And yet, Hailey wasn’t that way. Unlike Natasha, Hailey seemed unaware of her allure. She was neither coy, nor a flirt.
When a case finally brought them together, Jamie learned Hailey was grounded, confident, and fair. And she was kind. But whether Hailey noticed it or not, Jamie had seen the effect she had on men. They paid careful attention. Jamie had her share of attention, but never like Hailey’s. She wondered how Hailey could possibly ignore it. Hailey was the other one from the Rookie Club who had reached out to her.
What did they think of her now?
Did they understand that she couldn’t reach back?
That she didn’t know how?
“Natasha’s all about getting a reaction.”
“She got my husband already,” Jamie hissed back, hoping Natasha noticed the way the two women were whispering. “You’d think that would be enough.”
Hailey smiled softly. “You’d think, right?”
“I hate these things.”
“We all do,” Hailey agreed. “You doing okay?”
Jamie felt the façade slip. How long had it been since she’d confided in someone? Since she’d had a conversation about how she was really feeling? Hell, how long since she’d had a conversation that wasn’t about a case? But it was too much. Hailey might be willing to listen—she probably would—but now was not the time or place. She needed to find Emily Osbourne. “I found out my rapist isn’t leaving any DNA. I’m in a lousy mood.”
“Condom?”
“No sign of that either,” Jamie said. “Just no semen.”
“I’d say you’ve got reason to be pissed.”
“How are things with you?” Jamie asked.
Hailey winked. “Murder.”
Tim approached the table. She shifted as Tim stopped beside Natasha. Damn him. Did he have to do this here? As if it weren’t awkward enough to be sitting across from Natasha. Why couldn’t he have slept with someone from the gym? Or one of the neighbors? It would have been so easy to quit gyms or move houses.
Why did it have to be someone from work?
Tim offered her a sideways glance—an apology, or maybe pity. She didn’t know, and didn’t care. Before she could send a scathing response, he shifted his gaze away. Jamie had made all sorts of bets that the relationship would never last, but Tim and Natasha had been on again, off again, for more than a year and a half.
Natasha glanced over her shoulder coyly, then looked at Jamie, and grinned.
“Knock it off, Natasha,” Hailey Wyatt said.
Natasha pouted.
Jamie felt a moment of triumph as she stood. “Thanks, Hailey, but I’m leaving anyway.”
Tim touched Natasha’s shoulder and she waved him off.
Tim stiffened in anger. “I need to talk to you.”
Jamie took a step away from the table, but continued to watch. Like seeing a traffic accident about to happen.
“God.” Natasha rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Not now, Tim.”
He grabbed her arm. “Now.”
Natasha set her wine down and stood slowly. Standing, they were almost the same height. She leaned in and gritted her teeth. “I said no.”
He yanked her toward him. He spoke softly, frowning.
Natasha stared over his shoulder.
Tim jerked her arm to get her attention.
Her expression turned to fury. “Get the hell away from me.”
He grabbed her shoulders with both hands.
The anger in his face was surprising. Intense. Tim had always been the easygoing type. Mellow. The only times Jamie saw him that angry were when he thought he was being taken advantage of—when they were negotiating with the salesman to buy a new car, or at the guy who gave them a twenty thousand dollar bid to remodel their bathroom.
Everyone was watching.
Jamie was embarrassed—for them, for herself.
“Stay the hell away from me,” Natasha said and shoved Tim with both hands.
Hailey stood.
Jamie froze.
One of the assistant district attorneys, Chip Washington, stepped in and grabbed Tim’s arm. “Is everything okay here?”
“It will be if he leaves me alone,” Natasha said.
Jamie watched the pain in Tim’s expression, the cruel smirk on Natasha’s.
“Don’t do this,” Tim whispered.
“God, stop with the drama already,” Natasha said, her voice loud enough to attract the attention of the room.
Tim reached for her.
Natasha cowered—as though she were afraid—then regained herself. Set her shoulders back, raised her chin. “Stay the fuck away from me.”
