Lock&Load (PASS Series Book 3)

by Freya Barker

  Then she leans her head and yells inside, “Told you it could be fixed,” before adding for my benefit, “She’s all yours. Don’t let her scare you off.”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  Hillary pokes her head out the door and freezes when she spots me. Rosie pats me on the shoulder as she slips by me, and heads down the stairs.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks, as I put my hands on her shoulders and carefully back her up into the apartment.

  “Cops been by yet?”

  She shakes her head. “How did you know?”

  “Jake.”

  “Oh. So that’s why you’re here.”

  She turns and heads for the kitchen and I catch her by the arm to stop her, when she pulls away with a sharp hiss. She immediately covers the area I touched with her hand. I notice it doesn’t quite cover the bruise on her arm.

  “What is that?”

  I peel her hand away and I can almost make out the shape of a fucking hand against her dark skin.

  “Nothing,” she mumbles, trying to pull her short sleeve to cover the bruise.

  “That’s not nothing, Hillary,” I snap.

  “Fine. I had a run-in with one of the shelter residents on Monday morning. It’s not an issue.”

  She resumes her trek to the kitchen, and I follow behind as I process what she said.

  “Monday morning? And you didn’t tell me?”

  The air in the kitchen goes electric as she swings around and pins me with angry eyes.

  “Tell you? When would I have told you, Radar? When you blew right by me and locked yourself in your room for hours? Or maybe when…”

  As suddenly as the anger appeared, I see it drain from her features.

  “You know what, it doesn’t matter.” Her beautiful brown eyes are dull, and she looks tired when she looks up at me. “Go home, Radar.”

  “It matters.” I take a step closer and cup her face in my hands. “And no, I’m not leaving. You can keep throwing Tuesday’s clusterfuck in my face to keep me at a distance, but it’s not gonna work. I’m staying, Hillary. I’m gonna be here when the cops come to question you and after that, I’m still gonna be here.”

  I bend down and run my nose along hers, ending with a light brush of my lips on hers. I half expect her to push me away when she covers my wrists with her hands, but she surprises me by pulling me closer.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hillary

  I close the door behind Detectives Bissette and Garcia, leaning my forehead against it.

  They showed up half an hour ago, interrupting my capitulation to the power of Radar’s charms. The man can kiss. I’m well aware he’s quite capable in other areas as well, which I’d kind of hoped to explore when the doorbell brought our lip-lock to a screeching halt.

  Garcia barged right in, pointedly ignoring Radar who wouldn’t budge from my side. He wanted to know if I knew a Jeffrey Cain, how I knew him, and then zeroed in on my last interaction with him.

  I explained about the beating he’d received last month and how he refused to file a police report. I relayed how he’d been drunk and paranoid when Garcia himself showed up at the shelter three days ago, and Jeff had manhandled me when he thought I’d called the cops on him. That led to Detective Bissette producing her phone to take some pictures of the bruises on my arm, while I could feel Radar seething at my back.

  What tipped Radar over the edge was when Garcia asked my whereabouts since that altercation. I told him, but Garcia seemed particularly interested in the hours I spent on the Devil’s Kitchen Trail on Tuesday. He wanted to know how come an hour-and-a-half trail took me almost four to complete, and seemed suspicious when I explained I lost track of time while sitting on a rock enjoying the view. Then he asked if anyone could verify any of it.

  I never got a chance to tell him about the couple with the Kansas plates because that’s when Radar jumped in. He told Garcia he was done, and I was not answering any more questions unless my lawyer was present. The detective pointed out what a coincidence it was my name was connected to two violent deaths.

  I thought for sure Radar was going to deck him when Bissette intervened and hustled her partner to the door.

  That was a minute ago.

  I slowly turn around and see Radar in my kitchen on his phone.

