Blood Score Part 13

According to the publicist, her reason had been justified, but how much of her stalker story had been true? Did a stalker really exist or had Rachel written those letters? It wouldn't be too hard to replicate a convenient stalker letter, to cast a guilty suspicion on an anonymous someone for the death of Olivia Davenport. How far would the woman go to keep Ethan to herself now that Olivia was out of the picture? Angel could easily see a pattern of Rachel's interfering behavior when it came to anyone she saw as a threat. It's a woman thing, Gabe. You've got to be one, to know one, she thought.

Angel knew from here on that her partner would be wondering about her objectivity when it came to Ethan Chandler, whether he'd be justified or not. Although going solo on this case wouldn't have been her first choice, she may not have another option if she wanted to get the job done and pursue leads.

d.a.m.n it! She knew her problems with Gabe were her fault. She had no one else to blame, but in the end, she'd have to trust her cop instincts. Was Rachel a woman with only good intentions for her client or was she someone capable of killing off the compet.i.tion?

Angel had to follow her gut and take a hard look at Rachel Blevins, with or without her partner's buy-in.

Downtown Chicago "Look, I don't mean to run, but I'm expecting someone," Ethan insisted as he finished his drink. "Do you have that package? I've got to go."

"Yes, certainly." Tim tightened his jaw.

His guest had barely arrived, and he'd eaten almost nothing. After all the trouble he had gone through to arrange this meeting, the least he could do was stay and chat.

"I'll get it. Stay right here." Tim winced. Where else would he go?

When he returned with the wrapped box, he gave it to Ethan, but after the young man stood to leave, he jumped to his feet, too.

"Wait. Aren't you going to open it?" he insisted. "I mean, you've got me curious. I've been staring at this box since it was delivered. All this time, I've been wondering what it is. I know it's not my place, but I was curious. Do you mind?"

If someone had insisted he open a package like this, he would have been insulted by the brazen behavior. But he had a reason to be bold. He wanted to see Ethan's reaction to what was inside the box.

"Please open it." He licked his lips and didn't wait to be rejected again. "Surely you must be curious, too. I can tell you what's inside. You won't have to wait to find out. You'll be doing me a favor...like I did you, delivering it personally."

He sounded pathetic and dreadfully desperate. He knew it and didn't care. He'd bought a very pricey bottle of single-malt Scotch in an online auction from a private collector. He had mailed it to Ethan as the addressee, but he used his own suite number as the *in care of'' address to make sure the package would be delivered into his hands. To anyone capable of seeing, it would look like a simple clerical error, nothing more.

His ploy to get Ethan Chandler to his door had worked beautifully, but now his plan fizzled like a dud before his very eyes. It wasn't enough to know Ethan would be enjoying the expensive liquor, the best his money could buy. He had to see his reaction to the Scotch that he'd saved up to buy.

Ethan owed him that much.

"Well, okay." Ethan sat and pulled at the outside wrapper. "Thanks for being such a good neighbor and looking out after me."

Tim helped and got a rush whenever their fingers touched. With the box open, he expected Ethan to look down, but he only stared straight ahead until he broke into a charming smile.

"If you're expecting enthusiasm, you'll have to help me in that department," Ethan said.

Tim didn't know whether to be insulted or laugh. He'd been so focused on getting recognized for his generous gift, that he'd forgotten what it would be for a blind man to open a gift. His silly stupidity-and Ethan's dry wit-made him burst out laughing.

"Of course. And apparently, blindness is contagious. Forgive my manners."

"You think this was bad. You should see me at Christmas. That's a real bust." Ethan grinned and held out the box. "What's inside? I suppose you can tell me anything, and I'd have to believe you. So make it good."

Tim pretended to reach into the box and read off an enclosed card. He raved about the vintage Scotch and told him all the reasons why it was so rare-rare like Ethan was. While the young man ran his fingers over the bottle, Tim settled into the chair across from him, staring at the object of his obsession. Having Ethan close to him, he couldn't help it. His body reacted as if he was in the throes of s.e.x. His heart raced, and a trickle of sweat rolled down from his temple. The rush had warmed him all over.

