Firebird Page 13

  “Dios mio! Your hair!” The shorn hair was plastered to her forehead in sharp red spikes. “Why would you -”

  “One more bad idea,” she muttered.

  He stared at her. This look was totally different from the long, flowing hair he preferred. And yet - the drenched, fiery tangle was striking. She stood there before him, burning like a candle in the darkness. He wondered why his heart suddenly skittered in his chest. Until the memory of another woman with shining hair flew like a ghost into his head. No, he told himself. Don’t go there.

  “First time you’re at a loss for words, Garcia.”

  He took a breath. “I can offer you a whiskey, canned chili, coffee, dry clothes?”

  “No, absolutely no, black-no-sugar, and - I’ll keep my clothes on, thanks.”

  “Very wise. Make yourself comfortable, Red.” He turned away from her and disappeared below decks.

  * * * *

  Comfortable? Nothing was comfortable about him!

  Listening to him banging crockery in the small galley below decks, she kicked off her water-logged sneakers, then looked around the sleek sailboat and cursed softly under her breath.

  What am I doing here? she asked herself. Truth was, after her sister’s warning, she still wasn’t sure. Why hadn’t Eve trusted Garcia? But Anthony had refused to help her and she had to trust someone… even if the last thing she wanted was to trust a man ever again. Trust only led to a whole world of hurt.

  Just leave, Marik, she told herself.

  Too late. His head appeared through the hatch, and he handed her a steaming mug. She cupped her hands around the warmth and eyed him over the cup rim. “You don’t exactly fit into the hot-shot D.C. prosecutor mold, Garcia, living on a boat.”

  “Hoover and I needed sky,” he said briefly.

  I don’t know if I can trust him, Zan. Her sister’s voice, so clear and close that she turned sharply.

  “Coming here was a mistake,” she said, her back to him. “I’ll finish my coffee and leave. Just ignore me and I’ll – ”

  “You’re hard to ignore, Red.”

  He moved closer and she stepped away. “Do I scare you?” he asked softly.

  Oh, God, yes. “Of course not.”

  “You may be a brilliant curator, Alexandra Marik, but you’re a terrible liar.” He reached out and his hands closed over her shoulders.

  She flinched as if he’d struck her, and saw his eyes go dark. “What the hell are you doing?” Defensiveness - and a sharp edge of panic - trembled in her words.

  “Easy, Red. Your jacket is wet.” He kept his eyes on her as his hands eased the soaked coat off her shoulders.

  Alexandra felt the small shock of his touch pass through her body and then the warm blanket settled over her. His hands were big, strong. She remembered their touch, from the cliffs.

  She searched his face, the dark stubble on his jaw, the lights in the depths of those serious eyes. She could still feel the heat of his palms. Something told her he was used to touching women. But touching was the last thing she wanted. Ever.

  She moved deliberately out of reach, clutching the blanket around her body as she gazed into the darkness. The marina was like a Turner painting, ghostly masts against a cobalt-streaked sky and the blurred shine of lights on the empty pier.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said behind her. “It’s why I live on the Vaya con Dios.”

  Somewhere in the distance she could hear the sad, muted clang of a buoy. She heard herself murmur, “But lonely.”

  “But I’m not alone.” Garcia’s eyes swept the rain-soaked sky. “Not when Cassiopeia’s waiting, just beyond those clouds. She was changed into a constellation by her husband.” He shrugged. “Nothing like a bit of Greek drama, is there? The sky is full of stories. Cassiopeia’s distant and solitary, like me. But she always guides me to port. At least when I can see her.” He smiled as he looked down at the Lab. “All we need, right, Big Guy? Los Astros and our lady Vaya con Dios to keep us company on the lonely nights.”

  Hoover’s tail thumped hard and fast on the deck. She looked away, uncomfortable with the unexpected glimpse into his private life.

  His brows lifted. “I may be a loner, Alexandra. But I’m not a monk.”

