I was trapped and if there was one thing Carl had taught me, when you're backed into a corner you might as well sit the fuck down and enjoy the ride.
I approached one of the hard backed chairs in front of the Inspector's desk and lowered myself to a sitting position. Hart watched me with what I can only assume was mild amusement, Michaels just smirked.
"The body in the car is Thomas Withers, one of Carl's informants."
I knew the statement was inflammatory, but aside from 'enjoying the ride' Carl had also advised to come out guns blazing. Inspector Hart would be able to put two and two together, and I didn't really care if Michaels understood the implications or not. He was raining on my parade and police detectives are territorial.
"Fuck," Hart breathed. "You think they're connected?"
Michaels stiffened in the corner, taking a small step closer to us, but not making a sound. I could sense his nearness. Not exactly a heat, but a knowledge that he had closed the gap and stood behind my shoulder, even though he hadn't made a noise or disturbed the air. For some strange reason I felt attuned to Damon Michaels, despite that being the last fucking thing I wanted to deal with right now.
"Two does not a serial killer make," I said, repeating a Carlism.
Hart held my gaze. "But they're both yours." I nodded, as he abruptly sat back in his chair.
They were my informants now, even if they'd been Carl's first. But Thomas Withers was only the latest fatality, three days ago Anton Burgess was found knifed to death in the Silo Park on Jellicoe Street. Four hours after meeting with me.
"Find a connection, Keen." There was already a connection. "I don't like coincidences. If it has something to do with that underground club scene you're looking into, I think it's time you partnered up."
I had expected the directive, so I straightened my shoulders and held his level stare.
"Take Michaels, we're short on the ground of available detectives and this could still all be fire related." I frowned, he leaned forward resting his hands on his desk. "HEAT has offered to aid us in any way we see fit. This is how I see fit. You got a problem with teaming up with HEAT?"
Was that a trick question?
"Well?"
"No, sir."
Hart looked up at Michaels then. "Can you give us a few minutes, Damon?"
"Certainly," Michaels replied. "I'll go grab a coffee." Hart nodded and waited for him to leave the room and shut the door at his back.
Silence replaced the vacuum created by Michaels. I held the Inspector's steady gaze waiting for the anvil to drop.
"When is your next appointment with the shrink?"
I hadn't expected that question, it totally threw me off balance. For a moment all I could do was suck air.
"I had one yesterday." I breathed out the words. "I don't see him again until next week."
"Is it making things better?" Was that concern I heard in his voice? Or just a department head doing what was necessary to ensure his staff were able to perform at their best?
"It helps," I offered.
Hart sighed. "You know Carl made me promise to look out for you."
Oh, now that was unexpected. What the hell Carl?
"In case you weren't already aware," he continued, "I'm not a fluffy, let's talk it all through kind of guy. You do your job well, I'll give you a pat on the back. You fuck up..."
I smiled, he didn't miss it.
"What's your gut tell you, Detective?" he suddenly asked, changing tack abruptly.
I slipped back into the more comfortable role of police detective with relative ease.
"The MO is only linked through the fact they are my and Carl's informants and I saw them within hours of their deaths at the exact location they were killed. How they were murdered differs, but the connection, for now, is me and Carl."
He nodded, spun his swivel chair sideways and leaned back, ankle crossing over knee. He tipped his head up to the ceiling and closed his eyes. A sure sign to keep going.
"I used both of them on the underground club scene case. Neither had any good intel, but I was covering my bases at the time. Neither gave the impression that their lives were in danger or anything was amiss either. My gut tells me," I finally concluded, letting the thought run full course inside my head before I voiced it, "that they won't be the last."
"So," Inspector Hart murmured. "Two does a serial killer make."
"But why?"
He swung back around to face me, feet firmly placed on the floor. "That, Detective, is the question."
He nodded towards the door, an indication he was satisfied with my report and it was time to go. I stood and took a step towards the exit and then hesitated. I was about to steal the bone.
"Michaels, sir..."
"He asked for you."
"But..."
"I've got a detective on probation, another gone for good, and several unsolved cases requiring more than one cop to investigate. Where do you suggest I find a suitable partner for you to work with?"
"These aren't both fire related," I felt obliged to point out.
"And I'm not the fairy fucking godmother of the police. I can't just pull another cop out of my arse, Keen. Michaels is a damn good investigator, and for now the car boot case allows his involvement. We need him," he added, after a slight pause.
I held my breath, because the look in his eyes right now told me he wasn't done.
"You need him, Lara." I started shaking me head to deny it. "My final word," he added, then pointed to the door. "Bring him up to speed. And shut the fucking door on your way out."
Dismissed.
I schooled my features before I turned the handle on the door and faced the expectant room. Some of what Hart had said had been loud enough for those outside the room to have heard a rumble. They wouldn't have known what exactly had been discussed, but they'd assume I'd had my butt chewed off.
Police detectives are a strange and unusual lot. If we can still manage to laugh surrounded by the fucked up things we see, then there's definitely something not quite normal about us. Taking pleasure at a co-worker's stripping by the boss is one of our more pleasant pastimes.
