Tactical Advantage

by Julie Miller

  But his mother, Trudy Fensom, was equally worried about him once he explained Spencer’s phone call and the need to get some eyes on the crime scene ASAP. “That poor woman. But...tonight? It’s New Year’s.”

  “Mom, I gotta go. The bad guys don’t celebrate the holidays the same way we do.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back for breakfast.”

  “Be careful, Nicky,” his grandmother, Connie, warned.

  She got a kiss, too. “Always am.”

  His dad, Clay, wrapped a sheltering arm around both women and hurried the goodbyes along so Nick could get going. “Keep an eye on the roads, son. Temps are dropping and with this snow there could be patches of black ice.”

  “I’ll watch ’em.” Nick crossed into the dining room and gently squeezed his hands over the shoulders of the silver-haired grandfather whose name he shared. “I’ll be back for a rematch with you, card shark.”

  “Everything okay?” George Madigan, a cop like Nick, who’d been on the force long enough to recently be promoted to deputy commissioner, pushed back his chair. Even though his uncle had been pushing papers at KCPD headquarters the past few years, the detective instincts were still there. “The department’s short-staffed tonight. You need backup?”

  Nick urged his uncle back to his seat. “Just some task force business to take care of,” he answered, keeping the details vague for his younger siblings while dropping enough of a hint to let George know what he was up to. “I’ve got it covered.”

  George’s steely gray eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, sir. Besides, somebody’s gotta keep an eye on this one.” He patted his grandfather’s shoulder and pointed a warning finger to his brothers and sisters sitting around the table. “You all keep him honest. He’s dealing off the bottom of the deck.”

  Nicolas Fensom snorted at his grandson’s ribbing. “I am not. Fifty years of playing poker just makes me good.”

  And then Nick realized the numbers around the table really didn’t add up. “Where’s Nell?”

  “She got a text from—”

  “Damn it, she’s seeing that boy—”

  “What boy?”

  “She’s in love, Grandpa.”

  “She’s seventeen.”

  “If she snuck out again—”

  “Easy, Dad.” Nick held up his hands to stop his father from charging through the house, and cool the collective concern in the dining room. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “She’s missed curfew more than once because of him. Taking calls at all hours—sending my texting bill through the roof. I don’t like him.”

  The same sense of alarm had already energized Nick. For one night, for family night, she couldn’t give that rebellious streak of hers a rest?

  Nadine jogged back down from a quick run upstairs. “She’s not in her bedroom. But her coat’s still here.”

  Nick nodded to George to keep his brother-in-law in check and sprinted toward the front door. “I’ll find her.”

  The blast of cold air was just what Nick needed when he stepped out onto the big wraparound porch and saw his baby sister leaning up against the fender of a souped-up Chevy Impala parked in front of the house. A young Latino man with his cap on sideways was leaning up against her with their lips locked together.

  Ah, hell. Was that a number 7 inked into the back of his neck? He’d worked gangs before being partnered with Spencer and joining the task force. But he didn’t need that kind of training to recognize the signs of trouble for his youngest sister.

  “Nell?” he shouted, taking the steps two at a time down to the front walk. His sharp voice, his bold stride or maybe the brass badge peeking out from the open front of his jacket, were motivation enough for the young Don Juan to take a step back from his sister.

  “Oh, great,” she moaned, tucking her long brown hair behind her ears. “The cops are here. Did Dad call 9-1-1?”

  “Where’s your coat?” Nick asked, ignoring the attitude. He glanced at the fluffy white flakes settling onto Nell’s blue sweater, and wished he had enough cause to do a pat-down on the black parka and baggy jeans on Romeo here. He glanced from Nell’s petulant blue eyes up to Romeo’s dark brown ones. The younger man might top him in height by a good six inches, but the parka and jeans were hanging on a wiry thin frame and Nick knew he could out-muscle the kid if he had to. “Are you going to introduce us, sis?”

