“Two days ago I guess. She was in some show down on the strip. Tomorrow’s her day off. You can catch her here then,” he answered, before walking off.
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” stated Emma, under her breath.
“Hey honey, look.” Greyson pointed to something in the trash can.
Emma joined him as he pulled the crumpled up paper out of the otherwise empty can. “What is it?”
“A cell number.”
Pulling out her phone, she dialed as he dictated the numbers. On the fourth ring, it was answered.
“This is Doctor Maureen Russell’s office. How can I help you?”
Quickly, she hung up and grinned. “We have another woman who was seeing the shrink or at least intended to.”
“Funny how that makes the doctor look a little bit suspicious,” Croft said, taking her hand and leading her out of the party pad. “We need to make an appointment to revisit her patient list.”
Emma agreed. “I’ll make it while you’re on your conference call. It’s in forty minutes.”
“Then, we better get going,” he said, pulling away from the curb. “I can’t miss this call or Director Blackhawk will chew me up and spit me out.”
“Is he that bad?” she asked sympathetically.
Her husband began laughing at the irony of a dominant man having Elizabeth Blackhawk as one of his bosses. “My boss is a she.”
Emma found that amusing. “Good for her.”
* * *
Emma sat through the meeting and remained very quiet. As she listened and watched, it was evident exactly how much stress her husband was under in his job.
There were budgets and numbers.
Staff and issues.
He was officially her hero for carrying this all on his shoulders.
Then there were the Blackhawks. She wouldn’t say his boss was a bitch, but she was definitely tough and no nonsense. That was blatantly obvious. When Elizabeth Blackhawk finished the meeting, she signed off, and Emma went to stand behind him. During the process of the call, he’d taken off his suit jacket and tie and Emma took advantage of that.
She rubbed his shoulders, finding the first knot. “You’re all tense, Grey,” she stated, rubbing until he loosened up.
“That feels really good,” he answered, rolling his neck.
Emma kneaded his back as all the tension began to release slowly from him.
“Thanks, honey.” This was one of his favorite things in the whole world. Emma had magic fingers when it came to a back rub. He’d give her anything she asked for at that moment.
“Lunch came already, babe. It’s out at your secretary’s desk. Want me to get it and we can sit on your couch and talk about the case?”
He nodded. “But don’t stop rubbing.”
Emma started laughing. “That would give a new meaning to the terminology ‘long arm of the law’. Could you reach over and buzz your secretary then?”
Laughing, he did just that. When her hands paused, he looked over his shoulder. “You don’t have to stop. You’re my wife. There’s a secret list of women who get to rub me in the office, and you’re on it.”
She slapped him. “I catch anyone rubbing you but me, and you’ve got a huge problem.”
It wasn’t like Emma to get jealous. That was his thing. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I don’t think anyone can compete with my wife.”
She hit a good spot on his back and he moaned, just as his door opened. His secretary looked around nervously, until she noticed Emma was only massaging the boss’s back.
“Just drop it there, Linda,” he said, watching the curious look she was giving them. Leaning back, Greyson enjoyed when Emma wrapped her arms around his neck. It heated him up a little that his wife was just as possessive as he was after all.
It was nice to feel wanted.
When the woman was gone, he took her hand and led her to the couch. “What did you order?”
“Chinese.”
Emma pulled beef and broccoli out for her husband, and Chicken and snow peas for herself. Handing him the container, she grabbed the chopsticks and sat beside him.
Croft saw the chicken and didn't say anything. He’d hoped she could pull it off. It was a big step, and she must have been feeling brave or trying to prove a point.
Emma pulled out a file and rested it on her lap. “Okay, we have one confusing jumble of clues. We should probably start there.”
“I’m ready,” he said as he took a bite of his beef.
“I think we should start with the original body and what it could possibly mean.”
Greyson was with her so far. “We know what the profiler said, but what do you think?”
She leaned back as she chewed on a snow pea. “The first question I ask myself is why he took her eyes. What doesn’t he want her to see or what was seen?”
He ate more beef. “Okay, keep going,” he stated, feeding her a piece of his broccoli.
“It’s the same thing with the ears and lips. My instinct is to ask what wasn’t said or heard. Was there a secret?”
Next, he fed her a piece of beef and broccoli when she wasn’t paying attention.
Thinking about it, she pulled out the crime scene photos for the first woman. “Look at her lips,” she said, running her finger over the precise stitching. “What does it look like?”
He inspected it. “A zipper.”
“So, the killer zipped her lips to keep a secret. It also fits our other clues. We’ve been given a thimble, pins, the created zipper, and the ears sewn to her body.”
All of that made sense but the last part. “I don’t get the ears,” he stated, feeding her more beef. Croft was secretly happy that she was eating it and not getting sick.
Emma thought about it as she shared some of her chicken. “He’s altering her body.”
“Alterations? Like with a seamstress?”
She was getting excited. “Okay, so what does a seamstress and Mason have in common?”
“He probably has one on staff. He runs productions that have elaborate costumes. I’m sure they reuse them from show to show, and that would mean they’d have to fit different girls.”
