Deadly Bounty: SCVC Taskforce Romantic Suspense Series, Book 11

by Misty Evans

  Sam sat back, her face going steely. The retching continued for a full minute and then complete silence on the other end.

  Joe held out hope perhaps the woman wanted something off the kid’s computer. Like the software. Come on, he thought. Head to the living room and let me see your face.

  She didn’t. They watched until they were sure she’d left. The next person to show was the Marshal, breaking in through the front. From there on it was a steady stream of EMTs, the coroner, CSIs.

  Joe flipped off the video and rubbed his jaw where three days’ worth of growth was stubbly. “Who is she working for?”

  “No idea.” Sam sighed loudly, alerting Jack-Jack, who cracked his eyes open, ears perking. “We have to go back.”

  “To Kyle’s? No way. It’s too hot. The investigators have everything blocked off, and from all the activity, I’m guessing the entire neighborhood is watching the place. Even if the techs are gone, breaking in again would be stupid. Knowing Walsh, he’s got even more eyes watching it now.”

  “There was a napkin on the refrigerator.” Jack-Jack hopped down and shook himself. Sam stood and chewed on her thumbnail. “A woman gave him her name and number. How much you wanna bet she’s our killer?”

  “A napkin?”

  “From a bar, like you’d put a drink on. He probably met her in one of the campus hangouts. We need to get in his kitchen and find it.”

  Joe rubbed a hand over his face. It had been a long day, and he had the feeling there were going to be a shit-ton more before this was over. “Okay, tell you what. I’ll look for it. You stay here, take a shower.”

  She shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. Our assassin could be watching as well. I don’t want her anywhere near you, or…”

  “What?”

  She rubbed her temples and paced. “Whoever set me up must be behind this. Kyle died because of me. I want your help, but it’s better if I do this alone. I can’t put you in more danger.”

  She motioned at the dog and started for the back door.

  Oh no. She wasn’t getting away from him that easy.

  He launched himself from the chair and caught her by the wrist. Not hard, just to stop her. “I want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do, and whether you stay or go, I’m in it. I’m not quitting. I’m not backing out, and I’m not letting you do this on your own.”

  “I have to. Don’t you see? I have no idea who I’m up against and any connection to me will only land you in hot water.”

  “Let’s take a minute and regroup. Seriously, Sam, you need a shower, if nothing else. While you clean up, I’ll check in with the crime scene investigators and whoever I can think of, and see if anything has turned up in the past few hours.”

  She hesitated and it was all he needed. He could—would—convince her to stay. “They’ll have pictures of the scene. I’m guessing everything they collected has been copied and sent to Harris and the SCVC Taskforce. I’ll get looped in, and by the time you’re done, we can scan them for that napkin and review the list of items they recovered. If it isn’t in any of that, we’ll do some recon on the apartment.”

  He saw the internal debate in her face. She was so damned stubborn, he held his breath.

  She didn’t try to pull out of his grasp, and instead moved toward him. Her head dropped to his chest. “God, I’m so tired.”

  Her surrender was so unexpected, he stayed frozen for several heartbeats. Then, slowly and carefully, he pulled her into an embrace. “You’re living my worst nightmare,” he admitted. “I can’t imagine how tough this is. You’re incredibly strong, and brave.”

  They stayed that way for long moments, and she seemed to melt ever so slightly. When she eventually raised her head, a sarcastic, faint smile danced on her lips. “You’re right. I stink.”

  He brushed the bangs from her forehead and laid a friendly kiss there. “I’ll get fresh towels.”

  He didn’t want to let go, but he knew she was too skittish, even after admitting she needed him, so he gently released her and headed toward the hall closet. As she went into the bathroom and turned on the hot water, he fished around for her favorite set of towels and brought them to her.

  He set them on the vanity. “I’ve missed you, you know.”

  She’d put the toilet lid down and sat on it, elbows on her knees, face in her hands. At his comment, she glanced up, and he saw the exhaustion and overwhelming challenges she faced in her eyes. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to me being here. If they catch me, you’ll never see me again.”

