Grabbing his jacket, he headed toward the door, advising the unit receptionist he was going to check on a lead and would return later. His partner had taken the week off because his wife had just given birth, so Parisi was flying solo for a few days. It was just as well since his partner was a Goody Two-Shoe who would run straight to Internal Affairs if he knew who Parisi was doing business with. There was no love lost between him and his partner. As long as the guy kept his nose out of Frank’s business, the detective could tolerate him.
He drove his department-issued Crown Victoria eight or nine blocks and then turned left into the bus depot. Hurrying inside, he made a beeline to a row of lockers and pulled out the key he had for unit #702. After opening the door, he pulled out one of the throwaway cell phones he’d been given which couldn’t be traced. There was no way he could risk making this call from his department phone or his own cell phone. After powering it up, he dialed the number from memory as he shut the locker door and headed back outside.
Four rings later, the call was answered by the gruff voice belonging to Adrian Hernandez. “What?”
Parisi glanced around to make sure no one was within hearing distance as he strode across the parking lot to his vehicle. “Guess who’s been spotted in North Carolina.”
“How, when, and where?”
“Some hick cop down there ran her license in Elizabeth City. I tried to call and see if he had her detained, but I just got his voice mail.”
“Let me know what he says.”
Parisi wasn’t surprised when Hernandez hung up on him without warning as he was used to the rude manner by now. The man was the biggest drug supplier in Chicago and would pay Parisi nicely for discovering the woman’s whereabouts. He’d managed to have himself assigned to the Jensen murders to help clean up the mess Leo Simmons had caused. That two-bit loser gave his ditzy girlfriend a duffel bag stuffed with money, and a gun, which could be tied to two other murders in the city, to hold for him. What a fucking ass! Now the money and gun were missing along with his girlfriend’s sister.
Climbing back into his car, he hoped Hernandez killed Leo when this was over for all the trouble the jackass had caused. He’d be happy to do it for the drug lord. For now, though, he would head back to the station to wait for the investigator’s call.
* * *
Sean Malone hung up the phone after talking to his brother, Brian. So much for a few days off. Fuck! KC and Dan had really stepped into it this time. Opening a file on his laptop, he scanned his law enforcement associates list and found the number for a Drug Enforcement Agency contact in Chicago. He’d worked with the agent during a joint task force case a few years ago and hoped he hadn’t been transferred.
He called and after five rings, Agent John Samson answered the phone. After exchanging pleasantries, Sean gave the agent the run down on Moriah’s story and asked if Samson knew anything about the case or the drug dealer Leo Simmons. He wasn’t happy with the agent’s response.
A half an hour later, Sean was in his bedroom, packing a travel bag. He had two hours to get to the airport and through security with his weapon before his plane took off from Jacksonville, Florida to North Carolina. He’d fill his brothers in with the details when he arrived at the beach house. It looked like the Malone boys were going to ride again and rescue a damsel in distress. Yee-haw!
* * *
After two hours of waiting for the phone to ring, Frank Parisi was anxious and very tempted to head for the men’s room for a snort of the coke he kept in the hidden pocket of his sports coat. The phone rang at the same time he stood. Sitting back down, his hand covered the receiver. Taking a deep breath, he answered the call with what he hoped sounded like a bored voice. “Detective Frank Parisi.”
“Hello, Detective. This is Investigator Brian Malone from North Carolina’s SBI returning your call.”
“Yes, Investigator, thanks for calling. I received an alert that you ran the license of one of my BOLOs . . . a Moriah Jensen.” He grabbed a pad and pen to make some notes.
“Yeah, um, someone turned in a purse with that ID in it. I ran it to see if it was stolen property. I thought it was a little odd to find her bag in North Carolina when she’s from Chicago.” He paused and then added, “So this Jensen is wanted for questioning in a couple of homicides, huh?”
