by Julie Miller
And he’d bet she’d worn that same smile through each administration. “You’re very dedicated.”
“I still miss working with Commissioner Brent. He was destined for fine things. Loved his sense of humor.” Miss Plastic Face got humor? “Now it’s all trapped inside him. But I know he’s working hard to come back to us.”
“I hope he recovers his health. I hear that rehabilitative therapy after a stroke is tough.”
Betty straightened Brent’s portrait with tender care, though Eli hadn’t seen anything out of place. “He’s a fighter.”
The telephone buzzed on her desk and she left to answer it. Oh yeah, if she was in charge of the mood up here, no wonder it felt like such a mausoleum.
“Commissioner Cartwright will see you now.”
Eli dumped his untasted coffee in the trash and strolled toward the bank of closed office doors. “Thanks.”
But he paused when one of the double cherrywood doors opened and his I.A. supervisor, Garrett Chang, stepped out. Not the worst surprise of his life, but not a particularly good one. His captain’s dark, almond-shaped eyes instantly sought him out and flashed a warning. Eli’s mood shifted into grim. “This isn’t gonna be good, is it?”
Chang shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”
This had to be about something more than a late report. Was one of the two dead men from the bank the cousin of a wealthy benefactor? Was someone suing the department? Was the lady commish p.o.’d because he hadn’t jumped the instant she gave an order? Well, he damn well wasn’t going to stand by while innocent…
“It’s not what you think, Eli.” Chang knew how his mind worked. “Whatever conspiracy theory is running around inside that head of yours, I promise, reality will be worse.”
I’d rather not discuss it on the phone.
That vague sense of protective concern returned to mellow his temper as he remembered Shauna’s call. Suspicion hardened him against the new, unknown threat. “What’s wrong?”
Shauna Cartwright appeared in her doorway and answered the question herself. “Better let me tell him, Garrett.”
“Right.” Captain Chang stepped to one side, looking first to the commissioner, then Eli. “If there’s anything I can do—for either of you—let me know.”
The commissioner smiled, momentarily distracting Eli from his supervisor’s mysterious offer. “Thanks. I’ll keep you in the loop.”
Chang took her outstretched hand, then reached over to shake Eli’s. “Be good.”
Was that a mind your manners or a do your job warning?
Garrett Chang departed without clarifying anything, and Eli began to feel the frustration of a man condemned to punishment for a crime he knew nothing about. Shauna Cartwright was no immediate help, either. She instructed Betty to hold her calls, gave her permission to leave at five o’clock, then ushered Eli into her office.
Though the decor in here was as uptown as the waiting area outside, soft touches of color added a subtle feminine warmth to the conference table and informal sitting areas. And was that…? Eli frowned at the nearly inaudible strains of a disco ballad playing from the suite’s hidden speakers. Go figure. No canned elevator music or talk radio. There were signs of life in the ivory tower, after all.
But the lock twisted into place behind him, canceling out the unexpected sense of welcome.
The commissioner circled in front of him and held out her hand. “Thank you for coming.”
Like he had any real choice. “Commissioner—”
“Shauna, please. In private, anyway.” The jolt of her smaller hand sliding against his proved as surprising as her choice of music had been. She tightened her grip to keep him in place long enough to inspect the bandages at his temple. “I see you opted for the scarred and rugged look instead of sensible stitches.”
“I’ll live.”
“I have no doubt you’re a tough one.” She led him to the sitting area, and then walked around her desk to a small kitchen area at the back. “May I get you a cup of coffee?”
The real thing? Or more of that stew Betty had served? He must have broadcast the questions telepathically because she grinned and pointed toward the door. “Betty may be as efficient as the U.S. Army, but she can’t make coffee worth a damn. She insists she makes it the same way my predecessor, Commissioner Brent, always liked it. Makes me wonder if he dumped it down the sink and brewed his own when she went on break, too.” She turned away to pour two mugs without waiting for his answer. “How do you take it?”
