The jacket smelled like foresty cologne and something else. A wood fireplace? I settled into it. “Thanks.”
Nick wiped rain off his forehead, looking more Italian than ever with his olive-colored skin and sharp angled face. “You ever see a murder scene, besides Scot’s?”
I gulped. “No.”
“You’re going to see this one.” He pivoted and held up the yellow crime tape for me to duck under, waiting patiently until I’d done so. Even though he was about a foot taller than me, he was much more graceful as he moved under the tape. How many times had Nick done this?
Did I really want to be a prosecuting attorney? Maybe I should consider doing civil work with Uncle Gino.
Thank goodness I’d changed into tennis shoes and jeans at the spa. I walked over the uneven ground toward the tent, my head hurting and my hands shaking. Questions should’ve been ripping through my head, but I couldn’t concentrate. Finally, we reached the tent and Nick opened the flap facing the lake.
My stomach rolled. I swallowed down bile and leaned to see inside, which was lit by several camping lanterns. Randy Taylor lay partially on his side and stomach, his jeans and white shirt muddy. His left arm was bent at an odd angle, his chin was purple, and his one visible eye was closed with the remainder of his face hidden by the rocks. His hair was still in a man-bun, and he looked young. Very. “How did he die?” I asked, unable to look away.
“Somebody bashed his head in,” Nick said, dropping the flap and turning me away. “My guess is rock but could be bat or brick.”
My stomach lurched and I gagged.
“Whoa.” He pulled me away from the body with an urgency that had my feet slipping on rocks, so he grasped my arm to steady me. I let him.
Detective Pierce snapped from the other side of the tent. “Get her away from the crime scene.”
Man, I wanted to flip him off. Instead, I took several deep breaths and stumbled back toward the yellow tape, Nick’s hand on my arm somehow reassuring. “Dick.”
“Yeah,” Nick agreed, holding the tape up again and letting me through, seemingly oblivious to the rain molding his gray T-shirt to what looked like very cut muscles. “You needed to see that. No more covering for Devlin or the Lordes, and no more investigating on your own.”
I couldn’t exactly argue with him, considering my dinner was about to come up. I regained my balance and turned, looking up at his implacable face. “Is this my fault?”
“No.” Nick sighed. “It’s the fault of whoever killed him. They’re starting to tie up loose ends.”
Aiden couldn’t have done this. Randy Taylor and Scot Peterson had been killed, and both were being investigated for drugs. Sure, Randy was dealing with pot, and who knows what Scot had been in to—if he had been guilty. “So, the shooters in the brown car outside the courthouse the other day were aiming for Randy.” At least they weren’t trying to shoot Aiden.
“Maybe. We keep racking up bodies, so who knows,” Nick said grimly. “The connections are weak. Pictures of Aiden having a drink with Scot Peterson, probably representing the Lordes. Randy Taylor selling drugs—maybe for the Lordes. This is all conjecture, and I can’t prove a bit of it.”
I shuddered. My peaceful town was becoming a different place all of a sudden. “Why here and why now?” I murmured.
Nick’s gaze sharpened. “What do you mean?”
I gestured toward the lake I’d played in for decades. “Here in northern Idaho. Why are we all of a sudden having drug deaths? We’re not a big city, and it’s not easy to get here.” Seattle was the closest big city at about a six-hour drive, and Canada was two hours away. “We’re not exactly a great route to anywhere else.”
Nick coughed, his gaze warming. “You’re more than a pretty face, Albertini.”
Something heated inside my chest. “Um, thanks?” So he figured out I wasn’t a moron. That was nice. He thought I was pretty. “Want to continue that line of thought?” What did he mean? What wasn’t he telling me?
“Not really.” He looked back toward the innocuous white tent. “Though you’re right. The answer to why here is easy. The answer to why now—I haven’t figured that out yet.”
My mind mulled it all over, and I didn’t like the answer I found. The Lordes were here. That’s the why of the place—maybe. But why now?
Nick let me work it out. “Yeah. The Lordes are here, so that explains the location. But why now?”
I squinted up at him. “Why do I get the impression you’re not telling me everything you know?”
