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  “That’s what I’ve been told.”

  “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  The smart retort relieved some of the physical tension between them and by the time they got into his car, Renata was actually able to relax. She wondered how she should justify letting him drive her home, though.

  Not knowing what else to do to distract herself, Renata fetched her cell phone and checked to see if anyone had called. Someone had. She made out the number. Her mom again. Great. Well, she would have to wait until she got home to return the call. She certainly didn’t want Gabe to be party to that particular conversation.

  Her mom would bring up what had happened to her dad—how his death had been a result of all the pressure—and she would then have to reassure Mom that the same thing wouldn’t happen to her. Would her mother ever get over her loss and get on with her life? Renata wondered. Maybe meet a new man? The kind of love her mom had for her dad was downright scary—Mom simply couldn’t let go.

  Renata was never going to let that happen to her.

  She was also a stickler for details and wouldn’t let go of anything vaguely suspicious, so she would be okay. Even so, she suddenly got a visual of the guy with the knife and had to shut the attack from her mind.

  “Do you really have to know the second you get a call?” Gabe asked.

  Realizing she was still hanging on to the phone, she said, “In my line of work, any call might be important.”

  “I get the feeling it’s more than your work. It’s a reflection of your personality.”

  A criticism? “Like what?”

  “Are we a little obsessive-compulsive?”

  “Don’t try to analyze me!” she snapped. “Psychoanalyzing people is my field, remember? And I suppose you never check your messages.”

  “I don’t own a cell phone.”

  Which Renata found hard to believe. “Why not?” She couldn’t help herself. “Paranoid that someone will triangulate your signal to track you down?”

  He glanced at her and grinned. “Hey, you made a joke.”

  “Obsessive-compulsive people can occasionally enjoy humor,” she informed him.

  “I’ll remember that. And about the cell phone…I don’t want to be reached wherever I am. I like my privacy.”

  “What about emergencies? And if you want privacy, you can shut the phone off.”

  “So why don’t you?”

  Seeing this wasn’t an argument either of them was going to win, Renata chose to keep her obsessive-compulsive mouth shut until they arrived outside of her place and he double-parked the car.

  Hand on the door handle, she said, “I appreciate your offer of help, Gabe.” Even though she still didn’t know why he’d made it. “And I’m sorry that I can’t take it.”

  “You don’t sound sorry.”

  “All right. So I was trying to be polite.” She started to leave the car.

  “Whoa, I’ll see you to your door.”

  “Stay where you are! This isn’t a date,” she protested, ignoring the part of her that almost wished it was.

  “Maybe not with me, but what about with Mr. Hoodie?”

  The reference shot her pulse up even further, and she searched the area for any trace of her attacker, even as she opened the door, saying, “I can take care of myself like I did take care of myself last night.”

  She didn’t need alone time with Gabe, not after the way she’d responded to him on the dance floor. She needed to focus on her work. On this case. She needed to succeed, to allow her family to regain its pride.

  Luckily, no one was waiting for her tonight.

  So she slid out of the car and headed straight for her doorway. The driver’s door opened and as she keyed in her code to get inside, she glanced over her shoulder to see if Gabe had followed.

  He hadn’t moved away from the car.

  Even so…somehow it made her feel better that he had her back.

  Chapter Five

  The next morning, Gabe started his own investigation without Renata. He did some computer tracking and got a little more information on the victims, but not enough to think it was worth his while. This was going to take some old-fashioned legwork. He decided to begin by seeing what he could find out about victim number two, Maurice Washington, whose club, Get the Blues, was located in a South Side neighborhood that had seen better days.

  On his way there, he thought about Renata. She wouldn’t agree to his help. She didn’t trust him; how could he blame her, when he’d hidden his own agenda? He didn’t like the way it made him feel, especially when he was around her. He didn’t like using people—he’d been on the other end of that stick and it sucked.

  Even though she was a government agent and therefore worthy of his own suspicions, Gabe realized his half-truths and evasions bothered him more than he liked to admit. He was attracted to Renata and wouldn’t mind knowing her more intimately. But more importantly, he both liked and respected the woman. She was as straight-arrow as they came. No matter the cost to herself, she put herself on the line when she saw injustice. You couldn’t ask for more than that of anyone.

  And that’s why he was getting himself involved, with or without her permission. In the hope that justice really could be done. He had to remember his purpose was the most important factor here. He wasn’t doing this for himself. He was doing this for Danny. And for Muti Hawass and his family. And for any future victims of Elliott Mulvihill.

  It was early afternoon when he parked his car at a meter across from Get the Blues and next to a mural that covered the entire side of the building. The Blues Wall, as it was called, chronicled the birth and growth of the blues and the historic struggle of black musicians for acceptance in a segregated society. The protest mural made a powerful statement in a neighborhood that had no power but that of the streets.

  A couple of guys in their late teens or early twenties seemed to appear out of nowhere, as if checking on Gabe’s intentions. Nodding politely to them, Gabe crossed to check out the club.

  It wasn’t open, of course. Too early. But a sign indicated it would be open that night for business, featuring a local performer whose name he didn’t recognize. Someone was still keeping the joint alive.

