“Curtis, are you okay?” she asked, giving her boss a dirty look.
That one glare said it all.
There was no doubt that the young agent was like her child, and she didn't want to see him broken any more than he already was. That meant by people who were supposed to protect him.
Family stood up for the people in their circle.
Curtis nodded. “Yeah, Mom, I’m just exhausted. The rubber hose routine is draining. Captain Ford is almost as bad as Greyson.”
They all heard the weariness in his voice. It was evident that he was struggling to hold it all together. This was something that none of them would wish on their worst enemy. First he lost his wife to a killer, then he found out she was cheating, and now he was a suspect in her murder.
Yeah, it was a shitty week for Curtis Briggs.
Croft couldn’t help but be concerned. Curtis was his to protect. They’d staked their claim on him. “Why don’t you head up to my office? You can crash on the couch and regroup. If you want, Linda will order you something to eat from the cafeteria. She’ll put it on my tab.”
He nodded and headed away. When the offering of unlimited food didn't cheer him up, they knew Curtis was falling apart inside.
He was lost.
They had to do something.
“What did you do to him?” Emma hissed, giving Chris the evil mother’s eye.
Ford laughed, undeterred by her anger. “Do you think I became captain, then commissioner, and then captain again by luck? I happen to be really good in interrogation. I can break the best of them.”
She watched the elevator close behind Curtis, and more importantly how he rested his head against the wall like he was defeated.
“He just lost his wife. Really, Chris? We all know he wasn’t guilty of her murder. We personally vouched for him. It was supposed to be babysitting, not browbeating.”
He stared at her as he crossed his arms across his large chest. Regardless of their relationship, he was still her boss. “Tread lightly, Detective.”
Emma shut it down.
He was right. This was her boss. Friend or not, she couldn’t lose her temper with Captain Ford. He’d had their backs when no one else would.
“You wanted him cleared, and I did it. That boy didn’t kill her. I can tell by the way he’s mourning her, even though she shit kicked his heart to hell and back. Brynn damaged him, but not enough that he’d string her up in a copycat murder.”
Well, that offered some relief.
“Yes, I feel sorry for him, Detective, but I was the only one who could be objective. You aren’t when it comes to him. For Christ’s sake, he calls you mom! I really think he believes it too.”
Emma opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She was torn between telling the captain she was, for all intents and purposes, his mother, and bitching that he didn’t need the hardcore interrogation with Curtis.
The boy was cut from the Greyson cloth. That was his mini-me clone. If Greyson went rogue, avenging her death, they’d never have enough evidence to put the ex-sniper behind bars.
“Wise choice, Detective, since I’m your boss. It’s a better choice since we’re friends and want to stay that way. He’s not the killer. I put it in my report.”
She had to let it go.
If she didn't, then she’d make herself look weak, and when you played with men all day in a tough job like hers, you couldn’t risk it.
There was no whining and bellyaching in homicide.
“Thank you for clearing him,” she stated, hissing it through her teeth like steam from a kettle.
He laughed as she tried to stay in control. “Oh, you’d love to punch me. Oddly, that’s sexy.”
Greyson growled at the use of the term ‘sexy’. That was twice in one day that people on their team referred to his wife as that. It was on his damn nerves. “Tread lightly, or I don’t see Cuban cigars and good bourbon anywhere in your future.”
He patted them on the shoulders before heading in. Chris Ford happened to like, and respect, the Crofts. He also liked riling them up.
Outside the door, Emma was trying to calm down.
“Are you going to be okay?” Greyson asked, knowing how she felt. It took a lot to piss his wife off, but one sure fire way was to go after the people she loved.
“Yeah, I will.”
He kissed her. When he wouldn’t release her head from the palms of his hands, she stared up at him.
“Greyson,” she protested, right before his mouth found hers again.
Honestly, he didn't care what she was thinking or for that matter, protesting. Croft didn't give a shit as his agents walked past them, staring at the two people locked in a kiss.
This was his woman.
She was his world.
Plus, it befuddled the people who worked under him. They didn't understand how the ‘Ice King’ got a smoking hot babe to be his.
It befuddled them almost as much as to why she didn't leave after getting Mason’s inheritance. He knew what they were thinking, and it amused him to no end.
When he broke away, she wasn’t angry.
“I needed that, babe. Thank you.”
And here was why she was his wife. He could get all caveman-like, and she never protested. This was what Curtis needed to find.
“We should see how the team did in the field. Here comes Paris and Tessa now.”
As the duo headed toward them, Paris was laughing, and Tessa was staring down at him like he was the next coming of Christ.
There was love.
It was a beautiful thing that they struggled but made it through the fire to the other side. Nothing would break them now that they worked it out.
“Hey, bosses!” Tessa said, following Paris into the room.
“I hope everyone got their jobs done,” Croft said. “I hate to beat people this early in a case.”
Emma laughed. “You love doing that.”
“I know. It’s my gift.”
