From behind Zack, Alexa gasped as she took in her ransacked house, fear cascading over her like icy water. She curled her fingers into Zack’s T-shirt, a slight tremble coursing through her. Gun raised in front of him, Zack took a slow step forward, and she followed, her heart racing, the sound of her pulse in her ears almost deafening.
The mirror above her fireplace was smashed, shards scattered across the hardwood floor and glinting in the sunlight coming in through the window. The flat-screen TV was gone, her decorative knickknacks—candleholders, a porcelain horse, a small silver tray—strewn on the floor, most of them broken. A framed picture, an antique print of a horse, lay against the wall, the glass cracked. The baskets in which she kept magazines and books had been upended, their contents littering the floor, torn pages sticking out at odd angles.
“No security system?” Zack asked over his shoulder as they made their way through the living room. A sickening sensation crawled over her skin. Someone had been in here, in her house, going through her things. Some of her fear gave way to anger, and she clenched her shaking hands into fists.
“No. I’d asked the landlord to put one in, but it hadn’t happened yet.”
“Son of a bitch.” The lines of the muscles in his forearms were taut, and she kept herself firmly behind him, watching the way he led them toward the kitchen with graceful, easy confidence. He was so strong, so sure, so capable that she didn’t even have words for what she felt, sheltered as she was behind him. Grateful and relieved, yes, but there was more to it than that. She felt safe, despite the sense of violation that made her want to scream and break things.
They made their way past the table and chairs at the front of the kitchen. A painting that had hung on the wall where the living room and kitchen met was missing, but it was no great loss, since she’d painted it herself and it wasn’t worth anything.
“Stuff’s missing?” he asked softly, his gun trained in front of him.
“Yeah. The TV from the living room and a painting, so far,” she said, relaxing a little as she realized the unlikeliness of the thieves’ still being in the house.
They stepped over a toppled potted plant, the dirt crunching softly beneath their feet. The kitchen was relatively undisturbed. Drawers were half-open, cupboard doors were ajar, but there wasn’t anything worth stealing in here.
If it had been, in fact, a robbery.
As though he could pick up on her thoughts, Zack murmured, “Pretty goddamn fishy that this would happen the same day you…heard what you heard.”
“I know.”
“We’ll check out the rest of the house, you can grab your stuff, and we’ll get out of here.”
She nodded, tucking herself close behind him. Heat from his body brushed her skin, and she wanted to press her face into the muscles of his back, to breathe him in and bask in his protection.
They moved into the sunroom behind the kitchen. The chest she used as a coffee table had been wrenched open, splinters lying on the floor. Books and DVDs lay strewn over the sectional sofa, the cushions all pulled out and opened, stuffing spilling out of the zippers.
“What was in the chest?”
“Nothing valuable. Books. DVDs. A few photo albums. Old scripts.”
“Anything missing from in here?”
She shook her head. “No. Still only the TV and painting.”
“How many bedrooms?”
“Just two.”
“What’s this door?” he asked, pointing with his gun at a door off the kitchen.
“Bathroom.”
Nodding, he nudged the door open. It creaked as it swung wide, and she jumped slightly, brushing against him. A quick scan of the bathroom revealed nothing out of place. The thieves likely hadn’t even come in here.
“Where’s your bedroom?”
Despite everything, a warmth flushed over her skin at his words. “The other door off the kitchen.”
He pushed the door open.
She’d been lulled by the minimal damage and property missing, and hadn’t braced herself for what awaited her in her bedroom. She pressed a shaky hand to her mouth, her heart in her throat.
The mattress lay half-on, half-off the padded king-size bed frame, the sheets pulled away and ripped. Pillows had been torn open, and the mirrored stand beside the bed had been smashed completely, drawers lying askew on the floor, empty of their contents.
“Shit,” Zack whispered. He pointed at the gaping hole in the wall facing the bed. “TV?”
“Used to be.” Gingerly, she made her way across the floor, stepping over broken glass, pieces of drywall, drawers, and feathers, her chest aching. “I think all my jewelry’s gone. A lot of it was in these drawers.”
“Anything expensive?”
“A few things, but mostly sentimental stuff. Anything really valuable is either at my parents’ in the safe or in a safe-deposit box.”
