Kissing the Key Witness

“No more shoptalk,” she said when he set his hands on her waist and followed her to the dance floor. “But neck nuzzling is definitely allowed.”

For a moment, as they passed the line of French doors, she heard the wind raging outside. Then it was all music and the magic of the moment. And Tal.

He was hot, and dazzling her with his aura. The sexy, sensual essence that was and always had been uniquely Tal. She was losing herself in it, until he spoke.

“This isn’t why I came tonight, Maya,” he said against her hair. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Lowering his head, he slid his tongue over her ear. “You’re not making this any easier.”

“You couldn’t hurt me if you wanted to, Tal.”

“Consider yourself warned,” he murmured against her throat before he kissed her.

Jenna Ryan

Kissing the Key Witness

Merlyn;

You were the love and the joy of our lives.

On to the next big adventure.

Have fun, sweetheart…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jenna Ryan loves creating dark-haired heroes, heroines with strength and good murder mysteries. Ever since she was young, she has had an extremely active imagination. She considered various careers over the years and dabbled in several of them, until the day her sister Kathy suggested she put her imagination to work and write a book. She enjoys working with intriguing characters and feels she is at her best writing romantic suspense. When people ask her how she writes, she tells them by instinct. Clearly it’s worked, since she’s received numerous awards from Romantic Times BOOKreviews. She lives in Canada and travels as much as she can when she’s not writing.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Maya Santino—An E.R. doctor, she was the last person her ex spoke to before he died.

Stephen Talbot (Tal)—Miami Homicide lieutenant, he must protect Maya from the people who want to kill her.

Gene ‘Quick Draw’ McGraw—How far will the Fraud cop go for a promotion to Homicide?

Don Drake—The Homicide captain is living better than he should.

Nate Hammond—The retired Fraud captain pursued but never caught his notorious nemesis.

Jamie Hazell—The E.R. nurse has serious financial problems.

Orlando Perine—The powerful corporate mogul has cops on his payroll and a very vindictive nature.

Falcom—He turned on his powerful boss. Now, he is desperate to get back the information he sold to the police.

Adam Tyler—Maya’s ex-husband hid important information right before he died.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Prologue

August in Miami.

Even in the dead of night, the air felt heavy. Prickles, like spiky fingernails, danced along fraud detective Adam Tyler’s spine. He smelled more than fetid air outside the waterfront warehouse. Anticipation carried its own scent, and he’d been breathing it since late afternoon.

Too bad his captain had gone deep-sea fishing for the weekend, unplugged and incommunicado until Sunday night. But no sweat. Adam had been a detective since before his ill-fated marriage seven years ago. He could sit on anything, big or small, for a couple of days.

“Yeah, right.” He grinned as he pulled the parking brake on his prized 1967 Shelby Mustang. “And pink elephants really do exist.”

He glanced at his watch before heading to one of the small bay doors. He’d met snitches here countless times over the years. The Cuban-born owners knew that but said nothing, because—big surprise—they didn’t want the contents of their shipping crates examined by anyone calling himself a cop.

The prickles continued to tap-dance across his skin, Adam gave his eyes a few seconds to adjust, then made his way to the storage unit’s crowded center.

It smelled worse in here than outside. Tiny claws scrabbled on concrete as he squeezed between the towering crates. Catching a movement ahead, he let the grin return. His informant was acting more like the rodents around him than the bird of prey whose code name he’d adopted. The man’s head shot up as Adam’s holster scraped across the face of a crate marked Bananas.

“Only me,” he said when Falcon’s hand crawled inside his hoodie. “For the record, I was off duty and halfway across the city when you called.”

“I want it back.”

Adam resisted the urge to laugh. Not only had his snitch been pacing like a jittery rat, but in the bad light he actually resembled one. A cartoon version, with popping eyes, long fingers and feet comically elongated by deep patches of black.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Sorry, pal, but it’s done. I’ve got my evidence. You’ve got your immunity. Fair deal all around.”

“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to turn him in.”

Adam leaned on one of the towers. “Uh, refresh my memory. Who came to whom, begging for help?”

Falcon spoke through clenched teeth. “I had my reasons back then. Situation’s changed. I want it back.”