Everyone laughed because they knew it wasn’t true. Greyson Croft was pretty laid back once you got past the prickly, icy exterior. There were boundaries, and you just had to know where they were. After that, it was a cake walk. He took care of his team.
“Mace, how about you start us off?”
Before he began, Emma explained to the team how the media was all stirred up when they arrived.
No one was surprised.
“You can say that again,” Detective Bristol stated. “There was one reporter in particular, and he was asking a lot of questions--ones that he shouldn’t have any a clue about.”
“Like?”
“I’m talking about the details like the pillowcase, the rope that was used, and why the women all looked the same.”
That didn't make any of them happy.
Those were things that shouldn’t be out there for the public to know. That was how they pinned down their suspect, and broke the case wide open. All the fine details were important when the case went to trial.
“What else did you hear?” Croft asked.
“He’s a cocky dick too. He was bragging to the other reporters that he has a secret source.”
There was nothing a cop hated more than hearing that. A source was likely someone on the inside who had a bone to pick with the lead detective.
It happened all the time.
Loose lips sunk investigations, and it appeared that someone had it in for Emma.
Great.
“We can add that to our list of things to follow-up on,” Emma stated. “It looks like we have to charm a reporter out of a name or locate a copy of the email he received.”
That was going to be a colossal waste of their time, and they all knew it. Reporters didn't like giving up confidential informants, and they often used their Constitutional rights as a way around it.
Well, shit!
“Next?” Emma said, motioning toward Greyson’s profiler and agent. They were sitting side by side, and she could tell that Tessa’s hand wa
s on Paris’s leg. It was something Emma did all the time when she was sitting by Greyson.
“We spoke to Marleen Web. She didn't give us anything that we didn't already have,” Tessa offered. “She was able to nail down the first victim’s timeline.”
“Great. Break it down for us.”
Tessa continued, “The victim was supposed to meet her at the gym for their evening workout. When she didn't show, Marleen panicked. She began tracing her steps until she found her car with purse inside. Long story short, her opinion is that cops suck, she played detective, and our first vic made it to the gym but never checked in.”
“Could that be our ground zero?” asked Emma.
No one knew for sure.
“We’ll have to work on that. For all we know, the killer used her vehicle. If we have a watcher, he’d know her routine,” stated Paris.
He had a very valid point.
“And Noah Smith?” Croft asked.
Both Tessa and Paris began laughing at the mere mention of his name.
“What?” Emma asked. “What’s so funny?”
Tessa hated the man. “Well, he was useless and claims to be at work the night she went missing.” She told them the rest, especially about the woman being a little over the top when it came to reality.
“They weren’t engaged?” Mace asked. “So she made it all up?”
“Honestly, you can’t buy anything you see on social media. People tend to lie to impress their peers,” Paris stated. “You’d be amazed by the studies on this topic. Even people who never lie are more apt to do so when it comes to a public forum like social media.”
Tessa continued, “What Noah was most interested in were women. In fact, you came up in the conversation, boss,” she said, grinning.
Emma lifted a brow. “How? I don’t know him.”
When Tessa told them about the conversation, Greyson Croft looked like he was going to climb the walls.
Paris laughed. “While you’re mean when men hit on you, Emma, from your husband’s response, Noah Smith has just been marked for death.”
It made Emma laugh. If there was a man on the planet that Greyson didn't give the hairy eyeball to, that would be impressive.
Greyson growled.
It was time to press on before Croft had a stroke.
“Now that we started the legwork, I need you to take our victims and run their financials. Since both were single, we need to know how the killer crossed their paths. This lunatic is picking them from somewhere.”
“And Brynn?” Ford asked. “How do you want to play that one? I did Curtis’s interview, but locking down that he didn't come in contact with these women will give him a better defense.”
They agreed.
“Since Brynn was married, by state law, we can access all of their financials if Curtis okays it,” Greyson stated. There was no way they weren’t going to get his permission first. He might have been a Fed, but he refused to stomp all over his rights.
Tessa raised her hand. “I’ll go ask him. Since he’s my partner, it might be less confrontational if it comes from me. We don’t need this stirred up more than it already is.”
She was right.
Emma was glad that Tessa had volunteered. Now she could cross one more thing off her list.
“What’s next, lead Detective?” asked Greyson. “This is your show.”
They didn't have a lot to work with, so there was really only one thing they could do.
“We’re going to head down to autopsy,” Emma stated. “I know Steele won’t be done, but that’s even better. I can catch him off guard, and maybe get some details before the report is issued. If we have a leak, I want to know if there are any scary surprises before I’m alerted in tomorrow’s paper.”
They all understood her concern. A reporter leaking details was a bitch.
Ford stood. “I have to check in with my office. If I’m out of there for too long, shit hits the fan. The detectives are like children. They’ll forget to work and burn the place down. Someone has to babysit them.”
Emma laughed and so did Mace.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, lifting a brow as he scowled.
