No Hero

by Mallory Kane

  “Sorry, not that I can see, sir, but my eyes aren’t working so good yet.”

  Dev clenched his jaw. “Do I need to call a bus?” He hoped like hell the young officer didn’t need an ambulance.

  “No sir. I’ve got a cold cloth on my eyes. I’m fine. In a couple of minutes, I’m going to head out and see if I can find Nicky.”

  “No,” Dev said, keeping his voice even. “What you will do, Biaggi, is radio for backup and CSU. Meanwhile, I’ll call Detective Givens to put out an APB on Nicky Renato as a missing material witness. If we’re both very lucky, he won’t be found floating in the Mississippi.” Dev hung up before Biaggi could speak again. If he had to hear “no, sir” or “sorry, sir” one more time, he might destroy more than just his phone.

  While he was talking to Biaggi, Connor had put her dress back on. She was perched on the edge of the couch like a child expecting to be told to go to her room. And that was exactly what he was about to do.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said. “I want you to lock the center doors behind me and then go up to Penn’s room to sleep. She and Katie have their own bathroom, and the bedroom door has a deadbolt.”

  “What happened?” she asked. “Has something happened to Nicky?”

  He shook his head. “I hope not. Somebody pepper-sprayed and cold-cocked Biaggi, then disappeared with Nicky. I hope it was a buddy, or his girlfriend, thinking they were doing him a favor.”

  Connors gaze narrowed. “You don’t really think that, do you?”

  Dev grabbed his sweatpants and pulled them up, then turned away.

  “Dev?”

  He whirled around. “No. I think we’re going to find Nicky floating in the goddamn river.” He pressed the heel of his hand against his temple where a headache was starting.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her face going pale.

  “Go on. Get upstairs. I hope I’ll be back within a couple of hours, but I could be out all night. Call me if you think you hear something. I mean it.”

  Her back straightened. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself,” she said, turned, and strode out of his office.

  Mission accomplished. Distance achieved. He should be glad.

  So why did he feel as though his whole world had just walked out with her?

  …

  Reghan awoke slowly, feeling surprisingly rested and refreshed. The mauve and gray light of early morning shone through the window of Penn’s large bedroom.

  She stirred, and the movement triggered a tenderness in unfamiliar muscles. Thoughts of Dev and their explosive lovemaking washed over her.

  Memories of his body on her, in her, filling her with erotic sensation, pushed every other thought out of her head. Desire, hot and sudden, suffused her whole body. She squeezed her eyes shut against the thoughts and feelings. What had she done?

  She had tempted Dev into making love to her. There was no doubt he regretted it now. Just as she did. But maybe not for the same reasons…

  Making love with him had shown her what she could have had, if only she hadn’t been so pigheaded and blind. Now it would never be hers.

  Sex. A one-hour hook up. That’s all I have to offer.

  He’d satisfied his own physical need, and he’d definitely satisfied hers. Then he’d pulled away, just as he’d warned. If she’d thought one second past her own yearning when she decided to throw caution to the wind, she’d have realized how much his inevitable withdrawal would hurt her.

  And it did. Almost too much to bear.

  She closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. But her mind and body kept betraying her. They didn’t want to let go of the memories of Dev’s mouth, his hands, his warm, strong body. After several minutes of drifting into erotic dozing only to wake up lonely and bereft, she finally gave up and got out of bed.

  She hadn’t heard him come in last night, but then she’d slept more soundly than she had since Annie’s phone call. She listened, but she didn’t hear him moving about downstairs.

  She quickly donned the skirt and blouse she’d worn yesterday, doing her best to smooth out the wrinkles, and headed downstairs. She needed coffee badly. And she needed time to think. Things had been happening so fast the last couple of days she hadn’t had time to process any of it—her attack, Dev’s mercurial attitude toward her, the amazing sex…

  As she crossed from the stairs to the kitchen, she heard a movement behind her.

  “Morning, Connor.”

  She started. “Dev. When did you get back?”

