Lace Underground: The Complete Trilogy

by Oliver, Tess

  Clark shifts his gaze from me to Ten and back again. "It's not something I'm broadcasting yet, but in the past two months, two billionaires have been killed. Same method. A blow to the head."

  "So they're related." Ten pulls around the second stack of pictures.

  "We don't have enough evidence yet," Clark says.

  Tennyson hands me two of the pictures. They are two young girls who look like they've been living on the streets for a long time.

  "What do these girls have to do with it?" I ask.

  "Do you have to ask? Billionaires and their kinks." Ten pulls her foot down and winces as it hits the floor harder than she expects.

  "I don't know if we can generalize about billionaires," Clark says.

  "You're right," Ten agrees. "Old creepy men and their kinks. Better?"

  Clark doesn't answer. Ten's sharp tongue has earned her plenty of marks on her record, but her fearlessness has earned her accolades too.

  Clark tosses another picture in front of us. It's a slick looking guy with piercing blue eyes and a square jaw. Ten's gaze lingers just a second too long on the photo. I suddenly have the urge to punch the guy with the piercing blue eyes and square jaw.

  Ten sits back and pushes the picture back to Clark. "Is he dead too?"

  A dry laugh vibrates Clark's moustache. "That'd make life a whole lot easier. This is Kane Freestone, a very rich man but still alive and kicking. At least as far as we know. They call him the mad genius. He was a biochemist. Went to MIT and a couple other big name schools before getting scooped up by Mayer Pharmaceuticals. He left there about five years ago because they wouldn't give him funds to finish his research."

  "Research on what?" I push the other pictures back to him.

  "Not quite sure but his coworkers thought it was something dangerous enough to rat him out. He went underground, started some secret society called Lace Underground."

  "So . . . they are hiding out making petticoats?" Ten quips. Her nose scrunches up. Her leg is bothering her, and she gets grumpy when she's hurt.

  I tap her arm. "Go put some ice on that. It'll numb the pain."

  She nods but doesn't get up. "If this is a secret society, how come you know about it and what does it have to do with the odd collection of pictures on your desk?" I can see the flecks of gold in Ten's brown eyes sparkle with interest. She loves things that are twisted and secret and hard to untangle. And from the baffled look on Clark's lumpy face, this seems to be one of those cases.

  "Unfortunately, about all we know is the name. Like I said, Freestone is a genius. He keeps things pretty well sealed up. These girls are just a few of a dozen or so who have disappeared in the last two years. They're street kids, drug addicts, low level thieves and prostitutes. We think the two murder victims might have had something on Freestone, maybe two club members gone rogue."

  Ten sits up in her chair, and I know exactly what she's going to say. Sometimes I think I know her better than she knows herself.

  "So street kids go missing and it's whatever." She shrugs for a visual. "But two old cranky, fake hair wearing men turn up dead and it's bring out the torches and pitchforks?"

  "Did I say that Tennyson?" Clark looks at me for back up but doesn't get it. "We've been looking for the girls." He smacks his hand down on a folder on his desk. "I've got a whole fucking file of missing girl cases. We're working out the details for an undercover sting right now, and it doesn't include you two clowns." He sits back hard and his chair rolls a few inches back. "Go put some ice on that leg." Clark lifts his chin my direction. "You too."

  "What the fuck did I do?"

  "You started this by walking in here without knocking, and the copper-haired menace goes wherever you go."

  Ten sits forward. "You should send me."

  "Yeah, I'd like to send you somewhere, that's for damn sure." Clark pulls a toothpick out of the glass bowl on his desk and starts chewing on it like a cow on grass. He's pissed but Ten ignores the red complexion and flared nostrils.

  "You need a woman to go undercover, right? A street kid?"

  "No," I say abruptly without thinking. There's more to my protest, like no fucking way am I letting you do something so dangerous, but I keep that part tucked inside.

  Ten looks hurt. "Thanks a lot, partner." She stands up and bites her lip as she puts all her weight on the leg.

  Clark talks around the toothpick. "No need to give it another thought, Tennyson. Not happening." He waves his hand to shoo us out.

  Ten limps out, and I follow close at her heels, trying to come up with a good reason for blurting no. Nothing comes to mind except the truth. She hobbles into the lunch room.

