Don't Look Back

by Christie Craig

“How’s Brie doing?” Juan asked.

  Connor rolled his tense shoulder muscles. “Not good. She respected Calvin.”

  “That’s tough,” Juan said.

  “Yeah. Hey, do me a favor. Text Billy and ask for an update.”

  Juan sent a text and soon after his phone dinged.

  “What did he say?” Connor gripped the steering wheel tighter. He knew Brie could take care of herself, but it didn’t stop him from worrying.

  Juan chuckled. “He’s said nothing’s changed since you asked ten minutes ago. And to stop worrying about your girlfriend. He’s not going to steal her from you and he’s got her back.”

  “Asshole,” Connor muttered.

  “You really like her, don’t you? I mean, you got her tampons in your car.”

  “Mark’s got a big mouth! Don’t start.”

  “I’m not. Seriously, I think it’s great. But isn’t she moving back to Baton Rouge?”

  “I don’t know.” He’d almost asked her earlier, but the timing felt wrong. He figured she’d use that as another reason to keep him at a distance. But Baton Rouge wasn’t that far away. In fact, maybe a long-distance relationship would be easier for him. Less scary.

  Connor turned onto the road where Allen lived. Another car came from the opposite direction and pulled into a driveway down the street. It was dusk, and visibility was quickly decreasing.

  “Is that our address where the Civic just pulled in?” Juan asked.

  Connor slowed down. “Shit it is.” He passed the house and pulled into the driveway across the street. Both he and Juan turned and watched the guy leave his car and walk toward the porch.

  “Is that Madden?” Juan asked.

  “I can’t tell in this light.”

  They waited to see if the man knocked or went inside.

  He didn’t knock.

  “This is what you call good timing.” Juan looked at Connor. “You ready?”

  “Does a bear shit in the woods? Damn, I hope that’s our guy.”

  They eased up to the house. Connor looked at Juan. “You knock. I’ll go to the back in case he tries to run.”

  Connor moved to the back corner of the house and waited. Juan’s knock sounded. Then Connor heard pounding steps in the house. The back door slammed open and a tall sandy-haired guy bolted out.

  Connor took off after him. “Stop! Police!”

  He didn’t stop. And neither did Connor. He yanked his handcuffs off his belt and tackled the guy. He let out a whoosh of disgruntled air.

  “Stay down!” Connor fit the handcuffs on the perp’s wrists. That’s when he noticed the blood on the guy’s hands.

  “You’re police?” the guy asked. “I didn’t know you were police.”

  “Whose blood is that?” With Connor’s knees soaking up the mud on the ground, he rolled the guy over. It wasn’t Madden. “Who are you? Where did the blood come from?”

  “I didn’t do it. I swear! I just got here,” the perp said.

  “Didn’t do what?” Connor heard footsteps and looked back as Juan hauled ass around the house, his gun drawn. “I got him.”

  “I just found her like that!” the cuffed man said.

  “Found who like what?” Connor asked.

  “The chick.”

  Connor and Juan met gazes. “What chick?” Connor yanked the man up to his feet.

  “I came to check on my brother. He’s missed work for a week. I walked in and found that poor girl. When someone knocked, I thought whoever did that had come back.” The man bent at the waist and puked.

  “Is anyone else in the house?” Connor asked.

  The guy rose up and wiped his mouth on his shoulder. “I don’t think so.”

  Connor nudged the guy to move. “How bad is she hurt?” When the perp didn’t answer, Connor yanked him closer. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”

  The perp blinked. “I think it’s too late for that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Watch him,” Connor said to Juan. “I’m going in.”

  “Wait,” Juan said, but Connor didn’t stop. What if the guy was wrong and Candy was still alive?

  Gun out, he nudged open the back door and eased inside. “Police! If anyone is in here, announce yourself. Now!”

  Only dead silence greeted him. He moved through the kitchen and stopped at the door to the living room. On the floor was the woman, facedown in a puddle of blood. The dark brown hair told him it wasn’t Candy.

