by CP Smith
“Are you Miss Royse?” Reed asked me.
“I am. Are you Detective Reed?”
“The one and only. Come on back with me and we can talk at my desk. Most of the detectives are out, so it’s quiet.”
When he motioned for me to follow him, I stood up and grabbed my notebook and to-go cup of coffee from Gypsy’s I purchased on my way to the station.
“I see you like Gypsy’s too,” Reed replied as he motioned to my cup.
“Too?” I asked as dread seeped in.
“The coffee here is swill, most of the boys grab Gypsy’s on their way in,” he chuckled as my panic fled.
Reed stopped at a desk that had a twin butted up to the length of it in a mirror image. He had a picture of an older woman on his desk, and you could tell by the mischief in her eyes that she was a ball breaker. The matching desk that I assumed was his partner’s, had a picture of a beautiful dark-haired woman with two small children smiling large at the camera sitting on it. It was nice to see that both Reed and his partner were dedicated family men. Seeing their dedication to family, I immediately wanted to put Reed and his partner in my book. I envisioned them as seasoned, yet loving family men, who fought crime and kept the streets safe for everyone else, while they put their lives on the line.
“Miss Royse?” Lost in thought, I jumped at my name and looked toward Reed.
“Yes?”
“You gonna have a seat?” he replied as if he’d already asked that question.
“Oh, yes, sorry. Writer’s block,” I explained as I sat down.
“You have writer’s block?” he chuckled with confusion written on his face.
“Oh, yes, all the time. I can’t go anywhere or meet new people without turning them into characters. My writer’s block makes me block out the world and lose myself in my head.”
“Sounds like a good place to be if you’re a writer, I’d think,” he replied.
“Yes, exactly, though my family and friends find it irritating,” I laughed.
“Cross said you needed information for a new book you’re writing. What can I help you with?” Reed smiled.
He was so nice.
“I need to know basic police investigative steps. I can improvise how they handle the case within the story, say the officer doesn’t follow procedure, but I need to know what that procedure is to begin with.”
“That would depend on the case and the victim. But, standard procedure would be to take the complaint, investigate any leads, and then make arrests based on the evidence obtained during the investigation. Once an arrest has been made, we would then turn over the evidence and findings to the prosecutor.”
“It’s all very clinical, isn’t it? I don’t know why I imagined that each case would be handled based on the evidence, sort of one size doesn’t fit all scenario. But you’re saying that it’s pretty much the same no matter the case.”
“There’s nothing pretty about murder, Miss Royse. If we want the sons of bitches, pardon my French, who commit the crimes to pay then we follow the rules to the T so we can convict them.”
Pulling my pen from my binder, I jotted down what Reed had said. While I was writing, it occurred to me that it would be fascinating to see him in action, to see him interview a suspect or witness, even investigate a lead.
“Do you ever permit civilians to ride along? I’d love to see what a day in the life of a homicide detective is like.”
“Not as a general rule, but I wouldn’t be opposed to taking you,” he grinned. ”I suppose I could ask my Lieutenant. But I’ll warn you now it’s boring legwork and you’ll likely fall asleep,” he chuckled.
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind; I’m always looking for new characters for my books and getting out and meeting new people is a great way to fuel my creativity.”
“What type of books do you write?”
“Up until now I’ve always written historical romance novels. However, recently, I’ve had an idea for a contemporary romantic suspense. My biggest hurdle is that after years of writing about history, I’m finding I haven’t got a clue how romance works in this day and age,” I explained with a sigh.
“I reckon it’s the same now as it was then. Boy meets girl, they fall in love and get married.”
I wasn’t about to argue with the man since he was doing me a favor, but he was wrong. Boy meets girl, boy ignores the girl for football and leggy blondes with big boobs, and then girl kicks his ass to the curb for all of the above and consumes a carton of ice cream.
With a possible ride-along in my future, I figured I could wait to ask him more questions about a day in the life of a detective. Not wanting to overstay my welcome and push Reed’s lieutenant too far, I stood to leave.