  A stark reality. One that made him even more determined to figure out what the hell was going on. “I look at it this way,” he countered, trying to alleviate the hardness in her face. “We either prove your innocent or we go on the run together.”

  She gave him a half-hearted smile and stood. “You’re the last person I’d take with me.”

  He grinned. “Liar.”

  She laughed, and it was music to his ears. “You wouldn’t survive three days on the streets.”

  “Wanna bet? I got a hundred that says you’re wrong.”

  Her smile turned sardonic. “I hope I never have to test that theory.”

  Reluctantly, he left her, closing the door behind him. Jack-Jack positioned himself in front of it, as if guarding her.

  Joe gave the dog a treat from the box he’d bought from Wymetta. “Good dog.”

  In the kitchen, he grabbed a beer from the fridge while he called Harris. It went to voicemail and he left a message, asking for an update as soon as he could get one.

  Disconnecting, he heard his doorbell ring. Who the hell…?

  Probably one of his brothers. Still, he picked up his Beretta and brought it with him, thankful the dog hadn’t decided to go off.

  “Shit.” Through the peephole, he saw the last person on earth he wanted to find while harboring a fugitive in his bathroom.

  There was no way he could ignore his unexpected visitor, though. All he could do was try to keep him from coming into the apartment.

  Taking a second to collect his thoughts, he hurried to the bedroom and pulled the door closed. Luckily, Jack-Jack hadn’t started barking at the sound of the doorbell – maybe the dog had never heard one since he’d been living on the streets. All Joe could hope was he didn’t go off at someone else’s voice.

  At his front door, he undid the lock, and cracked it open.

  Cooper Harris gave a nod. “Hey. I know it’s late, but I was in the neighborhood when I got your message. I’ve got the preliminaries on Dunmire.”

  He held up a red file, and Joe mentally scrambled to figure out an excuse why he couldn’t invite him in. He came up blank. “Perfect timing. I definitely want to see that tonight.” He cracked the door wider but kept his body planted in the opening as he reached for the file. “I’d invite you in for a beer but I’m not feeling so great. I think the heat’s getting to me.”

  Harris’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Yeah, it’s been a bitch, hasn’t it? Heat index was a hundred and ten today.”

  They stood there, eyes locked, Joe trying to look sick, Harris trying to read his mind. At least that’s how it felt.

  The head of the SCVC wanted to discuss things in more detail, that was obvious, but he couldn’t while standing in the hallway where anyone could overhear.

  Joe tapped the file into his open palm. “Thanks again. Have a good night.”

  The big man didn’t move nor say anything for another scrutinizing minute. “Let me know if you have questions.” He took a step back. “Let’s touch base tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.” Joe kept the door cracked as Harris left. Once he was sure he was gone, he closed and locked it, leaning back and letting out a long, relieved sigh.

  He set the file on the counter along with his gun and went to the bedroom. Jack-Jack had left his post. Joe couldn’t hear the shower.

  Frowning, he crossed the bedroom and knocked lightly. “Sam? You okay?”

  There was no answer. With a sink
ing feeling, Joe reached for the knob and found it locked. “Sam? Are you in there? Come on, open the door.”

  Useless. Gritting his teeth, he threw his shoulder into it, once, twice, and on the third, the lock gave, the door flying open and Joe toppling in.

  The bathroom window was ajar, hot night air mingling with the steam from the shower.

  Just when he’d finally gotten her to trust him, Sam was in the wind again.

  9

  The napkin was gone.

  The computer, too.

  Sam’s stomach heaved when she saw the chalk outline. She paused out of respect. “I’m so sorry, Kyle.”

  She had no doubt he’d been murdered and she felt awful if her involvement—sending Joe to interview him—had caused any part in it. Whether the assassin, or the CSIs who’d swept the scene, had taken the napkin, she didn’t know. Odds were on the woman.

  Moving to the kitchen doorway, she reached for the camera mounted over the doorjamb. The backpack slung over her left shoulder snagged on a nail poking from the frame and she had to adjust it as she stood on tiptoes.

