The Knowing (Partners In Crime Book 1)

by Hanna Noble

  He was beginning to understand how difficult it must have been for her to go to Owen, to share this piece of herself with strangers because what she had seen was so horrible she couldn’t bear to sit by and do nothing. There was that courage again, he thought.

  Another ten minutes dragged by, and Cole was on edge. “We should go in and make sure she’s ok,” he said, needing to do something to reassure himself that she wasn’t in harm’s way.

  Before Owen could reply, the door opened. Naomi stood in the doorway, her face ashen. Cole and Owen moved toward her in unison.

  “Owen.” Her voice was shaky, and Cole stopped in his tracks. “Bring something to write on,” she said, before retreating back into the room.

  Owen pulled his notebook out of his jacket pocket and walked toward the bedroom door.

  Cole stood there for a minute, jaw clenched.

  She had asked for Owen.

  It was to be expected, he reminded himself. Owen was her friend, and she trusted him. Still, a part of him couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy that she hadn’t asked for him instead. He shook his head. She had no reason to, and he had no right to expect that from her.

  The past few days did not erase the eight months of misery and hurt that he’d caused. There was no rational reason for him to be the one in there with her, but damned if he didn’t want to be anyway.

  He tried to decipher the quiet murmurs he heard from the bedroom, without any luck. This wasn’t about him. It was about Naomi and what she needed. This was about the case. He was fine with this. Everything was fine.

  Another fifteen minutes passed, and Cole sat down at the small kitchen table. After what seemed like an eternity, Naomi and Owen emerged. Cole couldn’t help but notice that Owen’s arm was around her waist, steadying her. Maybe he wasn’t fine with this after all. He crossed the room and met them halfway, his hand rising of its own volition to gently cup her cheek.

  “Are you ok?” he asked, searching her face, feeling the coldness of her skin. She looked tired, and her cheeks were still pale. When she didn’t answer, he dropped his hand, looking at Owen for some clue as to what had transpired.

  Owen shook his head, and Cole knew he would have to wait to hear the details. They made their way back to the car in silence, and Cole slid behind the steering wheel, leaving Owen to help Naomi get settled in the backseat.

  He started the engine, ready to head back toward his house. He kept sneaking glances at her in the rearview mirror. She had her head tilted back and her eyes closed. He felt a tug in his heart, and wanted nothing more than to pull the car over and go sit with her, be there for her.

  “Lily Martin came home that night with David Roberts,” Owen said from beside him, subdued. “The killer waited outside until Roberts had left, was able to get into the building. He entered her apartment after she went to sleep, and hid in her closet until he found the right moment to attack.”

  Cole considered this new piece of information. “We didn’t know he was in the closet,” he said. “We should make sure CSI covers it thoroughly on their next pass.” If the killer had been in a rage, there was a possibility that he wasn’t as careful about not leaving evidence behind. Cole took another look at Naomi, who still hadn’t moved.

  Back at the house, he pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. “Do you want to come in?” he asked Owen, who was unbuckling his seat belt.

  Owen glanced at his watch. “I think we’ve done all we can tonight. I’m going to head over to meet Leah and Eli. I’ll see you at the station tomorrow.”

  Cole nodded and got out of the car, watching as Owen helped Naomi out. Wishing again that it was him.

  “Are you sure you’re ok?” Owen asked, touching Naomi’s arm, and Cole had to squelch the jealousy that flared while watching them, envying their easy familiarity.

  “It’s fine. I need a good night’s sleep.” She gave a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be by after shift. Hopefully we’ll have the CSI report and see if David Roberts is in the system.” He gave a wave as he walked toward the car he’d parked on the street. “Good night.”

  Cole followed Naomi inside. She looked so lost, and one hand rubbed at her temple. “Go lie down,” he said pointing at the stairs. “Let me make you some tea. It’ll help.”

  “Will it?” Her voice sounded subdued.

  “Tea is the universal response to a bad day in my family,” he said, walking toward the kitchen. “I’ll bring it up to you.”

  He prepared the tea, pouring it into the largest mug he could find. She looked like she was getting a headache, so he also pulled a bottle of aspirin from a cabinet and put it in his pocket. He grabbed a glass of water, and with the mug in his other hand headed upstairs.

  The door to her bedroom was open, but he knocked with his foot anyway, so he wouldn’t startle her. She was lying on the bed with one arm thrown over her eyes. She sat up as he walked in, resting against the headboard and watching him as he placed everything on the nightstand beside her.

  He moved to lean against the desk, unsure of what to say.

  “Thanks.” She cradled the mug in her hands. “It’s exactly what I needed.”

  “I’m glad.” He smiled, relieved that the color in her cheeks was coming back. “This should also help.” He pulled the aspirin bottle out of his pocket and handed it to her. “You look like you could use it.”

  “Oh.”—she placed the bottle on the table beside her— “thanks, I’ll take some later.”

  Cole frowned when she dropped her gaze. She was lying to him again, but he couldn’t figure out why or about what. He held his tongue. Now wasn’t the time for questions.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked, coming to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. “Do you want to call Michelle or Gabi?”

