by Wild, Cassie
I laughed at her candor. “You’re not so bad yourself,” I told her.
I had an appointment that morning, and asked her if she wanted to stop off for breakfast before I dropped her off at the apartment. She declined, telling me that she thought her friend might feel better if she came home sooner rather than later.
“I was missing for a little while before she found me. I don’t want to give her a heart attack.”
Ten minutes later, I dropped Preslee off and went on my way.
I felt guilty for lying to her, more evidence of how far she’d gotten under my skin. I didn’t actually have an appointment exactly. Getting to know Preslee and hearing about her ordeal persuaded me to find answers. I planned on shaking answers out of the detectives in charge of her case. So far, they’d been useless. That was about to change. Preslee deserved justice. She deserved much more than that, but this was the one I could focus on right now.
Stepping into the squat, square building, I was greeted by off-white walls that blended into equally hideous tile floors. I approached the officer at the desk. A bored frown flashed across her face at my approach.
“Good morning.” I gave her my most charming and polite smile. “Could you direct me to the detectives in charge of the Preslee Keats case?”
“Preslee Keats?” she asked, not unkindly.
“Yes. The accident itself took place several months ago, in early November. I’m a friend of hers and was hoping to learn more about what the police discovered. Are there any particular detectives assigned to the case?”
She looked at her computer screen, her expression clearly saying that she had better things to do than answer my questions. “It looks like Krazelburg and Gracen were assigned. I’ll let them know you’re here to speak with them. Please have a seat.” She gestured to the ugly plastic chairs lining the far wall.
Lovely. After about twenty minutes give or take, a harried man in his early thirties came bursting through the door. He scanned the dejected faces, finally landing on mine. “You here to talk about the Keats case?” he asked.
“I am.” I stood and offered my hand. “I’m a friend of Preslee’s and am here on her behalf.” There was no sense in telling him who I really was. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I could actually explain it right now anyway.
“I’m Detective Krazelburg. My partner’s upstairs. Follow me.” He led me to a room unlike what I’d seen on crime TV shows. It was cramped and poorly lit, full of cubicles. Men and women just as frazzled as the man walking in front of me hurried back and forth, calling out to one another.
We reached a small office which I assumed he shared with the other detective. “This is my partner, Detective Gracen.” Gracen turned away from a stack of files on his desk to give me a nod. The two men couldn’t have been more different.
Krazelburg wasn’t much older than me, and was tall and lean. His rust-brown hair was trendy spiky. Gracen was a man in his late forties at best. His raven hair was streaked with silver, and he was much stockier than his partner.
Detective Gracen motioned toward an empty chair.
“I appreciate you gentlemen taking the time to speak to me,” I started. “I’m sure you have a million other cases to work on.”
Krazelburg was leaning against his desk with his arms crossed. “You’re right,” he said. “We’re way too busy to spend time talking with every amateur sleuth who decides he knows better than we do about how to investigate a case.”
I shot an eyebrow at Gracen, who rolled his eyes. “You’ll have to forgive my partner. He forgot to take his polite pills today.” He gave Krazelburg a warning look.
“What can we do for you?” Gracen asked.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Preslee Keats came out of her coma, and has no memory of the specifics of the accident. I was curious as to whether there were any new leads in the case. Any questions that have been answered. Maybe like what happened to her purse?”
Gracen’s brow furrowed. “That’s something we’ve been unable to get to the bottom of. The first responders insist that her purse was on the passenger seat of her car when they arrived at the scene, but it was never entered into evidence. It doesn’t appear in any of the photos of the accident scene either.”
I frowned. “Do you have any of those photos?”
Krazelburg leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Clearly, he was the bad cop in this scenario. “What’s it to you?”
“I’ll find them for you,” Gracen offered, shooting a dirty look at his partner. I wondered what the story was here.
“I have other things to do,” Krazelburg muttered, then stood up and left. I looked at Gracen, who just shrugged and shook his head.
“Some of these young detectives get into the business thinking it’s gonna be all Law & Order, and they’re disappointed when they find out it’s not half that exciting,” he told me as he rummaged through a metal filing cabinet.
Their filing system wasn’t giving me much confidence in them.
“Here they are.”
Gracen spread the photos out on a table. One look at the condition of Preslee’s car left me cringing, I almost had to look away, it was too painful. She’d been hit hard on the driver’s side and the metal had folded like an accordion. Bits of shattered glass lay scattered all over the road.
“Amazing she lived, right?” Gracen asked as I reviewed the images.
“Exactly what I was thinking,” I murmured.
“How is she?”
“She’s…she’s fantastic, actually,” I grinned. From the close way he took in my smile and the lowered tone of my voice, I knew he could tell the relationship was more than professional. “Her memory is gone, but everything else is there. She was studying to be a forensic scientist with the FBI. Did you know that?”
“I didn’t,” he told me. “She must be smart. Lucky girl, having people who care about her.”
He didn’t know the half of it.
His phone rang, and he excused himself to take the call, leaving me alone with Preslee’s file.
