by Dianna Love
Jennifer stared at him for a long moment. Then the mouth-watering scent of Italian spices and sauces reached her nose making her glance longingly at the pizza box next to him on the swing.
“What kind of pizza is that?”
“It’s a large sausage and mushroom.” Blake replied.
Good God, it was her favorite. “I’ve changed my mind about company. Come inside.”
Blake picked up the pizza and beer then entered the house. Jennifer directed him to the dining room. “There’s plates in the cabinet and napkins in the drawer in the kitchen. I’ll change clothes and be right down.”
As she flew up the stairs to her bedroom, Blake went into the kitchen, opening cabinet doors and drawers until he found the plates and napkins. He placed them on the dining room table and looked around. Even though he’d known Jennifer for five years, this was the first time he’d been in her home.
A brown leather sofa, two side chairs, and a tall bookcase stuffed with books, CDs and a stereo CD player filled the living room. The oak furniture was a mixture of antique and new. A flat-screen television graced one wall. He studied the stack of CDs. It seemed Jennifer’s taste in music ran the gamut from Lady Gaga to Blake Shelton. There was a lot he didn’t know about her, and he wanted to know everything.
He heard Jennifer coming down the stairs. “I like your house,” he said.
“Thanks. Especially, the porch swing, right?” Jennifer grinned as she headed for the dining room and motioned for him to join her. He opened the pizza box, put a slice on a plate for Jennifer, and grabbed one for himself. She pulled out the six-pack, handed Blake a bottle of Coors, then took one for herself.
“I’ve always liked old houses. It’s Craftsman-style, right?”
“Yes, it was a present my dad surprised my mom with on the day they got married. This old house was renovated with love. They used it as a rental when they bought the pink Victorian house over on Washington Street. They gave it to me when I turned twenty-one.” She hoped Blake didn’t ask too many questions about the house. Thinking about the day her parents gave it to her dredged up some memories best forgotten.
Jennifer had been seven months pregnant and living with her parents, when they asked if she’d like to join them for a ride. In the car, they drove on country roads through miles of corn fields and forests, stopping only for lunch in a quaint cafe in a small town. At the end of the day, her dad stopped the car in front of the small home where they’d lived when she was a baby. Her dad opened her door and led her inside. The wall of each room wore a fresh coat of paint; the oak wood floors glistened with polish.
“Your mom and I want you to have this house. It’s a good house for children to grow up in.” The three hugged each other tightly, not knowing that in mere weeks Jennifer would lose the baby.
Blake noticed a flicker of sadness in Jennifer’s eyes and took a sip of his beer. There was something about the house she didn’t want to talk about. He wanted to know what that was, but not now.
“Where do your parents live?” Jennifer asked, changing the subject.
“We moved to Orlando when I was a child. Mom and Dad bought a lot of property while it was still affordable and built condos.”
“Do you visit them often?” Jennifer asked.
“Not really. They divorced when I was fifteen. There was a lot of arguing and fighting over possessions during that time, including their kids. They still argue over who I’m spending time with, so I don’t see them as much as I should.” Blake glanced at her and noticed pizza sauce at the corner of her mouth. He used his napkin to wipe it off, making her grin and blush.
“I think my parents have been glued at the hip since they met. After all this time, they’re still lovebirds.”
Blake wanted that kind of marriage someday, the polar opposite of what his parents had. The pizza box empty, Jennifer started cleaning off the table. She picked up her plate and headed to the kitchen, with Blake close behind with his.
Jennifer placed the dishes in the kitchen sink. She froze for a long moment, until Blake touched her arm. She turned around, wiping at tears streaming down her face.
“What’s wrong?”
Jennifer picked up a coffee mug with a black-and-white drawing of a woman in a business suit, wearing a cape. “Dick gave me this mug. He said the mug would remind me I could do anything I decided to do. I just needed to believe in myself.”
Blake pulled her into his arms.
