Dylan swore beneath his breath. “Send the call to my desk.”
“Wait!” Alexandra grabbed his wrist before he could get far. “Let me talk to him. Maybe I can keep him on the phone.” Or pick up information in another way. “Please?”
The precinct had fallen quiet. Nervous energy hummed in the air while she waited for Dylan’s decision. He nodded. “Okay. Patch the call over here. I want it recorded. Get me this guy’s location. Reedus, Graham, follow the trace pronto.” He sat on the edge of the desk again. She felt others crowd behind her. “We’re putting it on speakerphone.”
The phone rang and Dylan snatched the receiver before she could. He hit a button and a slight buzz could be heard. Dylan pointed at her.
She leaned forward. Took a deep breath. “This is Alexandra King.”
A strong breath rasped into the phone, startling her. Dylan pressed some buttons to lower the volume as another Darth Vader breath blasted through the speaker.
She cleared her throat. Tried to sound slightly annoyed by the lack of response. “Hello?”
“What did you think of my latest kill? Good, wasn’t it?” The person’s voice was metallic, as if being distorted by some kind of device.
What was she supposed to say to that? When she hesitated, Dylan made a circling motion with his hand. Keep talking. She tried to block out their audience. “I’m not sure good is the word I would use. Who are you?”
“You know who I am.”
“The Grim Reaper?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your real name?”
“You can call me Reaper. I like the idea of you shortening my name. It seems more intimate that way.”
The way he said that last bit sent chills up and down her spine. “Why did you call me?”
“It’s a lot easier to find a victim than it is a listener, Alexandra. I want us to be friends. I think we’ll work well together. You’re not afraid of death either, are you?”
She glanced up at Dylan. How long did he need for a trace? “You want to talk, talk. Go ahead.”
“I knew who you were as soon as I saw you, Alexandra. I’ve seen you on TV. Helping the police in other places.”
“Really? What other places?”
“Colorado. California. There are clips of it online. I’ve watched them all. I know you’re a real psychic. I can tell.”
So her biggest fan was a total nutjob serial killer? Awesome. “Have you ever used a psychic before?”
“Yes. She wasn’t real, though. I found out. I made her pay for it.”
“Made her pay how?”
Silence.
“Did you see Lavinia Fisher today? Was she pleased by my offering to her?”
“Who?” Oh yeah. That was the woman who supposedly haunted the old jail, Dylan had said.
“You know who she is. You’re stalling, trying to trace the call and find me. It won’t work.” A sound that resembled snickering followed.
“Why are you killing these innocent people?”
“Because I can.” Darth Vader breathing again. “I want you to tell me what they say to you. That’s why I was happy when I saw the police had brought you on. What did Lavinia say? Tell me.”
“I didn’t see Lavinia’s ghost today.”
“You’re lying.”
Click.
Her gaze sought Dylan’s. “Did we get him?”
He picked up a hand radio and barked, “Reedus, anything?”
Static chirped, then a response, from right behind them. “Yep. This is the phone number he called from. Look familiar?” Reedus held up a sheet of paper with ten digits written in big, black marker. Even to Alexandra, the number seemed slightly familiar.
Dylan swore and moved to his feet. Alexandra frowned as she watched him rush to his desk and pick up his cell phone. “Didn’t I have him on long enough?” she asked Reedus.
“We had a lock on his number the minute he called in. We just needed you to keep him on the line until we could get to his location.”
“Then why—?”
“The number he called from is mine,” Dylan said. “My mobile. And it’s right here.” He held it up for her to see.
“Techs say he spoofed the damn number this time,” Reedus growled. “Threw the system off.”
Dylan tossed his phone back onto his desk. “Did we get anything on his location at all?”
McCormick stepped forward and shook his head. “Sorry, sir.”
Dylan lifted a hand to the back of his neck. Shaking his head, he walked over to where some boxes sat in a corner and kicked them so hard one slammed into the water cooler and threatened to topple the thing.
Reedus walked over and put a calming hand on Dylan’s shoulder, whispered something she couldn’t hear in his ear.
Alexandra looked away. Lord, she was frustrated too.
She felt someone move closer and then heard McCormick say in a stage voice, “Anyone can use that spoofing software online. My brother-in-law did it as a prank to me last year. My phone sent a message to my entire family telling them—” A flush crept up his tanned neck as he looked down at her. “Well, it wasn’t funny.”
Alexandra had never heard of it. It made her feel inept. She was learning a lot from this case, and she’d only been here a few days.
Composed again, Dylan waited until everyone had returned to normal activity to walk back over to where she still sat. He planted his hands on the edge of the desk and asked quietly, “Did you pick up on anything during the call?”
Nothing, and that was strange. “Only that he’s seriously deranged. I’m so sorry, Dylan.”
The faint scent of his cologne enticed her senses, and she realized how much she’d missed his closeness. A shiver raced along her nerves. She wished he’d hold her. After that phone call, she needed a hug. She suspected he did too.
He pulled away. “You did good handling that. I’ve got to go take care of some things now.” He hesitated. “You okay?”
No. Not really. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
He nodded and walked away.
