”

  “Security.”

  “Right. Security. Do that and leave the City Sniper investigation to me.”

  With that, she slammed down the phone, making Gabe jump.

  Frustrated, he wondered what exactly he was going to have to do to wear her down enough to let him in.

  NEEDING TO FEEL as if she were accomplishing something and wanting to put Gabriel Connor out of mind, Renata got to work on the reports Mulvihill had given her, reading and sorting them into three piles—probables, possibles and way out there.

  She’d barely gotten started when the telephone rang.

  Thinking it might be Gabe again—if not another reporter—she tersely answered, “Fox here.”

  “Agent Fox…Detective Stella Jacobek, Chicago Police Department. I have the report Officer Jackson made out last night and I would like to ask you some questions.”

  Great. Just what she needed after her go-round with Director Mulvihill—further involving the local police. The political ramifications stank.

  “Listen, Detective, I haven’t thought of anything I didn’t tell the officer last night.”

  “I’m not worried about the details of the report being correct. I’m looking for motive.”

  “It wasn’t robbery.”

  “I got that. Officer Jackson indicated the suspect probably knew you.”

  “It seems that way,” Renata admitted. “But I honestly don’t have a clue.”

  “If we work together on this—”

  “That’s not feasible and you know it.”

  She couldn’t imagine what Mulvihill would do if she shared her suspicions with the detective. Federal agencies did cooperate on task forces like the one set up to tag the sniper, but not in this.

  Detective Stella Jacobek apparently had some similar ideas of her own when she said, “Considering your circumstances after the City Sniper—”

  “Look, Detective, why don’t you give me your number and if I think of anything, I’ll call you.”

  Renata heard the sound of frustration come from the other woman, but she had the good sense to know when to give in. Unlike some people, namely Gabe Connor. The detective gave Renata her number, then said she would be calling her again after Renata had had time to think about why someone would want her dead.

  As if she hadn’t already thought about it.

  Hanging up, Renata stared at the reports on her desk as if they were printed in a foreign language.

  Concentrate, she ordered herself.

  Not that she could just switch gears so easily. She had to force herself to pay attention because her mind naturally kept wandering back to the attack.

  What if the sniper feared she’d stumbled onto some truth he wanted left buried? A truth worth killing her over. Her pulse ticking, Renata knew she wouldn’t be safe until he was caught. But how was that supposed to happen?

  No one at S.A.F.E. believed her report.

  Mulvihill didn’t even believe she’d been attacked.

  So no one would be assigned to help her catch the real sniper.

  Involving Detective Jacobek or anyone else from the CPD would be career suicide for her.

  Which meant she’d have to do it herself.

  Renata swallowed hard. She was the newest hire in the Chicago office. She’d never so much as participated in a confrontation with offenders, let alone a fight for her life. Since being assigned, she’d done some investigation via phone or legwork, had drawn up a few profiles and had been responsible for a lot of paperwork.

  Nothing had prepared her for this.

  I’m available to take care of all your needs…

  Heat filled Renata’s cheeks as she remembered Gabe Connor’s offer. Giving up the pretense of working, she dug into her shoulder bag and searched for his business card.

  That didn’t mean she trusted him. His showing up when he had…well, it raised alarms. Like…was he part of the solution…or part of the problem?

  She found the card and stared at it.

  Gabriel Connor…Chief of Security…Club Undercover.

  Club telephone, cell, fax and address were listed across the bottom. But though Renata wanted to call him, suspicion made her hesitate. Too easy. He had some agenda.

  But what?

  Renata set the card away from her and went back to work. But every few paragraphs that she read, she glanced up to see the card sitting there,
challenging her just as Gabe had.

  Maybe she ought to check Gabe Connor out closer, see if his help might be the solution to her problem.

  Chapter Three

  Renata couldn’t forget about Gabriel Connor. But as much as she wanted help from somewhere, it wasn’t going to be from him.

  She decided to tell him that in person and make sure he got the message. And maybe she could figure out him and his agenda while she was at it.

