by D. C. Stone
Oh, shit, word got out? Neither the police nor the FBI had released anything. He’d made sure of it. The only way the town could know is through the victims, the increase in police activity, and deriving a conclusion. Shit.
He keyed in the mechanical code and entered. As the door closed behind him, noise from the crowd cut off as if a needle wiped from a record, abrupt and unnatural. He looked up and found six pairs of eyes staring at him. Agent Echols, the chief, Charlie, Pete, Dwayne, and a dark-haired man he didn’t know. All lifted their brows in almost a practiced unison.
This day kept getting weirder. A beat of time passed in silence before the group turned back to Charlie.
“There hasn’t been anything else that’s come up from this latest attack, Chief.” Her sultry voice rolled through the air. The tendrils reached him and desire pitched low in his gut like a warm ball of need. He fought his body’s reaction. Damn the woman.
The chief nodded, and Trent walked up an aisle, desks lining each side, the room illuminated by natural light from the windows above. Charlie stepped away from a rolling white board and turned it abruptly around. He frowned. Pictures, fresh ones, from the quick glimpse he’d gotten, littered the surface. What in the hell was going on now? She intercepted him halfway across the room.
“I need to speak with you, Agent Rossi.”
“Agent Rossi? Huh, so we’re back to that again?”
She either didn’t hear him or ignored him and walked away, heading down the hall toward rooms in the back of the detective’s area.
He glanced over at the chief and Echols. Woolsey talked in a low tone, head bent toward the senior agent. Echols had his eyes on Trent. He shrugged at Trent’s questioning look and gave a short nod at Charlie, then returned his attention to the man in charge.
Willing himself to wake up, he scrubbed a hand along his face. He was missing something, almost as if he was about to make one hell of a mistake and there was no stopping it. But with the problems back home, the ones dealing with a very frail, old woman, he was going in two very different directions at once.
He felt out of control. As if a bull was set on a rampage, tearing through the streets of Barcelona, and he was the red flag waving in the middle of the center.
He turned to her and tried to find a hint of what was going on. Trained in the art of interrogation, through numerous body language classes taught by the best, and holding an ability to read someone, he should have been able to spot something. Instead, she stood impassive, unreadable, made of granite, just several feet away from him. It felt like miles. He gritted his teeth and lifted his hands, one still holding the coffee cup, then motioned ahead. “Lead the way, Detective.” What in the fuck was going on?
She turned when the desks ended and proceeded along the wall where the chief and Captain’s offices sat, heading toward the interview rooms. He trailed along like a puppy waiting for a bone.
Charlie stepped into a small room. He followed. White, bare walls lined four sides and a metal table with two chairs sat in the middle. To his right was one-way glass, and above, a camera with a sign advising of recording in process. He sighed, sat the cup on the table, and hooked his foot around a chair, pulled it out, then sat.
“What’s going on, Charlie?”
She shut the door and without saying a word walked over to the camera and reached behind. An audible click sounded before she spun around. Her wary eyes studied him, alert and cautious.
He frowned and stared back. She stood unmoving, still refusing to give anything away. Impatience swirled in his gut, unease skittered through his veins, and just as he felt he would explode, she spoke. Finally.
“Where,” she started, pronouncing each word with care, “were you last night, Agent Rossi?”
His heart thumped against his chest once, a painful thud threatening to break his ribs. He tightened a fist on the table, and she glanced at his hand, then brought those eyes that saw too much back to his face. Questioning.
“What I do on my off-duty time, Detective, is no one’s business but my own. Now, can you explain to me why we’re wasting time here, instead of figuring out why we have an entryway full of pissed off citizens. What’s going on?”
She leaned against the door, crossed her arms, and glared down the length of her nose. The lamp above seared into his neck, heat soaking in his skin. He wouldn’t do this, open up under this kind of pressure. His mother and her health weren’t important to this case, and he sure as hell didn’t appreciate being bullied into giving up his private life. No matter if the woman questioning him tied him up in knots.