Quickly they checked her en suite bathroom and the second bedroom, from which her laptop had been stolen. The thieves had also knocked over a set of shelves, leaving more damage behind. Zack pulled his phone from his pocket and paced up and down the hallway as he made a call, his gun still clutched in one big, strong hand.
Shaking slightly, Alexa moved into the center of the room, standing in a patch of sunlight and closing her eyes, not wanting to look at the damage around her. The new start she’d been so excited about was completely tarnished now. The new home she’d been thrilled to call her own had been violated and no longer felt safe. Maybe she’d been foolish to move out on her own. But then the thought of moving back home…A clamminess rose up on her skin, the sunshine doing nothing to chase it away.
She couldn’t go home. She didn’t want to stay here. A sense of loneliness swamped her, and she swallowed against the thickness gathering in her throat. She blinked, and hot tears dropped down her cheeks as she stared at the blurry patch of sunlight on the floor, tracing her toe around its edges, just trying to breathe.
It was all too much, and everything she’d been through over the past day pressed down on her, a crushing weight on her shoulders.
Everything stopped—her heart, her ability to breathe, the entire world, it seemed—as she wondered if her father knew what she’d overheard yesterday. Her legs went weak as more tears fell, and she was about to sink to the floor when a strong arm circled her waist. Zack held her up, pulling her back against his firm chest.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, and she relaxed into his strength. Into his warmth. Into him. She took a deep shuddering breath and turned, burying her face against him. Her shoulders shook as sobs racked her, and his arms came up around her, cradling her against him. “Shhh.” His warm breath fanned against her temple, and she closed her eyes, timing her own breaths with the rise and fall of his chest against her cheek.
“What if this is related to what happened yesterday?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly.
“It might be,” said Zack, tightening his arms around her, his lips brushing her temple as he spoke. A shiver worked its way through her. God, the feeling of his lips on her skin…it was incredible. Just that tiny touch made her want to weave her fingers into his hair and pull his mouth down to hers.
If only that were actually an option.
“We need to go to the police. What if my father knows what I heard? That puts not only me but you and the entire team in danger. I can’t have that.”
“If you want, we could just report the break-in. You don’t have to tell them about your father if you don’t want to.” He slipped a hand under her chin and tipped her face up. “Whatever you want to do, I’ll keep you safe.”
Her stomach fluttered, and heat pulsed between her legs. “I have to go to the police. It’s selfish if I don’t.”
Zack’s hand slid from her chin to her cheek, and his thumb grazed her cheekbone, brushing away her tears. He pulled her a little tighter against him, his chest rising and falling steadily against hers as his eyes dropped to her mouth. His head dipped slightly, just the tiniest bit, and her breath caught in her chest. She held completely still, terrified of shattering the moment. Terrified of what would happen if he kissed her. She both wanted it and didn’t want it, for completely different reasons.
“So sweet,” he whispered, and he closed his eyes, his jaw clenched tight. He pressed his forehead to hers for several breaths, his thumb still tracing over her cheekbone, and she had the feeling that as much as she was waging an internal war, so was he.
Which was completely perplexing. Because he couldn’t possibly be feeling what she was. He couldn’t want her the way she wanted him.
He wouldn’t. And even if he did, it’d be wasted on her. It’d be like giving someone who didn’t know how to drive a Ferrari. A lovely gift that she wouldn’t have the first clue how to handle.
He brushed his nose against her cheek, and she shook slightly, that internal battle ripping her to shreds as she fought to hold still and not do something stupid.
They couldn’t. It would be wrong. A mistake. Maybe even dangerous.
With a soft growl that had her belly and thighs clenching, he pulled away, his brown eyes dark and hot. “Gather up what you need, and let’s go talk to the cops.”
* * *
Zack raised a hand in greeting when he spotted Sean sitting in one of the chairs in the glass and chrome lobby of the Robbery-Homicide Division, housed in the towering administration building of the Los Angeles Police Department. Sean pushed to his feet, buttoning his suit jacket as he stood, and Zack glanced down, realizing he was still in his post-workout sweats. Not very professional, but, given the circumstances, it couldn’t be helped. Their footsteps echoed off of the tiled floor, cops and civilians alike moving around them. Voices swirled together into a low hum, mixing with the click of shoes on tile and the occasional buzz of a cell phone.
