The Silent, page 1
part #4 of L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Series
PRAISE FOR LINDA’S NOVELS
Winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award
Winner of the Orange Rose Award
Holt Medallion Award of Merit
USA TODAY Best Romance of 2012 List
“Linda Style writes an intriguing, fast-moving, intelligent story. I’ll be on the lookout for more.”
—Linda Lael Miller
“A riveting story with fresh plot appeal.” —Romantic Times
“Absolutely spellbinding. A great plot…extraordinary in every way.” —Coffee Time Romance
“A tale of striking intensity…a compelling romance. Style has a gift for creating intriguing settings and characterizations …escape to a world of danger, intrigue and passion. A compelling romance.”
—Cindy Penn, Midwest Book Review
“An exhilarating romantic suspense that keeps readers wondering until the end. Action-packed…a strong intrigue.” —Harriet Klausner, The Best Reviews
“…Style writes with style… Style writes highly original stories that include characters with great depth. An exciting, heart-stopping reading experience you won’t want to miss. It proves once again, Ms. Style writes with style.” —Suzanne Tucker, Old Book Barn Gazzette
“A riveting read that will leave readers glued to the pages. Ms. Style has a flair for suspense. A series you won’t want to miss. —Romance Designs
“Tense, suspenseful and full of surprises. The pages seem to turn by themselves. When a story engages my mind as well as my emotions, I know I’m hooked.” —The Romance Reader
“Great Story! So intense, with strong feelings of love and betrayal. Mystery and danger…another couldn’t put it down story you’ll really love.” —Rendezvous Magazine
“Brilliantly creative, an engrossing read of romance and suspense…strong characters and a beguiling plot.” —Donna Zapf, Cataromance
THE DECEIVED, June 2014, THE TAKEN, August 2014, THE SILENT, September 2014
L.A.P.D. Special Investigation Series
Giving up is not an option
From award-winning, nationally best-selling author LINDA STYLE comes THE SILENT, the thrilling and sensual third story in the LAPD Special Investigations series—a novel of romance, suspense, intrigue . . . and secrets that can kill.
A little girl with a dangerous secret…
Seven-year-old Caitlin is the sole witness to a murder that could put a notorious crime boss behind bars.
A protective mother with a dark past…
Laura Gianni owes Anna Kolnikov her life. After all, if it weren't for the notorious madam and ex-girlfriend of a mob boss, Laura might still be on the streets of L.A. selling her body to survive. When Anna was murdered, Laura had to remain silent. Even now she can't tell the sexy detective investigating the case what she knows...because the truth would put her little girl in the crosshairs of a killer.
A cop with an inexplicable obsession…
Jordan St. James has vowed to see Anna Kolnikov’s murderer behind bars. It doesn’t matter that Kolnikov was a prostitute many believed deserved her fate. She was also someone’s daughter, someone's sister, and someone's mother, and she deserved better than a bloody death in a dark alley. But the one woman who can help him refuses to do so…even after he offered to protect her. Now she’s on the run with her daughter…and he’s desperate to find them before the killer does.
L.A.P.D. Special Investigations
Giving up is not an option
DEDICATION
—To all who protect and serve—
And always…to my family for your love and support
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter one
A note from the author
Acknowledgments
More books by Linda Style
About the author
Copyright
PROLOGUE
“DADDY WON’T WAKE UP,” Caitlin whimpered.
Laura switched the phone to the other ear and glanced at the clock on the night table. Five-thirty. “It’s still early, sweetheart. He’s probably tired.”
“He told me to wake him when I got up. Only he won’t wake up…and something smells icky.”
Laura sat up in bed. He’d promised! He’d vowed he’d never let their daughter see him like that again.
And she’d believed him. She always did. “Is anyone else there?”
“No. Just me and Daddy. Another man was here when I got up before, but I went back to bed and he’s not here now. Can you come and get me?”