“Not an option.” Adam reached for his backup weapon. “And if you’re thinking about shooting me for it, you’ll be wasting good bullets. I’ve already—”

“Your captain’s gone fishing,” Falcon blurted, then offered a cynical smile. “I’ve got my sources, too, Tyler. You haven’t turned it over yet. Can’t until Monday. Means my boss’ll be free to kill me for another sixty hours. Even then I won’t be safe. I’m not the only person on his payroll.”

“Just the most cowardly.” Adam shrugged. “Or maybe the most desperate.”

“Do you know what he’s capable of?”

“I’ve seen his work.”

Falcon made a frantic flapping motion. “He’s got, like, elephant ears.”

“Well, I’ve got, like, elephant feet, and one of them’s about to boot you in your canary-yellow ass. He won’t—”

“He will.”

“Falcon, even Orlando Perine wouldn’t—”

His informant surged forward, teeth bared. “Talk about asses. I’m telling you, Tyler, he’ll yawn while he’s pulling the trigger. That’s how big a deal murder is to him. We’re talking ice water for blood. Reptilian brain. No emotion. Okay, I was desperate to get out, get away, so I did something stupid. But he found out. He knows someone’s turned. Doesn’t know who. Only that one of his people sold him out. Or is about to. Bottom line? It’s not worth the risk. I’d rather go to prison and live than die the way he’ll kill me if he finds out what I’ve done.”

Adam pushed off the tower of crates. “Have you been taking drama lessons as well as drugs? Gear down and breathe, okay? No one’s going to die. And no one but me is ever going to know—”

A sudden sharp pain in his shoulder, followed by another to the left of his spinal column, brought him up short. Blinking, he looked down at the front of his shirt. Twin blotches of red spread quickly across the fabric.

“Oh, hell…”

His vision wavered. He heard Falcon swear; saw him jump sideways and vanish behind a crate.

The prickles on his spine turned to claws that scratched so deeply, they scored his lungs. His chest heated and filled. His mind began to fade.

“Guess I was wrong,” he murmured. “Looks like someone’s going to die, after all.”

The black took over as he pitched face-forward onto the warehouse floor.

Chapter One

“Maya, wait!”

So close, Maya Santino reflected, with a sigh. She’d actually made it to the staff exit this time.

A lanky E.R. nurse swooped in from the side. “Nice try, Doc, but it’s a no go.” Spotting Maya’s earbuds, she cupped a hand to her mouth. “I said, we need you, Dr. S.”

“Yes, I gathered that, Jamie.” She pulled out the earbuds and stuffed the iPod into her oversize bag. “What’s the problem?”

“McVey’s here.”

Although she wanted to resist, Maya let her friend and colleague propel her back along the corridor. “You do know I was coming off a ten-hour shift even before that last two-hour meeting, right?”

“Is it my fault the man won’t see anyone but you?” Jamie Hazell continued to push her forward. “Admissions says his hand’s wrapped in a filthy towel, but he flat out refuses to go to the clinic. Says it’s you or no one. There’s Lysol at the desk if you want it.”

Maya grinned. “My uncle raises chickens in South America. Spend a weekend on his farm, then talk to me about McVey.” A brow went up. “Treatment room four?”

“As far from the madding crowd as possible.”

“There’s a madding crowd?”

Jamie swept a hand in front of her as they rounded the corner. “You decide.”

From Maya’s perspective, it was only mild mayhem. She’d seen much worse during her three-year tenure at Miami’s Eden Bay Hospital. Once, the sea of gurneys had been so deep, she’d been forced to climb over one to reach another.

Of course, they’d been smack in the middle of the hurricane season then. Storm after storm had pelted the southern coast. There’d been home and highway accidents, tramplings and assaults. Scores of buildings had been damaged. Maya’s roof had taken two beatings from uprooted trees. Her car had gotten it from a toppled streetlamp.

Reaching out, she straightened her friend’s name badge. “Cheer up, Nurse Hazell. You’re transferring out of the E.R., remember? Thirty days and counting.”

“Unless Dr. Driscoll changes his mind. It’s happened before. Enjoy your patient.”

Five minutes later, her earbuds replaced by a stethoscope around the collar of her lab coat, Maya pushed through the treatment-room door.