  I scoot past her. "I'll get you the ice pack from the freezer."

  She's quiet and I don't think it's the pain. I pull the ice pack out of the fridge. As I turn around, she's tying her long copper hair up in a ponytail. The arm movement lifts her t-shirt up high enough to expose the golden skin on her flat stomach. I take a deep breath and hold it until the shirt slips back into place.

  I walk over and hand her the ice pack. She doesn't lift her brown gaze to me as she grabs the ice pack. We walk out to the common area where those of us, who are not important enough for offices, sit.

  I race over and grab her chair and roll it over to my desk. "I've got to go interrogate Vinny." I wave to my chair. "Sit here so you can put your leg up on your chair."

  Her tiny freckle covered nose wiggles side to side in consideration.

  "I'm sorry, Ten," I finally say. "I know you could handle it. It's just, I need you working the streets with me." My excuse sounds lame, but she nods and reluctantly sits at my desk, propping her foot up on the chair. She holds her breath as she places the ice over the lump on her shin.

  "Maddox," Clark calls from his office. "Get in here. I've got some information for you before you sit down with Vinny."

  I walk back to his office. He's still sitting behind his desk and chewing the toothpick. He hands me a slip of paper with some names. "These are some contact names. I need you to see what he knows about the people on that list."

  I glance at it. "Right." I stand in his office and stare out at Ten. She's drumming her fingers on my pile of paperwork. I turn back to Clark.

  "Hey, Cap'n, remember what I asked you about a few days ago?"

  "Yeah, I remember. Like the note says, I don't have anyone else who needs a partner right now." Clark pulls the toothpick out and tosses it in the trash. "Still don't know why you want a change. You two are a great team."

  "Yeah." I start to leave but spin back. "Wait. What note?"

  "The one I left right on top of the paperwork on your desk."

  A cold invisible fist plows into my stomach as I turn back toward the center office. Ten is holding a paper in her hand. I freeze to the spot, not knowing how to move forward.

  Ten grabs the ice pack off her leg. My chair shoots back as she stands.

  "Let me explain, Ten," I say, sounding like a desperate sap. I search for a good reason, anything but the truth. She is still limping but like always, she's remarkably fast as she races out of the room.

  I stop and look at the note she dropped back onto the desk. "Can't get you a new partner, Maddox. You'll have to stick it out with Tennyson, Clark."

  "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

  4

  Angie

  I smack the door open to the ladies' restroom, startling Susan from the record's office. She sees my face and decides not to say hello as she brusquely dries her hands and darts out of the bathroom.

  I pace a few circles on the dingy tile floor and then stop in front of the sink. I rest my hands on the edge of the basin and avoid looking at my reflection. Three years, my voice thunders in my head. Three years with the same partner. Maybe he was just sick of looking at me, talking to me. Maybe he just didn't trust me anymore. I tend to be impulsive, but fuck, so does he.

  I turn on the sink and lean down to splash water on my face. The grit from the city sidewalk washes down the d
rain. I glance up at the mirror. The pain shows in my face. Even the freckles across the bridge of my nose look agitated. Maybe if I had golden hair and baby doll blue eyes. "Maybe if I laughed like a twittering bird and constantly told Maddox how to dress," I say aloud. My words bounce off the plaster walls.

  A sharp jolt of pain shoots up my leg reminding me of the lump on my shin. Stupid fucking junkie. Stupid fucking job. It wasn't even fulfilling anymore. Maybe I should try dentistry. I shake my head at the reflection in the mirror and remind myself it's not Tiffany's fault that Maddox can't stomach having me as a partner anymore. Or is it? I allow myself to go there for just a second. I allow myself to step into the sweet imaginary world where Maddox's sparkly, successful, loving girlfriend is jealous because Maddox seems just a little too fond of his partner and she begs him to find a new one.

