“Sleep if you need to.”

The deep, gravelly sound of his voice made Lisa restless. Looking at him would only make it worse, make her feel those things she wasn’t supposed to feel – that thread of electricity that somehow tethered them.

Lisa took off her sneakers and socks, put her ankle holster in the drawer of the bedside table and her .22 under her pillow. She lay back on the cool sheets. Sam had already turned out the dim sconce, leaving the room dark but for the light coming in through the window.

“It would be so easy to get you the kind of backup you need if you’d only tell me the whole story, Sam. You know they’re going to kill you, don’t you?”

Sam turned away from the window. The curtains fell back into place behind him. He took a step towards the bed. “They’re going to try.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Debra Webb was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She began writing at age nine. Eventually, she met and married the man of her dreams, and tried some other occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners, working in a factory, a day-care centre, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States, and finally moved to a small town in Tennessee, where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mystery and movies for inspiration. In 1998, her dream of writing books came true. You can write to Debra at PO Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345, USA or visit her website at www.debrawebb.com to find out exciting news about her next book.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Sam Johnson – Former forensics expert with the LAPD. Sam knows how to keep a secret, but this one might just get him killed.

Lisa Smith – Los Angeles priority homicide detective. Lisa will do whatever it takes to find the truth.

Jim Colby – The head of the Equalizers and the son of Victoria Colby-Camp. Jim needs his mother to trust him to live his own life.

Victoria Colby-Camp – The head of the Colby Agency. Victoria wants the best for her son but she is afraid he has bitten off too much with the Equalizers.

Tasha Colby – Jim’s wife and the mother of their daughter Jamie.

Spencer Anders – Former Special Forces major Anders is one of the associates at the Equalizers.

Connie Gardner – The receptionist and sometimes field operative for the Equalizers.

Renee Vaughn – A former prosecutor. The Equalizers have given her a chance to infuse some danger into her life.

Charles Sanford – Veteran LAPD priority homicide detective and Lisa’s partner.

James Watts – Deceased leader of the notorious gang known as the Crew. James made a deal with Sam Johnson – is that why he’s dead?

Lil Watts – Current leader of the Crew.

Buster Houston – Leader of the Nation, sworn enemy of the Crew. Buster rules by the old school.

Colby vs Colby

DEBRA WEBB

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This book is dedicated to the City of

Los Angeles, one of the coolest places on earth.

A place where nothing is as it seems and all

is as it should be.

Chapter One

Chicago’s South side Tuesday, June 4, 9:48 p.m.

“And there she goes,” Jim Colby murmured as he watched the young woman dart across the dark, deserted street. “Victim number three is in position.”

Sam Johnson moved his head from side to side. “How can these kids be so gullible?” He just didn’t get it. With the news reporting way too often on the dirty business of runaways being sold into slavery, he just didn’t see how anyone could be so oblivious to the dangers. And yet it was happening right in front of his eyes, as he sat watching from a beat-up Chevy Impala.

“Time to shut these scumbags down.”

Following Jim’s cue, Sam exited the passenger side. The vehicle’s interior light had been disabled to ensure they weren’t spotted by anyone watching the street.

Using the vehicles parked along the block as cover, Sam stole halfway up the block before pausing to survey the situation once more. Jim had taken the direct route to the office building abandoned by day and used for criminal rendezvous by night. Jim would put in a call to Chicago PD for backup as soon as he verified that all known players were in position. The Equalizers could tag and move in on this group, but the final arrests had to be made by official law enforcement personnel.

Sam hustled across the street and crouched at the rear of an SUV. If these scumbags had any spotters keeping watch, they were either asleep or blind. He steeled himself for possible confrontation and ran the last twenty yards to the northeast corner of the building inside which the despicable transaction would go down.

According to Jim, the location had once been an adoption agency. Sam found that ironic since the business taking place here most recently involved another sort of adoption: the selling of young women to the highest bidders.

Three females, ranging in age from seventeen to twenty-six, were inside. Two of those three didn’t realize just yet that this was going to be one of the luckiest days of their lives. The third victim was a plant. Connie Gardner, the receptionist from the Equalizers, had agreed to step into that role. At twenty-six, Connie didn’t look a day over twenty-one. Having a great body and the right look ensured she fit the profile.

Top priority was neutralizing the bad guys while maintaining the safety and well-being of the three women about to be auctioned via a private chat room on the Internet. If those scumbags inside knew what was good for them they would keep their hands off Connie. She knew how to make life miserable in a New York minute.

From his position at the main entrance, Colby tapped the mike to indicate all players were now present and visually accounted for.

Sam eased around the corner of the building, surveyed the back parking area and then hustled over to the ground-floor rear entrance. He tapped his collar mike, giving Colby the signal that he was in position. Colby would call his contact at Chicago PD and four minutes from now the world as these jerks knew it would change forever. Unfortunately, another group would take their place far too quickly.

As if to warn that the night was about to take a turn for the worst, another kind of change came earlier than Sam had anticipated. One of the hoodlums barreled out the rear entrance and ran square into him.

Sam and his startled attacker tumbled to the ground and rolled as each attempted to gain control of the other. Sam resisted the urge to use his weapon. His enemy had dropped his weapon when they hit the ground. No need to use excessive force. His assailant went for Sam’s throat. Weapon or no, the guy was determined to win this battle. At least until Sam applied just enough pressure to the carotid artery. The man slumped, unconscious. Sam shoved him off and clambered to his feet.

After tucking the lout’s weapon into his waistband, Sam moved back into position at the rear exit and listened. If the unconscious chump had been sent to retrieve something, then his pals would get restless when he didn’t return in a timely manner.

Sending a complication signal to Colby, Sam prepared to very carefully risk opening the door.

A weapon discharged inside the building, the sound shattering the silence and derailing Sam’s plan. The cacophony of screaming and yelling had him rushing through the door, weapon drawn.

Two men were facedown on the floor, one was on his knees with Jim Colby’s weapon boring into his sweating forehead. The two female teenagers were huddled together. Connie Gardner held a weapon she’d obviously taken from one of the men and was instructing the dudes on the floor to stay put.

Since everything appeared to be under control inside, Sam went back outside and dragged the guy who’d tackled him back inside with the others. The scumbag had started to rouse, but didn’t attempt to break free.

“What happened in here?” Sam asked Connie.

She looked furious and not the least bit frightened. “They wanted to make sure we weren’t wearing wires or tracking devices so they demanded we take off our clothes. Big mistake.”

Sam resisted the urge to grin. Considering no one was dead he figured this team of lowlifes had gotten off easy. Connie was not one to be pushed around and she definitely knew how to use a weapon.

The wail of sirens indicated the arrival of the police. Tonight chalked up one more for the Equalizers. Chicago’s finest had been trying to nail this operation for months. The man currently begging for his life in a position of humiliation in front of Jim Colby was the suspected ringleader. A few months from now, when he was in prison with guys ten times worse than him, he would be wishing Colby had put him out of his misery.

