Ever since Washington’s brother became a teen, she seemed to have more and more problems getting along with the kid. It didn’t help that they had lost their parents awhile back and were living with an aging grandmother.
“One practice?” He picked up a pen and spun it between his fingers. “It’s been awhile since I played, but in football terms, those two hours are a lifetime. If they were watching team footage, that’s huge. That footage tells you what went wrong, and then you work the rest of the week fixing it.”
The glare that his partner sent Joe’s way told him to shut up. He’d worked with her long enough to know he better keep any further thoughts to himself. The glare was step one. Step two included yelling and head bobbing. He’d never gotten past step two—hell, he rarely pushed past step one. The woman could be frightening.
She sighed. “Shit. Are you sure you can take care of everything?”
He stopped himself before his eyes rolled. He could handle an afternoon, for Pete’s sake.
“You’re on your own this afternoon, then.” She shrugged. “Bunions?”
“No, yeast infection.” “Ugh…come on. TMI.”
Shay laughed as she dialed her phone. “Hey, Nip, go to practice. I got Gran today.
Yeah, yeah, thank Joe. He’s going to write my incident report from yesterday.”
Dammit. He didn’t recall any mention of an incident report. She ended the call, a smile on her face.
“What makes you think I’m going to write your report? I got my own to do.” “Captain Humphries stopped by and needs them before we leave today. But I’m leaving now, so it’s all you, partner. Unless you want to deal with Gran’s yeast problem.”
“That’s some sneaky shit.”
She pulled her purse from the bottom metal drawer. “You’re cranky. Are you sad your little Lego buddy is in Hawaii? You could call one of your other little friends. I’m sure someone would play toys with you.”
“We don’t play Legos.” Joe huffed as she dropped her notes from yesterday on his desk.
She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks.” “No problem, but you owe me one.”
“Take it off all the ones you owe me. Oh, and by the way, a Brook Southby called. Sounds cute, better call her back before she gets a better offer.” She dropped the message on his desk before she walked through the bustling room and out the door.
Brook called. Interesting. It might not be interesting. She probably wanted to know what was going on with her house. But somehow he didn’t care why she wanted to talk to him, he was just glad she did. He used the phone on his desk and called the office number she’d left with Shay.
No answer.
He had work to do, anyway. He sifted through the paperwork Shay dropped on his desk. Sloppy handwriting was scribbled along noted margins. How the hell did she make any sense out of this mess? She must have missed her calling as a doctor.
His cell phone chirped. He picked up the distraction. Unknown number.
Hmmm…”Perretti.”
“Detective, I seem to have a problem.” Brook’s voice came over the line. He’d like to think that sound did nothing to him, but he couldn’t lie to himself. Well, he could, and he would. Thinking about her like that was not productive. He and lawyers did not mix.
“What’s the problem?”
“If you changed my locks, I have no way to get into my house.”
“Are you on your way home?” A trickle of excitement coursed through his veins. The afternoon was looking up. A nice drive back to the suburbs to spend time with Brook. Not a bad way to break up the day.
“No. It’s going to be a late one tonight. I just thought we should schedule a drop or something.”
“Well, I’ve got a couple more hours here, myself.” He snarled at the paperwork in his hand. “We can meet up at your place. Just text me when you’re done.”
“Sure. And I didn’t get a chance to say this earlier, but thanks.” The line went dead. A thanks—that was more than he thought he would get after the morning they’d had.
He flipped over Shay’s notes, trying to get his head in the game. He just couldn’t seem to get focused. The way this report-writing thing was going, he’d have the damn thing done by next month, if he was lucky.
“Perretti, you’re up,” Chief Humphries called from his open door. “Where’s Washington?”
“Took a couple hours off.”
“All right.” He ran a hand over his balding head. “Take Lopez. Body found, Sunrise Motel on Wabash.”
Joe dropped the hieroglyphics in his hand. So much for report writing today. He signaled to Marco Lopez. “You ready to do some real police work?”
