Lock&Load (PASS Series Book 3)

by Freya Barker

  Bissette’s tone is getting to me.

  “Yes,” I snap. “I’m as sure as I can be from a grainy image. The other two pictures you have here don’t even look like the same kid.”

  They don’t. He looks like a wholesome kid in those, instead of the defiant punk in the last one.

  “She’s got a point,” Garcia mumbles, coming to my defense. “How about these? Recognize any of these?”

  Another two sheets are placed in front of me, with seven images in total. I don’t recognize any of them.

  “Sorry, it’s hard to tell from these pictures. Both of them had hoodies pulled down over their heads, and the second guy’s face was mostly in shadow. I saw them run off, though, so maybe if I could see them move…”

  “We’re working on that. We have this young man in custody,” Garcia says, pointing at the kid I identified. “Still trying to piece together who he may have been with.”

  “We can take her to the station. See if she can pick him out of a lineup?” Bissette turns to her partner and talks about me like I’m not there.

  “It’ll take us a while to get a physical lineup together, I don’t want to waste her day.”

  “Wouldn’t take that long.”

  “Excuse me,” I interject, done with being talked over. “I’m right here. I’ll gladly come to the station whenever you’re ready for me, but I’d rather not waste my Sunday waiting around. I have stuff to do.”

  The detectives share a look, Bissette’s is one of annoyance while Garcia’s is admonishing.

  “We’ll try to get something set up for this afternoon, would that work for you?”

  “Sure. Give me a call.”

  Bissette is the first one out the door, while Garcia lingers behind.

  “Sorry about that. We just caught another case yesterday morning, very similar. It wasn’t an easy scene.”

  “I’m sorry,” I immediately soften. “Is it related?”

  He shrugs. “If we hadn’t had the only suspect in Sandra Elliot’s case in custody at the time, I would’ve said yes. There were no witnesses in this latest attack.”

  “Did they survive?” I ask, even though I can already guess the answer.

  “No.”

  “Garcia! Are you coming?” his partner calls up from downstairs.

  “Best get going. I’ll be in touch.”

  He flashes a cocky smile, instantly upping his already handsome looks, and heads toward the stairs.

  Nice guy, very good-looking, and if I’m not mistaken he was just flirting a bit. Unfortunately, I’m not in the market.

  That doesn’t explain why my eyes are drawn across the parking lot to the apartment on the other side, hoping to catch a glimpse of dirty blond hair and glasses.

  Radar

  Dad is standing in the doorway, waving as I back out of his short driveway.

  I got a lot done over the weekend, despite the rocky start that left me with a few cuts and bruises. The roof is patched and hopefully it’ll hold up under the next rainfall, a new faucet is installed in the kitchen, and I gave the trailer a good cleaning since it had clearly been a while.

  I’d spoken to Hugh, who was on board for a fishing trip but had to get back to me with possible dates. That seemed to perk Dad up, but he still looks a bit lost and lonely watching me drive away.

  As soon as I leave Montrose behind me, I dial Yanis’ number to update him.

  “What’ve you got for me?”

  Typical Yanis; no wasting time on niceties and straight to the point.

  “Went through all the kid’s online contacts, focusing on local ones. Pared it down to a shortlist of sixteen friends, then I went over each of those accounts with a fine-tooth comb to find commonalities. School, soccer team, family, all your standard stuff. Nothing jumped out at me. No pictures of bloody baseball bats.”

  “Fuck. We need to find something.”

  “I wasn’t done,” I comment. “I noticed Jeremy making quite a few references to gaming on his profile, mostly violent games. Two names off the shortlist consistently interacted on those.”

  “Jesus,” Yanis mutters.

  Wouldn’t be the first time kids got swept up in violence as a result of certain types of games they play online. There is a disturbing amount of evidence to support that.

  “Yeah. I’m on my way back now, but will dig into that angle a little more when I get home.”

  “Good, because I just spoke to Underwood and unless we can come up with something concrete, he’ll be letting the kid go,” he informs me.

  “No pressure,” I comment sardonically.

  “Lots of pressure. GJPD caught what looks like another random attack early yesterday. Stabbing. Victim is a thirty-two-year-old waitress at the Station Diner downtown. Found in the alley behind the restaurant with multiple stab wounds to the head. Dead.”

  “Any indication the cases are related?”

  “Other than both victims were rendered unrecognizable, no. Underwood has a gut feeling, though.”

  “Shit. And I guess Jeremy Loman has the perfect alibi, being in police custody.”

  “Bingo. We need leads. Let me know what you come up with.”

  “I will,” I respond, but the line is already dead.

  It’s coming on two when I park outside my apartment. Before I go in I take Phil for a quick walk, because once I sit down in my office time has a tendency to disappear and her bladder can only hold so much.

  I pull my beanie over my ears against the cold wind. I lucked out with sunshine yesterday, making it feel much warmer, but today is overcast and it cools down right away. Phil doesn’t seem to care, taking her time and sniffing every blade of grass she passes.

  “Come on, girl, I need to get busy.”

  A little tug on her leash and she reluctantly follows me back across the parking lot when I hear a car door slam. I recognize Hillary walking away from the silver Honda Civic and call out as I jog over to her.

