O’Rourke carved as imposing a figure on TV as he did in real life. His eyes matched the stormy skies behind his head. With a forbidding jawline and those scowling lips it’s a wonder she’d been able to link two words together. The camera stayed on him when she hurried off and Julie shivered under the intensity of his gaze.
Uncomfortable, she reached over and snagged the remote, turning off the TV.
“What was that about?”
Great. The first genuine sign of interest Dustin had shown her in months and she couldn’t share the news.
She leaned over and rumpled his hair, as tow-headed as his father’s. “Oh, you know, work. What should we have for dinner?”
He stared at her for a long moment, hurt flashing like bursts of lightning in his eyes, then he grabbed his workbook and opened it up, effectively blocking her out. “I’m not hungry. I gotta get this done, so…”
Nice. Shot down by an eight-year-old.
Connor spent the rest of the morning poring over cold case files, hoping something would jump out at him and give them a place to start. Many of the missing women left their homes in hope of a better existence and instead found themselves living on the streets. Some had drifted into alcohol and drug abuse, while others were taken in by men who offered them the good life in return for a few favors.
The ‘Johns’ had mob connections and could ship the girls from one end of the country to the other, some even ending up Stateside or farther. Added to these complications was the delicate matter of dealing with international law. The FBI preferred to handle things their way and only shared information on a case by case basis. Understandable, but not helpful in this instance.
They were all after the same thing. To catch a murderer.
“How’s the case coming?”
Connor glanced away from the computer and blinked the room back into focus. His partner, Matthew Roy, slouched on the corner of his desk, a donut in one hand, Styrofoam cup of coffee in the other.
He waved the donut at the screen before taking a bite. “I heard it was a bad one.”
Connor grimaced and wiped the trail of crumbs into the trash can. “Yeah, it was. Where the hell were you?”
Matt had the grace to look uncomfortable. “My bad. I had a hot date last night. Things got carried away and I forgot to charge my phone.” He stood and walked three feet and dropped into a swivel chair, leaning back and crossing his scuffed boots on the edge of his desk. Shoving the rest of the donut in his yap he reached out for the file. “Let me do a quick catch up and I’ll be ready to go.”
Connor bit back a sharp retort and handed over the paperwork, frowning over his partner’s dark head as he bent to read. Matthew was a good man and a great partner to have watching your six, but when it came to the monotony of investigation and hours of research he bombed. The guy was hard-wired to operate at one hundred miles an hour; he didn’t do slow. Why he had taken up detective work, which constituted eighty percent analysis and very little on the actual chase, O’Rourke didn’t know.
“I’m going to take a trip to see our witness. You coming?” He chose not to evaluate his relief when Matt shook his head.
“If you don’t need me I’ll hang out here and get this done.” He set his cup on the desk and sloshed. Ignoring the mess, he grabbed a pen and paper and wrote a few notes, his attention on the case. Now.
Connor brushed aside the snide thought and grabbed a paper towel, setting it under the cup. Already a coffee ring had formed, adding to the collection.
He hesitated, then shut down his computer and started for the door. “Let me know what you find.” Fresh eyes might help. He was willing to take whatever he could get at this point.
The entire trip across town was spent convincing himself it was necessary to the case that he question the witness further. It had nothing at all to do with a willowy body or golden hair. He was curious about the silver streak he’d noticed earlier. Was it a dye job? And if so, why gray? In his experience women tried to make themselves look as though they drank from the fountain of youth, not the pond of wisdom.
There was a lot about Julie Crenshaw that interested him.
He found the street and drove slowly, searching for the right house number. A few kids had just finished a ball game and were straggling home, reluctant to end their fun. He remembered those days. He’d lived for baseball, even made it to college on a scholarship. But a torn ACL put an end to those dreams. He’d traded sports for police work, following in his father’s footsteps to his family’s dismay. “One cop in the O’Rourke clan is more than enough,” his mother had cried. His dad, on the other hand, had strutted around for days like a rooster with his chest stuck out.
The house came up on his left. A nice little bungalow, white with a brightly painted red door. Good luck, if you believed that Feng Shui stuff.
He stopped behind her Civic parked in the drive, and took a moment to give himself a talking to. He was there to get information, not to ask the woman out, so quit with the sweating already. He blew out a deep breath and swung the car door open, narrowly missing the kid on the sidewalk.
“You parked on the wrong side of the street,” the boy accused. He had a splattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and hazel eyes. He’d used his jacket to make a cape, the sleeves tied around his neck, sandy hair tousled from play. He couldn’t be more than six or seven going by his midget size.
“Yeah, sorry,” Connor said, climbing out and towering over the would-be superhero. “This your house?”
The kid backed up a few steps and glanced nervously at his house, then at the lights on the patrol car, before lowering his chin and shooting him a worried look. “We didn’t do nothin’ wrong. You leave my brother alone.”
The kid took off for his house before Connor could get a word in edgeways. He stared, bemused, as the boy ran up the stairs and slammed that bright red door behind him like a giant exclamation mark.
Guess he just got told.
