by J. V. Speyer
She couldn’t get away with that here and now. She needed to keep her mind on reality. She wouldn’t have even met Abby if it weren’t for Jack being a homicidal maniac. She needed to keep that in mind.
All the same, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever get a chance to do more than take pictures of all that gorgeous skin.
She didn’t ask Abby to sit there for more than a couple of hours. It had to be awkward, and it was doing something to Paige’s brain to have her sitting there. “I’ll go through the pictures later and let you see which ones I’d want to use. It wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Abby pulled her shirt over her head. “No. Not at all, actually. I thought it would be weird and uncomfortable, but it just felt like hanging around.” Her cheeks turned pink for a second. “You make people feel comfortable. It’s part of what makes you such a good bartender, but it helps with stuff like this too. Have you looked into doing fashion photography? I’d bet a lot of the models, of any gender, would much rather model for someone like you than some of the creeper photographers I’ve read about.”
“I, um, I haven’t tried for any of those jobs.” Paige put her camera on her desk. “It’s hard, you know? I already know I’m not going to get any of the jobs around here. Would you believe Jack told some of the gallery owners I sexually assaulted a model?”
Abby recoiled. “I am looking so forward to nabbing this jackass.”
“I can’t wait.” Paige fussed with her glass. It had started to sweat, which made the outside feel kind of gross. She couldn’t do anything about that now. “After a while I stopped trying. I still send stuff out to some of the farther away places, like magazines and stuff. It has to be pretty obscure not to have had Jack get there before me.” Shame turned her stomach, but the bitter Campari in her drink helped settle it.
She expected Abby to give her some kind of bullshit pep talk about not giving up and “letting” Jack win. Abby apparently had no such thoughts, or if she did, she kept them to herself. “That sucks. But I can’t blame you. At some point you have to ask yourself when you’re being persistent and when you’re deluding yourself, right?”
Paige nodded, eyes on the ground. “I tried for a while, but now I rely on the bar.”
“He knows.” Abby’s voice took on an undercurrent of steel. “That’s why he’s focusing on your associates at the bar. I’ve got to say, for a guy to be this obsessive about someone from high school is weird. But that’s not on you. He’s past the point where it’s okay just to slap him on the wrist and try to teach him how to grow up.”
“Yeah.” Paige sat up straighter. “I know. I mean part of me knows. The rest of me is still reeling. Thanks for helping me out. I know a lot of this isn’t standard police procedure.”
“You’d be surprised.” Abby laughed. “It’s not a hardship to spend time with you either.” Abby stuffed her hands into her pockets. “You’re incredibly strong, and you’re so talented a person could just cry. And you’re gorgeous, there’s that.” She blushed again. “Sorry, I’m running off at the mouth. I should go or something.”
Paige took a chance and kissed her. Abby didn’t hesitate to return the kiss. She tasted like gin and Campari, and like warm nights by the fire while icy winds blew outside. Paige was left gasping as she pulled back for air.
She couldn’t let Abby go home. Not now, not after a kiss like that.
“Get down!” Abby dragged Paige to the ground just as glass shattered behind them.
Chapter 6
Abby kept Paige down and hustled her into the hallway. She had a pretty good idea where the bullet had come from, but she’d let the guys from Ballistics make the final call. Her heart slammed against her ribcage as she and Paige evacuated the apartment.
Mark and Barb, the officer in the other apartment, rushed in just as Abby and Paige hustled out. “Did you see him?” Mark had his weapon in his hand, like he could fire across Comm Ave with a Glock and expect to hit.
“No.” Abby shook her head and straightened up now that there was a wall between them. “How in the hell did this guy get a sniper rifle in Massachusetts? I thought we banned those.”
“Probably brought it down from New Hampshire or Vermont.” Barb killed the lights in Paige’s studio. “All right. I think it’s obvious you can’t stay here tonight, Ms. Lim.”
Paige took Abby’s arm. She stood tall and firm, but Abby could feel the way she trembled. “Yeah. Um. That was a gunshot.”
