by Mallory Kane
He had to protect his reputation and his job.
She forced air into her lungs. “Is this D.B.?”
The voice lowered in pitch. “Who is this?” he repeated menacingly.
“I’m Christy Moser. I found this number in my sister’s phone.” Not strictly true, but simpler than trying to explain about the SIM card.
She heard a sharp intake of breath, then the phone went dead. She called back, but that time the phone went straight to a digitized female voice reciting a generic message.
“We’re sorry, but the owner of this number has not yet set up a voice mailbox. Please call again.”
What if the number was one of those pay-as-you-go phones? If the man who had answered was D.B., would he throw the phone away?
Apprehension grew in Christy’s chest. Had she just made a fatal mistake?
Had she just talked to Autumn’s killer?
Chapter Seven
After spending the night going over Ryker’s file on Autumn Moser, Reilly had planned on sleeping late. If he was up by nine o’clock, he’d have plenty of time to get to an official dress-uniform press conference at the mayor’s office.
But at a quarter to six, a call had come in for the SWAT team to respond to a situation at a convenience store. A kid had gone in to rob the store, and had ended up holding the clerk and a female customer at gunpoint. It had taken three hours to talk the kid out.
As Ace had commented afterward, they’d been lucky that time.
Reilly barely made it to the mayor’s press conference on time. He’d had no chance to change clothes prior to heading down to the police station on Royal Street to pick up the original Autumn Moser case file. Even though he’d called ahead, he’d had to wait over an hour while the file clerk found it, enduring good-natured ribbing about walking around in his dress blues.
By the time he’d made it back to the inn and discovered that Christy and her rental car were gone, it was nearly four.
He was forced to listen to Ella talk about her nephew, who’d been in trouble with the law but who was a good kid, while he waited for Christy. He nodded and smiled and made the appropriate responses at the appropriate times, all the while swearing he was going to make Christy pay for that twenty-five minutes he’d never see again.
Finally he heard a car pull into the parking lot. Through the glass panes of the front door he saw Christy. She managed to look perfectly at ease as she strode up the walk, although he did notice that the knuckles of her left hand were white where she gripped the strap of her shoulder bag.
Excusing himself from Ella with a comment about official business, he stepped out onto the porch and closed the front door behind him.
“Glad you could make it,” he said.
She looked up, then did a double take. “Wow! You’re in uniform,” she said.
“Yeah. It’s been a busy day.”
Something about how he looked or what he said bothered her. Her hand tightened even more on the straps of her shoulder bag, and she was staring somewhere in the vicinity of his uniform pocket.
“Apparently it has been for you too. Where have you been?”
She sent him an irritated glance. “I have something I need to tell you—to show you.”
Reilly heard the undertone of apprehension, maybe even fear, in her voice. “Okay,” he said, glancing back at the front door. He could see a distorted silhouette through the beveled glass. Ella. “Let’s go some place where we can talk.”
“It’s—I need to get something out of my room.”
Reilly nodded and opened the front door. “Hurry,” he said for Ella’s benefit. “We’re already late for that appointment.”
Christy shot him a questioning glance. He stared at her, willing her to understand that he didn’t want to get embroiled in another gab-fest with Ella.
Her gaze flickered and she nodded. “I know,” she responded. “I’ll hurry.” She unlocked her door, slipped inside and closed it firmly.
Reilly glanced over at Ella, who had her mouth open, about to speak.
“Official police business,” he said. “Urgent. No time to talk.”
Ella’s black eyes sparkled and her cheeks turned pink. “Oh, what’s it about?” she breathed.
“That’s classified,” he snapped officiously.
Ella pursed her lips, but her eyes still sparkled. She turned and practically ran toward the back of the house. Going to tell Guerrant that she’d been involved in official police business. Reilly blew out a breath. Anything to stop her talking.
When Christy emerged, locking her door behind her, she had that death grip on her purse and her face was pale.
He didn’t ask any questions. They got into his car and drove to his condo.
As they got on the glass elevators and he pressed the button for the eighth floor, Christy looked a little taken aback. “What is this?” she asked.
“My apartment. I figured we could talk here without anyone disturbing us.”
She nodded, but sent him a narrow glance. A suspicious glance.
Not exactly the response he normally got on the rare occasions he brought a date home with him. The address alone generally had them squirming with lust and greed. And that turned him off. Therefore, he’d be hard-pressed to remember the last time he’d invited a woman up here.
He’d bought the condo because it was easy, not because it was impressive or because he enjoyed flaunting the money he’d inherited from his grandparents. But women generally insisted on being impressed. The condo had turned into an excellent tool for measuring women’s reactions. The more impressed they were the less interested he was.
So Christy’s reaction intrigued him. He unlocked his door and entered first. He wanted to gauge her reaction when she saw where and how he lived.
Christy stepped into the living room, her gaze immediately going to the glass wall that overlooked Lake Pontchartrain. The sun was setting, and red and gold light sparkled on the lake’s restless waters and turned the buildings into silhouettes. He knew it was a breathtaking sight.