***
Dylan loosened the tie that’d held a death grip around his neck for the past half hour and tried not to groan when he realized at least one of the reporters had followed him inside the station after the press conference.
Stephanie Rodriguez’s high heels clicked against the tiled floor as she targeted him in her sights. Her poise carried purpose and determination. “Dylan! I want to talk to you.”
As if this day weren’t already bad enough. Now he had to deal with her, too. Freaking great.
He dropped the file he’d been carrying onto his desk and rounded on her, his gaze skirting the other desks for a glimpse of the other woman in his thoughts. He didn’t see Alexandra and figured McCormick must have already driven her back to her hotel.
Good. He didn’t need an audience for this.
“I told you everything I intend to during the press conference, Stephanie. Don’t even try it.”
She feigned hurt, coming to a sudden stop beside him and placing a perfectly manicured hand over her heart. “Dylan. I only wanted to check on you.”
“On me?” He dropped into his chair and settled at his desk. Maybe if he seemed busy, she’d leave.
She perched herself on the edge of his desk, her killer legs offering a bit of a distraction from the jumbled-up mess inside his head. “I know you haven’t been here that long, and now you’re heading up a task force? I can’t imagine what kind of pressure you’re under.”
Something in her voice seemed sincere, so he decided to take her at face value. “I’m handling it. Thanks.”
“Why don’t you let me buy you dinner?”
He arched a brow. “You want to buy me dinner?”
“We’re still friends, right? I swear you can unload on me, and I promise—Girl Scout’s honor—not to use any of it in my story.” She held up a hand, her thumb and pinky finger held down. “No ulterior motive. Besides.” She reached out and ran a finge
r up the back of his hand. “I’m sure you could use a break.”
For a minute, he was actually tempted. Not by her supposed gesture of friendship, but by her. She was sexy. She’d been good in bed. She had about as much interest in a long-term relationship with him as he had with her. He’d love nothing more than to sink inside a willing female body and lose himself again for a few minutes.
Problem was, wrong female.
The idea of taking any woman to bed other than Alexandra left a sour feeling in his gut. What kind of sense did that make? He barely knew the woman.
“Thanks, but I’ve got some phone calls to make. Maybe another time.”
She sucked in a deep breath. “I can take a hint.” She moved off his desk, but placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve still got my number. Call any time. Day or night. Bye, Dylan.” She winked at him, the movement of her hips accentuating a great ass as she walked away.
Oh yeah. He was an idiot.
“Eh hem.” He felt the pressure of a hand settling on the back of his chair. He turned and lifted his gaze from Stephanie’s backside to a pair of sky-blue eyes. Alexandra stood there, a knowing smirk on her beautiful face. She flapped some papers in front of him. “I got a few more impressions from looking at today’s crime scene photos. Made you some notes.”
He grabbed the papers and glanced over them. “Anything important?”
“Don’t know. Is it helpful I think the victim’s favorite food was sushi?”
His lips twitched as he looked up at her again. “Probably not.”
She shrugged and took a step away. “I’m headed out. Need anything else from me before I leave?”
“No. You’ve been here all day. Go get some rest. Relax.”
She seemed to hesitate. “When are you leaving?”
Please don’t ask me to have that talk before you go. He glanced at the clock. “I’ll try to get out of here by eight. Long day. Still have plenty to do before I can head home.”
“Don’t work too hard.” She winked at him and walked away, her walk mimicking Stephanie’s exit from minutes before. When she reached McCormick’s desk and picked up her purse, she flipped her hair dramatically and sent him a sexy look over her shoulder. And winked again.
Minx.
He couldn’t help it. He laughed.
That woman was something else.
Chapter Twelve
Dylan pushed a slice of out-of-this-world delicious supreme pizza into his mouth and stepped back to figure out how to tackle this latest problem.
The wood on the mantle over the fireplace had been rotted through. He’d bought a restored antique mantle piece to replace it, but he’d apparently screwed up and measured the damn thing wrong. It didn’t fit. Too thick.
Piece of crap had cost him almost an entire paycheck. What was he supposed to do now? He’d hate to take it back—it had taken too long to find one with this look—so maybe he’d see if he could shave a little off the bottom. Repaint it.
There was a knock on the door, and he glanced at the alarm clock sitting on the coffee table. It was close to nine. Probably the old guy from next door, coming to complain about the little bit of hammering he’d just done.
He shouldn’t have done it so late, but he’d found that beating the hell out of stuff at night and on weekends helped release some of the frustration he felt when he got snagged on a case. Helped clear his head so he could think.
Tossing the uneaten portion of pizza slice back into the box, he ran a hand through his hair and dusted off his pants. His jeans were ragged and his wife-beater was stained with sweat. Hardly presentable attire for company. It would probably fuel the old guy’s opinion Dylan did not belong in the neighborhood.
He opened the door and blinked in surprise.
Not the old guy at all.
Alexandra pushed her hand flat against his chest and shoved him quickly out of the doorway and back into his house before shutting the door behind her. She whistled and pointed up. “Holy crap, Collins. You live here?” She meandered into the living room and did a complete rotation as she looked around.
“What are you doing here? Where’s McCormick?”