“Sure, sweetie.” Standing, Laura cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder, snatched a pair of jeans from the top of the hamper and wiggled into them. “I’m on my way, but don’t hang up.”
“I hafta go potty.”
“Okay, but then come right back to the phone.” For the first time since the divorce, she was glad her ex-husband lived only a mile from the shelter. She threw on a sweatshirt over her pajama top, shoved her feet into a pair of flip-flops and hurried outside to the van.
How could he do this? She climbed inside and started the engine. “One last time,” he’d pleaded. “Tomorrow I’ll be gone. Please let me see my little girl one last time.”
He was going to make a fresh start in a new state, he’d said. There might be more to it, but she hadn’t asked. A change might do him some good.
Despite his flaws, Eddie had been a good father to Caitlin, and Laura’s heart had gone out to the man she’d once loved. She’d be devastated if she had to be away from her child for even a few days. His valiant effort to stay sober for the past year was remarkable and she couldn’t deny his request.
So, why would he relapse now? Maybe he was sick? Maybe he’d been gambling again? His drinking and gambling had always gone hand in hand.
“I’m back, Mommy.”
“Good girl. I’m in the car and I’ll be there in a few minutes. When I get there, I want you to unlock the side door and let me in. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Laura reached the house in record time, parked, bolted from the van and took the steps in one long stride.
The door swung open and Caitlin stood there in her jammies, her strawberry-blond curls all mussed and, though she wasn’t crying, a telltale streak lined her pink cheeks. Laura gathered the four-year-old into a crushing hug and nestled her face in soft, baby-shampoo-scented curls. Edging inside, she shoved the door shut with her backside.
Caitlin wiggled. “Ouch. That squeezing hurts, Mommy.”
“Sorry, sweetie. I’m just happy to see you. Where’s Daddy?”
“Over there.” Caitlin pointed toward the living room.
The interior was wrapped in shadows, broken only by slivers of dawn filtering through the blinds. Laura flipped the switch by the door. Nothing. She tried again and when nothing happened, she glanced up. The light-bulb was missing from the fixture. Damn. With Caitlin still in her arms, she went to the window on her right and opened the blinds.
The gray-pink of sunrise was enough to see by. She glanced down the hall where light shone from a doorway, and setting Caitlin on her feet, Laura gestured toward the bedroom. “Go get your things, punkin. I need to talk to Daddy.”
As Caitlin toddled off, Laura stalked across the room to the couch, hands clenched at her thighs. Eddie was lying on his side, his back to her and his face toward the cushion. An acrid scent assaulted her nostrils. Unable to contain her anger and disappointment, she smacked him on the leg.
“Damn you, Eddie.” She nudged him in the small of his back with her knee, this time a bit harder.
Again, he didn’t move. Odd. Even when he’d been at his worst she could get a grunt out of him. But…he was too still.
Abnormally still.
A terrifying realization hit her.
Her heart pounded against the wall of her chest as she stepped closer, then leaned in to see his face. His eyes were open. A dark stain soaked the pillow under his face. Gasping, she lurched back. Oh, God!
Covering her mouth with one hand, Laura swallowed back her sudden nausea and glanced toward the bedroom to make sure her daughter hadn’t come out. Think. Do something.
Her hand shook uncontrollably as she reached out to find a pulse at his neck. Nothing. Oh, God! He couldn’t be… Quickly, she felt for the pulse at his wrist. He was cold. His body rigid.
Nine-one-one. She had to call for help. But she just stood there, unable to move. He was dead. Oh, God. Eddie was dead.
Her heart raced triple time, her thoughts just as fast. Was Eddie so depressed about going away that he’d killed himself? No. He wouldn’t do that. And there was no gun she could see. He’d been upbeat when she talked to him last night. He was hopeful about making changes in his life. Most important, he’d never do such a thing with Caitlin there. Caitlin.
