Centerfold

by Kris Norris

  She glanced around the barren building, a shiver working down her spine. She hadn’t been inside a place like this since…

  She closed her eyes against the flood of memories, most too disjointed to be more than ghosted images in her head—images she’d rather forget. A group of men gathered beside a car. The echo of gunfire. Blood on Roman’s shirt.

  Roman. Fuck. She didn’t want to remember him, either. She vaguely recalled him being in her recovery room—hearing him whisper words of love in her ear—before literally vanishing from her life. By the time she’d been fully coherent, he’d left with nothing more than a note saying he’d taken a position within the F.B.I. and that he’d contact her soon. That he needed time. Hell, time was a luxury none of them had, and the jackass had yet to do so much as send her a text.

  She lifted her hand, rubbing her shoulder against the sudden ache that flared beneath her flesh. The rain and cold irritated the metal plates they’d used to help fuse her scapula back together, and just standing in the dank warehouse made her skin crawl.

  Bates followed as she walked toward the doors. “You think this is an isolated incident?”

  “We’d know if there’d been more bodies found in Seattle. Trust me. This kind of thing gets press time.” She stopped, dragging her fingers through her hair. “Why April? That her name? The month? What the hell kind of message is that?”

  “Beats the hell out of me.”

  Scarlet groaned, glancing back at the body. She should have stayed in narcotics. At least there, creeps only tried to kill her. They didn’t leave cryptic messages carved in flesh. She shook her head, walking into the rain. Looked as if December was coming in like a lion.

  * * * *

  “Scarlet. Thanks for coming.” The lieutenant motioned to the set of chairs opposite his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

  Scarlet walked into the man’s office, cautiously claiming a chair, wondering who the others were for. It wasn’t even six o’clock, the rest of the office empty save for a few diehards working on cases. The lieutenant had woken her thirty minutes ago, nothing but a guarded, ’you need to get over here’, given as a reason for the meeting, and she couldn’t stem the uneasy feeling prickling her skin with goosebumps. It wasn’t like the man to be this mysterious. Lieutenant Richard Powell was a straight shooter. He called it as he saw fit and didn’t care if his decisions were politically correct. He lived for the job. Period.

  The man gave her a token smile, offering her a cup of coffee. “Three sugars, right?”

  She nodded, accepting the Styrofoam cup. “Hasn’t changed in the ten years I’ve been at the precinct.”

  “Ten years that have taken you from a beat cop to narcotics and now homicide. That’s a pretty distinguished record.”

  “Helps when you don’t really have a personal life.”

  “Right. Because it has nothing to do with the fact you’ve worked your ass off.”

  She gave him a tight smile. “Thanks. Though I doubt you dragged my butt out of bed to give me a cup of coffee and stroke my ego.”

  “Wish I had.” He broke eye contact, shuffling through some papers on his desk.

  Scarlet groaned inwardly. The man’s actions didn’t bode well. It meant she wasn’t going to like whatever he had to say. Though, she’d assumed that from the start.

  She leaned forward, catching his gaze as he looked up at her. “Just spit it out.”

  He huffed. “I must be getting old if you’re reading me that easily. And what happened to my very presence instilling fear?”

  “I’ve spent three months recovering from a bad night. Watching you brood isn’t so scary.”

  His expression softened. “How is the shoulder? If it’s too soon for you to be back here…”

  “I’m fine. Aches when it rains, but I’ll manage. And staying home was driving me crazy. Not sure how people do it.”

  Of course, if she’d had Roman to help pass the time…

  She cursed the treacherous thought, telling that voice in her head to bugger off. The man would have called by now if he’d had any thoughts other than that making love to her had been a mistake, even if it had been in the line of duty. Either way, he’d obviously moved on. Escaped.

  Powell eased back in his chair, tossing a folder on the desk in front of her.

  She raised an eyebrow, reaching for it when he placed his palm over top.

