A possibility bounced into Terri's thoughts. "Does Joe think our target here is connected somehow?"
Carlos stared at her, his gaze flattening into an unreadable one. "Two different cases. You focus on your mission. Put this bastard and anyone connected to the investigation behind bars."
Terri felt, more than knew, that he'd just confirmed her guess, which sent chills up her body. Could money mean that much to the drug dealer to risk biological warfare?
"I'm all for nailing him," she said, indicating Marseaux. "But we still have no link even between him and this drug shipment." Her mystery man had better not be connected to Marseaux or her position with him would shift quickly.
"What is the DEA up to?" he asked, jostling her thoughts.
"All they've done is harass me and everyone at NOPD about the missing body. I don't get what's so important about finding that body or how it fits into all of this."
"We know Nathan Drake was working for Marseaux, but not who killed him. Marseaux may have sent someone to retrieve the body to get rid of any evidence, which would explain why the DEA is all jacked up. We just need them to stay out of our way."
That made as much sense as her theory, she supposed. "Good news is that politics within the DEA might work in our favor. Josie Silversteen is trying to locate the body before Brady does to earn her brownie points, so those two aren't talking. The backstabbing witch has a hard-on for me she's extending to Conroy and made it clear she'd come after me with all she had if I help Brady. My bet is Josie never got over being one of the few women Brady didn't share a bed with and plans to make him pay for his friendship with me."
"Is she the only one Brady didn't share a bed with at the agency?" Carlos speared her with a level gaze that said not to try to dodge him.
"No. I stayed out of that bed, too. We never quite connected all the dots to make that work, for which I am now very thankful."
"Smart. Get us the report on what they found in the container," Carlos said, changing the subject with an abruptness that was disconcerting. He stood and tossed some bills on the table. "Don't run yourself into the ground. These things take time so nothing is going to happen quickly."
"I understand." She stood and started to walk away.
He placed a gentle hand on her arm. "Give your body a chance to fully heal."
She hoped the embarrassment that hit her didn't show on her face when she forced a smile. "My leg is fine."
Carlos moved closer to her. "Be careful who you connect those dots with when it comes to any man in this business."
"Including you?"
"Ah, chica, especially me." He grinned and winked.
"Thanks for the warning, but I'm not interested in connecting the dots with anyone right now."
Carlos squeezed her arm gently, letting her know he believed her.
She answered with a smile, glad he'd bought her boldface lie.
* * *
CHAPTER EIGHT
Terri had just reached her desk when Captain Philborn walked up, a frown in place. Late one night while pouring through files, she'd overheard two officers chuckling about "Constipation Philborn." Sad, but the name fit. She hadn't seen a different expression since entering this precinct three weeks ago.
Wonder if his down-turned mouth was permanent, like the Riddler's from the Batman movies?
"What can I do for you, Captain?" She bent her neck back to look up at his honey-brown face. The top of his buzz-cut hairstyle was six feet and seven inches from the floor.
"We've dusted and removed all the drugs. I got the DEA and the city climbing up my ass about releasing that container."
"Why would the city care about turning loose a container that's part of an investigation?"
Lines creased his forehead. The change had an unpleasant effect on his face.
"Mayor is close friends with the import-export group that owns most of the legal property inside."
"Did you get any hit on prints yet?"
"No. All we're coming up with at this point are prints of workers. And we didn't lose any of the coke."
Something was off on this drug bust. She toyed with the pen in her hand. "Are you thinking about turning the container loose?"
"No. I'm not too worried about the mayor. I mainly need a reasonable excuse to buy time to keep it out of the DEA's hands." His eyes crinkled, as if he were trying to smile. Scary.
"Good, because I still need to review everything to make sure the coke was the only content the intruder was after."
"What else would he have wanted?"
"I don't know, but as your techs no doubt noticed, there was a box opened. It doesn't make sense, because if Marseaux sent the intruder to get the shipment he should have known where to look, wouldn't he?"
"Unless the perp was trying to snatch Marseaux's shipment or throw us off."
Well, duh. She had a whole new respect for Philborn. "Good point."
"Get me a report in soon." A quiet order, but one Terri understood to mean he expected something tangible from her quickly.
"Gotcha. I'm headed there as soon as I finish several things here. By the way, has anything turned up on the Drake body?"
"No. Tired of hearing about that from the DEA, too. She acts like they did us a favor with the container and wants me to put people on finding the damn body. Like I have that much resource available."
"Who are you talking about?"
"Josie Silversteen. She came by looking for you. Asking questions, all nice and cheeky."
The bane of Terri's life could use a prescription of Prozac. "Thanks, I'll get in touch with her." Just not during this lifetime.
"You're welcome." He lumbered back to his office.
Her cell phone chimed. She answered it, but the call rolled to voicemail. Before she could check for the message her desk phone rang. She immediately looked across the room and lifted the receiver to her ear.
"Now, I know you weren't ignoring me." Sammy sent her a high five.
"When did you think I was ignoring you?"
"I called you twice earlier on your cell phone but it went to voicemail."