“It was.” Abby closed her eyes. She’d been shot at before. Hell, she’d been shot before. It hadn’t happened in the States, that was for sure. She tried not to remember the arid landscape or the inescapable feeling of being an invader, the nagging question of whether ordinary objects might be rigged to explode at any moment. “Listen, you can stay with me tonight. We’ll find a longer-term safe house for you tomorrow.”
Mark raised an eyebrow. “I’m a little worried about you too, Morgan. Considering this asshole’s propensity for not actually going after Paige here. But we can secure your place a little bit better than we can hers.” He ducked into the apartment and flattened himself against the wall.
Once he had, Paige buried her face in Abby’s shirt. “He shot through my window.” She didn’t scream and she didn’t sob, but Abby’s shirt was soaked. “Are you kidding me? He shot through my window.”
“He did.” Abby wrapped her arms around Paige. She wasn’t here as a cop right now. She was here to comfort Paige. “But we’re both okay. We didn’t even get hit by glass. We’ll make it good with your landlord, make sure he gets reimbursed by the right person for that window. And hey, my stepsister’s a lawyer. If he tries to jack your rent, you’ll wind up owning the building.”
Paige sniffed. “Oh, come on. That doesn’t happen.” She looked up, a little smile on her face.
“Watch her. She’ll amaze and delight you.” Abby managed a grin. Susan would do it, and do it for free too. Abby’s stepfather had turned out some decent kids, for being such an ass. “In the meantime, are you okay with staying with me?”
“Definitely.” She squeezed Abby’s arm just as Mark re-emerged from the room.
“I closed all of the blinds. I’m still uncomfortable. I want you to get in, get what you need to get through the next few days, and get out as fast as you can.” He caught her gaze and held it. “This is very serious. Stay down as much as you can and don’t hem and haw. This is your life.”
Abby held her breath as Barb escorted Paige back into the room. Mark turned to her as sirens screamed outside. “This is taking it up a notch or two.” Mark kept his voice to a whisper. “Think it’s enough?”
“Nope.” Abby didn’t have to think about it. “We still can’t prove it was Jack. Even if the bullet is traceable back to him, the gun could have been stolen.” She rolled her eyes as dramatically as she could. “This is ridiculous. There has to be something more we can do than just sit here and wait for him to kill someone new.”
“Lord, I wish.” Mark turned his head as Paige emerged from the apartment. “Is that everything?”
She nodded. “I figure I can do laundry and replace any clothes or whatever. I didn’t need to grab much.” She hefted a single duffle bag over her shoulder.
Abby took the bag, leaving her to carry her own camera bag and laptop case. “I’ve got that.” Tonight was arguably the worst night of Paige’s life. She didn’t need to lug all her worldly possessions all around Boston.
Mark drove them to Abby’s place. Abby had cleaned it recently and there wasn’t anything embarrassing lying around. She couldn’t imagine bringing a traumatized person over to crash and having them find last night’s dinner still on the coffee table or something.
“I’m sticking around until we can get uniformed units over here.” Mark sat down on the couch and spread out. “This isn’t negotiable. There’s no way I’m letting him get to you guys. I hope you’ve got some decent coffee, Abby, because we’re all going to need it.”
Abby nodd
ed and headed into the kitchen to start a pot. The officers keeping them safe would need it too. Once she’d gotten that ball rolling, she showed Paige the guest room. “I know it’s a weird situation. And kind of awkward,” she explained. “I don’t want you to feel like there’s any expectation or anything weird like that.”
“It’s fine.” Paige looked around. “This is really your place?”
“Yeah.” Abby ran a hand through her hair and blushed. “I lucked out on finding it. It’s comfortable, close to things, maybe a little eclectic, but I like it.”
“You need more art on the walls.” Paige winked and set her bags down. “I appreciate you letting me stay here. I don’t know what I would have done.”
“Hey. I’d never leave you out in the cold, okay?” Abby held back from touching her. She didn’t want Paige to feel pressured, and under the circumstances she knew it would be weird.
