Dead Don't Lie

by L. R. Nicolello

  Kessler swung toward his officers.

  “I’m not sure what the hell just happened, but I expected better out of you two.” He pointed at Ryan and Evelyn before turning to Marcus.

  “Special Agent Moretti, my apologies for the theatrics. I assure you, this isn’t the norm for my typically well-behaved, professional detectives.”

  “No need, sir. From what I could ascertain, Detective Sanderson was completely out of line in his questioning. Detective O’Neil was merely protecting one of his own, which is something I highly respect in a house, sir. And, quite frankly, applaud.”

  A surprised expression flickered on Kessler’s face. He nodded. “Thank you, Agent Moretti.” He turned back to the rest of the crew. “I think it’s time for everyone to pack up.”

  Evelyn opened her mouth to argue.

  Kessler shook his head, looking spent. “Go home, Evelyn. Get some rest. I want an incident report on my desk, first thing in the morning. I wouldn’t put it past that slimy shit bag Sanderson to write up a complaint.”

  “Yes, sir.” She nodded.

  “Gentlemen, you, too,” Kessler said, then walked back to this office and closed his door.

  She’d completely lost control. How mortifying. Her face burned and her stomach clenched. Refusing to look at either Marcus or Ryan, Evelyn gathered her bag, turned and left without a word.

  * * *

  MARCUS WATCHED EVELYN storm off. The pounding in his ears subsided as his pulse stopped racing. He’d sensed something was wrong the instant he and Ryan had stepped off the elevator. But it was the sheer look of panicked pain on Evelyn’s face that had sent his blood boiling and spurred him into instant protect mode. He’d never wanted to defend another human being more intensely than in that moment.

  Marcus turned and eyed Ryan. “What was that about?”

  Ryan’s jaw tightened. “Some guys just can’t see past the angelic face. They think that just because she’s a woman, she’s ruled by emotion, not logic. It’s been something she’s battled since she landed here. And despite proving them all wrong, time and time again, they still see a fragile woman—she hates that.”

  “I can see her point. She’s a cop first. And a damn good one, at that.”

  “I know that, and the chief knows that.” Ryan pointed at him. “Even you know that. But most guys in the force can’t—or won’t—see it. Normally, she shrugs it off or fires back with dark humor—especially when it comes to that prick Sanderson. Honestly, man, I’ve never seen her react like that before.”

  Marcus shook his head. “I’m not buying that. It sounded like more than the typical ‘you’re a woman, you must be weak’ mantra. What was Sanderson talking about? That thing about her family.”

  Ryan shrugged and averted his eyes.

  Marcus slammed his hand down on a desk. “Come on. I read her file. I know they’re dead. Why do I get the feeling that there’s something more you guys aren’t sharing?”

  Ryan blew out a breath. “Look. It’s not my story to tell. It’s not in her file for a reason. I vouch for her. She can hold her own with this case. It’s not an accident that the mayor specifically requested us. And believe me, it didn’t have anything to do with my rugged charm.”

  Marcus didn’t like that answer, but knew he wouldn’t get anything else out of Ryan. He couldn’t fault him, not when he admired his sense of loyalty. The guy was a vault when it came to Evelyn. If Marcus was ever concerned about an interoffice romance between the two of them, that idea had just snuffed out. It was evident that Ryan saw Evelyn as a sister, nothing more.

  Frustrated, he scrubbed his hands over his face, then looked at the stairwell door. A frown pinched his eyebrows together. Although he hated to oppose Evelyn, he’d sided with Ryan earlier on the safe house idea. If it were up to him, Evelyn would be in it. Tonight. But at this stage in the game, he was here on a consultant basis only.

  “You going after her?” Marcus asked.

  Ryan shook his head. He grabbed his pen and the yellow pad of paper sitting on his desk, scribbled something, then tore off the top sheet and folded it in half.

  “No.” He handed Marcus the slip of paper. “You are.”

  Marcus’s eyebrows arched. “I am? You think that’s a good idea?”

  “Yes.”

