“Actually, Layla and Rita are.”
He turned to his computer and jiggled the mouse to wake it. “I need you to stay, too. We’re slammed out there. They’re three deep at the bar.”
“Sure. No problem. Thanks again.”
Tabitha headed out the door. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she ducked into the restroom. Her heart was racing, and she was sweating through her clothes. She was a terrible liar. She splashed water on her face and looked at herself in the mirror. She dabbed her cheeks with a towel and reviewed her plan.
Two hundred was only half of what she’d hoped for, but obviously better than nothing. It would cover her bus fare, at least, for the long trip ahead of her.
Tabitha pulled out the bills and tucked them into the slim wallet she kept in the front pocket of her jeans, where it was safe from pickpockets. Then she opened the door and did a quick check of the hallway before walking straight out the back door.
The alley behind the pub reeked of garbage. The air was heavy and muggy, but it felt good to be outside, and a weight seemed to lift off her shoulders as she walked toward the street. A bluesy guitar riff drifted from the bar around the corner, and pedestrians streamed back and forth. People were out tonight.
I need you to stay, too.
Theo had known something was up. He probably suspected she was about to ditch her job. But he’d done her a favor anyway and look how she’d repaid him. She used to be loyal.
Guilt needled at her, but she pushed it out of her mind. She couldn’t think about it now. Blind loyalty was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Blind loyalty—loyalty at all—could easily get her killed.
She stopped by a dumpster at the end of the alley and pulled the three leather folios from her apron. She checked each one, making sure she hadn’t missed any cash, but she hadn’t. She untied her apron and wrapped everything into a ball and tossed it in the dumpster.
Never look back. It had been her mantra for months now, and she needed to get the words locked in her head again.
She rounded the corner and slipped into the stream of people. A group of guys huddled on the sidewalk laughing and hanging on to each other. Probably a bachelor party. Or maybe some stupid college kids looking to get wasted. She’d been that stupid once, too. Never again.
Tabitha strode down the sidewalk, skimming faces as she went. Some people were drunk. Some were sober. Some were homeless or pretending to be. She registered familiar faces of panhandlers and street artists as she hurried down the block, but it was the unfamiliar faces that concerned her. She watched them without eye contact, taking note of anyone whose gaze lingered on her too long.
Across the street, a parked SUV switched its lights on. She kept her eyes straight ahead and walked right past it. When she reached the square, Tabitha paused beside a restaurant and pretended to read the menu posted on the window.
She studied the SUV in the reflection. It didn’t move. The driver behind the wheel looked to be on his phone.
She resumed her pace and checked her watch. She’d grab her stuff and hop a quick cab to the station. There were still some buses leaving tonight, and she planned to jump on anything heading west.
She glanced over her shoulder.
The SUV was gone now.
Tabitha’s pulse picked up. Maybe something, maybe nothing, but she quickened her steps anyway. Was she being followed? Her chest tightened, and she picked up her pace until her breath was coming in short gasps. The air around her felt charged with energy. She darted her gaze around.
Someone was behind her, watching her. She could feel it.
Up ahead was a crosswalk, and she headed toward the cluster of tourists waiting for the light. It turned green, and they stepped off the sidewalk en masse. She jogged to catch up with them.
A man stepped into her path, bumping into her.
“Sorry.” He grabbed her by the arm, and her heart lurched.
Panicked, she twisted and wrenched her arm loose, then turned and ran into the street. Horns blared, brakes shrieked.
Tabitha whirled around and saw a blinding flash of headlights.
* * *
* * *
BAILEY FELT THE bed shift as Jacob got up. She listened to him pull on his jeans and heard the faint rasp of the zipper.
He left the room, and she waited to hear the front door open and close. It didn’t.
She slipped out of bed and grabbed her short silk robe from the back of the chair. Wrapping it around herself, she padded into the kitchen, where Jacob stood beside the counter, shirtless and checking his phone.
“Anything happening?” she asked.
“Not really.”
He set the phone down as she walked over to stand in front of him. She couldn’t read the look in his eyes, but his hands slid around her waist and came to rest on her butt. His stubble was thicker now, and his hair was mussed from sleep. They’d been out for two solid hours.
“How’s your foot?” he asked.
“Okay.”
He touched her cheek and softly kissed her mouth, and the serious look on his face put a flutter in her stomach.
She slipped out of his embrace and turned to the fridge. “Are you hungry?”
“No.”
“Thirsty?”
She opened the fridge, and he stepped over to reach inside for a bottle of water. He leaned back against the counter and watched her as he twisted the top off and took a long gulp, and the sight of his Adam’s apple moving looked ridiculously hot. The sex must be muddling her brain.
He set the bottle down and looked at her.
“If I ask you a question, will you tell me the truth?” she asked.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Yes.”
“Why were you so mad earlier?”
He held her gaze for a long moment. “I don’t like your job. It’s dangerous.”
She opened the freezer and took out a pint of ice cream. She set it on the counter beside him and pulled a spoon from a drawer.
