Nico landed beside me with a grunt, and I wrapped my arms around his neck from behind, wrapping lightning and thunder (my legs) around his upper torso and squeezing the life out of him.
“God! You’re such a shit!” Nico growled, effectively knocking the wind out of my sails by rolling over onto his back and pinning me to the floor with his body weight.
I didn’t let that stop me for long, though.
Instead, I anchored myself even better, let go of his neck, and started attacking his armpits with the tips of my fingers, ticking him like a lunatic while he writhed and shook with laughter on the ground.
“God! Stop!” He yelled loudly.
I was like a tick, though.
I stayed and stayed until I had no strength left to hold on, then, like any smart woman, I ran.
Like the wind.
I pushed off of him with inhuman strength that resembled a lumbering donkey and sprinted for Nico and Georgia’s door.
I made it, too.
Slammed it right in Nico’s face and locked the door before he could reach me.
Then I promptly fell on their bed that was littered with clothes and other baby paraphernalia and collapsed in exhaustion.
“Y’all fight all the time,” Georgia said from the closet.
I nodded. “Yeah, we do.”
“I don’t know why y’all can’t just be normal siblings,” she said observantly.
Nico was the only boy with six sisters… it was bound to happen.
I wasn’t a bad sister. I was a normal sister!
“You’re just jealous that your brothers won’t give you the time of day,” I teased.
I was lying.
Georgia’s brothers loved the hell out of her.
They just had a different relationship than Nico, my sisters and I did.
It didn’t mean it was wrong that they tried to baby her.
It was understandable, really.
Especially with how Georgia held their family together after the death of their two youngest brothers.
“So what’s going on? Why do you want me to go to the hospital with you?” Georgia asked.
I gave her a droll look.
“You’re a social worker, Georgia. Why the hell do you think I want you up there?” I laughed.
She flipped me off and took a huge step over her Saint Bernard, Hamburger, that was taking up half the closet.
“You know we’re not just ‘assigned’ these things. They have to come to us. You’d have more luck calling in Shiloh,” Georgia explained.
Georgia was a social worker with an adoption agency that placed children in their forever home.
Shiloh, James’ wife, on the other hand, was a child protective service social worker with the state of Texas, working in Gregg County.
Which was why I’d invited her to come as well.
“I already called her. We’re picking her up on the way,” I told her.
Georgia smiled.
“Good,” she said solemnly. “Tell me what happened?”
I sighed.
“From what I got from Michael, as well as what I got from the hospital yesterday, a lot happened. The boy, who’s also the father of the two children, is fourteen. His stepmother raped him repeatedly over the years and then got pregnant with his babies. She then had said babies and used them to keep the boy quiet about it all. The father was none the wiser to it all, but basically that was because he was high out of his mind,” I told her. “After the second child was born at home, addicted to God knows what drugs, and then totally failed to be cared for, the boy took it as his cue to get the hell out. He stole their car, took the kids, and had been parked in that gas station parking lot for about twelve hours before Michael caught him trying to steal candy and milk for the kids.”
Georgia stopped and turned halfway through the story, but by the time I was finished recounting it, tears were in her eyes, as well as in my eyes.
“Holy crap, that poor boy,” she said, voice devastated.
I nodded. “That’s where the SWAT team was last night. Doing a raid on that house. The judge who’s overseeing the case is the son of a man that abused him, so he wasn’t very tolerant at hearing what happened to Madden.”
“Madden is also the name of the boy’s father?” Georgia clarified.
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s him.”
“What’d they find at the raid last night?” Georgia asked.
Nico came through the door, shoving a lock pick into his pocket as he threw the door open.
He walked past the bed and pushed me hard enough that I fell backward, causing me to laugh.
He shot me an ‘I’ll get you back’ look and turned to his wife.
“If you were interested in that, why didn’t you just ask your husband?” Nico asked cheekily.
Georgia sat down on the bed beside me and slipped her socks on before shoving her feet into tennis shoes.
“Probably because I’m still mad at you,” she said, tossing him a fake glare.
I snorted.
“I told you I was too tired to change a diaper! I didn’t steal your hamburger, and I didn’t pour hot sauce in your tea! It was a freakin’ diaper! One!” He said, raising his hands in the air for emphasis.
Rolling my eyes, I got up and tugged Georgia’s hand.
“We’ll be back, brother dear. Take care of the babies and the diapers, until we get back,” I ordered.
Then we left, all under the very annoyed glare of Nico.
“So, what’d they find?” Georgia picked up where we left off.
I closed the front door behind me and walked with her to my car.
My beautiful baby.
It was a sky blue Volkswagen Beetle convertible.
Georgia got into the passenger side, and I dropped into the driver’s side before I told her.
