“Meddling in or impeding a federal investigation isn’t a real good idea. I don’t care who you’ve got covering your butt in Washington.”
He let her comment stand and tapped his copy of her picture. “No doorman in the background. I was thinking Tatro took the picture, but I don’t know. Anything pinpoint the timing for you?”
“My jeans,” she said.
“They look good on you.”
“They’re the same ones I’m wearing now. I bought them and my leather jacket in late August.”
“In New York?”
She nodded. “They’re expensive, but I indulged because they fit so well. You have no idea what it’s like for a woman to find the perfect pair of jeans. I hate shopping, so when I do finally drag myself to a store, I make myself try on stuff. If it fits, I buy it. Especially pants.”
Juliet stared at her image, recalling the dressing room at Saks, checking the fit of the jeans in the mirror. Ethan had just exited from her life, again, after the capture of the international assassin he’d been hunting.
She’d spent too much money on clothes that day.
“I was still thinking I’d make it to Tennessee for Nate Winter and Sarah Dunnemore’s wedding.” She pulled on her holster and Glock. “Look at the angle of the shot. Whoever took my picture wasn’t in my face.” She got her leather jacket. “Sure it wasn’t you?”
“No, ma’am.” Ethan moved in close to her. “I’d have been in your face. You’re grasping.”
Juliet took a breath. What the hell was wrong with her? “Ethan—”
She shut her eyes a moment, the full range of emotions and physical sensations of last night rushing over her. He’d taken her with the mindless ferocity of a man with nothing to lose and nothing to gain—with no thought of the past or the future. To think they had a relationship—a romance—going, she knew, was pure self-delusion.
When she looked at him again, he hadn’t moved. “You’re right. I’m grasping. But if you took the picture and Tatro just happened on it and had his fun, it wouldn’t be so damn creepy.” She tried to smile. “It’d just be irritating.”
They took her truck, traffic light early on a Saturday morning. When they arrived at the USMS office, Mike Rivera was scowling at a grayish cup of coffee. “My powder creamer didn’t melt. It looks like a debris field.”
Juliet perked up. “There’s coffee?”
“If you want to call it that.”
With that ringing endorsement, Ethan passed, but she ducked out, grabbed the Big Apple mug off her desk and headed for the coffeemaker. But even she couldn’t drink its contents. Deciding against making a fresh pot and leaving Rivera and Ethan alone for too long, she switched off the power and rejoined them.
She sat on one of the plastic chairs in front of Rivera’s desk. Ethan, she noticed, stayed on his feet. “Have you got a legit ID for Juan?” she asked.
Rivera shook his head. “Nothing’s turned up. When did he start as your doorman?”
“First of September.”
“Before or after Tatro was released from prison?”
“I’m not sure. After, I think, but only by a matter of days. The building managers hired him. They must have checked references—”
“Collins is looking into it. What kind of doorman was this guy?”
“Efficient, pleasant. We all liked him.”
“Well, who knows. Being a John Doe doesn’t mean he’s tied into this thing.” Rivera pinned his gaze on Brooker, who seemed to expect a higher level of scrutiny now that a man had turned up dead. “You got a look at the doorman?”
“Yes, sir. I saw him Thursday afternoon. Same time I saw Juliet’s niece.”
“Why’d you stop at her building in the first place?”
“In case she was taking the day off.”
Rivera drummed his fingers on the edge of his desk. “You didn’t want to try here first. Thought you might get lucky.”
Ethan shrugged without answering.
“Or,” Rivera went on, “you were on Tatro’s trail.”
Juliet angled Ethan a sharp look. “Were you?”
“Not specifically, no.” He spoke directly to Rivera. “I was in New York to give Juliet the picture Tatro had of her.”
The chief deputy didn’t seem convinced.
Juliet shifted in her chair. “If Tatro wanted to hurt me, he could have beat me over the head or broken into my apartment any time during the past month since he got out of prison. Why wait until yesterday? Why wait until I wasn’t home? Even if he and ‘Juan’ were working together, same thing. They had a month.”
Rivera grunted. “If Tatro and the doorman were working together, the doorman must have done something to piss Tatro off.” He picked up a pen and twirled it between his fingers like a baton. “As far as I can see, Major Brooker, you’re the trigger—the catalyst. You and this rescue mission of yours.”
Ethan had provided some details to Rivera and Collins last night. Colombia. The rescue of an American contractor of interest at the highest levels of the U.S. government.