A sense of accomplishment filled Sam as he kept a bead on the others while Connie reassured the two young ladies who had thought they were coming here tonight to be extras in a movie. Their dreams had turned into nightmares, but at least they had lived to see their mistakes.

One hour later, Sam piled into the Impala with Connie and Colby to head back to the office. It was almost midnight and he was relatively sure the silence was indication that both his colleagues were as exhausted as he was. The euphoria lingered in spite of the quiet and the fatigue. Sam genuinely liked playing the hero, no matter the risks involved. He loved his job. It beat the hell out of obsessing about the past.

As Jim Colby slowed for a changing traffic signal, he reached into his pocket and dug out his cell phone which was evidently still set to vibrate.

“Colby.”

Sam didn’t really pay attention to the conversation, but he did pick up on the change in tension in his boss’s tone. Jim Colby was clearly not happy with the caller and/or the subject of the call.

Colby closed his phone and shoved it back into his pocket. “We have a command performance tomorrow morning,” he said with a quick glance into the rearview mirror at Sam.

That couldn’t be good. “The detective in charge has a problem with our statements?” Seemed a little fast to have gotten feedback, negative or otherwise, only minutes after they’d driven away from the scene of a sting operation. Usually the questions came later. Not that Sam was worried. Jim Colby might bend the hell out of the rules, but he never crossed the line, at least not more than a step or two.

“This has nothing to do with tonight’s operation.” Colby sent another look in Sam’s direction. “We have an appointment at eight sharp at the Colby Agency. Victoria needs to see us.”

Now Sam understood the irritation.

Jim Colby’s mom had called.

Checking up on her son had gotten to be a regular routine for the lady. And judging by the muscle flexing in Colby’s jaw, it was not appreciated.

The real question was, why would she want to see Sam?

Colby Agency Wednesday, June 5, 8:00 a.m.

JIM COLBY WAS twenty-eight years old. He was married with a daughter. He had opened the doors to his own cutting-edge firm just this year. The Equalizers were swiftly making a name for themselves as the place to go when all else failed.

He had faced death on more occasions than he could recall, and he’d doled it out far more times than any man would want to admit. The possibility of having his wife or child hurt was the one thing in this world that scared him; otherwise he was fearless. And yet here he sat, with dread tying his gut in knots as he waited for his own mother to call him into her private office.

Not that he was afraid of his mother; he wasn’t. But her need to protect him, to ensure his every move was cautiously executed was, frankly, making him nuts. Since the birth of his daughter, his mother’s hovering had only gotten worse.

“Jim.”

He looked up to see Mildred, his mother’s personal assistant and longtime friend, approaching the sitting area outside Victoria’s office. Pushing to his feet, he propped a smile into place. “Mildred.”

“Victoria is ready to see you now.” She directed an acknowledging nod at Sam Johnson as he stood. “If you don’t mind waiting, Mr. Johnson, it will only be a few more minutes before you can go in, as well.”

Jim felt his gaze narrow with suspicion. What was Victoria up to? He sent Johnson a “beats me” look as the man resumed his seat.

Mildred led the way to the door on the other side of the small waiting area and opened it. “Let me know if you change your mind about coffee.”

Jim didn’t respond, his entire attention already focused on the room beyond the door Mildred had just opened. The setting was a little generic, not at all his mother’s usual elegant style, but this building was only temporary office space. The agency’s new home was still under construction.

He walked in, instantly feeling his tension escalate to the next level. The Colby Agency had that effect on him; always had. He imagined most anyone who entered the inner sanctum of the head of the Colby Agency—temporary or not—experienced the same. For more than a quarter of a century, the Colby Agency had stood head and shoulders above the rest as the most prestigious private investigation agency in Chicago, perhaps in the whole country. Jim admired his mother and all she had done.

“Jim, thank you for coming.”

“Victoria,” he acknowledged.

His mother indicated the wingchair to his left. “Please have a seat.” She settled into the leather executive chair behind her desk.

It wasn’t until Jim moved around the chair she’d designated that he saw the other person already seated in the room. Female. Blond hair, brown eyes. Thirtyish. Posture rigid. Gaze assessing. A cop.

The woman extended her hand. “Hello, Mr. Colby.”

Yep. Definitely a cop. She had that formal bearing, that watchful eye.

Jim pumped the lady’s hand once then looked to his mother for an explanation.

“Please make yourself comfortable, Jim. This is Detective Lisa Smith. She and I will explain everything.”

He lowered himself into the chair, analyzing the three words uttered by the woman seated next to him when she’d shaken his hand. “West Coast?” he asked, turning his attention to Detective Smith.

“L.A.,” she confirmed.

Now he got the picture.

“Jim, Detective Smith flew in to Chicago yesterday. She came directly to my office with some concerns of which I believe you need to be aware.”

Major patience was required to keep his temper in check. He’d already gotten the picture. “What kind of concerns?”

“You may or may not know, Mr. Colby,” Detective Smith began in that careful tone cops used when they intended to tell you something that would actually tell you nothing at all, “but the three men who murdered Sam Johnson’s fiancée allegedly belonged to a notorious L.A. gang known as the Crew.”

He met her gaze with one that cut her no slack. He understood exactly why she was here, and he didn’t like it at all. “I am very much aware of the kind of thugs who raped and murdered Anna Denali. The bastards deserved what they got, and if you’re here looking for conclusions as to whether or not Sam Johnson had anything to do with their executions then you’ve come to the wrong man.”

The detective didn’t back down. “I’m not here for your conclusions, Mr. Colby. I’m here for the truth,” she said frankly. “Sam’s name has come up in recent gangland rumblings. There’s still a contract out on him, and someone has recently decided to provide the necessary motivation to see that it’s fulfilled.”

“And,” Jim countered, “you wouldn’t mind clearing up that unsolved case sitting on the corner of your desk in the process. Isn’t that right, Detective?”

Detective Smith’s gaze held his, but he saw the faintest flicker of indecision.

“Jim,” Victoria cut through the mounting tension, “Detective Smith’s first obligation is to protect. That’s why she has come to us rather than launch an official investigation of her own.”

Jim’s attention never deviated from the detective. “Really? Or maybe your lieutenant didn’t think there was enough evidence to launch an official investigation so you’re on your own.”

Another glimmer of doubt told him he’d hit the nail on the head.

“I considered coming to you first,” Detective Smith said. “Now I’m glad I listened to my instincts. You obviously can’t see beyond your own uninformed deductions regarding a case about which you’ve heard only one totally unobjective side.”

Jim laughed softly, but there wasn’t a damned thing pleasant about it, any more than there was about the irritation churning inside him. “You would be correct, Detective.” He stood, leveled a firm stare on Victoria. “I’m quite certain you can decide what cases your agency should take without any assistance from me. This meeting is over.”