“I’ll let you get back to work since I’m sure there are bad guys to catch,” I chuckled. “I look forward to working with you, Detective Reed, and I appreciate it more than you know for allowing me to ride with you and see you in action. Do you have a card I could have in case I need to contact you?”
Reed smiled, stood, and pulled out his card and handed it to me as I grabbed my cup of coffee. I had no doubt, looking at his smile and those bright blue eyes, that he’d been a heartbreaker in his day. Broad shoulders and thick hair coupled with those eyes, smile, and handsome face would have melted lots of women’s heart.
“I’ll ask my Lieutenant about the ride-along after he’s had a meal. The only time he's in an agreeable mood is right after he’s eaten,” Reed laughed.
“Oh, I know all about men who need food to calm their savage beasts. I have to keep my fridge stocked or my—”
“Is that so?” a voice growled from behind me, which, of course, made me jump and turn too quickly. When I turned, my hand, which held my coffee, slammed into a hard chest and erupted down the front of a shirt.
“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me,” Triple D bit out as I looked up at him in shock.
“This is getting ridiculous,” I blurted out. “Are you following me?”
“Coffee . . . that shit’ll kill ya,” Reed chuckled.
“You came to my place of business, darlin’, how the hell do you figure I’m following you?”
“I don’t know,” I argued, “but twice in a few days seems highly unlikely.”
“That’s three times in four days,” he argued as he glared at me.
“No, that’s twice in four days. I had nothing to do with your faulty cup yesterday,” I also argued as my temper ignited. I had a bad habit of turning to anger as a way to deal with conflict, and, boy, did this fall into that category.
“The hell you didn’t,” he snapped. “Word of warning, sweetheart; sunlight and spandex don’t mix.”
“Don’t you sweetheart me, you big ape, and what does that even mean, they don’t mix?” I asked miffed as he turned to leave.
“It means when a man walks down the street and gets an eyeful of ass, he’s gonna react,” he barked over his shoulder as he headed out of the room and to what I assumed was the men’s room.
“Is she Sandra Dee, Vaughn?” Reed oddly shouted at the retreating man.
“Am I who?”
Reed turned his attention back to me, but didn’t answer my question instead, he oddly asked, “What’s the name of your perfume? I’m thinkin’ my June would like it.”
“I don’t have any on.”
“Not today, you were wearin’ it on Tuesday.”
“How did you know I was wearing perfume on Tuesday?”
“My partner came back smelling like a beautiful woman after your first encounter.”
“He’s . . . he’s your partner?” I wailed.
“He has been for goin’ on six years.”
My eyes swung to his desk and the photo of the beautiful brown-haired woman with two smiling kids, and I felt ill.
“I’m sorry, I have to leave,” I replied quickly, then bit my lip before I burst into tears over the fact that my dream man was married. God, I felt like an idiot. “How did he even recognize me behind these glass
es?” I whined.
“I’m thinkin’ it was the spandex.”
I looked down at my outfit, which did consist of spandex running pants in black and another pink, zip type athletic top. Shit, I was practically dressed identical to yesterday.
“I have to go. Thank you again,” I rushed out as I turned to leave.
“I’m sure he’ll be right back,” Reed jumped in as I moved away from him.
“So? He can come back or not come back. What do I care?”
Reed’s eyes were gleaming with hilarity, no doubt because I’d mucked up his partner’s shirt again.
“You got a card with a number so I can call you about that ride-along?” he asked with a grin.
“I, um,” I sputtered, thinking I should avoid Reed since Vaughn was his partner. After thinking about it for a moment, I figured what did it really matter now. I’d been intimidated by Vaughn because I was attracted to him and I’d imagined all sorts of naughty things between the two of us. Since he's married, there was no reason to be intimidated.
“Ok, yeah, I’ll leave my card.”