  “Before you look at those, I want you to know we’ll do everything within our power to keep you safe.”

  “Keep me safe? Now you are scaring me.”

  She waited for him to remove his hand before opening the file, staring at the photos stuck inside. Her chest tightened at the sight, a numbing haze slowly blanketing her. Three other women, all carved with the same slashing strokes—each one with a different month inscribed on her abdomen.

  Scarlet closed her eyes. Damn, she knew she’d recognized the girl. But with all the dirt and grime—blood splattered over most of the woman’s skin—she hadn’t been able to tell for sure.

  She looked up, her heart beating a tattoo against her ribs. “So this wasn’t the first victim.”

  It wasn’t a question and the lieutenant merely shook his head. “I only wish it was. Three others in varying parts of the country. Seems whoever’s behind this is tracking them down, regardless of the distance—killing them wherever he finds them. Ms. April was in Seattle as part of a convention.” He paused for a moment, sighing. “And I know you recognize their faces and names. They were all part of that photo shoot you and Roman infiltrated a few months back for Spyce Magazine.”

  Scarlet nodded, not sure what to say, as she let the folder fall to the desk, stalking to her feet and moving roughly to the window. She carded her hand through her hair, leaning against the wall for support. “So what now? You pulling me off the investigation because my name’s on his shit list? And don’t lie to me. We both know I’m on that list, even if it’s at the end.”

  “The fact you were Ms. December as part of your cover is exactly why you’re in here.”

  Scarlet scowled when a knock sounded on the door. She turned, her breath stalling as she stared into a set of stunning blue eyes.

  The guy smiled, bracing one arm against the doorframe as he nodded at her. “Hey, Scarlet. Heard you were back at work. It’s good to see you.”

  She opened her mouth, quickly closing it when nothing came out but a raspy breath. Aiden Cross. Roman had introduced them a year ago, and Aiden had fit in flawlessly. He’d become part of her small circle of friends ever since—until the shooting. He’d pulled the same disappearing act Roman had, leaving another void in her life. She hadn’t realized how much she cared for Aiden until she’d lost him—that somewhere along the line she’d developed feelings far greater than just friendship. God, she’d even made a pass at the man once after a particularly hard case and far too many tequilas. But he’d never mentioned it, and she’d been too embarrassed ever to confront him.

  Aiden sighed, looking as if he was reluctant to come any closer. “I suppose I have some explaining to do.”

  The way he broke eye contact, kicking at the floor, a slight flush coloring his cheeks, sent a cold shiver down her spine. Fuck. She hadn’t stopped to consider that Aiden had been avoiding her because of Roman. That there was something more between the men than friendship. Though she’d wondered on a few occasions—with their easy comfort and physical contact—but the way Roman had touched her—worshiped her body despite the circumstances—she hadn’t considered…

  She took a shuddered breath as pieces started falling into place, leaving a hole larger than any bullet.

  Powell cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should all have a seat.”

  Scarlet fisted her hands at her sides, glaring at Aiden. “Perhaps Special Agent Cross should explain what the hell he’s doing here when he hasn’t given a fuck in three months?”

  Aiden’s mouth pulled tight, and he stalked halfway toward her before seemingly reining in his control. “Th
at’s not true. I was at the hospital.”

  “When? While I was unconscious? Thanks for the show of support, buddy. Glad I at least know who my friends are, now.”

  The man’s jaw clenched, the vein in his temple pulsing. “We’re far more than friends, but this isn’t the time or the place for that conversation. I’d hoped to meet with you privately before something like this cropped up, but then you had the displeasure of finding that body. And now we’re left scrambling to get a handle on this shit.”

  “What has that dead girl got to do with you?”

  “As I’m sure the lieutenant mentioned, the bastard responsible for these murders crossed state lines—more than once. Unfortunately, the distance between them kept it off our radar until they found Ms. March. We were called in a few days ago. Were just piecing together his timeline when we got word of the fourth victim.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen anyone kill like this. The aggression. The obvious torture.”