Shifting his eyes around the room, he kept his voice quiet enough not to be overheard by the few detectives working at their own desks or the conference table in the middle of the bullpen. “Yup. Looks like she killed her mother, sister, and the sister’s kid. Shot ’em several times each, then took off running.”
The investigator whistled softly over the phone. “Really? Fuck, that’s cold. What makes you think she did it?”
Pausing a moment, Parisi’s eyes narrowed at the other man’s fishing expedition. “Well, like the BOLO says, she’s just wanted for questioning. It’s a little suspicious she disappeared immediately after the murders.”
“Yeah, I guess that would be suspicious. I wonder what her motive was if she did do it.”
Aggravated, he leaned back in his chair. “Well, that’s something I’ll ask her when we locate her.”
Malone sighed. “I wish I could help you out, Detective. But I have her picture; I’ll pass it around the barracks and see if anyone recognizes her.”
“I’d appreciate that, Investigator Malone. If you could put that purse in your property room just in case we need it for anything that would also be great, you know, to maintain chain of custody.”
“No problem. Anything to help you big city boys.”
“Thanks.” His upper lip raised into a sneer while he tried to act as if nothing was wrong. “You have a good day and let me know if Ms. Jensen shows up anywhere in your parts.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Thanks again.” Parisi hung up and muttered, “Dumb, fucking hick.”
Within fifteen minutes, he was back in his department vehicle, dialing the same number on the throwaway phone. After this conversation, he would break the device down into pieces and dispose of them in different trash containers.
Adrian Hernandez picked up the phone on the first ring this time. “What is it?”
“I heard back from that cop in North Carolina. Says someone turned in the girl’s purse.”
“And?” The man’s irritation was clear.
“And I think he’s lying.” Parisi put the car in drive. Might as well go grab something to eat, then find a place to have a quick snort. “I could be wrong, but he seemed a little too interested in finding out what we had on her.”
“Yeah? What’s his name? I’ll send a few boys down that way to see what he knows.”
“State Investigator Brian Malone. Called from the Elizabeth City SBI office on East Main Street.”
“Got it. If this turns out to be something, you’ll have a little extra in your pay this month.” Hernandez hung up before the detective could respond.
* * *
Hanging up the phone in the quiet report room, Brian ran a hand down his face and let out a heavy sigh. He hated to lie to the detective, but until he got a better idea of how much danger KC’s girlfriend was in, he was better off fudging the truth a little. He hoped the guy hadn’t recognized he was fishing for information. Thinking back over the conversation, he realized he’d laid it on pretty thick a few times. Probably thinks I’m some dumb hick.
On his hip, his cell phone chimed when a text came through. With a quick glance at it, he was surprised to see Sean’s message saying he was going to be boarding a flight to North Carolina soon and would grab a rental car at the airport. Brian hadn’t expected his brother to drop everything and fly home to help, but that’s how the Malones were—when one was in trouble, the others came running. Sean had also left a message for a DEA agent in Chicago, and he’d fill them in later. Sighing, Brian prayed that Maura . . . Moriah . . . or whatever the hell her name is . . . was not about to screw KC over. If she wasn’t telling them the truth, they could all be i
n serious trouble.
The door to the room swung open, and one of the Field Training Officers walked in with a recent graduate of the academy. Standing, Brian gave both men a nod before heading for the door. His next stop was the District Attorney’s office where he was scheduled to have a meeting over the road rage/armed robbery incident yesterday. At least, that would keep his mind off the mess Uncle Dan had brought to the family’s door, unintentionally, of course. Damn that man and his fucking strays.
* * *
Moriah sat on her bed in silence, watching KC stalk back and forth across the room. He wasn’t just mad, he was furious. She could tell by the heat flaring in his eyes. It wasn’t from flames of passion like it had been that morning, instead, it was if his brain was about to spontaneously combust unless he calmed down. Jeez, had it only been two hours since they had made love?
Finally, he stopped pacing and stood before her with his arms crossed over his broad chest. She swallowed hard as his eyes pierced hers but she refused to look away. He had a right to be mad, and she deserved his wrath.