  “A while ago.” He stood in the door of the office, his hair damp, his face newly shaved. A pair of sweatpants hung low on his hips and he had a towel slung around his neck. He looked sexy as hell, if tired and wrung out. “How’d you sleep?

  “Really well,” she said cheerily, then almost winced. Would he think she’d slept so well because they’d had sex the night before? She gestured toward the kitchen. “I thought I’d make some coffee and…just sit for a while.”

  He lifted his chin and sent her a pensive look. “Just sit, eh?” He held up a hand and she realized he was holding a mug. “Coffee’s made. But you’ll need to sit fast. Givens wants to talk to you about your little trip up to Angola.”

  “Did you find Nicky?”

  He furrowed his fingers through his damp hair. “Nope. Didn’t turn up a thing. The only evidence at his apartment was blood from a cut on Biaggi’s head and a couple of open drawers where Nicky apparently pulled out clothes to wear,” he said. “Looks like he went willingly.”

  “So he’s not in danger?”

  “I’m not saying that,” Dev returned. “The killer could be someone he knows and trusts.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be okay,” she said, trying to sound reassuring, but Dev’s dark eyes burned with doubt when he looked at her.

  “Get your coffee,” he said. “I’m going to get dressed.”

  She fixed herself an appropriately sweetened mug of coffee and was taking the last sip just as Dev came down the stairs. He had on khakis and a white shirt, with a tie slung around his neck and his jacket tossed carelessly over one shoulder. “Ready?”

  The sight of him weakened her knees and rendered her speechless. Nobody had a right to look as powerfully sexy and confident as he did.

  Lord. When had she stopped thinking of him as a careless charmer?

  And when had she decided he was nothing like her father and her ex-fiancé?

  The realization didn’t help her weak knees or her ability to talk. Setting her mug in the sink, she swallowed heavily as a frightening thought whispered through her mind.

  Oh girl, you’re in big trouble now.

  Dev met her gaze and frowned. The quizzical look in his eyes worried her. Did he know what she was thinking? If he did, big trouble didn’t even begin to describe what she was in.

  He walked to the front door and opened it. “Let’s go.”

  Passing him, she caught a whiff of his enticing scent. She gritted her teeth. Stop it, she admonished herself.

  “What?” he said, his voice disturbingly close to her ear as he followed her out.

  “What?” She sent him a sideways glance that she hoped didn’t reveal her chaotic thoughts.

  He gave her a knowing look, but let it drop.

  Thank goodness. She was terrified to think what might come out of her mouth if she wasn’t careful.

  …

  Instead of heading downtown, Dev drove in the opposite direction.

  “Where are we going?” Reghan asked.

  “Nicky’s apartment. Maybe he went back there after all the police and crime scene techs left.” She could see his worry for Nicky in his white knuckles on the steering wheel, his furrowed brow, and the hard line of his jaw. “I’m surprised he didn’t come by for breakfast. He usually does. He’s got a thing for Tracy.”

  “I hope he’s all right.”

  “I don’t think he knows she’s gone, so it’s weird he hasn’t been around.”

  “Maybe not,
after you had him hauled down to the station and stuck him with a police babysitter,” she suggested.

  He grunted. “Maybe.”

  “Dev, about Tracy. Where does she come from?”

  “No idea. Why?”

  “She doesn’t have a room at the center, right?”

  “Actually, we offered her a bed in the pink room. She declined.”

  “So where does she live?”

  He shrugged. “For all I know she may be staying with Nicky.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?”

  She glanced at him. “It just seems odd.”

  Dev cocked an eyebrow. “What does?”

  “It’s probably nothing,” she said slowly. There was something…she just couldn’t put her finger on it. “But—her clothes, her hair, even her makeup…”

  “What about them?”

  “The things she wears—they look like what the other kids wear, but they’re not cheap. Her hair is too perfect. So’s her makeup.”

  “Her hair is stringy and greasy, and—she wears makeup? She’s got that goth eye thing going on, but…what are you driving at?”

