Love is Bleeding (A Croft & Croft Romance Adventure Book 4)

by Morgan Kelley

  As he turned, he saw it.

  Yeah, the killer had definitely been there.

  Now, it was personal.

  Written in red paint, to resemble blood, was a handprint and a message, specifically left for the director.

  ‘You’re too late, Croft. I’m far from done.’

  Now, he was pissed.

  The killer was making this a game, and he wasn’t going to lose. Now, it was personal.

  “Tom, call in the sweep team,” he said over the com.

  “Did you find something, Director?” he asked, going for his cell.

  “Yeah, you could say that,” he replied, pulling himself up into the dusty attic.

  Little did the asshole know, he was taunting the wrong guy. Now, it was killer versus killer, and Croft was going to have the last laugh.

  On this bastard’s grave.

  ~ Chapter Eleven ~

  Standing in the dead woman’s residence, they listened to the silence. When they had first arrived, Emma practically had to peel Curtis from her side. She knew he was worried about her, trying to play second husband, but he was forgetting one little thing.

  She wasn’t a Fed, and it wasn’t her life in danger.

  Well, any more so than it generally was.

  He practically hovered over her until they entered the front door. Now, he was giving her a little space, but it was marginal at best.

  “You want to take the upstairs, and I’ll do the downstairs?” she offered, trying to get the man to give her some room to work. He was making her nervous as he breathed down her neck.

  Literally.

  “We should stick together,” he stated, knowing that if anything happened to Emma, he was a dead man.

  “Curtis, I’m trying to be nice. You’re irritating the shit out of me,” she stated, in no uncertain terms.

  That had his attention.

  “Sorry, Emma. I’m just worried that this was what the killer had planned. We find the body, and then head here. Meanwhile, one of us buys it.”

  She patted him on the arm. “Okay, then let’s clear the place together and get back inside. The longer we’re out here, the more likely we’ll be targeted.” What she wanted to say was ‘you’re a potential target’, but she didn't want to freak him out. If he was focused on her, Curtis wouldn’t be jumpy and nervous.

  He nodded as they walked the perimeter. From the outside of the house, nothing appeared to be disturbed. It didn't look like someone was skulking around waiting to leave a bloody print. Once it was secured, he glanced over at her. “I’ll take the kitchen, and we’ll do the upstairs together.”

  She agreed. “Deal.”

  Why fight it? It wasn’t as if she was going to win this one. She was being babysat by mini-Croft. His mind was made up, and she needed to stay focused.

  Dividing up, he headed for the kitchen, gun still pointed at the ground. He wanted to be able to protect them both, if need be. Inside the cheery room, he found nothing to be out of place. “Emma, it looks clear to me!” he called over his shoulder.

  She found nothing unusual in the living room. “I’ll head into the office,” she said, seeing it clearly from where she stood.

  “Be careful!”

  She rolled her eyes. When she got her hands on her husband, first she was going to make sure he was okay, and then she was going to kick his ass for making Curtis into a copy of him.

  As she approached, something didn't feel right. The rest of the house was clean and orderly, but the office was a mess. “Curtis!” she called, and watched him race toward her like a maniac.

  “What!”

  She jerked her head toward the room.

  He stared past her, seeing what she meant. “Someone tossed the place.” Entering, she moved toward the desk. There wasn’t a handprint, but instead, someone dripped the red paint all over the personal effects of the dead woman.

  Someone was very angry.

  “It looks like the killer wants to tell us something,” he said, holstering his gun.

  “Yeah, that he’s way over the edge and out for blood.”

  “We better call in the sweep team.”

  Emma agreed. “We also need more pictures. This has to be something that can help Paris. He should see this.”

  There was no doubt on that one.

  * * *

  Friday Mid-Morning

  He met up with them a few hours later and was pleased with his team. In his absence, they were diligently working on everything that he would have normally assigned. Despite the rage gnawing away at his gut, he was still proud. After walking back to the crime scene, there was such an anger brewing in him, he doubted that he’d be able to keep it in check.