“I’m good at my job,” she said.
“I know. That’s part of why it’s dangerous. You take risks to get what you want.”
She laughed. “I take risks? You’re the one who goes to work every day with a gun on your hip.” She hitched herself onto the counter and peeled off the lid. “Maybe I don’t like your job. Ever think of that?”
She was trying to sound playful, but they were talking about their professions, as though there was more happening here than a single night together.
She hoped there was more, even though hoping that was probably setting herself up for disappointment. She couldn’t help it. The hope was just there, in a secret corner of her mind—a little ember glowing in the darkness—whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not. They had a connection, and it wasn’t only physical. The part of her that indulged in dreamy fantasies wanted this to turn into something.
He came to stand in front of her, resting his hands on either side of her on the counter. He gave her his stern cop look. It was probably meant to intimidate her, but instead she felt turned on.
“Double fudge chip?” She held up a spoonful.
“No. Are you ever going to tell me what happened at Granite Tech?”
“I can’t yet.” She took a bite of ice cream. It was rich and decadent.
“When?”
“Soon.”
“When?”
She took another bite. Heat flared in his eyes as she slowly pulled out the spoon. She licked her lip and set the carton aside.
Jacob eased her knees apart with his body. Keeping those dark eyes on hers, he loosened the knot of her robe and his hand slid inside, and the sight of those long fingers curving around her pale breast made her insides tighten.
She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer. She pressed a kiss against his
neck, inhaling the amazing scent of his warm skin, which was more decadent than any food.
“Later,” she whispered. “I promise.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
THE PARKING GARAGE was dark. Someone was behind her.
Bailey’s heart hammered as she peered around the concrete pillar. She couldn’t see him, but she knew he was there, watching her, stalking her through the concrete forest. She gripped her keys like a weapon and sprinted for the next pillar, ducking behind it to catch her breath.
There were no cars here now. Not the black BMW or the white Mercedes or the yellow Fiat. Everything was gone except her and the concrete pillars.
And him.
Footsteps thudded behind her, sure and confident, getting closer and louder. He didn’t even care about stealth now.
Bailey looked around frantically. She spotted the dark tunnel. An escape. How would she get the door up? She didn’t know, but she had to try. It was her only out.
Bailey ran. Her feet slapped against the concrete and she raced for that tunnel. The footsteps followed her, and she ran harder, faster. She didn’t dare look back.
Go, go, go. She sprinted for the tunnel, a big black maw. Her only out.
Something glowed there. An orange ember. It moved, and she realized it was a cigarette.
She halted. Someone stood in the shadows watching her, blocking her way. Panic shot through her.
Behind her, a metallic click.
Bailey jolted awake.
She sat up. The room was dark. The space beside her was empty. Her foot throbbed, and she remembered the cut. Then she remembered the sour taste of fear in her throat as she’d run across the concrete.
Keys jangled in the kitchen. Jacob.
He was leaving.
Disappointment stabbed at her. He was sneaking out without saying good-bye.
She lay back against the pillow and waited for the click of her lock and the sound of her front door opening and closing. Instead, she heard the floor creak. She snapped her eyes shut and immediately felt childish.
The mattress sank with his weight. His warm hand closed around hers, and the relief was so strong it made her breath catch.
“Bailey.” His voice was low. “I have to go.”
He’d somehow known she was awake, and she felt even sillier.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Almost five.” He kissed her forehead and stood up. “I’ll call you.” He paused beside the bed and looked at her. Then he walked out.
She lay there listening to all the sounds she’d expected before: the click of the latch, the door opening and closing. A few seconds of silence and then she heard the barely-there thud of his boots on the stairwell outside her window. If she hadn’t been listening closely, the sounds would have been lost in the vague white noise of her apartment building.
She lay stock-still, gazing at the ceiling and thinking of Jacob’s deep brown eyes and his skilled hands and the manly scent of his skin. She rolled onto her side and pulled the pillow against her, inhaling deeply.
Why had he left so early? Darts of insecurity pricked at her, and she knew she was in trouble here. She’d ignored caution. She’d ignored all her reservations and his, too, and now here she was. She shouldn’t see him again, but the thought of not seeing him again put an ache in the pit of her stomach.
She’d thought she could do this once and get him out of her system. But she’d been very wrong, and if anything, her yearning had only ramped up now that she knew how good they were together. The experience was seared into her brain, and there was no going back to not knowing what it was like to be with him. Jacob was everything she’d suspected he’d be and more, and she could feel herself getting attached. She rolled over with a groan. What had she done to herself?
Her gaze settled on the glowing red digits of the alarm clock: 4:44.
He’d exaggerated the time. Why?
It was like someone snapped their fingers in front of her. Bailey, wake up!
He’d had a callout. And he didn’t want her to know. He didn’t want her pelting him with questions like the annoying reporter that she was.
