Bombshell Part 23

Griffin rang the doorbell as he breathed in the cold air. He felt anger rise in his gut as he waited, wondering what would happen when the door opened.

"Who is it?" Her voice was calm and serious, with no hint of fear or grief or rage, though he knew she had to be feeling all three.

"Special Agent Griffin Hammersmith, FBI. I'd like to speak to you."

There was a moment of silence, and then a dead bolt slid back, a chain unhooked, and a lock unclicked. As the door opened, he heard a violin solo playing in the background.

She was wearing thick white socks, no shoes. Her dark hair was hooked behind her ears, her face clean of makeup. If he weren't so mad, he'd take another look at her mouth, but since his gut was churning, he looked her straight in the eye instead. "You're being careful. That's smart, given what happened to your partner. And to my sister."

She stiffened all over, but she didn't blink, didn't look away from his face. She was good.

Griffin saw she had a Glock pressed against her leg, and he wondered if she'd had it clipped to her waistband beneath her blue and gray oversized Stanislaus sweatshirt before pulling it out at his unexpected knock at her door.

"Glock 22, I see. Forty-caliber, no doubt, standard-issue service weapon. Couldn't you get your daddy's .44 Magnum qualified for duty, Anna? By the way, is that your real name?"

Her chin went up. "It's my mom's .44. What's this all about, Agent Hammersmith?"

He walked toward her, forcing her to take a step back or hold still and shoot him. She stepped back. He turned and closed the door, clicked the dead bolt. He saw her eyes were shadowed, as if she hadn't slept well, and she was pale. It made him madder, and his voice came out stone cold. "If I hadn't realized it had to be someone Delsey knew, I might believe you, Anna, but I do know. You're an undercover DEA agent, like the man who died."

She didn't change expression, didn't say a word.

"Anna-excuse me, Agent Castle-my sister could easily have been killed Friday night, no thanks to you and your operation. Your own agent died at her place. It's past time you leveled with me."

She met his eyes directly, didn't falter. "I'm a music student at Stanislaus and a part-time waitress payin' my own way. What do you want from me? Why are you even here?"

He stepped right up to her face. "This is my sister we're talking about, and I'll do anything I need to in order to protect her. I thought Delsey was your friend, that you cared for her. But you don't have any friends, do you? You're only an operative trying to get information.

"Whatever you're after is the DEA's business, I accept that. But Delsey is mine. You were onto something, weren't you, and that's why your partner was killed. What was it? What happened? What was your partner doing in Delsey's apartment? And the big question-what does Delsey have to do with any of this?"

She was shaking her head back and forth, but now he saw her eyes were sheened with tears. Or maybe rage over what had happened to Delsey. Still, she repeated, her mouth hard, "I don't know what you're talkin' about, and I want you to leave, Agent Hammersmith. Now."

He took her shoulders in his hands and shook her. He let her see his own anger now. "Tell me the truth. I know you care about your murdered agent, but think of what could still happen to Delsey. Your partner's killers now know she identified him and they could start to worry she might have seen them, too. They wouldn't want a possible witness breathing, would they? Talk to me. Don't you owe Delsey that much? She could have been killed because of you."

"Agent Hammersmith, you have no right to question me," Anna said. "You're guessing at somethin' you shouldn't, do you hear me?"

"Guilty as charged. Here I have the gall to interfere with a federal investigation. So why not take that up with your DEA boss? We could work together, help each other if you'd level with me. Otherwise, Sheriff n.o.ble and the FBI might blow your whole investigation without even meaning to. Does that give you a different slant on things now, Agent Castle?"

She cursed him, nice full-bodied curses, then whirled around, and said over her shoulder, "Stay here, I mean it. I need to make a call."

He watched her walk on stockinged feet down the hallway and into another room, heard her speaking on her cell, though he couldn't make out the words. Five minutes pa.s.sed; he timed it. When she came back, she walked right up to him, and her look was both angry and resigned. "You win. I spoke to my boss in Washington, Mac Brannon. He's calling Mr. Maitland, bringing the FBI in with us. You're right, I'm DEA, Special Agent Lilyanna Remie Parrish. You've embarra.s.sed me, made me look incompetent to my boss. How did you know?"

She was so close he could feel her warm breath on his face. And her mouth was too close. He stepped back. "You obviously didn't realize you were sending out clues."

"I sent out clues? I'm very good. I never send out clues. What clues?"

He smiled down at her and counted off on his fingers. "You knew quite a bit about guns, you knew about fingerprints, and the biggie-you disappeared all day Sat.u.r.day. It takes a cop to know a cop, don't you agree?"

"That's not much at all, not a single real clue at all. All a guess."

Griffin shook his head, pointed to her Glock. "Smart of you to be really careful. You went out this morning. Where did you go?"

"How'd you know that?"

"I'm psychic." At her startled look, he said, "Would you believe I saw the double footsteps to and from your front door to your car?"

She said, "I went to Bridy's Market for some bagels and cream cheese."

He walked past her into a small living room that looked like a clone of his grandparents' lake cottage, old and faded and a bit saggy, neither place updated since the day the front doors opened circa 1950. There was an ancient chintz sofa across from two overstuffed flowery chairs, scattered rag rugs over a banged-up oak floor, and an old fireplace belching a bit of smoke and little heat.

Music soared, and he recognized Itzhak Perlman. "Turn off the music, please. We need to get a lot of things straight."

There was suddenly a loud yowl. Griffin whirled around to see a fat black tail disappear under the sofa. He turned to her, an eyebrow arched.

"That's Monk. He adopted me right after I moved in. He's still scared of people." She switched off the music, turned to face him, her Glock still in her hand. "I don't know if he'll come out while you're here."

"What's your real name again?"

"Lilyanna Remie Parrish."

"Lilyanna. Such a sweet, romantic name. I'll bet you're called Anna, right? I see you're still holding your gun."

She looked blank, then whooshed out a breath and stuffed the Glock back under her jeans waistband. "My mom's maiden name is Castle, so it's worked well. It's a precept in undercover work-you stick as close to the truth as possible. And yeah, you're right, everyone calls me Anna."

Griffin said, "So you've done undercover before?"

She nodded. "A couple of times. No, no one guessed what or who I was."

"Let's get to it. What are you doing here in Maestro?"

She turned slowly. "First of all, Agent Hammersmith-"

"Griffin. Don't go all stiff and formal on me now."

"You called me Agent Castle and looked like you wanted to punch me."

"I did until I looked at you and realized you were not only scared, you were hurting because of your partner's murder."

That was true enough. "Yes, all right, Griffin. Listen to me, I do care for Delsey-a lot. I wouldn't do anything to put her at risk, and I haven't. I was horrified-and very angry-when she was hurt." She punched her fist against her palm. "My partner-his name was Arnold Racker-he was a fifteen-year DEA veteran who taught a lot of us what we know. Arnie had three grown daughters. His wife's name-widow's name-is Janice. He'd just become a grandfather." The dam broke. She lowered her face and let tears roll down her checks.

He made no move toward her, although he wanted to, but he knew it wouldn't be smart. He simply waited.

She got herself together, scrubbed her hands over her face and walked to the fireplace to warm her hands. Good luck with that.

He said, "I'm very sorry, Anna."

"Yeah, I'm sorry, too," she said. "About all of it. About Delsey gettin' involved, about her seein' Arnie dead, about Arnie bein' dead."

"We're going to work together now to get these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. Tell me how all this started."