Vegas is Dying (A Croft & Croft Romance Adventure Book 2)

by Morgan Kelley

  The woman nodded and sealed her lips in an unhappy grimace. She’d never understand why someone would want to be a cop. It was too messy. She was married to the head of the FBI in their city. Emma should be dedicating her life to committees and organizations and not dodging bullets.

  “So, you solved it!” Randall Mason exclaimed, “And you saved my life!”

  He exuberantly kissed her on the cheek, much to Croft’s chagrin. Both Mason men were on his last nerve.

  “You have excellent reflexes my dear!” The man looked over at her husband and smiled. “Your wife was on me with no concern whatsoever for her own safety. She’d make an excellent bodyguard! If you ever need a job, you give me a call.”

  That was the last damn thing he wanted to hear--his wife taking bullets for an asshole who had a God superiority complex. “Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath on that.”

  Emma was still mulling everything over. “I get why Nick Quinn would want to shoot you, but why mutilate the women?”

  He started laughing. “Who knows? All I know my dear is that you’re my new favorite cop and anything you want is yours. I owe you my life, and I repay my debts. You’re fiery and wild just like my first wife! She was ballsy too!”

  Everything he was saying horrified her. “No need, I was just doing my job.”

  The man wouldn’t take no for an answer. “I love how honest and law abiding you are, but it still stands. You get anything you want. I insist. I won’t forget this at all.”

  Emma needed to get away from him. “Can I talk to you, Grey?” she asked, praying he’d follow her away from Randall Mason.

  “Breathe, honey,” he whispered once they were safely secluded in a corner. As he placed his hand on her heart, Greyson could feel it pounding in her chest. “You can do this,” he reassured.

  There was no choice. This was her job, and she had willingly come back to it. Now, she had to pay the piper for the five weeks of relative calm that she’d been granted.

  “I need to get to the hospital and check on Brynn. In my purse is the DNA evidence for Dyer. I need the lab to run it. Can you handle that and the media for me? We have to split up and take care of all the details. We can’t get them all done together.”

  He would do anything she asked, simply because he loved her and nearly lost her. Croft was man enough to admit that it still freaked him out to leave her side. “I’ll handle it, honey.”

  She didn't want to ruin his tuxedo, but she desperately needed to hold onto him. Everything was crushing down on her inside. “Grey, I…” Her eyes must have given her away, because he pulled her into his arms.

  “You have this,” he promised. “And if you don’t, I have you. I will always hold you up, Emma.” He laid a delicate kiss on her lips. “Go check on your partner. I’ll meet you back at your precinct.”

  Emma didn't want to let go of his hand and found that she didn't have to quite yet.

  He walked her out, allowing his wife to have a few more minutes to cling since she needed it, or maybe because he did too.

  Again, the media began shouting and taking pictures as he motioned to a patrol officer. “The detective needs to get to the hospital. Can you get her there and then back to the precinct safely and in one piece?”

  The cop grinned, “Yes, sir!”

  Emma handed Greyson his partner’s gun. Where she was heading, she’d be safe.

  “Take care of my wife, sweet stuff,” he crooned to his woman. Croft was trying to help her relax by offering her some levity. When his hand stroked her cheek, he waited for some reply.

  Emma simply stared at him blankly.

  Anything at that point would have reassured him.

  When she didn't reply, he knew bad things were brewing on the horizon for the love of his life.

  * * *

  Watching the cops canvas the area, the opportunity had finally arrived. They had scoured the alley and searched for any possible victims.

  Unfortunately for them, they found nothing- only because someone had patience and would follow the new and improved plan.

  When you stuck with a strategy and were methodical, it all worked out.

  Now, it was time to wait and find the right woman to make another statement.

  Sitting in the shadows, the door opened and two people emerged. There was a man and woman, and they were groping each other in a heated sexual frenzy. The kissing continued as clothes began being pushed aside.

  The killer waited patiently until the right moment.

  “We can’t do this here,” she said, trying to get him to stop.

  “I need you now, not later,” was his reply as he pulled her skirt up and forced her to the wall.

  “But,” she began to protest. She’d thought there’d be drinks, a bed, and some sort of seduction. This wasn’t what she’d heard from the other women about how he operated.

  This was all wrong.

  He roughly shoved into her, using her and enjoying every second of it. With his hand, he pulled her red hair to the side to control her.

  She moaned at the invasion as he ignored her objections. His focus was on another woman--the one he really wanted to be having this interlude with tonight. Since that wasn’t happening, at least he would still get off.

  He began getting rougher as he pressed her harder into the wall.

  “You’re hurting me,” she sobbed.

  Continuing, he enjoyed her struggles, but was bored with her complaining. The whiny bitch was ruining the fantasy in his mind. With his free hand, he covered her mouth to silence her.

  Now, she struggled even more.

  “You know you wanted it. You’ve been flirting with me for a week,” he hissed in her ear as he knew he was close.

  Tears began filling her eyes at how she thought he was different. Oh, how she’d been wrong.

