A snort huffs from my nose, drawing the attention of Officer Oliver Klepsky. It’s like a game of fucking telephone around here.
He cocks an eyebrow at me, shifting on the edge of the desk. Unlike Gabe, the line of duty hasn’t been kind to Klepsky—and since I grew up alongside both of them, I know firsthand how much he’s hardened since we were kids running around together.
“What’s he still doing here?”
“Maybe ask your captain,” I offer, projecting my voice so the others around us pause. “I’ve been here so long, you’d think I’m a fucking suspect.”
The female officer turns, revealing high cheekbones and blue eyes as she smooths a hand over her blonde bun. Kate Young, the valedictorian of our graduating class. She sizes me up, giving me an apologetic smile, and if I wasn’t so irritated with how my morning has played out, maybe I’d indulge her a bit.
Sneak away from the pen and fuck her in the bathroom, using her own cuffs to put her completely at my mercy. It has been a while.
But my headache is back, and I don’t fuck cops.
“It’s just protocol while they contact next-of-kin and take statements,” Kate says after a beat, her eyes finally meeting mine. “We don’t normally like to send anyone home without being sure we’re done with them.”
“You’d probably process people a lot more quickly if you weren’t so concerned with gossip.” I sit up straighter, sloshing my coffee around. “Or, at least, correct gossip. This place isn’t big enough for you to have fucked up the story that badly. Although, that would explain your abysmal arrest records.”
Klepsky scoffs. “Our numbers are average. On par with the standards for the rest of the country.”
“Ah.” I point the Styrofoam cup at him. “I’ll bet you’re a riot in bed.”
“If we got it so wrong, why don’t you explain to us what really happened?” Kate asks, turning in her chair. “Not every day a Navy SEAL brings in a dead body.”
“Trust me, it wasn’t my first choice.”
The two officers exchange a look, and I fold my lips in, silently cursing myself for saying that.
Bringing Alta May to the Skelm Island PD hadn’t been my choice at all. The operative in me wanted to launch an immediate, full-scale investigation, but Gabe had reminded me of jurisdictions and protocols, and the amount of trouble I’d face if I started tampering with shit.
“You include that in your statement?” Klepsky quips, pushing off the desk and slinking over.
He stops in front of me, hands dropping to his belt, a malicious grin plastered on his round face. Kicking my legs out, they bracket him on either side, and I slouch down more, resting my hands on my pelvis.
I’m about to push him farther, rile him up a little more, when my name lashes out across the pen, whipping against my cheek like a leather crop.
“Lincoln Dean Porter.”
My mother’s shrill, no-nonsense voice drowns out the general din of everything else, replacing my irritation with something heavier. Something more permanent.
Glancing at the front doors as they swing open, I see her enter the building dressed like an Eskimo; a bright, rainbow knit cap is pulled down over her black bob, tied in a short bun at the back of her neck, and her face is flushed the same color as her crimson manicure.
I push to my feet and shove Klepsky aside with my shoulder; he starts to say something, hand reaching for his gun, before noting the difference in stature. I have about a hundred pounds and six inches on the guy, and even though he might be a little prick, he’s clearly not dumb enough to try to engage in combat.
Even without a weapon on hand, I’d have him pinned against the wall with his clip emptied before he could remove it from his belt to aim.
“Ma,” I greet as she scurries past reception, pudgy fingers gripping the throat of her faux-fur coat closed. “What are you doing down here?”
“You think they can take my baby boy into custody without telling me about it?” she snaps, immediately reaching up to cup my jaw.
I dip down slightly, though she’s not much shorter than me, and she kisses both sides of my face. Then she slaps me.
“Ow.” I hold my cheek as a slight sting radiates across it, straightening my spine. “What the hell was that for?”
“How dare you not use your one phone call on me.”
“My one... Ma, I wasn’t booked. I didn’t get a phone call.”