He turned his back and headed for the door. Right now was not a good time to speculate what the hell Victoria had meant calling him here, much less taking this pointless case. He’d form his conclusions when he’d cooled off and could think more rationally.

“Jim.”

Hesitating wasn’t something he would have done in the past. But there he stood at the door, making that hopeful pause…giving Victoria the benefit of the doubt. He needed her to trust him. This meeting, the detective’s presence, screamed of distrust and doubt.

“I’m taking this case,” Victoria said, “for you.”

Fury kindled, diminishing the hope and amping up his already soaring tension. He turned to face his mother. “I don’t need protecting, Victoria. I can handle anything that comes my way. You of all people should be aware of just how well I can do that.”

Victoria didn’t falter. He hadn’t expected she would. “I would like to offer a compromise.”

“What kind of compromise?” He shouldn’t stand for this…but she was his mother. Changing her mind would take nothing short of a presidential veto.

That Detective Smith kept quiet told Jim hat she and Victoria had already discussed the likelihood of this reaction and that the two had agreed on this so-called compromise. That only annoyed him all the more. Unreasonably so.

“The police aren’t going to investigate the threat to Sam,” Victoria suggested, “until someone has actually committed a crime against him, and that might be too late. I’m certain you don’t want Sam hurt any more than he already has been.”

That much was true. Jim dropped his hand away from the door. “So, you’re going to look into the case.” He didn’t need her to spell it out. The Colby Agency took cases like this all the time. But this was Jim’s associate. The case should be his. It should be handled by the Equalizers.

“Actually, one of my investigators is going to work with Detective Smith,” Victoria explained. “Detective Smith knows the territory and the facts surrounding what happened to Sam’s fiancée better than anyone. Her knowledge and contacts are crucial.”

“Why send one of your investigators?” Jim countered, determination and some amount of arrogance nudging him to push the issue. “As invaluable as Detective Smith’s knowledge of the case and her contacts might be, Sam Johnson’s would be even better. This case should be his. He’s the one with the most to lose.”

Even from across the room he noted the slight shift in his mother’s posture as she said, “He’s too close. The case is too personal for him.”

Jim resisted the impulse to laugh. “We both know that rule is only applicable in theory. It has no place in real life, otherwise Detective Smith wouldn’t be involved in this case.”

Victoria held his gaze for several seconds. Whatever she said next, she could not deny his assertion. “Perhaps you’re right. Why don’t we call in Sam and see what kind of compromise we can reach?”

Jim didn’t miss the way the detective tensed at the suggestion. Interesting. If she was on the up-and-up she had nothing to hide.

“You have a problem with that, Detective Smith?” He shifted the conversation back to the lady from L.A.

She turned fully to meet his gaze. “Absolutely not.”

“Good.” Jim looked back to Victoria then. “This is the only right way to do this. I don’t think we want to go down that other road.”

Victoria nodded once in acknowledgment of the line he’d drawn. Jim opened the door and gestured for Johnson to join him.

As he entered the room, Jim said, “Johnson, I’m sure you know Detective Smith from L.A.”

Johnson stopped in the middle of the room. His gaze collided with the detective’s.

Smith rose from her chair. “Hello, Mr. Johnson.”

The tension that rippled through Jim’s associate was more than just surprise. There was something between him and the detective. Something more than the ugly history of the homicide investigation.

“Detective Smith,” Johnson said before glancing over at Jim.

“Detective Smith has come all the way from L.A.,” Jim noted, working hard to keep the sarcasm out of his tone as he brought his associate up to speed, “because she believes there is some threat to your life.”

“There’s talk,” Smith explained, “that the Crew is planning a hit on you.”

Sam digested that information for three or four beats. “And you felt compelled to deliver that message in person?”

Definitely something between these two. Jim saw it in his associate’s posture and heard it in his voice.

Smith blinked once, twice. “I think it’s past time we got to the bottom of what really happened. That way maybe we can stop this before someone else has to die.”

“The truth is,” Johnson said with a bluntness that held everyone in the room silent, “your department couldn’t care less if I die. This isn’t about helping me, and you know it. It’s about solving a case that baffled L.A.’s finest, and I don’t mean my fiancée’s murder.”

Jim had to give Detective Smith credit, she held her ground. Her navy slacks and pale blue blouse were pristine, not a wrinkle, and her poise was nothing less than professional. When she spoke, her voice was strong and steady.

“My partner would like nothing better than to nail you, that’s true,” she admitted, “but I don’t share his theories on what really happened. What I do believe in is the truth. I think it’s time we knew what that was.” And then she made a major strategical error. “I also think you’re way overdue to stop running from the past.”

Sam Johnson executed an about-face and stalked out of the room.

Jim didn’t follow, but he did offer the detective a bit of sage advice. “If you want his cooperation, it’s best not to insult him until he’s committed.”

Smith squared her shoulders. “I’ll talk to him.”

To Jim’s surprise, she took off after Johnson. He had to give her credit; the lady was definitely determined.

“I hope you understand why I’m doing this, Jim.”

Jim studied Victoria for a bit before saying exactly what was on his mind. “You’re the one who needs to understand. I’m not that little boy who vanished twenty years ago. You have to stop punishing yourself for that, Victoria. It wasn’t your fault. You need to come to terms with the reality that I’m a grown man. I survived twenty years in hell without you. I don’t need you looking over my shoulder now.”

He didn’t want to hurt her, but he had to get that through to her…somehow.

Chapter Two

Sam cleared the stairs leading down to the second floor of the Colby Agency’s temporary home. One more floor and he’d hit the lobby and be out of there.

“Johnson, wait!”

He hesitated on the landing halfway between the first and second floors and closed his eyes for five seconds in an attempt to calm the rage simmering inside him before he said something he would regret. Detective Lisa Smith had no business showing up here. Damn it!

“What do you want?” he demanded when she hesitated one step above him. What did she hope to accomplish by coming here? He was just beginning to enjoy his new life. He didn’t need the past barging in.

“I want the truth, Johnson. You can’t keep running away from it.” She rested her hand on the railing and took the last step down to stand toe to toe with him. “As long as I have a breath left in me I’m going to keep haunting you. You should know that by now.”

Oh, yeah, he knew. He’d gone through months and months of hell because of her and her partner. The last four months of long-awaited peace weren’t nearly enough to banish those dark days.

He looked directly into her eyes, let her see the resolve in his. “You’re wasting your time, Detective Smith. You won’t ever know what happened. You can dog my every step for the rest of my life. It’s not going to work.” A ragged, involuntary exhale reminded him that he’d been holding his breath.

“Then we have a problem, Sam,” she said with a fortitude that matched his own. “Because it’s going to take both of us to stop what’s going down back home even as we speak.” She lifted her chin and ratcheted up the warning in her eyes. “And I’m not going back to L.A. without you.”