“Because I’m not telling you everything I know,” he said, shifting until the lights were behind him and I couldn’t see his face. “I have suspicions, but I don’t have facts yet.”
“You don’t trust me.” For some reason, that hurt a little. How crazy was that?
“I don’t trust anybody, Anna.”
The use of my first name caught me by surprise and made him seem more approachable than normal. “What’s your agenda?” The words blurted out before I thought them through.
He leaned over, trapping me against my car. “Just to catch and put away the bad guys. Like always.”
I looked up at his handsome face. Oh, he’d make a great senator someday, and I thought he was looking at me a little differently than he had. As if he was finally seeing me. I coughed and covered my confusion with more questions about the case. “When did Randy die?” I asked, moving toward my car.
“Don’t know, but the body was discovered an hour ago, and considering this road is pretty busy with folks heading home after work, I’d say the body was dumped about two hours ago, or somebody would’ve seen it.” Nick opened my car door, and I dropped into the driver’s seat.
I scrubbed rain off my face. “Aiden was at my house tonight, waiting for me.”
“When?” Nick snapped.
Shuddering, I told him about my trip to the spa, talk with Cheryl, and finally meeting with Aiden. I left out the kiss, but I did hand over the two joints that had been in my jockybox.
“Christ.” Steam actually rose from Nick’s soaked shirt as he shoved the marijuana in his pocket. “Have you lost your mind?”
Geez. What would he think about the kiss? “Possibly, but think about it. Randy might have been selling drugs through Cheryl at the spa—drugs he had acquired from his Uncle Melvin. There’s probably a connection to the Lordes, but I don’t see it yet.”
Nick looked at me like I was crazy.
I cleared my throat. “Also, I can’t imagine Aiden dumped a body here and just headed up to my house to talk to me.” To kiss me and ask to stay the night. That would take a sociopath, who didn’t have feelings, and I knew Aiden did. Pretty deep feelings. I’d known him as a kid, and he wasn’t a monster.
“People change,” Nick said shortly, as if reading my every thought.
Heat climbed into my face.
“Hey.” Detective Pierce strode over the ground toward us, ducking beneath the yellow crime tape. “Uniforms brought in the girlfriend. I may need you there to sign off on a deal if I can get her to talk.”
“Cheryl Smythers?” I sat up.
Pierce paused in turning. “You know her?”
“We’ll meet you at the station.” Nick slammed my door before I could speak, crossing around my car to settle his bulk inside. “You okay to drive?”
Ignoring the still-staring detective outside my window, I nodded. “Yeah. Why? Where’s your car?”
“I was out running when I got the call,” Nick said.
I ignited the engine and cut him a look. “Where?”
“On the lake road,” he said, buckling his seatbelt. “Where else?”
I backed the car away from the crime scene. Yeah. Where else? Aiden wasn’t the only one who could’ve dumped a body, but…I shook my head. Now I was seeing killers in everybody. “I’m not sure I like my job,” I muttered, turning on the windshield wipers.
“Amen,” Nick said grimly, his gaze on the storm. “I hate to tell you this, but it’
s going to get worse before it gets better.” He sighed, not looking my way. “It always does.”
Chapter 17
“There’s really a two-way mirror,” I murmured, sipping the worst coffee I’d ever tasted while watching Cheryl fidget through the glass, well past midnight. We stood in a small and dark room at the police station watching her, while she sat facing us in a metal chair, her hair a wild mess and her eyes bloodshot. Was she high? Her hands shook on the smooth wooden table, and she kept picking at her cuticles. “Looks scared.”
“Should be,” Nick retorted from my side, his wet jacket back in place. “I told Detective Pierce about your interaction with her at the spa while you were finding us coffee.”
I winced. “Bet he didn’t like that.”
“That’s an understatement,” Nick said, studying the blonde.
“I could’ve told him,” I said, the thought giving me a headache already. I didn’t need Nick Basanelli covering for me.
Nick shook his head, and his wet hair sprayed a little water. “You work for me, Albertini. If there’s a problem with the police, I deal with it first.”
I hated the relief that filled me at that statement. “Um, thanks.”