  The easy confidence was unsettling. “I didn’t track you down at midnight to talk about constellations,” she said stiffly.

  “I know. Then tell me why you’re here, Alexandra.”

  “Eve is dead,” she said starkly. “I need to know why.”

  “You go right for the deep water, don’t you? But what does that have to do with me?”

  “I’m here because you knew my sister.”

  She sensed him go still behind her. “We had a - relationship. Yes.”

  Stay calm, she told herself. “Did you mean it when you told me that you were troubled by Eve’s death?”

  “Of course.”

  “The coroner ruled that her death was not accidental.”

  “I know. It was in the papers. Was she drinking?”

  She gazed into the darkness, heard the distant echo of slurred, stumbling words. “I thought so. I’ve had dozens of drunken phone calls from my sister over the years. But her daughter insists she was sober.”

  “You’re having a hard time accepting Eve’s death,” he said.

  “Suicide… It doesn’t fit, Garcia. It’s too unthinkable, too wrong. My niece asked me what makes someone take her own life,” she said suddenly.

  He shook his head. “Terrible pain, guilt. Hopelessness, unbearable loss.”

  “Yes! Someone who believes there is nothing left to live for. But Eve was selfish, she wanted it all. She thought there was something holy about having no regrets! And – I can’t believe she would have hurt her daughter that way.”

  She saw understanding flash in his eyes. “You don’t believe your sister committed suicide.”

  “Do you?”

  “No,” said Garcia.

  The quick answer surprised her. “Why?”

  “I’ve spent my life around troubled people. Eve was one of the fighters.”

  She looked down at the mug in her hands, and, with a sudden movement, flung the contents overboard. Her words spilled fast and furious.

  “You fall down the rabbit hole when your only sister dies by violence. It’s like an earthquake, exploding out of nowhere beneath you. All of a sudden the world is a different place, everything is pitch black, you can’t recognize anything! Your sister is gone, the teenaged niece suddenly thrust back into your life is a stranger to you! You can’t sleep, you can’t eat, you drink too damned much black coffee…”

  And you pretend you don’t see the grief in a young girl’s eyes.

  “You just try not to remember…” she finished softly.

  “Yet here you are. And as far as I can see, every choice you’re making is forcing you to remember your sister, Red.”

  She stared at him. “Spare me the irony.”

  “Too late, Alexandra.”

  “Garcia,” she said. “I want to trust you.”

  “I’m not a man you should trust.”

  He’s no stranger to violence, whispered Eve in her head.

  “I don’t have a choice, damn you. Anthony won’t help me, there’s no one else I can turn to. Do I trust you? No.”

  “Works for me.” He smiled faintly.

  She shot him a look of pure exasperation. “But I need your help.”

  He met her gaze. “This is going to be a long night… Why me, Red?”

  “Your work. You have contacts, access to information.”

  “Si. But there are thousands of lawyers and investigators in D.C. Level with me.”

  “You don’t need to know what drives me!”

  They stared at each other in the darkness. For a long moment the only sounds were the hard beating of the rain and the faint sound of rigging banging against tall masts.

  She saw the darkening in his eyes. “But there’s more, isn’t there? Tell me what you�
�re not telling me.”

  “I made a promise to my sister.”

  “Admirable. What promise?”

  She gazed out at the rain. “I’ve always believed that you can get through anything if you just shut down. But I promised my sister that I’d protect her daughter. And I promised my niece that I’d find out what happened to her mother. So shutting down is not an option for me. But -”

  His eyes flashed, intrigued. “But?”

  “I don’t know how to help Juliet. She’s not my child! She doesn’t even like me.”

  “And yet here you are.”

  She felt the grief rise in her chest. “My sister died a stranger to me - and I don’t know why! I keep asking myself the same questions over and over. Why didn’t I know she was in trouble? What could I have done, what did I miss? Why, all of a sudden, would she take her life? Could one terrible moment change everything for her? A brilliant, beautiful candle, just blown out. Leaving nothing but smoke behind. Dammit, Garcia, maybe I could have saved her.”