McVey—it was the only name he used—sat on a table. His thin shoulders were hunched, and his back was bowed. The thought struck, as it often did, that he seemed familiar in some way. Then, poof, the thought vanished, and he was just McVey again, a man currently in a great deal of pain.

He supported his injured left hand with a grimy right. He might not live on the street, but Maya suspected the odd jobs he did at a low-income apartment complex didn’t keep him far from it.

“Okay.” Using her two index fingers, she indicated the bloody towel. “What’s the story?”

“Got slammed in a furnace door. Rusty metal, sharp edges. Tore the skin when I jerked free. Uh, is Witch—sorry, Nurse Hazell working tonight?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Maya watched his face as she unwrapped the towel. He kept his eyes averted. Meant he was lying about something, though she figured the rusty-metal part was probably true enough.

“Any point asking if you’ve had a tetanus shot over the past decade?”

He almost smiled, but still didn’t meet her eyes. “Any point trying to fake you out?”

“Not much.” It was a deep gash that would require several stitches. “Why me?”

Another near smile. “Because you’re pretty?”

“Other doctors are prettier.”

“But only you remind me of Sabrina.”

“Excuse me?”

“The movie, remember? Audrey Hepburn was the title character. She grew up and was transformed, like you’ve done since you came here as a resident.”

“Have I known you that long? Huh, blink and the years fly by.”

A grim-faced Jamie came into the room. She sorted through the instrument tray while Maya finished her examination.

McVey’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not gonna spray me again, are you, Nurse?”

“I’d like to do more than spray you,” Jamie retorted, with an expression that made Maya’s lips twitch.

“Careful,” she warned when McVey opened his mouth. “Remember, Nurse Hazell administers the local.”

He pressed his lips together for the duration, even took the tetanus shot without a whimper. But then she suspected he was accustomed to injections and, if the alcohol on his breath was any indication, not in quite as much pain as he could be.

“Okay. Done.” She snapped off her latex gloves. “Grab a doughnut on your way out.”

The door cracked open, and an intern’s head appeared. “Sorry to interrupt, Doctor, but there’s been a pileup on the interstate. Twenty, maybe thirty cars. Several injuries, and we’re the closest E.R.”

“We’re also the most understaffed,” Jamie called after him. “Crap. Why’s it always us?”

“Fate or proximity to the freeway. Take your pick.” Maya started for the door. “Keep that hand as clean as you can, McVey. Come back Monday, before I go off shift, and I’ll look at it.”

Her attention shifted instantly at the sound of sirens wailing. She joined the line of attendants jogging toward the entrance.

It was going to be a very long night.

EVERYTHING AROUND HIM had gone gray and blurry, even with his eyes open. Sort of open, Adam amended, inasmuch as he could think with the light that kept tugging at him. Beautiful light, silvery and soft. It had siren qualities, but he resisted the lure.

He sensed movement, saw the gray haze alter. Ugly streaks of red slashed it apart. Noise, like shrieking daggers, jabbed into his brain. Hands clutched his shoulders and shook him.

“Don’t die,” Falcon pleaded from above. “I need that information back.”

Adam would have laughed if an anvil hadn’t been sitting on his chest.

“I have to go.” The snitch’s voice faded. “Someone’ll help you. I’ll come back when you’re better. I don’t think he saw me in the warehouse. I think you blocked his view….”

Probably true, Adam thought fuzzily. Man, this had definitely not been his night.

The darkness thickened, grew hotter, stickier. He couldn’t swallow, could no longer think. Faces flashed inside the red. His ex-wife’s, his old friend’s, his new enemy’s.

Voices shouted indistinct words. The hands on his shoulders fell away. He heard Falcon swear, then a more familiar voice.

“Adam?”

Startled but not panicky. Female.

“Maya?”

She leaned over, and he saw her face. Exotic features, dark hair, incredible eyes. Bluer than a tropical lagoon.

“Screwed up,” he murmured. “Made you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

Maybe not, but she was waking the pain anyway.

The light around him intensified. He was breathing fire now. He felt her hands on him and groped until he caught her wrist. “Stop,” he croaked. “Listen.”

“Adam, I can’t help you if—”

“I’m dead, Maya. I know it, and so do you. Do this for me, please.”

“Do what?”