“Then I’ll probably fire you,” he said, not so mildly. “From now on, let the detectives investigate, or your butt will be out on the street so fast you won’t have time to call your grandmas with the news before they hear it from the grapevine. Got it?”
Why did I get the feeling that Nick had been somewhat gentle with me so far? I wanted to get irritated or protest, but I was just so tired—and wet. And kind of scared in general. “Fine.” It was a sucky answer. I was saved from having to redeem myself when Detective Pierce strode into the interrogation room and slapped a case file down on the table. I jumped as high as Cheryl did at the sound.
He didn’t go easy on her, but she held tight to a story of not knowing a thing about drugs running through the spa. Finally, when Pierce confronted her about the two joints she’d left for me in the locker, she turned and glared at the window. I barely kept from stepping back. “You bitch,” she said, looking so different from the smiling woman who’d given me a pedicure that my toes started to ache.
I sipped more of my coffee.
“Fine,” she muttered. “I had a couple of joints, and this bitch was hurting so much after having her entire pubic area waxed smooth, that I felt sorry for her. I gave them to her, so it wasn’t a sale or a distribution. It was one woman helping another.” She glared harder, focusing somehow close to where I stood. “I hope you get ingrown hairs.”
I winced. Was that a possibility?
“There’s a lotion called ‘Smooth Lava’ that will make sure you don’t,” Nick said matter-of-factly by my side.
Heat ripped into my face, which only got hotter when Pierce turned and looked over his shoulder at me, his gaze both interested and irritated. Great. Now everybody knew I was clean shaven. “How does he know where I’m standing?” I whispered.
Nick shrugged. “Good guess?” He started to say something else and caught himself, snapping his mouth shut. Probably something about my smooth bikini area, which as my boss, he couldn’t say.
I didn’t ask what comment he’d held back.
Through the glass, Detective Pierce flipped open the top of a manila file and pushed a photograph toward Cheryl. “We found Randy a couple of hours ago,” he said. “This is what he looks like now.”
She froze, her gaze on the photo. All the color faded from her already pale face. Then she lifted her head, her face hardening, and sat farther back in her chair with her arms crossed. “I’m done.”
“Tell me everything, and we’ll protect you,” Detective Pierce urged, leaning toward her.
“Like you protected Randy?” she asked, her shoulders hunching. “Not in a million years.” Tears gathered in her eyes, and she wiped them away as if in slow motion. “You idiots have no idea what’s going on.”
“Then tell us,” Pierce said. He worked Cheryl hard for another hour, but she didn’t give a thing up.
Nick finally entered the room, his gait casual and his position obvious, even in the sweatsuit. “I’m the prosecuting attorney, and I’ll get you a deal. Protect you.”
She eyed him head to toe. “Right. You can do that?”
“Yeah. Work with me.” His voice was low and sure, his manner comforting. At least it would be to me, but I wasn’t in the hot seat right now. Not really.
She blinked. “Wh-what do you want to know? I’ve just seen the pot. Honest.”
Man, Nick was good. The woman was already opening up to him. He didn’t look at Pierce. “Ah, sweetheart. You already know I don’t give a shit about marijuana,” he murmured.
Pierce’s head swiveled, and his brows drew down as he studied Nick. But he didn’t say anything. What the heck was happening? I moved closer to the glass; my heart kicking awake even though I was clueless. Why was Pierce looking irritated and curious at the same time?
Cheryl scowled, her pink lips drawing back. “It’s all about pot. That’s what I have. What do you mean?”
“Let’s just say I want to bake a nice loaf of bread,” Nick drawled.
I wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but Cheryl paled even further. Fine blue lines showed beneath the thin skin on her forehead. “I want a lawyer,” she blurted out, her voice shaking.
What the heck?
Nick cocked his head. “I know what you know, lady. Tell me everything, and I’ll protect you. It’s too late to play dumb.”
“Law-eeee-er,” she spat, the terror in her eyes obvious.
“Get out,” Pierce snapped at Nick, scooping up his documents. He strode out of the interrogation room and into my room with Nick on his heels. They’d barely entered when Pierce turned and shoved Nick up against the wall. Pictures of a dead Randy Taylor fell out of the case file to land on the floor. “What the fuck is going on?”