After he’d made sure the house was empty and had known that Alexa was safe, Zack had called Sean and filled him in on the break-in. Then he’d almost kissed Alexa, and then he’d called Sean again to let him know that they were going to the police.
Calling the boss to fill him in? Yeah. Good thinking.
Almost kissing Alexa, who was not only a client but not the type of woman he should even think about starting something with? Colossally stupid.
“Alexa, honey, I’m so sorry,” said Sean, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
She nodded and sent him a small smile, but she was pale, her eyes sad. “Thanks.”
They started walking through the bright, airy lobby toward a bank of elevators. “So the break-in made you change your mind?”
She sighed heavily and fiddled with the strap on her purse. She’d changed out of her borrowed clothes before they’d left her house, from the too-tight jeans and T-shirt and into a flowing white top, black leggings, and a pair of black-and-white sneakers. Although Zack missed the sight of all those curves, he had to admit that she looked a hell of a lot more comfortable now.
She leveled a look at Sean. “Be straight with me. In your professional opinion, what are the odds that this is a coincidence? That I heard what I heard yesterday and suddenly my house gets broken into?”
Sean frowned and shrugged as he jabbed a thumb against the elevator’s call button. “I don’t know about the odds, but from a security standpoint, it’d be foolish to treat it as an unrelated coincidence.”
She nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. “That’s what I thought. As scary as it is and although he’s my father…I can’t stay quiet. That wouldn’t be right.” She shuddered slightly, as though a chill had just run through her, and Zack laid a hand on the small of her back, rubbing in small circles. She leaned into his touch, and it only made him want to pull her into his arms.
Goddammit.
“So why did you want to meet here, instead of just going to a precinct?” she asked as they stepped into the elevator.
“I have some LAPD connections. My friend Antonio’s a detective with major crimes, and he gave me the name of someone in Robbery-Homicide we should talk to. Cut through the rigmarole of going to a precinct, filing a report, having to answer the same questions, tell the same story over and over again.” Sean glanced down at Alexa. “He also promised that Detective Morales is very discreet. You’re in good hands.”
Alexa froze, all the blood draining from her face. “Did you say Morales?”
Sean nodded slowly. “Antonio did a directory search, and there are eleven officers with the last name Morales on the force. We have no way of knowing which one your father was talking about.”
Alexa nodded, her lips pressed together in a thin line. An ache took root in the center of Zack’s chest, because fuck, did he wish he could carry some of this for her. Her world had been turned upside down, and while he was impressed with how she was handling it, he wished she didn’t have to handle it at all.
“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” She leaned back into Zack’s hand a little more. God, what he wouldn’t give to be able to really comfort her. To pull her against him, to stroke her hair, to kiss her and promise her that nothing would ever hurt her.
But that couldn’t happen, so instead he stared at the electronic screen embedded in the elevator, watching the numbers go up as the elevator rose. When they reached the seventh floor, the doors opened with a soft chime, and Sean led them out and down a hallway. Turning a corner, they almost ran smack into Mac, who leaned against a wall, one foot propped casually against it, holding a paper cup of coffee.
“I finished up that paperwork early, so I thought I’d come meet you,” he said, the syllables running together in his Scottish accent.
“How’d you know where to find us?” asked Zack, and Mac tipped his cup at him.
“I know lots of things. Wasn’t hard to figure out where you’d be and when.”
Although Zack had worked with Mac for over a year now, he still wasn’t sure how he felt about the Scot. He didn’t talk much, and when he did, he seemed to be spouting off riddles and half-complete thoughts, leaving Zack to fill in the blanks. And that was when he could understand him at all. Mac was almost impossible to read sometimes, and mostly kept to himself. Despite the number of jobs they’d worked together, Zack knew almost nothing about him. Didn’t know how long he’d been in America or why he’d come. Didn’t know the first thing about his personal life. He knew Mac was a former Special Air Service medic and paratrooper, but the only time he’d asked him about it, he’d been met with a glare, stony silence, and, finally, “It’s not something I talk about.” Zack had never asked again.
Alexa laid a hand on Mac’s arm as they walked down the hallway. “Thanks for coming.”