I walked out to a few cheers and shouts of, "She lives!" and the odd scrunched up piece of paper thrown at my head. The Police Force, much like any emergency service, was a male dominated industry. Time had made advancement for the fairer sex possible, but often it involved getting very dirty to achieve it. I wasn't above rolling in the muck, but I also wasn't here to prove a damn thing to anyone but myself.
Screw my father and his expectations. Screw the Inspector and his warped sense of moulding my career path. And, quite frankly, screw Carl for leaving when he did.
Without him everything was harder, but I could take solace in the fact that my immediate associates here in the Criminal Investigations Bureau, or CIB, had accepted me. Female or not, I was one of the boys.
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered. "There's still some flesh attached."
"Let's see!" someone shouted. "I'll check," another leered. And OK, I was accepted as part of the team, but my ribbing was clearly not quite the same as what the others experienced.
I threw myself into the chair at my desk effectively closing down the opportunity to 'investigate' the state of my chewed up butt any further. I checked my emails and then as Michaels walked back in the room from the direction of the coffee machine, I picked up my phone to clear my messages.
"Hey, Keen," Eagle's voice sounded out over the line. Younger than he appeared in person. Almost as though you could hear the child that had been lost in the man. "Gotta tip for yous. Meet me tonight at the usual. And, just so y'know, Rooster says y'looked hot that time he saw ya at Zero. Wear what y'had on then, I'm fuckin' pumped to see what a cop thinks looks slutty."
I snorted as Michaels sat in the chair across from my desk. Not the one to the side where I occasionally place members of the public. But the one Carl used when he was still here. I stared at where he sat for too long, then finally shook myself
out of the memories and replaced the handset on the phone.
A coffee cup was pushed across the space between us. Not a word offered, just the drink.
For a moment I considered ignoring it. I was that pissed off with Michaels barging on in here and putting himself up for partnering. But the allure of much needed caffeine was too great. Not enough sleep, too many memories, and a case that was threatening to do me in at such an early stage meant coffee was going to be a constantly needed companion for the next few days.
I snatched the cup up and took a sip, infuriated to note Michaels remembered exactly how I liked it. The cup met the surface of my desk with a disgruntled thump.
"So," he said, as though we were about to have a casual conversation. "What's next?"
I raised an eyebrow at him and leaned back in my chair, surveying all that is Damon Michaels. He'd not changed since the car boot scene, same faded, worn jeans and equally faded blue suit jacket, over a trendy white button down shirt, a small smattering of chest hair peeking out of the opening at the neck.
I stared too long at the damn spot.
Clearing my throat I took another sip of coffee and then let out a sigh. This was actually going to happen whether I liked it or not. I had a job to do, and if I had to do it with a shadow, then so be it. But I didn't trust the investigator’s reason for being here one little bit.
Suspicion, another good police detective skill.
"What's in it for you, Michaels?" I asked, studying his face for a tell.
"I want to catch the bastard who burned Thomas Withers to a crisp in the back of that car."
"Too smooth. You didn't have to even think about it. A rote answer and nothing more."
"Does there have to be an ulterior reason, Keen?"
"There's always an ulterior reason, Michaels."
"How cynical, and at such a young age. You know," he said, leaning forward in his seat and resting his elbows on his thighs. It was at once a casual stance and a calculated one. Nothing this man did wasn't planned. "I requested teaming up with you because I respect your work."
"Is that right?" I asked sceptically.
"Still a hard sell, I see." He sat back in the chair, placing distance between us.
"You know what I think?" I asked, but didn't wait for him to reply. "I think you want something. Right now I don't know what, but for argument's sake, let's say it's me..."
"You flatter yourself, Detective."
"...and if it is, then you should know, I'm not available."
"Funny, I wasn't aware the world revolved around your shapely arse."
"You see, mentioning my arse just proves my point."
"It's a nice arse."
"Why are you here?"
"The case..."
"Fuck the case, Damon. Why now?"
We stared at each other, a stand off across the desk. For a moment I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes; weariness, contemplation, resignation. And then it was all gone, replaced with his usual over-confident gleam.
"What's next?" he repeated.
If that's how he wanted to play it, then that's how we'd play it.
I stood up and donned my jacket, rifled through my drawer for my notebook and pen, all the while watched intently by Damon. Once I was satisfied I had everything I needed I started towards the door.
"Come on, Investigator Michaels," I said over my shoulder, loud enough for those in the large room to hear. "Let's go solve your case for you."
Catcalls and wolf-whistles sounded out as I weaved between the desks.
"HEAT needing a little help there, Detective?"
"Can't put the fire out on their own?"
"Keen, make sure you just assist him with the case."
"Give those Firies an inch and they'll hand you back six."
"She knows how to handle six inches, don't you Keen?"
"I think she could handle ten."
I sighed. Sometimes being the only female in the CIB had its perks. Sometimes not.
"Steady on, Cawfield," I ribbed the last heckler. "What would you know of ten inches? I'm sure yours is only about three."
"Ah, Keen. Come over here and we'll get the ruler out."