  He knelt to touch her, hoping she was warm. She wasn’t. She’d been dead a while. The smell of decomp hit him hard. He stood, avoiding the blood, and went to check the rest of the house to confirm no one else was there.

  It was clear. When he returned to the living room, his gaze shot back to the body. And that’s when he recognized her.

  “Shit!”

  “Police!” Juan’s voice rang out behind him.

  “It’s clear,” Connor said.

  Juan rushed in, still holding his gun.

  “Where’s the perp?” Connor asked.

  “Cuffed to the porch railing.”

  Connor’s gaze lowered. “She’s gone.”

  “Yeah.” Juan made a face and put his hand over his nose.

  “Is it Candace Brooks?”

  “No, it’s Regina Berger.”

  * * *

  Brie went to the bar to get beers for the men at table six. It was ten o’clock. Exhaustion pulled at her mood. She glanced up and saw both Billy and the ICE agent studying her. If they kept that up, someone might notice.

  She suddenly felt someone press up against her from behind. Someone sporting a hard-on. And not even an impressive one.

  “Hello, beautiful.” The accent was Spanish. Her chest clutched. He’d watched her all night but hadn’t approached.

  She wanted to turn around and knee the sorry excuse for a human being in the balls. But more than that, she wanted to find Candy and put this lowlife, dung-eating scumbag behind bars.

  So no ball busting…yet.

  She slid out from between him and the bar then turned and faced him.

  Armand’s eyes held the glassy look of someone who’d had one too many.

  “Come with me and chat for a while,” he said.

  “Can’t.”

  “Don’t break my heart. You are the most beautiful girl in the entire club. I want you.”

  “I have a boyfriend,” she said.

  He smiled. “I don’t mind sharing.”

  “He does. But I’d like to be friends.” The comment sounded naive and stupid, but after the day she’d had, she wasn’t at her best.

  “Come on.” He caught her arm and pulled her toward the back. Brie’s mind raced for a plan. One that wouldn’t lead to her naked with this man or hurt her chance of saving Candy.

  “Leave her be!” The voice rang beside her. She looked at Danny, the bouncer, with his chest puffed out, and fists clutched at his sides.

  “Go back to work. I own this place.” Armand’s eyes glittered with anger.

  “But you don’t own her,” Danny said.

  “It’s okay, Danny.” She yanked free. “We’re good.” She shot Armand her best smile while seething with fury inside.

  He nodded.

  Danny moved back to his post.

  Armand stared after Danny.

  “You really own the club?” She pretended to be impressed to take his mind off the bouncer.

  “Yes.” He stared at her. “This boyfriend, does he mind you making extra money?”

  “Depends on how I earn it.”

  “I’m having a party on Thursday night. I want someone to serve drinks. To be, what do you call it? Eye candy? I pay big. Five hundred for one night.”

  Her gut said this was it, her chance to get him, but she couldn’t appear too eager. “I work Thursday.”

  “I’ll get Grimes to give you the night off.”

  “Just serving drinks?” She played hard to get.

  “I promise.”

  And she
was sure he never broke a promise. Right. Well, she would definitely be keeping hers: to see this man rot in prison. “Where’s the party?”

  “I will pick you up.”

  “You’ll be drinking. Give me the address and I’ll drive.” She reached for the pen on the bar.

  “I don’t drink much. Do I not look trustworthy?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. She cut him another smile. “No, you look dangerous.”

  He laughed. “We can talk about how you get there later. Deal?”

  “Deal.” This might be it. Her chance to save Candy. Her chance to prove this piece of crap had a hand in killing her sister.

  * * *

  It was after ten before Connor, Juan, and Mark walked out of the station. The guy they’d caught running from the house hadn’t been lying. He was Allen Madden’s brother. They also found Allen Madden. In the morgue. His body had floated up in the river.

  They didn’t know if Madden was behind Regina’s death or Candy’s kidnapping. Or if it was one or both of Madden’s two roommates. Luckily, they’d found their names and mug shots. A couple of night-shift cops were trying to run them down.

