Maliki (Guardian Defenders Book 2)

by Kris Michaels

  > Safe to come up?

  Maliki hit the button to send the text. He'd been sitting outside the apartment building watching the smattering of traffic and a few people walking past. There wasn't anyone in vehicles nor did he see anyone lingering around her building. She’d demanded the caution, but he couldn't help but feel it was overkill. If the sheriff discovered they were seeing each other, he couldn't fire her, not without one hell of a lawsuit filed, and he'd be happy to fund her defense. The pushy bastard had no say in who Poet could or couldn't see. It wasn't like he was a fucking suspect.

  He shifted, moving the butt of the forty-five that was now hanging in a shoulder holster under his jacket. The new holster and credentials had been waiting for him at the front desk when he’d gotten back to the hotel. His phone vibrated.

  > Coast is clear

  He pocketed his phone, grabbed the keys and groceries before he locked the vehicle, and headed across the street. He punched the elevator call button and waited, watching the numbers light as the elevator descended to the ground floor.

  The door opened, and he was nearly bowled over by a five-foot nothing whirlwind.

  "Oh, damn, I'm really sorry!" The woman glanced up at him and smiled. "I never watch where I'm going. Here, what floor?" She held the door open and paused with her hand over the buttons.

  "Thanks, fifth floor."

  "Fifth?" She squeaked and then flashed a huge smile and pushed the button. "Fifth it is! Have fun!" She moved as the door closed, keeping her eyes on him until the last moment.

  "Well, that was completely awkward." He shifted the plastic bags in his hands and waited for the world's slowest elevator to inch its way up to the fifth floor. When the door opened, he headed to Poet's door and shifted the bags again so he could knock.

  She opened the door with her phone to her ear. She nodded, and he moved past her and into the kitchen.

  "Yes, Tillie. Uh huh. I agree. No, that's not going to happen. Uh huh. Right. Okay. No, don't do that. I won't answer it, and I'll call someone to take you to jail. You know I can do it." She threw back her head and laughed as she entered the kitchen. "Law enforcement doesn't use those types of handcuffs that way. You need to do more research."

  He chuckled at the conversation.

  "Right. Talk to you later." Poet dropped her phone to the countertop. "Sorry about that. Tillie, my neighbor and best friend, saw you at the elevator. She thinks you're hot."

  "She knows who I am?"

  "Ah, no, that was a leap of logic on her part. We are the only two single women on this floor. There are two other married couples and Mr. Kroeger, who we rarely see. Tillie thinks he's a vampire and uses the apartment as a feeding station."

  He stopped moving and then slowly turned his head in her direction. "Say what?"

  "Tillie has a very active imagination."

  "Obviously."

  "Is that new hardware you have there, Doctor?" Poet nodded to the forty-five under his arm.

  "It's legal, ma'am. I have a permit to carry it." He shrugged from his jacket. "Where do you keep yours when you're at home?"

  "Top of the refrigerator or on the coffee table until I go to bed, then on my bedside table."

  "I didn't notice it beside your bed last night."

  "Nope, the first night it has stayed on the fridge since I moved in. You made me forget the basics."

  "I'll take that as a complement."

  "You should." She took the holster as he dropped it from his shoulders and placed it on top of the stainless-steel refrigerator where her nine mil was sitting.

  He continued to remove supplies for dinner. "Salmon, saffron rice, and fresh peas."

  "Wow. I would have settled for burgers and fries."

  "I had a steak the size of my head the other night over at Shorty's. I was in the mood for fish."

  "Oh, Shorty's steaks are so good." She leaned against the wall. "What do you need me to do to help?"

  "I'll need a saucepan each for the rice and peas and a frying pan, preferably stainless steel, if you have it."

  "Why stainless?"

  "Crisps the skin better."

  "Ah, of course." Poet rolled her eyes and ducked past him to the cabinet where the pots and pans were stacked.

  When she handed them over, he nodded to the wine. "If you could open that and pour us each a glass, we can talk while I start dinner."

