Sensing her frustration, Damien said, “When I first joined the Bureau, I promised myself I would never get into turf wars with the local police. My father was a cop, one of the best. Whenever I find myself thinking I’m smarter, more hardworking or better than someone else just because I’m a fed, I think of my father. And that always brings me back down to earth.”
Althea scowled at him. “Point taken,” she grumbled, suitably chastened.
“Believe me,” Damien said, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin, “I’m as eager to dive into this case as you are. As soon as I drop you off at the office, I’m heading over to the police station to meet with Detective Mayhew, who’s the primary on the investigation. He’s got a twenty-four-hour head start on us, so I hope he’s in a sharing mood so we don’t have to waste precious time duplicating efforts.”
Althea nodded. “I’m sure they’ve already checked out Claire’s MyDomain page to see who she’s been talking to and what she’s been talking about. With any luck, they might already know the identity of the mystery guest she invited over to her house on Friday night.”
“I’ll find out. Whoever took Claire had a reason for sterilizing the scene, de-staging it like that.”
Again Althea nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that, too. I’ve been picturing Claire getting all gussied up for her blind date, primping in front of the mirror, giddy with excitement. Her lingerie drawer was found open, so maybe she had put on a sexy negligee for her date. I can imagine her putting on some soft music, lighting some candles, building a cozy fire. Maybe he was bringing dinner, so she told him she would take care of the wine. She wanted to impress him, so she chose the Bordeaux. Maybe they ate first, and afterward when he tried to make a move on her, she got cold feet and refused him. Things got out of hand, and he became aggressive, violent. He killed her, then panicked when he realized his prints were all over the place. So he had to sterilize the scene. He clears the dinner table, takes the wine bottle with his prints on it, blows out the candles, removes the CD in the stereo, basically puts everything back the way it was before he arrived.”
Damien nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “I can see it going down like that.”
Althea tried not to be pleased by his words. “Talk to Mayhew. Sounds like he may have a different theory based on the appearance of her bedroom.”
“I’ll get his impressions. In the meantime, why don’t you pull up some information on Suzette Thorndike, see if you come across anything interesting.”
“Will do.” Unable to resist any longer, Althea reached across the table, pilfered one of his fries, and stuffed it into her mouth.
Damien grinned at her. “Little thief.”
Althea laughed. “Sorry. I’ve been wanting to do that since our meals arrived. Don’t get me wrong. My potato salad is delicious, but those fries looked too yummy to resist.”
“I told you they’re good. You should have ordered them.”
She shook her head. “I’m really trying to cut back on fried food. When I had lunch with my aunt and uncle over the weekend, I ordered crab cakes as a little homecoming treat to myself. Oh, man, they were so good—definitely worth every gram of saturated fat they contained. I figured that should do me for a while.” Even as she spoke, she found herself eyeing Damien’s plate, sorely tempted to snag another French fry.
He nudged the plate toward her, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. “Go on,” he murmured coaxingly. “Indulge yourself a little more. You know you want to.”
Althea laughed, even as she wondered how many unsuspecting women Damien had tempted into sin with that deep, sexy voice of his. “You are so wrong, Damien Wade! See, I thought you had my back.”
He grinned, flashing those dangerous dimples. “I do.”
“No, you don’t. If you really had my back, you would keep that plate away from me, or smack my hand if I tried to take another fry. But I see how you are. You . . . you enabler!” she said accusingly, making it sound like the dirtiest word in the English language.
Damien threw back his head and roared with laughter. The deep, rumbling sound was so appealing, so downright infectious, that Althea started laughing, too. A couple seated a few tables away glanced over at them curiously.
When the moment had passed, Althea smiled at Damien. “Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.”
“What?”
“Working with you. We seem to be getting along okay.”
Damien shook his head slowly, holding her gaze. “Believe me, that was never my concern. I think we already demonstrated that we get along just fine, Althea.”
She averted her eyes, heat stinging her cheeks at the reminder of just how well they’d “gotten along” on Friday night, and into the wee hours of the next morning.
Shoving the thought aside, she racked her brain, casting about for safe conversational territory. “I didn’t know you had a daughter. An eleven-year-old, at that.”
Damien gave her a small, knowing smile. “Yet another one of those topics we never actually got around to discussing that night.”
Althea didn’t think her cheeks could get any hotter.
He chuckled, taking pity on her. “But, yes, I do have a daughter. Her name is India.”
Althea smiled. “Pretty name.”
“Her mother named her after India.Arie, her favorite singer at the time.”
Althea stole a glance at his big, masculine hands, which were covered with a fine dusting of black hair. No wedding band. Thank God. She hadn’t even asked him if he was married, she realized, slightly mortified. She’d just assumed he was free to go home with her and screw her brains out all night long.
“I’m divorced,” Damien said with an amused glint in his eyes, as if he’d caught her covertly checking his ring finger.
“That’s good,” Althea blurted without thinking. Then, realizing her gaffe, she hastened to clarify herself. “I mean, it’s not good that you’re divorced. I meant—”
He chuckled softly. “I know what you meant, Althea. As incredibly beautiful and tempting as you are, I wouldn’t have spent the night with you if I was still married. I’m not that kind of guy.”