  “Hey,” she greets me with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “Everything okay?” I find myself reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Honestly? Today’s been a bit of a shitshow. I think I need a nap.”

  “Work?”

  She shakes her head. “No, well not just work. Technically it’s my day off but the cops showed up on my doorstep at the ass crack of dawn, then I got a call from the hospital wanting me to come in for a meeting, and finally I received a summons to the police station for a lineup and was verbally assaulted for the effort.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot,” I mumble, as my brain tries to process her list of complaints. “What did the cops want?”

  She crouches down and gives Phil the attention the dog was begging for. Her head is level with a part of my anatomy, which is suddenly on full alert. I slightly angle my hips in an attempt to hide the evidence of my attraction to her.

  “They wanted me to look at some pictures of their suspect, like you predicted they would, and wanted me to come to the station to see if I could pick him out of a lineup. I just got back.”

  She slowly lifts her head, but her eyes get caught partway up my body. Shit. Then they shoot up to my face, a flush deepening her dark skin as she rises to her feet.

  “Who verbally assaulted you?” I ask, ignoring the fact my cock is now painfully straining against my zipper.

  “Not sure—he didn’t introduce himself—but I think it was the kid’s father. He looked familiar.”

  “Probably his stepfather. Councilman Briscoe.”

  “Could be.” She shrugs. “Anyway, Detective Garcia intervened. Now I have just a few more hours to salvage what is left of my super-shitty Sunday off, and I plan to do that curled up on my couch with a tub of ice cream watching mindless TV.”

  I was going to ask about the meeting at the hospital she mentioned but decide to save that for later, when I plan to knock on her door with takeout from that Thai place down the road. A girl can’t live off ice cream alone.


  “Enjoy,” I say instead, and unless I’m imaging things, there may have been a hint of disappointment flashing in her eyes.

  “I will.”

  With a big smile she turns and heads toward her apartment. I do the same; I have work waiting.

  If not for Phil starting to whine for food, I would’ve forgotten all about my plans to pick up some Thai for two.

  I’d been up to my eyeballs sorting through a few years’ worth of posts, trying to find anything that jumped out at me. Recurring names, references to particular games, repetitive hashtags, and suggestions of violence. I already filled a few pages of my notepad with scribbles and have a file folder on my desktop full of screenshots, but with every potentially interesting piece of information comes another line of investigation to pursue.

  At least I was able to shoot off a couple of names of interest—in particular one of Jeremy’s gaming buddies—in an email for Yanis.

  The smells coming from the paper bag holding two generous servings of Pad Thai assault my nose, causing an involuntary rumble in my stomach as I lift my hand to knock on her door.

  “Why am I not surprised anymore, finding you on my doorstep bearing gifts?” She shakes her head teasingly and I’m glad to see her smile light up her eyes. “Oh my God, is that what I think it is?”

  She grabs the bag from my hand and sniffs it as she turns and heads for the kitchen. I recognize the silent invitation and step inside, closing the door.

  She’s already pulling down a couple of large bowls from the cupboard when I walk in.

  “Wanna grab a couple of beers?” she asks without looking, as she busies herself serving up the food.

  Another thing to like about her; she doesn’t make a fuss about me showing up and simply goes with the flow. Easy and laid-back, inviting me to be the same.

  “Guess the ice cream didn’t fill you up then?”

  I sit down at the table across from her, sliding a bottle her way. She’s already chewing her first bite, moaning at the taste. I’m ridiculously pleased she chose chopsticks instead of forks for the Pad Thai. Tastes much better that way, in my opinion. Something else we seem to have in common.

  “Forgot I finished the tub last night,” she admits after swallowing. “I was about to order in when you showed up so conveniently. This is perfect.” She deftly grabs another bite but pauses it halfway to her mouth. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Starving.” I realize I’m still staring at her and pick up my chopsticks.

  The gnawing in my stomach starts to wane when I’m two-thirds through my dinner, but the hunger I feel for the woman across from me stays.

  “Oh my God, I’m so full.” Hillary sits back and folds her hands over her stomach. “I ate too fast.”

  The last word has barely left her lips when it’s followed by a hearty belch. She looks mortified and slaps her hand over her mouth, her eyes almost bulging out of her head. I throw my head back and burst out laughing.

  “I’m so sorry!”

  I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable and decide to share a talent usually reserved for locker rooms and frat parties, burping on command.

  “There,” I announce after. “Now we’re even.”

  Hillary

  “Did you know in some cultures it’s good dining etiquette to burp after a meal?”

  I grin at him in disbelief.

  Radar keeps surprising me. In a very good way. He’s making light of what was an embarrassing moment, not only by letting out a burp that was far more impressive than mine, but by passing it off as good manners. If he had tried to pretend nothing happened I would never have lived the embarrassment down. Now, I’m laughing about it.

  Another mark in the plus column for this man.

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “It’s true, look it up. It’s considered the highest compliment to the cook.”

  He grins at me and something warm settles in my chest. A little unnerved at the unexpected feeling, I get up and gather the dishes.

  “Want another beer?”