  Her breath caught. “I just need to understand the why,” she whispered.

  “You’re too smart to blame yourself for what happened to your sister.”

  “I know that, here,” she acknowledged, touching her forehead. “But my heart tells me I should have been there for her.”

  The swinging lantern light caught the sharp, hard planes of his face. He was like a Rembrandt painting, dark shadows veiling light. She stiffened. Too much hidden. How can I trust him?

  “So your sister dies,” he said into the quiet, “and you are left behind. You want to change the past.”

  “Wouldn’t you want that?”

  His face was pale in the lantern’s light. “Grieving isn’t just about tears and sorrow. Or even anger. It’s about who you are when you’re alone. It’s about what you’re doing now that matters.”

  Who am I without her… There’s way more to you than attitude, she thought suddenly. “That’s why I’m here, Garcia. A life has been destroyed. More than one life. Knowing why matters!”

  “Accidental death has been ruled out. And now you’re ruling out suicide. So the remaining causes of death are natural, or –”

  “Homicide.”

  The muscles corded in his neck. “You believe your sister was murdered.”

  “Yes. And it was made to look like a suicide! You asked me what I want. I want to look someone in the eye, find out why! I need to know. Her daughter needs to know.”

  “And what will you do if you find him?”

  She looked directly at him. “I’ll make him pay for her death.”

  “Revenge. And what then?”

  “It will be over.”

  “It’s never over, Chica.” His eyes were the color of fog on the sea. “And there is a huge difference between justice and revenge.”

  She turned away. “Blindingly insightful,” she murmured. “Fine. Justice, then.”

  “You want me to help you how, exactly?”

  “Help me find out who my sister was! Eve was as enigmatic as Leonardo’s Madonna. Who were her friends, her enemies? How did she spend her last days, who were the people in her life that might know her secrets? What did she do, what did she know, to get herself killed? Her story holds the answer to her death.”

  He gazed into the dark water. “I’m not a good team player, Alexandra. My team at Justice would be the first to tell you that. I prefer to work alone.”

  “So do I.” She looked up at him. “But my sister brought me to you.”

  “Whoa. Flag on the play! What the devil are you talking about?”

  “I told you, at Cliff House, that Eve had come to the island. It was just before she died. She knew you were there, Garcia. Did she call you?”

  “Why would she? Where are you going with this?”

  “I’m certain she discovered something dangerous - something she shouldn’t have known. She hid a message for me at Cliff House, a digital recording. It contained three names. One of those names was yours.”

  He became very still. “I haven’t seen Eve in months.”

  She believed him. “She was scared, Garcia.”

  “Where is this recording now?” There was something in his eyes.

  I don’t know if I can trust him, Zan.

  “It’s safe. At the Baranski Gallery.” The words of her attacker flew into her mind. I want what she gave you.

  “Oh, God, of course! The intruder at Cliff House was searching for something...”

  “Eve’s recording? Why?” She watched the answer swim into his eyes. When he spoke, his voice held a new edge. “What other names did your sister give you, Alexandra?”

  ”Oh, no, Counselor, only if you’re in. Eve thought you might be able to help her. Now I’m asking for her.”

  “I haven’t been able to help anyone in a long time,” he said softly. “That ship has sailed. Leave it to the professionals, Alexandra.”

  Again she glimpsed the hardness buried behind the dark eyes.

  “The professionals closed Eve’s case after two days and moved on to a triple drug murder.” Her fingers pushed through the coppery spikes of hair. “Doing nothing is not an option for me.”

  “And your options now are…?”

  “Only one. Find Eve’s killer. She deserves the truth, and so does her daughter. I owe them that. And I’d much rather know than be haunted by the not knowing, can you understand that?”

  A shadow flickered deep in his eyes. “Only too well. But what if the knowing is worse than the not-knowing, Red? Your sister will still be dead. Revenge won’t bring her back. Nothing will. No matter what.”