“I’m going to miss him.”
“I know.” Blake whispered in her ear.
Jennifer tightened her arms around his waist and pressed her body against him. He felt a pang of longing so strong he couldn’t breathe. Lust filled his veins, surging down to his belly. Talk about bad timing. He gently pushed her back, and kissed her forehead, hoping she had not felt his arousal. “You must be tired, Jennifer. I’ll leave so you can get some sleep.”
Jennifer followed him to the front door. An impulse came over her. Maybe it was the way the man radiated testosterone and she’d been going through some significant withdrawal. Whatever it was, she gave into it, slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him. His kiss tasted like beer, pizza, and man, and she wanted to drink him in. She wove her fingers through his hair and felt him breathing harder now, his chest rising and falling against her breasts. The kiss sent currents of erotic fire surging through her, making her weak in the knees.
***
At first, Blake stiffened with surprise. But then his pulse spiked as Jennifer slipped her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts against him. Her mouth felt hot and soft and he parted her lips so he could taste her, her tongue tangling with his. He’d imagined kissing her many, many times, but this was a million times better. Blake wanted to pick her up, carry her upstairs to her bedroom and fulfill each of his erotic dreams. He felt her hand slide down to his waist, her fingers lifting his shirt. Damn it. He wanted her badly, but not like this. He was a bastard for coming here tonight — wanting her while knowing she was crazy with grief.
Blake caught her hand, broke off the kiss, and gently pushed her away.
***
Jennifer fiercely colored and stared at him in shock. What in the hell had she done? What was she thinking?
“I am so sorry. That shouldn’t have happened. We work together.”
“Please don’t be sorry, I’m not. Working together is not why I stopped the kiss.”
“What?”
“Honey, I know you’re grieving and I don’t want to take advantage.” He began. “Besides, it’s not like we’re partners.”
***
Jennifer thanked God she had plenty to do at her desk the next day. Blake was with the diving team looking for a drowning victim at Bear Lake, which made avoiding him a simple task. She was mortified she’d practically molested him the night before.
Jennifer fired up her computer, ignored her burgeoning email box and started a document. She needed to list everything they had on Catherine’s murder. Maybe there was something she’d missed that would pop out at her. She started with their suspect pool which was decidedly emptied when they ruled out Nicholas Connor.
Jennifer knew most homicides were committed by someone known to the victim. Could Catherine have been dating someone that her friends and parents didn’t know about? That seemed unlikely for a couple of reasons. Catherine was very personable and many of her friends said she was so open that she had no secrets. In addition, Catherine knew many people who lived in the community so it’s unlikely she was seeing someone other than Nicholas. It would have been reported. That left her work. Could the killer be someone who frequented the Sugar Creek Cafe? She made a mental note to talk to the waitresses again to find out if they’d noticed anyone repeatedly asking to sit in Catherine’s area or who hung around to talk to her.
Jennifer then listed more questions. Why did the killer select Catherine? Usually killers choose their victims based on availability, vulnerability and desirability. The victim worked in a high-t
raffic restaurant. She probably came in contact with a couple of hundred people per day. It wouldn’t be that difficult for a killer to stalk a waitress leaving work, at her home, or social activities. It certainly wasn’t beyond the scope of reasoning that her killer followed her home that day, and waited outside her house until she left again for Deer Run State Park.
Jennifer heard Blake’s voice from across the room. He was talking to a deputy about a floater at the lake. So why was he in the office and not at the lake? It wasn’t long before she heard his footfall as he headed toward her cubicle. She aimed her attention at her computer screen.
“Good morning.”
Was it her imagination or did his voice sound huskier than usual? She glanced at him, nodded and looked back at her computer.
Blake sat in her guest chair, which in her small cubicle, placed his body a little too close for comfort. “What are you doing?” Soon he’d pushed his chair so he was sitting directly next to her so he could see the screen.