“So . . . do I call you Maura or Moriah?” Oh, yeah . . . he was pissed. His anger was barely leashed.
She shrugged, and her gaze wavered, then dropped to his chest. “You can call me Moriah. It doesn’t matter now. You know who I am.”
“Do I?” She flinched as he spat out the words. “Apparently, I don’t know a damn, fucking thing about you!” The volume of his voice got louder with each word. “You lied to me. You fucking lied to me from day one! And after we fucked around, you continued to lie to me!”
“I’m s-sorry,” she sobbed as she pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “I was scared. I-I didn’t know who I could trust. I was afraid of what would happen if I told you the truth.”
He recoiled like she’d slapped him in the face. “How could you . . . how could you sleep with me if you didn’t trust me?”
His voice had dropped to almost a whisper, and she didn’t know if that was better or worse than the yelling. “No! It wasn’t like that! I swear!”
His eyes narrowed until the veins at his temples bulged. “It wasn’t? Then tell me what it was like, Moriah.”
Cringing at the way he stressed her name, she wiped her eyes and nose with the back of her hand, wishing there was a box of tissues nearby. As if he’d read her mind, KC stalked into the bathroom and returned with a box and handed it to her. She pulled out several tissues and blew her nose while he waited impatiently for her answer. “A-at first, I didn’t trust you, not fully. But the more we spent time together, and the more we got to know each other, I realized you were a really nice guy. And, I swear, when we made love, I completely trusted you.”
“But not enough to tell me the fucking truth? You have a funny definition of trust.”
* * *
KC stormed out of the room and Moriah burst into tears again, burying her face into a pillow so he wouldn’t hear. But he did hear. It tore at his heart to hear her crying, but as much as he wanted to go in and comfort her, he resisted the urge. He made his way out the back door of the cottage and didn’t bother to speak to his uncle sitting on the porch. Instead, he descended the stairs and strode purposely toward the beach. Wisely, the old man didn’t try to stop him.
As soon as his feet hit the sand, he began to run. It always cleared his mind, and so he ran until exhaustion finally hit him, miles down the beach, and he collapsed onto his back in the sand, trying to catch his breath.
How could he have been so fucking stupid? He was usually discerning when it came to people lying to him. It was part of his military interrogation training. Trust the wrong person and you could easily wind up dead. But maybe, this time, he hadn’t wanted to see that Moriah wasn’t telling the truth. Why? Because he had wanted her from almost the minute he saw her, and he’d been thinking with the wrong fucking head. And then after they had sex the first time, he let wanting more skew his thinking.
Oh, fuck! KC sat up with a start. No! No! No! It couldn’t be! But it was. Damn it! Somewhere in the past week or so, he had fallen in love with her. Head-over-heels in love, you dumb fuck! The thought slammed into him with the force of a freight train. That’s why he didn’t want to see through her flimsy story, and that’s why it hurt so fucking much to find out she lied to him. Now what? Instead of the horned devil on his shoulder, this time, it was an angel dressed only in a white T-shirt, which came down to the top of her shapely legs. Now you do what you have to in order to keep her safe. Once that’s been taken care of, then you can figure out what to do next. First, save the girl . . . no . . . first save the woman you love.
C
HAPTER 17
L ong after she had cried herself dry, Moriah stood to pack the knapsack she had used on the run these past few months. She wasn’t going to take off yet, but it was obvious when this was over KC wouldn’t want anything to do with her—not that she could blame him. After all, she was just a woman he had sex with and who had lied to him. What man in his right mind would stick around? She would be on her own again, and her heart clenched at the thought.
Taking a few things from the dresser, she spun around and was startled to see KC standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb with his arms crossed. He had showered after his run and was now in his cargo shorts and a gray T-shirt. His face was no longer hard, but his lean body was still tense. How she yearned to run her hands over every one of his muscles and soothe them. But that was no longer possible. He would surely shove her away.