Terri glanced at her battered cell phone. Maybe if she got a leather case the phone would survive another month around her. She'd always been hell on anything electronic. "No, my phones acting up. Whatcha got?"
"A little more info on that ghost."
"It's not a ghost, Sammy."
"Hey, I'm just sharing the facts as I get them. FinMan just turned up dead. Throat cut."
Terri waded through a mash of emotions, from disappointment to disbelief to horror. "Where did you hear that?"
"My buddy at the morgue, but this time the DEA has a guard in place until their techs arrive to transport it."
A bad feeling seized Terri. Was she attracted to a killer? Had her phantom murdered a man?
No, he wouldn't do something like that.
Based on what hard evidence? None. Hormones were not a dependable barometer of innocence.
She hung up and dialed her grandmother's cell, but Grandma couldn't talk right then because they were busy at baggage claim in O'Hare. Terri called Brady and got his voicemail, but didn't leave a message.
Time was ticking away. She had to get back inside that container. Terri packed up, waved at Sammy, who was walking toward her desk with a couple files, then drove to the yard. This time, she locked her car and made sure to carry both her weapon and cell phone in her bag, but an hour later her frustration had doubled. Nothing new revealed itself.
She packed up and drove home, not looking forward to an empty house. Like her grandmother, she'd always liked the nighttime, but was tired of spending so much of it alone lately.
Except for unexpected visits from her phantom.
She parked her Mini Cooper, hoisted her tote bag onto her shoulder, shut the door, and beeped the locks shut with her remote key. At the house, she unlocked the dead bolt and entered slowly, weapon drawn, and stood quietly inside, listening for any movement.
Like she'd hear a phantom that moved like a whisper?
She'd locked all the windows that morning and dead bolted both doors. Enough with the paranoia. Besides, he'd only entered after she was in the house… so far.
A note on the fridge from Grandma directed her to the aluminum foil-covered dish of food and a chilled bottle of wine with instructions to enjoy. She'd lock up and let the food warm while she soaked in a hot bath.
Terri stood very still, listening. The sensation of not being alone crawled up her spine. The longer a person spent in law enforcement, the more attuned they became to the unknown threat.
Closing the refrigerator door, she lowered her purse to the table, removing her weapon at the same time. She raised her weapon, gripping it with both hands. At the door to her bedroom, she glanced inside.
The room was black as a tar pit.
Not a sound. Maybe it was Grandma being gone and no television that had her jumping. She stepped inside and reached for the lamp next to her bed when a voice said, "Don't touch the light."
She really was getting tired of this.
* * *
Nathan leaned against the wrought-iron gate where a tree blocked the view of him from Terri's house. He'd barely gotten here ahead of her pulling into the driveway. She'd gathered up her bag, then hobbled into the house.
She sometimes limped when no one else was around. What was wrong with her right leg?
He could ask her if she'd talk to him again. The whole point in his standing out here like a stalker.
Walk across the street… or not?
Nathan dug a rut in the rich soil with the heel of his boot, procrastinating.
She wouldn't be happy to see him again, but he was quickly losing his objectivity because of her. He had to convince her to share what she knew, then back away from this before she ended up dead and not just limping. Spending another half hour of debating would just waste what was left of the night.
Time to make a move or get off the pot.
He heaved a deep breath, admitting silently he wanted to see her again. Stupid, stupid, stupid to even think about her.
Screeching guitar music blared from a car loaded with teens that whizzed past, disturbing leaves and debris along the narrow street. And drawing his gaze back to her bedroom, which remained dark. She hadn't even turned on the light.
With any luck she'd still be in the kitchen, dressed, so this time he might be able to concentrate on talking to her. Instead of paying more attention to all that creamy skin he'd like a second shot at.
As if she'd let him near her again.
Nathan checked the area. A few people half a mile away and some dog digging in a yard nearby. Nothing for real concern. He started across the street. Terri should be alone.
Her grandmother had left with some friends and a suit-case early this morning. Later, Terri had rushed out to the car like she was late for a lunch date.
He paused. A date. That soured his already low frame of mind. Scowling, he moved on, reaching the rear of the house. Daydream later, when she was long gone from sight. He'd never been this distracted on a mission and had better buckle down if he hoped to survive.
Out of habit, he tested the lock on the back door. Unlocked. Hadn't Terri learned anything from the last few days?
Turning the handle carefully, he slowly opened the door and eased inside. The vent light above the stove cast a yellow hue on the worn oak table and white Corian counters.
A quick check confirmed no one in the kitchen or the living room. He hesitated, debating his next move. When had he ever second-guessed himself? Never, but he wasn't sure he could take another night of seeing her in a towel, or sans towel, and walk away.
There was only so much any man could take.
A soft murmur reached his ears.
The skin along his neck tightened in warning.
Nathan slipped closer to the long hallway. Terri's room was at the very end.
A voice spoke too low for him to catch the words, but he had no question on the gender. Male.
Not alone. Nathan clenched his fingers and stretched them, buying a minute to think. Hadn't figured on her having company, which didn't sit well at all, and he didn't really care to figure out why. He had to get out of here right now if there was any hope of not embarrassing her and sparing himself vivid details of what was going on back there.