  “Your guy is barking up the wrong goddamn tree,” I hear him say. “The woman is a hundred and forty—maybe fifty—pounds soaking wet…” More like one seventy but I’m not about to correct him on that. “…and he’s acting like she single-handedly lifted a grown man over her head and tossed him off a railroad bridge.” He runs an agitated hand through his hair as he listens to whomever he has on the line. “Yes, you do that. And just so we’re clear; for any further questioning of Ms. Glenwood contact Hank Fredericks. That’s right.”

  He ends the call, tosses his phone and his glasses on the counter, and turns on the faucet over the kitchen sink to splash water on his face. He braces his hands on the edges of the sink and leans his head down, letting the water drip off.

  I softly approach, taking a kitchen towel off the hook, and put a hand in the middle of his back.

  “Here. Dry yourself.”

  He snaps his head around but the moment his eyes hit me they soften. I wait until he’s wiped his face and put his glasses back on.

  “Who was that?”

  “Brian Underwood, the chief of police.”

  My mouth falls open. “You called the police chief?”

  “Yeah, I did. Not going to stand by and have you badgered by that idiot when he should be out chasing real criminals. Underwood is a decent guy. He’s the one who initially asked us to assist with the murder of Sandra Elliot, before the feds were called in. Garcia is on a wild-goose chase and I don’t know why he decided to focus on you, but I do know it’s a load of bullshit. And now his boss knows as well.”

  “I see,” I respond testily. “And this Hank guy? Maybe I should know who that is? Since apparently he’ll be speaking for me as well?”

  “Fredericks is a lawyer. Our lawyer, actually. PASS has him on retainer.”

  “I don’t work for PASS,” I point out, and notice Radar flaring his nostrils as he puffs out a sharp breath. It would appear I’m testing his patience.

  “You don’t but I do, and you’re with me.”

  “It’s that easy?”

  He shrugs and picks his phone off the counter.

  “Pretty much. I just need to give him a heads-up. Put him on standby in case that asswipe Garcia wants another go at you.”

  He puts in a call and I let my thoughts drift, while I start on the chicken curry I had planned for dinner tonight.

  I have a feeling Garcia’s sudden animosity against me may have something to do with the fact I made it clear I have no personal interest in him when he stopped by on Monday. I glance over at Radar, who is still talking on the phone but is tracking my movements with his eyes. Not so sure this is a good time to tell him about that little incident in my office at this moment.

  Instead, I get busy trying to figure out whether I should be upset about Radar jumping to my defense without asking. My auto-response is I should be, but if I put aside that particular chip on my shoulder for a minute, I have to admit it feels good to have someone stand up for me without even a second thought.

  Scratch that. Not someone; Radar.

  “He’s on board,” he says behind me. “Got a piece of paper so I can write down his cell number? You can reach him anytime.”

  I turn and point.

  “Should be a notepad up there somewhere.”

  While he rummages through the junk on top of my fridge, I pull out my cast-iron pot, toss in a decent amount of butter, and set it on the hot burner.

  “What are you cooking?”

  His arms slip around me from behind and he rests his chin on my shoulder, as I slide a couple of chicken breasts in the pan.

  “Chicken curry.”

  “That sounds good. Looks like
there might be enough for two,” he mumbles, his breath brushing my ear.

  “There might be.”

  My voice sounds breathy as I try to concentrate on cooking. Not an easy feat when every one of my senses is fully aware of the fine man wrapped around me.

  Guess I can always grab a salad at the hospital cafeteria for dinner tomorrow, instead of the leftovers I had planned.

  I tilt my head to give him more room when I feel his lips brush the sensitive skin where my neck meets my shoulder.

  “Mmmm,” I mumble, promptly feeling the chill as his touch disappears.

  “You make sounds like that and I’m at risk of forgetting I have a dog who’s likely to start making puddles on my floor if I don’t take her for a quick walk,” he says from a fair distance. When I turn my head, I see he’s on the other side of the kitchen, staring at me with heavy-lidded eyes that make a flush crawl up my chest.

