“Sounds like a good evening,” she said.
“It was okay,” he said, realizing his tone had given more away than he’d meant to.
“Just okay?” The metal detector hummed.
He ran a hand over his chin. “It turned out to be more of a dinner party than just the family.”
“And you aren’t the dinner-party type?” She took another step.
He waved the light across the grass, considering his answer, but when only the truth came to mind, he went with it. “Normally I don’t mind, but let’s say Christina’s trying to put a little pressure on me to…broaden my horizons.”
Nikki looked up, questions in her eyes.
“She had someone there for me to meet.”
“Oh.” She looked away. “And don’t tell me, ‘she had a good personality.’”
He grinned. “No, she was…pretty. And nice.”
“But?” She focused on the ground again. When he didn’t answer, she asked, “How long ago did your wife die?”
“Three years,” he said.
Her eyes met his again. “Your sister-in-law is right. You need to…‘broaden your horizons.’”
“I think I’m getting there.” He held her gaze. Something said she knew exactly what he meant. Which explained why she immediately went back to moving the metal detector.
It was a full thirty seconds later when her question spilled out into the night. “How did your wife die?”
The answer ran around his head and bumped into his heart. He wanted some more info from her tonight, but he was giving more than he got.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s none of my—”
“No,” he said, realizing if he gave a little, she might, too. “I was working undercover and the bad guys found out. A bomb was put under our house.”
He heard her intake of air. Shock. Empathy. Funny how just a gasp could tell so much. “My god. I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
They walked the grass in silence, as if too much had been said too quickly. Each taking slow, easy steps, eyes to the ground. He focused the light close to where she waved the metal detector. She took a step and the light hit her bare feet. Expecting to see her sexy pink-painted toenails, he stopped, a little surprised.
Her toes looked…red, white, and gray and it wasn’t just the nails that were painted but the ends of her toes as well.
She wiggled her toes as if noticing they were in the limelight, then glanced up, grinning. “Bell and I gave each other pedicures. She got smiley faces. I got…”
He grinned. “Armadillo road kill?”
Her laughter spilled into the night air, then looking down, she curled her toes in the grass. “Be nice. It was supposed to be stars and stripes like the American flag. We didn’t have blue, so she used gray. But her creative vision didn’t quite pan out.”
He laughed again, but it came with a somber thought. Angie would have done that. She’d have let their little girl paint her toenails, her whole damn foot, and worn it proudly. “That’s…”
She looked up. “What?” she asked with humor, but her smile faded, probably because his had.
“Nothing, just…you’re an amazing mom.”
It wasn’t the first smile he’d gotten from her, but it may have been the first real one. For sure the most beautiful.
“Thank you. I work hard at it, but it…I mean, it’s not that hard because she’s the amazing one.” Pride echoed in her eyes and tone.
“She seems smart,” he said.
“She is. Today I told her she could pick out a half gallon of ice cream. She stood in the freezer section for ten minutes reading all the different flavors. When she hit one she couldn’t read, she asked me what it was. Neapolitan. She was blown away that it had three flavors in it and picked it. On the way home, she asked me what the ice cream had to do with horses. I said it didn’t, but when we got home we Googled it. How did she know that there was an extinct horse that was called a Neapolitan?”
Love and pride sounded in Nikki’s voice and his admiration of the woman standing in front of him grew. “Maybe Sesame Street?”
“Probably. She’s like a sponge.”
“Or maybe she takes after her mom,” he said.
“No.” Her smile faded a notch. “She’s way smarter than…I ever was.” She sipped her wine.
They went back to necklace hunting, moving around in the late-night silence. After a couple of minutes, the quietness felt empty. “What made you want to become a cop?” she asked.
Not only was she good at asking questions, but the ones she chose hit hard and heavy. Telling himself he didn’t want to put a damper on the evening, he offered a vague answer. “A need for justice.”
They took a few more steps. He chanced throwing the question back. “Why did you go into fitness?”
She lifted her head, pulled her glass from her mouth, and her eyes met his. A drop of wine lingered on her bottom lip and he wanted to taste it, taste her lips.
“A need for justice,” she answered.
He lifted a brow.
Her tongue dipped out and caught the drop of her wine. “My mom had a bad habit of choosing men who thought their fists could solve problems. I wasn’t going to let it happen to me.”
It was what he thought to be the most honest answer she’d given him to date. And he wondered if one of those men was behind whatever it was he suspected she was hiding. More than anything, even more than he wanted to kiss her, he wanted her trust. What’s going on, Nikki? What are you afraid of? He ached to ask, but sensed he’d lose the little ground he’d gained.
Instead, he spoke another truth. “And you think you’re not smart?”
She looked up, and they shared another honest gaze. He went back to wanting to kiss her, and damn if he didn’t think she was thinking the same thing.
But right then his phone, stuck in his back pocket, rang. “Excuse me,” he said.
It was an Anniston area code. However, he didn’t recognize the number. He took one step back for privacy. “Hello?”
“Detective Acosta?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“I’m Candace Brown. You gave me your card. I’m Cindy Bates’s neighbor.”
“Yes,” he said.