I flipped through rapidly, trying to glean as much information as possible. There was nothing at all in the file indicating potential suspects. They hadn’t even questioned anybody. There were no witnesses, and on such a deserted stretch of road there were no traffic cameras. The whole file might as well have been empty for all the progress they’d made.
This was bullshit. I couldn’t fathom that this pitiful folder was all they had. They had to have missed something.
I went back to the photos and noticed something I’d missed previously.
“There are no skid marks,” I supplied as soon as Gracen returned.
“What’s that?”
“There are no skid marks, anywhere. Doesn’t that mean the car that hit her didn’t even attempt to hit the brakes?”
Gracen’s eyes glowed, appreciation in his eyes. “Yeah, that’s exactly what it means.”
“So what do you think happened, the brakes malfunctioned or the guy didn’t see her?”
“Normally it means the person behind the wheel was unconscious or so drunk or high that they had no idea what was happening. Sometimes happens if something went wrong with the car, but considering that there was no second car found, I’m thinking that alcohol or drugs played a part.”
His words chilled my blood. Some asshole who couldn’t handle his liquor had been reckless enough to get on the road, then cowardly enough to flee the scene. Whoever it was deserved to rot in hell, and I’d do my best to put them there.
I stood and shook the detective’s hand. “Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with me, Detective. I know Preslee will appreciate it as well.”
“Any time, and I mean that.” He handed me his card. “Unlike my partner, I don’t like having an open case hanging over my head. He’s pressuring me to close it and move on, but I don’t want to leave any loose ends. Preslee deserves more than that.”
I sighed and looked back at that
photo of the ruined car. I tried to reconcile that image with the memory of the beautiful girl I’d woken up to that morning.
“I know what you mean.”
Chapter 9
Preslee
After Kris dropped me off, I spent a lot of time thinking. Ava was still asleep. I’d texted her sometime late last night, just to let her know that I hadn’t ended up in the hospital again, but we hadn’t really had a conversation or anything. That was to come, I was sure.
I fixed some coffee and sat by the window overlooking the street. It was already bustling with activity for so early on a Saturday. I didn’t really want to think about it, but I knew I couldn’t put it off. If I was going to work with Kris and his father, what happened last night couldn’t happen again. End of story. It was a lapse in judgment, nothing more.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about how it felt when he touched me. My skin tingled at the memory. I felt like I’d fall apart, the pleasure so intense I could have broken into a million pieces. I couldn’t lie to myself and say I wished it hadn’t happened. Far from it. Waking up in his arms this morning had been a revelation. I’d never felt so protected and cherished. His soft lips on my forehead and cheeks, coaxing me out of sleep, nuzzling into my hair. The gentle way he cradled my face and looked down at me with such adoration made my heart stutter.
I wouldn’t beat myself up about it, but I couldn’t let it happen again. I’d have to push it to the back of my mind when we were together. I couldn’t be thinking about the way he’d used his tongue on my nipples, or his fingers between my legs. Too bad my short-term memory was perfect. I nearly laughed at the irony.
I didn’t know how long I’d been sitting there, gazing out the window, when my cell rang. Speak of the devil.
“Hey there,” Kris said warmly.
I closed my eyes. I loved the sound of his voice. Stop it, I reprimanded myself. I just finished telling myself that nothing could happen between us and here I was, getting all weak-kneed and swoony.
“Hello?” he asked.
I suddenly realized that I hadn’t answered him.
“Hi, sorry,” I said. “What’s up?”
“I wondered if we could get together for lunch later. I have some information I think you’ll want to hear,” he said. “Can you get a cab? I’m happy to pay.”
I wrote down the address and agreed to meet with him at one o’clock. It was already nearly eleven, so I had no choice but to risk waking Ava in order to get into the shower. I wasn’t sure I felt comfortable discussing my night with her, but I’d gotten the impression that we’d been the sort of friends who shared things like that.
When I got out of the shower, Ava was awake and eating a bowl of cereal. Her spiky hair stuck up comically, her fluffy Dr. Who pajama bottoms looking extra comfy as she tucked her legs underneath her.
“Welllll, good morning to you!” she snickered.
“Do you think I’m a total slut for sleeping with him?” I blurted, closing my eyes and wincing, waiting for the impending lecture.
“Of course not!” She pointed a spoon at me. “Good for you. I’m just glad you let me know that you were staying. I don’t know that my heart could take you disappearing on me again.”
I told her about the lunch meeting we’d set up, and she raised her eyebrows suggestively.
“Just to talk about my case,” I insisted. I could tell from the smirk she had on her face that she didn’t believe me. Then again, I wasn’t sure I believed me either.
“It can’t happen again,” I said aloud.
“Are you telling me, or yourself?” I stuck my tongue out at her. I guess she really did know me, after all.
***
Kris was waiting for me in front of a large silver camper that functioned as a diner, and my rebel heart skipped a beat when I saw him. He paid the cab driver and wrapped an arm around my waist. A nervous sort of energy radiated from him, making me even more curious about what he wanted to tell me.
