Blood Score Part 6

"I got the feeling that you..." Cronan fixed his intense blue eyes on her. "...that you went a little soft on him because..."

At first Angel smiled and almost laughed off her partner's misguided concern, but something in Cronan's eyes made her stop. She'd seen the look before when he thought she hadn't noticed.

"Spit it out, Gabe."

"I mean, he's a good looking guy, and it's been two years since Manny died. You're ent.i.tled to...look." He loosened his tie. "I personally don't see him as your type, but..."

"Oh, here we go." She got inside and slammed the door. When her partner slid into the driver seat, she let him have it. "I don't want to hear your version of my type, Gabe. And I don't need you to tell me what I'm ent.i.tled to after Manny. You're over the line, even for you. I know you're gonna think I'm exaggerating, but you totally suck at diplomacy."

Cronan started the engine with his jaw clenched. He let the air-conditioning cool things off as an awkward silence closed in.

"You're right." He stared straight ahead with his hands gripping the wheel. "You don't need a guy like me telling you anything. What you and Manny had, that was real special. But he's gone and- Oh, h.e.l.l. Forget I said anything."

As Cronan pulled the Crown Vic from the curb and merged into traffic, Angel wanted to stay mad at him for overstepping his bounds as a partner and a friend. But his version of an apology-*Forget I said anything'-almost made her smile. She'd never seen him so unsure of himself. He had a hard time wielding the words when things got personal. Gabe showed his feelings and like most men, he never cared much for talking about *touchy feely' stuff.

That didn't mean his message didn't get through to her. She'd read him loud and clear. For the first time since Manny died, she had thoughts about another man and Gabe had noticed-even before she had.

What was that all about?

North of Downtown Chicago Normally arguing with Angel got him fired up in a good way. Cronan loved a healthy debate as much as the next guy, and a shot of adrenaline from time to time wasn't a bad thing. Clashes were bound to happen between two headstrong people and past disagreements had always been job related. But this time he'd stomped over personal territory, and he felt lousy doing it.

He'd won the prize for being the colossal jerk wad of the century and in his case, it wasn't good to be King.

"This is it," Angel said as she pointed to an upscale condominium project on the fringe of the suburbs. On the drive over, his partner had done her best to minimize the strain from their argument by sticking to the case.

It looked to be working for her. Too bad he couldn't say the same.

"Man, I don't know what the Department of Cultural Affairs pays an entry level promotion person, but I think daddy kicked in coin," she said as he drove through the main gate and found a parking spot in front of the building where Olivia had lived. "Daddy D must have pulled a few strings to get his daughter a good start in life."

"I'll say," he agreed. "Maybe a life of handouts wouldn't have done her any favors in the long run."

With Olivia dead, he'd never know if his theory had substance. It could be nothing more than useless ramblings from the King of jerk wads.

"I don't know." Angel shrugged. "I think it would take a lot of will power to turn down free money if it were handed to you. If you didn't know a different way of living, why would you give that up?"

"That's a scary thought. So what you're sayin' is that ignorance is bliss." He smiled. "If you're born with money, you have no idea how bad it really is for you. A place like this is more like a gilded cage. You and me, we're better off without all this grandeur."

"Well, that's one way to look at it."

The condominium grounds were beautifully landscaped, and the gated entrance would keep traffic to a minimum, even though the guard booth was unmanned. The exterior of white stucco had an interesting array of balconies jutting out over terraced floral beds. Blue and terracotta decorative tile lined walkways and set off windows. The complex had a sprawling Mediterranean look and a decent view of Lake Michigan.

"I think my first apartment was smaller than one of those balconies." Cronan grimaced into the afternoon sun as he got out of the vehicle and slipped on sungla.s.ses. "You got the unit number?"

"Yeah, and we won't have to chase down someone to let us in. The computer forensics techs are here to take her computer into evidence. Schumacher's guys. He's already cleared the way for us."

"Sweet."

When they entered Olivia's unit, the forensic team greeted them and were in the process of disconnecting her computer. Cronan recognized one of the guys.

"You find anything interesting on her computer?" he asked.

"Not yet. She had it off so we won't know anything until we get it back to the lab. Logging on would have changed the file time stamps. We want to preserve what's on the hard drive."