He leaned closer, heard her breath hitch at the unexpected move. “No, Detective, we don’t have a problem. You have a problem.” He knew his civil rights forward and back. No way could she make him go back without a court order. If she’d had one, they wouldn’t be having this discussion right now. She would have arrived with her partner and all would have been handled swiftly and by the book.

As if he hadn’t said a word, she took another shot at convincing him. “Lil Watts has issued a new contract on you. You’ll be lucky to survive the week. No one close to you will be safe. Maybe you’ve forgotten how these guys work.”

Sam looked away, remembered terror slithered beneath his skin in spite of his best efforts to suppress any and all emotion. He still had a sister in L.A. Parents. None of whom understood his decision to leave…could never know his reason. The words he refused to utter aloud stuck in his throat. His family was supposed to be safe as long as he stayed away. That was the deal.

“When did things change?” His voice was bitter, brittle, as he leveled his attention on the detective once more.

“About two weeks ago.” Her eyes told him she wanted to back up a step, but she stayed put. “I guess you didn’t hear about it. The Man is dead. Murdered. Lil Watts took over. He’s shaking things up. Every damned gang in L.A. is restless. I think he wants to set his own precedents. Make himself look superior by having his long-awaited vengeance on you—the one that got away.”

Sam knew the gang members weren’t the only ones nervous. The riots of 1992 hadn’t been forgotten by anyone who’d lived through them. She was right. He hadn’t heard. He’d stopped watching the news a long time ago. But her revelation certainly explained why she was here. The Man had made the deal with Sam, and he was dead.

That meant one thing: open season on Sam Johnson and anyone he cared about.

“What’s the standing order?” There would be specifics. It wouldn’t be enough just to make him dead. Lil Watts liked pumping up the drama and the gore. Like Napoleon, his small stature dictated that he constantly attempt to make up for what he lacked in size. He wouldn’t rest until he’d made a circus act out of the situation and proved just how big and powerful he was to the world he now represented.

“Your head,” she said bluntly, “delivered to him on the proverbial platter. He chose six of his most devoted followers—whichever one brings him what he wants gets to be his right-hand man.”

Now there was some heavy incentive. A scuzzball’s wet dream.

“So, basically, I’m a dead man.”

Those brown eyes searched his before she nodded, her expression grim.

If Sam was nowhere to be found, the more ambitious and intelligent of the chosen hunters would go for his unsuspecting family. He didn’t need the good detective to tell him that.

“What about Sanford?” Detective Charles Sanford had hated allowing Sam to walk away. He’d taken it badly when he hadn’t been able to prove Sam’s involvement in the murders of those who had killed Anna. Sanford hadn’t given Sam a minute’s peace as long as he had remained in Los Angeles.

“In a nutshell,” she replied, “he’s hoping to be the one to ID your remains.” A weary sigh escaped her. “He doesn’t know I’m here. The whole division thinks I’m on vacation in Mexico.”

Sanford would love nothing better than to dance on Sam’s grave. No surprise there. The truly startling idea was that she was here. That she’d warned him what was going down. “If your partner finds out you lied to him he’s not going to be happy.” Sanford wasn’t the type to forgive this kind of perceived betrayal, no matter if justice was Smith’s primary motive, and Sam wasn’t entirely sure about that. Sounded a little too simple to him.

“I don’t intend for him to find out,” she countered, the frankness in her expression credible.

He got the picture now. “You think we can do this under the radar?”

Another of those barely discernible nods. “We’ll go in dark. Keep a low profile while we try and neutralize this situation before anyone gets hurt. If we prove you weren’t involved in the murders, assuming you weren’t, then Watts should back off.”

“Impossible.” She was out of her mind. If this was her way of getting him to come clean about what really happened, she could forget it.

“It’s the only way I can help you.” For the first time since she’d arrived, he saw a flicker of trepidation in her eyes. “You have to trust me, Sam.”

He ignored the new kind of tension that filtered through him when she used his first name like that… like she cared. He couldn’t afford any soft feelings where this woman was concerned. “What you’re suggesting, Detective—” his gaze bored into hers “—will not set me free. It will only get us killed.”

“You’re dead, anyway.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “There are far better ways to achieve a promotion, Smith.” If she wanted to make the next pay grade she should focus on kissing up to the brass, not digging around in cold cases that would get her six feet under.

Her one hand resting on the railing, she plowed the fingers of the other through her hair as if her patience had thinned. “I told you—”

“I know what you told me,” he cut in. “Don’t play games with me, Detective. Give it to me straight. If I’m going back to L.A. with you, I at least need to know you’re not a head case. I have no desire to go dark with a cop who’s suicidal.”

Well, hell, he’d really messed up now. He’d given her that inch she wanted so desperately. He’d admitted that he was going back to L.A. It wasn’t as if he had a choice. When had his brain staged a mutiny and decided he was going with her?

This time when she met his eyes there was no trepidation. That unyielding determination was back, full force. Maybe even had a little anger in the mix. “I want to help you get your life back…for real.”

That tug he hadn’t felt in months—not since the last time they’d stood this close—had him fighting the need to lean closer…to taste the grim line of those lush lips. Oh, yeah. Ten minutes around her and he’d already lost his grip on reality. He had to be out of his mind to even consider what she was proposing.

He was a fool, that was for sure.

Sam drew back a step, mentally shook off the too-intense moment. There wasn’t any going back now. “We should go back to Victoria’s office and work out the particulars.”

“Does this mean you’re going back to L.A. with me?”

If she was surprised at his decision, she kept the reaction carefully concealed behind that inflexible cop demeanor she’d yanked back into place.

“It means I’m going back. Whether I go with you or not is yet to be seen.”

He walked around her and headed up the stairwell.

It wasn’t like he had a choice. He couldn’t let Watts carry out his vengeance on his family.

Going back to L.A. was the last thing he’d ever expected to do.

Ironically it probably would be the last thing he ever did.

LISA SMITH couldn’t take the first step upward. Not yet. His answer had shocked her. She hadn’t expected him to agree to go back to L.A. quite so easily. Not in a million years, actually.

A dozen steps up he abruptly stopped and turned to her. “You coming?”

Heat rushed up her neck and across her cheeks. If he noted her hesitation, thought for one second she couldn’t handle this, he would refuse to cooperate. She knew the kind of man she was dealing with here. “Yeah. I’m right behind you.” She took the steps two at a time until she’d reached the one just below him.

Instead of giving her his back and resuming his climb upward, he studied her…too close. She banished all emotion. Stared right back at him. Whatever he was thinking, she wouldn’t have him reading her. She remembered all too well just how good he was at that particular skill.