  “Nicky, we didn’t do anything wrong.” Her shoulders huffed in protest when she realized he wasn’t budging. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her fingertips and hugged them beneath her arms to keep them warm. “This is my oldest brother, Nick.”

  “I’m Jordan Garza, Officer.” Good. So Romeo had seen the badge. Instead of shaking hands with Nick, though, he plunged his into the pockets of his coat and grinned. “Every girl deserves a kiss on New Year’s Eve. Especially my girl.”

  He winked at Nell. She pursed her lips and blew him an air kiss.

  When had Nick’s high-school-aged sister become such a flirt?

  Opting to slide his gloves onto his chilling fingers instead of hauling her bodily back inside, Nick tamped down on a protective surge of temper. If this had been a routine stop of strangers in the street, he’d be thinking about their safety before his own irritation with the situation. “Get in the house before you freeze, Nell. Everybody’s waiting for you.”

  “I’ve had enough party games and talking about the old days,” she protested, her words stuttering as she began to shiver. “I want to say good-night to Jordan.”

  Nick waited for the alleged boyfriend to notice the pale cast to Nell’s cheeks and the way her jaw trembled with the cold. Chivalry was dead in the ’hood, apparently. Nick shrugged out of his own jacket and draped it around Nell’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you just invite him to the party instead of sneaking out?”

  She shrugged off Nick’s coat and linked her arm through Jordan’s to snuggle up to him. She rolled her eyes up to the stern father and curious family members silhouetted at the front windows. “Like he’d be welcome here?”

  “Have Mom and Dad even met him?” The bite of winter wind pierced the double layers of sweater and long-sleeved tee Nick wore, but he kept his jacket in his hand to warm up his sister the moment she’d let him. If she came to her senses anytime soon. “So, what? You were going to take off with this guy after midnight and go to his place?”

  “There aren’t so many rules at my pad,” Garza bragged.

  “Are there any parents? Any guardian in charge?”

  “I’m the man of the house.” Jordan thumped his chest and unzipped his coat. Recognizing the movements that could signal a call for backup from other gang members, Nick dropped his jacket to rest his hand on his Glock and visually sweep the street for any signs of movement. “Easy, Officer.” Jordan’s hands were heading for the deep pockets of his jeans now. “I ain’t got no big brother buttin’ into my business.”

  “Keep your hands where I can see them, Garza.” Nick altered his stance to face the potential threat head-on. He wrapped his fingers around Nell’s arm and pulled her away from the gangbanger. “I think you’d be smart to go home now.”

  “Nicky—” She tugged against his grip.

  “You threatening me, brother?”

  “Hands, Garza.” Nick tightened his grip on his sister and pulled her behind him. “Get in your car and drive away.”

  Jordan pulled his hands from his pockets and held them up in surrender despite his defiant tone. “I’ll see her at school.”

  “Yeah, well, you won’t see her here. Not tonight. It’s too late for her to be out. Besides, this is family time.”

  “You’re leaving,” Nell argued.

  “I’m working,” Nick clarified.

  Her shoulder sagged with a dramatic sigh. “This is so embarrassing.”

  “It’s cool, babe. Relax. They ain’t comin’ between us.” Jordan reached out and Nick jerked Nell beyond his re
ach.

  “Nicky, please.”

  Relenting for one moment at the soft-voiced plea, Nick let her step forward. His eyes followed every movement as the younger man stroked a finger across Nell’s cheek.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Jordan promised.

  But Nick drew the line at letting his baby sister run into her boyfriend’s arms. “Good night, Garza.”

  “Later, brother.”

  Nick pulled his sister back from the curb as Jordan climbed in behind the wheel and revved the engine loud enough to wake any neighbors who might have turned in early. Only when the Impala was a block away and he was sure there were no other allies in cars watching after Garza or the house did Nick release his sister.

  Nell wheeled around to face him, shivering with a mix of cold and anger. “That was rude.”

  “You’re talking about him, right?”

  “Are you done humiliating me now?”