  A someone he wanted to meet.

  Gabe turned and met the two who’d followed him with a head-on stare. “Either of you guys know who’s running the club these days? I’m looking for information. I’m following up on Maurice Washington’s murder. I’m not a cop,” he assured them. “This is a private matter.”

  The two looked him over and conferred in tones so hushed he couldn’t hear.

  One of them said, “Then you gotta talk to the man in charge of the wall. Right, Odell?”

  “Who might that be?” Gabe asked.

  “Aaron Brown,” Odell said. “I’ll take you to him. De-Ron, watch his car.”

  De-Ron said, “Okay. That’ll be ten dead presidents.”

  Knowing it was the politic thing to do, Gabe tipped De-Ron ten bucks before following Odell back to the muraled wall and what looked like a shuttered convenience store. The owner came to the door, looking as if he’d been awakened.

  Odell said something and pointed and Gabe noted Brown gave him a once-over before nodding.

  Odell sauntered back to Gabe. “Says you can go on in, that he’s open for business now.”

  Which made it sound like Gabe was going to have to pay for any information. So upon entering the poorly lit store that he figured was a front for some other kind of business, Gabe grabbed a flashlight and set it down on the counter.

  “How much?”

  If the owner of the store had been sleeping, he was wide awake now. Strange pale gray eyes in a freckled café-au-lait face gave him a thorough once over.

  “That’ll be fifty.”

  Gabe knew the man didn’t mean cents. He pulled out his wallet and passed the store owner a fifty-dollar bill, saying, “I understand you knew Maurice Washington. Did he have any enemies?”

 
; Brown laughed, showing bright white teeth that looked newly bonded. “A man like Maurice always has enemies. But none of ’em can hit a target worth a damn. So if you’re thinkin’ one of ’em took him down…” The store owner shook his head.

  “What about associates? Did you ever hear him mention Mae Chin?”

  “That one of the women killed by the sniper?

  “She was the first.”

  Again, Brown shook his head. “Maurice didn’t know nothing about her or that lawyer. People ’round here were getting whacked by the second shooting. Maurice woulda told me if he knew either of ’em.”

  “How about a man named Elliott Mulvihill?”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Maybe you’ve seen him.” Despite the laid-back attitude, Gabe would bet Brown saw a whole lot others didn’t. “He’s fiftyish, balding, wears glasses and designer suits.”

  “In this neighborhood? You gotta be kiddin’.”

  Gabe tried not to show his disappointment at not being able to make a direct connection. “So who’s running Get the Blues now? And how can I find him?”

  “Maurice had a silent partner, but he’s not so silent any more.” Aaron smiled. “You need some extra batteries for that flashlight, right?”

  “Right.” Gabe grabbed a pack and slapped it down on the counter, then pulled out another bill and set it next to his “purchases.” “His name?”

  “Aaron Brown, Esquire.” Brown’s grin widened, showing off his bonded teeth.

  Gritting his, Gabe gave the man his card. “In case you think of anything else you want to sell me.”

  He left the store in disgust. A hundred bucks up in smoke. Make that a hundred and ten, he thought, reminded of De-Ron’s tip when he saw the guy leaning against his car. Not a thing for his trouble or money.

  He was just getting started, Gabe told himself. He couldn’t expect to hit the jackpot on his first try.

  “WHAT IS IT you think you’re doing?” Renata asked Gabe.

  He’d picked her up on a corner two blocks from her office. No way had she been willing to wait for him in front of the building where she knew that media types—while smaller in numbers—still waited to pounce on her. She was hoping they would fade into the woodwork if she could tap-dance around them long enough.

  “I’m working the case,” he said.

  “I told you I couldn’t accept your help.”

  “And I told you I was going to investigate on my own. What are you going to do about it? Arrest me?”

  That’s all she would need was to make more waves, get herself in front of the media yet again. But no matter what she said to deter him, Gabe was apparently set on defying her. He’d investigated Maurice Washington, had possibly alerted people she didn’t want alerted.

  Trapped by Gabe. Again. First on the dance floor, this time on the streets.

  He was doing some dance with her now. He was a wild card. Better that she knew what he was up to…the only way she could control him…the only way she could protect him. Besides, if she didn’t say yes, he would simply keep on and maybe ruin her case.

  A no-win situation for her.

  “All right,” she said, trying to keep the resentment out of her voice. “As long as you promise me that you’re not going to go off on your own again.”

  “So you want me to stick with you,” he said, grinning.

  “Promise,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “It’s all I wanted from the first.”

  She noticed he didn’t actually make that promise, though.

  “So where does Mulvihill think you are?” Gabe asked before she could make an issue of it.

  “The director wasn’t around to question me, thankfully,” Renata said. “I simply signed out and left.”

  Gabe asked, “Making your own hours won’t get you into trouble?”

  “I’m already in trouble. I want to be alive to see how this case all works out. Let’s head for Chinatown. Mae Chin’s mother is a hostess at Three Dragons.”

  Having trouble concentrating on the busy work Mulvihill had pushed on her, Renata had felt an unwanted bubble of excitement at hearing Gabe’s voice…until he’d dropped the bomb on her that he’d already investigated Maurice Washington on his own. Without thinking it through, she’d insisted on seeing him in person so she could tell him to lay off.