“I tried to call you. A dozen times. At almost as many scenes.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, but held an underlying sense of…was it anger?
Okay, he could get how she’d be pissed about not answering his phone. His mother was the same way. He sat back, set a foot up to his knee, and ran through his evening last night. His phone had been off, so he had no clue she called.
“You didn’t leave any messages.”
A muscle in her jaw pulsed. “I called you.”
“I was busy.”
“Where?”
“Nice try. Isn’t fucking happening until you tell me what the hell is going on.” He pushed to his feet, and laid his knuckles on the table, leaning over. “Stop fucking with me and just say it, Detective.” He gritted out the last word, a dirty taste in his mouth.
“There was another attack last night.”
His throat tightened with emotion. He forced down the anger building. “Where?”
She didn’t move. “Down the street, only three blocks from this precinct. Seems as though either our guy is getting brave, or he’s stupid. I’m counting on the latter.”
Straightening, he picked up the cup, and took a swig. He almost gagged at how cool the liquid had turned in the brief time they’d been talking. Or was this an interview? He hated cold coffee, but with the icy demeanor Charlie threw off, it seemed to fit. The pseudo-interrogation and her lack of detail in explaining the night prior stuck in his mind. “Give me more. You can’t expect me to read your mind.” The look on her face, the sense of foreboding…He knew what she would say before it left her mouth, and braced.
“She was raped.”
He closed his eyes, tried to rein emotions in. He caused this, needed to fix it. But, how? How would he dig himself out of this hole and make everything better? He focused on Charlie. Hair gathered in a ponytail, long tresses hanging loose over one shoulder, the tips brushed across the swell of her breast. Holy hell, she was a remarkable sight.
Good God, why the hell did he react to her like this?
And why, asshole, are you not paying attention to what’s going on here?
“We knew it was bound to happen. I’m only sorry I wasn’t here for you. I’ll try to be next time.” He went to move to the door, but she slid in front of him. Trent popped a brow.
“So you admit there’s going to be a next time?”
Enough. “What the fuck? Have we caught the asshole yet? No. So yes, I’m suspecting there’s going to be a next time, unless this jerk-off suddenly sprouts a conscience, decides to be citizen of the month, and turns his ass in. Somehow though, based off what I know of the guy, I don’t think we’ll be celebrating an arrest any time soon.”
“What has you so convinced, Rossi?” Her hazel eyes stormed like a hurricane moving through the Bahamas. She held his gaze, and his patience snapped.
“Enough!” He was so fucking tired, confused, and needed to get the hell out of here. “Get out of my way, Charlie, before I move you myself.”
The air charged, cracked between them, waiting to see who’d move first. He ground his teeth, and after a heavy pause, she stepped aside. He grabbed the knob and yanked the door open. The metal slammed against the wall with a loud clang, the plaster on the other side shaking, pictures rattling. He stormed down the hall, refused to focus on anything other than the exit sign ahead. Trapped, exhausted, and needing air, he had to get away from the
accusation sitting in her eyes. Things were out of his control, accidents he couldn’t prevent. However, telling her about his history and the kind of man he was just wasn’t an option.
“Agent Rossi.” Echols’ voice rose from behind.
Trent lifted a hand, cutting him off. “I’ll be back later.”
He slammed against the emergency exit handle and stepped out, strode through the crowded waiting room, pushed his way out the front. Sunlight and fresh air greeted him with a punch, and he drew in a sharp breath. Closing his eyes, he tipped his face, forced his breathing to slow, and let the heat from the rays saturate his skin. He swayed and gripped the rail.
Down the street, a child laughed, even farther, a dog barked. Cars passed in front of the station, and people grazed along the sidewalk. Life continued on, like nothing was wrong. His seemed to be spinning out of control, as if he was on a merry-go-round and could not get off, and here, in this small town, things gave the impression of peace.
It was anything but peaceful. He knew that all too well.
****
“What in the hell just happened?”