  Marcus was startled by how much authority rang in Ryan’s answer. There wasn’t a hint of joking left in his voice. Ryan was dead serious.

  “What’s this?” Marcus glanced at the paper. “I know where she lives.”

  Ryan pushed his chair back onto two legs and smirked. “Yes, but do you know her favorite wine?”

  “Ah, good man.” Marcus laughed, then pocketed the note.

  Ryan got up, grabbed his jacket and walked to the elevator. He hit the down button, then called over his shoulder, “You coming?”

  Marcus followed Ryan into the elevator. The doors closed, enveloping the men in silence. An intense desire to go to Evelyn battled the regulations screaming in his head. More to the point, hadn’t she drawn that line in the sand just the previous night? You don’t mix business with pleasure. But was this really pleasure? He doubted it, not after that blowup with Sanderson. This visit was purely business, end of story. She and Ryan were his business now, his responsibility, until the case was over. Mentally cursing himself, he ran his hand over his five o’clock stubble. Who was he kidding? If he were going to check up on Ryan, the mental bullshit he’d just run through would pass. But he wasn’t. He was going to check on Evelyn. And with her, it was pleasure the moment he’d set eyes on the stunning detective. That sweet kiss he’d shared with Evelyn last night left him wanting to see that softer side of her—the side she reserved for a limited few—more than ever. He smiled as he remembered the softness of her lips.

  Business. Pleasure. Both. It didn’t really matter at this point. He was going.

  Ryan’s phone chirped as the doors opened. He flipped his phone over and looked at the caller ID.

  “It’s the wife.” Ryan grinned. “Hey, babe.”

  The two men walked out of the station together. Ryan lifted his hand in a silent goodbye and moved toward his FJ Cruiser. Marcus waved back. Digging into his pockets, he pulled out his car keys. Yes, there was something more to Evelyn Davis, and he’d every intention of finding out what that was.

  Tonight.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EVELYN FUMED ALL the way home, driving too quickly and not caring in the least. Anger and humiliation ripped through her. How dare he bring up her family in front of everyone? She pounded the steering wheel, willing herself not to cry. Oh, crap, too late. With one hand on the wheel, she dragged the back of her other hand across her eyes, gritting her teeth against the tidal wave of emotion threatening to wipe her out. She’d been promised that the circumstances of her family’s death would stay out of her file, which was the only way she’d agreed to come to Seattle.

  So how the hell had Josh Sanderson found out?

  She hadn’t felt such defeat, such vulnerability, in fifteen years. Her lip trembled.

  The case was eating at her. She knew it. Ryan knew it. And if Marcus hadn’t known, he certainly did now.

  Her stomach tightened at the thought of being in the ruggedly handsome FBI agent’s arms. She briefly felt warm and protected when he’d pulled her back from Sanderson. Last night’s excuse of professional lines not being crossed was pathetic. If she were honest, she’d have admitted to Kate that she felt his presence before her eyes found him, that she instantly surveyed any room she walked into, hoping for a glimpse of Marcus.

  When he’d kissed her last night, she knew it was pointless to argue against regulations, or whatever, any longer.

  But that was before he’d witnessed her attempt to attack a fellow officer.

  She cringed. No doubt he’d run from her complica
ted life now. She shook her head, then focused on the road in front of her, careful not to hit any of the pedestrians that paid no heed to the walk signals at the crosswalks on the busy street.

  Evelyn wanted to be home. Needed to slip into a hot lavender bath, drink a bottle of Malbec, anything to get her mind off this case—and more importantly, off Marcus.

  An hour later, she dropped the towel from her shower and stepped into a pair of black boy-cut underwear. She put on an oversize cotton T-shirt and sighed. The soft fabric hugged her. She’d just flipped her head over to dry her hair when the doorbell chimed. Who in the world? She tugged on a pair of yoga pants, tied her hair up in a messy bun and walked to the window. Pushing aside the sheer curtain, she peered outside. She dropped the curtain as if it had seared her hand and took a step away from the window.

  Marcus’s car was parked at her curb.