  My brown eyes stare back at me. My lips have always been too full. In middle school, I developed a habit of turning my mouth in, like an old, disapproving woman, to hide my lips. I quickly forgot my oversized lips when my stringy, tom-boy physique, the one that made me star of the track team, was suddenly taken over by curves. I wore the tightest bras in the world just to stop my boobs from growing. Not shockingly, it didn't help. It was the last thing I wanted. I was growing up in a house filled with boys. Turning into a woman only made me that much more invisible to a dad whose entire focus was on my brothers' sports careers. Keith was going to be a baseball player, and Luke, the giant, was a football star in high school. Even undersized Everett had his sport of motocross. I raced with him on the dirt tracks near our home and a lot of times I beat him. But Dad only focused on Everett's career. I was like the companion horse the trainers take out on the race track to keep the champions competitive.

  Laughter that borders on shrieking is muffled by the bathroom walls. The excitement seems to be coming from the front office where Margaret and Thomas take complaints from citizens and direct people to the right place in the building. The buzz of the thrilled voices fades behind the ache in my head. Maddox doesn't want to work with me. Maddox can't stand to be near me. Maddox is sick and tired of me. Maddox wants a new partner. In a few years, we'll just pass each other on the way to precinct briefings or at crime scenes. He'll look the other way to avoid seeing the embarrassment and rejection in my face. Those thoughts hammer from the inside of my skull. They fall like cement on my chest.

  The lump on my shin looks extra ugly from above. I push the leg of my jeans back down, not caring that it's causing me pain. A small dry laugh escapes me, one that borders on a sob. "And I thought that skateboard was going to be the worst part of my day."

  The crummy bathroom with its mold stained tile floor, hazy mirrors and hideous fluorescent lighting is making me even more depressed. I reach for the door. Maddox, my traitorous partner, was no doubt across the building in the interrogation room with Vinny. My injury seemed like plenty of reason to head home early. At the moment, even my shadowy little apartment sounds better than the station. I need to stay clear of Maddox. The last thing I can stomach is hearing his lame excuses for not wanting to work with me anymore.

  I draw in a shuddering breath, a breath that tamps down the sobs waiting to spill out. But just barely. The only time I had ever felt such overwhelming despair was on the day the police came to our door to tell us dad had died in a car accident. That day, a black hole opened up in our house, and we were all sucked into it for months. But I stayed in the longest. I had to figure out how to live on knowing the last words I'd said to my dad before the semi-truck lost control and cut his car in half were ‘I hate you'.

  I reach for the door and duck quickly out of the way as it swings toward me. Margaret is smiling ear to ear, turning the thin lines around her eyes into crevices. "I can't believe it," she gushes. "I'm sure you knew, but how on earth did you keep it a secret?" She continues on as if I'm right there with her in her one sided conversation. "Oh boy, there will be broken hearts in the world now, eh? The girls down in evidence will be in tears. Of course we knew it would happen soon. Still, I've known Maddox since he was a smart-mouthed rookie." Margaret presses her hand to her chest. "I feel like a proud mom." She stops her long, seemingly pointless monologue, and her smile fades. "Are you all right, Angie? I heard you got hurt today. Here I am rambling on about the engagement, and I didn't stop to ask how you were. You don't look so good."

  I swallow to relieve the sudden dryness in my throat. "I'm heading home," the words creak out. "Did you say engagement?"

  Her broad smile returns. "Yes, such wonderful news. And Tiffany is such a great catch. I'm just as proud as can be." She slips past me into the stall.

  The gray door shuts and she fiddles with the loose lock a second. I'm absorbing the barrage of words she threw at me in the last few seconds. I try to convince myself I misheard, but all of her comments seem to point to one conclusion.

  The throb in my head turns to a numbing ache. I've reached a low point where it seems nothing matters and a flaming asteroid hurtling toward earth is just wishful thinking.

  I walk out of the bathroom and because my day has evolved into a day straight from hell, I run right into smiling, shiny, great catch Tiffany. No words are exchanged just her overzealous smile and my forced grin. I wonder if she can see the strain in my cheeks as I keep my teeth locked together.

  "Hey, Angie, I'm sure you already know," she twitters as she sticks out her slim white hand. It's weighed down by a diamond engagement ring. The glittering stone almost outshines the tiny palm trees she has painted on each nail. It seems extravagant and frilly for a future dentist and future wife of a detective who likes to stuff his egg McMuffin with French fries and prefers motorcycles to cars.