This royally sucked.
Terri had sure acted like an available woman. She'd responded to his kiss as if she enjoyed it and wanted more. Screw this. Get the hell out.
Nathan couldn't make his feet move any more than he could ignore the green haze of jealousy he suffered at the thought of her in there with someone else. When had she gotten to him?
He shoved his black mood about face and started to leave when Terri's voice clearly snarled, "I don't give a damn what anyone told you, I don't know who this Drake guy is"
A hard slap of flesh against flesh cracked the air.
Terri cried out in pain and sounded as though her body had hit the floor.
Nathan wheeled around and moved with the speed and stealth of a cougar on attack. At the door, he inched close, taking in everything within a second. Terri was sprawled on the floor, wiping blood from her mouth. The window shade hung half torn down from where she'd grabbed at it, allowing a smear of light into the room.
"Get up, bitch. I'm not through with you." Hatchet, one of FinMan's goons Nathan had been hunting, stood over her, waving a gun. He was the only bodyguard not accounted for yesterday when the other ones were sent for a long vacation in the hospital.
Nathan shot into the room, not trying to hide his entrance.
Hatchet spun around to his right. His left hand followed with the weapon, bringing the handgun up to shoot.
Nathan caught Hatchets left hand, shoved it up, and slammed a hard chop to break the goons arm at his elbow. Hatchet dropped the gun, yelled, and swung his meaty right paw in a power slam, bouncing it off Nathan's head.
Ears ringing, Nathan reached for the gun. Hatchet was lithe for all his bulk. He kicked, trying to boot Nathan under his jaw, but missed. Adrenaline flowed through Nathan like nitrous for a racing engine. He spun and landed on all fours, then shoved to his feet.
Terri struggled to stand, splitting Nathan's attention. He yelled, "Stay back."
The distraction gave Hatchet an opening to produce a switchblade. He slashed at Nathan's neck, barely missing, spinning off balance. Hatchet fell against a dresser, yowling in misery. The sharp edges of his broken forearm bone stuck out of the skin, blood running freely.
Everything slowed as it always did when Nathan sensed the approach of an inevitable outcome, knew the next moves as if he and his opponent had been given a script. When the choice came down to kill or be killed.
Hatchet would catch his balance, jump back to face Nathan, and attack. Nathan would block with one arm and use the other to ram his fist into Hatchet's neck, crushing his windpipe.
Terri would have a front-row seat to the gruesome death.
Hatchet caught his balance and jumped back around, pain gouging deep lines into his face, sweat running, but he was a moose and not going down easy. He clenched his teeth and growled, on attack.
Nathan snatched up a standing floor lamp, swinging it horizontally, connecting with Hatchet's knife hand. The knife and lampshade went flying. Nathan immediately reversed direction with the metal pole, cracking it hard against Hatchets head, knocking him across a chair. He landed upside down on his head and stopped moving.
Nathan heaved one breath, then another before moving over to nudge Hatchets bad arm. Not a sound.
He checked for a pulsealivethen pulled a couple of wire ties from his pocket. He bound Hatchet to the chair in a way the goon couldn't maneuver even if his arm didn't have a compound fracture, then placed one wire tie above the break as a tourniquet to stem the blood flow.
When he swung around, Terri struggled to get up on her feet. She grunted something unladylike.
"You okay?" Nathan straightened his hood back into place to shield his face, not sure how much she'd seen in the dark room. He moved toward her slowly, not wanting to frighten her after what she'd just witnessed.
"I'm fine." Terri leaned up on her left leg, obviously babying her right one as if she had an injury. She was almost completely upright when her right leg folded. She cursed, arms flying out for any support.
He caught her before she went down and pulled her to his chest. She clutched at his forearms, fingers digging in for dear life. He didn't mind the pain. He could feel the steady beat of her heart in time with his thundering heartbeat. That's all he cared about right now.
She could have died. His fault.
FinMan's goon had come here searching for him.
She shuddered. Her body trembled, the aftermath of shock taking over no matter how tough she wanted to be.
Nathan turned his attention to comforting her. He drew her close, holding her securely with one arm and rubbing his other hand up and down her back, whispering that she would be all right.
And she would. No one was going to hurt her again.
Not and live to tell about it.
The acrid smell of fresh blood stained the air. He lifted her into his arms.
"Put me down." She snarled like a wounded bobcat. "I told you I was fine."
"You're a bad liar to be in the business you're in." He carried her into the living room. The couch backed up to a glass window covered by a dainty sheer. Streetlights pierced the thin material, casting a dusky hue over the room. The room smelled faintly of cinnamon and apples from the potpourri in a glass bowl. Everything about the decorations shouted feminine, from the white lace curtains to the pink crocheted doilies. Tidy, inviting, and warm.
Except for Terri's room right now, but Hatchet could wait. He wasn't going anywhere and he wouldn't bleed to death.
She huffed an exhausted sigh. "Don't worry. I'm not going to wig out on you."
Nathan lifted an eyebrow over her bravado and settled both of them on the couch, careful with her leg. "Well, I might wig out so let me sit here a minute and catch my breath."
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