  She smiled and spun to rummage around in a drawer. Her fit, tight body filled a pair of soft, almost white jeans. Her slender curves wore the denim well. She held up a wine opener. Her hair spilled over her shoulder when she moved.

  "Hand me two of those glasses on the top shelf of that cabinet, please?" She pointed to the bank of cupboards behind him.

  He opened the one she'd pointed to and reached up to the top shelf, bringing two large wine glasses down. "Okay, here you go.”

  “Thanks. Now, what did your bosses say?"

  "I am your official Guardian liaison. The marching orders dictate we don't make waves. Guardian will exhume the bodies and search for anything they can find. It is a legal process, and if they can get the families’ permission, it will take time. The likelihood of finding anything is very low. Also, Guardian will do a background on all the girls, but they are stuck in queue behind cases with more priority. Since Watson up-channeled the snuff websites to the BCI, Guardian will defer to the state to make the right call. All in all, it could take a while, but I'll stick around."

  "Okay, well you might want to contact your bosses again. Shauna Cochran died this afternoon."

  His eyes snapped up. "What happened?"

  "Don't know. According to the sheriff, he went into the room to sit with her because Daryl and Jennie had gone home to shower. Her alarms started going off. He called for the nurses, but they were already on their way, alarms on the machines alerted them."

  "I assume he's contacted the Bureau of Investigations at the state?"

  Poet shook her head. "He wants to get an autopsy first."

  "What? You mean a clinical autopsy?"

  "Nope. Forensic. Shauna's body was taken to the ME's today, and they are doing the autopsy there."

  "That doesn't make sense. This was an attended death. They have the bullet, the wound, and even the surgery and procedures the doctors performed can be detailed ad nauseum at a trial. A clinical autopsy I can see, to determine exactly what killed her, which makes more sense than a forensic autopsy. Unless the sheriff suspects something?" After picking up the wine she'd poured for him, Mal crossed his arms and leaned against the counter.

  "Or––"

  He lifted his gaze to meet hers. "Or?"

  "Or, keep in mind this is the same ME who performed the autopsies of the previous young women who showed up dead."

  He lifted his eyebrows. "You think the sheriff and the ME are...?" He let the question hang there.

  "I know, I know. It sounds so far-fetched. God, I hate to cast aspersions where there might not be any, but Shauna was on the mend. She'd talked to her parents and to the doctor. Not much, but she was awake and getting better."

  He shifted so his ass was leaning against the counter and shook his head. "I would caution you on that line of thinking. Shauna had major surgery. So many things could have gone wrong. We surgeons like to think we are demi-gods, but in reality, things can be missed. Hell, she could have thrown a clot, had a reaction to drugs, any number of things. There's an old saying in the medical world. When you hear hoof beats, look for horses, not zebras."

  She chuckled and ran her hand through her hair. "You’re right. Damn it."

  "I'm not saying we can't look at your suspicions, but temper them with logical steps forward. Have you retrieved Shauna's cell phone data?"

  She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm having a hard time believing you're not a cop, ya know? But to answer your question, I have a request in the system for a warrant to access her information. The judge hasn't signed off on it yet."

  "Why do you need a warrant? Why not ask her fol
ks if you can look at her phone?"

  She inclined her head and smiled. "You really sure you're not a cop?"

  "Pretty damn positive, but why get a warrant? She wasn't a suspect in anything."

  "Lining up my ducks. We don’t know what happened that night. I assumed she was an innocent victim but hedged my bet in case she was involved in something."

  "Well, as she no longer can be prosecuted if she was implicated in a criminal activity, I'd recommend you ask her parents. I'd bet they’ll want to know about anything we can find."

  A slight smile curled her lips. "We? I like that. It’s been a minute since I've been able to openly discuss these cases. I couldn't risk involving one of the deputies. I'm willing to put my job on the line, but I couldn't ask them to do that. Most of them have kids, and the ones that don't are married or have parents who they care for."

  "If we look into this and find nothing, what are your plans?"