A moment later the door opened and Julie—Mrs. Crenshaw—stepped out onto the landing, her expression matching the defiant one of her son’s. He’d read up on their history before making the trip over. Husband killed a little over a year ago in a vehicle collision with bad boy movie stars, Lucas Carmichael and Scott Anderson. Carmichael and Anderson’s sister never made it. And neither did the Crenshaw’s unborn child. It was no wonder the remaining family carried a gravel pit worth of attitude on their shoulders.
“What are you doing here, detective?” She glided down the stairs and met him at the gate. It bothered him more than he liked to see the lines of stress between her brows. His fingers itched to massage them away. His lips ached to soothe her pain. He was so screwed.
He cleared his throat. “I have a few more questions about this morning.” No need to come across pushy, O’Rourke. “If you have a minute?”
She sighed and nodded, sliding a stray hair behind her ear. He noticed she had a double piercing and wore delicate gold hoops. Wonder if she had any other piercings? His zipper jumped and he cursed under his breath.
“Pardon me?” She frowned and shifted back a step.
Smart girl.
“I just remembered I forgot to bring some papers for you to sign.” He made up on the spur of the moment. “Your account of the crime scene. That’s okay for now, you can stop by the department in a day or two to sign.” Way to go, dumb-ass. Now she’d think he was nuts. Which he was, for coming here like this.
He pulled his notebook out of his pocket and opened to a new page, determined to get back to the case. “Can you tell me again when you first noticed the evidence?”
Julie gazed off down the street, the setting sun caught in her hair. “When we moved here I started a morning routine of running at the beach before work.” She met his gaze, her eyes filled with remembered horror. “I saw something and thought a family might have left a jacket or whatever, behind. It happens quite often. Then I saw the shoe and realized there was a severed foot inside.” She shi
vered. “I called 911 right away.”
He looked at her, skeptical. “Not your news team?”
She threw her head back like a spirited thoroughbred. “No, detective. I did not call my team. They must have heard it through the grapevine, it wasn’t from me.”
She turned and strode toward her house, stopping on the bottom stair beside a clay bowl filled with pink flowers. “Is that all? I have dinner to make for my sons.”
O’Rourke closed the notepad and tapped it in his other hand. “Yes, ma’am, that’s it for now. Have a nice evening.”
She hesitated over a sharp nod, then climbed the remaining stairs and gently closed the red door behind her lithe body.
Some luck.
Chapter Six
There she was, right on time.
He lowered the binoculars and slid his ball cap over his eyes, slouching in the cab of the truck. She wore red today, like the whore she was. The running pants were so tight he could see the outline of the thong she wore beneath. Her shirt was one of those cap sleeve affairs, with a deep v-neckline cut so that her tits were in danger of falling out as she jogged. Her hair was long and blond, just the way he liked it, brushed back from her face in a high ponytail that swished side-to-side with each step. He clenched his hand on his lap, imagining the silky strands wrapped like rope around his closed fist.
He’d noticed her a couple of weeks ago, but he’d been a might busy with his… guest at the time and couldn’t do anything about it.
But he could now.
She was closer, running straight for him, white cords dangling from her ears, legs pumping, chest thrust forward, shoulders back. His pulse leaped in anticipation, his dick hardening in an instant. Yes, she’d do just fine.
She jogged past without even noticing him.
It pissed him off. She deserved the lesson he was going to teach her. How many times did he have to tell her…?
He shook his head, coming back to the present with a jolt. He sat up and looked through his side mirror—damn, she was already a block away. She’d been lucky this time; we’ll see how long that lasts.
He watched her sweet ass until it disappeared from sight, then started the truck and listened to that diesel rattle before shifting into low and idling down the street in a puff of black smoke.
Julie pulled the earplugs out and glanced both ways before crossing the street at the intersection and starting the last sprint for home. She liked these early morning jogs after she got the kids off to school and tried to manage it a couple times a week. The fresh air cleared her head and let her get into the right mindset for her job. Without Taylor and the rest of the crew, she didn’t know how she could have survived. They gave her a reason to get up in the morning. A way to overcome the detritus of her thoughts and focus on the lives that mattered most—her boys.
Mike hated the fact that she had to work to help out with the bills. She’d argued until she was blue in the face that she didn’t mind, actually enjoyed her job, but he’d never seen it that way. His job as an electrician paid well, but with two young children, a mortgage, and a less-than-new van always in need of repair, money floated out the door. She’d started out as a researcher for the news station, but when the opportunity to train as a reporter came, she grabbed it—and thrived. She loved the adrenaline rush whenever a new story broke and it was all hands on deck. Or when they did meaningful posts that made a difference in someone’s life—it felt good. Satisfying.
Even when she’d found out she was pregnant with their daughter—she closed her eyes and breathed through the pain—she’d planned to work for as long as they would let her. She’d been five months along when her nice, safe world collapsed. When she came to, her baby was gone and her husband lay crushed behind a crumbled steering wheel.
When she got home, she did a couple of stretches to loosen up after the run, then wandered into the kitchen in search of a cool drink, then headed for the shower. Time to get ready for work.
