Darcy sat at her kitchen table, a coffee mug cradled between her hands. She knew she looked like hell, but she didn’t care. Her auburn curls tumbled riotously around her sagging shoulders, violet circles underlined her eyes, and her complexion was so pale the baker’s dozen of freckles across the bridge of her slender nose stood out like rust spots.
She’d let Detective Baker bring her home last night and then immediately shed her heels and dress and climbed into some old gray sweatpants and a ratty old T-shirt and was still wearing those same clothes.
After she’d changed clothes and greeted her black cat, Warlock, she’d poured herself a glass of wine and huddled on the couch. She’d turned the TV on but paid no attention to it, just letting the droning sound fill the air.
At last, when she was finishing off her second glass of wine, her emotions overwhelmed her, and she started crying. Huge, jagged sobs. She couldn’t believe she’d witnessed such a massacre. Her friends, her coworkers, mowed down right in front of her eyes. So much blood. Who knew blood had such a putrid smell or that it was so thick when it congealed on the ground? The sobs just kept coming, racking her body with pain, contorting her face as she cried.
When the tears finally ran dry her head was throbbing. She’d tried to lay down, but it was useless. Sleep wouldn’t come. Visions kept flashing before her eyes.
And Detective Baker’s words after she identified the man kept replaying in her mind. “Are you sure?” he’d asked, a flat tone tinting his voice.
She’d nodded, looking him directly in the eyes. “I’ll never forget that face, those eyes. That is definitely the man.”
He hadn’t said anything for a minute, just looked at her with an odd expression. Finally, he dragged a palm over his face and sighed deeply. “I’m going to tell you something that’s going to sound scary… because it is.”
Oh, God, that’s the last thing she wanted to hear. She was still terrified from this evening’s earlier events. She drew her shoulders back and squared her chin, preparing herself for the news he seemed reluctant to deliver. She knew it was bad.
“The man you identified is Dimitri Pasquale. He is the right-hand man to the head of a mob family. They, in turn, control the street gang known as the Bad Ass Banditos. We’re very familiar with him. We’ve been trying to get him for years, but he’s too slick. You are now the key to putting this guy away.”
She kept hearing those words, pounding over and over again in her head. She was responsible. But what if she didn’t want to testify? What if she didn’t want to put herself in that position? My God, this guy was a coldblooded killer. Why should it be her responsibility to put the guy behind bars? The bastard had all kinds of men under his control. It would probably be signing her own death certificate.
The problem was, this dude really was a bad ass. He was, obviously, a killer. She’d seen that with her own eyes. He was also a big-time drug dealer and a slick character that had either great lawyers or great influence. Or both.
And now she was supposed to “put him away.” Lord that would take courage. Didn’t Nick Baker understand that?
She was not a brave person. Sure, she loved to take risks with color and style, she enjoyed skiing, whitewater rafting, and horseback riding, and she even liked zip lines. She wasn’t afraid of a little danger, but this was different. This was a whole lot of danger and a whole different kind. Danger from the mafia. From a gang. From a cold-blooded killer. Not the nicest people in the world, to say the least.
When Detective Baker asked her last night if she’d be willing to testify against Pasquale, it felt as if her heart stopped beating. Of course, she should have been expecting it. She was the only witness. The only one who could put this villain away.
She didn’t really have a choice. She couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. It was solely up to her to bring justice for Papa and the others. And she knew it—knew it was her responsibility, her fate, so to speak, to tell what she had seen.
But the thought terrified her.
She shuddered, recalling how she had put the detective off last night. Unable to respond to his question, she’d begged for a little more time to let it all sink in.
She’d expected him to pressure her, but he hadn’t. He drove her home to the cozy, quirky cottage she’d inherited from her aunt without bringing the subject up again. He talked about the Cubs, and his family, including his two brothers who had been with him earlier in the evening.
When he mentioned his earlier trip to the piano bar, Darcy remembered that she was mad at him. He’d requested a song and left before she’d even finished it. If that wasn’t a slap in the face. She’d turned an angry amber glare on him.
“Oh, you mean the men who walked out with you while I was singing the song you requested.”
“I’m sorry about that. I got a phone call from my mother. There was an emergency at home. We had to leave immediately.” His tone was conciliatory, but his look said more than his words did. Obviously, he would let nothing come between him and his family.
She guessed she could understand that. If she had any family left she would certainly put them above all else. Unfortunately, her father, a policeman, had been killed in the line of duty when she was just 10 years old. After he died, her mother went downhill, finding comfort in a bottle. By the time Darcy turned 13, her mom was killed by a violent boyfriend. That’s when she went to live with Aunt Liz.
Aunt Liz. Thank God for her. She’d kept Darcy from being lonely, made her proud of her slightly plump body, was her biggest supporter, and taught her how to love again. Her aunt was an artist, a free spirit who encouraged Darcy’s love of music and the unique. Then, suddenly, just two years ago, Aunt Liz had died in a car accident. The shock of her startling, unexpected death sent Darcy reeling. Now she had no family.