Oh, my God. Caitlin said she’d seen someone earlier. Had Eddie’s murderer seen Caitlin? But no…that didn’t make sense. If the person had known she was there…saw her…Caitlin would be—
She bolted for the bedroom. Her little girl thought her father was sleeping. She had no idea he was dead. And she could be in grave danger if anyone knew she’d been there.
“I gots everything,” Caitlin said proudly when Laura appeared in the doorway.
“That’s great. You said you saw a man here earlier. Did you meet him?” Laura hid her trembling hands behind her back and pasted on a smile.
“Uh-uh. I was peeking through the bedroom door ’cause I heard loud voices. Then I went back to bed because it’s not nice to interrupt people.”
&nbs p; Laura breathed a sigh of relief so deep it felt as if her lungs had collapsed. “Did you recognize the man?”
Frowning, Caitlin shook her head. She stretched her arms in the air and yawned. “I’m still tired, Mommy. I want to go home and sleep in my own bed.” She flopped back on the rumpled quilt like a limp noodle.
“We will, sweet pea. In a few minutes. You stay right here while I check for anything you might’ve left in the other rooms.” Halfway out the door, Laura turned. “Stay where you are. Don’t move. Okay?”
“Okay.”
In the hallway, Laura stopped. Took a deep breath. If she called 911, then it would be on the news and everyone would know Caitlin was there.
Eddie’s killer would know.
She had to get Caitlin out before anyone saw her. But what about Eddie? She couldn’t just leave, could she? As she thought it, she realized nothing could help Eddie now.
Propelled by fear for her daughter, Laura tore through the small house, snatching up everything belonging to Caitlin. A red tennis shoe from the bathroom, socks, her small toothbrush…anything that would indicate a child had been there. Seeing nothing else, she went back to the bedroom. Caitlin was curled up on the bed, rubbing her sleepy eyes.
“Hey, kiddo. We’re ready.”
“I wanna say bye to Daddy, too.”
Laura’s mouth went dry. “Uh…you know…it’s not even six o’clock yet, and Daddy’s really sick. I think we should just let him sleep.”
Without waiting for a response, Laura scooped Caitlin into her arms and ran like hell.
CHAPTER ONE
Three years later
“IT WAS A SLOPPY investigation, that’s why.” Detective Jordan St. James leaned forward, palms on the captain’s desk. He had his reasons for wanting to reinvestigate the Kolnikov case, but he couldn’t tell his boss what they were.
Captain Jeff Carlyle stood behind the oversize desk, arms crossed. A tall black man with silver hair, Carlyle was well liked by all the detectives in the Robbery Homicide Division of the LAPD.
“That case went cold four years ago. Unless you have new evidence, we have other priorities.”
Yeah. He knew the drill. The murder of a prostitute wasn’t important unless it could be connected to a high-profile name, politics or money. While Kolnikov’s case had the potential for all that, they hadn’t been able to get evidence to prove any of it.
“Frank DeMatta is still a priority, isn’t he? Kolnikov worked for him for more than thirty years…and was his mistress for practically as long.”
“We worked every angle on Kolnikov. If there was something to use, we would’ve done it. What’s the deal, St. James? Why’re you so interested in this case?”
Jordan clenched his hands into fists. “Kolnikov also knew Eddie Gianni.”
For years the LAPD had been champing at the bit to finally take down mobster Frank DeMatta, and his nephew Eddie Gianni would have been the star witness against him. Gianni’s murder three years ago had been a devastating blow to the department. Without the nephew’s testimony, they had no case. “My gut feeling is there’s something in Kolnikov’s case that will get us DeMatta. I just have to find it.”
It wasn’t a good answer, but it was true. And it was all he had.
As he watched the captain thumb through the file, Jordan’s muscles tensed. The unspoken philosophy that one person’s life might be more important than another grated on his conscience. Sadly, it was a fact of life in the department. There were only so many hours in the day and some cases had priority. Anna Kolnikov was a prostitute; no one cared that she’d been murdered. She was a discard.