When he decided the intimidation wasn’t going to work, he turned forward and headed back up to Victoria Colby-Camp’s office. Lisa didn’t draw a deep breath until they were inside that neutral territory. Victoria had agreed to help her. That put her on Lisa’s side. Strange, that decision also seemed to pit her directly against her own son. Lisa wasn’t sure of the story there.

Jim Colby still stood in front of his mother’s desk, looking annoyed at the whole situation. Victoria remained calm and as regal-looking as when Lisa had first met her yesterday afternoon.

“I have to go back to L.A. and handle this,” Sam said to Jim Colby. “There really isn’t any other way.”

“I can send Anders with you,” Jim suggested. “You’ll need backup.”

Sam shook his head. Lisa had known he would do that.

“I have to do this alone.”

Lisa held up both hands stop-sign fashion. “We do this my way, Johnson. I’m the one with the badge.” No way was she going to have him going vigilante. Again. He had to understand who was in charge, here and now. Now that she knew he was going back, she could afford to push the boundaries a little. The glare he pointed in her direction told her what he thought of that idea.

“I would much prefer,” Victoria interrupted, maneuvering easily through the thick tension radiating between Lisa and Johnson, “sending one of my investigators at least in a support capacity.”

“Support would be helpful, as long as there’s no question who’s in charge.” Lisa looked from Victoria to her son, Jim Colby. Both were determined to help, but she needed him to be onboard with her. Jim Colby kept whatever he was thinking to himself.

Johnson, however, did not. He moved his head firmly from side to side. “No one else gets involved. The only way to do this is by slipping into that world, the less fanfare the better. It’s too risky to drag anyone else into the situation.”

Lisa couldn’t argue the validity of that particular point, but backup could make the difference between success and failure. She couldn’t call on anyone in Homicide for support of any nature. If they figured out what she was up to, the chief would have her shield. Not to mention that Chuck would probably request a new partner.

“We’ll need logistical support,” Lisa argued, infusing as much logic into her tone as possible. “We can’t go under deep cover and handle any necessary logistics at the same time.”

Johnson appeared to consider her assertion. Good. She’d made him think. The operation they were talking about was extremely dicey at best. Any and all help behind the scenes that didn’t come from LAPD would be beneficial.

“All right. Logistical support and that’s it. No one goes in except me.”

There he went again. “And me,” she reminded, setting him straight.

He looked away, gave his attention to his boss. “I need to make arrangements for my family.” His sister was ten years his junior. She still lived with his parents while she completed her doctorate at UCLA.

“I’ll send two of my investigators to serve as security,” Victoria offered. “I have several who are the absolute best to be found.”

“Anders will provide logistical support,” Jim Colby said to Sam, choosing not to comment on his mother’s offer. “Anything you need, you let him know. He’s been in far worse places than L.A.’s gang world.”

Johnson said to Lisa, “Spencer Anders is former Special Forces. He spent most of his time in the Middle East. He could handle this with his eyes closed.”

“Good.” She didn’t mention that she already knew Anders was former military. She’d run a complete background check on the Equalizers the day Johnson went to work there. “There’s a flight that leaves at three this afternoon. We could be on it,” Lisa suggested. The sooner they were on their way the better, in fact. She didn’t want him having any extra time to reconsider.

“That’ll work,” he agreed, though it didn’t sound as if his heart was in the decision.

“Let’s use the agency jet,” Victoria offered as she pushed out of her chair. “That way the two of you can brief the others en route, and equipment transport won’t be a problem. Airport security makes getting across country with the necessities for an assignment like this nearly impossible.”

Victoria was right. A private aircraft would make travel considerably less complicated for all involved. Excellent idea or not, Lisa couldn’t help noticing the increasing tension in Jim Colby. His posture grew even more rigid and his jaw tightened to the point that a muscle repeatedly contracted there. Apparently, he was not pleased with what he presumed to be Victoria’s interference. When running that background check, Lisa had learned that Jim Colby was Victoria’s son. Evidently, Victoria had remarried since her surname was now Colby-Camp. Maybe that was part of the problem. Whatever. Lisa was no shrink, but her gut instinct told her that there was an explosion coming between these two.

Or maybe Victoria was unhappy that her son had started his own firm rather going into the family business. Lisa had wondered at that. Evidently Jim had drawn a line in the sand, professionally speaking, and Victoria just kept crossing it. A standoff, Colby versus Colby. Lisa would just as soon not be around when those two reached their breaking points. And it was coming, fast, that much was as plain as day.

Jim turned to Johnson. “We should get the communications equipment together. I don’t want you out of touch with Anders.”

“And fire power,” Johnson added.

“I’ll instruct the pilot to prepare,” Victoria said to no one in particular, though Lisa suspected what she wanted was for her son to acknowledge her act of support.

“Can we be ready to go by three?” Lisa looked from one man to the other. She recognized that Victoria needed certain information, starting with takeoff time.

Johnson shifted his attention to her, though reluctantly so. “Three will give us plenty of time.”

Jim Colby nodded. “We’ll rendezvous at the airfield at two-thirty,” he said to Victoria.

His comment felt like a dismissal to both her and Victoria, but Lisa wasn’t going anywhere without Sam Johnson. No way was she going to risk him taking off on her and doing this on his own.

“I don’t see any reason to hang around here,” she said with a glance in Victoria’s direction. “I can drop my rental off and join the two of you for preparations,” she said to Jim Colby. “If—” this was the tricky part “—Johnson doesn’t mind giving me a ride from the rental car agency.”

Johnson stared straight at her. For three beats she was certain he was going to say no.

“I can do that.”

He didn’t want to, his body language shouted that message loud and clear, but for some reason he didn’t turn her down.

Lisa offered her hand across Victoria’s desk. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Colby-Camp.”

Victoria shook her hand. “I’ll see you this afternoon, Detective Smith. I’m certain that we can find the truth you’re looking for and neutralize this volatile situation for Mr. Johnson.”

Hoping like hell she was right, Lisa turned to Sam Johnson. “Are you ready?”

To Jim Colby, Johnson said, “I’ll see you back at the office.”

Colby confirmed with a nod. “I’ll just finish up here.”

With Johnson right behind her, Lisa left Victoria’s office without a backward glance. She could feel the tension mounting once more, pushing the air out of the room. Mother and son weren’t finished by any means.

The trip down the two flights of stairs was made without conversation this time and with every bit as much tension as before. They’d reached the parking lot before Johnson said a word to her.

“Which rental agency?” he asked without so much as a glance at her.

“Budget.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

She wanted to say no. To tell him that she’d rather stay close behind him or have him follow her.

“Okay.” At least she knew what kind of car he drove and his license plate number. She’d just have to keep him in her line of sight.

Lisa headed for her rental, keeping an eye on Sam Johnson as he strode toward his own sedan. She got into her car and started the engine. The opportunity to hit the street at the same time he did wasn’t possible, but she did fall in three cars behind him.