  Connor had gone straight home to shower. In the three hours it took for the morgue to pick up Berger, the decomp had worsened. Now, with his palms pressed against the shower stall, he let the hot water run. Damn, but he hated death. Especially senseless death. Hated knowing the little girl he’d bounced in his arms a few nights ago would grow up without a mom.

  Out of the shower, he went to check in with Billy again. Earlier Connor had been informed that a bouncer had intervened when Marcus Armand had tried to pull Brie into the back.

  Holy hell, he didn’t want Brie anywhere near that perp. While he doubted Berger had been taken out by Armand, himself, he’d probably given the order. Berger probably got scared the cops were on to her and went to someone for help. They thought she’d end up talking, and had slit her throat.

  Billy had agreed to follow Brie back to her apartment when she got off at twelve, but Connor still worried for her safety.

  He checked the time: eleven-fifteen. An idea started to form. He hurried, got dressed, and ran out.

  * * *

  Feeling a bit safer knowing Billy had followed her home, Brie hugged her hoodie closer as she walked to her apartment. The cold air was thick and smelled like rain. Glancing up, she spotted a half-moon, and a few low-hanging clouds that caught the moon’s rays—a buttermilk sky, her mom once called it.

  She got to her door, thankful that someone had finally fixed the lock. She let herself in, and Psycho greeted her. Picking him up, she snuggled him close. “Hey, sweetie.” Moving into the kitchen she poured food into his bowl. He wiggled free to eat and her mind went back to what she needed to tell Connor.

  She pulled out her phone, found his number, and called.

  “Hey.” He answered on the first ring.

  “Tell me you have news,” she said.

  “I do. Open your door and I’ll fill you in.”

  “My door?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  She exhaled, knowing his presence could be dangerous. She still let him in. He had his arms filled with bags and a frying pan. “What’s this?”

  “I haven’t eaten. You?”

  “No, but…” She took the bag he handed her and followed him into the kitchen. “What’s your news?”

  “You first.” He placed the frying pan on her stove. “What did Armand say to you?”

  “He asked me to work a private party for him on Thursday. My gut says this’ll lead us to Candy.”

  “My gut says he’s planning on grabbing you.”

  “I know, and we’ll let him. You can follow me and save the day. I’m sure you’ll like being a hero.”

  He frowned. “I don’t like—”

  “We don’t have a choice.”

  His lips thinned in discontent. “You’ll have to wear a wire. And—”

  “What’s your news?” She cut him off.

  He looked at the frying pan. “Do you have a spatula? I forgot to bring or borrow one.”

  Borrow? She opened a drawer and pulled one out. Then she looked inside the bag. “What’s this?” She pulled out a plastic container with a white thick substance.

  “Pancake batter. I didn’t think they’d be good reheated, so I figured we could cook them.”

  She looked at the container. “You made pancake batter?”

  “No. I bought it from the diner.”

  “They sold…” She shook her head. “Forget that. What’s your news? Anything on Candy?”

  His expression soured. “No.” He turned on one of the burners. “Have you ever cooked pancakes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. I’ll need help.”

  She frowned. “Would you please tell me your news?”

  He exhaled and turned off the stove. “We found the address of the person whose phone Candy used to call Grimes.”

  “Did you find him? Did—”

  “No. Well, yeah, but we also found…Regina Berger.”

  “Wait? You found her at…Does she know anything?”

  “She’s dead.”

  Brie’s breath caught. She pulled out a chair and dropped down. “Crap.”

  “I know. We think she probably went to either Allen or his roommates after I’d come to question her. We suspect they’re working with Armand. Chances are she was scared and they were nervous she’d talk.”

  “And the guy the phone belonged to? You found him?”

  “At the morgue. His body was found earlier today. But we do have the names of the two people who recently moved in with Allen and we have BOLOs out on them.”

  “Is this ever going to end?”

  “I think we’re close.”