"Someone went to a lot of trouble," Ethan said, oblivious to the effect he had on him. So utterly innocent and charming...and perfect. "Who would do this...for me? Was there a name on the outside? It had to be from a friend."

Ethan was within his reach, with no camera between them. Everything he had dreamed about was happening now, and it took all his concentration to carry on a conversation when he wanted much more.

"No, there wasn't...a sender name." He steadied his breathing. "It's an anonymous gift."

"Really? That's odd. How did they know to mail it here?"

"What?"

"I have a post office box that's public information, but my home address is off limits. How did anyone know to send a gift to this building?"

Ethan had ruined everything. Tim hadn't thought about his personal information being so private. His clever plan had backfired. Now the violinist looked worried.

"It's only one gift," he reasoned. "It was probably a clerical error. Is it really such a big deal?"

"Normally, no, but I have a stalker. Until you know what it's like to be stalked, you have no idea how it feels."

"Yes, I can imagine. I'm sorry, Ethan."

The young musician shook his head. "You know, it scares me. People have such high expectations of me. If I have a legacy, I want it to be about my music, not me."

"But I don't think you realize how very special you are to people," Tim rea.s.sured. "You inspire people...to do all sorts of things they may not normally do."

Nothing he said changed the look of concern on Ethan's face.

"I'm sure whoever took the time to send this very generous gift only wanted to feel close to you," Tim said. "I truly believe your fan understands that you're a real person, with flaws and insecurities like everyone else. This fan loves you, Ethan, without question."

"Yeah, but I'm n.o.body. It's my music that's important. Why do people want a piece of me?"

"You're a celebrity, Ethan. When you're in the public eye, there's a tradeoff. You want your life to be private, but it's not. It can't be. Maybe you owe your fans something for their devotion. They made you famous. Don't you think they have a right to show you how they feel?" Tim didn't wait for him to answer. "I would kill for such devotion...to know people loved me the way they obviously love you."

"No, you wouldn't." Ethan shook his head. "It's too much. There are times I want to crawl in a hole and never come out, but I can't. No one lets me. I've got obligations and people depend on me. Life goes on, no matter how bad I feel."

Tim's breath caught in his throat. Had Ethan opened the door to talk to him about his personal tragedy, like a real friend?

"I've been watching the news, Ethan. That girl you were dating, she was killed, right? I want to tell you how sorry I am. That must have been awful for you."

"I don't want to talk about that. I can't." Ethan reached for his cane. "I gotta go."

No, please stay, he wanted to say. Seeing the sad expression on Ethan's face only made him want to comfort the boy. The last thing he wanted was to upset his new friend. Tim reached out to touch his cheek-not thinking how a blind man would react to such an unexpected move-and Ethan freaked. Tim realized he had gone too far to show his affection and sympathy.

"What are you doing?' Ethan set the box down on the sofa next to him and stood. "Look, I really have to go. I appreciate all this, but I'm not-"

He never finished. He held out a hand, trying to feel his way out. When he swiped his white cane against a coffee table and knocked over a gla.s.s, his handsome face showed his frustration.

"If you don't want me to annihilate your valuables, you should give me a clue where your front door is."

"But don't you want your Scotch?"

"Keep it. I've got to go."

"No, this is your gift. I want you to have it. I insist." When Tim reached for his arm to lead him out, his distraught guest pulled away.

"Just tell me where to go," Ethan demanded. "I'm sure by now you'll relish the opportunity."

Ethan never said another word in his presence. He walked out his door and headed down the hall-without so much as a thank you. It took all Tim's will power to control his anger.

Angel hadn't realized how much she had dominated the conversation as Gabe drove them back to Grand Central Police Station. She had to admit that her borderline rant about Rachel had crossed into the danger zone when she realized her voice was raised, and her heart pounded. She'd kept in control while she was in the woman's office, but when she got into the car, Angel let her feelings fly. Rachel Blevins had really gotten under her skin.

"When was she planning on telling us about the letter she received today? You know, the one that tied the stalker to the murder. Before or after her conference call?" Angel glared out the window as Gabe drove. "And you...you apologized for scaring her? Oh, please. She sheds a few tears and you OD on testosterone and become the hero with her being the damsel in distress. I don't trust her."