She gripped the steering wheel in a death lock as she waited for an opportunity to maneuver closer to his black sedan. A stop light caught her after he’d passed through it.

“Damn!”

Her heart thudding in her chest, she waited for the green. Her foot instinctively shifted from the brake to the accelerator the instant the light changed. She’d never catch him now.

The cell phone in her pocket vibrated. Not taking her eyes off the back of Johnson’s car, she dug out her phone and took a breath.

“Smith.”

“Hey, Smith, where the hell are you?”

Lisa’s pulse skittered. Her partner, Charles Sanford.

“I’m…headed to a spa appointment,” she lied. “Where the hell are you?”

She cut right, edging between two cars, which left only one between her and Johnson.

“I figured you’d still be in bed. You’re supposed to be partying, hanging out in the bars all night. Isn’t that what singles do when they go to Cozumel?”

She glanced at the digital clock on the dash—9:20 a.m. Two hours earlier in L.A.

“I had to take the first appointment of the morning to get this particular masseur. He’s supposed to be the best.” She bit her lip and hoped he’d go for the lie.

“Oh-ho, I see how it is. Well, enjoy. I just wanted to check in and make sure you were behaving yourself.”

“Thanks, Chuck. I’ll see you next week.”

Lisa closed the phone and slid it back into her pocket. Was her partner suspicious? She couldn’t be sure. She’d given him no reason to be…but he was no fool. He’d been at this a whole lot longer than she had. He knew she was obsessing over the news about Johnson. In fact, she’d used that as her excuse for the abrupt vacation. The timing had worked out perfectly. Her parents were away on vacation with friends, as well, so she didn’t have to worry about them calling to check up on her.

Still, her story might not be enough for her partner.

Pushing her partner’s call aside, she changed lanes, tried to get behind Sam’s car. She’d almost caught up with him. As she moved closer, a look at the license plate told her she’d made a mistake at some point since leaving the Colby Agency parking lot.

This wasn’t Johnson’s car.

Where was he?

There was no other vehicle matching his for as far as she could see.

With no other choice, she drove to the rental agency and parked. No sign of Sam Johnson in the lot.

Just her luck. Less than an hour after coming face-to-face with him again and he’d lied to her already.

So much for finding the truth.

Chapter Three

Sam watched Lisa Smith climb out of her rental car and survey the lot. She was looking for him. He shouldn’t keep her guessing like this, but he needed to be sure of her motives. He’d played a little switch-and-bait with her, falling in between a couple of other black sedans and then abruptly making an exit while she followed the others. Even with that one traffic signal to his advantage, he could only assume she’d been distracted, otherwise he wasn’t sure he would have fooled her so easily.

He’d taken a shortcut to the rental agency and parked where he could watch her arrive.

When she walked out of the rental office, an overnight bag in her hand, and took another long look around the lot, he decided to put her out of her misery. He backed out of the parking slot where he’d waited, then pulled up right in front of her.

She tried to act as if she weren’t surprised as she stowed her bag in the back, then slid into the passenger seat, but he knew better.

“Did you get an unexpected call?” he ventured as he merged into the traffic on the street.

Her startled glance in his direction gave him his answer. He’d been guessing, of course. But a cell phone call was the most likely culprit whenever a driver got distracted. Since she didn’t have any passengers, hadn’t been eating while driving and there hadn’t been any traffic incidents to vie for her attention, then the cell phone was the probable candidate. He’d gotten away from her too easily to believe that one traffic signal had done the trick. This lady was trained in surveillance.

“Or maybe you made one,” he went on when she couldn’t decide how to answer. “Maybe to let your partner know how and when we were arriving.”

The line of her jaw tightened. She didn’t have to be looking at him for him to sense her anger. He’d ticked her off by suggesting she was keeping something from him. That she didn’t deny his charges didn’t bode well. The detective was hiding something, it seemed.

“Detective Sanford called,” she said crisply, maintaining that steady watch on the traffic in front of their car.

“Did you give him an update on me?” He should have known that she wouldn’t be working alone. The cop mentality was pair oriented.

“I told him I was on my way to a spa appointment.” She looked at him then. “He thinks I’m in Cozumel on vacation.”

Sam fixed his attention on the street as he maneuvered through midmorning traffic. “If I find out you’re lying to me—”

“You won’t.”

Instead of driving directly to the office, he turned in the direction of his place. He might as well pack a bag and check the aquarium. Once preparation was underway back at the office, he didn’t want to have to break away for anything as menial as grabbing his toothbrush. He’d driven a dozen or so blocks before she spoke up. He hadn’t expected to get that far.

“Where are we going?”

“My place.” He took the next left. “I’m sure you already know the address.”

She didn’t bother denying his charge. He imagined that she knew all there was to know about him except the details of why and how the three scumbags who murdered Anna were executed.

He couldn’t really hold that against her. He’d done his research on her, as well as her partner, not long after his fiancée was murdered. At the time, he’d considered it his job to know if the cops on the case were up to snuff.

“I know a few things myself. Lisa Marie Smith,” he said out loud, mostly to unnerve her. “Thirty-one, born in San Diego, graduated Berkley with a degree in criminology. Made detective just over five years ago, much to the annoyance of your male peers. Assigned to homicide one month later. No family in L.A. Never been married. One dog.”

She continued her steady gaze out the windshield. “The dog died. Old age. I’d had him since I was in high school.”

“That’s a shame.” He slowed the car and took a right turn. “I’m sure you miss him.” He’d had a dog once. But the animal had gotten so attached to Anna that he’d literally grieved himself to death after her murder. Sam had decided after that he’d stick with fish.

Anna. He didn’t say or think her name very often. He banished the images that immediately attempted to intrude on his thoughts. Anytime he did he was sorry for it. She was gone. There was nothing he could do to bring her back. Her parents hated him, held him responsible. He couldn’t blame them. He was responsible. It was his fault Anna had died.

“Nice place,” Smith said as he made the final turn.

His thoughts drifted back to the present with her comment. He parked in the driveway of his Oak Park home. The price he’d gotten for his Hollywood Hills home would have bought something much larger and in the ritziest market available in Chicago, but he hadn’t been looking for glamour or square footage.

This place gave him the peace and quiet he needed.

By the time he’d gotten out and rounded the hood, she had already emerged from the passenger side. He led the way up the walk and to the door.

“Seems quiet,” she remarked.

“It is.” Since school was out for the summer, there would be a little more excitement around the neighborhood throughout the day. Otherwise the neatly manicured lawns were clear of clutter and people during the morning hours.

First thing, he checked the aquarium and filled up the automatic feeder. He could be gone for two weeks and not have to worry. Fish didn’t need to be walked or boarded at the kennel. Didn’t need baths or any particular attention. Just a clean tank and food.

Uncomplicated. That was his new motto.