Cursing, she kicked off the covers and got up. She grabbed a T-shirt off the chair where Boba Fett slept peacefully on top of her jeans. She yanked the shirt on and padded into her kitchen, and the dull throbbing in her foot reminded her she needed to change the bandage. She found her phone on the table beside her first-aid supplies.
Her ringer was off, and she’d missed a call from Hannah. But nothing from Max. So what had Jacob been called out for? Anything big would have gone out on the scanner.
She had a text message from Seth: Call me ASAP. He’d texted her at 1:23 a.m.
And at 12:55, Call me.
And 12:40, I found something! Call me.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
JACOB PARKED BESIDE the CSI van on the edge of the parking lot. As he slid from his truck, he looked around but didn’t see Kendra. A blue tent had been erected near a fence surrounding a pair of brown dumpsters. He glanced behind him at the three-story apartment complex nearby. People were milling around near the stairs in bathrobes and warm-up suits, gawking at all the action, and the sun wasn’t even up yet.
“Tell me you brought coffee.”
He turned to see Kendra striding across the lot toward him. She wore her typical pantsuit—gray today—and the white face mask around her neck told him just what kind of morning he was in for.
“No coffee,” he said.
“Shit.”
“What have you got?” he asked.
“Caucasian male in a garbage bag with a slit throat. Body’s a mess.”
“His throat was slit?”
“Yep.” Kendra lifted an eyebrow. That was two knife deaths in one week, which was two more than usual. “Not your typical MO, so Crawford thought we’d be interested. He’s the lead.”
“You two on decent terms?”
“Decent enough.”
Kendra had dated the detective years ago, when they’d both been in uniform. Maybe the connection would work to their advantage. The fact that he’d given Kendra a call this morning was a good sign.
Jacob looked at the dumpster. “Age?”
“Based on the body, no clue. I’m telling you, he’s a mess. He’s been in there a while, and some kind of critter tore into that garbage bag. But a helpful building resident gave a tentative ID based on an Atlanta Braves cap. She thinks it’s her neighbor.”
“A cap? That’s it?”
“I know, I know. But no one’s seen this guy around in days, and his brother’s been by here twice looking for him.” Kendra took a notebook from her jacket and flipped it open. “Missing guy’s name is Scott Rydell. Age twenty-nine. He didn’t show up for work Saturday. By Sunday, people were worried.”
“Where’s Rydell work?”
“A kennel on Airport Parkway. Evidently, he loves animals, and people knew something was up when he didn’t come in to cover his weekend shifts, because the animals didn’t get fed. This is all from the neighbor, who talked to the brother.”
He looked at the dumpsters again, frowning.
“Trash day is Monday,” Kendra said, reading his mind. “But recycling comes every two weeks.”
“Any sign of Rydell’s car?”
“He takes the bus, evidently. But listen.” Kendra stepped closer. “The kennel job isn’t his only source of income. He also rents out a studio apartment here in the building.”
“Airbnb?” Jacob asked.
“One of those, yeah. Someone was staying there all last week, but no one new has been in since then. A couple came knocking on Rydell’s door Thursday, looking to pick up a key, but no one answered, and they left pissed off.”
“We need to find out who that last guest
was.”
“I’m working on it. I don’t have a name yet, but I talked to the neighbor down the hall. This man says he saw the last guest pull in here on Friday evening of last week.”
“He get a look at the person?”
“Not much of one, but he knows it was a man. Says the car was a black Ford Expedition with Illinois plates.”
Jacob gave her a long look, and he could tell they were thinking the same thing. This was why she’d called him out here at the butt crack of dawn when it wasn’t even their case.
“What about Crime Scene? Who’s here?” Jacob glanced at the dumpster, where a guy in a white Tyvek suit was shining a flashlight on something.
“There’s a team with the body and another in the apartment building. Landlord let them into Rydell’s unit. Crawford is in there now.”
“I’m more interested in the rental unit.”
They crossed the lot, ignoring the curious glances from building residents who were watching the action unfold.
“Rydell is in 132, and the studio he rents is right across the hall,” Kendra said. “Landlord claims he didn’t know anything about Rydell renting out the studio—said he thought he was using it as an art space—but I could tell he was lying. He’s probably getting a kickback to keep quiet so Rydell can duck the lodging tax.”
They stepped onto a sidewalk where a glass door stood open. The apartments were situated along a long hall that smelled moldy. The teal-and-purple carpeting looked a few decades old, and brown water stains dotted the popcorn ceiling.
“What tourist would want a room here?” Kendra said. “This place is a dump.”
“It’s five minutes from the airport,” Jacob pointed out.
“Still.”
She ducked under the yellow crime scene tape blocking off the end of the hallway. Jacob followed, and they stopped to pull paper booties on over their shoes. Both apartment doors stood open.
“His is on the left,” she said, nodding at the unit where a pair of CSIs in white coveralls moved around a living room. “Hey, anything in there yet?” Kendra called.
“Nothing so far.” The CSI stepped out and passed them a box of gloves.
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