Don't Look Away (Veronica Sloan)

by Leslie A. Kelly

  Ronnie carelessly shoved it into her pocket. “Will do.”

  He hesitated, as if waiting for her to say more, then finally added, “And if I think of anything I’ll call you as well.”

  “Feel free. I can usually be reached at the precinct.”

  His soft laugh said he’d gotten the message: She wasn’t handing over her private numbers.

  “That’s all right, Detective Sloan, I know how to get you.”

  That’s what you think, McSleazy.

  He wasn’t getting her at all. Frankly, though, she suspected she was beginning to get him. The flirty-playboy thing was a little obvious and a bit overdone. She’d begun to suspect she knew why.

  “Phil?” his friend prodded.

  “Just a minute, I’m not finished. Look, why don’t you go start up the car and get the a.c. running?” he asked, tossing his keys to his blond friend.

  The other man caught them, offered Ronnie a tight smile, then sauntered off toward the deck.

  “I suppose you heard they have successfully extracted the device from the first victim?” Philip said when they were alone.

  She nodded, immediately wishing she’d just mumbled a response. Jerking her head, especially out in the sunlight, was not doing her any good.

  “I have been told that the device was a bit damaged.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Is it salvageable?”

  “Oh, I have no doubt of that. My father’s protégé, Dr. Cavanaugh, has been hard at work on it since yesterday. If anyone can retrieve the data stored within, she can.”

  The chip being damaged and unusable was something she hadn’t even considered. That would suck beyond all rational possibility.

  “Wait a minute,” she said, something just occurring to her. His words hadn’t quite penetrated her groggy, pain-filled brain at first, but now something he’d said really stuck out. “You said they extracted the device from the first victim.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Meaning…”

  “Yeah, Sloan. Meaning exactly what you think it means.”

  Damn. It was Sykes. She didn’t have to risk an aneurysm by swinging around to double-check that, she felt the man’s presence as he moved into place right behind the bench, dropping his hand onto it, near her shoulder. Not quite touching, but close enough that his fingertips brushed the cloth of her blouse.

  He’d obviously come from inside the building; she’d had no idea he was here. He must have finished with his mysterious out-of-town business. Too bad Philadelphia was only forty-five minutes away by helicopter and he’d gotten back fast enough to intercept her before she’d had at least a little time to work on Leanne’s chip.

  Thrusting aside all that, she asked the obvious. “Are you saying there’s been another murder?”

  Sykes stepped into place beside the bench, his tall form thankfully blocking the sun from her aching eyes, at least for a moment. Of course, sitting there looking up at him wasn’t much better for her head, and might have made it spin a little faster.

  “Yes. That’s why I was gone. Another O.E.P. test subject was murdered last night in Philadelphia. The methods used by the killer were familiar—disturbingly so. It looks like the cases have to be connected. There are just too many commonalities for it to be a coincidence.”

  Well, that was a new wrinkle. Ronnie had felt pretty sure that Leanne’s murder had been a personal one, that she’d been killed by someone who knew her and wanted to make her suffer. But if another victim had turned up in another city, they’d have to reconsider the theory.

  ‘I’ll let you two get to work,” said Philip Tate, nodding pleasantly as he pushed his sunglasses back into place. “I’m sure I’ll see you later—I’ll pop into the lab when I get back to check on how you’re getting along.”

  The guy acted like he was their boss or something. Ronnie managed to grit her teeth and smile faintly, again wondering about the mysteries of the gene pool that would give Phineas Tate a son like this one.

  Once they were alone, Sykes murmured, “So, you heard I was going to be back and came up to meet me, huh?” His voice held not the faintest hint of irony. But she knew him well enough to know it was there.

  “I had no idea where you went and wasn’t going to wait around for you.”

  “Like I didn’t wait around for you yesterday?”

  Hearing an almost offended note in his voice, she peered at him, trying to remember exactly what he’d said yesterday, about what he was doing and where he was going. “You mean you did?”