Jamie studied Natasha’s face. Why the fear? Was she acting? Tim had never been an angry person.
Tim didn’t let go. Instead, he yanked her closer and spoke through gritted teeth. “You’ll be sorry, Natasha.”
Jamie shuddered at the emotion between them. Unable to watch anymore, she turned away. She took two steps and felt her phone buzz on her hip.
She didn’t recognize the number. “Vail.”
“Inspector Vail, this is Officer Hamilton. You’re needed on a scene.”
Christ. She pulled her notepad from her jacket pocket and flipped it open. “Where are you?”
“850 Bryant, ma’am.”
“The station? You got a suspect?”
“No. A scene, ma’am. Main building in the stairwell, bottom level.”
Jamie stiffened. “You’ve got a rape scene at the Hall?”
“Yes, ma’am. We’ve got medical response on the way for her, but they told me to call you.”
Medical response. “How bad is she?”
His voice cracked as he spoke. “Real bad, ma’am.”
“I’m on my way.” She started to hang up, then added, “You have an ID on her?”
“She’s with the department.”
Jamie closed her eyes.
“The name’s Osbourne, ma’am. Emily Osbourne.”
The sound of Emily’s name was a physical blow. “Damn it. No.”
Chip Washington now stood between Tim and Natasha. Jamie turned for the door, didn’t look back. She was on her way to a rape scene.
Another police officer raped.
Chapter 3
They stood at the closed office door. He pressed her against the hard surface as his tongue explored her mouth. His huge hands gripped her breasts, and then trailed downward, cupping between her legs. She pulled back for a quick breath. Her insides fluttered with the feel of him. She had a buzz, heightened by alcohol and the fight.
She gripped the knob and pushed the door open. With his tie in her fist, they stumbled into her office. He came up behind her, pressed his erection against her. With a sweeping motion, she cleared the papers off her desk and turned toward him, propping herself on the edge. Spreading her legs, she pulled him between them. Crossed her feet on either side of his buttocks and gripped him between tight thighs.
“You’re so hot,” he whispered, kissing her neck.
She let her head fall back, hair cascading down her back. She knew what this looked like.
She’d practiced in a mirror. It was good. Irresistible. And he was no different than the others.
His mouth trailed toward the mound of her breasts. She pulled his head into her, pressed his nose to her flesh. His fingers fumbled on her buttons and she leaned back, drew her feet onto the desk.
One at a time, she let her stilettos drop to the floor. His expression grew fierce as her jacket came off. She unhooked her bra, let it fall off her shoulders.
He cupped her breasts, rubbed her nipples. She arched her back, set her feet on his shoulders, and tilted her hips toward him. He unzipped her pants. His breath rasped in the silent room.
She moaned, watching the reaction it caused.
His hands fumbled. His mouth dropped open. He could hardly contain himself.
He yanked at his tie, choking himself. Amused, she sat up to help him. She moved her fingers
slowly, drawing out each motion until he was clawing at his buttons. He tugged the shirt from his pants. A button popped off and struck the hardwood desk. He grunted.
She laughed. He swooped down and pressed his mouth against hers, swallowing the snicker that rose in her throat. Her pants slipped off her legs. Her underwear tugged away from her hips. Warm fingers fondled her. She arched, moaned. She gasped as he entered. Then, his motions grew frantic. She clung to the desk as he gripped her thighs.
She lolled her head up, watched the frenzy. A minute passed. Then several. His expression tightened into a grimace. His fingers dug into her buttocks. He stopped, drove again, and she felt the pulsating inside her.
He smiled, proud as he slumped over her.
She ran her hands through his thick hair like she might a child, held him against her.
“Oh, God, baby,” he whispered.
She waited until the pulsing had stopped, and pushed him off her gently. “You should go.”
He lifted his head and kissed her lips. “When can I see you again?”
“Soon, sweetie. Call me tomorrow.”