“I know it’s late. But you said to call if something happened and there’s something happening over there right now. Fighting.”
“How bad does it sound?”
“Bad,” she answered.
“Okay, I’ll call it in. I’m on my way.” The sooner he got to Cindy Bates, maybe the sooner he could find out what happened to Abby Noel.
He hung up and met Nikki’s gaze again.
“Work?” she asked.
“Yeah. Sorry to bail on you. I gotta go. But…thanks.” He collected his dog from the lounge chair. He looked back at Nikki. “I had a great time.”
“It…was just a glass of wine. And you brought the wine.”
He smiled. “Not because of the wine, because of the company.”
* * *
Juan called for a car to meet him at Bates’s apartment. He arrived before the backup team, so he patted his gun in his shoulder holster and took off up the stairs to Bates’s place.
He’d no more than reached the second-floor landing when Bates’s door swung open. A man the size of a large bear stepped out. Light flooded out behind him. Then Juan noticed blood running down the man’s face and on his knuckles.
Juan froze. “Stop right there. Anniston P—” He hadn’t finished announcing himself when all three hundred pounds of man charged him.
The man bulldozed into him, and Juan lost his footing. While he worked to save himself, the man flew down the steps. Juan broke his fall by grabbing onto a metal slat of the railing. Unfortunately, the sharp edge ripped into his right palm. The pain offered a shot of adrenaline.
He blasted down the stairs after the perp. The man hauled ass across the parking lot, Juan hauling ass right behind him. The night was quiet and the so
und of their feet slapping the pavement echoed in the darkness.
“Stop! Police!” Juan yelled.
The man moved faster. Feeling the burn in his palm, Juan pushed himself. A car up ahead beeped as if the man had unlocked it.
“I said stop!” Juan growled, gaining on the asswipe. Pushing his legs faster, harder, he caught the guy’s shirt. The man twisted, hit the ground, rolled. But he didn’t stay down. He popped up with a knife and a murderous glint in his eyes.
“Drop it.” Juan raised his Glock. Finger on the trigger, he meant business. “Never bring a knife to a gun fight,” he spit out, the barrel of the weapon slick against his bloody palm.
The knife’s six-inch blade clanked on the pavement. Without being told, the man held up his hands. Obviously, he was familiar with the routine.
“What did I do?” he asked, his breathing labored.
“You mean besides attacking an officer?” Juan said. “You tell me. Why did you run?”
Right then a patrol car raced into the parking lot, sirens blaring and lights flashing. The man at the end of his gun looked around as if tempted to run. “Don’t do it, buddy.”
When the officer got out of the car, Juan recognized it was Billy. They exchanged nods.
“I didn’t know you were a cop,” the perp said to Juan. “And I didn’t do shit. She attacked me.” He lowered one hand to his head. “Look at me.”
Yeah, his condition worried Juan, because if this asshole looked that bad, what did Bates look like? Juan moved in and kicked the knife away. It didn’t appear to be bloody. For that, Juan was grateful.
Chapter Nine
As soon as the handcuffs were on the perp, Juan said, “I’m going to check the apartment.”
“She’s the one who attacked me!” The bozo started bitching again. Ignoring him, Juan ran back to the apartments and bolted up the stairs. Heart beating to an adrenaline tune, he felt the blood oozing from his palm.
He approached the door with caution. “Police.” He knocked, and the door, left ajar, swung open. “Ms. Bates?”
No answer came. Only a dead silence.
Afraid she was unconscious or worse, he moved in. Gun held tight, he looked left, then right.
“Police,” he repeated, mentally preparing himself for what he might find. As a cop, especially before he worked in the Cold Case Unit, he’d faced a lot of ugly. You’d think he’d have gotten used to it, but it was a bitch every time.
He took a quick look into the kitchen. No Bates. But blood smeared the white tile, showcasing some footprints. His next intake of air smelled coppery. What was the chance all that blood was from the perp in handcuffs? Slim.
He moved into the short hallway. Hands still tight on the gun, he pushed the bathroom door open with his foot. Nothing there, but more blood where it appeared someone had tried to wash up in the sink.
His mind wandered to Nikki, who’d taken up fitness to keep this kind of shit from happening. Yet she was running. Had someone hurt her like this? Had she bled at the hands of some asshole before she learned to fight?
Pushing thoughts of his neighbor away, he turned to the door of the only other room in the apartment.
“Police.” He gave the partially closed door a nudge. Shoulders tight, he swept his gaze over the room, expecting to find a battered and bruised woman, hopefully still breathing.
No woman, breathing or otherwise.
Clothes were piled on the bed. An open suitcase lay there as if someone was packing. A trail of blood on the beige carpet led to the closet.
“Shit.” Gut knotted, he jerked open the door. Nothing.
Where the hell was Cindy Bates?
He moved out of the bedroom. Then out of the apartment. When his feet hit the landing, he heard a car squealing off on the opposite side of the building.
Juan moved to the railing to get a better view. Through the distance and darkness, he could call it a small red or burgundy car. An old Saturn, maybe? And his gut said the person driving like a bat out of hell across the parking lot was Cindy Bates.