  When he slammed into her one last time, he felt euphoria and allowed himself to revel in the fantasy playing out in his mind.

  Pulling out of her, he straightened his tux. “Thanks, sugar,” he said, slapping her on the ass as he opened the door. “See you tomorrow.”

  When the door closed, she didn't know what to think. This had been a waste of time and the most humiliating experience of her life. Even looking at him had been a huge mistake.

  Attempting to gather her shoes, she could only find one. As she walked towards the shadow, she finally located it. When she leaned over, she saw at first the hand, and then the hammer as it careened towards her head.

  Before she could scream, the strike came fast.

  She crumbled to the ground as darkness overtook her.

  This was even better. Now, it would be doubly entertaining to watch the cops have at this one. Soon Mason Productions would come crumbling to the ground, thanks to Randall and the village idiot he called offspring.

  Dragging her into the shadows, the next move in the game was about to begin.

  * * *

  Emma arrived at the hospital and had her police escort with her the entire time. She should have been pissed that her husband had sicked a cop on her to babysit, when she was one herself, but secretly she was glad. The man beside her was at least pleasant and was being really nice.

  That she could use right about now.

  Going to the desk, she tapped her ID and asked for an update. The nurse offered up everything she had at that time, but it wasn’t enough to make her relax. Her partner was in surgery as they tried to stop the bleeding and patch up her chest.

  Emma asked if there was a frantic FBI agent around, and the woman nodded, directing Emma to where he could be found. Walking to the waiting room, she saw him pacing like a caged animal.

  People were staring as she entered into the room. There was a police badge hanging around her neck and blood staining her hands and dress.

  She was a holy mess.

  “Curtis?” When she said his name, he glanced up in relief.

  There was a wave of reassurance as he knew Emma would talk him down and help him find the
calm like she did for his partner all the time.

  “What can I do for you?” Emma asked.

  “Oh God,” he mumbled, walking towards her and embracing the smaller woman. He hoped she didn't mind, but right now, he needed someone to hold him up. This was all new to him and he was struggling with the terror that was overwhelming him.

  “It’s okay,” she said, rubbing her hand up and down his back reassuringly.

  He sighed and hoped that she was right. “Did you catch the bastard that did this to her?” He needed to know, so he could figure out if he had to hunt him down himself.

  “He’s in the tank waiting for me to do the interview.”

  “I want to be there!” he demanded, Curtis needed to stare the man down that did this. “I have to be part of this.”

  Emma shook her head. It wasn’t happening for so many reasons. The most prevalent was that he was a man on the edge and that just screamed bad idea.

  “Please,” he pleaded.

  Leading him over to the chairs, she ignored the stares as she tried to rationalize with the young agent. “You can’t be here with Brynn and there with me. You need to make sure she doesn’t wake up scared and alone.”

  That never occurred to him. Emma was absolutely right. “I’ll stay here, but he needs to go to jail, because I’ll kill him if he’s out on the streets.”

  Emma patted his cheek. “You’re just like your partner.”

  Briggs looked up, knowing she was trying to cheer him up. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  She smiled back at him, “See.”

  “When you break this asshole, do it for me, okay?” Briggs requested. “I’ll stay with Brynn.”

  Emma gave him a kiss on the forehead. “She’ll be okay, Curtis. Have faith.”

  “I’ll call you when she’s out,” he offered. “Who’s the bodyguard?”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Greyson gave me a tail.”

  “He doesn’t believe the man who shot Brynn is the killer, does he?”

  She shook her head.

  “Do you?”

  “No I don’t. I’m going back to the station to get changed and start working on it. We have DNA from Mason’s son going to the lab.”

  “I did a search on him. All my info is on my tablet. It’s at your office and locked in the room.”

  Emma knew where she needed to go next. It was time to start deconstructing the center of the target one person at a time. “Call Grey when she’s out. I don’t have my phone or a damn gun. They need evening gowns with pockets.”

  Again, he tried to laugh. “Be careful, Emma.”

  Emma would do just that. As she walked away in a destroyed vintage dress, with blood all over her, and a cop playing babysitter, it occurred to her that this place just might be the death of her yet.

  It was obvious that her luck wasn’t all that great when it came to Vegas.

  And this is why she stayed out of the casinos.

  Sunday Early Morning

  This time the eyes were removed and flushed.

  The killer took the time to fill her mouth and then the stitches were then made.

  Moving to her arms, the ears were quickly tacked in place, making the change.

  What more of a clue was needed?

  There were zipped lips, alterations, a thimble and now this too.

  The detective in charge was a woman and should get this, or at least use her FBI husband to put the pieces together. How much easier could it be?

  All they needed to do was see the clues and research the man at the center. Randall Mason was the reason.

  He was the cause.

  Patience would prevail.

  Wrapping the woman up, it was time to transport to the predetermined spot. It was somewhere personal for Mason, and once he saw it, hopefully the bastard would know the truth.

  He’d gotten away with it long enough.

  Now, it was time to face the facts.

  Death was coming for him too.