Charlie flinched at the chief’s question and his angry, red face.
She sighed. “I take it he didn’t appreciate some questions I asked.”
He stared at her, didn’t say anything, but his color switched from tomato to scarlet in five seconds.
“Shit—”
“Save it. Go fix whatever the hell you did. And you had better fix it right. The last goddamn thing I need to top off a serial asshole on the loose is an Agent pissed off at the police department. The very one he’s supposed to be helping. Go fix this. It. Him.”
She nodded, wanting to kick her own—and said agent’s—ass. “I’m going to head out, try to track him down.” She had already made up her mind about that, but for reasons unlike what Woolsey suggested. Trent was holding something back. She could feel it and her instincts screamed at her not to let it go.
“You’re damn right, I’m right.”
“Oh, Christ, Uncle Ben.”
“Fix it,” he thundered.
She pushed out of the room and stepped outside. Sunglasses over her eyes, she scanned the streets. The blue cruiser Rossi and Echols brought still sat in the parking lot. She walked down the steps and around a large green shrub before she caught sight of Rossi. He walked north on Broadway, hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans, head ducked, gaze on the ground. About a mile further was the town’s center, filled with nothing but shops and restaurants. On the other side sat another residential area, along with the main stretch of I-287.
She frowned. His hotel was in the opposite direction. He said he wanted a walk, needed some space, but the heart of Nyack was anywhere but secluded. She advanced around the shrub and followed on the sidewalk, staying back so it didn’t seem conspicuous.
He passed shops as they grew closer to the middle of town, restaurants and cafes, but still, his head stayed down, and he kept going. She all but stared through him, as if it would somehow reveal what he was up to. He stepped across Main Street. She tried to figure out where he was headed, but kept coming up blank. Trent paused on the sidewalk and rubbed the back of his neck. Charlie got only a second’s notice before he pivoted and she sidestepped into the overhang of a shop. Her heart was pounding against her chest, thick in her throat.
Peeking around the corner, she caught sight of him as he twisted around and headed past the outlining shops, working his way deeper into another residential community. Her unease grew as she tried to figure out where he could be going. There was not a whole lot back here, just houses, until it ended at the highway’s line. On the other side of the highway was the Hudson River. That’s it.
She picked up her pace when he turned a corner, her heart kicking into overdrive. He circled away from the river and deeper into an area holding a saturation of families with college-age students home for the summer.
Jogging, she rounded the corner and wanted to scream. Her gaze jumped around the community, like a rock skipping over a lake. The road was empty, not a soul in sight. No one was outside talking or gardening, no mailman delivering packages, and no dogs barking. Quiet, only the sound of rushing cars from the highway, which was blocks away, filled the dead air.
One thing in particular stood out to her though. Trent. He was nowhere to be seen.
Where did he go?
****
Down the street a shadow stood beneath the tree, out of sight and slightly out of breath. Watching, waiting, his eye on the prize of one very irresistible Detective Charlise Lopez.
****
“Pick up the phone, Rossi.” Hours after her blowup with Trent, Charlie paced the hospital hallway, the click of her boots bouncing like a taunt in her head. The ring on the other end cut off, and his voicemail filled her ear.
“Damn it!” She snapped the phone shut and squeezed the plastic in frustration. Her gaze whipped up and down the hall. Several nurses entered and exited Jessica Thompson’s room. Dear God, the scene she responded to tore at her soul. Jessica’s attacker had been there for four hours and spent every moment of it humiliating her, completing acts so heinous Charlie couldn’t imagine living through them.
Now, with the clock rounding on ten a.m., she was having a hell of a time getting hold of her agent. She froze. No, not her agent, but the FBI’s. He wasn’t hers. She would do well to remember that.
Ever since yesterday, when she did her pseudo-field interview on him, he’d acted aloof, remote, and maintained his distance. She didn’t know what came over her, only that she had more questions than answers, and frustration was building. Hell, she just wanted to be sure. The worry she had for her community dug its way like sharp claws into her skin.