“They won’t start a fire,” she reassured. “They’ll be tossing your desk to find anything you don’t want them to find.”
“I locked my door. They aren’t getting in there.”
They laughed harder.
“Why is that so damn funny?” he demanded.
“You have a room full of curious people, and Detective Spencer can pick anything with two paperclips. He may, or may not, have done it before. By the way, you look cute in a Hawaiian shirt.”
It took a second, but then Ford got it. He had pictures in his desk.
“Shit!” he muttered before rushing out.
Greyson led Emma to the elevator. “You riled him up for nothing.”
She shook her head. “No, not for nothing, babe. That was for Curtis. I like to play fair.”
Croft waited until the doors closed, and he kissed her. When they broke apart and she grinned, Greyson fell even more in love with his wife.
“You’re trouble, Mrs. Croft.”
Oh, he had no idea.
* * * Croft & Croft * * *
FBI Morgue
Downstairs, they weren’t greeted with cheers or smiles. Instead, Doctor Steele Bentley simply glanced up when he heard them approached and muttered only one, single, solitary word.
“No.”
Emma started laughing. This was something she missed not working with him at the LVPD morgue. They had built a repartee over the last year.
They were a family built by the cold, callousness of death.
Emma knew how to get him going, so she played along. “You don’t want to ride with us to the commissioner’s charity ball? Okay. We had plenty of room in the limo for you and Dante.”
Steele wasn’t falling for it. “You and I both know you didn't come down here for that, so nice try. We’ve done this dance before, Detective. You can’t make me talk.”
Emma pulled on a pair of gloves. “I came to ask you if you needed help. I can hold a spleen or kidney for you.”
Steele stared at her. “You’re lucky your husband is sexy, or I’d be irritated with the company.”
“Hey! I’m not some cheap piece of ass you can ogle,” Greyson replied.
All the female techs looked up at that one sentence. Greyson felt the flush up his skin.
Maybe he was.
Steele finally gave up. “You win. At first, she was manually strangled, and then strung up. Her hyoid isn't broken, which fits with the original method of strangulation. The killer was way too high up on her throat. Brynn’s hyoid was broken, and that’s just one more thing that sets this apart. The method of strangulation was different. Brynn was the only one alive at the time. The rope did the job, not someone’s hands.”
Emma was thinking about what he had said, so Greyson spoke for her, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. As to her external injuries, her face was pummeled with something, but we don’t know quite what. The team swept the area, and they didn't find anything that our killer could have used.”
“Could it have been his fists?” she asked, staring down at the woman’s battered face.
“Maybe, but if that’s the case, then he was likely wearing thick gloves, since we didn't find any DNA that wasn’t hers in the wounds.”
“What about her jewelry?”
“Gone. Again, just like the first two victims.”
Emma read the log to see what was left behind. What caught her attention were the clothes. She was wearing running gear.
She handed the clipboard to her husband for him to scan it too.
“From this list, it looks like she was exercising. Maybe he swiped her off the street,” Emma stated.
“Good possibility. We discussed the TOD, and everything else is still on hold until I finish the autopsy.”
“Any bumps on the head?” Emma aske
d, pushing for more. Yes, he said he was done, but ME’s always held back something.
It was like a game.
“Feel for yourself,” he offered, wondering if she’d actually do it.
When Emma reached out to touch the victim, he shook his head and laughed. It never ceased to amaze him that out of all the detectives, and agents, he worked with, Emma was the least squeamish with the dead. There was no doubt that she’d hold a spleen if he asked.
Both men watched as Emma ran her hands over the dead woman’s scalp.
When she couldn’t feel anything, there was a look of disappointment on her face. “Could there be a head trauma but no bump?”
“Yes.”
“How will you find out?”
“I have to take the top of her skull off and dig around in her brain to find a hematoma. Want to watch?”
Croft didn't want any part of that one. He wanted to eat again sometime today. “Uh, no. Pass.”
“Do you still think we have two killers?” Emma asked. This was her big worry. It was hard enough chasing one nut, but throw two into the mix with a copycat, and their jobs had gotten a million times more difficult.
“Yes, I do. If there’s no internal bleeding from a blow to the head, I’ll put it officially in my report. None of this is fitting for me. The first two victims were identical methods of murder, then Brynn shook it all up, and now we’re back to the original again. It’s like I have all these little pieces, and only one doesn’t fit. Honestly, I have a feeling that we have more than one hand in this pot.”
She thought about it.
“Ever go to a suicide scene, and it just doesn’t feel right?” he asked.
“Yes, a few.”
“That’s the same feeling I’m getting right now. It’s like my brain can’t accept Brynn was killed by the same person. I’m sorry, Emma, but it’s not working for me. It’s my job to point you in the right direction.”
She understood.
“How about trace?” Croft asked.
“I already sent carpet fibers, hairs, and other kinds of trace to your head tech. Max should be processing it right now.”
They got the hint.
Hell Is Burning Page 20
