by Lisa Harris
Holden shook his head with a grin as he followed Mrs. Hutchinson through her front door. “You get your room rented yet, ma’am?”
She sighed as she set about slicing generous portions of pound cake. “Not yet. Tilly Johnson thought her granddaughter might be moving back to the island, but it turned out she decided to move to Los Angeles instead. Imagine!” She made a clucking sound as though to say the girl was as good as lost to the world. “The only other applicants I’ve had were men, and you know how I feel about that.”
Holden nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll keep my ear to the ground for you.” He knew the elderly woman could use the supplement to her fixed income.
Henry knocked on the doorframe and poked his head inside, hat clutched to his chest.
Mrs. Hutchinson motioned him in, and when he settled at his usual spot at her kitchen table, she set the largest slice of cake before him and nudged a mug closer. “I made yours decaf and fixed it with two teaspoons of cream, the way you like it.”
Holden couldn’t help a grin as he pulled out his chair at the table.
Yes, indeed. The cases out here on the island might not be as adrenaline inducing as his last position, but he’d take lemon pound cake and faux squabbles with a smile and a light step.
This job was exactly what he needed after his years in Seattle.
The baked goods he got for his trouble were a nice bonus.
And at least out here, he’d never been responsible for the death of someone he was supposed to be protecting.
The cigarette snuffed out beneath the toe of Gandry Wright’s black boot. A chill wind gusted down the Everett street from the west and slipped beneath the collar of his jacket. He zipped his coat tighter. The boss was not going to be happy about this latest development.
From the darkness of the garage, he studied the woman doing the CPR on Treyvon—or whatever his real name was. Would she bring him back to life? More importantly, did he have time to run out there and get that phone before the cops showed? But then she would see him and need to be dealt with. And a crowd was already forming—spilling out of the bank, the diner just across the way, the Mexican restaurant down the block.
Besides, he could already hear the first sirens—the police station was only a couple blocks from here. That was likely where Treyvon had been headed. Good thing they’d gotten to him first. He gave himself a little shake. It wouldn’t do for the blue jackets to find him hiding in this garage. Hands thrust deep inside the pockets of his cargo pants, he strolled down the block to join the little group in front of the bank.
“What happened?” He directed his question to a little old lady with a Golden Retriever on a leash.
She shook her head and blew a sharp sound of disgust. “I didn’t see. Probably gang related. Looks like that man might be dead!”
Gandry could only hope he would stay that way. As much as Treyvon knew, he could be a real detriment. Served the sneak right. Trying to infiltrate their group with his rank five-oh carcass. Too bad he’d sprinted before Gandry had a chance to pat him down. He hadn’t expected the man to run when confronted with the fact that they knew he was a UC. But look at him now. Gandry hoped this would send a strong message to the rest of the pigs. Stay away. Come to think of it, how had the people on the inside let this one slip through their defenses?
Two cop cars screeched to a stop from opposite directions of the street at nearly the same moment. Four cops he didn’t recognize spilled out and scanned the people gathered along the sidewalks, hands resting on their guns. Gandry wished he’d picked a spot farther to the back of the little crowd but didn’t dare move now. That would draw too much attention. Thankfully, after a cursory glance, the blue jackets seemed more intent on helping the dark-haired woman and seeing to Treyvon.
Gandry withheld a smile, anxiously watching to see the moment one of them might recognize the scum who was one of their own.
One of the cops brushed the petite woman in the waitress uniform aside and took over the CPR.
As though her legs didn’t have the strength to carry her farther, she sank to the pavement as another cop squatted beside her and spoke in tones too low for Gandry to make out above the murmur of the people near him.
The woman brushed dirt from her knees and plucked her phone from the pavement.
Gandry’s stomach clenched. In the darkness, he hadn’t seen what she’d done with Treyvon’s phone. And it was obviously too late to get it now. How much information did Trey have on it?
Suddenly his biggest worry wasn’t whether one of these officers might decide to question him.
He was going to have to come up with a mighty good explanation to keep the boss from offing him for this little mistake.
A mighty good explanation.
He raised his phone, zoomed in on the woman’s face, and snapped a shot.
Detective Damien Packard stood outside Sheila Ellingsworth’s Everett apartment. He swallowed and stared at the gold number eight on the red door. He chuckled and rolled his eyes at himself. He could face down hardened criminals, but paying a call on a beautiful woman had his stomach doing flips.
Pulling in a breath, he adjusted the bag of groceries and knocked.
He heard her touch the doorknob inside. There was a pause. And then the chain rattled and the door opened.
Sheila leaned her cheek against the door jam and smiled at him, her dark curls cascading over one shoulder. “You can’t keep bringing me stuff.”
It was good to see her smile. A memory flashed. Her, beaten and bloodied, cowering in the corner with her arms around her head while two officers cuffed her now ex-husband.
Damien blinked the memory away and offered the bag. “It’s not much. How you doing?”
“Better now.” She took the groceries and motioned for him to follow her inside. “Coffee?”
“Always.”
