Talk to Me

by Stephanie Reid

  “Well,” Dorsey said. “Seems we have ourselves a prime suspect.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Mac surveyed Emily’s office, looking for any evidence he may have overlooked. He’d gotten a few good sets of prints from the windowsill and the computer monitor, but it would take a while for the lab to determine if the prints belonged to Emily or the perp.

  He’d always gotten a certain satisfaction from collecting evidence. Before he’d become an evidence tech, there had been times he’d felt almost powerless. As a patrol officer, arriving to the scene of a crime after it had occurred, there was little he could do beyond asking questions and comforting victims—important tasks, no doubt, but after he’d been trained as an evidence tech he’d learned how good it felt to actively do something to solve a crime. He could see the physical product of his work in a crisp set of prints or a well-set footprint mold. His work was a key piece in ensuring justice was served.

  And in this case—perhaps more than any other—he wanted to see justice served. On a silver platter. Piping hot. And laced with poison.

  But for the first time, collecting evidence didn’t help him feel as if he was doing everything he could. Instead, he felt helpless again. Because someone outside these walls had threatened Emily. And as long as that person was free, he would not feel comfortable leaving her side. He had no idea how he was going to convince her she needed his protection, but he had no intention of leaving things to chance.

  He was packing up the last of his equipment when Sean burst through the door. “Where is she? Is she okay?”

  Mac could sympathize with Sean’s current state of mind. When he’d seen the condition of her office and the death threat spray painted on the wall, he’d wanted to do physical harm to the person who’d done it. And then he’d wanted to pull her into his arms and verify for himself that every inch of her was intact and unharmed. Somehow, he’d managed to restrain himself.

  “She’s fine. She’s in the conference room being interviewed by Dorsey.”

  Sean nodded, slapped the doorjamb, and started toward the conference room.

  “Hey, man!” Mac said. “I wouldn’t go in there if I was you. You know how Dorsey can be about his investigations. He’s not going to want your help.”

  Sean popped his head back in the doorway, looking miffed. “I don’t give a shit what he wants. I want to find out what’s going on and who the hell he thinks did this.”

  “I’d lay money on that douche-bag, Frank. He seemed like a creepy dude.”

  Sean grunted. “That was my first thought too.” He cocked his head toward the hallway. “Let’s go see what they’re talking about.”

  They entered the conference room and Dorsey flipped his notebook shut.

  Sean walked around the conference table and bent down to give Emily, who stayed seated, a brief hug, murmuring comforting words that were unintelligible to Mac.

  “What’d I miss?” Sean asked, turning toward the detective.

  “Well, we have our suspect,” Dorsey said.

  “Good.” Sean turned to Emily. “Do you even know his last name?”

  Emily’s brow furrowed. “Of course I know his last name. It’s Franks.”

  Sean laughed.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Mac asked, not hiding his amusement any better than Sean. “His name is Frank Franks? What kind of parents would do that to their child?”

  Emily looked from Sean to Mac with an expression that said, What are you smoking?

  “His name is Carl Franks. Not Frank Franks,” she said. “Where on earth did you get that idea?”

  “Wait. Who’s Carl Franks?” Mac asked, confused.

  Dorsey gave a truncated explanation of Carl’s verbal threat to Emily and the more damning evidence that Carl had indeed lost custody of Nate and then disappeared. He finished, saying, “Ms. Simon is going to go through her files to see if Carl’s file is missing. I have a suspicion that he may have wanted his own file to prevent the courts from verifying that he’d admitted to using drugs, which was not only unsafe for Nate, but in direct violation of his probation.”

  Mac gnawed on the inside of his cheek. He’d really had a gut feeling about Frank. When Mac had seen him corner Emily in the booth at Muldoon’s, he’d immediately thought the guy was a creep and probably capable of doing much worse. Not to mention that the guy was clearly delusional. The way he’d asked Emily if he could call her sometime, after she’d dressed him down in the bar, was proof he didn’t accept her disinterest.

  “So, he’s your only suspect at this point?” Mac asked.

  Dorsey appeared irritated. He was not a man who liked to have his expertise questioned. He answered Mac’s question with one of his own. “Do you have someone else in mind?”

  Looking at Emily, Mac asked, “You didn’t tell him about your blind date? Frank?”

  Dorsey flipped his notebook back open and clicked his pen.

  “No,” she said. “Why would I? He has no connection to my office. He doesn’t even know my last name or where I work.”

  “But he knows that you’re a counselor,” Sean said slowly, putting the puzzle pieces together. “You called him a narcissist and offered to refer him to counseling with one of your colleagues.”

  Emily’s cheeks colored, and she looked at her boss. “He’s making it sound worse than it was. I was joking. Sort of.”

  Emily briefly explained to Dorsey how Frank had gotten a little too frisky on their date, and Mac pulled the memory of that night from his mental file, recalling one other important detail. “And he does know your last name,” he said quietly. “Because as we were leaving, the bartender called Sean, Officer Simon.” Emily’s blue eyes widened slightly. “And since you told him Sean was your brother, it follows that your last name would be Simon as well.”

