“Have you ever called your editor a cretin to his face?”
“No.” Was that a pout? “I should, but I’m not ready to lose my paycheck just yet.”
Yeah, that was a pout all right. Cole had only met her editor on a few occasions, but he’d been unimpressed. Then again, Cole had no doubt Eden wasn’t exactly the easiest of employees to deal with. “He’s been the editor at the Tribune longer than you’ve been alive, Eden. Maybe he recognizes burnout when he sees it.” Or, maybe, like Cole, her editor didn’t like the chances she took.
“Russell’s cheaper. In more ways than one. I’m not burned out. I’m angry. And I’m cold and tired, and yes, right now I sound like a two-year-old who needs a nap.”
“We can agree on that.” He turned right onto J Street. “Dinner’s on me. What do you feel like? Other than your nails.”
“I’m not hungry.” She yanked her finger out of her mouth and hugged her arms around her waist. “My stomach’s all in knots.”
“It’s probably trying to tell you something. Italian or Mexican?”
“How about Thai?”
“You got it.” He made another right toward Broadway. “What did you say about the feature?”
“I said I wanted time to think about it.” Eden flipped on the heat and the seat warmer.
“You did?” Cole didn’t know whether to laugh or frown.
“You sound surprised.”
“I thought you wanted to move into features. That’s been your goal, hasn’t it? To be the lead reporter at a major paper? This could get you national exposure. Maybe even job offers.” The idea of Eden leaving town, moving on to bigger, better and probably more dangerous things, tied his own stomach into knots.
“I want to get there on merit,” she said. “Because I’m good at my job. Not because some psycho left me hanging from a hook in a freezer and turned me into a headline.”
He wouldn’t put it past her to say no to running the stories just to be contrary. “Look at it this way. You got your wish. All your attention can now be focused on the Iceman.” Which meant Cole needed to call his lieutenant. If Eden wasn’t going to be safely tucked away at the Tribune’s offices for most of her days, he’d have to make some changes to his own work routine. “You can sleep in tomorrow and come at everything fresh. After you eat.”
“What is it with you and my feeding habits?” She turned in her seat. “And while we’re at it, what was with that kiss in my kitchen?”
“What kiss?” Grateful for the late-setting sun, he winced behind his sunglasses. What kiss?
“Really? We’re friends, Cole. Friends who argue about anything and everything. That doesn’t usually constitute a kiss like that.”
So he hadn’t been the only one to feel the spark. “Maybe I wanted to find a new way to win an argument.” Or maybe he’d finally given in to the impulse that had been driving him mad for...longer than he cared to admit. Too bad he was the king of bad timing.
“Are you thinking about doing it again?”
“We’re going to get into this now?”
“Trapped environment. You can’t get away. I’ve got a lot going on at the moment, so if I need to schedule some wild crazy sex time in this—”
Cole gnashed his teeth. Who scheduled in sex? Eden did, of course, and he scoffed. He knew she wasn’t a romantic, but... “Sure. Next Friday at seven work for you?”
He glanced over in time to see a flash of insecurity cross her face. She wasn’t pretty, not in that classic, Hollywood beauty kind of way Simone pulled off. Eden’s eyes were a little too wide, her mouth a little too small, and that button nose of hers got stuck in far too many places where it didn’t belong. But somehow, along with all that strawberry blond hair framing her round face, she looked perfect to him.
“We could park near the restaurant and climb into the backseat—”
“Don’t joke, Eden.” His hand tightened on the steering wheel. He didn’t want to joke about that. “And don’t make light. If you aren’t interested, say the word and we’ll forget it ever happened.” As if putting Eden out of his mind would be so simple.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.” He didn’t often hear uncertainty in Eden’s voice, but right now, it rang louder than a police siren. “I don’t want to lose this. We’re friends, Cole. I don’t have many. I need to keep the ones I have.”
“We’ll always be friends.” He shuddered slightly as it occurred to him he’d almost lost the chance to see if there could be more. The possibility it might just take a little extra push on his part...
She chewed on her thumbnail, something she only did when nerves got the better of her. He’d just never expected to be the cause of them. That felt promising. He pressed on. “About that guest room of yours. No way am I sleeping on your couch again.”
When she glanced at him he focused on keeping things matter-of-fact. “I’ve brought the bag I keep in my locker at work,” he said. “Another couple of days’ worth of clothes, the essentials.”
She nodded. “There’s a bed. And a TV. I think. If it’s really necessary that you stay.”
He pulled into a spot around the corner from the restaurant and parked. This time he faced her and he waited until she looked at him before he spoke. “We aren’t going to have this discussion again, Eden, so hear me. He knows where you live. He knows how you live. You’re careful, usually overly so, and if he managed to get his hands on you, that means he’s more thorough than we thought. You poked the bear and he bit back. Until this guy is caught, until I know with one hundred percent certainty that you are safe, I’m not going anywhere. You want to stay at your place to prove something to yourself—”
Her spine stiffened. “That’s not what I’m—”
“Sure it is. And I get it. But you need to understand, I will do whatever it takes to keep you alive. If that means you leave your home, you leave. If that means I move in or if it means I send you to the FBI, I’ll do it.”