"Yeah, whatever," he said and glanced at Angel. She smiled as she slipped into her latex gloves, but she never said a word.

"We'll let you know what we find out," the tech said.

A computer had become a necessary part of murder investigations for various reasons, but he'd resisted getting sucked into the high-tech world. Angel wasn't much better. Both of them usually needed help translating geek speak.

"Thanks," he said.

None of the science geeks were very chatty, which worked for Cronan. He preferred to go through Olivia's home without anyone hovering over his shoulder. After putting on his latex gloves, he walked through the residence and looked for anything to catch his eye.

Olivia Davenport had expensive taste and surrounded herself with the best of everything. Cronan saw dollar signs everywhere. The rooms looked as if an interior designer had decorated them. Cozy yet pricey. Rich palettes of gold mixed with earth tones. Olivia's good taste ranged from top dollar furnishings to paintings and art pieces.

Unlike daddy dearest, Olivia didn't decorate with dead animal carca.s.ses. Even though there were pictures of hunting trips on bookshelves-photos of Olivia with her father with a noticeably absent mother-there weren't as many framed memories as were in the Davenport home. He wondered if that was significant. Her father's slip of the tongue about Olivia hadn't gone unnoticed.

*...she resents my...our interference in her personal life...'

"Cronan? I got flowers over here. Fresh." Angel called out. "The card only has two words-Love, me."

"Maybe the florist can help us track down Mr. FTD."

"Yeah. I'll run that down," she said.

Cronan spotted a photograph across the living room that drew his attention. It was a photo of Olivia with Ethan Chandler. Olivia didn't have many photos displayed of the two of them together, considering she dated the guy. That hadn't hit him until he saw the photo.

Olivia looked stunning in a long black gown, and Ethan had on a tux and held his violin. The event looked like a concert or a fancy charity gig. They'd made a good-looking couple. Although both of them were smiling, something else had drawn him to the image.

"Angel, come check this out. Tell me what you think." When she joined him, he showed her the picture and said, "Check out that look on her face. Is she flirting with the guy taking the photo? I mean, she's got the hots for someone. All that l.u.s.ty heat is not directed at Ethan."

Angel grabbed the photo from his hands and stared at it.

"Yeah, maybe," she said. "But she was an attractive woman who loved a good photo op. Maybe that's all it was."

"No, I've seen that look before. That's a look every guy wants to see in a woman's eyes."

Angel chuckled. "I have no doubt you've seen that look plenty of times, Gabe. In fact, I'd consider you an expert. You might be right."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Angel handed him back the photo and didn't answer. She only shook her head and walked away.

"Rachel had said Olivia flirted, even if Ethan stood right next to her," he muttered, staring down at the photo again. "Maybe she told the truth about that."

Cronan noticed there wasn't a time stamp on the corner of the photo. People like Olivia Davenport didn't frame date stamped photos like most people on the planet. But he might be able to search newspaper society page archives for her dress. He had a feeling Olivia didn't wear the same dress twice. If the event was a charity function, his search may not be too difficult. Ethan had admitted dating Olivia off and on over the last six months. If he could track down a guest list from a charity event, he might notice a familiar name.

He had a feeling that finding out who had taken the photo might be important.

Beyond Olivia's parents and Ethan Chandler, they needed a broader look at her circle of acquaintances. Someone in the public eye like Olivia Davenport would have plenty of people in her life. But good friends, that were her inner circle, might be another story.

Cronan set down the photo and wandered toward the dining room and kitchen. On a console table behind a sofa, a blinking red light stopped him short. Her answering machine had messages. He hit the play b.u.t.ton and continued his search, listening to several messages on her machine. The head of an organizing committee had called to ask her to volunteer, and a girlfriend had called to ask about having lunch when she got to town next week.

But the last message got his attention.

*We gotta talk. Now. Call me.'

A man's voice, and the guy sounded p.i.s.sed.

"Who the h.e.l.l was that?" Angel questioned.

Cronan checked the caller ID.

"The guy knew her well enough not to leave a name. Caller ID says it's Bryce Peterson. Does that name ring a bell to you?"

"No. I haven't heard it through this case or anywhere else." Angel made a note of the name, and Cronan gave her the phone number. "Is that the last message?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'll check her bedroom."