  She considered scanning the rest of the apartment to look for Kyle’s phone or anything else that might give her a clue to the woman’s identity, but knew it’d probably be a pointless exercise and waste too much time.

  She’d stolen the backpack—Joe’s go-bag filled with supplies—from his closet when she’d heard Cooper Harris’s voice. She’d been looking through the clothes, snagging a pair of yoga pants she’d left behind and one of Joe’s t-shirts.

  The doorbell had startled her and she immediately felt panic grip her belly. All these weeks on the run had kept her constantly in flight mode, and she’d seized the bag before she’d even thought it through.

  Jack-Jack had been a good boy and let her take him out the bathroom window, and thank goodness Joe lived on the first floor. She’d stolen a bike from the racks two blocks down at a different unit and they’d made their way through the dark city to Kyle’s.

  It was nearly midnight. The Marshal had been pulled, apparently, no one watching the place any longer. The neighbors were holding some kind of vigil, a cheer going up every once in a while for the dead USC student.

  Sam wondered if any actually knew him and were distraught over his death, or they were simply looking for a reason to party.

  Jack-Jack was in the tiny water heater room and she heard him bark softly, as if suggesting she hurry. Just to be thorough, she went through the living room and bounded upstairs to take a peek at Kyle’s bed and bath.

  Typical graduate student bachelor pad. Dirty clothes, used plates and glasses, a blanket hanging over one window as a shade. A quick inventory of drawers and the closet revealed nothing important and she hustled back downstairs using the tiny flashlight from Joe’s bag to keep from turning on lights.

  Avoiding the outline in the kitchen, she let herself and Jack-Jack out.

  The group next door was drunkenly singing and she decided to take a chance. Wheeling toward them, Jack-Jack following, she stopped at the edge of the yard.

  They had a small fire going in a round, metal fire pit, and it threw shadows across their faces.

  One of the women noticed her and Sam waved. “Hey, there. Has anybody seen Kyle?” She threw a thumb over her shoulder pointing at the duplex.

  The woman looked as though she were going to burst into tears. “Didn’t you hear? Kyle died tonight.”

  Everyone was staring at her now, the singing fading. One of the guys stood and used his beer bottle to point at her. “You a friend?”

  “You’re kidding! He was going to tutor me for my comp sci class. I need to get up to speed before the new year starts next month. That’s terrible. How did it happen?”

  The woman walked toward her, wiping at her eyes. “They don’t know for sure, but they think he had a reaction, like an allergy or something, to some bad takeout. What a way to go, huh?”

  Jack-Jack moved in front of Sam, protective, and she petted him to let him know it was okay. “How awful. I didn’t know him well, but he seemed like a super genius or something.”

  The woman nodded. “He wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, but once in a while, we’d see each other in passing and he always made me laugh.”

  “He didn’t seem overly social to me either,” she said. “That’s why I was excited when he agreed to tutor me. I was supposed to catch up with him at a study group earlier, but I couldn’t make it. He told me to come by after I got off work. He said there was somebody else coming by, too. Did you see anyone? Not to be crass, but maybe she could help me?”

  The guy who’d spoken handed her a beer. “Kyle didn’t have many friends, and that gal he was seeing was no computer expert. I think you’re out of luck.”

  “You know her?”

  He threw an arm around the crying woman, but she was the one who answered. “We only saw her once or twice. It was pretty surprising, him having a girlfriend. I’m not really sure that’s what she was.”

  Sam pretended to take a swig, and shook her head. “Damn. Guess it’s back to the drawing board for me. Did you catch her name, by chance? Maybe she knows some of Kyle’s computer friends and can point me in the right direction for another tutor?”

  If the two of them thought it weird she was more interested in a tutor than Kyle’s death, they didn’t show it. The woman shook her head. “No idea. You might check with the department head, though. Kyle met her at a pool party put on by the guy. What’s his name?”

  A shrug from her partner. “Not my area.”