“Oh, Christ. Even worse!” Whirling on the officer at my side, she squares her shoulders and jabs a red fingernail against his chest. “You boys realize it goes against our civil rights as American citizens to deny my son a phone call, right? This boy is a damn hero, and that’s how you treat him? I’ll call Al Sharpton!”
Snickers fill the room, the wheels of justice grinding to a complete halt as my mother’s outburst sucks up all the attention. I reach forward, wrapping my hand around her finger, and gently pull her away from the officer.
“Ma,” I say, guiding her to my plastic chair in the corner. “Honestly, I’m fine. I don’t know why anyone even called you.”
She huffs, shaking me off as she pulls her coat closer to her chin. “They didn’t. Gabriel did, to let us know what happened. I was just hoping the reason you hadn’t called your sister to apologize for lying to her was because you’d been unlawfully detained.”
I drag a hand down the side of my face as she plops into a chair. Looking over my shoulder, I cock an eyebrow at the front door, as if Daisy might appear out of thin air if I stare long enough.
“She’s not here.” My mother brushes a piece of lint from her knee, crossing one white Ked over the other.
“Are you just saying that to lure me into a sense of false security, so when we leave she can attack me?”
Chuckling, she shakes her head. “No, she stayed with Charlie. I reckon Gabriel will get an ear-full whenever he finally heads home, though. You too, whenever you see her next.”
I take the seat beside her, reaching over to pat her knee through the dark denim pants she has on. Her lip wobbles as her eyes take in the bullpen, and I wonder if she finds it difficult to be here again so soon after my father’s death.
If the air here feels as suffocating to her as it does me.
Eight months ago, it was us sitting down the hall while Gabe told us about the car accident. Aneurysm, he’d said. Burst in his brain and caused him to veer off the road. There was nothing anyone could’ve done.
It didn’t help that, after a passerby called 911, he’d been at the bottom of the embankment for a solid half hour.
But, sure. Nothing the Skelm Island first responders could’ve done.
“I just can’t believe it. Alta May was one of my best friends.”
“She was a good lady.”
“The best. Maybe too good. Maybe that’s what made her a target.” I don’t answer, even though I want to point out that we don’t know she was a target. Although, the words carved into her stomach hardly felt random. “How’re you holding up?”
“I’m fine, Ma.”
“You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“Well, what are you asking, then? How am I, or how am I sleeping? Because those are two entirely different questions.”
Covering my hand with hers, she curls her fingers around mine, squeezing. “No one would blame you for being a little shaken up, you know.”
Refraining from rolling my eyes, I give her a curt nod just so she’ll stop hounding me. I slip my hand out from hers and lean forward with my elbows on my knees, jerking my chin in Officer Kate’s direction. “Can I go yet?”
She shakes her head, pink creeping up her neck the longer our eyes stay locked. Resentment starts to burn brighter inside my chest, a ball of flames growing with each passing minute, and I let my gaze drop to the floor before I say something I might regret.
“Mr. Porter, you’re wanted for questioning in Room 1A.”
Blinking out of my foggy thoughts, I glance down the hall where Captain Stoll stands,
hat tucked beneath his arm. I frown, sitting up in my seat as my mother’s hand finds mine once again.
“Questioning? I already gave my statement. I don’t have anything more to say.”
He doesn’t respond, just stands there staring with his stony eyes.
Gritting my teeth, I get to my feet, holding my hand up when my mother latches onto my pant leg. “Ma, it’s fine. It’ll only be a minute.”
She frowns. “It sounds like you’re in trouble.”
The interrogation room is situated in the back of the building, right off the wing with the holding cells. I’m not sure if that was designed with the intention to scare people into confessions, but as I pass the door and see a couple of guys inside playing cards, I chuckle to myself.
I’m starting to understand why the crime rate is sky high on the island.
Officer Klepsky follows us into the tiny room, his breath hot on the back of my neck as I round the table; he takes my shoulder in his palm, roughly pushing me into the chair. I bite the inside of my cheek, letting him manhandle me for now, since I don’t want to give the captain any reason to find me suspicious.