  She shook her head. “I’m ok.” She looked away, her grip tight on the mug. “I’ll call them once I’ve settled down a bit.”

  He studied her profile, the delicate slope of her nose, her slightly pointed chin. She had a long elegant neck that was showcased thanks to her cropped hair.

  “It was an impression,” she said, taking a sip of her tea. “I knew he’d waited for her in the closet.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling inadequate that all he could offer her was an apology. She looked forlorn, and he couldn’t bear not being any comfort. Once again, he reached out a hand before he’d formed the thought. His knuckles brushed against her cheek and she froze, her eyes locked on his. “I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

  He kept his touch light, and, when she didn’t move away, he took another chance and cupped her face with his hand, his thumb feathering back and forth on her cheek. Now he knew, he thought. Her skin was as soft as he’d imagined. And warm.

  She still hadn’t moved, but her eyes were wary, alert. He took another precious second to feel her silky softness before dropping his hand. “If you need anything”—he could hear the huskiness in his voice— “I’m right down the hall.”

  He got up and walked to the door. To hell with it. He turned to face her. “Next time, let me be there for you,” he said, holding her gaze while her expression remained inscrutable. “You can trust me. I know you don’t believe that yet, but I want you to know this: I’m not a man who makes the same mistake twice.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Naomi opened her eyes the following morning, grateful that the excruciating pain in her head was gone. She’d forgone the aspirin last night, worried about mixing them with her double dose of sleeping pills, and so had suffered through what felt like shards of glass being shoved into her eyes.

  She sat up, her thoughts still jumbled from last night. Cole had touched her. Twice. At Lily’s apartment, she’d been too numb to appreciate the contact, but in her bedroom, it had been a different story. His touch had been electric, and she’d forced herself to stay still, terrified that she would lean into him, to accept the comfor
t he wanted to give.

  She’d held back, not wanting to showcase her vulnerability. But, it had felt good to have him look at her with genuine caring, as though her feelings mattered. As though she mattered.

  The past eight months had been hard. Even with Gabi and Michelle’s support she’d felt lost. Broken. He’d been upset when she’d called for Owen instead of him last night, but he hadn’t said anything. Instead, to her surprise, he’d brought her warm tea and gentle touches that soothed her heart.

  I’m not a man who makes the same mistake twice.

  His words replayed in her mind. He’d staked a claim, wanted her to meet him halfway. Trust was earned, yes, but you also had to be ready to accept it when it was offered. To be willing to take the leap with the faith that you’d be caught on the other side. Cole had made his intentions clear: he wanted to catch her. But could she find the courage to jump?

  She should be focusing on the case now, she thought as she got out of bed and brushed her teeth. She needed to help Lily. Her heart ached for the vibrant woman whose energy she could still feel lingering in the apartment like an echo. She had connected to the space with ease, could sense the dark undercurrents pulling her toward the bedroom. The Knowing had flowed through her, and she could feel the edge of a vision, held at bay through a combination of intense concentration and the medication.

  She splashed cold water on her face to help clear her head, trying not to think about how guilty she felt not fully opening herself up to what had happened in Lily’s apartment. She couldn’t do it, was too afraid of what she would see. She changed into a comfortable pair of black leggings, paired with a white tank top and beige cardigan. Cole was probably at work by now, she thought, as she made her way downstairs. A part of her was glad—she didn’t know if she was up to facing him just yet.

  She walked into the dining room and stopped in her tracks.

  Cole was sitting in front of his computer, a cup of coffee next to him. He was dressed in a light blue collared shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. A dark grey suit jacket hung on the back of his chair. He was studying the screen, indicating a fierce concentration on the task at hand. He looked broody and intense, and she felt like she’d stumbled onto a photo shoot for GQ, detective edition. All grogginess disappeared as adrenaline ran through her, every nerve ending going on high alert.

  She wasn’t prepared for seeing him, wanted to sneak back upstairs and take a few minutes to regroup. She was about to take a step back when he looked up, pinning her with his gaze.

  “There you are.” He smiled, his expression softening in welcome. “I wondered how long you would sleep.”

  She stood, awkward, before taking a few hesitant steps forward, trying to smile in return.

  “I thought you’d already be at work,” she said crossing over to the kitchen. Way to make the man feel unwelcome in his own home. “I mean, good morning.”

  He chuckled. “I wanted to make sure you were ok. Owen’s on his way over to pick me up.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m fine,” she said, striving for a casual tone as she put water in the kettle. She walked over to the table and sat down, trying to ignore the way his eyes raked up and down her body, lingering on her face. It was as if he could see right through her, and she felt herself blushing at the attention. She couldn’t help but feel a small rush of satisfaction at his appraisal. To know she could hold the interest of a man again, if she wanted to. It was a glimmer of the person she had been eight months ago, a person she hoped to become again.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, curious about the files spread everywhere.

  “I got the information on David Roberts,” he told her, handing her a piece of paper. “Turns out he was in the system.”