  Her stomach cartwheeled and tumbled. She yanked off the T-shirt and tossed it on her bed. She threw on a black bra, grabbed a black tank from her chair and put it on. Not the best outfit, but better than nothing.

  The doorbell chimed again. She took one last look at herself in the mirror, then ran down the stairs, unbolted the door and pulled it open a crack.

  “Marcus, hi.” She peered around the door at him. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight. What are you doing here?”

  He grinned down at her. Oh, crap. That wasn’t good.

  Was it?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  MARCUS WASN’T SURE what he’d expected, but it wasn’t to see her with wet hair. She’d clearly just gotten out of the shower. Even without a stitch of makeup on, she was stunning.

  “For you.” He handed Evelyn a bottle of wine. She took it, looked at the label and smiled.

  “Thanks. I undeniably need this tonight.”

  He leaned against the door frame, crossed his arms and studied her sweet face. “No doubt, after that blowup.”

  She cringed and looked away. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. From where I was standing, Sanderson was out of line.”

  She looked up and mustered a small smile, rendering him speechless. He cleared his throat and pushed off the door frame. “May I come in?”

  She hesitated, and Marcus’s heart dropped. He held his breath and waited. Open the door, Evelyn. Come on, let me in. After what felt like a million years, she nodded, opened the door wider and stepped back.

  He entered, the nervous tension returning. He heard the click of the dead bolt behind him as he surveyed her home.

  The main living space was open. Beautiful hardwood floors lined the house from the front door to the back. A fire crackled in the huge fireplace that sat in the middle of the wall to the right. It was flanked by two floor-to-ceiling windows. A large white sofa sat facing the fireplace. Two overstuffed chocolate-brown chairs sat at each arm, a white throw tossed over the back of each. An old wooden shipping trunk, acting as a coffee table, sat on a throw rug. Coastal Living magazines were piled at one end. The living room seamlessly moved into a large eat-in kitchen. Someone had poured a lot of sweat and time into remodeling this small home to make it feel so open and warm.

  He glanced at her. “You eat yet?”

  “No.” She cradled the wine to her chest.

  He walked toward the kitchen. “May I?”

  She titled her head, and her eyebrows creased.

  “Cook you dinner. We Morettis make a mean Italian meal.”

  “You want to cook me dinner?” Her voice rose in surprise. She followed him and reached for a corkscrew to open the wine.

  “Do you mind?” he asked, already rolling up his sleeves.

  “No, that sounds lovely.” She smiled, then pulled out the cork, brought the bottle closer and reached for a glass.

  “Great. Sit.”

  She sat, then poured the red liquid into two glasses. She handed one to him.

  “I’m mortified you had to see that today. It’s just this case. It’s eating at me.”

  He swirled the glass, brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply, then sipped. “You sure know your wine.”

  “Ryan?”

  Marcus laughed and nodded.

  Evelyn chuckled. “He knows me well.”

  Marcus figured Evelyn would shoulder most of the responsibility for tracking their killer. She was still a mystery—one he’d enjoyed unfolding and discovering—but he’d known from the beginning that she demanded more from herself.

  But to think she was solely responsible for capturing the killer was ludicrous.

  “You know you’re not working solo, right?”

  “Yeah, but I should have already figured this guy out. Gotten inside his mind. Something.” She shook her head and reached for her wine. “Each time I look at the profile I’ve put together, something changes, something shifts and I have to rework it. It’s maddening.”

  “Eve—”

  She jumped up. “Enough about me.”

  Marcus bit back a smile. Fair enough. Clearly talking about the case—or more importantly, her frustrations with it—was off the table. He’d go with it. For now.

  She grabbed two plates and some utensils. Once the places were set on the granite counter, she picked up her glass and pulled up a stool. “So why this case? Why Seattle, and why now?”

  Marcus glanced up from rinsing the baby spinach he’d pulled from the fridge. “Justice runs in my blood and has for generations. When duty calls, I answer. This case called. So here I am.”