“You ready to work with a real cop?” Lopez snatched a set of keys from his desk drawer and dropped them into his blue jeans pocket. He twisted a denim jacket off the back of his chair and ran a hand through his dark black hair. Joe could practically hear the drool drop from swooning women all over the room.
“Show me one and I’ll work with him, but today I’m stuck with you.” Joe started toward the front of the precinct. “Car’s this way.”
“I always drive.” Lopez cringed when he saw the car. “Are you borrowing your grandpa’s car?”
“Go ahead and drive. I’ll just meet you there.” Joe kept walking to his SUV. He was not letting this newbie detective drive. It didn’t matter if they needed to head to the scene together. Wabash didn’t have a great amount of parking spots, so extra cars would get in the way of the investigation or traffic. As he approached the truck, Lopez was at his side.
“You’re a dick.” Lopez threw open the passenger door. “I try, newbie.”
“I’ve been a detective for two years, old man. I’m not a newbie.”
“You’re still newer than me. So get used to it, newbie.”
“I always wondered, what was Chicago like during the Chicago fire? Did the captain make you work a lot of overtime?”
“Get in the car, toddler. Just because your momma forgot to send you in with your binky, doesn’t mean you can be an asshole.” Joe slid into the driver’s seat and drove toward the scene on Wabash.
* * *
After a long day at the county jail, Brook sat on the cold concrete front stoop of her bungalow. Her arm rested on a package that must have been delivered that afternoon, probably some goofy security thing ordered by Joe. Maybe a group of laser lights for the front door. Every night she’d have to imitate Entrapment just to get inside.
Speaking of Joe, where the heck was he? She’d texted him over an hour ago, and he claimed to be on his way. But the sun had dipped lower and still no sign of the man. Or her keys.
The cold evening air slid under her jacket and tickled her spine. Damn. She couldn’t stay out here all night as the temperature plunged, with no light and no heat.
She couldn’t get any work done. She had no food, no water, and nothing to entertain her brain. If he hadn’t said he was on the way, she would head over to her friendly neighborhood Starbucks.
This was not how she saw the evening going. She thought Joe would be here, keys in hand, and they would enjoy a wonderfully romantic dinner. Maybe they’d watch a movie until they fell asleep on the couch, entwined together.
Of course, that wasn’t really her plan. You couldn’t plan to accidentally fall asleep together on the couch. That would be weird.
But she’d hoped.
She watched the quiet neighborhood, the occasional car drifting down the lazy street. She glanced at her battery-drained phone. Eight o’clock. Her stomach growled. Sitting here wasn’t doing any good.
A light glimmered from her neighbor’s house. She hated bothering Gloria, who was probably either spending time with her husband or grading papers. That seemed to be her usual evening ritual.
But Brook couldn’t stay outside any longer. She was cold, hungry, and thirsty. She was also getting angrier and angrier as she sat and waited. How could he leave her alone like this? If she was in such danger, how did lockin
g her out of her house help?
The man was infuriating. Argh!
She dropped Joe’s stupid package into her briefcase and her shoes clicked as they hit the stairs. What would I give for sweats and gym shoes right now? Screw it. She tore off her heels and hung them over her arched fingers. Her toes uncurled and her feet pulsed with unrestricted happiness. She crossed the yard and trudged up her neighbor’s stairs in stocking feet.
Please don’t be having sex. Brook tapped on the frame of the screen door, but not too loud. If they were doing the nasty, she wanted no part in stopping it from happening.
“Hey, sweetie. Whatcha doin’ outside?” Gloria opened the door and made room for Brook to walk in.
“Long story. Can I hang out here for a while?” “Of course darlin’.”
Brook dropped her briefcase and shoes, sinking into the gray microfiber couch. School papers were stacked on the cocktail table, with a red pen resting on top. The Bachelor was paused on the big screen TV, with no husband in sight. Thank goodness.
“I could really use a good story tonight,” Gloria said. “You want a drink?”