He glanced at her sideways. "I don't know what you saw, but I was working the case, doing whatever it took."

"So you were only acting, is that it?" Angel raked fingers through her hair. "You were manipulating her, not the other way around?"

"As a matter of fact, I was. I even fooled you. Maybe if you hadn't been so preoccupied with covering your tracks about your after-hours rendezvous with Chandler, you might have figured that out. What's gotten into you? We've worked together long enough for you to pick up on my usual shtick."

When she didn't say anything, he went on, "As for those stalker letters? Rachel was looking for a connection between the stalker and Olivia. In her mind, she got it, but after I read them, that's not how I saw it."

Gabe explained that the letters had been written by someone who felt ignored by Ethan and was starved for his attention. Since Olivia already had the guy wrapped around her pinkie, it made no sense that the letters came from her. Ethan already doted on his girlfriend.

"Rachel's problem was that she'd refused to see anyone else as the stalker," he said. "Olivia was it. Her slanted view fueled the resentment she already had for our vic. It gave her permission to go overboard to protect Ethan. What I'm saying is that...maybe you have the same bias where Rachel is concerned. I think you should keep an open mind when it comes to chasing down leads. With someone like Olivia Davenport, we've barely scratched the surface of building a suspect list, especially given her s.e.xual exploits. We're short in that department. Rachel is a liar and a user and she's definitely on the list, but you're treating her as if she's the devil incarnate. Thinking like that will only compromise your objectivity."

"I can't believe you're against me on this."

"I'm not against you, partner, but admit it. Rachel pushes your b.u.t.tons. Apparently, she has feelings for Ethan. Is that what's really bothering you?"

"Don't a.n.a.lyze me, Gabe. I'm only concerned about this case."

"This case is your only interest?" He softened his voice. "When were you going to tell me about your date with Ethan Chandler? I don't think you had any intention of telling me about the extra ticket until Rachel forced you to."

They had stopped at a traffic light, giving Gabe plenty of time to shift gears and get around to what really bothered him. He stopped his interrogation about her motive for mistrusting Rachel and did something far worse than water board torture. He stared at her with his piercing baby blues and waited for her to explain.

"It wasn't a date," she said. "He wanted to talk and felt more comfortable with me, that's all. As for the extra ticket, I figured you wouldn't be interested. His music isn't your thing."

"It may not have been a date, but you met with a suspect, Angel. You had drinks with the guy. Plying him with alcohol isn't exactly procedure, although you could be on to something." He took a deep breath. "It's true that a fancy fiddle is not my gig, but I think the real reason you didn't offer the extra ticket was that you didn't want me cramping your style. Quit spinning this tale, Angel. You're making me dizzy."

She didn't feel good about the widening rift between them. She had to admit that Gabe had a point about her seeing Ethan after hours and without her partner. But her stubborn streak and the personal history between them kept the anger burning.

"I thought you were the guy who wanted to draw a line between work and personal. What I do on my free time is none of your business, Gabe." Staring out the window, she watched the traffic cross the intersection to avoid his stare.

"As long as we're on this case, you being with Ethan Chandler is my business. Don't make me out to be the bad guy. You know what you did was out of line." The light changed, and Gabe hit the gas. "And if there is a stalker targeting people in his life, do you think it's wise to hang with the guy? You may as well put a bulls-eye on your back. At least, cool your jets until we find out who's obsessed with him. I don't think interrogating a *person of interest' in a murder case is the best way to meet someone."

"This coming from the guy who dated a woman he met at a funeral." She rolled her eyes and grimaced.

"Oh, that's a low blow," he sniped. "What can I say? She looked great in black, and she had a thing for men who carried a concealed weapon."

"Are we talking about your gun?"

"As far as you know."

She hated arguing with Gabe. The man really got her blood pumping.

"Guess I'm being a hypocrite," he said. "I'm having a hard time separating the way I feel-" He stopped and left her hanging.

"Maybe I'm being overly protective...of you," he finally admitted. "It's been two years since Manny died. If you're attracted to this guy, you have a right to see where those feelings take you. All I'm saying is that you should hold off until after this case is over. Is that too much to ask?"