“A lot, actually. Drugs. Enough drugs that they think they were dealers. Dirty needles. Cocaine and weed. Horrible living conditions. Both parents were high as hell. Neither one of them even knew the kids were missing - that’s how gone they were,” I told her, backing out of the driveway and turning left to head to the highway.
Georgia hummed.
I looked over at her.
“What?” I asked, moving my eyes back to the road in front of me.
A tractor was taking up three-quarters of the road, and I contemplated passing him on the shoulder when he finally moved over, allowing me to pass.
And in all that time, Georgia stayed silent.
“What?” I asked again.
“They’re going to split them up, I can see it now,” she said softly.
I winced.
That’s what I was afraid of.
Madden was a good kid, but he was in no way, shape, or form, ready to raise two kids, seeing as he was only a kid himself.
“That’s why I’m bringing in the big guns,” I replied.
She frowned.
“I’ll try, honey. But I can’t promise a single thing,” she explained. “I can’t make any promises.”
I nodded in understanding. “I know. I just want you to try the best you can. Work with Shiloh. Anything is better than what they had. I just feel so horrible about the situation.”
She patted my hand as I stopped at the stoplight that would lead us to the hospital.
“And what about that other little boy? How’s he doing?” she asked.
I smiled happily.
“Much better, actually. They said he opened his eyes yesterday. I was going to stop in and see Nathan since I’ll already be up on the Ped’s floor,” I informed her. “But we have to be back at your house by twelve so I can make my one o’clock class. Okay?”
Georgia nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good. Then I can be there in time for Nico to go to work, and we won’t have to call your mom to watch the kids.”
I held up my thumb in a ‘good’ gesture and opened my car door.
I blinked at the cop cars that were lined up at the front entrance of the hospital.
“What’s going on?” I asked the woman who was standing in front of my parked car.
The woman turned and shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re not letting anybody in or out.”
Picking up my phone, I called Michael.
“Hello?” Michael answered.
He sounded distracted, but that wasn’t going to stop me from getting inside.
“Hey,” I said. “We’re outside the ER entrance and there’re a bunch of people outside the doors. What’s going on?”
He cleared his throat.
“There was another murder,” he said softly. “Give me a few minutes to come down and I’ll escort you inside.”
Chapter 11
Don’t make fun of a woman with big lips. She’s probably thick and tired of it.
-E-card
Michael
“Where was this one from?” I asked Agent Palmer gruffly.
Agent Palmer offered me a file folder, and I steeled myself before opening the offending folder.
What I saw did not disappoint.
“Goddammit,” I said, clearing my throat. “Why another one so fast?”
“All of these have happened within the last three weeks. Roughly every three days. This fits with that timeline,” he admitted softly.
“Well, that should’ve been news you could’ve shared yesterday seeing as this happened today and here I am again,” I muttered, staring at the scene in front of me.
I wasn’t a detective.
I didn’t have the patience to be one.
Being a detective took dedication, time I didn’t have, and serious patience and perseverance.
I had the dedication and the perseverance, but not the other two.
Which was why it was confusing to me that I was here at a crime scene looking at the carnage that was left behind.
There weren’t any bodies left because those had gone to the hospital the moment the first responders arrived.
The man, the killer, had fucked up.
He’d done them in a good neighborhood.
The type of neighborhood that, if they were to hear gunshots, the cops are called almost immediately.
First responders had arrived within minutes, and both the woman and the man that’d been shot had been rushed to the hospital.
They weren’t expected to live, although the last I’d heard they were both rushed to surgery.
There wasn’t much they could do when the couple was shot in the head, but they still had to try.
“Who is this one with?” I asked, surveying the scene.
“Wolfgang Amsel worked for Karnack Police Department. His wife, Abby Amsel, was an accountant for Roscoe and Rush Accounting firm. Abby was eight and a half months pregnant with her first child,” Agent Palmer informed me.
I nodded.
The name sounded so familiar, but I couldn’t place the name with a face.
“What doctor’s office do these women go to?” I asked, the thought suddenly occurring to me.
“The Women’s Center of East Texas for this one. The others are various ones of the Ark-La-Tex,” he said. “But all of their systems interconnect since the doctors float throughout the offices.”
I turned my head to look to the kitchen counter.
On the counter was the officer’s service weapon, badge, and various accessories he wore on his utility belt, car keys, and his phone.
But the thing that drew my eye was the badge.
When a law enforcement officer has fallen, there has come a tradition that other officers wear a thin line of blue over their badges to commemorate the fallen life.
It’s usually only worn during the period of mourning, but over the years, it has come to be a show of respect for all law enforcement officials, civilians and public servants alike.
“You see this?” I asked Palmer.
Palmer looked over and pursed his lips at the sight. “Yeah.”
The badge had two strips of black duct tape arranged in an X across the badge, as if he was saying he took care of that particular officer.
“Asshole,” I growled in anger.
“I concur,” Palmer agreed.
Then a thought occurred to me.