She wasn’t at all surprised, though, when Paige snuck into her room a couple of hours later after they’d both ostensibly gone to bed.
They didn’t do anything sexual. Paige had just had her windows shot out by her ex-boyfriend. It wasn’t the time for that sort of thing, and they hadn’t known each other very long. They both needed comfort, they both wanted comfort, and this was the right time and place for it to happen. Abby’s guns were on the nightstand, and if it came right down to it, she didn’t need a gun to take down Jack Kavanaugh.
She held Paige in her arms, keeping her warm and safe. She breathed in the soft, clean scent of Paige’s hair and thanked any passing deities that Paige was safe and happy. She would do anything she could to keep her this way, comfortable and secure.
Paige groaned when Abby’s alarm went off, but she got up anyway. “Do you always get up this early?” She hopped out of the bed.
“I usually get up earlier.” Abby laughed as she found clothes for the day. “I’m skipping my morning workout.” Under the circumstances, a run just didn’t feel right. “Listen, I don’t want you to feel like you’re in jail. You’ve also got someone taking potshots at you. Would you be okay coming down to the station? I’m okay asking someone to hang around here with you, if you’d rather.”
Paige shuddered. “That just feels weird, you know? Sitting in someone else’s empty apartment with all the curtains closed and a cop watching me.”
“I figured I’d make the offer.” Abby got changed quickly. “It’s all about choice.”
Paige had been through a lot over the past few days, but she still had enough fire in her to make a face. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll get some good pictures at the station.”
Abby snapped her fingers. “Maybe they’ll buy some pictures. You know, for PR.”
Paige brightened. “You’re always thinking, aren’t you?”
Abby basked in the praise. Finding a murderer was usually too little too late, but finding solutions to some of the roadblocks Jack had thrown up was right up Abby’s alley.
They drove in to headquarters. Abby had to sign Paige in and get her a bright orange visitor badge, but that was fine.
They had an empty desk in the bullpen, thanks to Bill Ward having retired a couple of months ago. Abby set Paige up there and got to work herself. She had work of her own to do, even if all she wanted to do was talk to Paige. For one thing, last night’s incident required paperwork.
It also required a conversation with the press liaison, who had plenty of questions. “Look, Detective, I know your private life is your private life, but the reporters are going to want to know why you were at a home when there was a drive-by.”
Abby pinched the bridge of her nose. Cassie Reynolds was a good press liaison, but she needed to get her facts straight. “How’s there going to be a drive-by on the fifth floor?”
“What?”
“Exactly. This was a targeted attack. And I was there not as part of my private life, but because we suspected the assailant might go after the target. We were not expecting a sniper attack, because that kind of weapon just isn’t found in Massachusetts.” Abby looked up at the ceiling. Paige was far enough away from her that she couldn’t hear if Abby kept her voice down.
“No, it isn’t.” Reynolds sounded a little more awake. “That puts a very different face on this. Is it a serial? The press is going to go there as soon as they hear about this.”
“No. I don’t believe this is a serial killer, not the way people think about serial killers. He’s a misogynist and he’s got a specific target in mind.” Abby took a deep breath. “It’s hard, you know? You don’t want to give away too much and let the jerk go underground again, but when people are shooting through windows on the fifth floor of a building you need to reassure the public.”
“Right?” Reynolds snorted. “I’m glad at least someone gets it. I’ve been cussed at five times today by different departments. How about if I just tell them this is not a random incident, there is no danger to the general public at this time, but if your buddy just brought a high-powered rifle from out of state and it seems a little out of character, we might want to hear from you.”
“Perfect.” Abby thanked Reynolds and moved on to the next item on her list.
The Lim case—no longer the Connery case, since the poor murder victim had only ever been a means to an end—wasn’t the only case on Abby’s plate right now. It was the most pressing, because the other homicides involved drug crime that wasn’t likely to spill outside the people feuding and because witnesses in those cases didn’t generally cooperate.