  For now, it was devouring him from the inside out.

  “I see you didn't miss me,” he stated, standing in the doorway. Immediately, Emma was out of her seat, wrapping her arms around his waist.

  Thank God, he was all right!

  Croft hugged her back, even dropping a kiss to the top of her red hair.

  Yes, it was work, but he found himself needing the contact. His nerves were frayed, and his wife was one of the few people who could soothe him.

  “I was so damn worried about you, Grey,” she said, burying her face in his shoulder.

  “I’m okay, honey. I found the area where our shooter perched.”

  “Did he leave us anything?” Paris asked, trying to piece together something that didn't make much sense. He was trying to make the connection, but it was eluding him, all the while driving him insane. They had to be missing something big, and he honestly felt that he was letting the team down.

  “Yeah, he left me a message and the normal handprint.” When he took out his phone, they all passed it around, taking turns reading it. Each member of the team knew what Croft was thinking.

  Yeah, the boss man was going to be on a mission, all because the killer had taunted the wrong person.

  When Emma held the phone in her hand, it shook. “I don’t like this at all,” she said, handing it back to him. Staring into his stormy eyes, Emma broke down their discovery. Even he lifted a brow when she told him about the faux blood splattered all over the woman’s desk.

  Croft didn't need his profiler to know that this was a definite escalation on the killer’s behalf. “We need to move fast and lock this maniac down. Paris, you’re going to have to get me something by tomorrow morning. I want you and Maggie to meet with me in my office.”

  He nodded.

  “Contact my secretary, Linda, and tell her I authorized you to get your own personal space. Spread out, bunk down, and get busy.”

  The man gathered his things and headed off to do just that. What he needed to do was focus and find something for his boss, and soon.

  When he was gone, Croft addressed the rest of the team. “What else do we have?”

  Brynn Westmore pulled up the woman’s medical file. “Jane Pepper had just come off assignment last week. She was taking a couple days off, because of getting hurt in the line of duty.”

  “Okay, what happened?”

  She flipped through her file, pointing at the relevant information. “Jane took down a bank robber, literally. She tackled him, and when she did, she jacked up her elbow.”

  Emma waited for it, since she already had an idea where this was heading.

  “Then, she needed to see the FBI physician, Doctor Theodore Havers.”

  Croft leaned back in his chair, contemplating what she was saying. “So, it’s the only similar thing in all their files?”

  She nodded. “It may be a coincidence, but if it is, it’s one hell of one. Havers saw each person within the last four months. I know he’s the FBI doctor on duty, but his name keeps popping up.”

  Croft hated the idea that it could be someone inside their building. It made his gut twist into a knot. “Okay, in an effort to leave no stone unturned, Emma and I will head to his office. It’s downstairs in the building.”

  As if timed, his phone rang.
>
  “Director Croft.”

  “It’s Chris. I need to call a meeting,” stated Commissioner Ford.

  “I’m a little busy here.”

  He sighed. “Yeah, me too, but I have a situation. Captain Stout has threated to stir the pot if the FBI isn't more forthcoming. I think that if we have a meeting, we can cut through the red tape and get it settle down.”

  Croft didn't have time for this shit.

  “Do you have us on speaker phone?”

  “No,” he said. “Why?”

  “She’s got her knickers in a twist about you using Emma to help with this case. Technically, I can hold her off, but she can make it unbearable for your wife. She’s claiming a waste of taxpayers’ money, preferential treatment, and yada yada. She’s spouting that the only reason Emma’s on the case is because she’s married to you.”

  That alone pissed him off to no end. As his blood pressure spiked, he fought to keep his temper in check. “Is she aware that the FBI is also paid by the same entity?” he asked, trying to keep it as general as possible. Croft didn't want his wife to know what was going down.

