by Jen Talty
“Why don’t you let me drive? I know the area, also I don’t trust that you can handle the snow.”
“Whatever floats your boat,” Foster said, getting out of the car and jogging around the front.
Kara just climbed over the armrest, her prim and proper days long gone. “I don’t have a boat to float.”
Foster laughed. “How about whatever makes the river flow.”
“Har har, funny guy.” She checked her watch, then her phone. “Shane and his partner already picked up the suspect and questioned him. Let’s head to the precinct.”
“How well do you know the detective?”
The roads were freshly plowed, with only a thin layer of snow, but as soon as she hit the gas the back end of the SUV skidded on black ice. Piles of the white stuff mixed with dirt and salt, at least five feet high, lined the streets. “We met in preschool and grew up together. We were best friends for years until we started dating. He took me to prom and then we spent two years at SUNY Albany before I transferred to Georgetown.” She used to love the winter here. She and Shane would jump into his old beat-up pick-up and fishtail the entire way to Bristol Mountain to spend the day skiing. It was mostly man-made snow and not the best skiing experience. But it was close. And she and Shane did it every chance they could.
“Why’d you break up?” Foster said.
“Long story.” She pulled the SUV into the 51st Precinct and parked, slamming the gear shift a little too hard into ‘Park’. Shaking her hands, she struggled to push the memories she’d been trying to forget for years. Some good. Some not so good. She pushed open the doors and inhaled a deep, long breath, then let it out slowly as she and Foster approached the main desk. She held her badge up, making sure she gripped it tightly to keep her hand from trembling. “Agents Martin and Foster to see Detective Shane Rogers.”
“Welcome,” the desk officer said. “Homicide is on the third floor. Let me take you to the conference room.”
The precinct was much like any other police station, with a long counter between the waiting room and main reception area. She stood at the door until she heard a loud buzz before it swung open, rattling slightly. Her heart hammered against her chest. Her palms were damp and clammy. Every case got to her on a physical level, but not every case had her ex-boyfriend as the lead detective.
“Follow me,” the desk officer said as he led them through a small corridor to the elevator.
The building smelled of coffee, and not good coffee. More like three-day-old coffee grounds someone decided to reuse. Men in suits and ties sat at various desks in the center of the main room. She didn’t see Shane, which only increased her pulse.
The desk officer opened the door to a conference room and let her and Foster pass. “The detectives will be with you shortly.”
“You’re being awfully quiet,” she said to Foster, who leaned against the wall near the door. “I’ve been waiting for a smart-ass remark.”
“I told you I could behave,” Foster said. “Figured since you know this detective and it’s your hometown, I probably shouldn’t antagonize anyone.”
“Thanks.” She sat down on one of the hard metal chairs, but then stood and started to pace. Her mind raced out of control. She held the case file in one hand while she tried to read the words on the page, but to no avail. She was about to come face to face with Shane Rogers. A man she’d once loved. A man she’d wanted to marry. Have children with. But he did that with someone else.
“You okay?” Foster asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “Just tired.”
“You’re acting like you’re more wired than tired.”
Foster was right, she was completely wired. Worse, she was unfocused. She was about to excuse herself to the ladies’ room when Shane sauntered in, his hands casually in the pockets of his dark blue trousers. Her gaze caught his and she couldn’t breathe for a moment. She just stood there. Staring.
“I’m Shane,” he said, breaking eye contact with her and extending his hand to Foster. “And this is my partner, Jones,” he said, gesturing to the slightly shorter man with dark hair and blue eyes.
Letting the air out of her lungs as slowly as she could she stared at Shane, who looked almost exactly like the last time she’d seen him. He might have a few new wrinkles around his copper eyes, but other than that he had the same muscular build. The same sexy smile. His pants still hung on his trim waist and she bet his body was still ripped.
This train of thought was going to have to stop.
“Hello, Shane,” she said, in as strong of a voice as she could muster, holding out her hand.
“Long time no see.” Shane took her hand in a firm shake, holding it a little longer than appropriate.
An electric pulse soared through her body. He smiled, but it didn’t ease the awkwardness between them.
“Been thirteen years, I think.” Reluctantly she pulled her hand from his, immediately feeling the coldness of the room.
“About that,” Shane said. “You look good.”
“So, do you.”
“Before we go any further,” Foster said, “we’d like to make clear it we’re here because the higher-ups feel it will help prevent Cleary from going off half-cocked with the press like he did yesterday. We’re not here to take over or get in the way, but to help in any way we can.”
Kara noticed Jones cracked his knuckles at the same time Foster did. Not necessarily a good sign as the two men eyed each other.
“Good to know,” Jones said.
“We’ve questioned Haughton,” Shane said. “He admits to writing the note and leaving it at Cleary’s house. But he denies killing Emily. He’s lawyered up, but cooperating. Search warrant of his house has been granted and is being executed as we speak. Our second team is supervising. So far nothing.”
“Can we have the names of the detectives on the second team?” Kara asked.
“Detectives Pollock and Benster,” Shane said. “They will be backing us up until we’ve put the case to bed.”