Arriving at the station a short time later, Julie was amazed all over again at the beautiful city she got to call home—even if it was temporary. A stately line of flowering cherry trees lined both sides of the street in a stunning canopy of pink highlighted by Washington’s towering Cascade mountains in the distance. It was one of those perfect spring days that brought a smile to everyone’s lips. The skies were a cerulean blue and a warm breeze with just a hint of ocean brine carried the tune of birds singing and people strolling. Hard to imagine just over a week ago she’d stumbled across a possible murder.
The dark corridor and coolness from the air conditioning system was oppressive after the sunshine. Julie shivered and hurried down the employee entrance, relieved when she reached the security door at the other end. She pushed the steel bar and slid into another world. One filled with chaotic order. The room, long and narrow with twenty foot ceilings and track lighting, was the hub for the VIBS broadcasting station. Line producers and editors called back and forth across the vast space while journalists and reporters filled the desks with a scramble of notes and computer printouts that would somehow develop into comprehensive reports in time for the six o’clock news.
It was crazy and exciting and she loved it.
“About time, Crenshaw. You on holidays or what?” Ron Henderson leaned back in his swivel chair, hands behind his head, hair rumpled, and tie askew.
Heat flared and she cursed her fair skin. Ron looked as though he’d pulled an all-nighter which led her to wonder what she’d missed. Not that she’d let him know that.
“Just because you don’t have a life, Ron, doesn’t mean the rest of us need to live and breathe the news.” She ignored the inquisitive looks from nearby and strode to her desk, glancing with dismay at the pile of messages stacked near the phone.
Henderson’s chair creaked as he sat up and stretched some admittedly nice looking muscles and brought her attention back to him.
“What’s going on, Ron?” Curiosity won out. Julie set her bag down and picked up the memos. The first three were from Detective O’Rourke requesting her to call as soon as possible. Under that was a note from Taylor in bold letters, ‘Don’t Talk to Anyone.’
What the hell?
“You didn’t hear?” Henderson’s mouth formed a grim line. He leaned forward and turned his computer and the headline leaped out at her.
ABC Murderer Strikes Again.
Chapter Seven
Lucas leaned against a brick wall and tried to stay out of the way. Just because no one could see him, didn’t mean they couldn’t feel him. He’d found out the hard way when a woman stumbled through him the other day. Talk about weird. He’d seen her coming at the last minute and hadn’t been able to avoid the collision. She’d pushed right through his body and stretched his skin like a balloon—then pop, she was free.
The experience shook her and freaked him out.
She’d turned seven shades of green and looked ready to hurl, while he patted himself down to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be.
After that he learned. Humans and angels don’t mix.
And speaking of ghosts… Mike’s wife seemed pale. She’d been trading insults with the jock at the next desk when he’d said something obviously upsetting.
Lucas straightened, ready to kick the guy’s ass. She’d survived everything fate had thrown at her; she didn’t need some jackass making offensive remarks. Never mind the fact fate had a name and it was Lucas.
She raised a trembling hand to her lips, and let the notes in her other hand flutter to the ground unnoticed. What was going on?
He skirted the nearby desks and sidestepped a couple of reporters in a hurry to get somewhere. When he got closer Lucas noticed the desktop computer pointed in Julie’s direction. He read the headline. Who names a killer the ABC Murderer? Was he an escapee from Sesame Street out to do in the Alphabet Gang? But one glance at the shocked and stony faces in front of him and he knew this was serious.
Shit.
What was Mike
’s wife doing caught up in the middle of a murder investigation? How was this going to help him find Natalya? If Julie got hurt, he might never get another chance to bring the other angel out of hiding.
On the other hand, maybe he could use this somehow to draw the bastard out.
Julie sank into her chair, shrinking before his eyes. “When? What happened?” She closed her eyes and inhaled, then slowly let it out and sat up, reaching for a pen and paper. “Give me the details. This is my story.”
Lucas had to give her credit; the chick had balls.
The other dude, Ron Henderson his plaque read, let out a snort and shook his head, turning the computer so she couldn’t see it anymore. “I don’t think so. This is the biggest case this city has seen. You’re not taking all the creds.”
“Don’t be a jackass, Ron. We’re on the same side.” Julie leaned over and picked up the pieces of paper spread out around her chair like confetti. “All I meant was I already have an in with the detective on the investigation. See?” She held out a lime green post-it with O’Rourke scrawled out in a bold black slash.
Interest flared in the other man’s eyes. He held his hand out. “C’mon, Crenshaw. This isn’t a good time to try and prove something. You have two guppies who need their momma.”
She laughed. “Guppies? You can say it, Ron—children. It’s not a disease, you know.”
He frowned, not impressed with her humor. “Whatever. Just let the big boys do their job. You can report on High Tea at the Empress, or something.”
Julie stood and managed to stare down her nose at the still seated Henderson, even though he was damn near her height. “I’m going down to the police station for my meeting with the detective. Let me know when you manage to dig that stick out of your ass. We can compare notes and maybe help catch a killer before he finds the next victim.”
The Beast Within: Mended Souls #2 Page 3