  This was her job, after all.

  More importantly, this was her life.

  But that didn’t seem to matter to him. He was determined to keep his attractive nose where it didn’t belong, no matter what she said.

  Since Chinatown was one of the closest South Side neighborhoods, it took less than ten minutes to arrive. Gabe drove them right into the heart of the busy area, which was crowned by the green-roofed gate, one of the few Asian-looking structures.

  Luckily, he found a parking spot on a side street just off Wentworth. So he fed the meter, while Renata peered into an herb shop window, fascinated by the products displayed, many of which were unavailable elsewhere in the city.

  “Ready?” Gabe asked in a low voice, his lips so near her ear she could feel his breath.

  Renata jumped inside, yet tried to keep a cool demeanor. No matter what her attraction, this was business. Serious business. Keeping that in mind, she strolled with him, looking for the peaked tile roof of the restaurant down the street.

  “So what are you hoping to get from the mother that we didn’t?” Renata asked. “Someone from our office already interviewed anyone we could find related to the victims.”

  “Did you find Aaron Brown?”

  “Aaron Brown…name’s not familiar.”

  “He was Maurice Washington’s silent partner, but he’s not so silent now.”

  “Oh.”

  How had they missed that? she wondered, trying to remember the report and who the investigating agents had talked to about the club owner, other than a couple of bartenders and waitresses and a lone brother who lived in a south suburb.

  “Talking to Lian Chin is a place to start,” Gabe said. “Besides, you wouldn’t let me look at the files,” he reminded her. “So I don’t know who was already interviewed or what information they already gave.”

  “Nothing we were able to use to make a case,” she said as they reached their destination.

  The front of the restaurant was decorated by three pillars carved into dragons, hence the name. It was one of the remaining old “chop suey palaces” catering to American palates. Though Renata had heard of the restaurant, she’d never eaten there. And though she’d been a lifelong Chicago resident, she’d never even been to Chinatown before Mae Chin had been executed.

  “Just let me do all the talking,” Renata said, on edge when Gabe didn’t respond.

  The woman who greeted them at the door, menus in hand, wore a name tag that identified her as Lian. She was a tiny woman in aqua silk, her still-dark hair pulled back into a long braid. “Table for two?”

  “Lian Chin? Agent Renata Fox with S.A.F.E.” She showed the woman her identification. “This is Gabe Connor. We’d like to ask you a few questions about your daughter.”

  The woman’s face crumpled as if she were going to cry, but she pulled it together and asked them to sit in an empty booth while she got someone to take over for her.

  The interior was dimly lit and furnished with curved black upholstered booths on one wall and glass tables, with dragons for legs, in the center. A black vase, decorated with a red dragon and filled with exotic blooms, nestled in a corner.

  When Mae’s mother came back to the table and slid in next to Renata, Gabe said, “Mrs. Chin, I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. We can’t bring her back, but at least they stopped the criminal who killed my daughter from killing anyone else.”

  “Maybe.”

  The woman’s almond eyes rounded. “What are you saying?”

  “What Gabe meant,” Renata broke in smoothly, wishing he would be seen and not heard, “is that we’re still t
rying to put the pieces together. We’re trying to see if there were any connections between the victims.”

  “I already told you people everything I know. I never heard of the other victims before reading about them.”

  “Maybe your daughter knew them through her work,” Gabe suggested before Renata could resume questioning.

  Renata kicked him under the table and gave him a look.

  “You think they might be connected with the theater or movie business?” Mrs. Chin asked.

  “We don’t mean her career as an actress,” Renata said. “Her other job.”

  Mrs. Chin frowned. “What other job?”

  “I’m sorry to be blunt, Mrs. Chin, but we think sometimes she acted as an escort for out-of-town businessmen,” Gabe said smoothly. “When she wasn’t in a play or movie.”

  Renata was ready to strangle him. She’d told him to let her do the talking and he was taking over the interview.

  “Escort? Oh, no. My daughter concentrated on her acting career. I supported her choice, paid for her apartment and her acting lessons while she was auditioning and getting small roles in the theater. Then she started making those low-budget Asian action films. She was so talented and so beautiful—she could have been the next Lucy Liu if not for her manager.”

  “Her manager?” Renata echoed.

  “Fred Woo. He always held her back.”

  “I don’t remember any Fred Woo from the files,” Renata said. “Did you talk to anyone about him before?”

  “I must have.” But the woman’s expression grew puzzled as if she weren’t sure. “For several months, I tried to get Mae to fire Woo and get herself a new manager. She kept saying she couldn’t…but then she changed her mind.” Mrs. Chin ducked her head.

  “Mae said she had something on Woo that would make him release her from her contract…only she waited too long.” When she looked up, her eyes were swimming with unshed tears. “Maybe if she’d have made the break sooner, she would have been in L.A. on a movie set instead of the shopping center, and the sniper wouldn’t have killed her.”

  Renata swallowed hard and gave the woman a minute.

  It was Gabe who asked, “Are your daughter’s possessions still in her apartment?”