I dug one out of my purse, handed it to Reed, and then decided to make a hasty retreat before Vaughn came back. As I made my way toward the exit, for some bizarre reason I had to know Vaughn’s full name. It was the final piece of information I needed about the man to build his character. A name said something about the owner, and for that reason, I had to know his. Turning back to Reed, I called out to the detective.
“Detective Reed? I, uh, I wanted to make sure I give credit in my book properly so I’ll, um, I’ll need your partner’s name for my research.”
Reed smiled as if he could read my mind, and I was glad I was hiding behind sunglasses. If he could see my eyes, he’d see the misery I felt at knowing the man I’d fantasized about was married.
“Vaughn, Detective Dallas Vaughn,” he replied with a knowing smirk.
God, that was a great name.
“Thank you,” I answered then hurried out of the office.
Of course, he’d have a beautiful wife, two beautiful kids, and a name that even sounded like a romance novel hero. “Men like that don’t exist, mom? They do, they’re just taken.”
I sighed in despair that Dallas Vaughn wasn’t available then I remembered suddenly, he’d winked at me and ogled my ass while he was married. “Shit, mom’s right. I’m spinning my wheels, looking for a fictional man that doesn’t exist.”
***
“Don’t say a word,” Dallas grumbled when he sat down at his desk.
“Now, why would I say anything?”
Dallas ignored Reed as well as his wet shirt. He hadn’t replaced his backup from the last disaster and was stuck wearing the coffee covered mess.
He was still pissed for reacting the way he had when he heard Sandra Dee say she stocked her fridge for her man. In the past four days, his mind had kept drifting to the girl-next-door when he should have been working, and when he walked in and saw her standing there, he took it as a sign to proceed. He figured, fuck it, he didn’t have time for a relationship, but he wasn’t gonna ignore the fact that everywhere he turned, there she was. If he couldn’t get her out of his mind, couldn’t stop thinking about her cupid lips and big green eyes, there was a reason. Except now, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it because he didn’t mess with another man’s woman.
“What the hell was she doing here?” Dallas finally asked out of curiosity.
“It’s the damnedest thing,” Reed chuckled. “Seems your Sandra Dee, who I’d like to point out is more of a Sandra Bullock, is one of them romance authors. She came in to discuss police procedure for a book she’s writing.”
“Jesus . . . Please tell me you don’t agree to help her,” Dallas asked with a sigh. The last thing he needed was a constant reminder of what he couldn’t have.
“Oh, I agreed all right. I’m gonna take her out with me once I get the okay from Cross. A man my age doesn’t often get the chance to spend a day conversing with an angel.”
“The hell you are,” Dallas bit out fiercely. “We don’t exactly interview law-abiding citizens. She’ll end up hurt or worse.”
Reed thought Vaughn’s outburst was telling, which made him even more determined to get the okay from Cross. “I’m not stupid, Vaughn,” Reed egged Dallas on. “I’ve got a few interviews with an eyewitness to that drive-by shooting over at Shady Park that should interest her, I think.”
Shady Park apartments were a safe haven for criminals. Officers who went there during the course of an investigation did it with eyes in the back of their heads and their hand on their gun. Vaughn knew this, of course. Reed watched as Dallas’ eyes became intense and his jaw ticked at the mention of Shady Park in his Sandra Dee’s future. Reed chuckled at Vaughn’s obvious display of irritation and decided to let him know he was joking. “Rein in your temper, for Christ sake, I’m only kidding.”
Dallas stared his partner down, then broke eye contact as he picked up his phone. “What’s her name?” Dallas asked as he punched in the code to retrieve his messages. When a business card landed on his desk, he picked it up. The card was light pink with the name Nicola Grace Royse printed across the front in fancy script. It didn’t escape his attention the card was as feminine as the owner was.
Tossing the card back to his partner, Dallas pushed images of Nicola Royse and her firm ass, full lips, and silky hair that he wanted to bury his hands in out of his mind and listened to his messages. When he got to the third, his eyes shot to his partners.