Relieved, Althea reached for her Coke. “Does your daughter live with you?”
“No. She lives with her mother in East Baltimore. But I see her nearly every weekend, and she spends the summers with me.”
Althea smiled at him. “The two of you must be very close.”
“We are,” Damien said with a tender little smile. “She’s my heart.”
Althea was touched. All too often the media perpetuated stereotypes of young black men who were deadbeat fathers, incapable of supporting their families and being role models to their children. Althea was always pleased to meet strong, responsible black men who shattered the negative stereotypes. Damien Wade was no exception.
She smiled teasingly at him. “Well?” she said expectantly.
He gave her a puzzled look. “Well what?”
Althea rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “I’m waiting for you to whip out your wallet and show me every single photo you have of your daughter.”
He laughed. “Oh, is that right?”
She grinned. “If you were a woman, I wouldn’t have to prompt you.”
“I’m sorry,” Damien said smilingly, reaching inside his breast pocket. “I didn’t realize there were rules about this sort of thing.”
“Of course, silly. Any good parent knows that discussions about their children must be accompanied by a slide show.”
Damien opened his wallet and passed it across the table, grinning. “I don’t know about any slide show, but here’s the most recent photo of India. The rest are at home.”
Althea took his wallet, studying the photo of a smiling young girl with a smooth bronze complexion and thick, curly black hair that hinted at her mixed ancestry. While she may have inherited her mother’s coloring and hair type, India Wade, with her glittering dark eyes, full lips, and wide, dimpled grin, looked just l
ike her father. She was at that awkward preadolescent stage where her ears were still a little too big and her small, bony shoulders had not rounded out enough to fill her pink T-shirt. Nonetheless, Althea could already tell that the girl would one day blossom into a stunningly beautiful woman.
“You’re in trouble,” she said to Damien as she passed the wallet back to him. “In a few years the boys are going to be fighting all over themselves, knocking down your door to get to India.”
“And I’ll be waiting for them,” Damien promised with a cool, narrow smile, patting the 9mm concealed beneath his suit jacket.
Althea laughed, shaking her head. “Poor India. She’ll be lucky if she goes on her first date before the age of thirty-five.”
“I’m not that unreasonable.” He paused. “I was leaning more toward thirty.”
“Thirty!” Althea threw a packet of artificial sweetener at him, and he laughed.
They were still chuckling quietly as they left the restaurant and headed back to the office.
Althea’s cell phone rang as she climbed out of the SUV ten minutes later and thanked Damien, who had rounded the fender to open the door for her. She waved good-bye to him and answered the phone without glancing at the number displayed on the caller ID screen.
“Special Agent Pritchard,” she said briskly.
“Why, hello there,” a warm, familiar voice greeted her. “This is Imani.”
A delighted smile swept across Althea’s face. “Hey, Imani! It’s so good to hear from you.”
“I hope you don’t mind. I called Eddie, and he gave me your new cell phone number.”
“Of course I don’t mind. I’ve been meaning to call you and Garrison to let you guys know I’m back in town.”
“And I’ve been meaning to call you ever since Eddie told us you’d been transferred to Baltimore, but time just got away from me, between the kids and work and my needy husband.” She laughed, a sound of contentment that bordered on sheer bliss.
Althea smiled softly. If anyone deserved to be happy, it was her former college professor, who’d been through more than most people Althea knew. “It sounds like marriage and motherhood agree with you,” she said warmly.
Imani chuckled. “You could say that. Hey, listen, is Damien with you?”
“No, he just dropped me off at the office.”
“Oh, good! I wanted to invite you to a surprise birthday party we’re throwing for him next Saturday.”
“Next Saturday? But wasn’t his birthday this past Friday?”
“It was. We just got together for cake and a small family dinner. But the real celebration will be held next Saturday. Damien doesn’t have a clue. He thought the party would be last Saturday, the day after his birthday, but we fooled him. To his credit, he didn’t look surprised or disappointed when only family members showed up at his mother’s house for dinner.”
Althea was confused. “Wait a minute,” she said, pausing outside the entrance to the office building. “How did Damien find out about his own surprise party in the first place?”
“His mother and I set him up. We let him think he’d overheard us planning the party. We figured we wouldn’t be able to keep it from him entirely, so we decided to trick him with the dates. It seems to have worked.” Imani laughed, inordinately pleased with herself. “So can you make it next Saturday, Althea?”
Althea had already decided that the less interaction she had with Damien outside of work, the less likely she’d be to sleep with him again. But she couldn’t very well refuse an invitation from the woman who, along with her husband, had saved her life eight years ago.
Besides, Althea reasoned, there would be dozens of people at the party. She had a better chance of being seduced by Damien at the office than at a party attended by all his family and friends.
“Althea?”
“I’d love to come,” she said easily. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“It’s gonna be so much fun! We rented out his favorite sports bar and hired a deejay, so make sure you bring your dancing shoes.”