  “No thanks. Gotta keep a clear mind. I have some more work to do tonight.”

  “Do you usually work on Sunday?” I ask, running water in the sink for the dishes. Radar gets up, walks over, and grabs a dishtowel off the hook.

  “Depends. I was in Montrose helping my dad with some repairs this weekend but cut my visit a little short because of some work stuff that came up. It happens. What about you? You mentioned something earlier about getting called in?”

  He takes the dripping bowl from my hand before I can set it in the dish rack, the tips of his fingers brushing my skin.

  “It was about something that happened yesterday.”

  I explain to him about the kid coming into the ER with the spiral fracture. Then I relay Jeff’s story the next morning at the shelter and finally my visit to the hospital.

  “There was something off about that boy and his mother. The story they told didn’t really match his injury, so I talked to the charge nurse and we decided to call in Child Protective Services. Today I got called in to explain my request to the case worker.”

  I don’t mention the reprimand I received from the director of nursing. He wasn’t happy I took it upon myself to visit the patient instead of alerting one of the hospital’s social workers.

  I notice Radar’s hands stopped moving and when I look over his eyes are on me, angry.

  “Why would you stick your neck out like that?”

  “I didn’t stick out my neck, I followed hospital protocol. Besides, I want to help Jeff.”

  “You said Jeff doesn’t want any help, and I don’t give a fuck about Jeff. This is about you putting yourself in the middle of a potentially volatile situation. Again.”

  Definitely angry.

  “Well, I do give a fuck about Jeff, which is why I went to see the boy.” I lift my chin an inch and match his angry glare. “And I’d bet my last dollar that kid was involved.”

  “Yeah?” He leans in close, his eyes shooting fire. “What good is that knowledge if your buddy doesn’t want to file a complaint? All you did was risk your own neck.”

  I open my mouth to respond before I realize I don’t really have an answer for that. Sure, CPS can investigate, but their only interest is the well-being of the child. My mouth snaps shut. He’s right, it was a knee-jerk reaction I didn’t really think through and now I have a reprimand on my otherwise flawless employment record. Karla Velky will have a heyday with that.

  I don’t like being wrong and I suck at admitting it. Instead I try staring him down until he tosses the towel on the dish rack and wipes his hands on his jeans.

  “I’ve got work to do,” he grumbles, heading toward the front door.

  “Wait!” I call out, hurrying after him. “I…uhm…thanks for dinner,” I finish lamely, feeling like an idiot as I stare at his rigid back.

  He turns slowly but he no longer looks pissed, more…exasperated. Lifting his hand, he taps my nose with his finger.

  “What am I gonna do with you?”

  The next moment he’s out the door.

  Chapter Seven

  Radar

  I feel like a stalker, peering through the blinds in my kitchen at the parking lot below.

  It’s the second day in a row I’ve been standing here, waiting for a glimpse of Hillary getting into her car.

  I caught a glance of the schedule she’d tacked on her fridge door Sunday night and memorized it. Her hospital shifts run from two until midnight, but on Monday, Tuesday, and Saturday she spends her mornings at the shelter. Yesterday she had one after the other and didn’t pull into her parking spot until twelve forty-five. I waited up.

  She needs someone looking out for her. At least, that’s how I justify my behavior.

  I could’ve spit nails Sunday night; I was so pissed at her for being careless. With the news about a second victim dying in a very similar attack to the first fresh in my mind, her recklessness rubbed me the wrong way.

&n
bsp; She’s a woman alone, a beautiful one at that, and should be more careful.

  I see the lights flash on the Honda before Hillary walks into sight. She opens the door and pauses, turns her head and seems to be looking straight up at my apartment. Then she slips behind the wheel and I let out the breath I was holding before I watch her drive off.

  Close call. I let go of the blinds and go to fill my travel mug with coffee for the road.

  It’s been a long while since I’ve felt drawn to a woman to the point of stalking her. Middle school, when I used to walk to school, going out of my way an extra block just to pass Penny Richard’s house, on the off chance I could catch a glimpse of her. Penny was two years older—a lifetime at that age—a cheerleader, and probably had no idea I even existed. I was a skinny runt with an overbite, and the beginnings of what would be a raging case of acne in my teenage years. I’d been heartbroken when she graduated and left for college. She’d never spoken a single word to me and I’d felt secure in my secret adoration of her.

  At forty, I’ve not lacked for female companions—even had a few relationships—but I never found myself at the verge of being obsessed with a woman since Penny. Until now, that is.

  Lena and Jake are the only ones in the office when I walk in.

  “Where is everyone?”

  Jake looks up from his desk.

  “Kai left for Colorado Springs this morning, Bree and Yanis are meeting with the chief of police, and Dimas took a personal day. Morning to you too,” he adds sarcastically.

  I choose to ignore him and focus on something else instead.

  “They’re seeing Underwood? This about our report?”

  Jake shrugs. “Probably. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

  He rubs both hands over his face and I notice he looks like he didn’t get much sleep.

  “That little princess of yours still wreaking havoc?”

  He groans. “You have no idea. How can something so little produce so much noise?”

  “Can’t help you there, but I’m sure it won’t last forever.”