  “I can’t explain it, Dev. I just don’t think she’s like the other kids you take in.” She tried to figure out how best to explain what she meant. “She spends money on those clothes. And her eyes are so dark and her hair is so blond—she either colors her hair or wears colored contacts. My money is on the contacts.”

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “You’re right. Tracy got something in her eye one day. I saw her take out a contact and put it back in. The lens was dark. Good catch, Connor.”

  “I knew it. She’s obviously got money to be able to afford those lenses and those clothes. Do you think she’s a prostitute?”

  He laughed. “I doubt it.” After a second he added, “But she could be a slummer, I guess.”

  “Like Elliott?”

  “Yeah. But I’ve never known a slummer who worked as hard as Tracy does.”

  He drove out St. Charles to Carrolton Avenue, then took a side street and stopped at a shabby apartment building.

  “Come in with me,” he said when he opened her door. “I don’t like the idea of you sitting in the car by yourself in this neighborhood.”

  …

  Dev took the worn, wooden stairs two at a time, feeling Connor keeping up behind him. At the third-floor stairwell he stopped, peering over at Nicky’s apartment door. The crime scene tape had been torn away from the frame, and the door was sitting open a crack. Ah, hell. The humming started in the back of his mind, that sense of wary expectation he got when a case was about to break—or take a really bad turn.

  Connor walked up beside him. “Stay behind me,” he told her in a low voice. He moved quietly toward the door, and heard Connor’s light steps. After examining the corridor to be sure there was no one lurking at an open door or in a dark corner, he aimed the gun at the floor. “Stay here.”

  To his surprise, she nodded. He moved cautiously toward Nicky’s door, a dark sense of foreboding blanketing him like a thundercloud. Clenching his jaw, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone and tossed it to Connor. She snagged it out of the air. “Speed dial 1,” he mouthed.

  She poised her thumb over the top left button.

  He moved to the far side of the door, leveling his weapon at the doorknob. Her eyes followed his gesture. A tiny frown appeared on her face, and her throat worked as she swallowed. Silently, she backed up two steps toward the stairwell. He sent her an approving look. She understood. An odd feeling spread through him at how well they worked together. She had good instincts. Not a bad partner.

  He glanced at her once more, gave her a silent signal, and nudged the door with the barrel of his gun. It swung inward with a squeak. He waited, balanced on the balls of his feet, ready for anything. The door creaked to a halt only partially ajar. Inside, the room looked essentially as it had last night. The drawers were still open. Biaggi’s blood had turned to brown specks on the floor.

  If he leaned in, he’d be able to see the rest of the room. Debating how best to make his entrance—a burst or a sneak—Dev stood perfectly still, listening intently. Behind him, he felt Connor’s presence. To her credit, she hadn’t moved a muscle.

  He heard nothing, which probably meant the room was empty. But he wasn’t taking any chances. He tightened his grip on his weapon and slipped through the door. The metallic smell of blood hit his nostrils before his eyes adjusted to the dimness.

  Ah, Nicky, no. His stomach churned with apprehension. He reached behind him for the light switch and flipped it, his gun balanced in his right hand, ready for anything—he thought. Blinking in the sudden light, he saw what he’d hoped, prayed, he wouldn’t see.

  Nicky lay dead in his bed, his throat slit.

  …

  Reghan waited, her finger over the button on Dev’s cell phone that would trigger speed dial 1. Dev had disappeared into the room. Her scalp itched, and everything inside her wanted to scream, “Come back!”

  For an endless moment, nothing happened. No movement, no sound. Nothing. Instinctively, she knew that was a very bad sign. She entered cautiously. The smell nearly knocked her off her feet. Her knees went weak as her stomach turned upside down. She tried not to breathe. There was no mistaking that smell.

  Blood. Blood and death.

  Dev sent her a quick glance and she saw the naked anguish in his gaze. Beyond him, lying on the single bed as if he were asleep, was Nicky. But he wasn’t asleep. His face was gray and pasty and the bedclothes were stained with blood. More blood than she’d ever seen.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered. The metallic smell burned her nostrils and caused acid bile to rise in her throat, but she pushed it all away. She had to help Dev.