She thumbed over her shoulder. “Outside in the car. Told him I wanted to visit a friend. Didn’t tell him it was you.”
Of all the stupid things!
Did McCormick know where he lived?
She looked at him and chuckled. “Calm down, hot stuff. I asked Reedus for your address. FYI. Pretty sure he already knew about us. I don’t think McCormick has a clue you live here. I mean, seriously? On a cop’s salary?”
The three-bedroom townhouse on East Bay Street was nestled among historic buildings worth millions. It was a rich district. He understood why she’d question his ownership. He just prayed McCormick wasn’t outside running a check on the property owner out of curiosity.
He made sure the blinds were closed tight. “I bought it at foreclosure.” About six months ago, he’d been seeing a pretty little real estate agent who’d turned him onto the idea of buying the place, fixing it up and making a profit. He’d put all of his savings into the deal, and it had been nothing but a headache ever since.
She used the end of her boot to lift a piece of the rotted mantle he’d left lying in the floor. “Oh yeah. Looks like a bit of a fixer-upper.” She arched a brow at him as she let the piece slide back to position. “You never mentioned you lived a block away from my hotel. No wonder it never took you long to run home and be back.”
“Why are you here, Alexandra?”
He had a hunch he already knew. She was still dressed in that sexy-as-hell outfit, and when she slid out of her jacket to reveal even more flesh, heaven help him, he almost didn’t care what her reason was. She could paint rainbows and clowns on his ceiling as long as he could stand here and watch her do it.
“Figured this was the only way I could get you to listen to me.” She moved some papers out of the way and flopped onto his sofa, looking as comfy as if she owned the place. She picked up one of the files. “Do you always bring your work home with you?”
“Not always. Sometimes it follows me.” He shook his head. Aside from shoving her out into the street in front of McCormick, he didn’t have many options here. Cunning move on her part. Might as well sit back and listen to the woman. Enjoy the eye candy. Maybe if he put up more resistance, she’d end up stripping to get his attention. His lips pulled up in a smile at that idea. “Want some pizza? There are a few slices left.”
“What kind?”
“Supreme.” She’d probably scrunch up her face and say something negative about having too many toppings.
“Mmmm. Gimme.” She popped off the sofa and hurried over to the table. “I didn’t manage to snag any dinner. I’m starved.”
She helped herself to a piece and bit into it. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head in ecstasy. “Ohmygosh. This is the best pizza ever.”
He grinned and moved to get her a drink. “Afraid all I’ve got here is water. Haven’t been to the store this week.”
“Typical man.” She carried her pizza slice as she walked around the room. “Mind if I look at the rest of the place?”
“Looking for ghosts?”
She shrugged. “Sorry. Habit. Especially in an area like this. I’m sure you probably have a couple, at least.”
He hoped not. “Help yourself.”
Her boots clicked against the hardwood floors he still needed to have refurbished. He knew exactly where she was as she moved room to room.
She finally reappeared in the living room, licking her empty fingers. “Not a single ghost. So weird.”
He handed her a glass of water and tried to ignore the way his nerve-endings danced with excitement when their fingers brushed. What was he? Fifteen again?
He forced himself to move to the other side of the room, away from her. He leaned against the doorjamb separating the living room from the small room he used as an office and crossed his arms. “Might as well get this over with. Wh
y don’t you just say what you came to say, Alexandra? I’ve got a lot of work to do here.”
She glanced at the plastic spread in front of the old fireplace. Took a sip of her water. “I want to talk about Zach.”
“I don’t.” The mere mention of his brother’s name had his temper rising. “You have no idea what happened there.”
“Enlighten me.”
“None of your business.”
She shrugged. “I’ll tell you what Hannah has confided in me, and we’ll go from there. According to her, Zach—”
“Who’s Hannah?”
“Hannah is Zach’s girlfriend. You’ll love her. She’s the best.” She sank onto the sofa again. Crossed her legs. “Anyway, as I understand it, Zach ran away from home when you were still a kid. He didn’t get along with your stepdad. Guy was a real a-hole or something. You—”
“That guy was a great dad to me after Zach left. The only a-hole in this scenario was my brother.”
She hesitated at that comment. Good. No telling what lies his brother had been spilling to try to make himself come off more sympathetic than he was. Ray hadn’t been a saint, but he’d always treated Dylan well.
She licked her lips. “Dylan, didn’t you see Zach before he left? I mean, that day.”
“Of course I did. I’ll never forget it.” He’d thought back to those last moments so many times he’d lost count. He used to lie awake at night, wondering if it had been something he’d done wrong to make Zach want to leave.
“How did he look to you?”
“Like hell. He’d gotten into another fight at school.”
She cast her eyes down. “Got into a lot fights, did he?”
“From what I remember.”
She crossed her arms and lifted her gaze. Said nothing. Dylan shifted to the other side of the doorframe. Why was she looking at him like that?
He clenched his jaw. “Go ahead. Say whatever it is you wanna say.”
“Did it never occur to you that Zach wasn’t really getting into a lot of fights at school? That maybe someone else had done that to him?”
Something Wicked: HarperImpulse Romantic Suspense Page 14