More than I apparently already am.
Folding my hands, I rest them on top of the metal table as the two uniforms sit down across from me. Captain Stoll drops a beige folder, flipping it open so the contents display; grotesque images of mutilated bodies, some drained completely of their blood, others painted with it.
He takes the photographs out one by one, the table contrasting against his olive skin, lining them up in a row.
I blink down at the pictures, then raise my eyes to his. “Gonna need a little bit more if you want me to help solve this puzzle.”
“I’ll bet you can solve it,” Klepsky grumbles.
Captain Stoll leans forward, pointing at the images. “Are you saying you don’t recognize any of these faces? No settings, or the way they’ve been... gutted?”
“Recognize them?” I shift my focus back down, scanning faces and landscapes for an ounce of understanding. “Why would I know anything about these pictures? They’re crime scenes, for fuck’s sake. And judging from the varying styles of gutting, as you so eloquently put it, they’re not even related.”
Klepsky narrows his eyes. “You know a lot about connected crimes, Porter?”
Nobody says anything for several beats, and I sit back in my chair, squinting, trying to piece together what’s happening right now.
And then it hits, like a freight train slamming into me, that this isn’t routine questioning.
It’s a fucking reckoning.
“Where’s Gabe?” I ask, my tongue lashing against my teeth. “He was there with me. Why isn’t he being drilled too? What grounds do you have to keep me here right now?”
“I can assure you, Officer Wilson is being processed through the same standard questions as you.” Captain Stoll pushes a photo toward me, singling it out from the rest of the bunch. He reaches up, swiping a hand over his bald head, cocking a salt-and-pepper brow. “You’re honestly telling me this is the first time you’ve seen these bodies?”
Alta May’s brown eyes stare back at me, unseeing.
Mine practically pop out of my skull, and I move my hands beneath the table, gripping my thighs until they ache. “Jesus, yes, Stoll.”
“Wilson said you were the one who read the message engraved on the body. Repeated it out loud, like a mantra or spell.” Klepsky jots something down in a notepad, watching me with his little gray eyes.
Rage churns in my gut like a storm surge, threatening to ruin everything in its path. I suck in a deep, annoyed breath, trying to tamp down the urge to throttle these two.
“I read it because I’m a literate adult. I wasn’t summoning Satan.” Smoothing my palms up and down my jeans until they’re rubbed raw, I shake my head. “I don’t even know what the fuck that means.”
“You don’t?” Stoll frowns, glancing down. “Klepsky, were we able to uncover the meaning during the preliminary investigation?”
Shifting his weight from side to side, Klepsky makes a face. “No, sir. Google couldn’t determine it, and I’ve still got a couple guys scouring the classics section in the library looking for a translation.”
“Signasti fatum tuum. It means you’ve sealed your fate,” a silky voice cuts in as the door to the room swings open, banging into the wall.
I glance up as a woman enters, chin held high, as if she’s aware that she’s walking into a lion’s den.
Klepsky looks like he wants to eat her alive for the interruption alone.
Soft, plush pink lips curl around silent words, the sound not reaching my ears as I find myself momentarily drowning in her femininity; the slender slope of her neck, the taut curves of her hips, perfectly outlined by the dress pants she has on.
Hips made for holding while fucking from behind. For digging your fingers into while being ridden.
Long, dark brown hair perfect for wrapping around my fist.
My cock stirs behind my jeans, the rush of blood snapping me from the moment; it’s such a visceral, all-consuming response that it takes me a second to pull out fully. She crosses the room, wedging herself between the two officers, and folds her arms over her breasts.
I swallow, tearing my gaze from their gentle swell, willing myself to focus.
Unfortunately, that means meeting her gaze, and I’m not prepared for the tide of emotion the electric blue of her irises causes.
They’re the kind of translucent cerulean color that holds secrets. Something alluring and wicked, pulling me in like a magnet the second they land on me.