She stared at it for a few seconds, then slowly turned her gaze to the rest of the room.
After he’d moved in, Reilly had asked his cousin if she’d pick out some furniture for him. Cara Lynn had done a good job. She’d bought leather and wood—pieces with clean lines and sturdy construction. Like the apartment, the furniture was designed for ease and comfort.
“Nice apartment,” she said. “Comfortable.”
“Thanks,” Reilly said, surprised again. Not only was she not drooling over the address or the view, she seemed to get why he liked it. He scrutinized her as she stepped farther into the room.
“Do you cook?” she asked, checking out the chef’s-grade gas stove, the vented grill, the zero-degree refrigerator-freezer and all the kitchen accessories.
“No,” he laughed. “I wield a mean can opener though. And I’m particularly proficient at calling for pizza.”
She smiled. “That’s a waste of a great kitchen.”
“Yeah, it came with the place. What can I say?”
She seemed fairly at ease, but he didn’t miss the fact that she hadn’t loosened her hold on her purse one bit.
He moved to stand beside her. Just as he opened his mouth to ask her what she had to show him, his cell phone rang.
“Excuse me,” he said to her, then looked at his phone. It was Commander Acer.
“Delancey,” he said.
Ace asked him if he’d finished his report before he left.
“Yes, sir. I apologize, sir. I left it in the printer.”
“No problem. I’ll get it. 10-4.”
“Yes, sir. 10-4.” When he hung up and turned, Christy was staring at him, all color gone from her face.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
She didn’t answer for a couple of seconds. “I—I’m sorry. I’m just really tired.” She looked past him, out at the lake, then back. “Did you say 10-4?”
“Yeah.” He smiled. �
�Just like in the cop shows. Why?”
“What does it mean?”
“It’s police code. It basically means message received and understood.”
“Oh, right. I think I’ve heard that on TV, haven’t I?”
She wouldn’t look at him. He couldn’t figure out what had just happened, but while he was on the phone with Ace, Christy’s body language had gone from displaying relative calm to spine-cracking tension. What had changed? He watched her carefully as he went on.
“The cop shows love to use them. You’ll hear 10-4 a lot. And 10-20 for location. You’ve heard them ask, ‘What’s your twenty?’”
“Oh, right.” She paused then met his gaze. “Haven’t I heard of 10-10 too?”
“Yeah. 10-10 stands for off duty. Nobody really uses them much anymore. A few of the older guys. But there are dozens of codes. Too many to remember.”
“I see,” she said in a brittle voice. Her shoulders drew up and she dropped her gaze. “Would you mind if I used your bathroom?”
Reilly pointed. “Right back there. There’s a half bath at the end of the hall.” As she disappeared he went over the last few moments in his mind.
Something had upset her—suddenly and badly. Was it his short conversation with Ace? They hadn’t spoken a dozen words.
She’d asked him about the ten codes, but was that just a diversion, to try and keep him from guessing what was really bothering her?
CHRISTY HADN’T ALLOWED herself to think about anything except walking calmly and confidently until she got inside the guest bathroom and closed the door.
As soon as the latch clicked into place, Christy let out her breath in a whoosh and sat down on the closed toilet lid. Her legs were quivering so badly she wasn’t sure she could have stayed on her feet. And she felt nauseated.
So 10-10 meant off duty. As soon as Reilly had said 10-4 on the phone she’d realized she’d heard numbers like that before, on police shows on television. Police shows. Police.
Dear God, the man Autumn had been seeing was a police officer. Christy’s mouth went dry and her stomach did a double backflip.
Yesterday when she’d found the drugs in Autumn’s hiding place, she’d admonished herself for thinking that nothing could be worse than finding drugs. And this was why. There was always something that could be worse.
Of all the people Autumn could have been seeing, a cop was the absolute worst. Everything she’d heard about the mystery man began to make sense. Laurie saying that Autumn told her he had to protect his reputation and his job. Her father declaring that Autumn’s boyfriend was afraid of jeopardizing his job.
Christy realized she was panting. Hyperventilating. She put her hands over her mouth. “Oh, dear God,” she whispered.
A cop. That explained the brass button too. It was just like the ones she’d noticed on Reilly’s dress uniform.
She had no idea what she was going to do. She’d thought she was in trouble when she found the little bag of drugs. But now, she had evidence that Autumn’s boyfriend, the man who may have been supplying her with drugs, the man who may have killed her, was a law-enforcement officer.
She had to tell Reilly.
No. She couldn’t tell Reilly. He probably knew the man. Besides, she had sense enough to know that a note and a button wouldn’t stand up against a department full of cops. She knew about the “blue line.” This wouldn’t be the first time her family had been on the wrong side of the line that separated civilians from police.
Quickly, aware that she’d been in the bathroom for several minutes, Christy pulled the box out of her purse and opened it. She picked up the note with her fingernails and stuck it down into her wallet, then closed the box.
She’d show Reilly the drugs and the roll of twenties. If she were very lucky, maybe there were fingerprints all over them, implicating whoever had given them to Autumn. If not, well, she’d just have to come up with more proof.