Yes. “No. I have work to do tonight.”
“You work too hard.” Gloria slid into the kitchen and came out with a bottle of water.
“Where’s Howard?”
“Speakin’ of workin’ too hard, he’s got some big presentation this week, so they been pullin’ long nights. I brought him and the boys some dinner earlier. I have some left. Are you interested?” She put the water on the table.
Brook was going to say no. She didn’t want to put her friend out, but her stomach yelled out first—Mrodddgluuurrrt.
Gloria giggled. “Well, I’ll take that as a yes.” She went back into the kitchen, and after a few minutes she came out with a large chunk of lasagna and a glass of wine. “I figured you could switch to wine with dinner. Water just don’t have the same effect.”
“You are a lifesaver.” Brook took the plate. Maybe a bit forcefully, but the smell—oh my—melted cheese, tomato sauce, garlic, oregano. Her mouth watered. She brought the first forkful to her mouth.
Heaven. Salty cheese, sweet sauce, and starchy noodles swirled along her tongue. Delicious. “If the whole high school teacher thing doesn’t work out for you, you have a good shot at chef somewhere.”
“You’re sweet. So, where’s my story? I need something to take my mind off of my students. Either they’re just not getting symbolism, or they don’t care. Either way, I have a lot of work to do and I don’t want to think about it.” Gloria batted her eyelashes, the first and last sign of manipulation. She always got her way. “I went to all that trouble to cook for you.”
“I’m warning you, it’s not that interesting.”
“Does it have anything to do with that delicious guy campin’ out in front of your house the other night? Cause if it does, I definitely want to hear that story.”
When she put it that way, it did sound interesting. Too bad that was extent of the interesting part. Not that Gloria would mind. She loved to talk men. Real men, TV men, all men were fair game. Howard just shook his head when she’d get started. Gloria might love talking men, but she loved Howard even more. It was cute and sweet.
“The cop camping in front of the house is in it, but it’s not that interesting.” She wished it were that interesting. She could think of many interesting things she would like to do with that man and his lips, his hands… Okay, she needed to stop. “He changed my locks and now I can’t get in my house.”
“Is change my locks code for somethin’ kinky?” Gloria squirmed in her seat. “No.” Her mind wasn’t going there. Kinky and Joe were not two words that could go together. She’d had enough of overbearing, bossy men in her life. She was done with them.
Especially gorgeous cops who could make her change her mind.
Yes. Done. Finis. She just needed to keep that running through her mind before she forgot.
Chapter Ten
Joe ran a hand over his face. Everything hurt. His head, his chest, and even his face. Murder scenes were never easy, but this one hit home. Steve Timmons—they went through the academy together, joined SWAT together. Joe was best man at Steve’s wedding before everything changed, before he got the man suspended.
His fist hit the steering wheel. Thump! Damn it! Thump!
Damn it! Thump! Damn it!
He sped down the dark streets of Oak Park. He couldn’t believe it took him this long to get out to the suburbs. Of course, there had been a Chicago Flurries hockey game earlier, and that always screwed up traffic.
He drove along Brook’s darkened street. It had gotten dark fast, and he’d left her alone—left her alone with Stark running around.
Shit. He sped up.
The thought of Brook hurt, of anything happening to her, cut deep. He was so busy at the crime scene, he lost track of time again and again. Now she could be in danger.
He zipped into an open parking spot and ran up to the sleeping house. “Brook?” Silence.
Cell phone. Maybe she left him a message. He checked his cell phone. Nothing.
He dialed her number. Straight to voicemail.
He walked around to the backyard. Lights sprang to life as he opened the back gate. “Brook?”
She must have left. He walked into the garage. Her car was there. Dammit. He never should have left her alone this long. He knew better.
“Brook?” He ran to the front yard. She wasn’t there. He checked his phone again and tried to send a text.
Are you ok?
No response. A loud laugh came from the house next door. She wouldn’t be next door. Scratch that. She wouldn’t be next door without telling him. But where else could she be?