“Did you check the tape for prints?” I asked.
Agent Palmer nodded. “Yeah.”
“What about the back of the tape?” I asked.
I wasn’t a crime scene tech, but that would be a place that I’d look for prints.
Agent Palmer pursed his lips.
“They’ve already collected the evidence, but I’ll just take that to the techs and see if they can find anything,” Palmer said as he took an evidence bag out of his pocket, then used the tip of his pencil to hook the badge and drop it into the bag.
Once zipped, he said, “That’s why I wanted you here. I noticed the other day you had a good eye. Nobody else could tell me much about the suspect, but you did.”
I shrugged, uncomfortable with the flattery.
Palmer’s phone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket before answering it with a muttered, “Yeah?”
“You’re fucking shitting me,” Agent Palmer said in surprise. “No fucking shit? Alright, we’ll come down now.”
Palmer was already headed out the door, and I followed behind him quickly.
The officer at the door who was guarding the door for us, nodded as we passed.
When Palmer hung up the phone he looked at me with elation in his eyes.
“The cop,” he said nodding to the house. “Made it through surgery and is talking. He wants to speak with us.”
Us?
Why would he want to talk to me?
I didn’t question it, however, only got into my truck and followed him to the hospital.
When we arrived, the entire hospital was swarming with cops.
Since the shooting had taken place, everyone and their brother was here, reporter wise, which meant that my fellow men in blue had to be here to take care of crowd control.
“Are you with the FBI?” one reporter asked as we started pushing through the crowd.
“No comment,” Agent Palmer muttered darkly.
“Are you the officer who responded to the Baby Cop Killer scene?” another reporter asked.
That question was directed at me.
But I acted like I hadn’t heard, and kept pushing through right along with Palmer.
Agent Elliott met us at the ER’s doors and held the door open wide as we crossed through.
“Talk to me,” Palmer ordered Elliott.
Elliott started hurrying to the elevators as he spoke.
“He’s awake, first and foremost. He woke up viciously the moment the anesthesia wore off, but he can’t speak per se,” Elliott explained. “The bullet missed his brain completely. Apparently, at the last moment, Amsel jerked to the side. The bullet passed through the base of his neck and came out his mouth just perfectly. He lost a few teeth and has a quite a bit of tissue and muscle damage in his neck, but he’s expected to make a complete recovery. Had to tell him that his wife died on the OR table. The baby didn’t make it either.”
I shook my head.
That didn’t sound good, even with him saying he would make a full recovery.
His wife was dead. His kid was dead. His life was forever changed.
How could he ‘recover’ from that?
I knew I couldn’t.
If I lost Nikki, I’d be so fuckin’ lost it wouldn’t be funny.
Even though I hadn’t had her the last year and a half, I still knew she was okay.
Amsel, though, didn’t have that gift.
He would forever live knowing he couldn’t protect his woman and child.
Then I berated myself.
Amsel may not have those problems.
I just knew I would if our situations had been reversed.
If it was Nikki carrying my child.
Then I shivered.
Nikki wouldn’t be carrying my child.
No matter how much the idea of it turned me on.
“This is him. I got him a pad of paper to write everything down. I also had them fax the employee records of all the members who work for The Women’s Center,” Elliott said, shaking his hand that held a thick pile of papers in it.
When I made to wait outside, Elliott jerked his head. “You too. He asked for you.”
My brows rose. “Me?”
He nodded. “Yeah, apparently he knows you.”
“How would he know I’m working on this case at all?” I asked.
He stopped and turned. “He was the best friend of Darren Cox.”
My mind shut down.
Motherfucker.
That guy. The murdered father in the crime scene that started this case for me.
“Holy shit,” I breathed.
Elliott nodded. “Yeah, needless to say, he’s not doing too good.”
***
An hour later, with more information than Agent Palmer had in months over multiple cases, we walked out of Wolfgang Amsel’s hospital room.
We still didn’t have a name.
We did, however, have a hair color.
Black.
Which seemed to be the man’s trend.
Amsel had explained that he’d just gotten off work and was in the kitchen eating the breakfast his wife had just cooked for him when someone had knocked at the door.
She’d gone to answer it, and he’d looked up when she started backing up.
He’d said he heard ‘Turn around or I’ll shoot her!’
His service weapon had been on the island, half a room away from him, so he’d turned.
And was promptly shot in the back of the head.
He looked over in time to see his wife gunned down moments later by a man with black hair.
Then he was gone.
And he was left to watch as his wife fought for her life.
My phone rang when we made it to the waiting room, and I smiled when I saw it was Nikki.
A little bit of happy in a big bowl of oh fuck.
“Hello?” I answered the phone.
“Hey,” she said worriedly. “We’re outside the ER entrance and there’re a bunch of people outside the doors. What’s going on?”
I cleared my throat.
Code 11- KPD SWAT Box Set Page 131