“Then, we need to wander around one of his shows to see what’s going on behind the scenes.”
“I don’t get his mother’s grave,” Croft said, feeding her the last piece of beef right before he grinned triumphantly.
“I’ll call him and ask,” she said, pausing to look at his big smile. “What?”
“You ate half my lunch and you didn't even flinch.” He was so damn proud of her.
“Because you distracted me,” she stated. Emma put her carton down and jumped on him to celebrate with some kissing. Where would she be without her husband? He was very tricky to pretend not to understand the clues all the while forcing her to think about it. Meanwhile, he was helping her past the food issues that were holding her back.
He enjoyed Emma sitting in his lap and kissing him enthusiastically, but he needed her to stop. Greyson only had so much control, and sex in his office was a fantasy right up there with this morning in the closet.
Shit!
Now, he was thinking about that too. His body woke up as she was pressed against him. Before long his hands wandered, and he was helpless. The need for her never seemed to abate. When she pulled away, his lower lip was between her teeth as she gave it a little tug.
“I love kissing you,” she admitted, still wrapped in his arms. “I should probably get out of your lap,” she whispered, even though she wanted to make out some more. Emma chewed on her lower lip as she focused on his.
“Emma,” he murmured, running his hands up to her hair. God, the red was so rich and silky. Greyson wanted to bury his hands in it.
Before either could move, his secretary buzzed his office. “Director Croft, Agent Briggs is on line one.”
“I got it, Linda,” he said, staring into her eyes. “Later, Emma. We’ll finish this tonight after dinner.”
She nodde
d as her heart pounded in her chest. “Yes, Grey.” Sliding off his lap, she watched her husband move to his desk. Her body began to overheat as she thought about the night ahead.
Yeah, it was getting hot in here.
“Curtis, are you okay?” Croft asked, sitting in his desk chair as he stared at his wife across the room. There was a slight flush to her face, and he fought to not laugh. He was well aware what was going on in her mind.
It was playing out in his too.
“Can I come back to work tomorrow?” he asked hopefully. “And back to the condo?”
“Absolutely,” he replied, praying that he didn't mean tonight. He wanted to have some bourbon, a cigar and then come home and have some truly amazing sex with his wife. “When will you be back at the condo?”
Immediately, Emma shook her head in dismay.
“Tomorrow, I think. I want to spend one more night here, and then I’ll be in to work in the morning.”
“Okay, we will meet you here at the office.”
“See you then,” Briggs said, hanging up.
“Please tell me we have our home to ourselves tonight,” Emma asked from across the room. She was well aware how selfish that sounded.
“Tonight is it.”
She understood what he was saying. If there was going to be some crazy living room sex, it had to be this evening. “Can we make two stops on the ride home?” she inquired.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked suspiciously.
“We need to stop for some wine to bring with us, and I saw a dress at the boutique that would be perfect for tonight.”
Croft had no problem with that. “Will this be a sexy dress that makes my heart pound in my chest?”
Emma grinned. “It’ll be perfect for men having bourbon, smoking cigars and old Vegas,” she stated.
In his head, he visualized so many different things, and they ran from sleek and sexy to flirty.
“I have to make two calls,” she said, changing the topic before she gave too much away.
“Go ahead, honey.” Croft was still thinking about what she would choose for a dinner dress.
Emma scrolled through her phone and called the number that they had found in the dead woman’s garbage can. When the receptionist answered, she explained what they needed.
The woman found them an open appointment for the next day and scheduled them to come in to meet with the doctor.
“Tomorrow at what time, Emma?” he asked when she had hung up. Croft immediately began flipping through his calendar to make sure he was available.
“The only appointment she had open was ten in the morning,” she said, searching for the next number.
Croft was clear for that one. “We’ll bring Briggs with us. He can be a fresh set of eyes, and I think he needs to be kept busy. It has to be boring at the hospital.”
Emma was more than fine with that. Dialing the second number, she only had to wait two rings.
“Yes, Emma my dear,” said the older man. “I get to hear from you twice in one day. I’m incredibly lucky,” stated Randall Mason.
“I need to ask you a couple of questions,” she stated, knowing her husband would want to hear the entire conversation, so she put the phone on speaker.
“Anything for you. Ask away.”
Greyson heard the man’s voice and it was equivalent to nails on a chalkboard for him. He forced himself to focus on his wife and not the man who was on the phone.
“What did your mother do for a living?” she questioned, hoping it was a seamstress.
Randall didn't know what this had to do with the killings, other than it was his dear mother’s grave as the last scene. “She stayed home and raised me. I was her only child, and she was a housewife. Back then, women didn't work.”
Well, that gave them nothing.
“Does the number ten and nine or one and zero nine mean anything to you?” she inquired, thinking about the quantity of pins the ME found in the woman’s mouth. “Is it possibly a birthday or maybe an anniversary?”
There was a pause. “No, my dear. I’m sorry but there aren’t any personal dates in my life that land on those days in January or October.”