“Let me guess. Because you promised Logan.”
His heart skipped a beat. Was that resentment he heard?
“I will always feel an obligation to your brother, Eden. He was my best friend and I loved him. But—” He reached over and caught her chin in his fingers when she ducked her head. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other reasons for wanting to keep you safe.” To prove his point, he pressed his mouth to hers. A brief, soft kiss that he hoped conveyed what he couldn’t put into words.
She surprised him by wrapping her hand around his wrist, keeping him close. She whispered, “I don’t know what to do with this. I don’t know how to do this.”
“Neither do I,” he told her. “We’ll figure it out together. After we get you something to eat.”
* * *
Eden jolted awake.
Bathed in sweat, despite the ceiling fan’s spinning blades, she shivered. What was that noise? She kicked to untangle her legs from the jumble of covers and stared into the darkness.
Moonlight shone through the slats in her curtains and she climbed out of bed, walking over strewn clothes and tossed shoes to peer outside.
Nothing. The pressure in her chest eased. She could have sworn she’d heard—
Squeak.
She froze. There it was again. She grabbed her phone and her grandfather’s old billy club, which she kept on the dresser, and accidentally knocked the ceramic music box to the floor.
Eden jumped as the tinny ballet tone exploded into the night.
Chloe’s music box...
She bent down and clicked it shut, frowning as she picked it up. This was supposed to be next to her bed. Had she moved it the last time she cleaned? Glancing around the messy room told her that would have been ages ago. Maybe Allie had moved it when she’d gotten those clothes for her to wear home from the hospital. Yeah. Th
at had to be it. Eden set the box on her nightstand, a new bubble of unease pressing in on her.
Squeak. Squeak, squeak.
She peered into the hallway.
The guest room door was slightly ajar. She could hear the hum from the refrigerator downstairs. Eden bit her lip. Should she wake Cole? No. What if this was just her mind in overdrive? The noise was probably nothing. Her mind never did its best work in the middle of the night. Maybe she’d imagined...
Squeak. Squeak.
Okay, that she didn’t imagine. She headed downstairs, careful to avoid the creaky steps. She set her phone on the banister and tightened her hold on the club. Chills raced down her spine, bordering on the same terror she’d felt when she’d opened her eyes in the freezer. One of the things she loved most about this town house was the number of windows allowing for endless natural light. Teeth chattering, she resisted the urge to shrink against the wall. Now she felt so...exposed.
Squeak.
She darted into the kitchen. The sliding door was locked, and the round wooden rod she’d wedged in the frame for added security was in place. Her hand hovered over the light switch that would illuminate her small, overgrown backyard. Easy for someone to hide in those weeds and watch her through the windows or door. Easy for someone to sneak in...
Squeak, squeak, squeak.
“What are you doing up?”
Eden turned and swung like she was going for a home run. Cole’s hand locked around the club before it plowed into his upper arm. She let him wrench the club out of her hands as she stumbled back against the counter. “Cole, I heard noises. I think there’s someone out there.”
In an instant he set the club on the table and pushed her down behind the counter. Standing in a stream of moonlight, he pulled his sidearm out of the waistband of his jeans and pointed at her with his other hand. “Stay put.”
She peered out and saw Cole as he flicked on the light, unlatched the lock, pried up the rod and opened the back door.
Squeak. Squeak, squeak.
She heard him exhale, followed by the sound of him kicking through knee-high weeds as he reached the far gate. He rattled the latch.
Eden scooted around and stayed low, watching as he did a quick survey of the yard. He stopped and stared at the oversize gnome-encrusted windmill she’d found at a yard sale. He bent down and twirled the blades.
Squeak. Squeak, squeak.
Heat rose to her cheeks. She stood up and stepped outside, her bare feet chilling instantly against the cool brick patio. “Ah. That’s new,” she managed when he glared at her. He reengaged the safety on his gun and stood up. “I guess I didn’t realize it made so much noise.” And this was why she hadn’t wanted to wake him up.
She tried to distract herself, but seeing a shirtless Cole Delaney return to her kitchen, heading for her coffeemaker, his hair mussed, his body ripped thanks to time spent at the gym, had her skin prickling in an entirely new way. How had she not noticed before now...? “Aren’t you going back to bed?”
“Are you?”
She blinked at his question. “Am I what?”
His brow arched. “Going back to bed.”
“Um, no.” She’d already slept seven hours, three more than she was used to. Besides, something told her the farther away she stayed from a bed right now, the better. “No. I’m wide-awake. Might as well get an early start, right?” Eden walked over to the fridge and reached up for the key she kept in front of the gnome cookie jar. Mmm. Cookies. She brought the jar down and beheaded the creature, stuffing a lemon sandwich cookie into her mouth. Yeah, that should help take her mind off Cole and his...
She unlocked the padlock on the basement door. “My office,” she mumbled around crumbs.
“The inner sanctum, you mean.” Cole braced his hands on the counter and watched her. “Do I finally get to see it or am I banned?”
