Fear constricted her temples. What the hell was in the box? Water pooled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. A gag almost brought up her dinner as her fingers grazed something. Something that was not packing material. Red- soaked towel. Blood.
Tears blocked her vision as she stripped away the stiffened cotton. Metallic stench. She ripped the last bit of fabric free. “Oh God!” She dropped the bundle and ran into the bathroom.
Bile bubbled in her throat. Stars danced in her vision. She ran her hands under the water, scrubbing her nails with the bar of soap. She needed to get clean. Needed the blood off her hands so she could touch her phone. So she could call the police. Hot water burned her skin. Scalding. It needed to be hotter. To clean the red from her fingers.
Another night in the company of Oak Park’s finest. Awesome.
Chapter Twelve
Damn cops. He just wanted one look at Brooklyn. One look at her lying, scheming face. Just to see her fear.
“She’s probably crying.” Dennis laughed as he hunched lower and lower in the car. Between the closed curtains and flat-feet assholes running in and out of the house, he couldn’t get a look. Couldn’t get close enough to see anything.
He did notice one thing, though. No Perretti.
He should have known that man-slut wouldn’t hang around long. He didn’t have the character to stick around. Not that Dennis minded. That would work just fine. He didn’t want Perretti involved. He owed the cop, and he couldn’t let him get mixed up in this.
Now these jerks wearing holes in the front lawn were on their own. But they would have to go away some time. All he had to do was wait them out, again. God, how he hated the word “wait.”
A plainclothes asshole left the house and headed down the block. Inching toward Dennis’ car. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. They’d recognize him for sure.
He stared out the window, watching the jag-off stomp his clompy cop feet. Dennis turned the key and started the engine. He twisted the wheel and three-point- turned away from the scene.
Stompy didn’t notice. He didn’t seem to care that Dennis spun the car around and was heading away. His eyes were glued to his cell phone, too busy texting some whore to pay attention to his surroundings.
They all made that mistake at some point. A chink in their feeble armor. They ran around playing God, convinced they were invincible. If he’d taught them anything, it was that they weren’t bulletproof—they weren’t even knife-proof. Ask Steve Timmons.
Oh wait, they couldn’t. Steve was another bully who got what he deserved.
Dennis drove away from the hustle surrounding Brooklyn’s home. He wasn’t speeding. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of pulling him over. Those scheming two-faced bastards would do anything to make the innocent look guilty.
They deserved any pain they got. And he was just the man to dish out that pain.
Payback was a bitch.
* * *
Brook sat on the couch and watched cops come and go. Nothing like a little déjà vu to round off an evening. Suburban cops, Chicago cops—they were everywhere. Not that she was complaining. A box of human fingers was sitting on her living room table.
Human-frickin’-fingers. Who does that? What kind of sick shit was that? The smell was horrific.
How was she going to sleep ever again? Not just because of the sight of the fingers or the blood, but the smell—and the fact that whoever sent the nasty-gram was still out there. The nasty-gram—there had been a note in the box, as if body parts weren’t bad enough.
You’re next you lying whore.
She was next. That was never something you wanted to hear in conjunction with a box of fingers. The whole situation sucked.
“Miss Southby, we need to process the evidence. Would you like to have a cup of coffee in the kitchen?”
“Sure.” Brook saw the amputated fingers once. That was enough. Not something she wanted to relive. Coffee sounded a lot more interesting. Especially since she wasn’t planning on sleeping anymore. Ever. Might as well get a jump start on her caffeine addiction. On the way to the kitchen she passed a woman carrying a large tackle-box. She must be from Forensics. They’d analyzed the package, uncovering the unwanted present.
Brook filled a mug to the brim with caffeine-laden nectar. Who needed sugar and cream? It only diluted the energy-giving ambrosia.
“Excuse me.” A woman with short black hair, mocha skin, and light brown eyes approached her. She shifted her leather jacket to expose her police star on her black khakis. “I’m Detective Shay Washington with the Chicago PD. I work with Adam.”
“You picked a great night for a social visit.” Brook slid one of the stools out from under the counter and sat.
“It’s not social. May I?” Detective Washington pointed to the coffee maker. “Sure.”
The detective found a mug in the dish drainer and poured herself a cup. “Is Joe Perretti here?”
“No.” Of course she knew Joe. In a precinct of twelve thousand, this woman knew the one man Brook didn’t want to think about.
“Anyway, I’m here because of the package you received.”
“Don’t trust the Oak Park cops, huh?” Brook gave a hollow excuse for a laugh.
She didn’t find any of this funny, but fake laughter was better than actual crying. “It’s not that.” The detective stood across the kitchen island and leaned in.
“Did Joe tell you about his friend Steve Timmons?”
“Yes.”
“When he was killed, they cut off five of his fingers.”
“There were more than five fingers in that box.” Brook hated this conversation.
Too weird. Too gross.
“They’re printing them now to determine if they’re his. If so, there might be another victim mixed in.”
“This is so messed up.” Brook slid her thumb across the mug. Maybe she should have gone with vodka or beer. Something to make her forget. Of course, if she drank she’d fall asleep. That went against her original plan of never sleeping again.
“Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”
“Ummm… I haven’t thought about it. I take it I can’t stay here.” Not that she wanted to, not now.
“It would be better for you to sleep elsewhere. Just until we’ve identified the threat. Do you have somewhere you can go?”
“Neighbor’s. My sister’s.”
The detective cringed. “Neighbors are a bit close. Sister—do you mean Allison? They’re still in Hawaii, right?”
“Yeah, but I have a key.”
“You shouldn’t be alone.” Shay tapped the counter with her pink-covered nails. “Would you want to stay with Joe?”
“No.” Not a chance in hell. “I can be alone.”
“Are you sure?” The other woman’s eyebrows arched as genuine concern crossed her face. She looked like she wanted to argue, but thankfully she was keeping it to herself. No. “Yeah.”
“I can drive you if you’d like to leave your car here.” She didn’t seem convinced about the plan, but Brook didn’t care. There was no way in hell she was spending the night at Joe’s, with Joe, or anywhere near Joe.
“That would be great. What should I pack?”
“Pack for what?” Joe stalked in, dark hair wet and clinging to the back of his neck. He might’ve looked good if not for the crappy tone, and the whole “walking in like he owned the place”. No hello. No excuse me. No manners. Jackass.
“I’m taking her to Allison’s. She can’t stay here tonight.”
“Adam’s not back.” A frown was stuck on his face, but Brook didn’t care. So what if Adam wasn’t back? She was a grown-ass woman. She didn’t need a babysitter.
“And…?” Brook went over and rinsed her mug in the sink.
“And you can’t stay there.”
“Why not? I have the key.”
“Yes, and when Stark goes there first to look for you, I’m sure he’ll leave your fingers intact after you throw your key at him.”
<
br /> “Perretti!” Detective Washington yelled as she jumped from her stool. “What? It’s not safe.” He turned to Brook. “You can stay with me.”
“Ummm…no. I’m staying at Allison’s. It’s close to my work.”
“You’re not going to work.” He shook his head. “That’s the second place Stark will look.”
“So who will take my cases?”
“Someone who doesn’t have a target on their back.”
“But—”
Joe smirked. “I’m sure they’ll survive without you for a few days.”
“A few days?” Was he nuts? She hadn’t been away from the office for a few days since—well—ever. She took time off, but she usually ended up just working from home. You don’t make partner by taking time away from long-standing clients. “I have meetings. I have court.”
“You have a lunatic threatening to cut up your body.”
“Perretti, really?” Washington looked as annoyed as Brook felt. Brook was starting to like the woman.
“You’re an ass.” Brook turned and headed up the stairs. Anger seethed beneath her skin. Why did she care what Joe said, thought, or did? He walked out her door. Make that ran out her door. He made it clear she meant nothing. A booty call without the booty.
So there was no reason for her to listen to him. None.
She threw open her bedroom door and started filling a bag. Shit. How many days would she be away? What does one pack in these types of situations? More importantly, would they really keep her away from the office while this was going on? She could have probably taken care of quite a bit from home, but not everything.
She shoved a couple of pairs of jeans, tees and underwear into the bag. She’d need pajamas. At least one suit. Maybe two. Three? She stood in front of her closet running her fingers over the outfits. Just three. Would that be enough? Too much? She hated this. She didn’t know what to take or what to leave, or what to do. She wasn’t used to this.
A soft knock came from her door, and Joe called out, “Brook?” in his gorgeous baritone. Too bad the sound was starting to grate on her nerves.
“I don’t want to fight anymore.” She folded a black suit into the bag, followed by a brown one and another in navy blue.
“I wanted to talk about last night.”
“Nothing to talk about.” She grabbed a toothbrush and various toiletries from her bathroom. She looked around, running a hand down the white marble she’d installed after buying this place, her first home. It was the first change she’d made after moving in, and now she was being forced out. She was being forced out of her own home. It sucked, but she didn’t have a choice. She had to leave—just not with the man standing in the doorway. That was her choice. She walked back into her room and dumped the toiletries into her bag. She zipped the bag and tried to pass him as she walked out the door.
“Wait.” He reached out and stopped her. His warm hand on her arm felt good. Dammit. After the day she’d had, she just wanted to climb into his arms and let those hands wander up and down her body. But it wouldn’t be real. It would just be misplaced sympathy, and she couldn’t live with just sympathy.
Why did he have to be such a jackass?
“No.” She wrenched her arm away, far away. “Look, I’m sorry. I had a rough day.”
“Funny, when you have a rough day, I get to suffer.” She stood and waited for some clever retort, but nothing came from the six-foot jackass.
His shoulders slumped as he sighed. “You’re right. I’m an ass.” She preferred jackass, but it was close enough.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Stark, he…he’s not right in the head. I don’t want him getting to you.”
“Well, I don’t want whoever’s behind this getting to me, either. In fact, I’m leaving my house. I’m going to Allison’s. It’s locked up tighter than Fort Knox.” After Allison’s brush with death and a psycho madman last year, Adam made sure no one could get into the condo.
“I’m sure it is, but Adam would kill me if I left you there alone. I’ll go with you.”