  It takes all my strength to seem even the tiniest bit interested in the ring. The worst part of all is that everyone assumes I know about the engagement. Obviously Maddox didn't bother to tell me because while we were working together, he was daydreaming about what it would be like to have a new partner. A better partner. Anyone but Angie Tennyson.

  "It's stunning, Tiffany," My voice sounds hollow and tinny. "Congratulations." I search frantically through my life's lessons on protocol and polite talk for my next comment. Nothing comes. If feels like my entire reason for waking up in the morning has just been stripped from my life for good.

  Tiffany ends the awkward pause. "I was just heading into the office to see James. I thought I'd surprise him for lunch."

  "We ate burritos," I say dryly. "On the stakeout," I add.

  Tiffany waves her palm tree fingers and sparkling rock. "You know James. A burrito won't stop him from eating again." She finally seems to sense the disappointment that is pouring off of me and sidles past. "I'll just go see if he's hungry."

  "Yep, heading back to my desk too." Since my burrito comment didn't slow her quest for lunch with Maddox, I decide to let her find out on her own that he's down in interrogation.

  I just need my keys and a quick escape out the back door.

  Tiffany picks up her pace when she realizes I'm right behind her. She opens the door to the offices. The same frenetic activity from the front of the station meets us in the back room. I see Maddox's tall, dark head above the circle of people around him. News travels fast in the precinct. Maddox catches sight of his bride-to-be, and I take a small amount of pleasure in his delayed smile. His green gaze lands on the face behind Tiffany, my face, the face of the partner he has to put up with on a daily basis, like a persistent skin rash. But he's not looking at me like an annoying rash, he's looking at me like he can read every thought in my head. He's looking at me like he can feel the ache in my chest and the throbbing pain in my head. There's just enough apology and empathy in his handsome face to make me cringe. It is the last thing I want from him.

  A round of cheers thunders through the crowded maze of desks and file cabinets when the others see that Tiffany has walked into the room. Everyone likes Tiffany, and for good reason—she's an everything girl. She has it all. And now she has Maddox for g
ood. We've been working together for three years, finishing each other's sentences, sharing each other's packets of ketchup, exchanging barbs and secret looks that only two close friends could have between them. For three years out in the field, I had his back and he had mine. I would have taken a bullet for him, and I always thought he'd do the same for me. But it turns out I didn't know him at all.

  I scurry to my desk like a mouse trying to escape a trap. My desk is cluttered with paperwork and old coffee cups, but I don't care. I sweep the papers into a semblance of a pile and grab my purse from the desk drawer. Without trying, my eyes sweep up and get caught into some invisible magnetic field that draws me right into Maddox's intense gaze. His green eyes look like emerald colored spotlights, holding me fixed and frightened like a deer on the road.

  The party of congrats going on around him has shifted to a new focus, the diamond ring and the pretty girl attached to it. Maddox ignores it all as he tilts his head slightly to the side. It's the tiniest movement. Anyone else would have missed it, but I know he is asking me to step aside and talk. I hate that he looks apologetic. I hate that I feel pathetic. I hate today.

  I need a fuck. It's a first. I'm looking at Maddox and he's looking at me and I'm thinking of another man. I need to call Brodie to arrange an afternoon fuck. I deserve it. And I don't want a simple roll off the clothes and hop into bed for some light petting and quick banging. I want to have my clothes ripped off as I'm smacked up against a cold plaster wall.

  I ignore Maddox's silent request to talk and search my purse for my phone. I head out of the office and leave the frivolities and the partner with the heartbreaking grin behind. Now, more than ever, I feel like I'm in the way with Tiffany in the room. All the light shines over her, just like it shines over Maddox. He's found the right person. She's a good match for him.

  I head out through the back hallway to the parking lot. The conversation in the break room is all about the engagement and about how lucky they are to have found each other and what a stunning couple they will make. I can't swallow why everyone is so fucking thrilled. It is as if a new Brad and Angelina duo has just spontaneously landed in the precinct. Maybe after dealing with murders, drug busts and domestic abuse all day everyone just needs a little fairy tale to pull them from reality. That's what they have, Maddox and Tiffany, a fairy tale. A fucking fairy tale.