Smith stood in the middle of his living room looking around. He hadn’t bothered with any decorating and, admittedly, the furniture left something to be desired. But he didn’t spend much time here so he didn’t actually care. He’d sold his house in California fully furnished. Too many memories to bring any of the stuff with him.

“Have a seat. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

His new home had two bedrooms, one he’d turned into an office. That was the one part of his past he’d kept, his research books. As a forensics scientist, he’d used reference materials daily. So far he hadn’t really needed them in his new job, but it didn’t hurt to have them around.

He grabbed a duffel from his closet and stuffed it with two changes of dark-colored clothes, gloves and the necessary toiletries. He threw in a mini flashlight and a small first-aid kit.

“You kept your reference books.”

Sam turned at the sound of her voice. She stood in the open doorway, but made no move to enter his bedroom. That she’d peeked into his home office didn’t surprise him. A cop didn’t stop being a cop just because she or he wasn’t on official duty.

“I did.” He zipped the duffel and lifted it off the unmade bed. “I’m ready.”

“You didn’t keep any pictures of her?”

She stayed in that doorway almost as if she intended to have her answers before she let him pass. Evidently she’d already had herself a better look around than he’d realized.

“No.” He’d sold or put away everything, except the books, related to the past.

“You shouldn’t pretend she didn’t exist.”

If those brown eyes hadn’t looked so sincere, he might have considered that she was baiting him, but he could see that she was serious.

“She’s dead. She doesn’t care what I pretend.” He moved toward the door, expecting the nosy detective to step out of the way. She didn’t.

“That’s how you’re dealing with it?”

What the hell did she want from him? The last time he’d spoken with Detective Lisa Smith she’d been convinced he’d killed three men in cold blood. Did she believe she could get close to him like this and find that truth she wanted so badly to know?

“Let’s get one thing straight.”

She still didn’t back off, just looked directly into his eyes.

“My personal life is off-limits. It’s none of your business. End of story.”

“Strange,” she said with a puzzled expression. “I thought this whole thing was personal. Three members of a notorious gang killed your fiancée, then ended up dead a short time after. Lil Watts wants you dead. Sanford wants you on death row. What part of that do you feel isn’t personal?”

He stepped directly into her personal space and cranked up the irritation in his tone when he spoke. “This is never going to work, Smith.”

“Probably not,” she agreed without a glimmer of trepidation as she stared up at him. “But I don’t see any point in pretending I don’t want answers or that how you’re dealing with the past doesn’t matter.”

“Stick to the facts related to the case,” he ordered. “We’re not friends. We’ve never been friends. How I’m dealing with life in general isn’t your concern.”

She pivoted on her heel and walked back into the living room. He watched her go, tamped his emotions back down to a more manageable place.

If he got even an inkling that she was working a scam on him, this liaison was over.

For now he had no choice but to go along with her. He’d been out of touch with life in L.A. for more than four months. He needed the detective to get him back up to speed. Then he might just have to break out on his own. That option would be in her best interest, anyway. If she hung around him too long she would likely end up dead.

The Offices of the Equalizers 1:45 p.m.

“THAT SHOULD COVER IT.” Jim Colby shuffled the stack of reports they had just gone over. The reports included everything from seven-day weather forecasts to topographical maps of Los Angeles County.

The communication links were wireless and the tracking devices were state-of-the-art. Spencer Anders would serve as backup. Sam wasn’t exactly sure how that would work in real time, but he had to say he was glad for the support as long as Anders stayed out of the line of fire.

“You have a question, Detective Smith?”

Sam looked from Jim Colby to Smith. She’d picked up one of the reports from his stack and appeared to be studying it.

“I’m wondering how a private citizen in another state was able to get hold of an arrest record.” She dropped the report back onto the stack. “I don’t think I could have gotten it any faster.”

Renee Vaughn, another of Sam’s colleagues here at the Equalizers, stood. “I’m a former assistant prosecutor,” she said with a quick smile. “I know the ropes, Detective. However, if you take issue with our under-the-table contacts, I would suggest you take it up with the boss.” She aimed a wider smile at Jim Colby.

Smith held up both hands. “I have no issues with your tactics. I’m impressed, that’s all.”

The tension in the room reduced significantly.

Spencer Anders grabbed a gear bag. “We should head for the airfield. Wheels up in one hour.”

Sam picked up the remaining bag. “Let’s do it.”

LISA CLIMBED into the backseat of the SUV belonging to Jim Colby.

“The pilot’s sitting on ready,” Jim announced as he closed his phone and started the vehicle. “Victoria has Brett Call and Jeff Battles rendezvousing with us there.”

Lisa wondered why Jim called his mother by her first name. Perhaps it was an effort to keep the conversation on a strictly professional level. But it felt like more than that. The tension she’d noted between the two went deeper than a need to maintain professionalism.

The drive to the private airfield utilized by the Colby Agency took just over half an hour. Spencer Anders and Sam Johnson kept a running dialogue regarding the gear they carried and the possible technical problems they might encounter. Lisa didn’t mind that they left her out of the discussion loop. More than once she noticed Jim Colby watching her in the rearview mirror. She’d been with Sam Johnson since he’d learned of her presence in Chicago, so she was relatively sure the two men hadn’t talked privately. Maybe she was being paranoid, but she had the feeling that Jim Colby was suspicious of her.

Then again, his conclusions about her could have more to do with Victoria taking her case than with anything else. Time would tell, she supposed.

Once at the airfield, Jim followed the signs to Hangar 3. Another SUV, black like the one belonging to Jim, waited. The Lear jet sat on the tarmac, fueled and ready for takeoff.

Lisa unloaded as soon as the SUV was parked. She joined the others at the rear and handled her own bag. Both Anders and Sam carried their personal bags, as well as a gear bag. There was more they’d have to come back for, the additional weapons and more sensitive communications equipment.

As they strode toward the aircraft, the occupants of the other SUV emerged. Victoria Colby-Camp and three men, members of her staff, Lisa presumed.

“Detective Smith,” Victoria said as she approached, “this is Ian Michaels, my second in command, and investigators Brett Call and Jeff Battles.”

Lisa shook hands with each of the men. Ian Michaels had the dark, mysterious look of a true spymaster. Jeff Battles would blend right in on any West Coast beach with his surfer-guy tan and blond hair. Brett Call had the broad shoulders of a football linebacker, but the red hair and freckles gave him the appearance of the boy next door. Judging by what she’d learned about the Colby Agency in her research, there was probably a great deal more than met the eye with these gentlemen.

“Don’t hesitate to call on Jeff and Brett,” Victoria reminded Lisa. “The Colby Agency’s every asset is at your disposal.”

“Anything you need,” Jim Colby interjected with a look first at Lisa then at Sam, “I’m one phone call away.”