  Meeting with him in person would charge up the instincts she’d developed while getting an advanced degree in psychology and working as a mediator. After all, her experience analyzing people and their motivations, their strengths and their weaknesses, had been the deciding factor in S.A.F.E.’s hiring her. Before she gave up, she was going to use her own abilities to help herself out of this jam.

  Alighting from a taxi, she noted the crowd lined up outside of an older building with a pale green tile facade and a large neon sign announcing it as Club Undercover. A glance down Milwaukee Avenue revealed the city skyline a few miles southeast. Its proximity to downtown and good transportation made the Wicker Park/Bucktown neighborhood increasingly popular with an eclectic mix, both to live and to be entertained.

  Waiting to get into the club, hip-hop, street-wear-clad Gen-Yers were shoulder-to-shoulder with alternative, grunge Gen-Xers and Armani-dressed yuppies. Unusual hair colors, tattoos and body piercings were tested alongside designer everything.

  Feeling out of the loop wearing a simple dress beneath her coat, Renata got into the line, which moved quickly down a wide flight of stairs toward the lower-level entrance. But suddenly movement stopped.

  “There’s a wait for tables,” a woman with dark hair streaked a deep blue announced over a dissatisfied rumble. “Bar space only.”

  Exactly what she’d planned to do—sit at the bar, get a feel for the place and see what she could learn about the club’s head of security.

  Entering the dark cave decorated in blue-and-red neon, Renata squeezed her eardrums against the music that blasted her. How did anyone talk over this noise? Feeling less confident about getting that information she wanted, she nevertheless checked her coat, then circled the dance floor crowded with gyrating bodies and made it to the bar.

  “What can I get you?” asked the bartender.

  “Shiraz,” she said, not sure if he’d heard her.

  But he nodded and went to get her drink. Maybe he read lips, she thought wryly, noting how he stuck out in the polished place. Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore a soft brown shirt and a leather pouch hanging from his neck. His hair was dark and long, secured in back with strips of leather. When he set the drink in front of her, she took a better look at his face and realized they had something in common. He, too, was part Native American.

  And as if on cue, the music segued to something smoother and softer.

  “Good crowd,” she said. “Is it like this every night?”

  “Worse on weekends,” he returned. “Or even better in the management’s point of view.”

  “Crowd control must be a challenge.”

  “We have good security. Bouncers.”

  Checking the room and spotting them easily—they were a little too alert, a little too stiff to be customers—she prompted, “And security officers?”

  “You could call them that. I get the impression you have an interest.”

  So he’d read right through her. She might as well be direct. “What do you think of your head of security?”

  “Gabriel Connor? He’s a good man.” The bartender’s gaze shifted over her shoulder. “But you can check him out for yourself.”

  Renata swivelled on her stool and banged her knees right into the man who’d come up behind her.

  “Agent Fox, what a pleasant surprise.”

  Was it really? From his self-satisfied expression, she would guess he’d been expecting her.

  “You aroused my curiosity,” she admitted.

  “Well, that’s a start.”

  Despite her determination to view the encounter as a piece of necessary business, Renata felt herself flush. She also found herself concentrating on his mouth, both sensual and generous with a smile.

  That mouth said, “Let’s go someplace where we can talk,” and her response became instantly physical—a fluttering deep down in her belly.

  “All right.”

  When Gabe took her glass of wine, their fingers brushed and she fought a case of nerves that followed her all the way up a flight of stairs opposite the dance floor. This seemed to be a VIP lounge if the patrons were any indication. Rather than wild hair and tattoos, elegant women wore jewels. She recognized a city politician and a news anchorman and a local entertainer. It seemed Club Undercover was the hot spot du jour.

  Renata realized it was quieter up on this level, as well. No speakers blaring at them. But Gabe didn’t stop at one of the velvet-upholstered booths.

  He took her around the bar into a back room that combined storage—boxes of wine and beer were stacked along one wall—and security by way of an equipment rack. Three monitors covered the VIP area and VCRs recorded the activity. And before them sat a young guy who looked like he could take care of himself.