  She crossed her arms and stared at her socks before she shrugged and lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. "I like it here, but there is nothing holding me in this county. I'm not wearing rose colored glasses. I know the sheriff will eventually find out Guardian is involved, and it won't take a huge leap of logic to determine who called them in. So, at a minimum, I'm looking at discipline for going against his direct orders. In all likelihood, I'll be fired."

  "Do you have a plan if that happens?"

  She chuckled and ran her hand over her t-shirt, smoothing it. "Yeah. My parents won the lottery a couple years back. Not one of the half billion dollar winners, but enough they could retire early and live in a nice condo in Florida. They've set up a trust fund for both me and my brother. Because my brother is in the Navy, his trust stipulates he can't access it until he leaves the service. That was the only way he could still serve. The service seems to think if you have access to riches your loyalty won't necessarily be with them."

  He glanced around the small apartment. It was homey, but there were no outward signs of wealth. "So, you don't need this job?"

  "Oh, I need it. I'd go insane if I didn't work. I like law enforcement, and this gig has been great."

  "Most people I know would chuck the day job and live off the trust." Which was what some of his friends had done. Some, like him, had a passion or calling they followed.

  "I use it for plane tickets to go see my folks." She looked to her right and to her left, then leaned in and whispered, "First Class."

  "Ah... extravagant," he whispered conspiratorially.

  "Right? But damn, it's nice." She winked at him and took a sip of her wine. "The bottom line is I can afford to risk the job. I know something’s going on here. My gut tells me these women aren't getting a fair shake."

  He spun and picked up the frying pan and set it on the stove. "Oil? Why didn't you call the state and tell them?"

  He watched her grab a jar of olive oil from the cupboard. "Ahhh... nothing to connect them in the evidence or in the ME's reports. Jim would spin it to make me a laughingstock at the state level, but damn it, I know something's off."

  "And talking to me?" He opened the fish and retrieved the seasonings he'd purchased from the shopping bag.

  "Well, that's easy. If you said I was crazy, the chance you'd go back to my boss and inform him of my concerns was pretty low, you know with the immediate, intense, dislike he had for you."

  She had a point. A well thought out, calculated point. "Hand me that vegetable stock. He has a chip on his shoulder where I’m concerned. Damned if I know why."

  "Here." She handed him the carton and watched as he started the saffron rice. She peeked into the bags. "Ah, hell. You're a health food freak."

  He shrugged. "I'm a doctor, and I'm aware of what I put into my body, but freak? Not so much."

  "Uh huh, right. What do you have for breakfast on a normal day? Bet it isn't donuts and coffee. Probably not bagels and coffee either."

  He couldn't stop the smile. "Usually, I have a protein, berry, and kale or spinach smoothie after I get done with training."

  She laughed and lifted her wine glass. "I believe our definitions of health food freak may be different. But FYI, I'm not going to complain because whatever you make is perfect. Anything I don’t have to cook is fine by me."

  "You don’t like to cook?”

  “I don’t like to cook at all. Then on top of that, I hate to mess up all those pots and pans just for me.”

  “Which is exactly why I have a smoothie for breakfast. I can grab lunch and sometimes dinner at the cafeteria, but I enjoy cooking.”

  “The cafeteria? You mean at the hospital where you work?”

  He glanced up from what he was doing and smiled, hopefully covering his surprise at sharing that bit of information. She was easy to be himself with, yet he shouldn’t be sharing anything about his day to day with anyone. “Yep.”

  “I end up eating crap, but I work out so…” She shrugged and lifted herself up onto the counter next to where he was prepping dinner, dangling her legs as she sipped her wine.

  “We should go for a run together.” He still needed to find a gym to get his weight training back on schedule.

  She snorted a laugh and her eyes gleamed. “Hell yes! I saw you the other morning. I'd love to try to keep up with you. You fly.”

  “It was only six miles.” Only. He was dog tired when he’d finished that run. He stirred the broth and saffron with the rice and rolled his eyes when his back was to her. What the hell was he doing? Showing off?

  “Only six, huh? Well that’s double what I normally run. I feel inadequate now. How many days a week do you hit the gym?”

  “Here, none so far. At home, I’m in the gym every day.”