“Come in,” he urged, pulling me toward the door.
I expected him to start talking right away, but he let the waitress take our drink orders first.
“I went to the police station today.” He must have seen the surprise that crossed my face. “If you want to find out the specifics, you have to go straight to the source. I knew I’d get nowhere waiting for paralegals and investigators to do the work.”
“So what did you find out?” I asked, tension knotting in my stomach.
He tapped his fingers on the tabletop, clearly irritated. “The files were pretty much empty. They’ve got almost nothing.”
I was more confused than ever. “So you had me run here only to tell me you found…nothing? I hope I’m not being billed for this,” I spat, irritated.
He’d gotten my hopes up that there had been a breakthrough, that maybe I could get some answers. I sat back in the booth and crossed my arms over my chest.
“No, Preslee, I’m not billing you for this meeting,” he told me with a little twist of his lips. “I said almost nothing. But they do have something pretty damning.”
I waited as the waitress deposited our food.
“What is it?”
He didn’t make me wait any longer. “There were no skid marks anywhere near the site. What does that tell you?”
“The driver of the other car didn’t slow down before hitting me,” I whispered. “They didn’t even try to.”
He nodded. “Smart girl. Simple deductive reasoning, but here’s what makes it even more important. The police weren’t willing to commit either way on a theory. On any theory.”
“Seems fishy,” I observed. Again, he nodded. “Did you find anything else?” I leaned forward in my seat, stopping to pop a fry in my mouth.
“One of the detectives suggested that drugs or alcohol might’ve had something to do with it since there wasn’t a second car left at the scene, but it didn’t look like he’d done anything about it. You’d think they would’ve at least had some notes from local bars.”
I frowned as something occurred to me. “What about the forensic reports?”
“What about them?” he asked.
“Forensics from my car,” I said. “From the road. There should’ve at least been paint scrapings from where the other car hit me. Speed calculations based on the damage. Any bits and pieces of metal and glass and car parts on the road should’ve been categorized to see if any came from the other car.”
Apparently, some part of my brain did remember some of the things I’d learned in the past. Even if I couldn’t remember where the information had come from.
I watched as he put everything together, all of the pieces that were starting to form a very disturbing picture in my mind. He reached out and took my hand in his, drawing circles on my palm. Clearly he didn’t want to say what I was pretty sure he was thinking too.
“Do you think they’re slacking off on the investigation because they knew who hit me?” I said it quietly.
He nodded. “I hate to say it, but I think you’re right.”
My eyes stung, but I fought the tears back. “Why would they do that? My whole life is ruined because of this person. Don’t I matter?”
“You matter to me,” Kris said softly. “I want to help you. That’s why I went to the police in the first place. This is…out of the ordinary for me. There’s something about you, Preslee. I can’t stand to see you suffer like this. Whatever you need, I’m here to help.” Though his words did little to ease the pain, I didn’t feel quite so alone, and that was enough to give me strength.
“Do you think there’s enough evidence to demand another investigation? Or should I just take the money?”
“The money?” he questioned, a brief bewildered expression crossing his features before disappearing so quickly I was sure I’d imagined it.
“Yeah, the money Quaid offered me. You know, when I was in the hospital? Is it worth holding out for more, or should I just take the hundred thousand and move on?”
Kr
is sat back in the booth and drummed his fingers on the tabletop. The skin between his eyes wrinkled adorably, and I knew he was thinking hard about what I’d said. He seemed nervous. Was there something he wasn’t telling me? Was he hiding a key piece of information because he thought I’d be upset or discouraged? Did it have something to do with this mysterious client Quaid had mentioned?
Was that client somehow connected to the person who’d hit me? If so, why would the firm have taken my case rather than just pushing me to settle? Why wouldn’t it have just been called a settlement in the first place?
The questions made my head ache.
Finally, he spoke. “What made you refuse the money the first time?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I had a weird feeling about it. I might be a little foggy still, but my instincts told me to look before I leapt. So…I’m looking.”
“Smart,” he murmured with a half-smile. “I think we should keep looking for clues before we decide whether to take the money or push forward.”
“Well, whatever we do, it has to be fast,” I told him, miserable suddenly. “I know the bills are going to start rolling in soon. That money would go a long way. I could get a car, maybe, and actually be able to get a job. Get back into school. I feel so aimless.”
“You don’t have to worry.” He squeezed my hand. “Everything is going to be just fine. Trust me.”
I wanted to. The idea of relaxing and letting somebody else take the reins on the train wreck that was my life was beyond tempting. I wished more than anything that I could.
I pulled my hand from his. I reminded myself that we had to keep this professional.
He must have picked up on my reticence. “Preslee,” he breathed, “I can’t forget that last night happened. And I can’t pretend that I don’t want to see you again.”
I flushed. So the attraction was mutual. He wasn’t just taking advantage of a confused and frightened girl last night. My eyes scanned his, searching for the deceit I’d felt seconds earlier, but all I found was raw openness. As much as I wanted to trust him, that flicker, the way he diverted his eyes when he mentioned the money held me back.