“I’m making a list of what we know about Catherine’s murder. I’m hoping something pops out that we may have missed.”
“Good idea.” He took the opportunity to stretch, and moved his arm across the back of her chair.
Jennifer shot him a look. His hair was damp from a shower. She breathed in his fresh, male scent. “I thought you were supposed to be with your diving team at Bear Lake.”
“I was with them earlier. My team doesn’t need me to be there to supervise them taking care of a floater.” He looked back at the computer. “Let’s talk about your list. Anything pop out?”
“Well, yes. A couple of things bother me about the case.”
“Like what?”
Jennifer turned in her chair so she was facing him. “There’s no concrete evidence, but my intuition tells me that Catherine wasn’t killed by anyone she was having a relationship with. I think she was killed by a stranger. Maybe he noticed her at the cafe, started frequenting the place just to see her. She doesn’t give him the time of day. It pisses him off so he stalks her until he finds an opportunity to make his move. Like I said, it’s only my intuition. Not really any evidence to support it.”
“Jennifer, never downplay your intuition.” Lightly, he fingered a loose tendril of hair on her cheek. “That’s a good theory. What else do you have?”
“There’s something else that bothers me. How was Catherine abducted in the first place? Not only was she a candidate for the police academy, she’d completed Frankie’s thorough self-defense courses. Catherine knew what to do to fight back and escape. Why didn’t she?”
“Maybe he surprised her when her back was turned,” offered Blake.
“Maybe. But I’m just not seeing it. Is it safe to assume since Catherine’s car was found at Deer Run State Park that it was where she ran that day?”
“Let’s say for discussion sake it was. I mean she didn’t go to her usual places like the track.”
“So if Catherine were abducted from the state park, how did the killer prevent her from screaming for help?” Jennifer asked.
“Good question. Did he use drugs? Maybe we should take another look at the tox report Doc Meade ran.”
Jennifer nodded, then continued. “If he subdued her, the killer had to be strong and in excellent condition to get her body out of the park without being noticed. So are we talking about someone who works out a lot, or needs to be in good physical condition for his job? His hands were strong enough to break the hyoid bone in her neck as he strangled her. But do you think he killed her at the park”?”
“No,” Blake said. “I don’t think Catherine was killed at the park. But if she wasn’t, where was she tortured and murdered?”
Jennifer thought for a long moment, then said, “We know he had to prevent Catherine from screaming, so maybe the killer used duct tape across her mouth. Therefore, he could have taken her to a single dwelling like a house or cabin anywhere in the county.”
“There’s no way the killer lived in an apartment because concealing his activities would be too difficult under the watchful eyes of multiple neighbors,” offered Blake.
“I agree.”
Then Jennifer turned her thoughts to the killer himself and said, “I think that binding his victim with duct tape satisfied the killer’s need for control. He may have felt power or sexual excitement when he killed her. There was evidence of rape.”
“Oh, so you’re dipping into the behavioral science bucket,” Blake teased.
“Hey, I aced that class.” Jennifer slapped his arm playfully, but soon a worried expression crossed her face.
“I can tell there’s something else that bothers you about the case. What is it?
“I can’t get past the lack of forensic evidence. There was nothing on her laptop that would help us find her killer. It contained the usual emails between friends, Facebook and Twitter exchanges. Nothing that raised a red flag. They returned the laptop to her parents yesterday,” said Jennifer.
“What else?”
“We’ve got a photo with the belt buckle impression on Catherine’s neck, but it’s useless without a suspect and belt to compare it with.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer to Blake. “The killer washed and bleached the body to remove trace evidence and he wiped Catherine’s car down so proficiently, there were no fingerprints — not even the car owner’s. I think he’s killed and covered it up before. He’s building his proficiency. He’ll kill again, Blake. It’s just a matter of time and opportunity.”
Nancy, Lane’s admin, popped her head in. “Don’t you two read your email? Lane wants to meet with both of you in his office.”