She also got rape kit results from two outstanding cases, both of which came back to the same guy. She was able to get warrants for the suspect before noon, and after convincing her supervisor to keep watch over Paige, managed to arrest the suspect at his place of employment by two o’clock. She wasn’t given to signs, portents, or omens, but it still felt good to get progress like this.
Calling the victims, who’d had the courage to come forward and report, absolutely made her day. It would have been the highlight of her week if it weren’t for waking up beside Paige.
As the day wound down, she and Mark escorted Paige to work. This time they took an unmarked car, with bulletproof tinted windows. They weren’t taking any chances.
* * * *
Paige knew she couldn’t get used to this. Even if she and Abby had a real relationship, which didn’t seem as farfetched after the kiss they’d shared last night, Abby wouldn’t be able to knock off work early and hang out at The Gin Barrel with Paige on her shift. It wasn’t reasonable, and Mike would never allow it. Paige shouldn’t want him to—having her cop girlfriend hanging around and glowering at customers would only decrease tips, right?
Not that Abby did a lot of glowering. She didn’t show a lot of jealousy or possessiveness. Paige’s mother had always told her cops were the worst, jealous and demanding and the first to claim ownership of anything that struck their fancy. Her mother’s experience with police had come at the hands of a genocidal regime and had to be considered in that light.
She mixed up a Turf Club for Abby and set it down in front of her. Old Tom gin wasn’t to everyone’s taste, being a bit sweeter than the London Dry most people preferred, but it had its place in the world. It mixed perfectly with the sweet vermouth and two types of bitters called for in the Turf Club, for one thing.
Abby thanked her and sipped from the coupé glass. She wouldn’t really drink much of it. She’d nurse it the whole night, to give the impression she was a paying customer. It kept her off the other customers’ radar. At least, that was the idea. Paige had no idea what was going on in anyone’s head. Who knew? Maybe one of them was the real killer, and not Jack. Maybe the wretched judge was right.
Paige almost dropped the glass she’d just taken from a customer at the thought. It couldn’t be true. The possibility nibbled at her brain, though, just as cruelly as any virus. What were the odds that someone would have two homicidal stalkers at the same time?
Abby frowned and pulled her phone from her pocket. She looked at i
t for a second, pushed a button, and put the phone down on the bar. Paige caught her eye, but Abby just rolled her eyes.
Paige made her way over to Abby as soon as she could. “Was that…”
Abby made a face, the kind people made when they opened dairy products past their prime. “Yeah. It was. I have got to figure out how that son of a bitch got my number. It must be written on the bathroom wall at Creepy Stalkers Bar or something.”
Paige shuddered. “He found Austin’s number too. I don’t know how.”
“There are ways. We’ll find out once we grab him. It’s less important than proving it was him, you know?” She put her hand on the phone and slid it toward her.
Paige stopped her, laying her hand over Abby’s. “What did he say?”
“The same nonsense creepy stalker guys always say.” Abby snorted, but she didn’t look directly at Paige. “Who gives a crap what he said? Who pays attention? Do you pay attention to a rabid dog, or those guys who stand outside the T-station and hand out pamphlets about eternal damnation? No. You avoid them, have them contained, and go on with your day.” She slipped her phone into her pocket again.
Then she sipped from her drink. “This drink tastes a little different from the others. What’s different about it?”
Paige narrowed her eyes at Abby. “Are you trying to distract me by getting me to talk about the differences between Old Tom gin and London Dry gin?”
“Maybe.” Abby’s impudent grin showed she didn’t regret anything. “Is it working?”
“No.” Paige tried to glare, but she couldn’t stay mad. “I’m not the one in danger here, Abby.”
Abby curled her shoulders in a little. “Of course you are. We both are.” Then she sat up straighter. “But it’s the only way to get this done, and we’re as well-protected as two people can be. We can’t do anything about it, and focusing on it and fretting isn’t going to do anything but make us screw something up. So. Think about something else.”