I instinctively backed away from the mass of testosterone.
Nick didn’t so much as blink. “I have what you have, detective.”
“Bullshit,” Pierce muttered, right into Nick’s face. “This is my case, and I want to know what the hell is going on in my city. What has the DEA told you about the drug trade that I obviously don’t know?”
“Nothing.” Nick shoved Pierce back a step. “You’re the investigator, Grant. Figure it out.”
Huh. Pierce had a first name. Grant Pierce. The name even sounded like a cop’s name. Though none of this made sense. The county prosecutor should be working with the county and state police, not the federal DEA. Just who was Nick Basanelli, and what the heck was he doing in Timber City?
Pierce turned and pinned me with that hard green glare. “What about you? What would you use to bake bread?”
Flour? Sugar? Were those synonyms for drugs I didn’t know about? I kept my expression smooth and didn’t answer.
Nick leaned in toward Pierce, and my breath caught all funny in my chest. If they started punching, I needed to get out of the way. But he kept his hands at his sides. “Listen. The county prosecuting attorney was arrested before being murdered, and I have no idea who he was friends with in your shop. I don’t trust you.”
“You don’t trust anyone, asshole,” Pierce said, his voice just as level as Nick’s. “If you think I’m not investigating you, you’re crazy.”
Nick’s eyes darkened to a deep brown. “Bring it on, detective.”
“Plan to.” Pierce took several steps back, and the atmosphere calmed a miniscule. “We have to work together on this case, so now is when you tell me everything. If you’re withholding information, I’ll arrest your ass for obstruction.”
Hmm. Good threat.
Nick just smiled. “Yeah. You try that.”
I had the oddest sense they were about to whip them out and compare. Nick should definitely tell the detective whatever lead he had, but I wasn’t going to suggest it right now. Contradicting my boss in front of the angry cop would be a
huge mistake.
Finally, Nick turned to look at Cheryl through the glass. “Cut her loose. Let’s see where she goes.”
Pierce shook his head. “Why? I can arrest her on the possession charge and threaten her with distribution of the two joints at the spa, but that’s just to keep her here temporarily.” His gaze slashed toward me. “I could arrest you, too.”
Nick stepped partially between us. “Deputy Prosecutor Albertini was acting on my orders in an investigative capacity when she accepted the two very minor joints. Then she reported it to me immediately and turned over the drugs. Try and arrest her, Pierce. Give me something fun to do while I figure out who I can trust.”
Pierce rolled his eyes. “You have one day to start cooperating before I arrest you. For now, get me a search warrant for Cheryl’s home and one for where Randy Taylor was staying—with his uncle, Melvin Whitaker. I want both within the hour.”
“You’ll get the warrants when we get them,” Nick returned, heading for the door. “For now, cut Cheryl Smythers loose.”
“Fine, but I’m putting a man on her, and when we have the warrant, I’m executing it immediately. If she’s home and in possession of drugs, I’m bringing her in again,” Pierce said.
I paused in following Nick and faced the detective. “Are you doing the notification to Randy’s uncle?”
Pierce’s jaw tightened. “As soon as I have the warrant to search his place. How about you go get that?” Man, he was a cranky bastard. Or maybe murder just ticked him off. Though, it was obvious my office wasn’t sharing information with the police, and that had to be a new one for him, and maybe he had a right to be pissed.
Even so, I gave him my sweetest smile and followed Nick out of the room, catching up with him on the sidewalk to our offices. The rain had calmed, dropping in soft plops through the cloudy night. “What the heck was that about baking a loaf of bread?” I gasped, trying to match his long strides.
“Maybe I was just hungry.” His tennis shoes had dirt, mud, and pine needles on them. From the crime scene?
“Right.” So he didn’t trust me any more than he did the detective. “If I’m second chair on this, shouldn’t you at least level with me?” I hated not being in the loop. My gut told me that a lot more was going on than drug and gun running, but what could it be?
Disorderly Conduct (The Anna Albertini Files Book 1) Page 12