Gabe caught her eye at the same time her cell phone rang. Angel reached into her pocket to retrieve it.

"I'll catch up." She nodded as he headed down a hall.

When Angel looked down at her phone display, she recognized the incoming number. On instinct-in a move she'd think a lot about later-she went looking for a private spot to talk.

"I gotta take this. Give me a sec." She called out to Cronan and headed outside. When she was alone and beyond earshot, she answered the call. "h.e.l.lo."

"Detective Ramirez?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, uh...I wasn't sure who would answer. I'm glad it's you. This is Ethan Chandler."

Angel felt her heart ramp up to a new level, and she had to steady her breathing.

"How did you get this number, Mr. Chandler? On the business card I gave you, the number is for the station dispatcher."

"Reading business cards isn't a strong suit of mine. But since you called my cell earlier, it was easier for me to hit redial. I'm sorry for the intrusion."

Angel felt the heat rush to her face as Ethan explained that his cell has "a voice" to help him navigate its system. He made a.s.surances that her business card would not get tossed. He had a card scanner and a specialized computer that had voice controls so he wouldn't be disadvantaged.

She took a deep breath after remembering her call to Ethan on their way to his residence.

"No, it's okay. What can I do for you?" When her voice cracked, she winced.

"I know this might sound like an odd request, but I hoped we could talk, face to face."

"My partner and I can meet you somewhere. Would that be convenient?"

"No, I mean...just you. I'll explain when I see you." Ethan suggested meeting in a public place at a restaurant bar down the street from where he lived. He wasn't in a rush to do it. "Will nine tonight work for you?"

It didn't take her long to make up her mind.

"Yeah, that'll work. See you then." She ended the call and stared straight ahead. She hadn't hesitated, and she didn't regret what she'd done-at least, not yet. Not even when the voice in her head said, Ramirez, you're a d.a.m.ned idiot!

The guy might have called because he felt comfortable with her. She'd been the one who had talked to him most. He could have something new for their investigation, but as Cronan pointed out, Ethan was on the suspect list until they ruled him out.

"Who was that on the phone?"

Gabe's voice made her leap out of her skin. She turned to face him, unsure how much he had overheard of her conversation. Angel stared into his unwavering blue eyes and had no idea what she'd say.

Chapter 6.

Cronan stared down at Angel who looked as if she'd swallowed a chicken bone. She blinked a couple of times-wide-eyed and gorgeous-before she glanced at her phone. For a minute, he gave thought to check if his fly was open.

"Sorry. Did I scare you?" He jammed his hands into the pockets of his slacks and gave a quick glance at his zipper. "Was that Schumacher with an update?"

"No." She shook her head and swallowed, hard. "What's up? Did you...find something?"

The awkwardness between them had returned. Since his fly wasn't the reason, his next thought was that he'd intruded on something very private. From the look on Angel's face, she wasn't in a sharing mood. He narrowed his eyes, unsure whether he should press her with more questions on her call or talk about what really bothered him-the personal tension between them. But after Angel walked by him and headed for Olivia Davenport's front door, he'd missed his opportunity to clear the air.

"Yeah, one of the techs found something actually," he said. "In her bedroom."

He directed Angel toward the back of the condo into the master suite. The bedroom was as beautiful as the rest of the place. It had oversized furniture, fancy bed linens and pillows, with long flowing white drapes to add drama to the high ceilings. The room looked like a high-end magazine layout from Architectural Digest.

Except for one thing.

"Apparently Olivia Davenport had secrets," he said.

Cronan pointed down to an open black leather suitcase on the carpet. One of the evidence techs had found the case under the bed, filled with sadom.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic devices. A strap-on d.i.l.d.o, fur-lined handcuffs, leather whips and blindfolds-S&M contraptions that he had no idea what they were used for.

Well, almost no idea.

"Looks like Olivia had an alter-ego. This suitcase is filled with cla.s.sic bondage and discipline gear, right down to the ball gag and spreader bar. Check out her bed." He pointed to sections of an elaborately carved metal headboard and footboard that appeared to be sc.r.a.ped. "These marks look like someone was bound. Maybe a chain or metal handcuffs sc.r.a.ped off the black paint."

Angel looked closer and grimaced.