“No thanks.” She wasn’t playing this game with him. Adam’s peace of mind when he returned from his trip wasn’t a good enough reason to put her in the same room as Joe. “I don’t need your charity.”
She tried to walk away but the hand on her arm tugged, bringing her to him. Before she could stop him, his lips were on hers. Soft, warm, delicious. Mint. He tasted like mint. Sandalwood and musk. He smelled clean and edible. He was everywhere. His hands on her body rubbed away the day, the night, until nothing existed but him.
His tongue pushed deeper and she let him. This felt good. So good. Fire sizzled down her core to her toes.
She wrapped her arms around his waist as a groan slid past his lips. She could feel his growing interest. This was where they’d make up and have fabulous sex, but what about tomorrow? What would she do when he no longer needed to protect her and he walked away?
She stepped back. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” “Brook.”
She ignored his hands, ignored his words, and ran down the stairs. “Ready to go, Detective Washington?”
“Sure.” The detective pointed out the front door. “My car’s out front.”
“Great.” Brook took her laptop from the kitchen counter. Everything she needed for her home displacement was in the bags on her shoulders as she stalked past Joe, who was standing at the bottom of the stairs. She weaved through her house and walked out the front door. Cars lined the streets, some with light bars on the roof, and some without. She should have asked for the make and model of Detective Washington’s car.
The cool spring air bit at her cheeks as she waited. Uniform and plain-clothes cops swarmed her tiny front yard. She didn’t have much grass, but the little patch she had was a mushed, mangled, muddy mess. A metaphor for her life.
“We’re off.” Detective Washington walked up behind her, leading the way to her car.
“To Allison’s?”
“Well…” The detective stopped and leaned against a blue Crown Vic. Did they even make those anymore? “How about my place? It’s safe, no one would know to look there, and you won’t have to be alone.”
Brook wanted to say no. She didn’t want a babysitter, but she didn’t want to be alone even more. And she actually liked the detective. “Okay, detective.”
“Good. I live with my younger brother, and he’s your typical teen. I will warn you though, my gran is a force of nature, but I think you’ll like her. And how about you call me Shay?”
Brook slid in to the passenger side and thought about Shay and her family. The woman didn’t have to invite her into her home. Yet she did. It was kind and generous, and Brook had to think of way to repay her. “Thank you for taking me in.”
“Sure, honey. I figured you wouldn’t want to be alone after all you’ve been through. I wouldn’t, anyway.”
“Yeah.” The perfect answer. Why couldn’t one jackass cop with strong arms have understood that was all she’d wanted to hear?
Chapter Thirteen
A half hour later, Brook and Shay rolled up to an English Cottage home sitting in the middle of a cramped Chicago block. Thin black shutters hung from the white-trimmed windows of the brick building. Salvia was budding around the evergreen bushes on each side of the stone walkway leading to the house. The porch light was on, but the interior was dark as they ascended the steps to the white steel front door.
Shay turned the key and held the door as Brook slid inside. Brook jumped as a soft light came from a lamp in the corner. Her eyes scoured the room, but no one was there, and Shay’s hands were full. There was no way she hit a switch.
“Motion activated.” Shay laughed as she walked through the living room and dropped her lunch bag on the kitchen counter. “Get comfortable. Mi casa es su casa.”
Brook dropped her bags on the gray carpeting lining the living area. Photos hung on an asparagus-green wall behind a red couch. A flat screen TV sat on a stand against the opposite wall.
Books, binders, and various items covered the floor and glass table in the center of the room.
“Shawn.” Shay shook her head and stacked the books and papers on the corner of the table before cleaning the candy wrappers and soda cans from the floor. “He’s a teen. He can manage to get the food into his mouth no problem, but he seems to have a problem getting the garbage into the garbage can.”
“It’s a kid thing. Allison used to yell at me about the same thing when I was younger.”
“Yeah.” Shay dumped the trash in the kitchen. “I remember hearing that you both lost your parents when you were young, too.” “I was sixteen. Allison was eighteen.”
“I was fifteen. Shawn was three. We’ve been living here with Gran ever since.” “It’s good you had family. We didn’t have anyone else. We eventually adopted the Byrne’s family, or maybe they adopted us. Who knows? Either way, we have them until they get sick of us.”
“After Adam puts that rock on your sister’s finger, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.”
“You know about the ring?” Brook couldn’t believe Adam told anyone, let alone someone from work.
“Actually, no, just assumed. He was acting all weird about the trip to Hawaii. All nervous. Obsessing. Everything had to be perfect. It was cute and annoying at the same time.”
“That’s my future brother-in-law. Cute and annoying, with a dash of extra-annoying for good measure.”
“That he is.” Shay picked up Brook’s bags. “Would you like to see your room?
I’ll give you a full tour tomorrow when everyone’s awake.”
They walked into the kitchen and climbed the carpeted back stairs. “My Gran’s room is here on the main floor, but the other three bedrooms are upstairs.”
Shay led her down the upstairs hall, pointing at the first door and whispering, “This is the bathroom. Shawn has to be at school at eight, so he’ll be in here around seven. Before that, after that, it’s all yours. This is Shawn’s room.”
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