  “We need to do this, make the time, and toss her some scraps for her detectives to work on. She wants to yank Emma from the Booker case, stating she’s stalled. If she does, we have a lot of explaining to do, and everything that the FBI wants quiet is going to see the light of day. She’s stirred up enough to make sure someone pays. If she media leaks anything, we’re going to be jacked to kingdom come.”

  Croft rubbed the bridge of his nose as he glanced over at his team. “Okay, give us twenty minutes. We’ll be there.”

  “Her job is safe, Greyson, but I can’t keep Stout from riding her every day at work. When a captain hates you, they can make your job hell.”

  Croft was aware of it. He’d had bosses who tried to mess with him on a regular basis, and he swore he’d never be that kind of leader.

  “We’re leaving now.”

  “I’ll meet you in the precinct. We’ll face Captain Stout down on her territory.”

  The idea that the woman was gunning for his wife irritated him and only added to his sour mood. This damn Booker case was a pain in his ass.

  “What?” Emma asked, already seeing the tension in his body. Her husband was vibrating from it, and she doubted whomever had worked him up was going to walk away without some flesh torn from their ass.

  “We have to head to an impromptu meeting at LVPD.”

  “Uh oh,” stated Brynn. “Emma’s been ratted out to the principal, huh?”

  Croft wished it was that simple. “Yeah, we have to go put out the mini fire, so that means you two have to stop what you’re doing and head down to interview the doctor. I don’t have time, especially now that I need to waste part of today playing babysitter to a homicide captain.”

  Curtis didn't mind in the least. If his boss needed help, he’d cover for them. “After that, we can come back and pick up where we left off. It’s no big deal.”

  Yeah, he wanted to state otherwise, because they had seven victims’ families who might think differently. Getting the run around and losing focus was a huge deal. It soured his mood further.

  “We still have to head down to the morgue too,” Emma reminded him, reassuringly touching his arm with her fingers.

  “We can head there right after. We’ll be in the same building anyway. Why not kill two birds with one stone?”

  Emma didn't like the sound of that. Suddenly, she didn't believe that it was going to be dead birds that they were dealing with when they got to the precinct.

  Oh, there’s be death.

  Just not of the feathered persuasion.

  * * *

  The entire trip there, Greyson was very quiet and that worried Emma. If he wasn’t even speaking to her, then he was on the verge of meltdown.

  It wasn’t like she could blame him. In the last hour, his phone had rung nonstop; he had picked up a pile of paperwork from his secretary, and a list of other things which needed to be done by tomorrow if he wanted to accompany her to the gala auction. His large shoulders were bearing the brunt of the work, and she wanted to do something to help him.

  Anything.

  Placing her hand on his thigh, she got his attention.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t lose it and explode,” he reassured, interrupting her before she could say anything.

  That wasn’t even close to what she was thinking about, and it showed how over the edge he was. If Greyson honestly believed that she was going to make a comment about that, he was definitely off his game.

  “I was going to ask you what you’re wearing tomorrow night to the auction. That’s all.”

  He sighed. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m just trying to prioritize all this in my head. Right now, I’m not focused. I didn't mean to snarl at you.”

  She smiled. “I’m used to my cave-Croft being testy when he’s being worked to death.”

  He glanced over and couldn’t help but relax marginally. His wife was really good at giving him peace. “I’m glad you’re having fun making up new words.”

  “Wait until I use croftalicious, in a sentence, when you least expect it.”

  Now, he laughed as he parked Emma’s Navigator in her reserved precinct spot. “Nice one.” Leaning over, he placed a kiss on her lips. Immediately, his blood pressure spiked and his heart skipped in his chest.

  Yeah, his Emma just did it for him.

  Pulling away, he stared into her serene green eyes. “I’m wearing a tux because my wife is always gorgeous when we go out. I have to compete.”

  She grinned wickedly. “I’m wearing some slinky evening gown that was made to pull in money for the auction.”