  “We can’t have that,” I offer in a less than steady voice.

  “No,” he agrees. “And I’d hate to see that dinner go to waste, but all bets are off for after.” A delicious shudder runs down my body and doesn’t go unnoticed by Radar, who sucks in a harsh breath. “Right. Dog first. Mind if I bring her with after?”

  “I’ll save her some chicken.”

  He nods, seems to forcibly pull his gaze from me, and eats up the distance to the front door with those long legs.

  Radar

  I give Yanis a quick call while Phil is doing her standard, meticulous grass inspection.

  “Everything okay?” he asks right off the bat. “Hillary good?”

  “She’s okay. Garcia and Bissette showed up. Garcia grilled her on her whereabouts for Tuesday night pretty hard. I called Fredericks just in case.”

  “Good. Tuesday night, that when they figure he died?”

  “Probably. Did Bree hear anything from her contact?”

  Phil is done with the clump of grass that held her interest and moves on to the next.

  “Yeah, one of the uniforms told her when they fished the guy out of the water, they discovered he’d been worked over and his eyes were gone.”

  “Jesus…” A chill runs down my back. “Why would someone do that?”

  “You’re asking me? Agent Dunn suggested it could be symbolic.”

  I let that process for a minute while Phil finds a new spot and goes through her haunches to pee for the twelfth time. Weird dog always lifts one leg a little, like she can’t decide whether she’s a girl or a boy.

  “The vic mentioned something to Hillary about someone looking for him. She said he couldn’t talk about the assault for fear someone was gonna find him.”

  Yanis is quiet for a while, but I can hear him shuffling through some papers.

  “When was that again? The date when he was attacked?” he asks suddenly, just as Phil starts moving again, but this time I firmly lead her away from the grass. She’s dawdled long enough.

  “Let me see. She told me after I came back from visiting Dad in Montrose. It must’ve happened that weekend, she works at the shelter on Saturday mornings.”

  “Same weekend Gina Castillo was killed right outside the diner downtown,” Yanis reminds me. “Do you know where he was attacked?”

  “No, but Hillary mentioned he’d refused treatment and ended up being dropped off at the shelter. She actually stitched him up herself.”

  “Who dropped him off?”

  Phil pulls on the leash wanting to head for my apartment and seems confused when I lead her up the stairs to Hillary’s place.

  “I assume a uniform? I can ask, I’m almost at her place.”

  “I’ll get Bree to check. There should be a record of it.”

  I stop outside her door.

  “You’re thinking this is connected?”

  “I think it’s worth looking into. What if this victim saw something? What if that’s the reason he got beaten and was warned not to talk? Maybe that’s why they removed his eyes.”

  “And he was freaking out when he thought Hillary had spilled to the cops.” I start fitting pieces into the possible scenario, but it leaves me with a chilling realization. “Fuck, if whoever did this was keeping an eye on the guy, they may know…”

  I let my voice drift off but Yanis finishes my thought.

  “The last person he spoke to was Hillary. I’m gonna put someone on her,” he adds immediately.

  “Yeah, me,” I snap. “I’m already here.”

  I silently dare him to tell me otherwise. Sure, it’s been a few years since I’ve seen action beyond what’s on my computer screen, but I’ve made sure I’ve stayed sharp physically, and I’m plenty proficient with a gun. But more than that, there is no way in hell I’d let anyone near her.

  Apparently Yanis comes to the same conclusion.

  “Fine. Lock her down and stick like glue. We’ll be in touch.”

  I tuck the phone in my pocket and put a hand on the knob when the door swings open. Hillary sticks her head out and looks down the gallery.

  “I thought I heard you talking to someone,” she says, as she crouches down to greet Phil.

  “I was on the phone with Yanis.”

  She looks up at me.

  “Everything okay?”

  I hesitate a moment. Neither of us is going anywhere soon so there’s no rush telling her she might be in danger. No reason we can’t share a quiet meal first.