  Emily placed her elbows on the table, put her face in her hands, and mumbled, “Oh, crap.”

  Dorsey scratched his head with the non-writing end of his pen. “Other than the fact that his advances were rejected by Ms. Simon, I’m not sure I’m getting a motive here. Why would this Frank guy vandalize her office and write ‘Die Bitch! Die!’ on the wall?”

  Emily’s head came up then. “Yeah. That doesn’t make any sense. He hasn’t called or contacted me since that night. I don’t know why he would do a thing like this.”

  Mac couldn’t shake the bad feeling he had about Frank. “Maybe he has called, but your phone was out of commission after the toilet incident. Maybe he’s jealous or upset that he can’t reach you.”

  “Toilet incident?” Dorsey asked.

  Mac ignored Dorsey’s question. “I agree that Carl seems like a more plausible suspect, but it wouldn’t hurt to interview Frank. Sean and I met him and both of us thought he was off-kilter.”

  Dorsey sighed, looking thoroughly put out, but put his pen to paper anyway. “What’s Frank’s last name?”

  Emily dug her phone from the pocket of her blazer, and Mac tried not to follow the progress of her blush, which traveled from her cheeks, down to the open neck of her blouse. “I don’t actually know his last name, but I can give you the phone number he called me from.”

  Dorsey jotted the number down. “Is there anyone else you can think of that might have wanted to scare you or get into your office for some reason?”

  Emily shook her head. “No. No one that I can think of.”

  Dorsey clicked his pen closed and placed it in his shirt pocket.

  “Wait,” Mac said. He told himself he was asking this last question for purely professional reasons and not because he’d lain awake on more than one occasion wondering if Emily was with someone else. “Did you go on any other blind dates? Or have you been seeing anyone else recently?”

  Emily shifted in her seat, clearing her throat. “Just one, but I can’t think of a single reason why he would be a suspect.”

  Mac raised his eyebrows, silently prodding Emily to offer more information.

  “We went to dinner Friday night. It was
just your typical, slightly awkward, first date.”

  “What’s his name?” Mac winced inwardly at the terse sound of his voice.

  “His name was Ted. But look, he seemed like an okay guy—”

  “An okay guy, huh? That’s what Ted Bundy’s neighbors said. And he turned out to be a serial killer.” Turning to Dorsey, he removed the pen from the detective’s breast pocket and handed it to him. “Put his name on your suspect list too.”

  Emily sat forward, leaning over the table. “Mac, come on. You’re being ridiculous. He’s not a serial killer.”

  “That you know of.” Mac tapped pointedly on Dorsey’s notebook. “Write it down.” He turned to Emily. “Do you know Ted’s last name? Or have a phone number for him?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not giving it to you. I think you’re taking this manhunt too far.”

  Oh, she had no idea just how far he was willing to take this manhunt. He turned back to Dorsey. “Did you write that down yet? T-E-D. Ted.”

  Without writing it down, Dorsey replaced his pen and snapped his notebook shut, throwing an annoyed glance at Mac. “No. I’m not interested in chasing down anyone who has ever met Ms. Simon. We have one very solid, and one passable, lead. I’m going to focus on those.” He passed Emily his card—and in a much more courteous tone than the one he’d used while speaking to Mac—said, “Please, feel free to call me with any updates after you’ve had a chance to go through your files. I’d be particularly interested if Carl’s file is missing, but if you come across anything else that jogs your memory, maybe another disgruntled client, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

  Emily nodded. “Thank you, Detective Dorsey. I will do that, but I’d like to think there aren’t more than two people in the world who want to kill me.” Her attempt at humor had Mac wondering if she wasn’t trying to cover the fact that she was truly shaken.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” Dorsey said, using his most professional, reassuring cop voice, “I don’t think whoever did this really wants to kill you. He broke in when he knew you wouldn’t be in the office, which tells me, he wanted to scare you, but not kill you.”

  “And if it is Carl Franks,” Sean said, “then he’s probably hoping this incident will make you too scared to testify against him or hand over any evidence that might assist the state in keeping Nate out of his custody.”

  Dorsey nodded in agreement. “At this point, I think that’s our most likely scenario.” And with that, he thanked Emily and Asha for their time and excused himself from the conference room.

  Mac did not miss the glare the detective gave him on his way out. And to think, Mac had worried that Sean would be the one to interfere and piss Dorsey off.

  * * *

  Emily leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling, releasing a long, slow, cleansing breath. Asha had gone to brief Sandra and Nancy, the receptionist, on the status of the investigation and to instruct Nancy to reschedule today’s appointments. The office would be closed today.

  Only Sean and Mac remained in the conference room with her, and she purposefully tuned out their conversation as she tried to process everything that had happened that morning.

  She didn’t believe—or at least she didn’t want to believe—that someone truly intended to kill her. Someone certainly hoped to scare her, and she agreed with Detective Dorsey that that someone was most likely Carl Franks.

  She sincerely wished Mac and Sean hadn’t arrived with their suspicions and questions centered on her dating life. She really could have done without that humiliation. It was hard to believe she could feel embarrassed about going on blind dates with men of questionable psychiatric stability, with the violation of her office so fresh on her mind. But evidently the human psyche had endless resources for fear and embarrassment to reside in equal measure.