“Going somewhere?”
She shook her head and stepped over to the bed, putting the clothes into her bag. “Not yet.”
KC didn’t move from the doorway, but when she glanced at him, he raised his eyebrows in a silent question.
“Whether you help me or not, eventually I’ll be leaving. I’ll either be arrested or running for my life again.”
There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other. KC bit his lip and dropped his gaze to his feet. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he then exhaled with a drawn-out release as if weighing his words. “There is another possible result you didn’t mention. Maybe we’ll solve this, and you’ll be free.”
“Maybe.” She couldn’t tell him she wasn’t as optimistic as he seemed to be. Shrugging, she returned to her packing.
“You’re still leaving, though?”
“Yes. I think it’s for the best if I do.” KC’s eyes flared, but he remained silent. She grabbed a few items from the vanity and tossed them into the knapsack, unable to look at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth after we made . . . had sex.” She couldn’t use the word love. He didn’t love her and never would. Not after all this. “I was scared you wouldn’t believe me.”
“I understand.”
Shocked, she froze then turned slowly to face him. “You do?”
“Sure. I mean, what? We’ve only known each other for a week, right? I guess I would have done the same thing in your shoes.” He shrugged his shoulders as if it was nothing. For the first time since he’d found the duffel bag full of money, he appeared to relax. “Listen, I’ll help you in any way I can, as long as you are upfront with me about everything from now on.”
She nodded and twisted her hands together—he may be relaxed, however, she was far from it. “I should never have gotten you involved in this, but when you offered to help me learn how to defend myself, it seemed like a good idea.”
“It was a good idea. You can’t handle this alone, but somehow we’ll figure a way out of it.” Stepping into the room, he quietly shut the door behind him. “Look, I’m sorry I yelled at you before. You were just protecting yourself, and I shouldn’t be mad about that.”
With the door closed, the room seemed to be growing smaller as his large frame took up a lot of space. Suddenly nervous, she started to unpack and repack the bag with no rhyme or reason. “N-no, I’m sorry. I never intended to get involved with you, but after we did get involved, I-I should have told you t
he truth. It’s all my fault.”
“Look at me, Moriah,” KC whispered. She had no idea how he’d moved five feet closer without her realizing it, but when she turned, there were mere inches between them. Her eyes met his, and her knees went weak at the desire she saw there. “How about we agree that we were both wrong and call a truce?”
She licked her lips and watched the heat in his gaze increase as it followed the movement. She nodded, her voice thick and husky as she responded, “Truce.”
* * *
She obviously didn’t love him or else it wouldn’t be so easy to walk away. Well, he wasn’t about to beg her to stay. It would have to be her decision, but right now she had more to deal with than the fact that he had fallen in love with her—information he decided he should keep to himself for a little while. For now, he just wanted to hold her . . . no, that wasn’t enough.
Before she could react, KC grabbed her hips and pulled her to him, getting rid of the last few inches between them. One hand snaked around to her ass to hold her tight against his groin, and the other went to the back of her head. His mouth crushed down on hers, and although he knew he was far from being gentle, he didn’t care. Especially when she parted her lips, inviting him in. Their tongues danced around each other as her arms inched up to wrap around his neck.
Shit! He had to be crazy, but all he could think of was how much he wanted to fuck her senseless . . . to sear himself into her memory, so when this was all over, she would never leave him. Her body already belonged to him, but he wanted more than that . . . he wanted her mind, heart, and soul and wouldn’t settle for anything less.
A soft knock at the door had them jumping apart. His chest heaving, it took KC a moment to recover, and he had to clear his voice before he could speak. “What is it?”
Dan didn’t open the door. Instead, he just raised his voice. “I don’t know if anyone is hungry, but I made some grilled cheese and tomato soup for an early dinner. Brian should be back soon—he called when he left the station ten minutes ago.”
Take the Money and Run Page 12