***
Jennifer’s first thought when she entered Lane’s office was that something was up. She was right.
Lane directed Jennifer and Blake to sit in his guest chairs facing him across the desk, then said, “Jennifer, Dick’s death leaves you without a partner.” Lane began, then turned to Blake.
“Blake, you haven’t had a partner since Will’s transfer. So it makes sense that I make you two partners.”
Jennifer quickly looked down so Lane wouldn’t notice the deer-in-the-headlights expression she knew was on her face. Making Jennifer and Blake partners was probably the worse idea Lane Hansen ever came up with and he’d come up with some monumentally bad ideas in the past. Partners? Just the night before, she’d been on her way to reach for Blake’s jeans zipper and now they were partners? She frantically searched her mind for a logical reason why they shouldn’t be partners, but nothing came to her because in Lane’s perspective it made perfect sense. Neither had a partner and they’d been working the same case together for weeks.
“It’s a logical move,” Lane went on. “I mean you’re already working the Catherine Thomas case together.”
Blake swallowed hard, clenched his jaw, and made a supreme effort to keep his expression blank. Keeping his focus on Lane, he dared not look at Jennifer. This changed everything. He was able to justify what happened at Jennifer’s house by noting that a lot of the deputies were dating or married and no one gave it a second thought. But law enforcement partners in a romantic relationship? That was an unspoken cardinal sin. He was in deep trouble for more than one reason.
***
Blake sat at the bar and ordered another beer in an attempt to wash away a rotten day, as well as the fact that the guy who made it so bad was sitting next to him. The music was loud, each beat hammering his brain, building an eye-crosser of a headache.
“So, you and Jennifer are now partners.”
It was Lane’s way of easing into a conversation that Blake knew was his goal when Lane asked him out for a drink. Blake kept his mouth clamped shut and his eyes on the flat-screen TV and waited through the moment of silence that ensued.
Then Lane continued, “Listen, I know most guys on the team would prefer not to have Jennifer Brennan as a partner, seeing that her dad is sheriff and everything...”
Yeah, that and the fact she’s five feet and ten inch
es of blonde irresistible perfection. Now that they’d kissed, how Blake was going to keep his hands off her was anyone’s guess.
“Blake, I’m going to give you some advice that was given to me at one time about partnering with a female.”
This was rich. Lane Hansen, of all people, was about to give him partner relationship advice. It wasn’t as if most of the staff didn’t know about Lane and Frankie getting married shortly after playing undercover roles as husband and wife. No hanky-panky going on there. Right. He glanced at Lane then back at the TV.
“There’s this saying, 'You don’t screw with your partner and your partner won’t screw with you.’ Understand?”
“I think I’ve heard that saying before.” Blake responded, praying the conversation would end with the remark.
“I’m not saying anything about Jennifer and you, but just keep things between you professional, not personal. There have been too many operations that went to hell in a hand basket because a cop got emotional. Because he or she let it get personal with his or her partner.”
Blake’s jaw tensed and he continued to pretend he was watching the TV. He wanted to ask Lane how that worked out when he went undercover with Frankie. It was curious how they got married shortly after that operation. Through the long mirror in back of the bar, he saw Jennifer enter and cross the room to where Lane’s wife, Frankie, sat in a booth. Why hadn’t he noticed Frankie before?
He’d decided after leaving Jennifer’s house the night before that he was going to ask her out for a romantic dinner out-of-town. Out-of-town and away from watchful eyes. That plan got drop-kicked the second their boss made them partners. Blake hadn’t had a chance to talk to Jennifer alone all day. It wasn’t that he was looking forward to discussing partner “rules” with her, but it was unavoidable now.
***
It was Friday night and the Hoosier Sports Grill was packed with the loud TGIF crowd, just as Jennifer knew it would be, which is why she didn’t want to be there. But a promise was a promise — especially if that promise was made to her cousin, Frankie.