“Brownies?”
He grinned. “Your favorites from that bakery—the ones with the cream cheese frosting—are in the bag.”
She gave a little groan. “You know I’ve put on five pounds since you’ve been...coming around?”
He didn’t miss that she hadn’t quite known what to call their relationship—he wasn’t sure he knew how to categorize it yet, either. He swept her with an appreciative look. “You could stand to put on more.”
She spun to face him, eyes wide with humor, as she continued to back toward the kitchen. “Officer Packard! Don’t you go speaking such negativity into my life!”
He shook his head and grabbed her arm to stop her because she was about to back into the counter. “Not negativity. Healthy. And you could never be anything but beautiful.” He stroked his thumb across her skin, willing her to believe him.
She tucked her lower lip between her teeth and studied him for a long moment.
He let her look. Maybe this would be the moment she’d finally take this…friendship to the next phase. Her husband’s abuse, both physical and mental, had damaged her in ways she was still healing from. Likely would always have to battle. All he wanted was a chance to battle alongside her.
As though some alarm inside her head had just clanged a warning, she tore her gaze from his and spun to the counter. “Well, you’re kind for saying so. But a girl can’t live on sweets alone.” Despite her words, she was already pulling the plastic container of brownies from the bag. She waggled it and batted her lashes. “You do know the way to this girl’s heart. Did you bring any of the chocolate chip cookies you like so much?” She peeked back into the bag.
He leaned against the island, resting his weight on folded arms as he smiled at her. “Nah. Only the brownies for you.”
She planted her palms on the counter and leaned toward him. “You do know how to get past all my armor, Detective.”
“What other weaknesses should I know about?”
Alarm flashed in her eyes and, too late, he realized he’d phrased that poorly.
She gave a forced chuckle and turned for the cupboard, but tensi
on filled the line of her shoulders. “No one said anything about weakness.”
“Sheila, I’m sor—”
“No. I’m sorry.” She sighed and faced him from across the room. “You’ve never given me any reason to think you’d want to hold a weakness over me. I just—” She ran trembling hands over her face and forked her fingers into her hair. “You’ve been more than patient with me, Damien. I’m trying.”
He remained where he was. “I’m not going anywhere, Sheil. I’m right here.”
She nodded. Blinked a couple times. Then seemed to gather herself. She set two plates on the island and nudged the clamshell of brownies. “I could totally say no to these if I wanted to. Besides...” She glanced at him through her lashes as she popped open the lid and lifted two brownies onto the plates. “You have to let a girl keep some of her secrets.”
Wow. He liked this girl a lot. It took grit for her to dial the conversation back to the mood he’d intended his comment to carry. “I’m a detective, you know. Ferreting out secrets is my job.”
She smiled and was just handing him one of the plates when his cell phone rang. It was his partner, Case Lexington. He narrowed his eyes. This better be good. “Case, what’s up?”
His partner’s voice was full of tension when he said, “An officer has been murdered. That kid Treyvon Johnson. Remember him? We’re up.”
Damien sighed, heart plummeting. “On my way.”
“On Hewitt. Between Colby and Hoyt.”
He let his gaze linger on Sheila’s features, tucking her beauty away to sustain him through what was sure to be a gut-wrenching night. “I’m thirty minutes out, if traffic is good.”
“Maybe meet me at the precinct, then. I’m headed to the scene now to pick up a witness.”
“Will do.” Damien ended the call.
At least there was disappointment in Sheila’s eyes. That was something else to tide him through.
He reached out and lifted the brownie from the plate she was still holding toward him. He raised it in a salute. “Can’t stick around for the coffee, but I’ll take this for the road.”
She tilted her head. “Stay safe, hear?”
With one last lingering look, he backed reluctantly toward the door. “I’ll do my best.”
“Breakfast in the morning?”
He winced. “Have a feeling this one might be a long night. Doubt I’ll be free by then.”
She sighed and licked a bit of frosting from her thumb. “All right. I’ll...see you when I see you then.”
He gave her a hang-loose gesture and slipped into the night.
Man, sometimes he hated this job.
Chapter Three
Camryn pressed a trembling hand to her forehead. For a brief moment, she’d feared that the driver of the coupe had returned to finish her off. To her relief, it had been the police arriving. But her heart was still hammering like a rock-band drummer.
She would like nothing better than to wake up and realize this was all a terrible nightmare. But the broken voice of the officer pronouncing the victim’s death rang with a note of undeniable authenticity that imprisoned her in the real world. A world that was grimmer than any nightmare she’d had in a very long time. One that sent a chill straight through her. As did the rough asphalt of the Everett street beneath her.
She looked to where a couple officers draped a white covering over the victim. His hand—the one she’d gripped only moments ago—had flopped out to the side far enough that the sheet draped across the back of it. A stark contrast against his dark skin, even in this dim lighting.
Grief moistened her eyes. Odd that she should grieve for a man she’d never known. Yet, his life had been in her hands and she’d failed to save him.
