by Mallory Kane
She swallowed hard and glanced around sheepishly. He hadn’t even noticed her.
A tall, gaunt man with average brown hair and a detective badge pinned to the pocket of his jacket stepped up to Dev. Givens probably. The two of them spoke for a moment, then Dev made a sweeping gesture toward the river. A third man, almost a foot shorter and round with a dark brown comb-over, joined them. He nodded at Dev, then spoke to Givens. Dev took a half-step backward, rubbing the heel of his palm across his forehead, an unconscious gesture that spoke of his exhaustion. His cheeks were shadowed by a day’s growth of beard, and his midnight dark hair bore the furrows of a dozen passes of his fingers.
When he looked back down at the body, something changed in his bearing. It was subtle, but Reghan caught it. His broad shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly, his lips compressed, and a muscle ticked in his jaw.
Watching him triggered a familiar sensation inside her—a hyperawareness that flooded her senses when she was on the scent of a story. Her throat trembled and her fingers tingled. The breeze off the river, the smell of fish and garbage, even the subtle colors barely visible in the gray light of dawn, all intensified. Not only did Dev know the victim, he cared about him.
She had to get closer. She pushed forward and slipped under the yellow tape.
“Hold it, ma’am.”
A large uniformed police officer appeared directly in front of her. Football type, all thick shoulders and beefy arms that stretched the blue material of his shirt. “You need to stay behind the line. In fact—” He turned to address the onlookers. “—all of you need to go home. Excitement’s over.”
Reghan pulled her WACT identification badge out of her purse and held it up.
The officer waved it away impatiently. “You heard me—” he started as his gaze caught the name on her badge. “Hey, I know you,” he said, crossing his muscled arms and glowering down at her. “Aren’t you that reporter who caused all the trouble for Detective Gautier?”
“I’m Reghan Connor with WACT,” Reghan said, giving him her best close-up smile, although inside she groaned. There it was. The Blue Wall. She’d slammed into it when she’d begun probing into Dev’s past five months earlier. How could it not matter to the police that Dev’s entire life, even his fake Cajun name, was one big lie? She knew the answer—he was one of their own. She just didn’t understand it. He’d lied to them. Yet to a man, they had closed ranks around Dev to protect him from her. Even the captain, who had been blindsided by her revelations and been put in the position of temporarily suspending Dev until things were resolved, had taken his detective’s side.
Now she was persona non grata with the police department. Hardly fair. She’d reported the truth. He was the liar.
She lifted her chin and sent the officer her most commanding look. “I need to see Detective Gautier, Officer—” she glanced at his name badge “—Stevens.”
From the corner of her eye, she caught the efficient movements of the crime scene techs. They were pulling a black body bag from their van. If she didn’t make her move now, she’d lose her last chance to get a look at the body.
“No, you don’t,” the officer said. “Now why don’t you—”
Just then, a scrawny kid with a shaved head, several piercings in various places, and a large nick out of one ear pushed another teen into the police tape and jostled Stevens, who whirled, his hand reaching for his nightstick. Reghan took her opportunity. She slipped past him and headed for Dev.
She dreaded speaking to him. She didn’t want to see the hatred in his eyes when he looked at her. She deserved it, she supposed. From her point of view, she’d done a news story, telling the truth about him. But she knew he didn’t see it that way. From his perspective, they’d met three times. The first time they’d flirted, the second time they’d kissed, and the third time she’d ripped open the secrets of his past and torn a hole in his life.
For a second she lost sight of Dev, but as she got closer she realized he’d crouched down to examine the body more closely. When she was within a couple feet of him she stopped, hoping to blend into the background long enough to get a good look at the body. It was a young black man, probably just shy of twenty years old. His clothes were wet, and he had a dirty high-top tennis shoe on one foot. The other foot was bare and—Reghan swallowed hard—the toes were missing.
The photographer crouched next to Dev. “We’re done with this side, Detective,” she said.