  “Of course I did,” he snapped. “I told you I wasn’t snaking your case. We were asked to work on this together. Once you woke up and I confirmed you’d be fine and able to get back to work soon, I put off going either to your precinct to examine the vic’s downloads, or here to check out the chip.” He dropped onto the bench beside her, sitting close enough for their legs to brush. He invaded her personal space, not threatening, but intimate. As if knowing she was still a little unsteady and woozy, he put a hand on her arm, just above the elbow, holding her firmly but not tightly. “What’s it gonna take to get you to trust me?”

  Hell, he’d have been better off asking what it would take to get her to sleep with him. That she was already considering. Trust wasn’t even on the radar. It was a much harder thing for Ronnie to give up than a piece of ass.

  “I’m working on it.”

  “I guess that’s the best I can hope for.”

  “Yeah, it probably is. I have to work with you. That doesn’t mean I have to like you.”

  “You mean you don’t?” His lips quirked.

  “No, I don’t,” she snapped, angry at him for taunting her into saying it when they both knew it was a lie.

  “You keep telling yourself that, Sloan.”

  She would. Day and night until Sykes skipped on back up to New York where he belonged and she could work on forgetting him all over again.

  He tilted his head, scrunching his brow as if trying to recall something important. “I’m curious, did you ever watch those old Charlie Brown cartoons when you were a kid?”

  That question came totally out of left field. She slowly nodded. “Uh…I think so. The Christmas one, maybe.”

  “Okay.”

  She waited. He offered no further explanation. Finally, she snapped, “Well? What about them?”

  “Oh, nothing, really. I was just thinking of how much you remind me of the character Lucy.”

  Ronnie thought about it, trying to remember the cartoon. It had been years since she’d seen the old holiday special, and for the life of her she couldn’t figure out what he was talking about.

  Except, she suddenly remembered what the character looked like. Indignant, she glared at him. “Was that a hair crack? I haven’t exactly had time to get it taken care of, you know.”

  He snickered. “Not even close. I was thinking more along the lines of the way Lucy was always so rotten to Charlie Brown.”

  “Awww, did I hurt your feelings Charlie?”

  He ignored her. “And it was obvious to everyone that she was so abrasive and mean to him because she had such a thing for him.”

  She could only gawk at him. “That’s some ego, Sykes.”

  He turned to face her on the bench, draping one arm across the back of it, so close to her shoulders she almost felt the weight of it. “When are you gonna admit you’ve been thinking about me almost nonstop for the past few months?”

  She grunted. “When are you gonna admit that not every woman’s dying to have you?”

  “Not every woman,” he said. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to. The words he didn’t say hung there loud and clear between them in the silence. Just you.

  She met his stare, held it, forced herself to remain completely noncommittal. She didn’t blink, she barely breathed, utterly determined to brazen-out the moment and not let him know she’d heard those words he didn’t say.

  Finally, seeing the twinkle in his eyes as he realized she w
as, essentially, trying to engage him in a staring contest in some effort at domination, she grumbled, “Oh, shut up.”

  That made him laugh out loud. Damn, he even had a sexy laugh—throaty and warm.

  “So are you ever going to fill me in on this second murder?” she asked, shifting a little further away on the bench.

  “You told me to shut up.”

  “Did I ever tell you what we used to call you out in Texas?” she snarled.

  “You didn’t have to. I heard all about you dubbing me Sucks.”

  Breezy as always. The jerk. “Look, Sykes, I don’t do banter. Would you just tell me about the case?”

  He nodded. “Sure, let’s go inside out of this heat.”

  “I’m waiting for my partner.”

  He stiffened, staying right where he was. “Oh.”

  “I’ve already heard the good news about our partnership,” she said, sounding droll, figuring he was worried about how she’d react to having her partner yanked away from her and this case.

  “I had nothing to do with it, Veronica, I swear.”