  “The kid’s got gang tats, Nell.” He scooped up his jacket off the ground and brushed away the clinging snow. This time she did let him drape it around her shoulders. “And you’re dating him?”

  “Jordan’s gang life was years ago, when he was in middle school. He’s not like that anymore.”

  “He’s still dressing and driving the part.” He rubbed his hands up and down the sleeves of his sweater, needing to find some warmth for himself.

  “You know, you don’t live here anymore.” The blue eyes that matched his own tilted up with a soft expression that had always wrapped him around her little finger. Her voice softened, too. “You don’t even know Jordan.”

  “And why is that?” He pulled the jacket collar together at her neck and switched the massaging warmth to her shoulders. “I can’t give him a chance if you don’t bring him around. Is there some reason you don’t want him to meet me?”

  “Daddy’s already freaking out about him. I don’t need you breathing down my neck, too.” Her crooked smile reminded him of when she’d been a little girl and big brother could do no wrong. “I’m seventeen now. I don’t need every moment of my life chaperoned anymore.”

  “How old is Jordan?”

  She let go with a noisy sigh. “Why should I answer? You’re just gonna go look him up on your crime-fighting computer when you get to work. That isn’t fair.”

  “Is he eighteen? If he’s of age and you two are...” Oh, man, he couldn’t think of his baby sister being with a guy yet. “If you two are serious, then he could be in some legal trouble.”

  “I never asked his age.”

  “Please tell me he at least goes to your school and doesn’t just show up afterward to pick you up.”

  The attitude was returning. “He’s a senior.”

  “Look, I don’t mean to be hard-nosed about this, but he’s not making a good first impression.”

  “How could he? You practically pulled your gun on him.”

  “He looked like he might have been armed.” Nick stepped closer. He could do the attitude thing, too. “In my job, you don’t get second chances if you let the bad guy get the drop on you. If he’s still tied to a gang, Mom and Dad are right to be concerned about this guy becoming a part of your life. I’m trying to protect you.”

  She groaned on three different pitches before swinging off his jacket and shoving it into his chest. “I don’t know if it’s worse for you to be a cop or my big brother.” Nell stormed up the stairs onto the porch. “Jordan’s a good guy. I love him. But don’t worry, I’m not sleeping with him.” Thank God for small favors. “Yet.”

  Nick swore. “Nellie Fensom!”

  But she waltzed away into the house—beyond his words, beyond his reach, beyond his understanding. Nick’s heavy breath clouded the cold air around him. When it cleared, he exchanged a look with his father. He hated leaving with his sister mad at him and his father looking as helpless as he felt about keeping the headstrong teenager safe. Nick wanted to restore the harmony of the evening they’d all shared earlier.

  But he had to leave. Spencer was counting on him to be his eyes and ears at the scene of another rape and murder. He wasn’t about to let his partner down. He wasn’t about to let the victim’s loved ones go without answers.

  But he wasn’t used to leaving his family when they needed him, either.

  Nick pulled on his jacket and zipped it against the cold as he headed for his Jeep. “One problem at a time,” he silently promised everyone who needed him tonight. “One problem at a time.”

  Chapter Two

  “What’s your problem, Hermann?” Nick Fensom’s deep-pitched voice teased her from above. “I’ve already canvassed apartments on both sides of the street, and you’re still in the same spot where I left you.”

  Annie glanced up from the alley where she was working and glared at the stocky, dark-haired detective casting a shadow over her open evidence kit and work space. The tarp tenting over their heads from one wall of the alley to the other snapped with the wind and strained against the ropes she’d tied off like full sails on a seagoing schooner. She was knee-deep in trash bags, blood spatter and blowing snow—her cold fingers shaking as she struggled to open a paper evidence bag so she could drop the beaded evening purse she’d found beneath the nearby Dumpster inside. She pulled the flashlight she held between her teeth out of her mouth to answer.