He squeezed. “Take care of things. Made a will last year. Straightforward. Money, investments—they’re my sister’s. Condo’s yours. Go through it and—Ahh!” Pain sheared from chest to brain. He had to talk through his teeth. “Don’t let my brother have the Mustang…Crash addict. Give my sweet baby to Tal.” He fumbled two sets of keys from his pocket. “Condo keys, car keys. Promise.”

“Yes, okay, I promise. Now let me help….”

“There’s more. Stuff, official stuff. Hid it. Don’t trust anyone, anywhere. Huge mistake. Big fish, small pond. S’all I can say. Tell Tal to finish the deal.”

The light flared. It seemed to explode like a starburst that went from a bang to a fizzle.

“Sorry, babe.” He rattled out a breath. “I’ll tell your mom you’re good.”

“Adam?” Now she shook him. “Adam!”

The last thing he saw was her face. Then the sparkles died, and there was nothing.

“DR. SANTINO?” A NURSE with red curls and acne touched her sleeve as she stared at her ex-husband’s face. “A lower body trauma’s just come in. Female. Six months pregnant.”

Through the buzz of shock in her head, Maya caught the last part of the nurse’s statement. She shook off what she could and refocused. “Where?”

“Over there.” The young nurse—Cassie? Callie?—pointed. She looked down, then hesitantly up. “Can I, uh, do anything for you?”

“No. Thanks, but no.” With a hand that wanted to shake, Maya closed Adam’s eyes. She regarded the paramedic who’d helped her lift him from the ground to the gurney. “Take him inside. I’ll be right there.”

“Got a bleeder over here,” another nurse called.

The words jarred. “Thirty seconds,” Maya told the redhead. “Get Jamie to take the bleeder.”

Turning away, she pressed two fingers to her temples. She needed to settle herself, to absorb what had just happened.

Adam had always been a risk taker. She’d loved him once, hated him briefly, then figured to hell with it and dealt with her mistakes. With her mistakes.

They’d been strangers, for the most part, after the divorce. He’d transferred to Orlando, but returned to Miami sixteen months ago, because his roots were here, he’d said.

She understood roots. Hers were mostly here, too. In any case, she hadn’t hated him by then.

“Doctor Santino?”

Her thirty seconds were up. Adam was dead. She couldn’t make him undead by standing outside the emergency room, ignoring the injured while a host of memories swamped her.

“I’m really sorry, Adam.” Head tipped back, she spoke to the night sky. Then shut down and fixed her attention on the living.

“ARE YOU AWAKE, TAL?” DON Drake’s voice hacked rudely into Stephen Talbot’s dream.

“Go away,” Tal said into the phone. “I’m still working the Demorno case.”

“You’re done enough to be back in Miami, so listen up. I got a call from Lieutenant Morse in fraud.”

Tal tried to prop his eyes open. When that failed, he rolled onto his back and let the watery light outside play against his lids. “You’ve got about ten seconds before my brain shuts down. This is the first time I’ve seen a bed in three days.”

“Tyler’s dead,” his captain growled.

That worked. He went up on one elbow. “Adam Tyler?”

“You got it. He was shot late tonight, died in the E.R.”

Tal swung his feet to the floor. “Eden Bay?”

“You’re two for two. He went to his ex for help—or was taken there. Details are sketchy. McGraw’s on his way over to firm up what he can, but since homicide and fraud are more or less cooperating on the Perine investigation, I want a rep there, too. Tyler was a cop, Tal. He was one of us. I know you’re familiar with the case he was working on, even if you weren’t directly involved. I want that shooter nailed. Tyler was your friend, so I’m thinking you’ll want the same thing.”

Tal’s sleep-deprived mind resisted the attempt to shove it into line. When had he and Adam talked last? Seven, maybe eight days ago, and only briefly then. Adam had called him in Tampa.

“He said he had a line on Orlando Perine.”

“Had a hook in the bastard’s mouth, near as I can tell.” Drake gave a grunt. “Grill McGraw, see what he knows, but don’t count on him giving you straight answers. You know how the fraud boys are. Vultures over a rotting carcass.”