  “Reese.”

  The young security guard jumped to his feet. “Mr. Connor.”

  “I told you to call me Gabe. Take twenty. Actually, make sure we’re done in here before you disturb us.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Renata felt Reese’s eyes on her as he circled them and slipped into the lounge.

  Gabe indicated she should sit on one of the wheeled chairs before the monitors. When Renata slid into it, he took the other and his knee brushed hers before he rolled back a bit. Her nerves flared at the brief contact and she felt herself flush with warmth.

  “So you wanted to check me out first,” Gabe mused, handing the wine back to her.

  Avoiding his fingers, Renata took the glass, asking, “Do you blame me?”

  “I’ve been told I’m not too hard on the eyes and that I have my moments of charm.”

  Trying to ignore those very facts—he was playing her and she knew it—Renata said, “You know that’s not what I meant.” She didn’t want to notice how good he looked, his dark green silk shirt not only intensifying the green of his eyes but also doing nothing to hide the musculature it covered.

  “Too bad,” he said wistfully. “It’s business, then.”

  “I still want to know your interest.”

  “You interest me.”

  Gabe’s voice was so mellow it made her toes curl. Annoyed, Renata steeled herself and said, “You can stop being charming now.”

  “I didn’t know I’d started.”

  “If this is as serious as you get, maybe I’ve made a mistake coming here.”

  She moved to leave, but as he had the night before, Gabe stopped her. Once more, his hand on her arm was strong without being cruel. Still, she could feel each finger imprinted on her flesh…

  “I told you never to touch me—”

  “How serious do you want me to be?” he interrupted. And then let go.

  Was he trying to distract her? Why? Warmth flooded her. If she made a big deal of it now, she would only get farther from her objective.

  Renata forced herself to concentrate. “I want you to tell me why you tracked me down.”

  “I did tell you—”

  “This time, tell me the truth.”

  Gabe’s expression darkened and she could see the war within him. He didn’t want to talk. But if he didn’t, how could she trust him?

  As if realizing his silence would be a deal-breaker, he said, “Someone I cared about was in the wrong place at the wrong time and was killed for no other reason.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  His forehead pulled in a frown and tension oozed from Gabe like a palpable thing, and Renata realized he was waiting for her to press him. She wanted more, but she knew she wasn’t going to get it.

  “All right, so it�
��s personal,” she said. “Now how did you find me?”

  His forehead lost that washboard look as he re laxed. “That was easy. I let my fingers do the walking. S.A.F.E.’s address is in the phone book.”

  “But how did you know I would be there?”

  “I called the office.”

  “No one told me I had a call or message.”

  “I didn’t ask them to.”

  “And how did you know what time I was going to leave?” she asked.

  “I didn’t. I waited outside, and for a couple of hours, I might add. You probably work days that are far too long. A type A plus personality.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he continued, “And before you ask how I knew what you looked like, your photo was front-page news.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask that.”

  “Then what?”

  “Why last night?”

  “Why not? The story was in yesterday morning’s paper. Should I have waited?”

  Wanting to know for certain whether or not he’d somehow set her up for the attack, Renata watched his face closely as she said, “Someone else was waiting for me last night outside my apartment building. He had a knife.”

  Silence fell between them and she could see a flicker of shock in Gabe’s eyes and something more cross his features. He hadn’t known, then. Realizing she’d been holding her breath, Renata let it out.

  “At least you’re not hurt. I mean you look okay.”

  “I am…other than my boss not believing me…” For the first time since she’d put her report together, Renata thought maybe someone was on her side. It was a good feeling, even if she couldn’t take his help. But she still wanted to know whatever it was Gabe knew. Maybe that would help her. “What is it you think you can do for me that I can’t do for myself?”

  “Give you a fresh eye, for one. Someone to bounce ideas off of. I can’t imagine any of your colleagues is in the right frame of mind for that.”