by R. T. Wolfe
It wasn't the kiss. She was appreciative of his respect for her privacy and she'd simply had an impulse. Her impulse hadn't planned on his reaction. The man dripped male sexuality. She should have known he wouldn't settle with a small peck on the mouth. Shivering at the remnants left on her lips, she reminded him, "I thought I told you to let me do the talking."
He looked forward, no change of expression on his chiseled face. He didn't speak of their kiss, either. Of course he didn't. He had women throwing themselves at him all the time, women much more beautiful than she was. She knew how to manipulate her own sexuality to turn a situation in her favor when the need arose. Men were predictable, the good and the bad.
She resisted the urge to run her fingers along her lips. He wasn't just a fantastic kisser; he was a blow-the-top-off-your-head kisser, but of course he would be, she reminded herself again. Smirking, she added the body of a track star—toned, hard and lanky—to her mental description.
"She was wavering," he answered easily. "I followed your lead and took advantage of the distraction."
Since he wasn't looking anyway, she let herself smile. "Don't let it happen again."
Pecking away at her tablet, she added some details as he drove and thought of how handy it was to have a driver. As her feet rested on top of Brusco's bagged computer tower, she also thought of how stupid she was for missing the fact that his car had little storage space.
"There," Duncan pointed.
"I see it." A box truck was parked inside the gated storage facility with a magnet decal on the white door. It looked like a blip on the expansive side of the truck. Northeast Security Systems.
A fresh inch of snow dusted the gravel parking lot. A single set of tire tracks led down the first row of units. Several sets of footprints started, stopped and turned up and down rows of several sizes of metal garage doors. Duncan pulled in, leaving room between his car and the van.
"No worries about spotting your unmarked and bolting," he said as he turned the key.
She checked the safety on her 9mm as she opened the door. "Unless, of course, he looks in the window of this obnoxious car that probably costs enough to build one's own storage unit and sees the tower to his home computer."
"I'm going to ask in the office first," she added as she made her way for the single glass door.
Duncan nodded once. "I'm going to look around."
"Oh no you're not. You know he's out there. We're following protocol."
"I'm not a cop. I have no protocol." He headed toward the left of the facility.
Shit. She took right.
Chapter 7
The eight-foot fence that surrounded the place was twined with ratty vines and bushes. Nickie's low-heeled boots crunched in the snow as she followed the footprints.
She heard Duncan first. "You son of a bitch!" His voice was even more intimidating when he yelled.
More than one set of footprints took off over the pebbles.
"Shit, shit, shit," she said as she took off the way she came. Rounding the corner back to where they'd started, she planned to cut off at least one of them.
Brusco was first. She gave him a little push as he ran passed her and let him land facedown. Running full-out, Duncan began to skid to a stop and then followed the momentum, jumped over him, rolled, and landed on his feet. His shoes grounded into the stones as he spun around on the gravel.
Brusco lay with torn knees and looked up at Duncan, completely ignoring her. Although her adrenaline raced, she had yet to draw her gun. He was unarmed as far as she could see.
"Why are you running, Brusco?" Duncan's cool tone and casual stance were a direct contrast to his rapid breathing. So much for Brusco's alias.
"Fuck you, asshole. Because you were chasing me."
Before she could stop him, Duncan reached down and grabbed the back of his jacket, pulling him to his feet.
"You can't touch me. That's police brutality. I'll have you—"
"I'm not a cop." Duncan growled in his face.
Sticking an arm between the steaming testosterone, she interrupted. "But I am." She pulled out her badge and maneuvered between them, with her back to Duncan.
"Detective Nickie Savage," she introduced herself. "I'd like to have a word with you." The black and white pulled up at that time. She watched Brusco go from pissed off to scared shitless.
He brushed the gravel from the butt and knees of his jeans. "Do I have a choice?"
She didn't answer, because he did, and smiled wide instead.
* * *
Duncan wasn't allowed in the interrogation room, but he was allowed behind the one-way glass. It was frustrating as hell, but he knew enough not to argue.
