by Dani Pettrey
The buttery, flakey croissant had her name written all over it. Grabbing it, she took a swallow of her marrochino and sank into the chair next to Parker, ready to lay this case open and get the entire team on board—each having their areas of expertise.
They were all highly respected in their professions and, together, practically unstoppable. But most importantly, they were on her side. She couldn’t feel more blessed . . . or anxious. She sighed.
Forgive me, Lord, for being so antsy. For worrying. I know it adds nothing to my life or any help to the situation at hand, but it’s my friend’s disappearance that we’re investigating, and I don’t know where to start. I don’t want to choose the wrong lead. Please direct our investigation and help me to bring Skylar home. I’m the reason she is the way she is. Please don’t let it be too late.
A hollowness gnawing in the pit of her stomach said it already was.
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Skylar, only six months younger than Avery, asked as they crept past the NO TRESPASSING sign.
Avery knew exactly what she was doing, had done it plenty of times before, but usually with Gary at her side. Tonight she’d brought Sky instead. Now she just had to nudge a little. “What, are you chicken?” she asked.
Skylar’s quivering chin tightened, her slender arms stiffening, her hands balling into dirty fists. “No.”
“Then, come on.” Using the wire cutters she’d stolen from her stepfather’s toolbox, Avery made an opening just big enough for their preteen bodies to wriggle through and led her best friend to the other side—introducing Skylar to her first taste of crime, hoping she too would experience the rush. For Avery, it had become addictive. The only way to feel . . . something . . . something other than pain.
Tears bit Avery’s eyes. Mercifully, things had changed when she came to know Jesus, but Skylar . . .
“You okay?” Parker asked.
She sniffed back the pain and straightened her shoulders. “I’m—”
“Fine.” He finished for her. “Av . . . ?” He touched her knee. Tears threatened, but fortunately Declan stepped to the whiteboard, dry-erase marker in hand, as he always did when they began a case, providing her with an out on that discussion, at least for the moment.
“One person we need to check out is Kenneth James,” Declan said. “He runs the warehouse at Fuller’s gallery, but he was already gone by the time I arrived last night. James, according to Nadine and Fuller, is the one responsible for receiving the artwork as it comes in and helping hang it.”
Avery shifted, and Parker moved his hand, resting it on his knee instead. She wanted his hand back, wanted the innate sense of protection and intimacy it provided, but it was safer this way. He also shifted his focus to Declan and the case at hand.
Thank you, Lord. I’m not ready to have that discussion. Not ready to admit. Remembering is horrific enough.
“Then we’ll definitely want to talk with him,” Parker said.
“It would probably be best for you two to take him.” Declan gestured between her and Parker. “Avery’s connections to the art scene might encourage him to talk a little more readily.”
Avery nodded, only half sure of what she’d just agreed to.
Declan lifted his chin at Parker. “What’s next?”
“Well,” Parker responded, likely having no clue about the demons she was battling as they sat there mere inches apart, his thigh occasionally brushing hers. “We’ve identified six sets of prints from Skylar’s trailer, along with at least a dozen or so unknowns, but at least we have a starting point.”
He ran through the names, and Avery swallowed, trying to still her mind—to make it focus on the case and not her past shredding through her memory.
“Lennie Wilcox,” Declan repeated as Parker shared the last name. “Well, that’s not good.”
“No.” Parker shook his head. “I was hoping you’d take him.”
“Not a problem. I’ll drop by Max’s first. See if he can give me a lead, which, of course, I doubt, but it’s worth a shot. If not, I’ll head down to his housing projects. Lennie loves to hang out in the diner there, hassling the poor folks Max has under his thumb.”
“How’d you get this case anyway?” Griffin asked Declan. “Art theft isn’t your usual area.”
“Dave had his daughter’s wedding this weekend, so I said I’d cover the case until he returns from Solomons Island Monday morning.”
“That was nice of you,” Kate said before taking a sip of her drink. “Did Alexis join you?”