Apparently, there was no hiding a kindred caffeinated spirit. “With cream.”
Though a sager suck-up would have asked a polite question about how the previous commissioner was recovering from the series of strokes that had incapacitated him, Eli dumbly watched the graceful movements of Brent’s replacement.
Nice. She opened a tiny fridge beneath the counter and pulled out a carton of the real thing, whetting his taste buds in anticipation. Very nice. Regions south of his belt buckle stirred with a heated interest of their own as she bent over to replace the cream, and her navy gabardine skirt pulled taut across her backside.
Boss, Eli reminded himself, blinking and turning away.
His eyes fell on the computer printout with his name in bold print at the top, sitting at the center of her desk. That cooled his jets. She’d been checking up on him, reading the scattered commendations and more numerous complaints in his file, no doubt. How many partners had he gone through since Joe Niederhaus? Chang had finally given up trying to make him play well with others. The boss lady probably had something to say about that.
His gaze strayed to the pictures on her desk. Seth Cartwright with his arm around an attractive young blonde who shared a striking resemblance. The commissioner with a sopping, pony-sized Labrador retriever near a lake. A more formal photo of the commissioner, sandwiched between Seth and the same blond woman piqued Eli’s curiosity further. Though there was no older man in any of the photos, no wedding ring on the hand that clutched the dog, there was no mistaking the sense of family in those photos. Eli had little in common with her world.
Maybe once. But camaraderie, teamwork, laughter, trust—those had been missing from his life for a long time. Since the tragic death of their parents, Jillian had turned to drugs. Holly had turned to work. And Eli had just turned…inward.
“Eli?”
He jumped like a rookie at the sound of his name.
“Sorry.” She stood at his shoulder, close enough for him to smell the fragrant brew from the mug she pushed into his hands. Close enough to smell something more enticing than the coffee itself.
“Thanks.” Eli hid his interest with a swallow of the beverage that burned his throat.
“Do you have any family?” she asked, glancing at the photos with a loving smile.
“Two sisters. You?”
“Two children. Seth and Sarah. Twins. Three, if you count Sadie.” She reached over and stroked the dog’s picture. “She’s the only one still at home.”
“Is there a Mr. Cartwright?”
“Yes. But we’re divorced.”
Damn. His pulse should not be racing any faster. Had to be all the caffeine in his system. “Sorry to hear that.”
Soft green eyes sought him out over the rim of her cup, gauging the sincerity of his condolence. “It’s his loss.” The green eyes shuttered and she turned away, showing more willpower than Eli’s sorry hormones could when it came to breaking the unspoken tension simmering between them. “It’s my children’s loss, actually. Austin has chosen to be a part of our lives only when it’s convenient for him.”
Her gaze was focused on the pictures again. No, they were focused toward some memory from the past, Eli thought.
“He could have been a good father if he wasn’t such a…”
Such a what? Eli felt his body shifting forward, drawn to the sorrow that shaded her voice. But perhaps he had only imagined the vulnerability that had softened her posture. Because
there was steel in the set of her shoulders when she turned to face him, and there was business in her smile.
“We have more important things to discuss. Have a seat, Eli.” Oblivious to his misguided interest in her, the commissioner gestured to a sofa. “May I call you Eli?”
“In private.” The smart remark was out before sense could stop it.
Instead of putting him in his place, she laughed. “Touché.”
Eli unbuttoned his jacket and opted for a straight-backed chair at the conference table before he relaxed his guard any further and completely screwed up what was left of his day and career. “So, why am I here? I believe your exact words were I need to see you.”
“I like a man who’s direct.”
“I like a woman who’s direct.”
With a decisive nod, Shauna set down her mug and retrieved an unmarked file from her desk. “Just so you know, I’ve cleared this with Captain Chang.”
“Cleared what? Is this about yesterday?”
“As a matter of fact, I asked him to lose any paperwork regarding your involvement in yesterday’s shooting. For now, if anyone asks, we’ll say the incident is under investigation. We can throw speculation onto the guards or even myself as the shooter.”