He darted up the stairs and rang the doorbell. A short woman with blonde hair lined with gray streaks answered the door. A half glass of wine sloshed in her hand.
“I’m sorry to bother you, have you seen your neighbor, Brook Southby?”
“Oooh, Brook, delicious cop is here for you.” The woman stepped back and motioned for Joe to come in.
On the bright red couch was Brook, shoes off, cheeks red, goofy grin playing on her lips. “Joe.”
“Where the hell have you been?” Anger simmered under his skin. He didn’t know if he wanted to hug her or shake her.
“Here.” Confusion flitted across her face. “Are you drunk?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. Why the hell are you mad at me? I didn’t lock you out of your own house for hours. I didn’t say I’ll be right there and then take my sweet-ass time to get here.”
Brook picked up her briefcase and her shoes laying on the floor. “Thanks, Gloria—for dinner and letting me hang here while I waited.” She wrapped her arms around the woman. “I’ll see you guys next week for dinner.”
“Of course, sweetie.” Gloria handed Brook a half-full bottle of water. “Don’t forget your drink.”
“Thanks.” Brook stomped past Joe and walked out the door.
“I’m sorry.” He looked into Gloria’s smirking face. At least one of the woman found his minor freak-out funny. He had a feeling the blonde who just left didn’t find it funny at all. She looked pretty pissed off.
Well, so was he.
She kept forgetting there was a madman out there. She might not see the danger, but he had seen it on the day of Stark’s sentencing. The man didn’t have anger in his eyes. Anger would have been normal. There was a coldness, a disassociation, something creepy and downright crazy. Time wouldn’t fix that type unbalance, it only fed it.
He had seen it before, over and over. And he’d be damned if he let that creep near her.
He climbed the front stairs to Brook’s house and turned the shiny new key. A low-toned beep came from a panel on the wall as he opened the door. Joe entered the code and silence filled the room.
“So, can you show me how to get in?” “Yeah. Do you want to get settled first?” “No.” She held out her hand, fingers waving.
He dropped the keys into her awaiting hand. “These are all the keys. Don’t keep any by the door.”
“Fine. What else do I need to know? How does this thing work?” Her shoulders were back, all her attention on the new alarm system.
“Is there a problem?”
“Ummm…let’s think about it. Yeah there’s a problem. You walk into my friend’s home and reprimand me like I’m five years old.”
“What about you? You couldn’t call, text?”
“My phone died and I couldn’t get into my house to get my frickin’ power cord.”
She threw her briefcase on the couch. “All I wanted to do was relax in my pajamas and watch I Love Lucy reruns. But instead, I couldn’t get into my own house. I sat on my front stoop for over an hour, waiting. Waiting as the temperature dropped. Do you know how cold it gets here at night? I should be mad. Yet, when you walk in the door, you act like an ass, accuse me of being drunk, and embarrass me in front of my friend.” Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was sticking up all over the place, and she wouldn’t stop yelling. But somehow she still looked good.
Practically edible.
He had an urge to yell back, but she was right. He’d overreacted. Dammit. He hated being wrong. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“For it all. I had a really bad day and I took it out on you. When I couldn’t find you, I thought the worst…” He sighed as he dropped to the couch.
“Bad day, huh?”
“I lost a friend today.” He choked on the words. He didn’t want to talk about this. Yet he didn’t want to stop the words from stumbling out. His head hurt. A clamp slammed and twisted over his heart.
“Lost? What happened?” She sat next to him and rested a hand on his. Soft warmth enveloped his fingers, lending strength to his aching chest.
“He was murdered last night. The sonofabitch cut off his fingers. What sick shit is that?” He ran his fingers up and down hers, flipping her hand over. He could practically see Steve’s face in the palm of her hand. “A cop. Steve Timmons. I was wingman when he met his first wife. I was there when his first son was born.” Cheerless laughter bubbled in his chest. “When we were in the academy, Steve and I hit the Drink Shack over on Webber.
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