He kissed her lips. She pursed them and let him search for the passion he’d felt. It was gone for her. He pulled himself out, grabbed a fistful of tissues, and wiped himself before handing her the box.
She glanced at the red in his cheeks. He looked like an overgrown schoolboy. But didn’t they all?
She slipped back into her pants, found her bra, pulled the jacket back over her shoulders. Turned her back to button it.
She saw his button on the floor and pointed to it. “Don’t forget that.”
He picked it up and cupped it in his palm. “Maybe I’ll leave it as a souvenir.” He set it on the edge of the desk and kissed her again. Then, after taking his coat off the chair, he left.
He turned back at the door and winked.
He was an idiot.
They were all idiots.
When the department door clicked shut, she scooped the button up and tossed it toward the secretary’s trashcan. Missed. Next time, my ass, she thought.
Back at her desk, she ran her hands through her hair and pulled her compact out of her purse. The brown eyes in the reflection were wide, flat of emotion. She watched them light up. Control, she thought.
She clicked the mirror closed and dropped it in her purse. She glanced at the mess. To hell with it.
She heard a creak behind her. She spun around, startled.
His frame filled the doorway.
Her pulse raced. A rush of heat filled her belly.
Seeing him created a bigger buzz than the last ten minutes. She would screw him too. Line them up like toy soldiers. She stepped forward. “Hello.”
He crossed the threshold and shut the door behind him. Locked it.
She reached out for him, but he thrust her hand away.
“What is going on?” he demanded.
She tossed her hair. “What’s wrong?”
He didn’t speak. His jaw set tight, he reached for her arm.
She pulled herself away. “You should leave,” she said, moving to pass him.
He clamped his hand into her hair, wrenched her head back.
Tears flooded her eyes. A wave of panic swelled up around her. She fought it back. “Let me go.”
“What the hell are you playing at?”
“Let go. Now.”
He lifted her by her hair. She felt his ragged breath, so much more powerful than the one before. It made her excited. She tried to touch his face.
He shoved her away.
She tumbled to the ground, slammed her face on the edge of the desk. She cried out.
She sat up, felt the fury rise inside her. “You pathetic moron. Did you really think that you’d be enough? That I’d be satisfied by you?”
He bared his teeth, sank them into his lip.
She reveled in the pathetic expression on his face. “We’re through.”
“You c-c-can’t.”
Power streamed through her. She touched her lip, licked the warm blood. Shoulders back, she let the power buzz through her. She moved past him, reached for her purse.
“I just d-d-did.”
“You whore!” He spit the words, launched himself at her.
She backed away.
He was too fast.
He knocked her down. She tried to roll over, but he straddled her. Using his hips and thighs, he pressed her to the floor.
She felt fear.
She’d never seen him angry, not even a little. He raised his hand to strike her. Reaching out, she punched him in the groin.
He fell backwards, cupping them. “You bitch!”
She used the break to push him off. Scrambled to her feet. She reached for the door, but he caught her foot. On his feet, he spun her to face him. Anger burned in his cheeks.
She struggled to speak, to try to talk him down. His fingers dug into her shoulders as she shook her head. No. His fury grew as he launched her across the room. She caught her foot, tumbled sideways.
The desk was coming up at her. She reached to brace herself. Too late.
Something like a giant wave crashed down on her head. Underneath, there was only the absence of light.
Chapter 4
San Francisco General Hospital was a series of square, brick boxes, stacked and connected like a child’s LEGO creation, but without the color and creativity. The building lacked symmetry. Or interesting architecture. What it screamed was functionality, and Jamie supposed that made sense.
General was not a particularly happy place.
Though some mothers did give birth at General Hospital, the building had only seven labor and delivery rooms. On the other hand, as the city’s only level one trauma center, General treated more than one and a half million people each year, and almost five thousand trauma patients. The city’s worst injuries came here. Maybe the architect thought an attractive structure would be hypocritical for the building’s grim reality.
Jamie took deep drags off her cigarette and steeled herself for the worst part. This was always where she considered a transfer to Homicide. It would be easier. They got grieving, angry families, but no victims.