Eli’s gaze narrowed as she returned. “I’ve got nothing to hide. Taking down Mr. Trench Coat was a clean shoot. My report will say as much.”
“Taking down Richard Powell was a hell of a shot. KCPD has had him on their person-of-interest list as a hired gun for several months now.” She circled the table. “But forget your report. I need you on the job, not confined to a desk. As far as anyone outside this office knows, you weren’t even at that bank yesterday.”
“Why the cover-up?”
She pulled out a chair and sat across from him, concentrating for a moment on placing the file folder just so on the table in front of her. But there was no hesitation in her expression when she looked up at him. “What I’m about to ask of you won’t be easy. It won’t make you very popular with your colleagues.”
He inclined his head toward her desk. “You read my file. Does it look like popular matters to me?”
“Deep down inside—somewhere—it matters. That’s why I’ve hesitated to recruit anyone for this assignment.”
Ignoring the compassion she offered and denying any truth to her insight, Eli laced his fingers together and leaned onto the edge of the table. “What’s the job, boss lady? What do you need me to do?”
He’d wanted direct. “Are you familiar with the Baby Jane Doe murder case?”
“I’m a cop and I live in Kansas City. So, yeah, I’m familiar enough.” Relieved to have something to focus on other than the way Shauna Cartwright seemed to see a lot deeper beneath the skin than he liked a woman to, Eli eased back in his seat. “Murdered African-American girl. About a year old. I’ve heard the grisly details in the locker room. The body found separately from the head. Tossed in the dump. My sister’s the M.E. who did the autopsy. There was no sign of sexual trauma, though the COD was physical abuse. Poor kid was too young to have dental records or fingerprints to ID her. I’ve followed the news stories. How people were keeping their own kids locked in at night, how they blamed the department for taking so long to arrest anyone. I know the D.A.’s office is hashing out the preliminary motions for Donnell Gibbs’s trial right now.”
“So you are familiar with the case.” She sighed wearily, as if the details were far too familiar, maybe too personal, for her. “My first priority when I took over for Edward Brent was to put together a task force dedicated to the investigation. Actually, it was Edward’s idea, before his first stroke. He was afraid of civil unrest. Lynch mobs. Untrained citizens arming themselves against a child-killer. I organized the plan, selected the investigators and put Mitch Taylor in charge. The task force gave me Donnell Gibbs.”
Eli nodded. “Now the city’s calmed down, the killer’s on trial and we’re all heroes here at KCPD again.”
“I want to reopen the case.”
A beat of silence filled the room.
“Are you nuts?” Putting Donnell Gibbs on trial for Baby Jane Doe’s murder had finally staunched the wound that had hobbled KCPD for more than two years. Even Eli could sense the city’s massive sigh of relief. “Shauna, you can’t—”
“I’m reopening the case.” She ignored his accusatory slip of decorum and pushed the file across the table, offering Eli the most unpopular job in all of Kansas City. “And I need a man like you to do it.”
Chapter Three
“You’re giving in to anonymous threats?”
Shauna peeked over the top of her reading glasses to watch Eli set aside the last of the letters sealed in plastic evidence bags. His long, dexterous fingers tucked the pile into a neat stack before closing the folder.
“Yes, I want to find out who’s sending these.” She handed over the printouts of e-mails she’d received as well. Each and every message, from the vague comments expressing concern about the Baby Jane Doe case, to the perfunctory lists of mistakes KCPD had made in the investigation, to the most recent diatribes against the entire department’s incompetence, had been signed with nothing more than a Yours Truly. “The sender might be able to provide a lead. But I’m reopening the case because I need to know that little girl’s name.”
Eli scanned a printout, then tossed it onto the table. “Ask Donnell Gibbs.”
“He says he doesn’t know.”
“He’s lying.”
“I don’t think he is.”
“Why not?” Eli’s prove-it-to-me gaze pierced the shadows falling across the conference table as the afternoon sun shifted into evening light.