Althea chuckled. “Will do,” she said, but her response was drowned out by a passing delivery truck, blaring its horn at another motorist on the congested street. She lifted her head, absently scanning her surroundings before turning away and pressing the phone closer to her ear.
Imani said, “I know you’re busy, so I won’t hold you up much longer. How was your first day at the new field office?”
“Great. Everyone has been very warm and welcoming. I don’t know if they’re always this friendly to newcomers or if they’re only being nice to me because Eddie threatened to fire them.”
Imani laughed. “Probably a combination of both.” She sobered after a moment. “I heard about the high school student who was kidnapped over the weekend. I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’re not involved in the investigation?”
Althea said nothing. She’d already had the same conversation with her aunt and uncle, who’d called her twice that morning to express their concerns. Even her therapist, Dr. Parminter, had called from Seattle to make sure she was okay, probably worried that this kidnapping would send her into some sort of emotional relapse.
Now you know I’m available any time if you need to talk, Althea, he’d assured her in his kind, tranquil voice. I mean it. You can call me whenever you want.
On the other end of the phone, Imani expelled along, deep breath. “We figured as much.”
“We?”
“Garrison and I. As soon as we heard about the kidnapping this morning, we knew you’d want to be involved in the case. You want to help find Claire Thorndike.”
“Of course. It’s my job to help find missing people.” Never mind that this case had the potential to undo all the progress she’d made in eight years of therapy. Never mind that this case had the potential to take a very personal—and deadly—turn at any moment.
“You just got back home,” Imani said quietly. “Don’t you think it’s a little too soon to tackle something like this?”
Althea closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose at the onset of a mild headache. She knew Imani meant well, and she had every right to be concerned about Althea, considering that she, too, had been terrorized by the same psychopath who abducted Althea and held her captive for a month before he went after Imani. The two women had survived the most horrifying ordeal of their lives, becoming pawns in a madman’s twisted game of revenge and murder. Imani knew, better than anyone, the horrors Althea had endured at the hands of their sadistic captor. Imani understood the fears and nightmares that had kept Althea awake every night for weeks after their rescue. The experience had bonded the two women like nothing they could have imagined. Their relationship had evolved from that of professor and student, mentor and protégé, to co-survivors. Sisters whose bond transcended blood. Althea owed Imani her life. If she hadn’t devised a scheme to distract their kidnapper while Althea escaped and ran for help, they both might have been killed on that harrowing night. Which was why Imani should understand, better than anyone, why Althea felt compelled to help find Claire Thorndike and bring her home safely.
It was her turn to be the rescuer.
“I’m not going to lecture you,” Imani said solemnly. “I didn’t do that even when you were one of my students. I respect the fact that you’re a mature, responsible adult, a trained professional whose job is to catch dangerous criminals and help put them behind bars. But if I can’t convince you to change your mind about working this abduction case, will you at least promise me one thing?”
Althea smiled into the phone. “What’s that?”
“Don’t try to be the hero. If at any point you sense you’re in danger, or if you find that the case is bringing back too many painful memories and you’re starting to feel overwhelmed, please let someone know. Whether it’s me, Garrison, Damien, your aunt and uncle, Eddie, hell, your therapist back in Seattle. You have an entire network of people who care about you and want you to be safe. Please, ple
ase confide in one of us if this case starts getting to you in any way. Will you promise me that?”
“Yes,” Althea said, meaning it. “You have my word.”
There was an audible sigh of relief on the other end. “Thank you,” Imani whispered. She hesitated, then added after another moment, “It’s good to have you back home, Althea, although I wish your homecoming didn’t have to be tainted by a kidnapping—the very thing that caused you to leave in the first place. I just pray that Claire Thorndike is still alive. And I hope to God that there’s absolutely no connection to what happened eight years ago. I hope the timing is nothing more than a tragic, terrible coincidence.”
“Me, too,” Althea murmured.
But even as she ended the call and ducked inside the federal building to begin her search for an unknown predator, she knew her hope was in vain.
He watched her.
Climbing out of the black sport utility vehicle, lifting her hand in a brief wave to her partner—the brother of the man who had killed her abductor that fateful night. Damien Wade, a rising star in the Bureau who had erupted from his big brother’s shadow to establish a place for himself through sheer force of will. Brash, tenacious, an expert marksman with killer instincts and a sharp, methodical mind. He would prove to be a formidable opponent when the time came.
Formidable, but not invincible.
From a dark, nondescript sedan parked across the street, he had watched her. Talking on the cell phone. Laughing one minute. Looking grim and resolute the very next. He’d watched her, wondering if she was thinking about him, wondering if she could sense his presence less than one hundred yards away.
She was so beautiful. Oh, she’d been pretty enough before, he realized, but in the nearly eight years she’d been away from home, she had really come into her own. Voluptuous curves had replaced the slender, almost boyish angles of her body. He imagined what was hidden beneath the sensible pantsuit she wore. Dark nipples; skin like smooth, melted chocolate; and a soft nest of curls at the juncture of her thighs. A mild afternoon breeze worked to loosen the bun at the back of her head, stirring tendrils of black hair that brushed across her sensual face.
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