He simply nodded at her and patted her hand. A flicker of jealousy burned through Zack’s stomach, and his jaw was clenched so tight that his molars were jammed together almost painfully. Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he forced himself to relax. Fuck, he needed to get it together. Focus on protecting her. Nothing else.
They stopped in front of a glass door, and Sean knocked. A woman rose from behind the desk and pulled the door open, waving them in.
“Come in, take a seat. Well, some of you. Two chairs, four people, you do the math.” She stuck her hand out in front of her. “Detective Natalie Morales.” They all shook hands and introduced themselves before Alexa and Sean settled in the two chairs facing Detective Morales’s desk. Zack and Ian stood just behind them, and Zack struggled against the urge to put his hands on Alexa’s chair. Or her shoulders. So he crossed his arms in front of him instead.
The detective looked to be in her midthirties and was tall with a fit, athletic build visible even underneath her gray pantsuit and blue blouse. Her thick dark-brown hair came to her chin, framing her pretty face. She moved around the office with confidence and authority, and Zack was pretty damn sure that Detective Natalie Morales wasn’t someone you messed around with. She sat back down in her chair and opened her laptop.
“Detective Rodriguez filled me in, but only very basic details.” She turned her attention to Alexa. “I assume you’re the woman he mentioned. He didn’t give me any names.”
Alexa nodded. “Yeah.”
“Why don’t you tell me the whole story, in your own words, from the beginning? I don’t want to start off an investigation with thirdhand information.”
Alexa nodded again and, with a shaky breath, began telling Detective Morales the whole story. What she’d overheard her father say during the conversation with Gordon Kramer, essentially confessing to the murder of Jeff Astor. The way he’d offered her up as bait in exchange for the murder of someone named Crosby. The subsequent break-in at her place.
“How long were you out of your home? I’m just trying to pinpoint a time frame during which the robbery occurred,” said Morales.
“I guess from about five p.m. yesterday afternoon until about ten this morning.”
“Where did you stay last night?”
“At Sean’s house. I didn’t want to go home.”
Morales nodded, typing on her computer as she spoke. “And there’s no security at your current residence?”
Alexa shook her head. “No. I’d asked the landlord about installing a security system, but it hasn’t happened.”
Morales sat back in her chair and tucked her hair behind her ears. She pressed a hand to her mouth, deep in thought. “Hang on a sec,” she said, pushing out of her chair and stepping out of the office. She returned almost as quickly with two thick file folders in her hands. She dropped them down onto the desk and flipped one of them open, once again tucking her hair behind her ears.
She glanced up, her eyes darting from Alexa to Sean and then back again. Finally, she nodded, as though having made up her mind about something.
“Alexa, have you ever heard of the Golden Brotherhood?”
Zack’s mouth fell open, and his skin tingled. He’d dealt with the Brotherhood only a couple of months ago, when they’d come after Taylor.
Alexa shook her head slowly. “Um, no. I don’t think so. Why?”
“Because I’m the organized crime liaison between the LAPD and the FBI, and we’ve been investigating your father for a long time.”
“You have?” Alexa’s voice was small, quiet. Zack could barely hear her over his racing heartbeat.
Morales leaned forward on her desk, her hands clasped on top of the open file. “Yes. And what you heard last night, it’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
Alexa’s hands were clasped together in her lap, her knuckles white. “It has to be you,” she whispered.
“Excuse me?” Morales arched an eyebrow.
“My father, when he was discussing Astor and Crosby, mentioned a cop named Morales who knew too much. If you’re the organized crime liaison, it has to be you. He knows, Detective. He knows you’ve been investigating him.”
Morales squared her shoulders and folded her hands together calmly in front of her. “Well, shit. You’re sure you heard my name? Morales?”
“I’m positive, yes.”
“There are other Moraleses on the force,” said Sean, although he didn’t sound convinced.
“Other Moraleses investigating the organized crime ring her father happens to be the head of?” challenged Morales. “It’s me. He was talking about me.” She turned her attention to Alexa. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Organized crime? What exactly are you saying?” she asked, her voice shaky.
“I’m saying that I think your father is the kingpin of one of the most elusive organized crime operations in California. And you, Alexa, can help us bring it down.”