“No, you come on. This is a waste of my time.” The larger and older detective stood up without warning, almost tipping his chair over. “Call me when you decide to do some real police work.”
And just like that, he was out the door.
Mason sighed. “I’m sorry. He gets like this when we can’t crack a case. You should’ve seen him before you guys got here. Excuse me.” He stood and went after his partner, probably to calm the guy down.
Coop sighed. “Remind me never to take another case in the South.” She glanced around the room. “Or whatever the hell this place is.”
And that was Had’s cue. “Well, as far as the residents are concerned, it--”
“Had,” she said, cutting him off. “I wasn’t asking for a rundown on Missouri’s quirks.”
He shut his mouth. Much as he liked having Coop back from what Had was now referring to as her Blue Period, at least during that time she’d given him free rein to share the information he’d find on each area they’d travel to. It was his thing.
Well, other than figuring out the perfect outfit for each place. For Kansas City it’d been tough. He’d thought that a light blue button down with khakis had been called for, what with the Midwest connection, but that didn’t really acknowledge the southern aspect of the place. So he’d worn a light blue shirt with mother-of-pearl snaps.
Boom. Owned.
The door to the conference room swung wide and Pam, the receptionist for the police department, pushed in carrying a basket from which wafted a heady scent of cinnamon. In the other hand, she held a gallon of two percent milk and some glasses.
She bustled into the room, at ease with the team and her own place here in the room, which seemed to be her superpower. Pam reminded Had a bit of his mama.
“Hey, there, sugars. I brought you some cinnamon rolls from Stroud’s. Thought you might want some brain food.”
“Sugar is brain food?” Reggie asked with a grin.
“Oh, you know it, muffin,” Pam replied with a twinkle in her eye. “And when you combine it with enough butter to grease the Titanic, you’ve got yourself a little piece of heaven all to y’all’s self.”
“Cinnamon rolls,” Reggie moaned. “Are you trying to fatten me up?”
The bustling southern woman stopped and gave Reggie a frown. “Now listen, sweetie. Ever since my boy passed, I’ve got no one to feed. And feedin’ people makes me happy. You really gonna take that away from me?”
And just like that, any argument Reggie might have had about the rolls seemed to have been rendered invalid. She reached for one of the sticky concoctions, and Had marveled at the skill with which southern women wielded the hammer of guilt.
Reggie, zero. Southern mother, one.
Pam seemed to represent the flip side of Detective Jackson, the kind of south Had knew from growing up with his mama. Warm, welcoming, thoughtful… and just a little bit on the pushy side. Everything you wanted when you were away from home. Had grabbed a roll and bit in.
His mouth exploded with a culinary experience unlike any he’d ever eaten. The dough was more biscuit than roll, which surprised him at first. But it was baked in enough butter that the texture was almost fried. It was crusted with sugar and went a little light on the cinnamon compared to what Had was used to with the typical cinnamon roll.
As far as he was concerned, a new standard had been set. The rolls didn’t use any icing, which Had would’ve thought would decrease his appreciation of the confections. Had loved icing. But instead, the lack allowed him to fully take in the mix of flavors.
Looking around the room, it appeared he wasn’t the only one who was enjoying the food. Reggie’s eyes looked like they had rolled back into her head, and Coop was starting on her second already.
“Pam, these are so good,” Had mumbled around a mouthful.
“Oh, don’t I know it,” she chuckled, slapping her belly, which sported a few extra pounds. “It’s what accounts for my womanly figure. Sometimes I start to get too skinny, so I’ll head over to Stroud’s to take care of the problem.” She winked at Had.
He blushed. Pam was older than he by at least ten years, but there was something about the woman that was appealing, and damned sexy. She seemed to just own her body, like she knew all its ins and outs and wasn’t afraid of any part of it.
If it weren’t for the fact that Had was seeing Nadira right now… well, sort of… he would’ve started grilling Pam on how she felt about Latin dancing. Instead he just winked back. Pam laughed, a throaty sound that increased Had’s blush by a factor of ten.
“Enjoy, y’all,” she said. “Make sure you let me know if you need anything else.”
And then she was gone, and for a moment it felt like the light in the room had diminished a notch or two. Had found himself wishing that she had stuck around a bit longer.
“All right. Enough eating,” Agent Cooper said, then grabbed another roll and crammed half in her mouth. “Oh, who am I kidding?”
Had laughed, choked on the remaining part of his biscuit that he hadn’t yet swallowed, and reached for the milk. Once he’d gotten himself under control, Coop appeared to have finished her bite… for the most part.
“Okay, where are we now?” she said, her words still a bit indistinct from the remainder of the roll left in her mouth. “And what do we have next?”
Reggie, whose face had been lit up with the joy of Pam’s gift of food, seemed to sink into herself at that set of questions. Slumping into her chair, she groaned.
“We’re nowhere and we have nothing,” she answered. “There doesn’t seem to be a link anywhere.”