  “Well, let’s see, Detective Smart Mouth. It’s cold. It’s windy. It’s snowing. Can you piece together the clues and figure out why this is taking so long?” She could do sarcasm, too. “You got the easy gig, spending a couple of hours inside where it’s warm and dry.”

  “And crashing parties or waking up surly, annoyed building supers and frightened tenants.”

  Annie scoffed at his trials and tribulations. “It’s not my fault if you showing up ruins a party and scares little old ladies.”

  He deflected the zinger with a smug grin. “Actually, I was invited to join a couple of New Year’s celebrations. I was also asked to arrest the noisy neighbors on the floor above one apartment. And there was a nice Mrs. O’Halloran who invited me in for champagne and cookies if I was interested. I had to tell her I was still on the clock and, regrettably, turned her down.”

  Point to Fensom. Annie bristled. Her only invitation tonight had come from the lecherous drunk neighbor across the hall. “No one’s stopping you from leaving. I bet Mrs. O’Halloran’s cookies are still toasty warm if you want to go sample them.”

  “She was older than my grandmother, Hermann. You know, anybody overhearing our conversation might think you don’t like me.”

  “There’s no one listening in, so I don’t have to pretend to make nice.”

  Point to Hermann. The teasing grin vanished, and for a split second, Annie was tempted to apologize. But a man with that much self-confidence couldn’t really be offended by the quips they routinely traded each time they were forced to work together, could he? Rather than explore the possibility that there might be a sensitive human being beneath that cocky charm, Annie opted to change the topic.

  The idea that she and Nick Fensom truly were alone in the middle of this wintry night in a place where a dead body had lain only hours earlier sent a little shiver of unease down her spine. It merged with the chill that vibrated her grip, and she swung her light toward the yellow crime scene tape at the end of the alley. “Where did the two uniformed guys go?”

  “Relax, Hermann, I’ve got your back for a few minutes.” He tilted his head toward the cross street at the end of the block. “The Shamrock Bar is just around the corner. They started serving free coffee and snacks after 1:00 a.m. in case anyone’s been partying too hard tonight. I sent the officers to get four coffees and give them some time out of the cold.”

  She’d like to dive into a bath-sized pot of hot coffee right about now. Including her in the drink run was an unexpected consideration that took the edge off the defensive hackles Nick’s presence inevitably raised in her. “I suppose they’ve been out here longer than either one of us. They’ve earned the bre
ak.”

  Still, sterile plastic gloves were no match for hours of working in the wintry night, photographing potential evidence, digging through bags of garbage and cataloguing everything she’d found thus far. The bag she’d been fighting with refused to open for her stiff fingers. The knees of her jeans where she kneeled had soaked through to the skin, and the tendrils of hair sticking out from beneath her stocking cap had kinked around her face and stuck to her cheeks with the precipitation in the air.

  Meanwhile, other than the puffs of warm breath that clouded the air around his head, Detective Fensom looked solid and warm and vexingly unaffected by the dropping temperature.

  As if reading her condemning thoughts, Nick turned the banter back to the job. The beam of his flashlight joined hers to better illuminate her work. “What do you have there?”

  “I found the victim’s purse.” Giving up on the paper sack for now, Annie lifted the camera hanging from her neck and snapped a picture of the beaded evening bag wedged between the rear wheel of the Dumpster and the alley’s brick wall. Then she picked up the bag and opened it. “Clearly, this wasn’t a robbery.” She pulled out three neatly folded twenties and a credit card. A driver’s license, five business cards, a comb and lipstick rounded out the contents. Annie read the name on the license and business cards. “Rachel Dunbar. Twenty-seven years old. She was an investment analyst.”

  “A successful professional woman. That fits the victim profile of the women the Rose Red Rapist targets.”

  Annie returned the contents to the purse and picked up the evidence bag again. Juggling the purse, the bag and her flashlight with her frozen hands proved to be a challenge, but it didn’t stop her mind from speculating. “Why is there no phone here? I wonder if she had a cell phone in her coat or if the killer took it from her. I can’t imagine a woman going out at night on her own without a cell.”