Dev snapped a glove onto his left hand. “Then get a good close-up of his neck.” He reached out and gently turned the boy’s head. About one-and-a-half to two inches of flesh was laid open on the left side of the boy’s throat and angled downward. There was no blood, just pink, ragged tissue gaping like an obscene open mouth against his dark skin. Dev’s right hand clenched into a fist against his thigh, telegraphing his tight control.
The camera flashed, throwing the gaping neck wound into sharp focus for an instant. Reghan’s mouth went dry and her ears buzzed. Annie had told her the victim’s throat was slit. But seeing it now, for herself, she felt like she might faint.
This was one of Dev’s homeless kids—she was sure of it. Just like the boy who’d been found the week before. Fontenot’s eerie voice echoed in her head. Your Detective Gautier will suffer as he made me suffer, but worse, much worse. He will know the hell of watching that which he values most, destroyed.
She must have subconsciously known last week when she’d heard about the first death that another teenager would die, even if she hadn’t wanted to believe Fontenot’s crazy talk. She hadn’t done anything about it then. Her hand went to her mouth as if to muffle the scream of denial she felt pushing at the back of her throat. She couldn’t make the same mistake now.
She must have made a sound, because Dev spun and stood in one fluid motion. He glared at her as he ripped off the glove. “What the hell are you doing here?” he bit out, then angled his head toward the crime scene tech without taking his eyes off her. “Get him bagged and out of here before the scene gets any more contaminated.”
Reghan winced. She’d been on the receiving end before of that black, intimidating glare. Back then it had been tinged with haunted pain and a touch of fear. Right now, it was a lethal combination of anger and frustration. “Detective, I need to—”
“Somebody escort Reghan Connor back to wherever she came from,” he said, making it sound as if she’d crawled out from under a particularly slimy rock.
Suddenly Officer Stevens was beside her, wrapping a massive hand around her arm in a punishing grip. Dev started to turn away.
“Wait!” she cried. Desperate not to lose her one chance to talk to him, she caught hold of his wrist. Her fingers barely fit halfway around it, but touching him sent a shiver through her, and called up the smell of soap and coffee and warm skin, and the remembered feel of his hard, erotic kiss.
Dev looked down at her hand, then efficiently twisted out of her grip. “You’re contaminating a crime scene, Connor,” he said coldly. “You should be over there with the rest of the talking heads.” He nodded toward the group of reporters being held back by police. He glanced at Stevens and inclined his own head in that direction.
“Let’s go, Ms. Connor,” Stevens said as he jerked on her arm.
She bit back a yelp of pain, struggling to keep her footing, fighting not to break eye contact with Dev. “Please,” she insisted. “This is important. I have information about the victims.”
Dev’s glare changed almost imperceptibly, a flicker of interest filtering in under the hostile skepticism.
Encouraged, she did her best to stand her ground as Stevens tugged her toward the police tape. She craned her neck and managed to hold Dev’s gaze. When he ran his hand around the back of his neck and shook his head, as if arguing with himself, triumph swelled her heart.
“Hold up,” he said to Stevens. “I’ll handle her. Break up the crowd and get the rest of the reporters out of here.”
Dismissing Stevens with a toss
of his head, Dev glowered down at Reghan, his black eyes burning into hers, daring her to waste his time. “This better be good, Connor,” he growled. “In fact, it better be spectacular.”
Chapter Two
Standing so close to Dev, Reghan saw that while he’d lost weight since the last time she’d seen him, the haunted bitterness that had clung to him like a shadow even when he’d smiled was gone. Now he only looked overworked and angry.
As if feeling her scrutiny, he took a step backward, putting distance between them. He folded his arms in resignation. “All right. Let’s hear it.”
“I know you knew both victims,” she said. “Personally.”
He didn’t move a muscle, but he went on full alert. She could see it in the straining tendons in his neck and the tightening of his mouth. He leaned in toward her and turned his head away from the crowd of reporters. “Who told you about that?”
