he’d caught more than his share of smart guys who would have sworn the same. So he’d burn the rest of the clothes he was wearing before the evening was out. Starting with his jacket.
His jacket. Johnny shoved his free hand into the pocket and pulled out the papers he’d snatched at Jonas’s place. Probably a bunch of prayers, given the looks of that room. He’d known the man was a do-gooder but there was a thin gray line between religious and nuts in his book, and Jonas had obviously taken a giant leap across it.
Unfolding the papers, he took his eyes off the road long enough to glance down at them. It was too dark to make out much. But a single word at the top seemed to scream out at him. Confession. He swerved involuntarily. A horn blared in response as an oncoming car passed, missing his by inches.
But that’s not what had a vise squeezing in his chest. He looked for the nearest place to pull over. Didn’t give a shit when he had to double-park to do so. Punching on the overhead light, he held the papers up and read, disbelief battling panic.
My last confession . . .
He skimmed rapidly, growing more frantic by the second.
. . . since 1985 I have been a member of . . .
. . . we called ourselves the John Squad, as each member had a nickname . . .
. . . shared profits with local drug lords, in turn providing protection . . .
Sonofabitch, sonofabitch, sonofabitch! He pounded the steering wheel in disbelief. And fear. Jesus Christ, if the Cop Killer stood over him at this moment with a lit match, he couldn’t be more shit-faced scared.
Hell, he’d half convinced himself that Jonas was the Cop Killer. Had wanted to believe it. But no. Johnny drew a deep breath and forced himself to read the two pages in his hand carefully. The bastard had ratted them all out. Given details dating back nearly three decades. Johnny gave a grim smile when he saw the son of a bitch had spent two paragraphs on Johnny and the fire that had destroyed Tory’s. He’d always known the bastard had hated him as much as Johnny did him.
Balling the papers in his fist, he forced himself to think logically. And when he did, the blood congealed in his veins. He had a bit more to worry about than destroying any evidence that he’d been at Jonas’s tonight.
Like whether the man had left any other letters of confession around the house.
Letters that would send Johnny to the gas chamber.
Nate pulled into his drive, weariness weighing on him. He wondered if Risa had turned in for the night yet. Or if she did, whether she’d sleep.
His mind lingered on the shock and worry in her eyes when he’d held her. And he couldn’t help recalling that first fist-in-the-gut reaction when he’d seen her shirt soaked with blood. Even knowing that it wasn’t hers, couldn’t be hers, his immediate flare of fear had been telling.
There was more there, much more than he should be feeling for a colleague. More than the unheeded protectiveness he experienced with Cass. Unease spiked. Risa didn’t even live around here. Not permanently. And he knew nothing about her.
Except that she had an unexpected wit. Was hot shit on a basketball court. Despite his exhaustion, a corner of his mouth kicked up. She had great instincts when it came to an investigation that had apparently deserted her when it came to taste in husbands.
And after tonight he knew what it felt like to have that long, lithe body against his, even briefly. A flicker of guilt warred against hormones. Was wrestled away. He’d used the portable strobe on his dash to get to the hospital as quickly as possible because he’d wanted—needed—to see for himself that she was all right. That first look at her covered in blood had shaved a good year off his life before logic kicked in.
He waited for the garage door to open and eased the car inside. When he did, all thoughts of Risa Chandler were shoved aside by the frustration that licked up his spine. Kristin’s car was missing.
She wouldn’t have pulled the same shit as a few days ago. He wanted to believe that as he unlocked the door from the garage and entered the house. After their go-round he expected to see a babysitter sitting in the family room. From habit, he toed