“We just got the preliminary autopsy report.” Jones handed Kara a copy. “The M.E. believes her eyes were taken out before she died of strangulation.”
“That’s messed up,” Kara muttered.
“You can say that again.” Foster rubbed his eyes.
“M.E. said whoever cut out her eyes did so with a skilled hand and small blade. At first glance, it looked like a medical scalpel. Got forensics on that. Also waiting for the toxicology report. We’ve got a rush on it,” Jones said.
“How long are you planning on holding Haughton?” Foster asked.
“The full twenty-four, as we’re stretching out the search warrants,” Shane said. “But unless we find something we’re going to have to let him go by tomorrow at noon, and that’s going to make Cleary very unhappy.”
“I watched a tape of his press conference.” Kara sat down next to Foster as they thumbed through everything the detectives had given them. “You know we went to school with his wife, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Shane said. “She’s in bad shape. I think she blames herself.”
“You think Haughton did this?” Kara turned to looked over her shoulder, staring up at Shane. He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, his fixed stare directly on her. “It’s possible.”
“Any other suspects?” Kara asked, swallowing the tension that engulfed the room.
“Nothing, but the ritualistic aspect has us digging into cold cases,” Shane said, then offered a slight smile.
“We’ve pulled three cold cases from New York that deal with mutilation. I brought copies for everyone,” Foster said. “I suggest you make yourselves familiar with those cases and see if there’s any pattern. We’ll also be checking the religious angle.”
Kara eyed Foster, letting him know his tone was antagonistic, before turning back to the files. “Our tech analyst is running the markings that were drawn on the body,” Kara said.
“We think it’s a butterfly,” Jones said.
“We don’t,” Shane said, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. “But we do have permission to search and take things from Emily’s room.”
“Maybe Foster and I should do that,” Kara said. “Only because of Cleary’s aversion to his local police department. Any idea why that is?”
“As D.A., he was notorious for plea bargaining,” Jones said. “He plea bargained more cases than any other D.A. in the state of New York. He didn’t like going to trial and encouraged all his A.D.A.s to offer whatever they could to keep their record the best in the state. It often pissed us off and he, in general, butted heads with a lot of cops.”
The door squeaked open and a uniformed officer stepped in.
“Congressman Cleary is here,” the officer said. “He wants to have a word with the federal agents.”
“Speak of the devil,” Shane said. “Do you want to talk with him?”
“I’d like to have a little more time to go over everything before I sit down with him,” Kara admitted.
“You should know Cleary’s intoxicated,” the officer said. “He’s tossing insults and threats about having half of us fired if we stand in his way of talking with the FBI. Might be a good idea to placate him.”
“I’d have to agree,” Shane said. “Considering he’s the one who brought you here, blowing him off now could create a distraction in the case we just don’t need.”
“Wonderful.” Kara stood, brushing the front of her slacks before taking off her blazer and putting it on the chair. “We’re happy to speak to him.”
“Get a car ready to take him home,” Shane added. “And someone to drive his car back to his place. But be discreet.”
The officer nodded.
There was a long awkward silence as they waited. It was difficult for Kara not to continue to glance in Shane’s direction. He’d once been the center of her life. Looking at him now filled her heart with a world of regret.
Cleary finally entered the conference room. He was a tall man, about six-one, but the strong stench of whiskey was more notable than his haggard appearance.
“Congressman Cleary—”
Cleary interrupted Kara. “I heard Haughton is here. You better have arrested that son of a bitch.”
“He’s in our custody,” Shane said. “We’re still interrogating him.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.” Cleary stepped into Kara’s personal space. She didn’t back down, though she nearly gagged from the alcohol assaulting her nostrils. “I was asking her. You’re FBI, right?”
“Special Agent Kara Martin,” she said. “I haven’t had the chance—”
“Did the bastard confess?” Cleary inched a tad closer. His hands were on his hips, legs shoulder-width apart.
Kara cocked her head slightly backward, but held her stance.
“Not yet.” Shane stepped closer, standing perpendicular to her. “You know how this works.”
Kara knew she was going to have to give the man something to calm him down. “He’s confessed to putting the note in your newspaper, and search warrants are being executed.”
“By the locals?” Cleary yelled. “I can’t tell you how many cases I was forced to plea out because of lackadaisical police work. I don’t want them heading up this case.”
“We’re working together,” Kara said. “I’ve been informed you’ve given us permission to search Emily’s room. I’d like to do that sooner rather than later.”
“Fine,” Cleary said. “But only when my other children aren’t there.”
“We need to do it today,” Kara said. “We can only hold Haughton for twenty-four hours. Time is of the essence.”
“All right,” Cleary said. “In an hour?”
“How about we go back with you,” Kara said. “I promise it won’t take too long.”
“That’s fine.” Cleary’s demeanor appeared to calm down a tad. “But,” he pointed a finger at Shane, “that man had better not walk out of this station unless it’s in handcuffs to County to await trial.”