The detective turned on her Maryland Monticello debutant face for Brusco. Interesting choice. His reaction to the sight of Brusco sitting in the empty room at the tattered metal table surprised him. It was a mixture of thrill and hope.
His reaction to the detective was more surprising. A much more complicated mixture of rough edges, refined mannerisms and all woman distracted him—pleasantly. She set a closed file folder in front of her. It was one of those kinds with sides that looked more like a file pocket than a folder. It was packed with papers he assumed he'd already been privy to in his less-than-legal searches. From under the file folder, she slid out a small, yellow legal pad and set it to the side.
"Can I get anything for you, Mr. Brusco?"
He turned his head away and shook it slightly.
"Well, we'll get right down to it then, sir. Could you tell me what made you decide to change your name?"
"Free country."
"That it is." She swung her long locks of wheat waves behind her shoulder and smiled sweetly. For the first time, Duncan felt a bit relieved he wasn't the one in the room with her.
"Have you seen MollyAnne Melbourne?"
His eyes turned to the left. Creating a story. He must have decided against the story, because his answer was a short lie. "Nope."
"Have you been in contact with Ms. Melbourne, sir?" She rested her elbows on the table and her chin on her folded hands.
Brusco stared at her.
"When the good friend and firefighter," she started through an innocent smile, "of a convicted attempted murderer disappears the day of a professionally set, potentially fatal fire, it looks suspicious. When said friend doesn't show up for work, doesn't empty his locker, but does empty his bank accounts, leaves town, commits identity theft, and is never heard from again, judges find probable cause to grant warrants to search their apartments."
Brusco sat frozen, moving only his eyes. He didn't speak, but then again she hadn't asked a question. She was letting him stew. It was working.
"Have you seen or been in contact with MollyAnne Melbourne, Mr. Brusco? I can't help you if you sit there, Rob. Tom."
Still nothing.
She took a pronounced breath, then exhaled. Opening the folder, she took out two photos and turned them to face him. "It's not uncommon knowledge you were obsessed with Melbourne at the time she was harassing Brie Chapman. You were seen with and around her." She pushed the photos toward him. "I believe these are from a New Year Eve's party given on behalf of—" She flipped through some pages as if she didn't already know the answer to the next part. "—Brie Reed's murdered parents. Murdered by MollyAnne Melbourne. If you think you can move a few photos around in your apartment and leave no trace of her, you're wrong. We have bags of DNA evidence on route to CSI as we speak."
No there wasn't, Duncan thought. Unless sitting bagged and tagged in the trunk of his car counted as 'on route.'
She waited a painstaking amount of time. Good.
She pulled out a few more photos. Full eight-by-tens. "These are surveillance photos from around here in Liberty. My, my. It looks like she's practically saying, 'Cheese,' for the cameras." Duncan could see the photos were the surveillance pics of Melbourne in Liberty. "Did you know we have several confirmed sightings spanning the few days after her release from prison?
Right here in Liberty. You know what I think? I think MollyAnne is too smart for that, and I think you know that, too. You're being set up."
Duncan watched as his brows tucked together and swore Brusco's eyes were beginning to water. Good again.
"Do I have to stay here?" Brusco whispered.
She opened the file, began to pull out a report, then slid it back in place. She looked to him for a long time. "No, Rob. You don't. Don't leave town. We'll save the rest for next time."
* * *
With tablet in tow once again, Nickie plucked away at her report. Although still handy to have a driver, the whole damned day was gone. She would have loads to catch up on when she returned to the station. More hotline calls to screen on the Newcomer case. The Amber Alert was over a week old now. After the forty-eight hour mark, chances had dropped significantly of finding her alive. But if Nickie paid attention to statistics, she would be one by now.
Duncan jeered as he repeated what she'd said to Brusco. "Save the rest for next time?"
It was the first time she'd seen him smile, as slight as it was. But it was stunning and made her realize how very out of her league he was. No wonder blondie at the security alarm shop melted into a puddle at the sight of him.