He closed his fist against the sting in his palm. When he looked down, he saw the blood ooze between his fingers. Then he noted the blood splatter on the concrete landing.
Not all his. And he was pretty damn sure the rest wasn’t all from the asshole in handcuffs. How badly was Cindy Bates injured?
Pissed he’d lost her, Juan shot back down the stairs to where Billy waited with their perp.
“And?” Billy asked.
“I think she just drove off.” He looked at the man sitting on the concrete. “How bad was she hurt?”
“I told you she came at me.”
“I didn’t ask you that. How bad was she hurt?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. I had to defend myself.”
“Right.” Juan moved in. “You got ID on you?”
He didn’t answer.
“You search him yet?” Juan asked Billy.
“Was just about to do that,” Billy said. “I called for paramedics.”
“Stand up,” Juan insisted, and then motioned for Billy to do the search.
Billy looked down at Juan’s hand. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Juan said, but he’d yet to look and see how bad it was.
Twenty minutes later, the paramedics had arrived and decided that the perp, J. T. Cote, didn’t need medical treatment, but Juan did. J.T. had two previous convictions for drug possession with intent to distribute, as well as an arrest warrant. He wasn’t going home tonight.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” Billy asked J.T. as he was putting him in the back of his car.
“She’s not my girlfriend!” J.T. insisted. “Look, she stole from me. I came to collect and she attacked me.”
“What did she steal?” Juan asked.
When J.T. didn’t answer, Juan guessed. “Drugs?”
The man still didn’t answer, but from the grim line of his mouth, Juan figured he was right.
* * *
“This is not your week.”
Juan looked up from his palm being stitched to Connor walking into the ER. “What the hell you doing here?”
“Billy ratted you out. I ran into him at the pub by my place. He said you came here to get sewn up.”
“Don’t move,” the doctor said.
“Sorry,” Juan growled.
Connor looked down at Juan’s palm. “Does that hurt?”
“No. It feels great.” Juan glared at his partner. “Didn’t you have a girl at the bar lined up to go home with you? Why’d you come here?”
“I had two, but I sacrificed for you. You owe me.”
“I’d think so.” The young doctor grinned.
“Right,” Juan said.
The doctor did his last pass with the needle, knotted it, and stepped back. “Fifteen stitches. You’re lucky you didn’t cut a tendon. The nurse will be in to discuss follow-up care.”
When the doctor stepped out, Connor asked, “So what happened?”
“Didn’t Billy fill you in?”
“Only a little. He was meeting a girl there.”
Juan explained how he’d found Cindy Bates’s address and had given the neighbor his card. He went on about getting the neighbor’s call and what had happened.
“And you don’t know how badly she’s hurt?” Connor asked.
“No. But there was a trail of blood leading to where her car was parked.”
Connor ran a hand over his chin. “If she was hurt, why would she run?”
“Drugs, maybe. Or something more.”
“You really think she knows something about Noel’s disappearance?”
“Yeah, I do.” He told him about discovering that Noel’s phone had made calls to Bates during the time Bates claimed they were together. “And get this. She sends birthday cards to Abby’s kid every year.”
“So you think she does it out of guilt? You think she just knows something or is more involved than that?”
Juan pushed off of the hospi
tal bed and stood up. “That I don’t know. I got an emergency contact number from the Black Diamond. Her sister. I called and left a message, but haven’t heard back.”
“And you don’t have names of any friends she might go to?”
“No. Everyone claims she was a loner. A waitress from the Black Diamond said Bates had been falling off the edge lately. She was fired last week.”
“Do you know what she’s driving?” Connor asked.
“Yeah. A burgundy Saturn. I ran her through the system. Her license is expired. She got a ticket last week. I put her name out as a person of inquiry, told them not to detain her, but contact us if found. She’s also being evicted from her apartment, so if we don’t get to her before she moves out, I’m afraid we’ll lose her.”
“Okay. Maybe we should have the patrol do drive-bys.”
“Already set that up. But I’m doubting she’ll go back there tonight. I’m pretty sure she ran because she saw Billy’s lights in the parking lot. I figured I’d drive over tomorrow morning.”
“Give me the address. I’ll run by on my way home just to make sure.”
“It’s late, you sure you want to do that?”
“I barely sleep,” Connor said. Juan lifted a brow at the confession. He knew that, like him, Connor had demons that kept him up at night. Three years ago, right about the same time Juan’s life went to hell, so had Connor’s. A drug raid gone bad. It had been ruled a good shoot, but the perp had been a kid. That was tough.
The nurse came in, bandaged Juan’s wound, gave him his walking papers, then handed Connor her phone number.
“Seriously?” Juan asked when the nurse left. “How do you do that?”
Connor smiled. “I was talking to her before I checked on you.”
“You didn’t come here for me. You came to hit on the nurses?” Juan shook his head.
Connor laughed and they walked out of the ER together.
“I’ll see you tomorrow for poker,” Connor said.
Before his friend stepped away, Juan’s phone rang. His first thought was Cindy Bates’s sister, but it was an Anniston number.
“Bad news?” Connor asked.
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