So, she could understand his loyalty to family. Kind of. So, she simply smiled and said she hoped everything had turned out okay. He’d nodded, and they continued on their way. They didn’t speak any more until at last, he broke the silence.
“I really am sorry, you know. I hated walking out on you.”
His sincere words had an odd effect on Darcy’s heart, and she smiled.
Now she sat huddled on her curved red velvet sofa, Warlock curled up at her side. She knew her nose and eyes were red from crying, but she didn’t care. She needed a shower but couldn’t seem to find the strength to get up and go take one. Right now, she barely had the energy to breathe she felt so broken.
The doorbell rang, and Darcy tipped her head back and cursed. She didn’t want to see anyone. It was probably just her busybody neighbor Georgia. Word of the shooting was probably out, and the neighborhood snoop wanted to get the dirt straight from the horse’s mouth. She knew Darcy worked at Papa’s.
Well, she might as well get it over with. Otherwise, Georgia would keep ringing. Darcy’s car was in the drive, so the middle-aged spinster wasn’t going to give up.
When she peered through the peephole, though, it wasn’t Georgia’s wizened face that she saw. Instead, Detective Baker stared back at her. Oh, crap. What was he doing here?
Darcy cast a rueful glance at her baggy clothes and ran a hand through her jumbled curls. Oh, well, it was too late to do anything about it now.
She opened the door and peered around the edge. Her breath caught in her throat when her gaze met his pewter eyes. Damn, she shouldn’t let herself be affected by his good looks. This man was not for her.
“Morning, Ms. Campbell. May I come in?” He smiled, looking impeccable in his black suit and silky white shirt. A lock of chocolate brown hair fell across his forehead, and she had to fight an urge to reach out and sweep it back.
Darcy stepped back and opened the door to allow him entrance. She saw his eyebrows raise as he took in her eclectic space. It was, admittedly, a little messy. The jacket she’d worn last night lay tossed across a bench in the entryway. The living room was crowded with chintz and gingham overstuffed chairs, a dress form she had turned into the figure of a maid that acted as a wine server, and her piano. Magazines were scattered about, and surfaces were covered with projects in progress.
“I hate to disturb you, but I need to talk to you.” Nick turned a serious gaze on her.
Darcy’s stomach sank at his words. She knew he was going to ask her for a commitment. Was she willing to testify against Dimitri Pasquale?
“Come in and sit down, Detective,” she motioned towards a chair. “Would you like some coffee?” Anything to put off the discussion she knew was coming.
“I’m afraid this isn’t a social call.”
“I didn’t figure it was. That doesn’t mean we can’t be comfortable while we talk, does it?”
She took her time brewing a fresh pot of coffee and fixing two cups after enquiring how he took his. Black, of course. She should have guessed. She added muffins to a plate then reluctantly made her way into the living room.
Once she was seated, he took a sip of his coffee and started speaking.
“Ms. Campbell,” was all he got out.
“You might as well call me Darcy. I’m not used to Ms. Campbell. It just makes me more uncomfortable.”
“Okay, then, Darcy, I know this is a frightening position you’re in.” He looked her directly in the eyes.
“Frightening. Yeah, that could be an understatement, Detective. It’s terrifying. Completely, overwhelmingly terrifying.” Her voice shook as she spoke.
“I do understand. But it’s also necessary. We need you to put this bad guy away. You saw him pull the trigger. You are the only one who has the power to end his murderous ways.” He leaned forward intensely. “We’ll protect you, Darcy. I promise. Trust me.”
She stayed silent for a long moment, staring into his silver-blue eyes until he finally spoke again.
“You know we can subpoena you if we have to. Even if we have to bring you in as a hostile witness.”
She felt her chin jut up in defiance. She didn’t like taking orders. Especially not from an arrogant man.
But then her shoulders sagged. She knew she had to do this. She couldn’t turn her back and pretend it hadn’t happened. Even despite the detective’s threat she already knew she would testify.
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
He let out a long breath. “Thank you.”
“And it’s not because you threatened me,” she retorted.
“I understand,” he said seriously.
“Well, it’s not. I’d already decided I would testify. It’s the right thing to do.”
He eyed her, a small smile playing across his lips. “I believe you.”
“Well, you should, because it’s true.” She still sounded defensive. “Here, have a muffin.” She practically shoved the plate at him. She’d made the orange-pineapple muffins herself yesterday morning and for some reason wanted him to enjoy her cooking skills.
He bit into the tasty morsel and could hardly contain a groan of pleasure.
“God, that’s good. Thank you.”
She couldn’t help grinning in satisfaction. Her cooking skills were approved.
“I do have to ask you some more questions, though. Would you mind coming back down to the station?”
“What the hell. In for a dime, in for a dollar.” She tried to sound casual, but couldn’t hide the tension that spun through her. Lord, she was in for it now.
“Then we’ll go. As soon as I finish my muffin.”