She waved a hand in the reporters’ direction. “I’m not the only one who’s heard that.”
“How? Somehow I don’t picture you hunched over a police scanner waiting for a story to break,” he observed dryly, his gaze sliding from her hair down her face and neck, to the front of her thin cotton blouse, down her jeans all the way to her toes, and back up.
She felt every inch of his regard, as if he’d swept his fingertips over her instead of his gaze. “I have my sources,” she said primly, ignoring the thought of his long, clever fingers trailing over her skin. “You know I can’t reveal them.”
His black eyes glittered. Hostility rolled off him in waves, like heat off a summer sidewalk. “I know I can get a court order and have you put in jail.”
She shifted her gaze to the corded muscles in his neck, the jut of his jaw, anywhere but those disturbing eyes. He was tight with tension, his shoulders stiff, his face haggard. All the sadness wasn’t gone, she realized. He wasn’t just angry, nor was he just doing his job. “Those kids, they were from the Johnson Center,” she stated, making herself meet his gaze.
He blinked slowly, then everything in his bearing changed. He peered at her from beneath half-lowered lids and forced a derisive smile. She knew it was forced, because his eyes were still sad. “That’s your information?” he mocked. “Stevens? Get her out of here.”
“Wait!” she cried. “The first kid’s throat was slit, wasn’t it.”
He frowned and rubbed his temple, then glanced at his watch. “Don’t you have somebody’s life to ruin later this morning?” he asked tiredly. “I don’t know why you interrupted your beauty sleep to come out here, but—” He began to turn away.
“Dev—Detective Gautier, please,” she said quickly. “I have a DVD. You really need to see it.”
…
NOPD Detective Devereux Gautier paused a split second to frown at the woman who’d uncovered the past he’d tried so hard to bury. And exposed his shame for all the world to see.
“A DVD?” he repeated impatiently. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Even shrouded by all that curly red hair, Reghan Connor’s green eyes sparked visibly to life, and her expression shifted from desperation to anticipation. He knew immediately that he’d given himself away. Despite how he felt about her—or maybe even because of it—deep down he doubted she’d have shown up here if she didn’t truly believe she had something.
When he’d looked up a few moments ago and seen her standing in the middle of his crime scene as if she belonged there, all the frustration and grief and anger of the past week—hell, of the past five months—had boiled up inside him until he’d felt as if he’d explode. After what she’d done to him, she ought to be scared to come within fifty yards of him. But here she was, looking more earnest and more nervous than he’d ever seen her.
“It’s important,” she said. “It could give us answers.”
“Us?” he echoed, raising a wary brow.
She ducked her head and a wavy strand of hair fell out of the clip that held it. It would be a hell of a lot easier to deal with her if she’d cut off that damned hair.
One delicately boned shoulder lifted in a half-shrug. “You. Whatever.”
He jammed his fingers into his back pockets and stared down his nose at her, enjoying the fluttering of her eyelids and the slight tremor of her bottom lip that told him she was intimidated. She was a brave one, though. Big men, dangerous men, had crumbled under this same glare. “A DVD?” he said again, with more than a hint of skepticism. “Okay. So give it to me.” He held out a hand.
Her eyes widened, and her hand fluttered to her throat. “Oh,” she said. That shoulder lifted again. “I didn’t bring it with me.” She crossed her arms, pushing the small, perfect breasts that were obscured by her blouse into clear definition.
“Hey, Detective Gautier,” a voice called from behind him.
He angled his head toward the officer. “Yeah?”
“How far you want us to take the door-to-door?”
“Check with Givens. He’s the primary.”
“He said to ask you. Said you’re more familiar with the area.”
Good old Givens. The junior detective would appear a lot smarter if he’d quit taking every opportunity to rub Dev’s nose in the fact that Captain Hamilton had refused to let Dev take lead on the case. Hamilton was right. Dev knew the victims personally. That made it a conflict of interest. “Okay,” he said on a sigh. “Make sure you cover anyone who might have been around here in the past twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Widen it another couple of blocks anyhow.”