  “I guess it was a pretty big deal,” she added. “Catered food, open bar, the works. Kyle was super nervous, but he thought the networking would be a good idea.”

  Sam nodded. “Guess he was right if that’s where he met his girlfriend.”

  The guy finished his bottle, and swayed slightly on his feet. “She brought him home in a cab. Kyle was too drunk to drive.”

  “So you guys saw her?”

  “From a distance,” the guy replied, his forehead crinkling as if he was now beginning to wonder about all the questions. “She helped Kyle up to his apartment.”

  He kissed the woman on her cheek and went to get another beer. His girlfriend, nose red, crossed her arms and looked wistfully up at Kyle’s. “He was happy, you know? That’s what really sucks about the whole thing. She was probably his first girlfriend, like, ever. And I know he was about done with his master’s. There were a bunch of different firms recruiting him to go to work for them.”

  She looked back at Sam with her sad, teary eyes. “Carpe diem, huh? You just never know.”

  “Can you tell me what she looked like?” Sam asked. “I think I might know who she is.”

  “She had real dark hair, and blunt bangs across her forehead. She wore expensive outfits. Taller than you, but thinner. I mean, she reminded me of a model you’d see in Vogue or something. Very exotic looking.”

  Could be a disguise. “Thanks.” She handed the beer back. “Enjoy the rest of your summer.”

  “I didn’t get your name,” the gal said.

  Sam adjusted the cap on her head and noticed a familiar car pulling up to the curb. Jack-Jack started wagging his stubby little tail, his ears perked, as he realized who it was. Damn.

  “See you around campus,” Sam said, wondering if she could escape Joe.

  Probably not.

  Joe had the window down and made a whistling sound. Jack-Jack ran for the car. “Throw your bike in the back,” he called to her.

  “Damn. Who is that?” the woman asked.

  Joe unfolded himself and flipped the trunk up, staring at Sam with challenge in his eyes. He greeted the dog like they were long, lost friends before straightening with that look once more directed at Sam.

  “He’s hot,” the woman said, and Sam could hear the lust in her voice.

  He sure is.

  She had a decision to make. Either believe Joe hadn’t known Harris was going to show, or he’d called the man while sh
e was in the shower and sold her out.

  Her heart knew the truth, even though her paranoid brain insisted she couldn’t trust anyone. She could almost hear her dad’s voice drilling it into her brain—trust is weakness. Like love, it put a chink in your armor and left you open to betrayal.

  She had to give Joe credit, he didn’t move, didn’t say anything to cajole her into the car. He simply stood there, thumbs hooked in his pockets, daring her to put her life in his hands.

  The din of the party faded and Sam stared back.

  Jack-Jack returned to her, wagging his tail and panting. His goofy little face looked like he was smiling.

  Joe, all muscles and five-o’clock shadow, called, “Your dog trusts me.”

  The unsaid conclusion hung in the air. You should, too.

  There was no way he’d turned her in. She knew it down to her bones, but there was a part of her that still wanted to play hard to get, keep him on his toes.

  Their relationship had always been a push-pull romance. Both nudging, poking, and prodding, always trying to gain the upper hand to keep the other person off guard a little bit. They were head strong, intense, and dedicated. To their jobs and each other. Usually, it was all in fun, but sometimes…

  Sam wished she’d drank the beer. She wanted to go to Joe and let him put his arms around her. Allow him to beat back this nightmare and make it okay.

  Trust. Love. Weakness.

  Joe always told her love didn’t make you weak. It made you strong.

  Maybe he was right.

  She patted Jack-Jack’s furry head and started rolling the bike to the car.

  10

  “Where are we going?” Sam adjusted the seat belt. “You can’t take me to your place. Too dangerous.”

  Joe still couldn’t believe he’d gotten her in the car and allowed himself to take a deep breath. Her tired face was pale in the lights of the oncoming traffic, Jack-Jack lying in her lap, half-asleep. “North.”

  She shot him an impatient look. “Kind of figured that.” She pointed at the sign on I-5 announcing Delmar was the next turnoff.