Something thick and feral expands in my esophagus, familiarity overwhelming my senses and making my heart race. But I swallow over it as she reaches for the case file on the table, aligning herself with the badges in the room.
My body may find her fuckable, but as she settles into her seat across from me, one thing becomes very, very clear.
Right now, she’s also the fucking enemy.
Chapter 4
A scratch surges up my throat, wanting to escape into the air but I swallow it back down, refusing to look weak in a roomful of men. The metal chair creaks underneath me as I shift, forcing myself to maintain eye contact with the man across the table, even though the sight of him has thrown me until I’m wobbling off balance, teeter-tottering on the edge of a cliff.
Usually, I’m infallible; in this job, you need to be, but there’s something about the way this guy’s emerald-green eyes spear straight through me, glaring as if I’m dirt beneath his shoe that puts me on edge.
And there’s a feeling that I can’t describe, one that’s floating around my edges, begging me to grasp ahold of it, but always dancing at the tips of my fingers. Similar to the way I feel when I shoot up in bed, gasping from my nightmares, trying to hold tight to their memory while they slip away to somewhere I can’t reach.
That combined with the fact I’m finally here on Skelm Island has my insides coiled tight with nerves.
“Detective Sloane, I presume?”
My eyes snap to the man sitting next to me, his bald head shiny and his heavy brows drawn as he takes me in. I smile big and wide, not wanting him to feel as if I’m impeding on his territory, although technically, I am. But police get rankled easily when someone comes into their jurisdiction and takes all the power. Add on top of the fact I’m a woman, and it’s a delicate web to weave.
Besides, I’m the nice one.
It’s Alex they should be worried about.
“At your service.” I hold out my hand. “Captain Stoll?”
He nods, grasping my hand in a firm shake, the calluses on his palm scratching against my skin. He jerks his head toward the officer next to him, a gangly man with hair chopped tight on the sides. “This is Officer Klepsky.”
Nodding my head in acknowledgment, I turn my gaze to the table, scanning over the glossy five-by-seven photos strewn across the metal top, mutilated corpses meeting my eyes. Klepsky scrambles forward,
grabbing up the pictures and sliding them haphazardly back into a beige folder, his eyes pinched.
Blowing out a breath, I resist the urge to rub my temples.
“I was looking at those.” I keep my words light. I’ve found that coming in too strong is never a look that goes over well, and since Alex and I will be here in Skelm for the foreseeable future, it’s better to have as many badges on our side as possible. Our job is already going to be difficult even with their help.
Klepsky grins as he leans against the wall, his thin lips stretching across his face. “These aren’t your average photos, lady. Maybe you should ease your way in. Let us prepare you for what you’ll see.”
“Well, you are quite a gentleman, aren’t you?” I reply, irritation snapping at my middle.
His jaw tenses. “Just trying to spare your appetite. Wouldn’t want you to start your day off on the wrong foot.”
“Not to interrupt,” a gravelly voice cuts through the air. My heart kicks against my ribs as I twist, my gaze flickering to the man at the other end of the table. Lincoln Porter, I presume. “But if you two are going to sit here and go back and forth over whose dick is bigger, can I leave? This whole thing’s already put me behind, and I guarantee my ma is two seconds away from bursting through that door and dragging me home.” He points to the exit.
Klepsky’s eyes narrow, his chest puffing out. “No.”
“I’ll try to make my questions quick,” I say.
Lincoln sighs, shrugging out of his tan jacket and tossing it over the back of his chair, revealing a gray flannel underneath, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. My gaze tracks along the ink that winds its way up his corded forearms, a sharp stab of heat spiking through my center. I adjust in my chair, my thighs rubbing together. Pulling out my tape recorder, I place it on the table and hit the red button, resting my hands on the table, the metal cool beneath my palms. “Now, Mr. Porter, why don’t you tell me what happened?”
The muscle in his jaw tics. “I’ve already given my statement.”
Be Still My Heart: A Romantic Suspense Page 3