She did the one thing she had always done. The one thing that always got her into trouble. She acted before thinking.
He couldn’t be the one involved, right? He was a federal agent, one of the best profilers with the FBI. Surely they ran deeper checks on agents than they did on police officers. They would have had to find something.
Right?
She stomped her foot in exasperation. Who the hell was she trying to convince? Why was it so hard to answer one small question?
Opening her phone again, she leaned against the wall and pulled Trent’s number.
“He’s not available, Detective.”
A deep, rumbling voice cut through the hall, and she glanced up. Agent Echols walked toward her and grinned. Like a switch turned on, it transformed his face, changed the man from one who intimidated the hell out of her. Almost like a dark, menacing character. The smile lit his features as if he was the sun breaking over the horizon at dawn. She could not help but beam back. Really, it was irresistible.
“Who? Agent Rossi?”
He stopped beside her. He had a square jaw, deep brown eyes, and full, plump lips. Good God, did every FBI agent have to be so damn sexy? With a sharp breath, the scent of the woods and an underlying smell of cigarette smoke filled her lungs and she swayed. The firstwas a scent she remembered from childhood camping trips with her dad. Twenty miles away in Bear Mountain, yet the scent of the trees was there in the hospital, overriding the underlying tones of death and disinfectant. The aroma came from this man.
He nodded. “Trent, yeah. Something, ah, came up. He’ll have to catch up with you tomorrow.”
She arched a brow, not believing him for a moment. Her internal lie detector waved the bullshit flag. Nothing he did in particular, just a gut feeling. One that screamed.
“Oh? I hope it’s nothing too serious.”
He glanced at Jessica’s room as a doctor came out. Echols stepped toward the man and nodded at her, speaking over his shoulder. “I don’t have all the details, but I wouldn’t worry.” He refocused on the man. “Doc, how is she?”
Doctor Caulk glanced up from his board, then between Charlie and Echols before landing on her. “He assigned to the case, too?”
She opened her mouth, but Echols cut he
r off. “I’m assisting, yes. Her usual partner had something else he needed to take care of. I’ll be filling in for the time being.”
She frowned at his voice, a deep thundercloud touching her skin. A shiver went through her, and Charlie pushed it away, stepped up beside him, and pulled out a notebook. “He’s right. Please, proceed.”
Caulk took a deep breath, let it out slowly and crossed arms across his chest, tucking Jessica’s chart inside the protective shelter. “She’s suffered an extreme violation. Signs of vaginal and anal trauma are present. We’ve completed the rape kit, took some samples and are sending them for testing. She’s going to need to come in a few weeks to be tested again. In the meantime, I’m sending her home with family and a prescription for Plan B.”
She frowned, trying to keep up with her notes and process his words at the same time. Giving the patient Plan B must be a preventative against pregnancy… “So he raped her unprotected?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. No sign of semen was present during the exam. This is just a precaution.”
She cursed beneath her breath and Echols shifted beside her. “What else did you discover?”
“She has a few bruises around her neck as if he tried asphyxiation, or got carried away in his excitement. Her face also took a few hits.”
Jesus, this poor woman. “When can we see her?” she asked.
Caulk glanced at her, and his gray eyes reflected sadness evident after years of seeing the worst in people. She knew and understood.
“They’re finishing now and will give her some clothes. Once the nurse comes out, you can question her for a short period of time. I’ve given her a sedative though, so you may want to plan a follow-up later.”
“Thanks, Doc. Will do. If anything comes up, please let me know.” She passed him a business card. He shook Echols’ hand and walked away. The menacing agent pivoted and pinned her to the spot with his dark gaze. Her unease grew.
“Thoughts?”
She blew hair away from her face. “I’m sick of this bastard preying on innocent women. I’ve had it up to here—” She lifted her hand. “—with how much our hands are tied. We need to get out there, get on the streets, and get the word out to the public.”