  He hadn’t moved since she’d stepped into the room. She turned to him. His gaze met hers again, assaulting her with his grief and pain. She gave him a small nod. He didn’t acknowledge it, but she saw him close his eyes briefly. After a few seconds, he straightened his back, holstered his gun and crossed to the bed. His fingers were unsteady as he touched Nicky’s thin, bloody neck for a pulse. She knew it was just a formality. His shoulders bowed as he brushed his knuckles against the boy’s pale cheek.

  “I’m sorry, Nicky,” he whispered raggedly.

  Then he reached in his jacket pocket, groping blindly. She put his cell phone in his hand. Without looking at her or the phone, he called in and reported the homicide. After hanging up, he turned toward the dingy window. As much as she wanted to go to him, she knew he’d turned away because he didn’t want her seeing his private grief.

  Battling nausea, she pressed her lips together and studied Nicky, the bed, and the room. She forced herself to view it dispassionately, like a cop. As Dev would have, if he weren’t so devastated.

  The teenager lay on his back, the pillow under his head soaked in blood. His throat had been slashed. A gash that looked no more than two inches long started just to the right of his Adam’s apple, ending under his ear. Just like the other victims.

  She touched the bandage on her neck. Just like her.

  Walking around the bed, she clung to her detachment with all her strength and studied the scene before her. The sheet was draped neatly over the boy’s middle, its top turned down as on a carefully made bed. His hands were folded across his abdomen, and something was entwined in his bandaged fingers. She moved in for a closer look, careful not to touch anything. It was a rosary.

  “Dev?” She looked at Nicky’s head. His short, spiky hair had been combed. In fact, it looked damp. “Dev.”

  He turned from the window. “Don’t touch anything, Connor,” he said automatically, his voice toneless. “Why don’t you go out into the hall? You shouldn’t be in here.”

  “Dev, look.” She went around the bed and caught his arm, sliding her hand down until her fingers touched his. He clutched her hand tightly. “Come here,” she said. “Take a look at this.”

  “Wait for CSU,” he mutter
ed, making a halfhearted effort to pull away. On cue, sirens wailed in the distance.

  “No, Dev. Please, listen to me for a minute. It’s how he’s laid out—like a funeral. And he’s holding a rosary.” She felt his muscles tense beneath her touch. “See how the bedclothes are turned down? See how neat everything is?” The sirens were getting closer. “And his hair. It’s been combed.” She tugged on Dev’s hand, making him turn toward her. “Whoever killed him cared about him.”

  Dev finally roused. “They combed his hair and laid him out,” he murmured bleakly. “After they cut his damn throat.”

  “And Dev…”

  His gaze rose to hers, his sadness so profound, so obvious in his naked gaze that her heart wanted to break.

  “H-his hair is still damp,” she said.

  Hard footsteps on the stairs announced the arrival of the police. She looked up and saw Givens cautiously enter, followed by the Crime Scene Unit. Givens was pulling on exam gloves as he walked. He came over to Dev, and the two of them spoke together in low tones.

  Someone laid a hand on Reghan’s arm. She jumped.

  “Ma’am? Who are you?”

  She turned around to confront a middle-aged man in a jacket that proclaimed NOPD CSU. He frowned at her, deepening the creases in his lined face. “I—”

  “Hey, aren’t you—?” he started.

  “She’s with me,” Dev interrupted from behind her.

  At his declaration, something warm and delightful spread through her. Was it pride, that he’d acknowledged her? She suppressed a smile.

  The man glanced at Givens, who nodded his okay.

  “Come on, Connor,” Dev said, catching her arm. “We better get you out of here.”

  She resisted.

  “Don’t worry,” he said gently. “They know what they’re doing.” His grip on her arm brooked no argument. At the bottom of the stairway, she realized that Dev was no longer following her. She started toward the exit door to the street.

  Suddenly, a roar of rage split the air, and a loud crash behind her sent wood splinters flying. She ducked, throwing her arms up to protect her head. When nothing touched her, something instinctive told her she wasn’t in danger.