“You got it, Detective.”
Before he could turn his attention back to Connor, Givens hailed him. “The medical examiner’s here. If you want to hear what she has to say.”
Dev spotted Dr. Elizabeth Lowery standing near the body. He ground his jaw and turned back to the reporter. “I’m a little busy here,” he said, letting his frustration slip into his voice. “So why don’t you run along home now. You can bring your DVD to the station later. One of my officers will be happy to take your statement.”
Her green eyes flashed. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. His gaze went to her mouth before he could stop it. He’d tasted those lips, touched those teeth with his tongue. Desire curled in his belly. Unwanted desire. Determinedly, he cut his gaze back toward Liz. The sight of her bending over Darnell’s mutilated body dissolved the yearning.
Connor glanced at her watch, then squeezed her eyes shut for an instant. “I should have brought it. I guarantee you’ll be glad to have it,” she said. “It’s an interview I did with Gerard Fontenot. He’s got to be involved in this. He said some things—about you.”
The name was like a bucket of cold water. Dev’s whole attention snapped back to her. “Fontenot?” It took him a beat to catch up with what else she’d said. “In case you’ve forgotten, Fontenot is in prison in a wheelchair.”
She waved that off. “You need to see it. You need to hear what he said.” Her emerald green eyes turned opaque and he saw something in them that Dev had never seen before. It looked like fear.
He must be more tired than he thought to believe that. “Look, Connor. I don’t have time for this right now. I’ll get with you later.”
“Dev.” It was Givens again. “I could use your help here.”
Dev nodded without taking his eyes off her.
She averted her gaze and wrapped her arms around herself. “Okay,” she muttered. “Sorry I interrupted you, Detective. I’ll expect to hear from you.” She began to retreat, then stopped. “It really is important.”
He frowned at how easily she’d agreed. Too easily. An almost silent humming began in the back of his brain. It was something he’d always had—a sort of internal warning system. He didn’t know where it came from or how it worked. He just knew that when it happened, he needed to pay attention.
Reghan Connor was smart and sly and a little bit ruthless. In his experience, she’d do almost anything if she thought she’d get a story out of it. But the hum inside his head was telling him
that she believed what she’d said about Fontenot. It wasn’t in her nature to give up without a fight—she was like a snapping turtle once she got her teeth into something, not letting go until it thundered, as the old saying went. She certainly never let go voluntarily.
Which meant there was definitely something going on here.
She took a second step away from him and started to turn. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do. He ought to let her go and good riddance, but he was too seasoned a cop to dismiss a lead, even if he was ninety-nine percent certain it was false. There was always that one percent.
“Hold it.” Dev reached out, checking himself before he touched her. “I’ll send an officer with you to pick it up.”
She shook her head. “Don’t bother,” she said shortly. “I’m sure you don’t want to spare anyone. They’re all very busy.”
“Stevens!” he yelled without taking his gaze from hers. “Follow Ms. Connor home. She’s got a DVD for us.”
Stevens appeared at his elbow. “Yes sir. This way, Ms. Connor.” He reached for her arm, but she recoiled, glaring at Dev. For a second, it looked as though she would say something else. Then she whirled and stalked off. Stevens tagged along behind her.
Someone called Dev’s name, but he wasted precious seconds watching Reghan Connor walk away. She had a graceful dignity about her, even dressed in faded jeans and a loose blouse. More and more of that bright hair escaped its restraint with each step she took. Maybe the next time he saw her he could goad her into cutting it so he’d no longer have to fight the sensual image of it trailing across his naked, sensitized skin.
He pushed his thoughts toward why she’d come here and away from how she looked leaving. She’d been awfully interested in how the victim, Darnell, had died. It wouldn’t completely surprise him if the details of the murders ended up on her show later that morning. It would, however, royally piss him off. If she compromised this investigation, he’d go over to her fancy little Garden District house and wring her dainty little neck.