  “So you brought me in here to what? Scare me? Tell me this is federal case? You could have sent me a memo and avoided this.”

  Powell stepped over to her. “No one’s trying to scare you. Now sit, before I have to send you both to a corner for a time out.”

  Scarlet huffed, taking the seat farthest from the door as Aiden sat two away from her. He glanced her way, openly measuring her before grunting and looking away, boot still kicking at the floor. A tight feeling constricted her chest, but she let her anger and pain soothe the ache.

  Powell waited until he was sure he had their attention before focusing on her. “As you’ve guessed, the large scope of this investigation has brought it under federal jurisdiction. However, our friends in the F.B.I. have met with a few roadblocks with respect to the other models.”

  “Roadblocks?” Scarlet grimaced. “Just show them the damn crime scene photos. I guarantee you those girls will be lining up for protective services.”

  “It’s not the ladies that are refusing to help us.” Powell motioned to Aiden. “Perhaps you should fill her in on the rest.”

  Scarlet glared at Aiden. “By all means. Explain the situation, Agent Cross.”

  Aiden’s mouth quirked, the blue color of his eyes deepening. “Good to see your recent brush with death hasn’t tamed that wild side of yours. Fine. When we realized that this sicko was systematically hunting the women from that photo shoot, we immediately contacted the representatives at Glade Manor. Requested a list of all of the women’s real names and addresses. I’m sure it’s not surprising that we were met with some…resistance.”

  Scarlet groaned. “Let me guess. If the press gets word of some serial killer murdering Glade’s models—by month, no less—it could financially ruin his magazine.”

  “The guy’s lawyers rattled off a bunch of legal speak, which basically reduced to one major hitch—all the models signed confidentiality contracts. That means that Glade doesn’t have to release their names to anyone short of a court order.”

  “And because you can’t prove this list even exists…”

  “We can’t get a judge to sign off on it. And by the time we do, God knows how many more of these women will be dead.”

  Scarlet sighed. “Is there a silver lining to this cloud?”

  “Sort of.” Aiden glanced at Powell then back at her. “You’re aware that after the bust, the Seattle Police department was able to slap an injunction on Glade, preventing him from publishing those original photos? Used the guise of evidence to protect your identity.”

  “A small gesture that made getting shot somewhat bearable.”

  Aiden’s jaw tensed, his gaze narrowing on her before he continued. “Right. Anyway, Glade decided that he’d circumvent the decision by having all the women come back and do another shoot—one the police couldn’t take from him. Turns out they’d already photographed the four dead girls a few weeks ago. Couldn’t believe they’d been murdered.”

  “Please tell me that swayed their decision to release the other names.”

  “Not quite. But Glade was willing to forgo his previous schedule and assemble all the remaining models at his mansion for a retreat over the next three weeks. Give us time to track this guy down without having the women at risk. Or at least, that’s what the man believes. No amount of talking can convince him that whoever’s behind this won’t let this retreat stop him. That he’ll crash it.”

  “Can’t you force his hand?”

  “With what? We can’t prove these women are in danger. We don’t have a viable reason to get a warrant, other than the possibility they might be on some kind of list we can’t be sure exists. Glade isn’t under investigation. We have no legal right to be at his estate.”

  “Four women are dead, Aiden. I think that’s a pretty strong indicator.”

  “Don’t preach to the choir, baby. I’m on your side.”

  Scarlet let her head loll back, hoping the ache between her eyes wasn’t an indication of how the rest of the day would play out. She glanced at Aiden. “So why the meeting? Sounds as if your hands are tied, which means there’s nothing we can do, either.”

  He looked at Powell and something passed unspoken between them. She straightened, moving her focus between them. That voice in her head was talking again, and she didn’t like what it had to say.

  “Except for the part where he’s having the remaining models attend his retreat.”

  She pushed to her feet as pieces starting clicking into place. “No.”