  Naomi skimmed the page. David Roberts, aged twenty-nine, in and out of juvenile detention between the ages of twelve to seventeen for everything from disturbing the peace to breaking and entering. “He seems to have cleaned up his act, hasn’t been in trouble for the past few years,” she commented. “Why are you looking into him when we know he wasn’t the one who killed Lily?”

  “You know he’s not our guy, and I know he’s not our guy, but we don’t have any evidence to link the Phantom to Lily’s murder yet.” He leaned back in his chair. “Since he was the last person to see her alive, we have to proceed as though he’s a person of interest.”

  She glanced at the file again. She was the only link between Lily and a monster. “I could be wrong.” She said the words out loud, wanting to make sure they weren’t making the same mistakes again. “He could have killed her. Statistics would point toward that possibility.”

  Cole nodded. “Maybe,” he agreed. “Maybe not. That’s why we’re building the case step by step. The evidence will point us in the right direction.”

  “Like the evidence in Megan’s case?” she countered, unable to help herself. The evidence had pointed to Randall as the man responsible for Megan’s death and for the other rape. He’d confessed, and Naomi had believed the evidence, had carried the guilt of a death that might have been prevented had she not gotten in the way.

  “The evidence always tells the truth.” Cole ran a hand through his black hair. “Even if it takes some time for the truth to come out, it always does. In Megan’s case, I think the evidence was put there to mislead us. I’m not sure why, or how, but I know we’re going to find out. Whoever did this must have left traces of their own behind.” He leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head. “Lily didn’t stay hidden. We found her, and we knew we had to keep looking. The evidence will show us what happened to Megan, too. You just have to have a little faith.”

  She snorted at that. “Said the cop to the psychic,” she quipped, appreciating the irony of his advice.

  He grinned, but his face became unexpectedly serious. “I’m sorry about last night.”

  She stared at him, unsure of what he was referring to.

  “Sorry for what?”

  Cole sighed and leaned forward, closing his laptop with a click and pushing it aside. He placed his forearms on the table. “For invading your personal space. It was wrong of me. Unprofessional. It crossed a—”

  “Don’t,” she interrupted, pleased at the surprised look on his face. She was glad she wasn’t the only one who seemed to be off-balance. “You don’t have to apologize.”

  They were staring at each other again, and she felt the heat that always seemed to swirl between them. She cleared her throat. The day she wanted the apology of a sexy man for being sexy was the day she’d turn in her woman card.

  “Are you sure?” he pressed. “You’re a guest in my home, and I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

  Her Knowing stirred again, and she felt his earnestness. He was afraid that he’d crossed a line that would jeopardize not only the investigation, but their relationship. She blinked. It was important to him, she realized, for her to feel comfortable around him, that she trust him.

  “I’m sure,” she said, wanting to reassure him. “I’ll let you know if you ever cross a line.”

  A relieved smile lit his face, only to be replaced an instant later by a more probing look. “Does that mean you didn’t mind it?” He looked at her with such focused intent that she felt a twinge of sympathy for whoever had to face him in an interrogation room.

  “Mind what?” she hedged, wary of the sudden gleam in his eye.

  “Me. Touching you.”

  Oh.

  Mind it? Was he insane? Of course, she didn’t mind it, had all but crawled into him at the barest touch. She understood the significance of what he was asking, and of how her answer would change things between them. Her answer could open a whole new realm of possibilities that neither of them could fully anticipate.

  Despite the risks and the complications that lay ahead, Naomi found herself unable to put what was simmering between them away for good. Mind his touch? More like craved it.

  He must have seen a hint of answer on her face, because he
smiled and leaned toward her.

  “Naomi?” His voice was like rough velvet, wrapping her in a blanket of intimacy. It would take a stronger woman than her to resist that tone. She was about to close the remaining distance between them when a noise had her jerking away.

  Cole cursed as the mood was shattered by a honk from the driveway. Owen was here to pick him up. “Dammit,” he muttered, before pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. “If he weren’t my partner, I’d kill him.”

  He looked down at her with such wanting, that she felt her own body respond to the heat in his eyes. “We’ll finish this later.”

  It was the most sensual of promises.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “What do you think?” Owen asked a few hours later, as he opened the car door and got behind the steering wheel. They were in the parking lot of Eddie’s Garage, where they’d interviewed David Roberts, the last known person to have seen Lily Martins alive.

  “He seemed pretty shaken up at the news,” Cole said, buckling his seatbelt and scanning his notes. “His story should be easy enough to confirm. He says he left Lily’s apartment at eleven and filled up at the Shell station a few blocks away. Let’s head over there and see if we can get the security footage.”

  “He gave us some new information too.” Owen drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, as he pulled out into traffic. “He said Lily was upset about losing her favorite elephant necklace, and that she’d been having trouble at work. I guess her workplace is the next logical step.”

  “What is it?” Cole asked, staring at his partner. Owen had a peculiar look on his face. “You look like you just thought of something.”

  “Elephant,” Owen murmured as he opened the car door and slid in. “Doesn’t that sound familiar to you?”