  “He was just checking in.” I reach down and pull her to her feet, before guiding her inside. “Smells amazing. When’s dinner? I’m starving.”

  I let Phil off her leash and she immediately starts sniffing down the apartment. Hillary stares at me for a beat before she takes off toward the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, “I’ll let you off the hook until we’ve eaten, but after that you fill me in.”

  She reads me like a goddamn book, but I’ll be damned if that doesn’t make me feel good. As do the scents wafting from the kitchen. My stomach rumbles in response.

  “Beer in the fridge,” she says, as she drizzles dressing on a salad she managed to put together while I was gone. “Dinner is ready.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  “Get me a beer too.”

  The meal tastes even better than it smelled. The cold beer is a perfect companion for the curry, which has a bit of a bite to it. After polishing off my second helping, I shove my chair back and resist the temptation to undo my jeans.

  “Do you always cook like this for yourself?”

  She shrugs and smiles.

  “I like cooking. Granted, it’s more fun when it’s not just for me, but that doesn’t usually stop me.”

  “More than happy to volunteer to be your extra at the table.”

  She tilts her head and raises an eyebrow.

  “You would, would you?”

  “Not only that, I’d volunteer cleaning up afterward.”

  She chuckles, shaking her head as she gets up and starts gathering the dishes.

  “An offer like that is hard to resist.”

  I catch her hand when she reaches for my plate and pull her around the table and on my lap.

  “I’m sure you meant to say a man like that, right?” I tease, glad to see warmth in those brown eyes she fixes on me.

  “You have your moments.”

  She never quite told me I would have the second chance I asked for, because I was interrupted in the middle of my attempts to sway her when the cops knocked on the door. Every signal she’s given me since has been encouraging, but I don’t want to assume and be wrong.

  “Does that mean we’re good?” I slide a hand under her hair and curve my fingers around the back her neck. “You and me?”

  Her nod is slight but enough for me to confidently take her mouth. Beer, curry, and the best taste of all: Hillary. My relief is complete when her arms wind around my neck and her fingers find my hair.

  “Lady…” I mumble against her lips, as my body responds to her soft ass shifting on my lap.

  Unfortunately, she p
ulls back and gets to her feet.

  “Now that that’s cleared up, why don’t you share what had you looking so serious earlier?”

  Fuck.

  Chapter Twenty

  Hillary

  “Sick?”

  I flinch at the blatant disbelief in Karla’s voice and glare at the top of Radar’s head. He’s bent over the laptop he has open on my kitchen table.

  This was his idea.

  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t particularly relish the idea of making myself an easy target, but the last thing I need is to give Karla more ammo against me. Already with the prospect of getting a new vehicle, my plan to be debt free in five more months is in jeopardy. Maybe I should just get the Honda patched up with the insurance money and cross my fingers nothing else happens.

  “Hillary!”

  Karla’s sharp voice in my ear snaps me to attention.

  “Yes, I’m here, sorry,” I mumble.

  Radar’s head comes up and he shoots me a quizzical look. I turn my back.

  “I was asking what exactly is the matter with you?” she prompts.

  “Flu. Fever, shakes, stomach issues, achy all over.” I really suck at lying.

  “I see,” she reacts disapprovingly.

  “Yeah, I don’t think I should expose our patients to this.”

  “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “Not yet.”

  If I’m not mistaken, she just huffed in response.

  “Well, I suggest you do because I expect a doctor’s note when you return.”

  I don’t get a chance to respond—probably for the better—because she’s already hung up.

  “How did it go?” Radar asks behind me and I swing around.

  “Just great. The woman already hates me, and this doesn’t help.”

  I walk into the kitchen, toss my phone on the counter, and start pulling ingredients from the pantry for cookies. My hands need something to do and I want to nurse the mood I’ve been in since he explained last night, I might not be safe. The fact he and Yanis decided, without my input, Radar would stay with me had not gone down well.