She noticed his hair curled more around his collar after his tussle in the snow with Brusco. His skin had a slight olive tint. Was that from an L.A. suntan or was that natural?
"Yeah, it came to me. It'll keep him on his toes," she responded.
"Or send him running." The smile was gone as fast as it had come.
There was that endearing soft spot he had for his aunt. This man had layers. Certainly, she could unravel some of them without finding out about the suntan.
"No. He'll stick around for her." She could see it, the loyalty in Brusco's eyes, even when he'd learned she'd deceived him. Rob Brusco would be a hard nut to crack. She'd had harder.
"I feel better. This is going to be quick. I'm grateful you asked me along today. Even if it was to trick me."
Caught. She didn't have an excuse and shrugged instead.
Duncan reached for her hand. "It looks like we all have some secrets we'd rather keep secret."
His fingers were rough, his grip strong. What the hell was that? It felt consolatory. It felt platonic. "I can take a hint, Reed. Your secret's safe with me."
He glanced her way. "So is yours."
Her cell buzzed in her pocket.
* * *
Duncan walked silently next to the detective as she spoke into her phone. "What've we got?"
They pushed their way into one of the exclusive sections of the casino along Seneca Lake as the last of the customers were escorted out.
He heard the answering officer explain there was a partial power outage in the high rollers wing. All civilians had been evacuated from that area, and they were on hold, waiting for the detective.
He leaned closer to her as they walked, close enough he could smell the lavender. He inhaled deeply before confessing, "I need to tell you I shouldn't be here."
"I've got your back. You'll be able to cross the lines as long as you're with me."
They quickly made their way through rows of slots. "No. Actually, I'm not allowed in this casino."
She looked at him as she maneuvered in the boots as easily as if she were in sneakers. "What do you mean, 'not allowed'?"
"As in banned." He tried his best dismissive look, but it came out as smug, which it was.
In the back, large tables covered in velvet scattered the expansive area. Matching velvet-padded, dark-stained hickory chairs surrounded each, some overturned. Two long hallways led out and away from the groups of poker tables, one to the north and one to the east.
"Banned? What did you—?"
A man dressed much like the detective stepped next to her. "Ten minutes? Not bad."
"I am that good," she said to him. "I was close by, nearly to the station when I got the call. Eddy Lynx, Duncan Reed. Duncan, Eddy." She thumbed over her shoulder toward Duncan. Was she brushing him off or working to remain casual enough so he could stay? And what the hell was the look from Lynx? The man inched closer to her, edging Duncan behind them.
"Deceased is female, age undetermined. The first on call is standing guard at the door. Says he found her with one arm handcuffed to the headboard. No pulse. So, he sealed it up and called it in."
Duncan wandered down the north hallway toward the uniform standing at the door. He could see that his crisp, white shirt had a ring of sweat along the neckline. The officer couldn't be more than twenty-five. The look on his face was... familiar. Eyeing him, Duncan made sure not to get too close as he mentally readied himself for what was in the room.
He felt heat and sand even while airborne. His commander shouted orders to the other men as Duncan took point at his side in the Chinook, helping the officer watch for their designated place to land.
The detective came up behind him, took him by the elbow and pulled him to the side of the hallway. He looked down at her hand, then up to the steel gray as they stood inches from his. He blinked long as he turned his head, coming back to the present.
"I might be able to use you, Duncan."
Yep, freak.
She sighed as she looked at his reaction. "There is a girl in there that might be able to use you."
Taking a deep breath, he stepped away from her, looking at the burgundy walls and the deep, walnut chair rail and trim. He approached the room as the officer looked between the detective and him.
"Agent Sikora, this is Duncan Reed. Duncan, Agent Sikora. Duncan's with me in a consultant capacity. What've we got?" She changed her approach, once again, and molded into her setting. This was not the Maryland Monticello or the bust-your-balls Nickie Savage. This Nickie was purely cop, and he didn't like it. How could she be so removed with a young, dead woman twenty feet away?