Something like fear flashed in Victoria’s eyes, puzzling Lisa for a moment, then she recognized it for what it was. Concern for her son’s well-being. Lisa considered the tall, well-muscled man in question. It didn’t make sense for Victoria to worry on that level. The guy certainly looked as if he could take care of himself in most any situation. But there was something more, beyond the obvious. Lisa had noticed it before.

“Sam,” Victoria said, drawing his attention to her. “Brett and Jeff are prepared to follow whatever instructions you feel appropriate for the protection of your family. I would suggest that Jeff tag around the university with your sister. He fits the proper profile.”

“Those decisions will be made en route,” Jim pointed out. Though his tone was cool and calm there was no mistaking his insistence on maintaining the lead.

Glad when the time came, Lisa was the first to go aboard the aircraft.

“Good afternoon, Detective Smith. I’m Race Payne, I’m your pilot.” The tall, slender man gestured to the seating area that had all the markings of an elegant conference room. “Looks like you get first pick.”

“Thank you.” This was definitely traveling in style.

“You may keep your bag with you or stow it in the luggage closet at the rear of the passenger cabin.”

She thanked him again and moved on to the seating area. Once she’d selected a seat close to a window, she dropped her handbag there and carried her overnight bag to the storage area. There was a minibar and a short corridor that led to the toilet and another door that was unmarked. She wondered if that was a private room or a store room.

“Private conference room.”

Startled, she turned to face Brett Call. “Oh, thanks. I wondered about that.”

Brett stashed his bags. “This is my second flight on the Colby bird.” He hitched a thumb toward the bar. “Would you care for refreshments?”

Lisa shook her head. “I’m good, thanks.”

Anders and Johnson had already taken their seats. Jeff Battles put his bag away and joined Brett at the bar for refreshments.

Lisa hoped it wasn’t going to be this “us against them” the entire flight. In some ways, they were on opposing teams, but the operation was a joint effort. Behaving that way would be in the best interest of getting the job done.

After settling into her seat, she watched the men who represented the Equalizers. They spoke quietly as they moved through a stack of papers similar to the ones they’d viewed in Jim Colby’s office. Hopefully, the two would be sharing that information with the Colby Agency representatives.

Deciding not to wait and see, Lisa spoke up as soon as Battles and Call had taken their seats. “Shall we start the briefing?”

Spencer Anders took charge. “Mr. Battles, you will be assigned to Mallory Johnson.” Anders provided a photo and background info sheet on Sam’s sister. “As Mrs. Colby-Camp pointed out, Mallory is a student at UCLA and you’ll fit in well there.”

Jeff took the photo and info sheet. “Will Miss Johnson be aware of my assignment?”

Sam shook his head. “I think it would be better if they didn’t know.”

Lisa was surprised at that. Was he purposely leaving his folks in the dark just so he didn’t have to see them? Would he even notify them that he was in L.A.?

“Your parents are retired?” Brett inquired.

“Yes.” Johnson handed photos and the needed info to Brett. “You might have a hard time keeping up with them on the golf course. Other than that, you’ll find their routine fairly mundane.”

“I’ll maintain a command post of sorts,” Anders added. “As soon as I have the location, I’ll notify the team.”

The team. That was a step in the right direction. Lisa saw an opportunity to take it one step farther. “We can use my place as the command post.”

All eyes turned to her.

“The location is central, quiet and out of the high-traffic areas.”

Anders nodded. “Good.”

She felt Sam’s gaze on her, but she avoided eye contact. “There are two phone lines, one’s for a fax. My neighbors are older so they don’t get out much. As long as you keep your vehicle parked in the garage there shouldn’t be any questions.”

“What about your partner?” This from Johnson.

Lisa’s gaze met his. “He has no reason to drive by my place.”

The sound system vibrated, signaling the pilot was about to make an announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, please prepare for takeoff.”

Safety belts were fastened into place across laps. Johnson was still studying her as if he suspected she’d volunteered her home for some reason that would be detrimental to him. Lisa focused her attention out the window on the people still standing near the SUVs.

Victoria Colby-Camp and her son Jim Colby waited, not quite side-by-side, since several feet separated them, for the plane to roll toward takeoff. Both watched the aircraft as if their full attention was required for proper function.

What was it between those two?

Lisa stole a glance at Sam Johnson. He’d redirected his attention to the reports spread across his lap. This uneasiness between the two of them was multifaceted for sure. There was the rage still simmering inside him at the loss of his fiancée. She sensed that emotion even as he outwardly denied it. Lisa had watched him lying in agony in that hospital room as he’d slowly recovered from the near lethal beating he’d taken that night. Before being allowed to lose consciousness, he’d been forced to watch the brutal rape and murder of the woman he loved.

Closing her eyes, Lisa shoved those images away. She’d gotten far too attached to him during those long months she and Sanford had been assigned to the case. Then the three suspects had gotten themselves murdered. Heinously so. Everyone in the division, all the way up to the chief, suspected that Sam Johnson had gotten his revenge. But there hadn’t been a trace of evidence tying him to any of the scenes. Sanford had grilled him repeatedly. Followed him, harassed him, actually. Lisa had tried to pull him back, but Sanford was senior and he refused. Until the chief had ordered them off the case.

Then, three days ago, all hell broke loose. Lisa had known when The Man died that Sam Johnson’s name would come up again. Somehow, Johnson had entered into an unholy alliance with the deceased leader of the Crew. His death had unleashed months of pent-up rage against Johnson. Now he was a wanted man. On more than one front. Charles Sanford would like nothing better than to nail him for multiple homicides.

When Lisa looked Sam Johnson in the eye, she couldn’t say that she was 100 percent sure that he hadn’t killed those men, but she couldn’t say he had, either. He’d had motive, that was certain. Means? She supposed so. Opportunity? Probably. But did he possess the ability to disengage emotionally so completely that he could kill not just in cold blood, but in a truly evil manner?

Lisa didn’t think so.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t be totally objective about that. Mainly because she’d fallen for the guy during those long months of watching him grieve. But she couldn’t tell a soul, least of all him.

She felt his eyes on her once more. The woman in her pondered whether he’d ever felt that connection—that thin thread of electricity that somehow tethered them. She turned from the window, met his assessing gaze.

No matter what happened, she could never let him know how she felt. Not only would it be a mistake ethically, she was also certain it would be a huge personal error in judgment. He could never know.

If she’d been smart she would have closed the file on this case months ago. Tucked the whole package into a box and filed it away with all the other cold cases belonging to L.A. County’s Priority Homicide Division.

As she held that analyzing stare, she had to admit that perhaps she wasn’t nearly so smart as her detective’s examination would indicate. But this had nothing to do with her intelligence level. This had to do with keeping Sam Johnson alive. If they didn’t extinguish the volatile situation surrounding the murders of those three scumbags once and for all, Sam Johnson was going to pay the price:

His head delivered to the new man in charge.

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