  She heard her name and turned her attention to Mac and Sean’s conversation. “What was that?”

  Sean stopped talking mid-sentence at Emily’s question.

  “We were just discussing where you should stay tonight.”

  Emily sat up straight in her chair. “I think I’ll stay where I always stay, Sean. At my apartment.”

  “You don’t seriously think that’s a good idea, do you?”

  “You heard Detective Dorsey. This was a scare tactic, not an attempted murder.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “If I let him scare me out of my own home, then he wins doesn’t he? And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that happen.”

  Mac came around the table to sit next to Emily. “Look,” he said gently. “This isn’t a game. Whoever did this wanted to scare you, that’s true, but if he doesn’t think you’re scared enough, he may do something worse.” Mac leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands hanging loosely between his legs. It was a deceptively relaxed pose, in direct opposition to the intensity of his brown eyes. “I know you’d rather be safe than sorry.”

  Emily refused to be swayed by the comforting tone of his voice. “I think I’d rather be at my own place.”

  Sean rolled his eyes heavenward. “Emily, that’s enough. You’re acting like a stubborn child.” He braced his hands on the table, towering over her. “You’re staying at my house until this is resolved. End of discussion.”

  Emily’s face burned. She did not appreciate being treated like an incompetent child. “No. I’m not,” she said as calmly as she could manage while focusing all her mental strength on holding her anger at bay.

  “Are you really so selfish?” At his raised voice, Mac laid a hand on Sean’s shoulder, gently pushing Sean back into his chair. Sean sat, but he was not done talking. “You would have me and Julie lay awake at night, worried about your safety? You would put us through that just so you could feel like you stood up to some psycho?”

  Before she could edit herself, Emily fired back. “What? You mean just like Julie sits at home worrying about you, while you’re out getting in gun stand-offs with drunken wife-beaters? You call me selfish, but you’re the one out there playing hero while I sit home and wonder if the only blood relative I have left is going to be around to walk me down the aisle at my wedding or be an uncle to my children!”

  The words had just flown out of their own accord. And ridiculous as she knew they sounded, she couldn’t deny their truth. Try as she might, she couldn’t quell the resentment she felt over Sean’s choice of vocation.

  She glanced at Mac, all too aware that she’d just mentioned an incident in which he’d failed to respond to a clear and present danger. His face was unreadable.

  Sean was considerably calmer when he responded this time. “Emily. I’m sorry.” He looked down at his hands. “I never knew you felt that strongly about my job.” He sighed, looking back at Emily with clear blue eyes that were a reflection of her own. “But the truth is you’re being overly dramatic. I have training. And I’m cautious. Yes, what I do is sometimes dangerous, but statistically speaking I’d be more likely to die on the job if I was a fisherman or a farmer than a police officer.”

  Emily dropped her gaze, feeling silly for her emotional reaction.

  “And because I’m cautious, I want you to stay at my house.” He lowered himself enough to add, “Please, Emily.”

  “Sean, I can’t.” When he started to argue, she held up her palm. “If you think I might be in danger, then the very last thing I want to do is bring that danger to my family’s doorstep. I’m not involving Julie and the kids in this.” For the first time in their discussion, Sean looked as if he might agree with her.

  “She can stay with me,” Mac said.

  “Mac, that’s kind of you, but I’m sure—”

  “That’s perfect!” Sean slapped the table in his excitement. “It’s even better than staying with me because you don’t have any connection to Mac.”

  Oh, how Emily wished that were true. Sometimes she felt entirely too connected to Mac.

  “Exactly,” Mac said. “He might try to find you staying with family
or even a friend, but who would think that you’d be staying with me?”

  She searched for a flaw in his logic.

  Sean crossed his arms over his chest with a self-satisfied grin. “It’s perfect. You’d be somewhere no one would think to look for you and you’d have a fully armed cop by your side. There could be no safer place.”

  Right. There was just one small problem. Ten days ago, that fully armed cop had failed to draw his gun when one was pointed directly in his face.

  Less concerned for her own safety, Emily wanted no part in bringing added stress into Mac’s life. He wasn’t sleeping enough as it was and being her personal bodyguard was not going to help him get any rest. This was not a good plan. But Emily kept her opinion to herself. For now. She couldn’t very well bring up her concerns in front of Mac.

  “It’s settled then,” Mac said.

  No. It was far from settled. But Emily needed time to figure out what she was going to do next.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Mac trudged up to his apartment, his footsteps echoing in the stairwell. He was bone tired and couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a full five hours of sleep, let alone the recommended eight. His typically sleep-deprived crappy mood had increased exponentially in crappiness since his wake-up call from Daniels. Seeing Emily distressed, knowing that someone was bent on scaring her and was possibly capable of much worse, had stomach acid pooling in his gut.

  At the top of the stairs, he pushed open the door, which groaned with the sound of metal on metal, and entered the dimly lit hallway. Stopping in front of a dark green door with old brass numbers indicating apartment twenty-six, he rapped briskly.