As the officer explained, Duncan stood at the door and did a once-over of the room. This was more difficult than he'd anticipated. The woman wasn't a woman. She was a girl. Her naked body was turned on her side, facing away from the door. Yet, her petite head faced upward awkwardly, her sad eyes frozen toward the ceiling.
He shook his head clear as he heard the officer speaking to the detective. Gesturing, they stepped into the room.
He forced himself to scan the area, to do what he could. Lingerie was scattered on the floor and bed. Satin sheets and silk blankets lay crumpled at the end of the mattress. A yellowish smoke sucked under the door to the neighboring room.
"Has anyone checked the adjoining room?" He spoke up now. Loud.
The uniform spoke first. "All rooms have been—"
Duncan grabbed the detective around her waist with one arm and dove as far into the hallway as he could. He landed on top of her as everything blew.
Chapter 8
Well past midnight, Nickie stood at the door of emergency room fourteen. Only she wasn't there for herself. She'd escaped with plenty of bruises but nothing that needed immediate care. Duncan had made sure of that. She couldn't wrap her head around that now. Now, she needed to be there for the young brunette they'd found hiding in a janitor's closet.
She was... had been a foreign exchange student. Her host family lived in New Jersey and was sick with guilt from losing her while she was in their care. Nickie had little patience for misplaced guilt.
She'd promised the girl she would be with her through the rape kit, and she would. Sentiments would have it that the girl would have some time to recover from what she'd been through before the questioning would start. But that's not how it worked. The drugs she'd been likely forced to take were nearly worn off, nearly. She would at least get the questions over with before the examination so the girl could spend the time after healing.
When the nurse finished with the blood pressure, temperature and pulse check, Nickie sat gingerly on the side of her bed. The girl looked to her with knowledge. Knowledge no one should have to carry.
She spoke before she was ask
ed to. "No one to die. No one to die with Jack. Was it new girl?" The brunette shook her head like she realized Nickie wouldn't know.
Waiting to give her time, Nickie placed her warm hands around one of hers.
"Nine. Are nine girls." The girl looked at an empty wall as she spoke. "No one to die," she repeated. "Men fight. Fight because girl is dead. I hide." She closed her eyes, but the only sign of emotion was the flow of tears that dripped down the sides of her temples.
"Your parents."
The girl darted her eyes as they flooded now.
"Your parents have been worried. They will be here later today." Nickie recognized the fear the girl showed at the thought of facing her parents. After what she'd done.
"This isn't your fault. You're very young. You were tricked. They will love you." She only hoped she was right.
Rubbing the back of the girl's hand, she asked the first of her two final questions. "Would you mind rolling on your side? I'd like to see your back."
Before doing so, the girl looked at her long and hard. She rolled halfway and stopped before uttering one word. "Clean."
Gently, Nickie helped her return to her back. She placed her palm on the side of her face and whispered, "Smart girl. We're going to need you to help make a sketch composite."
The girl's brows dug deeply together.
"Um, a drawing, a picture." She gripped her fingers like she was holding a pencil and pretended to draw in the air. "Of the men, the men that did this to you. You're going to be okay, honey."
Finally, she asked what she didn't want to know. "You spoke of a new girl. Can you look at this picture for me?" She rotated the photo to face her. "Is this the new girl?"
The tears flowed freely now as the girl nodded her head. "Henderson," she croaked.
They were taking her to a, Jack Henderson?
"We'll find him." Nickie heard the crinkle of wrappers and knew the nurse with the rape kit had arrived. "I'll stay with you."
* * *
Duncan waited until well after the sun came up. He didn't know how late his aunt and uncle would sleep with Brie off work. He inched up the familiar drive as a number of scenes flashed in his mind. It was like watching clips from an HD movie. The day his uncle had moved him and Andy here as young kids from the South. The Fourth of July when Brie announced she was pregnant with twins. The party Nathan threw when Duncan returned from his stint in the Middle East.