  “As if I really thought you could pull those strings to get him reassigned,” she said with a disbelieving grunt. “I understand the reasoning behind it. But Daniels doesn’t deserve to be totally shut out. He’s an outstanding detective and we can use his help.”

  “Agreed. So let’s let him do what he does best while we handle the O.E.P. device evaluations.”

  Surprised he’d agreed so readily, she couldn’t help eying him suspiciously. Sykes was being very nice—very agreeable. She didn’t entirely trust that. She’d seen the man work his charm on people, usually getting whatever he wanted out of them, and couldn’t be entirely sure he wasn’t setting her up for something. “What do you want in return?”

  “Jesus, woman, you really have a suspicious mind,” he said, sounding half-rueful and half-offended.

  “Where you’re concerned, I do. I haven’t forgotten the way you manipulated your way right into the lead position of every damned training exercise in Texas.”

  “You just haven’t learned the art of playing nice yet. Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s easier to catch flies with honey than with vinegar?”

  “Sure. And I asked her why on earth anybody would want to catch flies when it’s so much easier to just swat them,” she retorted.

  Laughter escaped his lips, deep and masculine, and despite herself, she found herself warming to the sound.

  “Oh. You’re here.”

  She flinched, hearing her partner’s voice. Daniels had finally returned from parking the car and he looked none too happy to see Sykes sitting with Ronnie, his arm draped across the back of the bench, nearly touching her shoulders.

  “Glad you could join us, Snoopy,” Sykes muttered.

  Her partner puffed out his chest. Sykes, if anything, sunk a little more comfortably onto the bench beside her.

  God, she didn’t need this macho boy garbage. She wasn’t the damn cheerleader torn between the football player and the motorcycle riding stoner. Right now, they were both getting on her nerves tremendously.

  “Let’s go,” she snapped, immediately rising to her feet.

  She wished she hadn’t. Her equilibrium was off and she swayed. Sykes launched up beside her, putting a hand in the small of her back to steady her. “Easy Sloan.”

  “I’m fine,” she insisted.

  “Do you think we should get her a wheelchair?” Daniels asked, his animosity disappearing as real concern took over.

  “No way are you putting me in a wheelchair,” she said, not even wanting to consider the possibility of the two of them joining forces against her. “I just stood up too fast. I’m fine. Now let’s go inside and get to work.”

  Not sparing either of them another word or glance, she shook off Sykes’s hand, pushed past Daniels, and walked steadily into the building, using every ounce of will she had to avoid letting them know that her entire world was spinning just a tiny bit off its axis.

  Chapter 9

  Although the Tate Scientific Research Center was a secure site, where experiments of a top secret nature were performed, security wasn’t too bad. It only took a few minutes to go through the metal detectors, explain a few resulting beeps, show her I.D., tell who she was and why she was here, then she was through.

  Sykes and Daniels were still jumping through the hoops, at two different ends of the security checkpoint, as if they couldn’t even stand to be in the same line together. She’d have thought it would be an easy matter for Sykes to come back in, since he’d obviously been here a while, but they made him go through the whole procedure again.

  For the first time since she’d found out, she decided it was probably a good thing Daniels had been temporarily reassigned while she worked with Sykes on this case. Cops were used to having one partner. They trained that way, to work as a pair, to think as a pair. Throwing a third person in the mix was a professional triangle she didn’t want to tackle.

  As far as a personal one? Well, that she didn’t even want to consider in the realm of possibility. Daniels was her partner, friend, and surrogate big brother, sometimes seeming like a pseudo replacement for the two she’d lost. Sykes was a cocky competitor who attracted her and confused her too much for her own good. So both of them were best steered-clear of.

  Steering clear, of course, was impossible. She needed them both. While she was less than 100% well, she couldn’t possibly rely on her senses and judgment alone to examine the data from the murder victims’ downloads or O.E.M. chips. Sykes had to be involved. Yes, she’d rather just keep working with Daniels, but he wasn’t trained the way Jeremy was. So if she wanted to be involved with this case, it didn’t seem like she had any other choice. She had to work with Sykes.