The whisper of a smile crossed Avery’s lips at Kate’s inquiry, finally tugging her out of her past. Kate definitely had set her sights on pairing up Declan and Lexi—always working to get the two together outside of work, hoping to spark Declan’s interest in his beautiful partner, but those two didn’t fit in Avery’s mind. He and Tanner made much more sense, even if neither of them fully realized it yet.
“The projects,” Tanner said, having waited longer to jump on Declan’s comment about visiting the housing projects than Avery had anticipated. Whenever there was someone in need, Tanner pounced.
“Sorry,” Declan said, nipping Tanner’s idea in the bud—they all knew where her question was headed. She wanted to go along. “I’ll be on official business. I’m gonna grab Lexi on the way over to see Stallings.”
Tanner shifted to sit cross-legged in her chair. “I’m not talking about going with you. I’m thinking it’s an area I need to pay more attention to. See how I can help. Go down and check it out.”
“The area Max runs is one of the roughest neighborhoods in the city. Please at least wait until someone can go with you.”
“Fine.” She lightly grunted. “I suppose it’d be helpful to have someone who knows the area show me around.”
Declan was extremely protective of Tanner, unfortunately to the point of treating her like a child. He wasn’t that way with the rest of the gang, so why all the concern for Tanner’s wellbeing? Especially given her background working overseas with the Global Justice Mission combatting sex traffickers. She could hold her own.
Avery had questioned Parker about it once, and he’d said that Declan only acted that way when he really cared deeply for a woman, but if that were the case, it was a terrible way to show he cared. He needed to treat Tanner like the competent adult she was, not some helpless damsel in distress. Tanner was anything but. And yet, it was another clue to his feelings for Tanner. Avery smiled. The two of them would certainly be entertaining—two strong, stubborn personalities. That was one show she’d enjoy watching.
“Avery and I will examine the portrait, visit Kenneth James, and then pay Sebastian Chadwyck a visit,” Parker said.
Avery’s temporary diversion ended and she prayed earnestly, with all her heart, that they’d find answers today. Prayed even harder Skylar would reappear and it would all have been some stupid stunt on her part. But Sky’d learned from the best—a truth that weighed on Avery’s conscience. The lead weight sinking to the bottom of Avery’s stomach landed with a thud. How was she going to make it through this without losing it? Her past and present were connected by a thin thread she feared would snap at any moment, fully combining the two. She’d worked so hard to keep them separate. What if all that work had been in vain? What if Parker discovered the full truth of her past? Would he look at her differently? He’d have to. She certainly did.
“You two have already interviewed Gary Boyd and Crystal Lewis, correct?” Griffin asked, saving her from Parker’s appraising gaze.
“Correct.” Parker nodded, his gaze darting between her and Griffin.
“All right.” Griffin stretched out, wrapping his arm around Finley’s shoulders in the chair next to his. “How about Finley and I take Connor Davis since I’m on my leave days. Having a beautiful woman along might make Connor talk easier.”
After working Marley Trent’s case last fall, Griffin, who had been working as a park ranger at Gettysburg, returned to police work, joining up with
Baltimore County rather than city since it was closer to his home. He served his time as a patrol officer until he was able to apply for an opening in homicide. With Griffin’s experience on Marley’s case, along with several murders he’d worked with a detective, homicide had swooped him up. He’d officially been homicide for two months now and was loving it. Avery was so thankful he had some time off and could help with investigating Skylar’s disappearance.
“Sorry, honey,” Finley said. “I’m teaching two archaeology workshops at the campus symposium this weekend.”
“Right. No worries.” He turned to Kate. “You have info on Connor?”
Kate nodded, pulling up Connor Davis on her laptop. “He’s a senior at Loyola. Home address is Roland Park, but we’ve got a rental house in his and a . . . Kyle Eason’s name not far from campus.”
“Great,” he said. “So since Finley is busy . . .”