  It wasn’t the full truth, but now was not the time to bring up his ulterior motive. When the mayor called in a personal favor to consult on this case, Marcus hadn’t hesitated. He wanted Evelyn on his team at the Bureau. Ryan had smelled that the first few days on the case. She, on the other hand, hadn’t said anything to him yet. She was smart. She had to know his endgame. But now things had gotten a bit...complicated.

  Turning back to the sink, he swallowed hard. Her softness more than intrigued him. So yes, he wanted her on his FBI team, needed her on his team, but he wanted the woman in front of him. And he couldn’t separate those two things, so instead he focused on the truth that’d never change—that justice ran in his blood.

  She took another sip of Malbec and studied him over the rim of her glass. “So it had nothing to do with my multiple rejections of the Bureau’s offer to join their elite team.”

  He dumped the toweled-off spinach in her white ceramic salad bowl and beamed. “Busted.”

  “I’m not leaving my team.”

  “You haven’t even heard my offer.” He grabbed a knife and chopped the almonds he’d scrounged up, threw them in the salad. Next, he sprinkled dried cranberries into the mix.

  “Marcus, I’m not leaving my team.”

  He shrugged, then grinned at her. “A guy could dream.”

  She laughed. “Fair enough. Tell me about your family.”

  A shadow passed over her face. He felt a twinge of sympathy for her. Just as quickly, though, the darkness passed, and she smiled at him.

  “I have three siblings. Two brothers and a younger sister.”

  She tipped her glass to him. “Where do you fall in the lineup?”

  “Second oldest, by forty seconds.”

  “You’re a twin. Oh, your poor mother.” She groaned. “I can’t imagine a second Marcus running around. Somehow, I can’t see the world being big enough for two of you.”

  He chuckled. “My twin and I are nothing alike, in case you’re wondering. My family is currently scattered across the country, but we try to get together as often as our schedules allow. My easygoing Italian father—”

  Evelyn’s eyes raised skeptically.

  “I know, I know. Italian and easygoing aren’t exactly two terms you normally hear together, but that
’s my dad. He’s currently working on his second retirement as a history professor and soccer coach.”

  He set the salad in front of her, grabbed the seat next to her and raised his glass. “Bon appétit.”

  Following suit, she raised hers and tipped her head. “Bon appétit.”

  “My older brother, Derek, retired from the Air Force a full bird colonel and is now at the Bureau. Cole, my younger brother and twin, well...he’d literally have to kill us if he told us what he does. But we all have our suspicions.” Marcus chuckled.

  She waved her folk in a small circle. “Go on.”

  “My mother, Charlotte, was an Air Force flight nurse.”

  Evelyn openly stared at him as she swirled her glass. “Wow. So your family bleeds red, white and blue.”

  “Always have. Always will.”

  He chewed slowly and glanced over at Evelyn. He’d never met a woman who’d so quickly gotten to him. He’d never met a woman like Evelyn, period. Not only did she match him stride for stride, but she also spoke his family’s language. He hadn’t seen that one coming.

  “You were saying about your mom?” she prompted.

  “My feisty Spanish mother met my father on a flight. He never really had a choice but to put a ring on her finger.” Marcus leaned back in his chair and beamed. “And then there’s my baby sister, Alexis.”

  “So who does she take after? Your feisty mother or your laid-back father?”

  “Oh, she puts my mother to shame in the feisty department. That one has kept us all on our toes. She’s in her last year at MIT. The agency’s been champing at the bit to get her on their dime, but school’s important.”

  “They sound lovely.”

  “They are. I’m lucky.” He put down his glass. “What about yours?”

  He watched her closely. A shadow passed across her face again. He knew he’d hit a nerve and hated the idea of bringing up anything that caused her pain. She fisted her hands in her lap. He cringed inwardly, but waited for her to speak. After the crazy showdown in the bull pen, he wanted answers. No, he deserved answers, both personally and professionally. She’d made him swear there’d be no holding cards in this investigation. And while he suspected she had her reasons for keeping her background close to the chest, he needed to know. He had to make sure that emotional outburst wouldn’t repeat itself.