  * * *

  Emma thanked her escort and sent him back on duty. She’d be completely safe in the squad room and didn't need a shadow. When he was gone, she walked through the rows of desks, until she reached her own.

  “You going to be okay, Croft?” asked Bristol as he did the paperwork on the takedown.

  She nodded. “I’m going to go change and burn this dress,” she said, digging through her desk for her locker key. In the women’s shower room, she had a spare pair of clothes for emergencies.

  Emma’s mind was spinning a mile a minute as she tried to process the entire evening and the events that had unfolded. Now, it was about working through it as best as she could.

  What she needed was a break in the case.

  Entering the locker room, she found her number and opened the metal door. She was grateful that she had kept some things there after all. Grabbing her clothes, she sat there and finally let herself break.

  Staring down at the red stains, the silent sobs began racking her body as the blood was back. It was on her hands and if her partner died, it would mar her soul too.

  Emma didn't get changed.

  Instead, she walked into the shower stall, turned on the water, and prayed she could wash herself clean.

  Defeat swallowed her, as she’d valiantly fought back the demons for weeks. It was short lived, since they once more threatened to find her and this time, devour her whole.

  * * *

  Croft had the Rolls Royce drop him off at the FBI office building. He tipped the driver well and thanked him for sticking around. Now, he needed to drop the DNA evidence off, get changed, and locate his wife.

  He kept calling her cell and his heart was pounding in terror that she wasn’t answering her phone.

  Until reality finally hit.

  It was at home. They had left the house with the intent of having a good night, not this.

  Walking into the building, he hurried to the lab to meet his head tech. When he called him in, the man didn't mind doing the late night evidence sweep.

  Once in the room, he found him gloved up and ready to go. “Thank you for coming in, Max,” he stated.

  “Not a problem, Director. What do you have for me?”

  Croft delicately opened his wife’s clutch and pointed at the tissue. “Inside is a piece of gum. I want you to get DNA from the saliva and run it against everything we have on the showgirl killing case.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, and then paused. “Director?”

  Greyson Croft stopped at the door, pretty sure he knew where the conversation was headed. “Yes, Max?”

  “I need to file a report against another agent, and I don’t know how to go about doing it.”

  Yep, his suspicions were correct.

  “Who and for what reason?” he inquired. If he could cover for Briggs, he absolutely would. Yes, it was bending the rules, but you did that for people you considered family.

  “It’s the new agent who just arrived. He threatened to kill me.” Max wasn’t willing to risk it, since they’d be working together.

  “Is this regarding you spreading around that you bagged the detective?”

  Max had the dignity to blush. “I guess so.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “You realize that I expect my staff to be above high school antics and not make a spectacle of themselves by talking about sexual conquests at work, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll absolutely file it for you, but you need to be aware of something first. If I report why he threatened you, he has every opportunity to refute his actions and that’s going in your record. Every time you come up for a promotion or a review, it’s going to be revisited.”

  He weighed the options. “Let’s forget I brought it up.” Max didn't want a mark on his spotless record.

  Croft was glad. “Get the data and get it to me as soon as possible. I’ll be at the police station getting ready for an interview with the man who was arrested.”

  Max heard t
hey caught a perp. “Who’d he try to kill?”

  “The detective you ‘bagged’. She’s in surgery and fighting for her life.”

  Well hell! Now he felt like an asshole.

  A giant one.

  It was nice to get out of his tux and into his spare clothes he kept in his office. Throwing on the jeans and t-shirt, he was glad to get into something comfortable. In the back of his mind, he hoped his wife had the same back up gear in her work locker.

  Once in an FBI vehicle, he raced through the streets, trying to get to his woman as quickly as possible. There was this twist in his gut, and he could feel her needing him. How? He didn't know, but there was this little piece of him that knew he needed to find her, and fast.

  Entering the office, he stormed the squad room and found a few detectives at their desks. “Has she been here?” he asked, knowing they were well aware who he was hunting down.

  Detective Bristol looked up. “Emma said she was going to the locker room to change, but that was a good thirty minutes ago. I haven’t seen her since.”

  “Thank you,” he replied as he rushed off in the direction the detective had pointed. It didn't bode well for him that she’d been in there over thirty minutes. To him it meant only one thing.

  Emma was hiding.

  Fortunately, at this time of the night, there shouldn’t be anyone in there to startle. God, he hoped not. He could see the headlines now.

  Peeping FBI tom is caught sneaking into cop shower.

  Opening the door, he heard the water and could see the steam. Sneaking in, he prayed that tonight it was empty. Once past a row of lockers, he found his wife’s clothing and her towels.

  But no Emma.

  Grabbing them, he headed towards the shower. There was only one stall being used, and he could spot her green gown when he glanced under. Oddly, it wasn’t discarded, but still on his woman.

  Pulling the curtain back, he reached in and turned off the water. Immediately, she looked up, and his heart squeezed in his chest. There were black streaks of mascara down her face as she sat against the wall. The gown was sickly clinging to her as she let the water cascade over her.