An officer squatted next to her. “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am. Thank you for trying to save him. Are you the witness?”
Camryn scanned the crowds gathering on both sides of the street. Where had everyone appeared from? Was she the only witness to the hit-and-run out of all these people? Surely not. Yet she didn’t remember seeing anyone else on the sidewalks as she’d walked toward the bus stop from the diner. It was dark, yes, but the streetlights had revealed no one.
How sad for the man that she’d been the only witness of the violence that led to his death. Did he have a family? Wife? Kids?
“Ma’am?” the officer prodded.
Camryn shifted. “Yes. I think I was the only one to see…it.”
“I’m Officer Skelly. I’m going to have to ask you to come down to the station and give a statement.”
She swallowed. She had an early shift tomorrow. This was going to make it a short night. But what else could she do? She nodded. “What’s going to happen to him?”
Officer Skelly stood, then stretched down a hand to help her to her feet. “The police aren’t allowed to touch the body now that he’s been pronounced. The ME will take care of him. But they can’t get in here until the detectives and CSI have processed the scene.”
“So, he’s just going to lie there?”
The man glanced toward the body with a grim set to his jaw as he indicated with a gesture that she should precede him to one of the patrol cars. “We will get the scene processed as quickly as we can. But trust me. We all want to get Tr—him off the street as soon as possible.”
There was something about his tone that made her look up at him. “You knew him?”
He opened the back door of the black and white for her. “He was one of us, ma’am. Undercover.”
She’d witnessed the murder of an undercover police officer? The thought took the strength from her legs. She sank into the patrol car.
It wasn’t until Officer Skelly started to shut the door that she remembered the phone. “Wait.” She tugged the device from her apron pocket. “He…he asked me to give this to… Does ‘pack police’ mean anything to you?”
Officer Skelly’s brow furrowed. “Pack police?”
Camryn worried her teeth over her lower lip searching her memory of the victim’s words. “I think that’s what he said. I know he said the word ‘police.’”
“You did the right thing. I’ll ask some of the others to see if that means anything to them.” He took a set of gloves from a pocket of his vest, tugged them on, then took the device, gingerly gripping only the edges.
She immediately realized he was trying not to smear any fingerprints. She hadn’t even thought about that. “I’m sorry. I should have handled it more carefully.”
He gave her a gentle smile that said she shouldn’t worry as he slipped the phone into a plastic bag, sealed it, then marked something on the outside with a black felt pen. “I’ll just let my—”
Down the street, through one of the police cars’ bullhorns, an officer’s voice bellowed instructions for everyone in the crowd to please stay on the sidewalks. It prevented Camryn from hearing the end of Officer Skelly’s sentence, but she gathered by the way he held up one finger before he walked away that she should wait.
She closed the door and tilted her head against the back of the seat, eyes closed.
There was no way she could fall asleep with all this adrenaline pumping through her, and yet her body buzzed with an exhaustion that left her feeling in limbo somewhere between collapse and hysteria.
Pack police… What could it mean?
Officer Laurence Miller arrived at the scene and took in the chaos. He climbed from his car and stopped next to the body, scanning the crowd. Where was Gandry? He had to be here. How could he have made such a critical error? This could mean the end of their whole operation. The body was supposed to be disposed of in a way that brought no attention to it. He cursed under his breath. This was going to draw a lot of scrutiny.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He tugged it out. His lips pressed together.
There was a zoomed-in pixelated image of a woman. Followed by, she’s got his phone.
With a sigh he deleted the message and thrust the phone back into his pocket.
Onc
e more, it fell to him to clean up someone else’s mess.
Ryan Skelly maintained his professional demeanor, but inside he felt the familiar jitters that came with any big break in a case.
He scanned the melee of officers surrounding the victim, searching for Captain Danielson. If Treyvon had felt his phone important enough to trust it to a stranger with instructions to get it to the police, surely it had something on it that they could use to discover who had killed him.
Skelly hadn’t been with the Everett force long, and some of the guys still made it clear they felt he was an outsider. This might be just the thing he needed to prove he was one of them.
“Skelly, what you got there?” Officer Laurence Miller spoke from behind him.
He turned. Maybe Miller would know where the captain was. He held up the bag with the phone in it. “Treyvon gave this to the witness.”
Miller’s brows rose. “To the woman who did CPR on him? Did he say anything to her?”
Skelly shook his head. “She only said he told her something like ‘pack police.’ She wasn’t sure she got it right. That mean anything to you?”
“Pack police…” Miller mulled over the words as he took the evidence bag and examined the smashed phone, front and back. “Can’t say that it does. I’ll put this in my squad’s evidence locker.”
Skelly snatched it back before Miller could even take a step. At the surprised look on Miller’s face, he shrugged. “She entrusted it to me. I’ll ask the captain. You seen him?”
“Last I saw, he was going to get something from his squad car. He’s parked over there.” Miller gestured to the SUV with flashing lights that blocked the alley between the parking garage and the bank. The car’s headlights were strategically pointed to flood the middle of the street while still blocking the entrance.