"In your dreams, Detective," I shot back and walked out the door.
It wasn't the heckling that did it. I was used to that and the boys didn't mean any real harm. Rather like black humour at a murder scene. It's not intended to be offensive, it's purely an outlet of emotion, enabling us to remain even keeled.
But the taunting did have one effect. It threw Michaels off his guard. So when I rounded on him in the corridor and pushed him back hard against the wall with my forearm to his throat, he didn't stand a chance.
Face to face, nose to nose, I whispered harshly, "You will tell me why the hell you are here. As there's no way I went through that fucking shit in the Inspector's office because you've just got an itch to scratch."
He held my furious glare with a passive one of his own, then whispered back, leaning forward so his lips were within a millimetre of mine, "You still feel fucking good pressed against my body, Lara."
I blinked. So not the reply I had expected.
His hands landed on my hips, thumbs stroking, and then he pushed me away as though I was paper light.
"Still think there's an ulterior reason?" he asked, as he strode off down the hall passed a wide eyed Ryan Pierce.
Oh, yeah. Now more so than ever. The bastard was definitely hiding something.
Chapter Four
"Bureaucracy's got a hell of a lot to answer for."
"He teamed you up with Michaels?" Pierce asked, clearly unprepared for this turn of events.
"Said we were too thin on the ground to spare another detective to partner me up with."
"What am I? Chopped liver."
I smiled. "Maybe Harvey's coming back soon," I offered.
Ryan scratched at his beard, then looked over his shoulder at an impatiently waiting Michaels down by the door at the end of the hallway we were in.
"You gonna be OK with him?" he asked.
I shrugged. "Sure. How bad could it be?"
Ryan chuffed out a laugh. "If you need back-up, just drop me a line. Harvey or no Harvey, I'm your man."
"Thanks, Pierce. Carl always said you were a good bet."
Ryan's face broke into a wide smile.
"Takes one to know one." His hand landed on my shoulder and gave a soft squeeze, and then he walked on towards CIB.
I wondered what Carl would think of Michaels joining forces with me for this case. No doubt he'd be pretty philosophical about the whole inter-service teaming up and consider it a great use of governmental resources. But then he'd be just as likely to say bureaucracy's got a hell of a lot to answer for.
I approached Michaels with a little trepidation. He looked slightly unhinged right now. His hands were fisted tightly at his sides, his jaw was set firm, and those dark, intense eyes were scanning the corridor over my back, as though looking for a threat or watching one leave.
"What's your problem?" I asked, starting to push the door open at his side.
"How do you put up with them?"
"Who? The boys?"
He huffed. "An apt moniker. Certainly behaved childishly enough."
"It's just par for the course. No harm no foul, that sort of thing."
"It's sexual harassment."
"Whoa," I said, coming to a stop and spinning to face him. "Sexual harassment is you saying I feel good pressed up against your body while your thumbs stroke intimately over my hip bones."
"You felt that? I wondered," he replied smoothly, continuing on out of the door. "And it's only sexual harassment if it's unwanted. What we're doing is establishing a mutually desired personal relationship."
"We are not establishing any sort of relationship," I shot back, heading towards where I parked my car.
I could see his vehicle over in the public parking area, but he didn't even head in that direction, just stopped at the passenger side
of mine, waiting for me to unlock the door. I mentally shrugged. He was my partner, it made sense if we actually shared the same vehicle while this case ran its course.
I slid in behind the steering wheel and started the car before he'd even buckled up. His long legs seemed to be crowded in the footwell of the passenger side, until he found the right lever to move the seat back a few necessary inches and spread himself out. I could smell his cologne. I opened my window.
"So, partner," he said, emphasising the word. "What's next?"
I wanted to sigh, but I needed sustenance first. Not to mention another coffee.
"I get hungry when I get my arse chewed off," I offered as explanation for where we were going. "You eaten breakfast yet?"
"No, skipped it to beat you to the station."
A burst of laughter shot out my mouth. I knew it! The bastard had set me up.
"There it is," he murmured, looking at me from the corner of his eye. "Missed it."
"Don't," I whispered, as I negotiated traffic onto Queen Street.
"We should talk about what happened," he said quietly back.
"There's nothing to talk about and we've a case to solve."
At least him mentioning our tenuous past history made me focus on what was important right now. Anton and Tommy. And possibly more of my guys if my gut was telling it right.
"Thomas Withers is not the first death."
"I gathered that," Michaels replied steadily, all investigator now, no more flirty wet-dream trying to get back in my pants.
"Anton Burgess was also an informant of mine and had his head almost sliced off with a serrated knife three days ago."
Michaels whistled low. "Any other connection?"
"I used them on this case I'm working. Ever heard of Zero Gravity?"
His head spun so quickly to face me, I almost jumped at the sudden movement.
"Everyone's heard of Zero," he said carefully. Too carefully.
"And what have you heard, Michaels?"
"It's a sex club. Invitation only to the back rooms."
My gut kept on pushing me.
H.E.A.T. Book Bundle (H.E.A.T. Books 1-3) Page 4