  Still, she mentally reaffirmed her decision to call on Daniels whenever she could, both because it was the right thing to do, and because she knew she could count on him. This case might be important to the O.E.P., but it was also important to the D.C.P.D. And while computer imaging and high-tech video capture might help, nothing beat good old-fashioned detective work, and Mark Daniels was the best detective she knew.

  Not waiting for them, she walked toward the reception desk, a broad expanse of black marble which extended across the entire width of the lobby. Several uniformed workers stood behind it—security guys and administrative types—and they all smiled pleasantly as she approached. She hadn’t even reached it, though, before she heard someone calling her name.

  “Detective Sloan!”

  All those people behind the reception desk snapped to attention, their vague smiles becoming wide, their obsequiousness undeniable. The boss had arrived, stepping out of a nearby elevator as if he were Jesus coming down from heaven in a boxcar.

  “You poor dear, I heard about what happened, what on earth are you doing here, child?”

  Phineas Tate, looking like a skinny, overprotective grandfather, hurried to her side.

  “I’m fine, sir, thank you.”

  He shook his head, tutted and clucked over her, insisting on pulling her hair out of the way so he could see her wound. He poked and prodded, clucking a little. Christ, she felt like she had when she was a kid and her mom would spit on a napkin to clean her face.

  “I still can’t believe you’re here when you should be home in bed.”

  “I really am okay. We have a case to solve, Dr. Tate, and it would take a lot more than a whack on the head to keep me from solving it.”

  “Well said,” he told her with an approving nod. When Sykes and Daniels joined them, he greeted them both by name.

  “Good to see you, sir,” said Sykes, extending his hand. “I’ve just come from Detective Sloan’s precinct and have the files from the victim’s data dump.”

  Ronnie cast him a suspicious look.

  “I said I haven’t examined them,” he insisted. “They refused to send them electronically since they’re evidence, so I stopped by and picked them up to bring them here, figu
ring this is where you’d come first.”

  She could probably have accessed the files remotely, though it might not have been technically above-board. And Sykes was all about being above-board…at least, so she assumed. She guessed she would find out for sure in the coming days.

  “And you, Detective Daniels,” said Tate, “has any of this excitement caused you to have any second thoughts regarding your involvement in this…experiment?”

  “You mean, as a detective?”

  “No.” Tate lowered his voice, though no one was nearby and all of Tate’s staff were busy trying to look occupied. “I mean as an implantee.”

  Daniels shook his head once. “Not a bit. In fact, after Ronnie was attacked the other night, I sent over my own downloads in case the device caught anything my eyes missed.”

  “I know. Thank you for that. We did have an in-house person look at them and he found nothing.” Tsking, Tate turned to lead them toward the bank of elevators. “Do you have any other leads?”

  Daniels shook his head, taking up the rear as they entered a huge, mirrored elevator. “Like I told Ronnie, our friend’s a damn ghost. I don’t know how he’s getting around without being seen.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about those old tunnels,” Ronnie murmured. “They were supposed to be completely demolished during reconstruction. But you know, it’s always possible there could still be access to one. There’ve been stories about secret tunnels involving the White House and the Metro system going back to the Truman era, maybe they overlooked something. ”

  Her partner nodded. “Right there with ya. I’ve requested another meeting with Jack Williams, of the Phoenix Group, of course he hasn’t called me back. I also have a call in to the lead architect in charge of the White House and he’s even harder to reach. But I’ll keep pushing until I’ve got everything they have on the project.”

  “Are they stalling?” Tate sounded shocked.

  She found that refreshing, that someone could still be surprised about the ass-covering that went on in a situation like this one. Tate obviously lived in his lab and didn’t know a whole lot about how the real world worked.