Croft shrugged. It was a damn good try and honestly, he’d let the number slip his mind.
“Can Greyson and I come by your next dress rehearsal to see the inner workings behind the scenes?” she asked. What she didn't tell him was that the plan was to ask around about Dyer, and find out who else he was screwing around with at work. The minute they brought up that all four women had the man’s DNA in them, there was going to be a high powered attorney showing up to run interference.
“You can come by any time you want. In fact, I’ll be at the Crassmount tomorrow evening. Would you care to have dinner with me?”
The look on Croft’s face said it all.
Emma knew they needed to pick the man’s brain. “Okay, what time?”
He was surprised she agreed to it. “Any time you want, my dear. Just arrive and do your touring. I’ll have dinner ready for the three of us.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mason.”
“I really wish you’d call me Randall,” he stated, hoping he could change her mind.
Didn't Emma know it? “See you tomorrow evening.” When she hung up the phone, her husband didn't look amused. “Before you say anything, Greyson, you’ll be there with me.”
“Damn right I will be.”
“Plus, we might find something out that helps us wrap this up,” she offered.
He knew she was right. “I know, honey.”
“Are we okay?” she asked, waiting for his answer. “I don’t want this to hurt us.”
He crossed the room towards his wife. “We’re the strongest we’ve ever been.”
“Promise?”
He pulled Emma to her feet. “I swear on my own life.”
* * *
On the way home they swung into the local wine shop to find something suitable to give their hosts. Wandering around, Emma finally picked a red and white wine that she thought might work. Since she wasn’t sure what they were having for dinner, it was anyone’s guess at that point.
As she was ready to check out, she found her husband in the bourbon section, trying to make a selection for their home. He was searching through the bottles and reading the labels.
“Want me to pick for you, babe? It’s a bottle of whiskey.”
He actually looked over at her horrified at that sentence. “You are so wrong there, honey. All Bourbon is whiskey, but not all whiskey is bourbon.”
She started laughing at the seriousness of his comment. “I forgot that you’re a connoisseur of Kentucky bourbon. Forgive me, Mr. Vegas.”
Croft grinned at her. “When I was a kid, my grandfather would have a glass after dinner along with a cigar. I remember my grandmother yelling at him that it was going to kill him.”
“Yeah, well did it?” Emma asked, watching him pick the bottle he wanted.
“Nope. He lived to be ninety-seven and went peacefully in his sleep. We Crofts have the longevity gene. I’m going to get old and crotchety.”
That made her giggle. “Great. That’s something to look forward to in the years to come.”
He grinned wickedly as he patted her on the ass. At the checkout, Emma started thinking about the upcoming Christmas holiday in ten weeks. She now believed she had the perfect gift to get her husband. She was going to give him a piece of nostalgia from his past. All it would take was a phone call to his mom and dad.
“Emma?” His hand rested on her shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asked, staring into her face, trying to figure out where she went for that brief moment.
“Yeah, I was just thinking, sorry.”
“Want to go dress shopping?” he asked, taking their purchases and her hand in his as they exited the shop. “I’m suddenly in the mood to watch my woman try on clothes.”
She snickered. “No, you’re not watching me. You can sit in the car.”
“I woul
dn’t bet on that,” he answered, looking around. He was feeling off balance and didn't know why. Greyson pulled his sunglasses off his face and scanned the area. He had the distinct feeling they were being watched. He only hoped it was his imagination.
“Babe, what’s wrong?” Emma could sense the change in his demeanor, and she knew something was off.
He shook his head and couldn’t give her an answer. Greyson knew that someone was observing them. He’d been in the military, logged many years as a Fed, and he knew when his gut alerted him to be wary.
Finally, as he jumped into the driver’s seat, he spoke. “I’m fine, honey. I just felt off for a second there.”
She took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. Maybe the pressure was finally getting to them both. It was funny to think they needed a vacation already, when they’d only lived here less than two months.
“Let’s get my woman something pretty for tonight and get home.” Yeah, especially that last part. Croft wasn’t thrilled that someone was following them. He was still worried about risking Emma’s life, since they were in the media spotlight.
Then, he dwelled on it even more. It could be the killer too. Well hell! Now, he needed a drink. He wanted to open his bourbon and begin chugging it right then and there.
Just what he needed--more stress.
Emma could feel the tension coming off her husband in wave after wave, and she didn't know what had stirred him up. Pointing up ahead, she waited for him to park. “I can do this one on my own, Grey,” she stated.
“No, I’m coming with you. I want to look around at women’s clothes,” he said, forcing a smile. “I like to be part of every aspect of your life.”
She shrugged. “Okay, but no peeking at what I’m buying.”
“Deal,” he answered as he followed her into the boutique. Once inside, he began wandering around. All the clothing reminded him of so many decades ago, and a time when Vegas was in its glory. The dresses ran from simple to elaborate gowns, and Croft was more than curious.
There was a tap on his arm and he glanced over at the person beside him.
Vegas is Dying (A Croft & Croft Romance Adventure Book 2) Page 42