  That had merit.

  “Will I go crazy over it?” he murmured, taking that moment to breathe in the scent of lavender that floated around him.

  “Oh, yes you will, Director Croft. I picked it out for you. So, when I’m up there playing the piano, and people are trying to buy your wife for an hour, know that I’m thinking about you.”

  Now, his heart was pounding. Emma always knew how to stir him up and make him wild. “Honey,” he whispered, focused on her lips. God, there was nothing he wanted more than to sink into an endless kiss. While she offered peace, Emma also gave him a bigger gift. She helped him forget.

  “Greyson,” she replied, breathily.

  He took the chance.

  The second lips touched, the kiss exploded around them. It was full of heat, fire, and need. It was going to be a long day thinking about his wife being auctioned off to the highest bidder.

  Emma loved how her husband’s mouth felt on her. It silkily worked them both into a frenetic need with just lips touching. The man just did it for her.

  Suddenly, there was a flashing of lights.

  It pulled Croft from the moment. He didn't need to turn to see who it was.

  The media had found them.

  “Hell. This is going to be in the paper tomorrow morning,” he muttered, dropping his sunglasses on his face.

  “Yeah, but think of it this way. It’ll bring in more publicity for the auction, and I’ll get the shelter on Eighth Avenue more money. They’ll be able to help everyone who comes to their doors.”

  Croft knew that place was dear to all of them, especially after meeting the people and building them a children’s playroom. For that, he’d swallow his irritation.

  As the cameras continued to flash, she grinned at him. “Ready, Mr. Croft?”

  He wasn’t, but did it really matter? “Yeah, honey.”

  As they both hopped out, the media went crazy. Half focused on Greyson, the other half on Emma. The questions were peppered with the FBI shootings and their personal lives.

  As Greyson fought to get to her side, he kept a smile plastered on his face. Luckily for them, his eyes remained hidden. They generally gave him away, and that was the last thing he needed. As far as they were concerned, he was in a good mood.

  Heading toward the precinct,
hand in hand, she leaned over to whisper something.

  When he began laughing, the cameras caught his large grin and the flashes went off.

  It never ceased to amaze him.

  True to her word, his wife had pulled it off.

  She managed to lighten his mood, and use croftalicious in a complete sentence, proving one thing.

  His Emma was out of control.

  Once inside, they headed toward the captain’s office. Neither was looking forward to this meeting, but it had to be done. At the door, Emma began to get worried. Inside was the commissioner, captain, and Detective Laden.

  Shit!

  Her husband was going to lose it. There was no doubt about it. Where he would play nice with the commissioner and tolerate the captain, the detective was his breaking point. The man liked to frequently push Greyson’s buttons.

  Now, it was only a matter of time. She needed to keep him calm and pray that he didn't lose it, killing the man. If he did, there’d be witnesses.

  “Come in,” Captain Stout said, motioning toward the two open chairs in front of her.

  When she entered, Chris Ford shook Greyson’s hand and smiled at Emma. God, she missed him as her boss. Yeah, they had called him ‘Tzar of the Dead’ because he was tough, but looking back, he was a picnic.

  “I appreciate you taking time out of your busy day, Director,” she stated, a little more than just pleasantness in her voice.

  Chris Ford interrupted, “Tread lightly, Patty. He’s come in to help solve the tension and didn't have to. So, you have very little room to showboat or provoke.”

  Her mouth pinched into a tight line, and the detective at her side crossed his arms.

  “I told you this was useless,” Laden said. “He’s going to run us over and pull the usual FBI shit.”

  She raised her hand to silence him. “I asked for this meeting, because my detective has filed a complaint against Emma. I’d like to work this out, instead of having it end up a mar on her record.”

  Somehow, she didn't buy that. Patty Stout was like that mean teacher in school. She loved slapping hands with a ruler and grinding happiness into the ground. If anything, she took her job far too serious.