She rinsed her fingers and splashed a little water on her face before going back out to face Reilly.
He was waiting for her, looking concerned. His intense blue eyes searched hers. “Christy, what’s wrong?” he asked.
“Wrong?” She looked at him questioningly.
He arched a brow and his expression clearly said, Give me a break. Then he touched her left hand.
She looked down and saw that she had that death grip on her purse again. She consciously flexed her fingers and took a deep breath.
“I wasn’t telling the truth about why I went back to Dad’s house,” she said.
He took her hand and squeezed it. “Relax. I know you weren’t. Tell me why you really went back there.”
“I needed to check something. To find something.” She pushed her hair back with her right hand, and a few hairs caught in the pink cast. “Ow,” she muttered, jerking her hand away.
“Here,” he said, guiding her over to the leather sofa. “Sit down and try to relax. I’ll get you something to drink. What do you want?”
She shrugged. “What do you have?”
“Just about anything. That’s a big refrigerator.”
“Cranberry juice?”
“Yep.” He fetched her a bottle of cranberry juice and himself some water. As she took the bottle, he glanced at his watch. “Are you hungry?”
She shook her head automatically. It was obvious she needed to get whatever was bothering her off her chest as soon as she could. He’d call for pizza later, or scramble some eggs. That much he could do.
“Okay, so you went to your dad’s looking for something?”
She looked miserable, sitting there on his tan leather sofa with her purse in her lap. She held on to it with both hands, as if afraid he was going to grab it away from her.
“Autumn was never a very trusting person,” she said. “She hid things—her favorite treasures, her secret notes. You know, like a kid will.”
He waited, knowing she had to start like this. He’d talked to desperate people, grief-stricken people, angry and hurt and terrified people, in his experience on the SWAT team. They rarely told their stories in a straightforward manner. They all were tormented by their experiences, their memories, and they had to let it out somehow. In his time working on the SWAT team, taking his turn as lead negotiator, he’d become a very good listener.
“She was so young when our mother died. Only twelve. It hit her hard. I was older. More mature.”
By four years, Reilly thought. Not so much older.
“Autumn had a secret hiding place in her closet, behind a loose baseboard. I was sure the police hadn’t found it. I was right.” Christy stared at her hands for a long time without speaking.
“So you went there to see if Autumn had left anything in her secret hiding place?” he asked, his voice prodding gently.
“I found a roll of twenties—a big roll,” she said, glancing up at him briefly before continuing. “And a box.”
There it was. The answer to why she was so protective of her purse. That’s what had her so spooked. She needed to tell him about what she’d found. She needed to show it to him, but she was terrified.
“Do you have the box and the roll of bills with you?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Can I see them?”
It took her a few seconds to force her fingers to let go of her purse, but she finally pulled out the roll of twenties and set it on the large glass coffee table. Then she dug into her purse again and came up with a small rectangular box. It was crudely taped up with duct tape.
Reilly waited until she’d set the box on the coffee table. Then he spoke. “Can I look at the box?”
She raised her green eyes to his and he thought of a rabbit watching a hawk diving toward it. His heart twisted. He couldn’t imagine what was in the box that had her so spooked.
No, that wasn’t true. He could imagine what was in it. All too easily. From what he’d read about Autumn, the girl had been deep into drugs. So he was pretty certain, based on how Christy was acting, that
he knew exactly what was inside the box. He just hoped he was wrong.
She nodded, and her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips. Her throat moved as she swallowed.
He picked up the box and pulled on the lid. A couple of pieces of duct tape tried to stick, but he peeled them back. He looked inside.
Damn it. A bag of white powder. Exactly what he’d expected. Exactly what he’d hoped he wouldn’t find.
“I’m sorry,” Christy whispered.
Reilly set the box and lid down. He was furious. Furious and afraid—for Christy. “When did you find this?” he asked evenly.
She swallowed. “I told you, yesterday.”
“You had it in your purse when I got to your dad’s house.”
Her gaze faltered and she nodded.
“It was in your purse when we went to dinner last night?”
“No,” she muttered. “It was in my room.”
“So you found this at—what—three in the afternoon? We were together all evening, and you didn’t think it was worth mentioning?” He could hear the ice-cold fury in his voice, and he didn’t miss the growing fear in Christy’s body language.
Her fingers were bluish-white from clutching her purse. Her shoulders were tight and stiff and he could detect a fine trembling throughout her entire body.
“Christy, do you know what this is?”
She started to speak, faltered then cleared her throat. “Of course I do.” Her voice was brittle.
“Why in hell—” He stopped. It didn’t matter why she hadn’t called the police or told him earlier. He had to deal with it now.
“We’ve got to turn this in.”
She nodded.
He put the top back on the box. Then he went to the kitchen and grabbed a plastic grocery bag and put the box and the roll of twenties into it.
Christy hadn’t moved.
Reilly sucked in a deep breath. He didn’t want to ask the next question, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to see how bad a liar Dr. Christy Moser was. Nor did he want the knowledge her lie would give him. But he had to ask. “So, is this everything?”