Shauna imagined that that look alone could make a witness or suspect reconsider any lack of cooperation. She imagined that that look also kept well-meaning friends and serious relationships at arm’s length. The cynicism in the smooth Scotch of Eli’s eyes aged his handsome face. And she couldn’t help but wonder how a smile, one that wasn’t laced with mockery or distrust, would mellow his carved features and dark gold irises.
Still, any compassion she felt for his lone-wolf status was irrelevant. Any fascination she felt for his tall, lean body or rich baritone voice wasn’t even allowed. Crossing her arms and rubbing at the skin chilling beneath the sleeves of her blouse was all she could do to assuage the empty ache inside her. There was another man out there—one far more mysterious and infinitely more dangerous—who demanded her attention.
“I might be the only person in all of Kansas City who feels this way…but I don’t believe Donnell Gibbs killed that girl.” Shauna pulled off her glasses and got up, trying to warm the room by turning on a desk lamp and the overhead lights. “Gibbs confessed to killing her. But the man’s a registered pedophile—and our Jane Doe wasn’t sexually assaulted.”
Eli stood as well, straightening his tie and rebuttoning his collar. “Maybe he got interrupted before he could do the deed. Or she screamed too loud and he had to shut her up before he got caught.”
“She’s younger than any of his other victims,” Shauna pointed out.
“He had a need and was desperate. Maybe he discovered a twelve-month-old was too far out of his comfort zone, and that’s why he killed her.”
Shauna crossed her arms and tilted her chin. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you.”
“I’m just pointing out what the prosecution would argue. What every cop in this town is going to argue if you reopen this case.” He picked up the stack of e-mails and held it out in his fist. “You should have reported this Yours Truly wacko the moment you got that first letter. Before it escalated to…” He shuffled through the papers to find one particular quote. “‘Our children aren’t safe. If your department can’t get the job done right, Ms. Cartwright, then I’ll do the job for them.’”
Shauna shrugged and moved to collect their empty mugs. “Do you have any idea how many complaints come through the commissioner’s office? While we address all of them, we don’t
give credence to every disgruntled citizen who doesn’t like the way we do business. Being frustrated with KCPD isn’t a crime.”
He slapped the letters down on the table beside her. “This isn’t a complaint. It’s a threat.”
“I’ve read worse.” Standing close enough to detect the clean, male smells on Eli’s skin and clothes, Shauna had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. Lord, he was tall. Maybe not NBA size, but the lean cut of his waist and broad angle of his shoulders made him a towering figure.
“Such as?” he prompted, pulling her wandering focus back to the discussion at hand.
She wasn’t reacting to anything Yours Truly had said, she reminded herself. There was a skewed logic about Donnell Gibbs’s arrest that just didn’t make sense to either the cop or the mother in her. She had to make Eli understand that. “Statistics say that the majority of sexual predators know their victims. They have some kind of contact prior to the attack. Gibbs claims she was a random abduction from the park.”
“How does a one-year-old get to the park without…?” Eli paused, realizing he’d just slipped toward her side of the argument by stating another unresolved question in the case.
“Without anyone reporting her missing?” Zing. She’d scored a point in their verbal debate. “And how do you account for the signs of previous physical abuse? Gibbs claims he was only with her for forty-eight hours. That girl had a tragic life before Donnell Gibbs ever met her. If he really did.”
“So there are holes in his story,” Eli conceded, following her back to the kitchenette. “He has a couple of drug arrests on his record, too. Maybe the murder is related to that and not his predatory history. The task force report says his DNA was on the sheet the girl’s body was wrapped in. That puts him at the murder.”
“That puts him with the sheet. His DNA wasn’t on the body.”
Shauna set the mugs in the sink and shivered when Eli’s sleeve brushed past hers. Damn. She was a grown woman with grown children. She had an entire police force under her command. She should be past this volatile-chemical-reaction-to-a-man phase in her life. So why were goose bumps prickling along her arms again?