Jamie knew how long the victim’s road to recovery was.
This first day, only hours after the rape, the victim had yet to realize how the trauma would change her life.
Jamie knew.
Twelve years old, she had witnessed a rape. Been there, watched helplessly. Every time she stood in front of S.F. General, she was transplanted back to that day, watching that man…
That day led her to work with rape victims. Eleven years ago, she signed on to Sex Crimes. The department lacked the sex appeal of Homicide or Narcotics, but it fit her.
She would forever work towards making up for what she had watched happen that day.
She sucked the last drag off her cigarette, dropping it in the ashtray outside the emergency entrance, where thousands of others had gone before.
She opened her Timbuk 2 bag and found a pack of spearmint gum. Popped two. Then, she squeezed out a dollop of antibacterial, lavender-scented lotion and rubbed it into her hands, dabbing a little on her neck. Smelling like flowers and spearmint, she walked through the emergency room entrance to the back hall, where the rape exam room was located.
2R was a tiny exam room, painted in a light yellow. A single bed sat in the center—allowing Jamie and the assisting nurse, Maxi Thomas, to circle the victim for evidence collection. Maxi and Jamie had been doing this together a long time, and on the rare occasion that Maxi wasn’t on call when Jamie had a victim, Jamie appreciated her even more.
2R had very little in terms of equipment. Three bright, blinding lights shone from overhead and two exam lights on swivel stands that could be moved around the room. Other than that, the room had boxes of tissues, gloves, and the materials they used for evidence collection. Nothing else. If a victim required an X-ray or scans, she (or, very rarely, he) was moved. As long as the victim was in stab
le condition, the rape kit was processed in 2R.
Jamie paused at the door, and took her last breath before entering.
When the door opened, she stared at the same eyes she always saw on a victim—wide, red rimmed, terrified, humiliated. Perhaps it was penance for not being attacked herself all those years ago, but Jamie took the gaze head-on.
Only today, it was a face she knew. Today, it was her fault.
She blinked hard. “I’m so sorry, Emily.”
Emily Osbourne shuddered. She ran a hand over her bare arm. Her right hand was wrapped with an Ace bandage. The bandage was a temporary hold until evidence was collected. The arm was probably broken.
Jamie balled a fist and sucked in a breath. Bastard.
She fought the temptation to look away. Instead, she studied Emily. Her left eye was swollen closed, the rim purple where the blood pooled above her cheekbone. Blood stained her upper lip where her nose bled. Sitting in the pale, green hospital gown, Emily looked about seventeen.
Jamie’s cell phone buzzed on her hip. She recognized the number for Shirley in Records. Jamie and Shirley went way back. Shirley went back further. She was salty, past the age where most people were retired, and there was no sign that she was thinking about quitting. “Vail.”
“Checked the release records on Marchek,” Shirley said.
Marchek was her serial rapist suspect. He had gone to jail twelve years earlier, at the age of nineteen, but he had only served fifteen months before he was released.
He had a penchant for women in authority. Two officers of the court and a judge were among his victims on the next round. He’d used condoms, but finally, one of the women identified him. Convicted without the help of DNA evidence, Marchek spent six years in Folsom for rape.
Now, he was out of jail almost four months—fifteen and a half weeks to be exact. Jamie kept a close eye for victims that matched his modus operandi, his MO. Marchek’s behavior fit into the category known as “anger retaliatory rapists.” He loved to beat his victims. Head and face especially. The first two months were quiet. She had known it was just a matter of time.
Seven weeks ago, a patrol officer was attacked and raped while working patrol less than a mile from the department. Shawna Delman was young and new to her beat. The attacker made his move on her after a routine traffic stop. The man she’d pulled over had driven off, leaving Delman alone on the dark street. Delman’s nose was broken and her left occipital bone cracked. The bruising to her face was extensive, but there was no DNA evidence and no prints to link the attack to Marchek.
The Rookie Club Thriller series Box Set Page 2