“I’ll do? Is that what you’re saying?” Kate stuck her tongue out. Seven years later, despite Luke’s disappearance right before their graduation, she was as tight as ever with them, so much a part of the guys’ bond it was funny.
“You said it, not me,” Griffin replied with a chuckle. “We got both the home and rental addresses?”
“Yep.” Kate nodded. “Let’s hope we find Connor at one of them.”
“I don’t understand.” Avery paced while Parker set up his supplies to process the portrait after expressing his distaste for the portrait’s subject matter.
All Skylar could talk about for weeks was modeling for Gerard, and then this . . . ? Maybe this really was just one of her stunts. Maybe she was somewhere safe—as safe as Skylar ever was. And maybe, just maybe, Avery still had time to finally convince Skylar of her desperate need for Jesus.
Parker arched a brow. “Don’t understand what, love?”
“That.” She pointed at the portrait. “Why would she trash a great opportunity by posing for someone else?” Or . . . Her heart dropped as what she feared rose up her throat. “Or . . . what if she didn’t pose?”
He looked up from his supplies. “What do you mean didn’t pose?”
“Look at the emptiness in her eyes, the unnatural skin tone. It appears too perfect, but now, under your examination light, there’s an iridescent blue that shows through.”
Concern edged his voice. “Her skin color was . . . altered?”
Avery nodded.
“To what purpose?” he asked.
She exhaled her fear. “What if Sky was photographed after she was . . . ?”
“Dead.”
Avery wrapped her arms around her trembling stomach and nodded.
“So that’s what’s got you all knotted up. You fear she’s already dead.” He took a step to her and pulled her into his hold.
He smelled like the outdoors—cedar, fresh air, and cascading streams. Considering they’d been up all night investigating, she wasn’t sure how that was possible, but it made her want to burrow even deeper.
For once she refused to stiffen. Instead, she actually allowed herself to mold into his embrace, to let him comfort her. She was terrified for Skylar, and it felt incredible to be held in the arms of the man she loved. Even if he didn’t know or reciprocate the depth of her feelings, he did care about her. That much she knew. If Skylar was dead, it would destroy her. It would mean she was too late—that she’d led Skylar to hell . . . and hadn’t been able to pull her back.
“We’ll find her one way or another,” he said, softly brushing a kiss to the top of her head.
She swallowed, knowing that if she remained in his embrace much longer, allowed her guard to stay down, she’d start bawling, so instead she forced herself to step back. “Thanks.” She sniffed. “But we best get to it.”
“Right.” He cleared his throat and straightened, his gaze still locked on her.
Please look away. She couldn’t let him see the devastation in her eyes. She needed to get in the gym. To kick and punch her frustration and fears out on a bag before they ate her alive. Even five minutes would allow her to work off the worry and fear.
After a moment, Parker turned and grabbed his work gloves. Slipping them on, he angled his work lamp to better illuminate the portrait, then spent a few minutes really studying it. “The most apparent clue is her eyes,” he began.
“Lifeless, right?” she said. She knew it. As much as she’d tried to convince herself otherwise . . .
“Yes, literally, I’m afraid.” His Irish brogue dipped lower than usual. “Look at her pupils. They’re dilated. Based on scale I’d estimate seven millimeters.”
“And that’s significant because . . . ?” She was afraid to ask, but she forced herself. She needed the facts.
“It’s significant because people’s eyes dilate upon death. It doesn’t prove Skylar’s dead, of course, other things cause dilation, but it’s in line with the possibility.”
“And the scarf positioned like a choker around her neck.” Avery exhaled the tension knotted in her belly. “To me, while the texture is a good addition, it looks compositionally out of place.”
He sat back, bracing his arm on his bent knee. “It could be covering her cause of death.”
She swallowed again, her throat squeezing tighter, narrowing her airway, her chest compressing . . . The weight was so heavy, and she deserved for it to be.
