Sandra Marton - Ring Of Deception

Katherine stared at him. Then her lips twitched. “They’d better.”

“They will, I promise.” He took the leather bag he carried from his shoulder and walked to the back of the office. “As a point of information, is the Douglas woman widowed, divorced, what?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“It’s a cop thing,” Luke said casually. “Filling in all the blanks, you know? Okay.” His tone turned brisk. “I understand there’s a vacant apartment on the third floor.”

“Yes. My brother lived up there, but now that he’s married, he moved to a house. Eventually the day care will be taking over the space.”

“Good.” Luke zipped open the bag and took out a small black object. “I left my carpentry tools in my SUV. I’ll go get them in a little while. Meanwhile, I’m going to set this up.”

“What is it?”

“A camcorder. I’ll put it in one of the third-floor windows.”

“A camcorder? I thought you were here to do surveillance.”

“I am, but the camera can do it nonstop, and if something—somebody—interesting goes into the jewelry exchange, we’ll have a record we can view.”

“And you’ll still be here, in my office?”

Luke glanced up and smiled. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“No, that’s okay.” Katherine sighed. “Although, to be honest—”

“To be honest, the sooner I’m gone, the better. I agree. We’re just lucky that this window, this building, gives me such a perfect—”

“A perfect what?”

“Huh?” Luke turned toward Katherine. “A perfect view of the jewelry exchange,” he said, but what he’d just had a perfect view of was Abby Douglas, standing inside the exchange, behind the counter nearest the window.

CHAPTER FOUR

BY THE END OF THE DAY, Luke was starting to wonder how he was going to survive this assignment.

Between the day care director’s active disapproval of him setting up his equipment in her office, the kids trooping in and out of the room, and a noise level that approached that of a hen-house under attack by a weasel, he felt the kind of headache coming on that would rival any he’d ever experienced after some of the bachelor parties he’d attended.

“Don’t you ever close your door?” he’d said to Katherine Kinard.

“No,” she’d replied.

End of discussion.

He’d looked up a dozen times and found munchkins wandering through, though now that Kinard had hurried off to a meeting, the kids didn’t come all the way into the office. They crowded into the doorway instead, staring at him as if he was some exotic species of animal.

He knew it was because he was a male in female territory. The teachers, the aides, everybody who worked here was a woman. Still, he had to fight back the god-awful desire to look at the kids and yell “Boo.”

He didn’t do it. He’d learned his lesson about frightening small children this morning.

Instead, he endured.

It was like being in the Gulf with the corps and finding yourself in enemy territory.

Usually, police surveillances were the dullest things on earth. Just you, a camera, maybe a tape recorder, if you’d planted a bug, and whatever it was you were watching. A cop’s life consisted of ninety-nine percent boredom and one percent mind-numbing terror, where you hoped your training and instincts would be enough for you to survive. It was never the bang-bang, shoot-’em-up existence like you saw on TV, the one where the good guys solve the crime and save the heroine in the last three minutes, but at least it had some variety—except when you were doing surveillance.

On the other hand, working undercover was a high. You put on clothes to suit the character you were playing, got caught up in another kind of life, dealt with people who thought you were one of them when you weren’t. Luke had always liked that part of his job, and he was good at it. Pretending to be a druggie, to be a dealer, even to be a gun for hire—he’d played that role, too—could be dangerous as hell.

That was probably why it was so much fun.

But this? Sitting around, pretending to be a carpenter . . . This was Dullsville. What could possibly come of it? That was what he’d thought, anyway.

Except it turned out there might be another way to get information about the jewelry exchange, and that other way’s name was Abby Douglas.

Maybe she knew something. Maybe she knew more than Luke wanted to think about, which was crazy, because what was Abby Douglas to him? Nothing. Well, okay, a good-looking woman, but the world was full of good-looking women.

It was just that this one had a little girl who adored her, and a look in her eyes that said something, or somebody, had once given her a bad time.

Luke sighed, took the container of coffee he’d bought next door at Caffeine Hy’s, sat down in a chair beside the window that looked out at the exchange, and stretched out his long legs. The coffee had cooled down some, but it was still hot, strong and good.

He smiled, remembering the look on the face of the kid behind the counter when he’d stepped up to place his order.

“One coffee to go,” he’d said, “extra large, black.”

The kid had shifted a wad of gum from one side of her mouth to the other as she stood behind the cash register, fingers poised over the keys.

“And?”

“And . . . that’s it.”

“You don’t want a latte?”

“No.”

“Whipped cream?”

“No.”

“Shaved chocolate?”

“No,” he’d said again, politely. “Just the coffee, black, extra large.”

“How about today’s special? Caf;aae Kava Java Lava Mocha?”

“No,” he’d repeated, and he’d damn near felt every eye in the place settle on him.

Dan often teased him about his preference in coffee. He said Luke could wind up being banished from the city if he kept ignoring all the exotic brews served up in Seattle’s coffee bars and insisted on sticking to plain old high-test.

His ex had laughed about it, too. “You’re so predictable, Luke,” Janine had said, and he’d smiled and replied, well, so was she, because she always ordered Caf;aae Killa Vanilla Something-or-Other . . .

Luke’s jaw tightened.

That predictability had marked the end of his marriage. Stopping at home one night to pick up some notes on a case, he’d found two take-out coffees on the kitchen table, one sending up the scent of vanilla, the other with a milky froth floating on top.

He’d known right then what he’d only suspected for weeks. He’d headed straight for the bedroom, heard the sounds before he pushed the door all the way open . . . .

And what in hell was he doing, sitting here and thinking back to something that had been dead and gone for three years?

Luke drank some of his coffee.

He had too much time on his hands, that was the problem. He’d go nuts if this detail lasted more than a few days.

Okay. He’d think about something else. Something pleasant, like what would he do once this surveillance ended? He had time coming to him. Lots of it. Maybe he’d go somewhere. Drive to Oregon, go up the coast. Or take a couple of weeks, head for his cabin at Neah Bay, do some of the fix-up work he’d started last year about this time.

Neah Bay. He’d run from the place as soon as he was old enough, first into the marines, then into working construction here in the city while he took the test for the Seattle PD.

Now he wasn’t quite sure why he’d run so far or so fast.

He’d gone back to the rez only a few times during those first years, but he returned to it more and more often lately, even though there was nobody to draw him there anymore. His aunts, his uncles, the extended family that had raised him were all gone. Even his cousins had moved away.