Last Known Victim

There weren’t, and moments later the group broke up. Patti hurried toward her office. She had a number of details to take care of before meeting with Tony to officially hand over the reins.

Spencer met her at her office door. “What the hell’s going on?”

“I told you. And everyone else.”

“What you told us was bullshit.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Spencer. But you can’t possibly understand what I’ve been through-”

“Save the ca

“Are you calling me a liar, Detective Malone?”

“Just calling your bluff.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” She met his gaze evenly. “This is about Sammy’s murder. Excuse me, I have a number of loose ends to tie up before I go today.”

“How about the truth, Aunt Patti?” he said, voice lowered. “Don’t you think I deserve that much?”

His words were like a kick in the gut. She ignored the feeling, the urge to bring him in. That would be wrong, selfish of her. Keeping him out of it was for his own good.

“I have nothing more to say about this, Detective. I’m sorry.”

She said the last, really meaning it. Hoping he heard-and believed-the regret in her tone.

She turned to retreat into her office; he caught her arm, stopping her.

“Why was Yvette Borger in to see you Monday?”

She looked back at her nephew. “Excuse me, Detective?”

“You heard me, Captain. Yvette Borger was in to see you on Monday. Why?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Questions like that of a ranking officer are not career builders.”

“Screw the career,” he said softly. “This is personal.”

“Yvette Borger has nothing to do with my decision.”

Which, in essence, was true. This was about Sammy. About catching his killer.

“She’s a liar, Aunt Patti. Pathological. Don’t get pulled into her games. Don’t let her-”

“I’m sorry, Spencer,” she said softly, “I don’t have the time right now.”

She stepped into her office and closed the door, shutting him out for good.

43

Tuesday, May 8, 2007

1:45 p.m.

Yvette packed her suitcase. Per Patti’s instructions, she included everything she would need for a week. She was moving in with Captain Patti O’Shay. Twenty-four/seven protection meant just that-they lived, worked and relaxed together.

In that vein, Patti had arranged with the Hustle’s owner to take Tonya’s place. She felt their best bet to nail the Artist was through the club. Because it was a public place, she also believed Yvette would be in the least danger there.

Truly weird. Yvette Borger playing nice with a cop.

As she zipped her suitcase shut, it occurred to her she could still run. Chuck the money and take off. She had enough socked away to live comfortably until she could find another gig. Atlanta was a big, anonymous city. Lots of nightlife. She could easily find a job and a place to live there.

Fifty thousand dollars.

Enough to start a new life. Go to college. Learn a real trade-one she could actually practice with her clothes on.

Patti had promised to bring the deposit. She had also promised to bring proof she had the remainder of the money.

Yvette thought of how the woman had answered her question of why catching the Handyman mattered so much to her.

“He killed my husband.”

Patti O’Shay wanted to catch him. And she was willing to do whatever necessary to make it happen-even to the tune of a fifty thousand dollar payoff.

Patti O’Shay was a police captain. She no doubt made a decent salary, but she wasn’t rich. Fifty thousand dollars would represent a hefty sum.

The insurance payoff on her husband’s death.

The realization left Yvette weak-kneed. She sat on the bed, next to the big suitcase. Patti O’Shay had loved her husband that much. So much she would offer up fifty grand to nail his killer.

There had to be a catch. She couldn’t imagine anyone actually doing that. It was unreal. Nobody did that kind of thing anymore. Did they?

No. She would get the ten grand, but no more. Patti O’Shay would screw her out of the rest.

After all, how could Yvette collect?

She couldn’t. The woman was a cop. She could squash Yvette like a bug.

She pictured her neighbors’ grief. Remembered Ray’s anguished cry: “Who could be so vile? So cruel?”

What the hell was she thinking? This monster had poisoned Samson and killed Marcus. If Patti was correct and he was the Handyman, he had murdered six women and a police captain. And now he had his sights on her.

Go. Run. Don’t look back.

With a sudden sense of urgency, Yvette leapt to her feet. She finished fastening the suitcase and rolled it out to the door. As she reached it, her intercom buzzed.

She froze. Could it be Patti already?

If it was, she’d play along. Take the deposit, go through the motions. And when the opportunity presented itself, she would take off.

She answered the intercom. “I’m ready,” she said.

“That sounds interesting. Must be my lucky day.”

“Riley!” she said, recognizing his voice. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Darn it.”

She smiled. With everything that had happened since Saturday night, she had hardly thought of him. Now, hearing his voice, she remembered how much she had liked him. “What’s up?”

“I forgot to get your number. So here I am. Can I come up?”

She hesitated. If Patti showed up while he was here, she would have some quick explaining to do.

“Yvette?”

“I’ll buzz you in.”

A couple of minutes later, he was at her door. He smiled when she swung it open. “Hey there.”

“Hey to you.”

“I was hoping you’d be here. I-” His gaze shifted to her suitcases, then he looked at her. “Where’re you going?”

Damn. “To…stay with a friend. Just a little R and R, that’s all.”

He looked disappointed. “I was going to see if you wanted to get together tonight.”

“I’ve got to work.”

“I thought you were visiting a friend?”

“I am,” she said quickly. “She lives across the lake. On the north shore. Has a pool.”

He gri

“Pardon?”

“After you’re done working? You and me? Food. Fun. Flirting.”

She felt herself flush, something she hadn’t done in years. God, she liked him. “It’ll be really late.”

“How late?”

“Too late to go out. I’m a…cocktail waitress.”

“A dancing cocktail waitress?”

She’d forgotten she’d told him she was a dancer.

“Can’t make a living dancing, so I push drinks in between dancing gigs.”

“Where do you work? I’ll stop by for a drink.”

“No! My boss gets really bitchy about that.”

His smile seemed to freeze, and he took a step back. “Sure. Okay. Sorry I bothered you.”

“You didn’t! I really want to get together. Tonight just doesn’t work.”

“How about Thursday night?”

“This Thursday?”

“I’m playing at Tipitina’s. I’d love it if you came to hear me.”

He looked so eager. And she wanted to. Really, really wanted to.

She thought of Patti.

Fifty thousand dollars. Enough to start a new life. One she didn’t have to lie about.

“I’ll have to get off work. Not always easy.”

“If not this Thursday, how about next? It’s a regular gig-six to eight.”

Six to eight was doable. But how would she ditch Patti?

“Will you come?” he asked

“I didn’t know you were a musician,” she said, evading his question.

“I dabble. Will you?”

“I’ll try.”

“Promise?”

She did and he bent and kissed her cheek. “I’ll call you.”

A moment later, he was out the door and walking away. She realized she hadn’t given him her cell number and yanked the door open again.