Standing, Tal bulldozed the last of the grogginess from his brain. His old academy friend was dead. He’d died at Eden Bay Hospital. Adam’s ex-wife worked at Eden Bay. Had she seen him, spoken to him? Hell, had she watched him die?

With the light off and the phone wedged between his shoulder and ear, he located his jeans. “Adam was working with an informant last week,” he said. “Some guy who wanted out. Didn’t get a name.”

“He didn’t, or you didn’t?”

“Both. He called the guy Falcon.”

Dragging a T-shirt over his head, Tal searched for boots, sneakers, shoes—anything wearable. He found a pair of black hikers on the closet floor and, holding his keys in his mouth, laced them on.

“You know Tyler’s ex, don’t you?” the captain asked.

Tal grabbed a jacket. “We’ve met.”

“Use it. Tyler was a good cop, and homicide’s our business. We call the shots. Fraud’s on the sidelines here. Make sure McGraw understands that.”

Tal really didn’t care what McGraw understood. Adam had been his friend. Whether officially or unofficially, this was his case now.

“Heading out,” he said and tossed the handset aside.

Adam Tyler was dead. And the man responsible was going to pay.

“YOU CAN’T OUTRUN THE TRUTH, Ms. Santino. Someone shot your ex-husband. Someone who works for Orlando Perine, aka the slimiest scumbag in the Sunshine State.”

Gene McGraw enunciated the last part of his statement as if speaking to a five-year-old child. Not the best approach, in Maya’s opinion, but then if the rumors she’d heard about him had any merit, he wasn’t the most tactful cop in the fraud division. He certainly wasn’t the most incisive.

Three hours had passed since the first ambulance had pulled in. She’d lost count of how many patients she’d treated—which was just as well, since counting meant thinking, and thinking would lead her straight to Adam. Not that she could avoid that destination indefinitely. Detective McGraw was dragging her there despite the crush of activity around them.

Bumping him back, Maya palpated the ribs of a man groaning on a gurney outside an overflowing treatment room.

“Ms. Santino…”

She turned from the patient. “You don’t seem to be getting it, Detective McGraw. I haven’t got time for a cross-examination right now. Although it continues to escape your notice, we’re a bit busy here.”

“So the fact that your ex-husband’s been murdered doesn’t mean diddly to you?” He hitched a testy shoulder as a pair of paramedics elbowed past.

Appearance-wise, McGraw reminded Maya of a shaggy blond Columbo. In terms of attitude, however, the word caveman sprang to mind. Or perhaps more aptly, her cousin Diego, who she swore was a throwback to one of her mother’s nastier Andalusian ancestors.

“Believe me, Detective, I’d give a great deal to be able to reverse time and bring Adam back, but I can’t do that, and unless you know some secret science, neither can you. What I can do is help the people in the here and now. Once the last patient is treated, I’ll be more than happy to answer any question you want to throw at me. Until then, the machine in the doctor’s lounge has better coffee than the cafeteria. It’s also free.”

Tipping her lips into a quick smile, she sidestepped his arm and was out of range before he could object.

“Guess you told him, huh?”

Maya had her palm on the next treatment-room door when another man’s voice reached her. She turned to meet Stephen Talbot’s cool gray eyes. “I’m kinda busy here, Tal. Questions will have to wait.”

“What about emotions?”

“Same answer.” Frustration rose, coupled with something she knew better than to pinpoint. “Don’t push, okay? I might bite, and that’s not how I want to react. Adam’s gone. I’m making myself accept the truth, but I can’t—I won’t—let down someone whose life I might be able to save because of it. Any chance of any cop in Miami grasping that concept tonight?”

Tal raised his hands. “Message received, Dr. Santino. I’ll wait in the lounge.”

She tried very hard not to notice how tall he was or how incredibly, well, male, she supposed. How sexy. It felt wrong to be having thoughts like that. It definitely seemed inappropriate.

“Dr. Santino!”

With her eyes still on Tal, Maya pushed the door. “I’m here, Jamie. I’ve got a dozen more patients to see, Lieutenant, and that number doesn’t include any new arrivals. You could be waiting for quite some time.”

He ignored the stream of people rushing past. “Better waiting than lying on one of your tables. Do what you have to, Maya. I’ll handle McGraw.”

Great, she reflected, pushing through the door. Except that McGraw wasn’t the problem.