  She shut her eyes. And got hit with the flashback of Calvin shooting himself.

  When she opened her eyes, Connor stood in front of her with his hand out. The look in his eyes said he knew exactly what had been going through her mind.

  “Come on.” He wiggled his fingers.

  She glanced up. “What?”

  “Let’s forget about…Help me cook pancakes.”

  The look in his eyes told her this was as much for him as it was for her. Considering he’d been the one to find Regina Berger, she understood.

  “No feeding me pancakes.”

  “Got it.” He kept his hand extended. His smile was pure sin with sprinkles on top.

  “That means no sex.”

  His smile widened. “Okay, but a woman should reserve the right to change her mind.”

  “I’m serious.”

  His smile faded. “I didn’t come here for sex, Brie.”

  Honesty radiated from his voice. “What did you come here for?”

  “I’m here because you said you wouldn’t sleep. Because I don’t think I will either. Because I’m worried about Armand showing up—and I know you can take care of yourself, but it scares me. I’m here because I like pancakes. You like pancakes. Because I really like you.”

  She slipped her hand in his and he pulled her up. “We’re just partners.”

  “No, we’re more than that. Tonight, we’re pancake buddies.”

  She laughed, then looked at the pan. “We’ll need a little oil.”

  “It’s in the small container.” He pointed to the bag with the spatula.

  “The diner gave you oil, too?”

  “I tipped the cook fifty bucks.”

  She grinned. “These are going to be expensive pancakes.”

  “They’ll be worth it.” He turned the stove on again. “I have to return the frying pan.”

  She pulled three sealed containers out of the bag. One had syrup, one had butter, and the small one had oil. Moving to the stove, she poured some of the oil into the pan.

  “Is that enough?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” She picked up the pan and tilted it, this way, then that, so it was evenly coated with oil.

  “Look at you.
Showing off your moves.” He smiled. She smiled back. He draped his arm around her shoulders, his touch soft, warm, and comforting.

  She leaned into him just a bit, and it felt like half a hug. Not a sexy type of hug. A healing, I-need-a-friend kind of hug. “I’m sorry you had to find her.”

  “Me too. But we’re not talking about that. We’re cooking pancakes.”

  She nodded. “You know we have to throw the first one out.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Eliot said it never cooks right.”

  “Well, I’m sure Eliot knows best.”

  She nodded.

  “How’s Carlos?” he asked.

  “Tory said he’s conscious but sleeping most the time. And they removed the tube and he said a few words. I’m going there first thing in the morning.”

  “Good. We’ll need to talk to him.”

  “I know.”

  Ten minutes later, they were at her kitchen table, eating and laughing about Connor’s impaired flipping abilities. One pancake had landed on the floor and sent Psycho flying from the room.

  When they finished eating, they washed the dishes, then Connor said, “Come on. Let’s see if we can find something really boring on TV.”

  “Boring?”

  “We might fool ourselves and fall asleep.”

  She lifted one of the shoulder straps of her tank top up and sniffed cigarette smoke. “I need a shower.”

  He lifted his brows. “Need someone to wash your back?”

  She cut him a stern look, to which he responded without a shred of shame, “Not sex. Just a back wash.”

  From her bedroom, she snagged a large T-shirt and a baggy pair of sweats. A minute later, she stepped into the hot spray of water, bathing quickly, trying not to remember being in the shower with him before. Trying not to remember his warm soapy body, his kisses, his mouth on…

  When she came out, Connor relaxed on her sofa with his arm across the back, his feet perched up on the coffee table. He wore a smile so charming her toes curled.

  He gave her a slow once-over. “If you picked that outfit trying not to be sexy, you failed.”

  “Behave,” she insisted.

  “I already promised.” Laughing, he patted the cushion beside him. She joined him. Not close enough to feel his body heat, but his being there, sharing the sofa with her, filled her with a different kind of heat. When she’d bought the huge piece of furniture, she hadn’t considered the size. Hadn’t realized how sad sitting on it alone would be. No friends. No family. No romance.