Angel shut her eyes and heaved a sigh.

"No, Gabe. It isn't. I see your point. To be honest, I have no idea what I'm feeling. I'm still in love with Manny. A love like that didn't go away when he died. I couldn't store it in a box or put it on a shelf. It hurts." She touched his arm. "I know you of all people know this. So until I figure out how I feel, I don't mind that you care about me. It feels good that you do."

When they stopped at another light, Gabe fixed his eyes on hers. Whatever he felt at that moment, it was written on his face. She'd seen the look before, but she'd been too wrapped up in grief and muddled urges to figure him out.

"You want me to pick you up on Sat.u.r.day?" he offered. "You're on my way."

Thoughts of her dressing up for the symphony-with Gabe standing at her front door in a suit and holding a wrist corsage-flashed through her mind in a jumble of memories from her senior prom. She couldn't handle that.

"No, that's okay. I'll drive myself. But thanks."

For the rest of the ride back to the station, silence ruled the day. Both of them were exhausted and had talked about the lack of sleep since the case started. They had plenty of reasons to sit through a comfortable silence between two partners, but that wasn't what was going on. Whatever was happening between her and Gabe was too complicated for her to deal with now, especially with Ethan Chandler being a major distraction. All her energies would have to go toward the case or she'd go crazy.

That's what she told herself, and she wanted to believe it.

Chicago's Symphony Center a Sat.u.r.day Evening After everything that had happened between her and Gabe since the murder of Olivia Davenport, Angel felt more than her share of guilt, especially after what her unselfish partner did for her late Friday. Gabe had gotten a call from the Chief of Detectives asking for an update on their investigation into the Davenport murder. Her partner was the senior member of their team, and he had been contacted by the chief to update him and the Superintendent of Police on the high profile case.

Her partner didn't have to include her, but he asked her to attend. Better yet, he encouraged her to do most of the talking. He gave her face time with the bra.s.s when he didn't need to, and she appreciated his generosity. Taking the case had been her brilliant idea from the start. She wanted exposure to the top dogs, but it had been Gabe who made sure she got quality time with the bra.s.s.

Angel had tried to thank him, but Gabe played down his part as usual. That made her feel like an idiot about turning him down for a ride to Ethan's performance-among other things-but she couldn't take anything back now.

After she parked, Angel headed down the block to the Symphony Center with her weapon in her clutch purse. Although she hadn't intended to work at the event, Rachel had obligated her and Gabe to keep an eye out for Ethan until suitable private security could be arranged.

But that didn't make dressing for the event any easier.

She'd lost count on how many times she had changed her clothes. She hadn't felt girly in a long time. Working with mostly men, it was easy to forget she had a feminine side. After Manny died, she hadn't felt up to the challenge of dressing for a formal occasion. Although she felt confident enough in her simple black c.o.c.ktail dress and burgundy velvet shawl, who the h.e.l.l was she kidding? She was a fish out of water in high heels that hurt her feet and pantyhose that made her feel hemmed in.

Having Gabe with her would have been a comfort. He'd have her back whether she deserved it or not, but it was too late for that.

Angel handed over her ticket at the front door and walked into the intimidating Symphony Center alone. She stared into the vaulted ceilings and dangling chandeliers, not knowing what to do or where to go exactly. Everyone else looked as if they belonged. The ma.s.sive atrium hummed with the voices from a crowd dressed in everything from formal attire, to fancy c.o.c.ktail dresses and suits. She felt the same stir of excitement as everyone antic.i.p.ated the performance of Ethan Chandler.

This was Ethan's world, and she was a stranger to it. The last thing she expected was for Gabe and his lie detector blue eyes to be on her mind.

Backstage, Cronan pulled at his necktie, feeling the pinch of its stranglehold on him. Dressing up during the week was one thing, but getting pretty in his best dark suit on the weekend encroached on his time.

He didn't like it much.

Angel had chosen to drive on her own. He didn't like that much either. Although his partner still worked the case with him tonight, he had the feeling she would've preferred the time off to enjoy Ethan's performance. Cronan had given her the choice to watch him play from a good seat-the way Ethan had intended her to do-or she could work the backstage with him like a cop.