  Aiden rose beside her, quickly closing the distance between them. “Scarlet. I know you don’t want to hear this, but…you’re all we have. Glade thinks the Feds are working the case. Trying to find the killer while he keeps all his pretty little playmates safe inside that fortress of his. But we all know some walls and a few muscle heads aren’t going to keep these women from becoming the killer’s next target. Everything in this man’s profile suggests he’ll take whatever risks are necessary to continue his spree. Hell, our profilers think this guy is somehow connected to that magazine. That he probably already has access. That’s how he was able to track down the first four women immediately following their shoot. We need someone on the inside. Someone who won’t raise suspicions.” He took a step closer, invading her space. “Someone who’s been invited to attend.”

  A dull roar sounded in her head as the room dipped slightly. Aiden grabbed her arm, steadying her when she swayed on her feet. He mumbled at her to breathe before she shook off the strange sensation, pulling out of his hold. She took a few stumbling steps away, palming the wall as she forced in a series of quick breaths, willing her heart to slow.

  Powell darted out from behind his desk, stepping over to stand beside her. Concern etched the creases in his forehead as he watched her breathe. “Scarlet…”

  “I didn’t receive an invitation.”

  “You did. It came yesterday to the PO Box we’d set up as Ms. December’s address.”

  “But… Don’t ask me to become her again. You have no idea what it was like…all those cameras. The outfits that didn’t even cover me. Men staring at my ass as if it was theirs if they wanted it.”

  “I know this must be upsetting to you.”

  “Upsetting? I’ve been back six weeks and I’ve spent more time pulling copies of my naked ass off every bulletin board in the damn station than I have chasing down murders! Hell, Lucas and James are using one as their bloody screen saver. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am just to become a piece of meat the men in this station think they can stare at.”

  The lieutenant chuckled as she glanced back at him over her shoulder. “You could take that as a compliment, Detective. You’ve got one hell of a cute ass.”

  “Not funny.” She sighed, looking back out of the window. December used to be her favorite month. Now it was just a name she wanted to forget.

  Aiden shouldered up beside her, giving her a gentle nudge. “You know we wouldn’t be asking if we weren’t desperate. But we’ve only got three weeks left before the year’s up.
And this creep isn’t going to let this drag out into January. He wants those women dead. And like it or not, you’re on that list.”

  Images flashed through her head again, the memories stinging her eyes. She swiped angrily at the few that slipped free, refusing to look at either man. How did she explain parading around in bikinis and fuck-me-boots was only part of the issue? That reviving the memories of what she and Roman had shared was what really scared her, and she just didn’t know if she could be that woman again. She looked up, glancing from Aiden over to the lieutenant and back.

  Powell gave her a reassuring smile. “Regardless of what the Feds want, I won’t order you to take the job. Not if your mind’s not in it.”

  “I already told you. I’m fine.” She rubbed her hands along her arms, wondering when it had gotten so cold. “Look. Even if I wanted to do this, there’s no way I can go back there. Not after the shooting. My cover—”

  “Was never revealed.” Aiden sidestepped, filling her view. “Trust me. We checked. Glade doesn’t have a clue you’re really a cop. He thought you were like that other blonde at the drop sight. Wrong place. Wrong time. Our cover story that Everett was exploiting women held. As far as anyone at that magazine is concerned, you’re just a sexy cover model. Period.”

  “Even if that’s true. This isn’t your conventional manor. Everyone that goes there does so as a couple. Or a threesome or a quartet if that’s how you swing. Glade doesn’t care. All he cares is that every woman shows up with at least one lover. In his warped brain, it justifies all those sex games he makes his guests play. You don’t have to interact with others because you already have a mate. But if you do…it’s consensual. That’s how Roman was able to shadow my every move.” She released a ragged breath, hating the fact they both knew she was more than shaken. “And you have to participate or you get kicked out. Simple as that. I went that first time because I trusted Roman with more than my life. With him gone…”