“We’re looking at all the evidence,” Jones said. “I understand you want—”
“You don’t understand shit,” Cleary hissed. “You’ve got the killer in your custody. That bastard murdered my baby girl!”
“Congressman,” Shane said in a stern, but caring, voice. “I can’t even pretend to understand what you’re going through right now. I have a son. He’s ten and he just recently had a heart transplant. I can’t wrap my brain around the idea of losing him, though I almost did. We’re doing everything we can. The FBI has brought us similar cases, and while we’re searching Haughton’s place for evidence we’re also going to check these other leads. You know we have to.”
Kara swallowed. She knew he’d moved on, but she hadn’t known his son had had a heart transplant.
Shane’s words seemed to pacify Clearly, but not his resolve. “I know he did it. I’ll give you the twenty- four hours, but let this be a warning that if you don’t make an arrest by then, there will be hell to pay.”
“Let us do our jobs,” Shane said in a calm and soothing voice, the timbre much like she remembered.
Cleary nodded.
“We’ll be by shortly to go through Emily’s room. Please tell your wife, in case she’s not there when we arrive, that Kara Martin says hello, and give her my condolences. We went to high school together.” Kara wanted the Congressman to know she had a personal stake in this case. She thought it might ease his mind, though Shane had been much more effective.
“You’re from around here?” Cleary asked. His bloodshot eyes looked dry as he blinked a few times.
“I grew up in Pittsford, a couple of streets from your wife,” Kara said.
“Martin?” Cleary rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Your parents were mur…”
“Yes,” Kara said. No need opening that wound any further. She held out her card. “Feel free to call me day or night. My partner and I will be in the area until this case is solved.”
Jones quickly ushered Cleary out.
“Go with him,” Kara said to Foster, who stepped out of the conference room.
“I’m going to make a radical suggestion,” Shane said.
“And what is that?” Kara asked.
“Let’s work in teams. One local. One Fed,” Shane said. “You and me. Foster and Jones.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea; Foster doesn’t always play nice in the sandbox.”
“I got that impression,” Shane said. “Neither does Jones, which is why I think it’s a good idea.”
Kara didn’t know if Shane wanted to spend time with her, or if he actually thought Jones and Foster teaming up was a good idea, but she did agree that working one local with one Fed was a good idea. “All right. We can give that a go, but if our partners go at it we need to change that up right quick.”
“Agreed,” Shane said. “We can go question Cleary’s assistant before we go to his house. Let Foster and Jones question Haughton and his lawyer.”
Kara laughed. “Those two, with the chest pounding antics, just might work in an interrogation.”
Shane smiled. “Jones is really good.”
Kara stood. Shane held the door open for her with one hand, files tucked under his arm.
“After you,” he said.
Always the gentleman. Some things never changed.
Chapter 5
KARA HATED THE IDEA of someone else driving, a control issue she’d developed after she’d broken up with Shane. Besides, she much preferred the SUV to Shane’s sedan, but she’d lost the coin toss fair and square.
“What do we know about Heather Underman?” Kara asked. She stared out the window, watching the large dollops of snow hit the glass and then melt from the heat of the car. It snowed in D.C., but nothing like this. For a second, she thought she’d missed the fluffy flakes.
“She’s worked for Cleary since his days in the D.A.’s offic
e.”
“What did she do there?”
“A clerk,” Shane said. “When Cleary ran for office, she worked on his campaign, and then became his personal assistant.”
“That’s convenient.” And cliché, but there were truisms in clichés. “What else? How old is she?”
“In her mid-thirties. About our age.” Shane kept both hands on the steering wheel.
Not once did he glance over at Kara, which bothered her. “She’s essentially his alibi.”
“Yep.” Shane maneuvered the vehicle into a parking spot in front of a single-family home off Park Avenue. He leapt from the car and raced around the front before she had a chance to unbuckle.
And he hadn’t changed as he reached in, taking her hand in his.
“Always the gentleman.”
“Old habits die hard,” he said.
“What? No kiss on the hand?”
He tilted his head. “If you insist.” He pressed his lips against her cold hand. When he released her, he smiled.
“I don’t like the circumstances, but it is good to see you,” she said. And she meant it. There might be a lot of unresolved issues between them. They may always be unresolved, but seeing him wasn’t as difficult as she thought it would be.
“It’s good to see you, too,” he said, though he wasn’t as convincing. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and started walking toward the house. “How do you want to play this?”
“I don’t want to play it. Just let her tell us where she was on Thursday. Go from there.”
“Works for me.” Shane rang the doorbell then turned his back, hands still in his pockets. The Shane she remembered was outgoing and often a bit on the loud and obnoxious side. This Shane was different. He was quiet. Reserved.
“Yes?” A pretty brunette with legs that went on forever answered the door. She wore skinny jeans, and a tight sweater with a V-neck that showed off her cleavage.
“Are you Heather Underman?” Kara flashed her badge.
“Yes?”
“I’m Special Agent Martin. This is Detective Rogers. Can we ask you a few questions about last Thursday?”
“Sure,” Heather said. “Come on in.”