  She lifted her eyes to his. “I need to know. No matter what.”

  “And if the truth is that your sister took her life? What do you say to her daughter?”

  She was silent for a long time. “That I kept my promise.”

  “This is bad on so many levels,” he murmured. “Esta bien. Why do you think Eve was murdered? A jury will expect more than suspicions and an empty briefcase, Red. You need motive. Love, or passion. Money, revenge. The cover up of a crime...”

  “My sister warned me of danger. She found out something, she gave me three names and hid the recording because she believed it was important. And now she’s dead.”

  Fragments of images tumbled into her head. Blue eyes reflected in a window, a face disappearing into the shadows. Lingerie scattered on the floor, roses the color of blood, a taunting voice in her ear.

  “Someone with eyes like blue ice cubes has been watching me. Someone broke into my apartment, searched my office at the art gallery, sent me a rose after my sister’s funeral, attacked me in my own kitchen in Maine! He called me, Garcia, he –”

  She saw his face harden, saw the dark eyes go cold. “He called you?”

  She took a breath and rushed on. “My instincts are shouting at me that this is all connected somehow. Are we adding up to a preponderance of evidence yet?”

  “This is beginning to sound like a Hitchcock movie,” he murmured.

  “But it’s real. Scary things are happening to me, I’m caught up in something I don’t understand. My sister is dead. I want justice for her and her daughter. Then maybe I can find a way to go on with my life.”

  With a muttered oath he punched a number into his cell phone. “Send a taxi to Maine Street Marina. Dock 5, the Vaya con Dios.” He returned her stare with maddening indifference. “I’m not the man for you. People who get close to me get hurt. That’s a fact.”

  Her grip tightened painfully on the boat railing, but she stood her ground. “I won’t be intimidated, damn you. And for the record, I have no intention of getting any closer to you than I am right now. But Eve sent me to you. Do it for her.”

  Again she watched the flash of pain – and something more - in those deep, serious eyes. Her sister had been right. He was dark, and complicated. And probably dangerous. She could almost see the pent-up violence in the taut, muscled shoulders. And yet - a dog he’d rescued sat peac
efully at his feet.

  As if he’d read her thoughts, he said, “I’m no rescuer, Chica.”

  She looked pointedly at the Lab, then waited. Hoover raised his head, his one good eye glinting as if in appreciation of the irony. “You’re the one,” she insisted. “Eve sent me to you.”

  “Do you ever take no for an answer?” asked Garcia, ignoring the dog.

  “No.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why do I know I’m going to regret this? Esta bien. Did Eve tell you why she wanted to talk with me?”

  “She thought there might be a connection to some hush-hush ‘Russian investigation’ of yours. What did she mean?”

  His jaw tensed. “No secrets in this city. I’ve been involved with several on-going investigations at Justice over the last year.”

  She moved closer, spoke the name quietly. “Charles Fraser.”

  She saw the flash of recognition and shock before he could hide it and she felt her stomach clench.

  “Another of the names on Eve’s recording, I take it.”

  “Yes. Interesting company you’re in, Garcia. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “There’s very little I can tell you.”

  “Because you don’t know, or because you can’t say?”

  For a long moment, the night was filled only with the sounds of the storm. “Esta bien,” he said finally. “I can tell you this much without compromising anything. You’ve read about the Russian listening device planted in the State Department? There’s an investigation underway in my division at Justice.”

  “I just heard about a spy network on the news…” She thought about what he wasn’t saying. “Russia? But aren’t you in the Criminal Division?”

  A heartbeat. Then, “Criminal has an International Organized Crime unit. The IOC.” He gave the faintest smile and shrugged. “We don’t even get to have a secret knock. It’s listed on the DOJ website.”

  She tried not to smile. “So you are involved with Russian Organized Crime.”

  “Let’s just say that the Kremlin knows how to use its Mafia bosses. It’s no secret that dozens of banks around the world are involved in what could be questionable money transfers through New York and D.C.”

  “Money laundering. For arms?”