“They found a foreign hair on Stacy White-Cline’s body,” Dallas told his partner. “It’s dark-brown and our victim was blonde. They’re sending it off for DNA analysis.”
“About fuckin’ time we got a break in this case,” Reed responded.
“It’ll take months for the DNA to come back. But it’s something,” Dallas agreed.
“This guy covers his tracks like a pro; we need all the help we can get. If dating websites are where he stalks his victims, then there’s no trace of him. It’s as if he’s able to delete all traces from the sites and their lives.”
“That’s because whoever we’re dealing with is a computer expert,” a tall man, dressed in a black suit that couldn’t have spelled out FBI any clearer than if he’d had the words tattooed on his forehead, replied.
“Who are you?” Dallas bit out as he stood from his desk.
“Agent Dane Parker, FBI,” the man answered, pulling out his badge.
“Is there a reason you’re showing up unannounced and uninvited?”
“I’m on a special task force investigating The Harvest Killer. Your Shallow Grave murders pinged on our radar. I’m here to take over the investigation until we can ascertain whether we’re dealing with the same man or not.”
“The Harvest Killer hangs women on poles like a scarecrow. How the hell do you figure it’s the same killer?” Reed asked in anger.
“Serial killers are known to change their MO,” the agent replied. “Your Shallow Grave Killer leaves them in fields just like the Harvest Killer. It’s possible this is his home base and when he’s not traveling the highways, killing at harvest time, he’s quenching his thirst for the kill at home.”
“So I’m supposed to do what exactly? Hand over our investigation and play nice while you’re in town? Is that what you’re tellin’ me?” Vaughn seethed.
“It became our jurisdiction the minute it tied to our case,” Parker informed Vaughn. “I’ve already met with your lieutenant and he knows the score. He assures me you’ll cooperate fully with our investigation.”
“Right,” Vaughn growled, looking back at Cross’ office. “Tell me, Parker, the minute you figure out this case isn’t connected to yours, are you gonna hightail it out of here?”
Parker grinned at Vaughn because he knew the man already had ideas of running him out of town. “My priority is the Harvest Killer, so yeah, Vaughn, I’ll get out of your hair when I’m done. Though, we’ll assist in an advisory ca
pacity once we’ve determined the cases aren’t connected. Until then, the investigation is ours.”
Reaching across his desk, Dallas grabbed the Shallow Grave file and shoved it into Parker’s hands.
“Have at it, hotshot,” Dallas grumbled as he headed for his lieutenant’s office.
“Hey, Vaughn,” Parker called out as he watched the detective leave. When Dallas turned around, his jaw ticking as he tried reigning in his temper, Parker replied, “You’ve got something on your shirt.”
Dallas didn’t knock on his lieutenant’s door: he barged in unannounced and found the man on his phone. Cross looked up and narrowed his eyes at Dallas before he bit out, “I’ll have to call you back, baby. Apparently, Vaughn has a death wish.”
Dallas crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Cross to hang up. As soon as he ended the call, Dallas thundered, “You brought in the fuckin Feds?”
“I don’t answer to you; you’d be wise to remember that, Vaughn,” Cross barked out. “The captain and I want this bastard caught. We sent what we had two months ago and they showed up unannounced this morning, spouting off this was now their case, and that it’s tied to the fuckin’ Harvest Killer.”
“How the hell do they figure it ties into their case? Agent Parker’s explanation reeks of manipulation of the facts.”
“Captain Daley said hand it over, Vaughn, so I handed it over. That’s how it works. If our government says it ties in, then it fuckin’ ties in,” Cross growled.
“Bullshit,” Dallas snapped back. “Captain Daley hates government interference more than you do.”
“That may be, but he isn’t balking this time, so play nice with the feds, Vaughn, or look for another job,” Cross advised.
“Right,” Dallas seethed and then turned on his heels and headed for the exit. He might back off since his hands were tied, but he’d keep a close eye on Parker. Something wasn’t jiving with their bullshit explanation and Dallas hated unanswered questions.