“I never banned you,” Eden told him, but had to acquiesce. “Yeah, okay, I guess I kind of did, but seeing as you’re my unofficial partner now, I can’t exactly keep you out.”
“Partner? Really?”
“I am familiar with the concept.” Did he have to sound so surprised all the time? She wasn’t impossible to work with or deal with. Difficult maybe, but not impossible. “I’m making a preemptive strike and avoiding another argument.”
“Afraid I know how to win now?” Forget his sidearm. That grin of his should be considered a lethal weapon.
“Put some clothes on and bring me my coffee.” She clicked on the basement light. “We have a killer to catch.”
Hopefully before anyone else had to die.
Chapter 8
While the coffee brewed, Cole went upstairs to shower and change. Back in the kitchen, he flexed his hand that was a bit sore from catching her Babe Ruth swing. “Bet she’s good in a batting cage.” He poured their coffee, forwent the leftover Thai in the fridge and settled for two of her gnome-stashed cookies, before he headed downstairs.
It had been far from a perfect start to the morning, but time spent with Eden was anything but boring. The steep staircase reminded him of every horror movie he’d ever seen. Chipped, worn paint, rugged walls and the promise of stone-cold cement waiting at the bottom of the surprisingly well-lit basement. Leave it to Eden to make what could be considered a seriously creepy space into her office. He stopped short on the second-to-last step and sloshed coffee over the backs of his hands.
He gaped.
After three years she still had half her belongings in boxes upstairs, but down here? The NSA could take lessons in organization from her. Two large metal filing cabinets lined the far wall. A sturdy antique desk sat in the middle of the space with neat stacks of files on one side, photos on the other, laptop and assorted office supplies arranged to perfection in between. She’d set up a desktop CPU connected to not one but two large flat screens beneath a collection of maps, one of which was dotted and outlined with various colored strings. The ancient-looking printer seemed as if it were about to sputter and die as it spit out page after page. And there, in front of a trio of industrial-sized whiteboards displaying dozens of notes and photographs of familiar faces, stood Eden, hair knotted on top of her head, glasses perched on the tip of her nose and bare toes curling into the freezing cement.
“I’m going to have to start over.”
“This is...” He took the final step down and held out her coffee, which she accepted without giving him a second look.
“Thanks.” She drank and set the mug down, then tapped a finger against her teeth. “This is what?” she echoed.
Disturbing. Scary. Enlightening. “Efficient.” He wandered toward Logan’s old oversize leather sofa wedged under the stairs with wadded-up blankets and pillows strewn over it. A stack of paperback crime novels sat on the floor next to it. A small table at the end displayed a solitary battery-operated tea candle and a framed photograph.
A picture he hadn’t seen in almost twenty years.
He glanced over his shoulder before he picked the photo up. Taken in Simone’s parents’ elegantly manicured backyard—Eden, Simone, Allie and...Chloe, all grinning at the camera, innocence and promise shining on their eight-year-old faces. His heart twisted, his mind flashing to those dark days after Chloe had gone missing. She’d been such a cute kid: round face, freckles and razor-straight red hair. Green eyes that would have made the Irish hills jealous. She’d loved wearing overalls and bright T-shirts, along with the mismatched sneakers that had become her trademark look.
He frowned.
They’d found her purple shoe first.
“Has Allie been down here?” He set the frame on the side table and took in the rest of the space. At least she’d added some color with a pair of bright lamps and a throw rug, but he’d bet that was more for practicality than decor.
“What? In my office
? No. She’d probably have me committed.”
Cole’s mind eased. Seemed she realized the picture she painted. An unfamiliar sadness washed over him.
This was where Eden lived.
This was where she breathed. Upstairs was cursory, where she could chase her demons and write her blog, but this was Eden’s world.
“I’m printing off every article I’ve published on the blog regarding the Iceman, along with all the comments.” She gestured to the printer as it continued to chug away. “I thought maybe you could read through those. I’m too close.”
“I’ll take another look, but nothing stood out to me.”
She jerked, eyes widening in surprise. “You’ve read them?”
“The articles? Yeah. I’ve read everything you’ve ever published.” He pulled the pile of papers free and headed for an empty table. “You’re a good writer, Eden. A great one.”
“Why do I always hear a but in your voice?” She wrenched open one of the desk drawers and pulled out a pair of dark fuzzy socks.
“I just wish you’d put your writing skills to better use.”
“Better being...?” She sat down and tugged on the socks, the strap of her tank top dropping off one shoulder.
“Less confrontational. Maybe you could write a novel.” He glanced up at the beams in the ceiling. “Something tells me coming up with crimes wouldn’t be too big a stretch.”
“Hmm. Maybe. Someday.”
“If you’re not careful, someday is never going to come.” Okay, now he sounded preachy. He scanned the responses by date, counting forty-three before he had to return to the printer.
She returned to the whiteboards and snatched off pictures to place on her desk. “I’m going to try rearranging these this time. How close are we to identifying the victims from the freezer?”
More Than a Lawman Page 7