  “Yeah, I’m not that dedicated. What about self-defense? Do you practice any particular discipline?” She drained her glass and set it aside.

  “Mixed martial arts. A little of this, some of that.” He’d started working out with different partners as they came through the program before they paired up and worked only with their assigned partner. Each encounter taught him a little more than the last. It was a hodge-podge approach, but he wasn’t technically part of the program. “What about you?”

  “I studied Krav Maga for a short time. It comes in handy.”

  He glanced at her. The wine had put a soft blush on her cheeks. “I can imagine. Is there much call to use it here in Pleasant County?”

  “There didn’t used to be.” She made a face. “I can’t help thinking that something connects these women.”

  “From what I’ve read in the case files, there isn’t. So, we need to go back through and re-interview all the witnesses, without causing an uproar or questions that will make their way back to the sheriff. Do you have any vacation time?”

  “I do. What’s the plan?”

  “A day here and a day there. Make up some logical excuses for taking the days, something that won’t cause anyone to become suspicious. We contact the witnesses right before we talk to them.”

  She hopped off the counter and grabbed the wine bottle. “Did you buy two of these?”

  He chuckled and pointed to the canvas tote on the table. “I did indeed.”

  “Perfect.” She filled her glass again.

  “Not on call tonight?”

  “Nope, not my night. Two nights off in a row. It doesn’t happen often.”

  He checked the rice and started the peas before he turned on the burner under the frying pan. “What do you think about starting with the most recent case and working backward? I would assume the recollection would be sharper for the more recent cases.”

  She stood beside him and watched as he laid the salmon into the pan. “We can do that. Are you considering Shauna the most recent case?”

  “I don’t know. I need to talk to my––” Boss? Friend? Handler? “—with someone at the office. I’ll run the specifics past them and hopefully we can determine a way forward.”

  He glanced at her and did a double take. She stood with her eyes closed, h
er hand gripping the counter. “Hey, you okay?”

  She nodded and spoke, with her eyes still closed. “Thank you.” She opened her eyes and turned to meet his gaze. Her blue eyes were filled with emotion, stopping him with their intensity.

  “For what? Going forward to my organization with your request?”

  “Yeah. Exactly that and for actually listening to a hick deputy with a gut feeling.”

  He leaned over and kissed her forehead before flipping the salmon. “You are not a hick deputy. I listened because every class I’ve ever attended started and ended with the instructors reinforcing the mantra of ‘trust your instincts’ or ‘if you feel something is wrong, trust your gut’.”

  "Still, it matters."

  He smiled at her and gave her a wink. "Let’s finish dinner, and then I'll make a call." He could hear Joseph now. A smile spread across his face. Who knew that hard-boiled son of a bitch would turn into a damn good friend, especially after the fit he'd thrown when he heard another doctor was being assigned to The Rose? Fuck, he was a territorial son of a bitch about the complex for some reason. Because they told you it would be your facility to run. Plans change, right?

  Poet enjoyed the meal, relished the subtle flirting and an easy conversation about the bases where they'd been stationed. As she wiped dry the last pan, Maliki grabbed his phone. He dialed and held the phone to his ear while he leaned back against the counter.

  He released a low rumbling laugh. "Fuck you. I did send an email, but I have a concern I need to run past you that won't wait until tomorrow's update." Maliki shot her a glance and winked again.

  How could one man be so damn sexy? His blond hair, blue eyes, tanned skin and that damn sexy reddish blond beard. She shivered a bit at the memory of that beard on her neck.

  "The young lady I assisted the first night I hit town passed away."

  She watched as he nodded, put his free hand on his hip, and explained the events of the day the exact same way she'd told him. No enhancements, no deviation. Not a cop my ass. He had to have had training.

  "The fucked-up thing is, I can see the need for a clinical autopsy, not a forensic examination." He glanced up at her and listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. He nodded. "Yeah, it is a reach. Four cases. Absolutely no discernable connection between the victims, other than the same ME and the Sheriff’s Department." He chuckled, "Yeah, the ass wipe wants this autopsy before he calls in the state."