He hated what the woman was. He wanted to forget her, but something kept drawing him back to the file, reading and rereading, compelled to know more. He had to solve this woman’s murder. If he didn’t, he wasn’t sure he could live with himself.
Regardless of his personal feelings about Anna Kolnikov, she deserved justice. If he had to use DeMatta’s name to do it, so be it.
Carlyle eyed him narrowly. “You know it’ll reach DeMatta before you leave the building.” His gaze shifted to the open-space squad room, desks butted one against another in domino patterns, each cluster defined by that group’s investigation priority.
“I know.” They’d long suspected a mole in the department was feeding DeMatta information. Jordan smiled. “So maybe that’s a good thing. We might draw someone out. Make people nervous.”
The captain rubbed his chin. “Okay. You’ve got a few weeks to show me something. But only because I want DeMatta. Don’t forget it.”
Still smiling, Jordan retrieved the file and strode from the office. The captain’s sanction meant a lot. He didn’t like working on his own, but in this case, he would have if he’d had to.
“Yo, paesan.” Rico Santini’s voice carried through the room, his New Jersey accent still strong even though he’d been living in L.A. for more than ten years. “What’s the verdict?”
“I’m good to go.” He gave his partner a thumbs-up and then sat in the gray chair that matched his gray metal desk.
“You really got a thing about this case.”
“You never had a thing? I know a couple of cases you bulldogged, so give me a break.”
Rico raised a hand. “You got me there, pal.”
“It could be a way to get DeMatta.”
“Then I’m sorry I won’t be around to help.”
Every cop on the LAPD wanted to nail the mobster. It had been twelve years since two of their own were gunned down by DeMatta’s goons, but no one had forgotten. Sooner or later they’d even the score.
“Hey, you coming to Bernie’s tonight?” Rico glanced at Jordan.
Jordan’s three best buddies in the unit had a standing meet at Bernie’s Sports Bar and Grill to catch a game or just hang out. Jordan’s partner, Rico, hadn’t been doing much hanging out since he’d married Macy Capshaw, a woman totally his opposite in every way, but he still managed to show up for the most important games.
“Tonight might be the last time I’ll be there for a while,” Rico added. “Starting tomorrow I’m off on that belated honeymoon, besides getting the adoption thing going.”
Jordan nodded. “Okay. I’m there. And by the way, I think what you’re doing with the adoption is great. Cody’s a great kid.”
His partner and his wife, Macy, had decided to adopt an abandoned boy she’d been working with as his court-appointed attorney. Jordan knew the blessings and the pitfalls of adoption. His relationship with his own adoptive parents was both wonderful and fraught with turmoil. Especially when he’d told them he wanted to locate his biological parents. All hell had broken loose and they’d never talked about it again.
Eyes gleaming, Rico smiled. His marriage and the impending adoption had him smiling a lot these days.
“Okay. Later, then.” Watching Rico go, Jordan smiled, happy to see his partner so happy, yet, oddly—he was blindsided by a sense of loss. They’d been best friends for more than ten years. Now Rico’s wife was his partner’s best friend.
He pushed his personal thoughts aside, pulled out Gianni’s file and started from the beginning. While in college, DeMatta’s nephew had collected money for his uncle’s business interests. It was well-known DeMatta had his fingers in every illegal activity in L.A. Gambling, prostitution, drugs, the protection racket. But there were so many levels to the mobster’s network and, because his goons took care of business for him, the department hadn’t been able to prove DeMatta’s involvement. Not without hard evidence or someone to testify against him. But it was only a matter of time. Jordan suspected DeMatta had collected money from Anna Kolnikov, the most well-known madam in L.A., but, again, he had no proof.
He flipped pages, reading quickly. Eddie Gianni had quit working for his uncle after college and had gone into real estate. Later they’d had a falling-out over the nephew’s gambling debts. The department, hearing from one of their snitches that Gianni had become a liability for the mobster because he knew too much, had swooped down. The small-time hood had been easily persuaded to testify against DeMatta—but only if he was offered protection in return.