Parker’s gaze softened, and he reached for her, clasping her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. “I’m sorry, love. But remember, it’s just a theory at this point.”
She nodded, knowing, feeling in her gut their theory was true, but she’d keep fighting, keep praying, forcing herself to hope that Skylar was still alive until they found her body. Until they had definitive proof.
Gently pulling her hand back, she leaned against the desk and linked her arms over her chest. There was something more. She could read it in his eyes. “What else?”
He raked a hand through his hair and then looked back at the portrait.
“Might this all be Gerard? Maybe a crime . . . but might it all be a publicity stunt? I mean, he did choose the Black Dahlia-esque theme.”
She mulled that over. “Could be, but now that I have looked at it more closely, this portrait is far more visually stunning—grotesque subject matter aside—than any of Gerard’s work.”
“You said both Gerard and his assistant blamed Sebastian?”
“Yes, they said he was a young upstart, trying to break into the art scene.”
“But why make such a bold move? You said Gerard was allowing him to shadow him on shoots. Sounds like he was making headway. Though . . .” Parker turned his attention back to the portrait. “You’re the expert, but to me it seems the depth of his feelings for his subject comes across in spades.”
“You think the photographer, whoever he was, had a thing for Skylar?”
Parker scooted his chair back. “I’d say more than a thing. This is the work of a man in love, or more precisely, a man obsessed.”
Now they were touching his portrait, putting powder on it, examining it as if it were something to be taken apart. It was a work of art. An act of creation. How dare they treat it like one of their science projects. It was his, and he was getting it back, no matter the cost.
11
Parker yearned to reach his arms out and wrap them around Avery. He ached to comfort her. This was wearing hard on her. She clearly felt a deep connection to Skylar. He didn’t know the particulars of their relationship, other than the fact that they’d grown up together and ran away together when Avery was sixteen to live on their own for a couple years. Everything else was locked away in Avery.
He had so much he longed to ask, but if she wanted to share about her past, she would. He would respect that boundary, but it wouldn’t be easy. There was much he wanted to understand about the woman he’d fallen for, but it wasn’t fair to delve any deeper when there was a fixed blockade in place. Jenna.
He exhaled. Was it possible to stay faithful to Jenna and her memory an
d yet love Avery? Jenna deserved better from him, and so did Avery. He’d let them both down, and yet he couldn’t walk away. Not when Avery needed his help. He just prayed he had the strength to do so when the case was over. Her leaving his employ six months ago had been excruciating. Separating again when this case was finished would break him.
“You okay?” she asked, also intuitive. When it came to working cases, they were unstoppable, but on the personal side, their heightened intuition could prove dangerous.
He cleared his throat and gave the same answer she usually gave. “Fine.”
After Parker finished processing the photograph, they decided to see if they could catch up with Kenneth James at Fuller’s gallery. The day was warm as they stepped outside and into his Land Rover. The temperature display above his rearview mirror read ninety-one. Typical August in Baltimore, though he never minded the heat. It reminded him of growing up by the water’s edge, running around barefoot, getting burned across the bridge of his nose. The laughter and antics he and the guys would get into. Their poor mams.
Parking his vehicle in a slot along the cobblestone road, they climbed from the SUV and approached the rear entrance of Christopher Fuller’s gallery via the back alleyway, the brick road worn and dusty. He held the warehouse—aka basement—door open for Avery.
Fell’s Point was a prime spot for art galleries as the entire neighborhood was an artsy community in numerous forms—portraits, paintings, pottery, gourmet food, and the list went on and on. Not to mention, it was an extremely vibrant community. But being historic and boxed in by the encroaching neighborhoods, it had its set boundaries, and there were no modern warehouses in the area. Hence the basement functioning as the Fuller warehouse.
They followed the narrow blue stairs down to the chilly brick-walled room where they found a man in his early twenties sitting on an overturned crate with his profile to them.
“Kenneth James?” Parker asked.