“Like, really nothing,” Had affirmed. “I’ve looked through everything I could find out about the victims, as far back as where they were all born, and there’s no tie here.”
“There has to be,” Coop responded. “The chance that these are just random killings is so low.”
“But maybe that’s just it,” Reggie shot back. “Maybe this one is the aberration that proves the rule, or whatever.”
“It’s possible,” the agent allowed, “but that doesn’t give us anything to work on. So until we get anything else concrete, we keep looking for some commonality.”
Had sighed, catching Reggie’s eye. Neither one of them was looking forward to more time looking over more files. Maybe they could get out there in the field, interview some family members. But that didn’t sound much more enjoyable. Much as Had loved to meet new people, dealing with those who had suffered a recent loss was tough.
“What about Joshua?” Reggie ventured.
Coop stiffened. “What about him?”
“This is what he’s good at.” The young woman squared her shoulders as if she were going into battle. “You know it. It’s time to stop avoiding.”
“I’m not avoiding,” Coop replied, her tone defeated. “I just don’t think Joshua’s in any state to help out right now.”
Reggie got up and started pacing the length of the conference room. “Maybe not, but I still think it’s our best bet at the moment.”
Agent Cooper shrugged. “Fine. Go talk to him. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” As Reggie began to walk out of the room, Coop called after her. “And take Had with you when you go.”
Had moved to follow Reggie, but heard the words that Coop muttered under her breath as he passed by.
“It’s going to take both of you just to get in the door.”
CHAPTER 3
Joshua woke to an insistent knocking on the door. Bella perked up, her ears pointed toward the ceiling, but her tail down and unwagging.
That seemed to be her normal state, these days.
As Joshua rolled over on the bed, he felt his brain explode in pain. How long had it been since his last drink? Too damn long.
Inching his way to the edge of the bed, Joshua caught a whiff of himself. He hadn’t showered since they’d gotten here, two… no three… days ago. His mouth tasted of things dead and rotting six feet under. His eyes were sand-
coated orbs that rasped every time he looked in a different direction. Closing his eyelids was a painful experience. Opening them was exquisite torture.
The pounding continued. He ignored it.
Moving toward the minibar, Joshua remembered that Coop had cleared it out. Shitty thing to do. He’d have to chat with that busybody BAU agent. She’d all of the sudden decided she was something special. Ever since…
Ever since she’d killed his baby girl.
The ache that he’d been pushing down since it had occurred surged up inside of him again. It was a wave of darkness that threatened to swamp the boat of his consciousness, drowning him in pain, fear and self-loathing.
Four days after they’d returned from Centralia, a card had arrived at the front desk of the hotel in which Joshua was staying. He’d known what it was before he’d opened it, yet he hadn’t been able to help himself.
It was an unbirthday card from the old man. This one was for his wife.
Inside the card, two words. Your fault.
The old man was right. That was the problem. It wasn’t like Joshua could argue. When he’d started getting sober, it had seemed for a while like maybe there was some kind of dark hope in the world.
But then his little girl had bled out in front of him.
Knock, knock, knock.
Bella’s head lifted up and she gave a little growl-slash-whine, a question as to why Joshua hadn’t answered the door yet. Sometimes that dog could be so irritating.
Whoever it was didn’t seem to be going anywhere. Probably Coop. Or maybe housekeeping. It could be housekeeping.
A thought came to him. If it was housekeeping, he might be able to charm them into restocking his minibar with alcohol. Might be worth a shot.
Of course, if he was going to charm, he’d have to do something about his appearance. He groped his way to the bathroom and clicked on the light.
That was a mistake.
The white glare hit his eyes like a hammer on an anvil. Once his eyes had adjusted, he could see that there was really no hope for him to look any better than he did at this moment, at least not without some massive reconstructive surgery. Besides, if he didn’t jump on it, housekeeping would leave. At least for the moment they were still there, insistently knocking.
It wasn’t until halfway through opening the door that he realized housekeeping usually wasn’t that persistent. Or that if they didn’t get a response, they’d just come in.
But by that point Had and Reggie were shoving themselves inside.
“No, no, no!” he shouted, trying to push them back into the hallway without success. Damn alcohol. Left him weak as an infant.
Bella rushed over to greet the two officers, her tail wagging. One of the two occupants of the room was happy to see Had, at least.
“Joshua,” Had said, holding up his hand to forestall Joshua’s next statement. He straightened up from having pet the dog. “We need your help.”
“Well, that’s just shit luck for you. I’m fresh out of let’s-work-together vibes.”
Reggie made a face. “Sticking to your lone-wolf-face-down-in-his-own-filth thing instead? Good choice.”
That was more caustic than what Joshua was used to from Reggie, but she had been getting feistier and feistier with him of late. There was a brief wash of warm shame that swept through Joshua’s body. He thrust it down savagely.
“Look. Say what you have to say and then get the hell out of my room.” Joshua crossed his arms over his chest and turned to glare at them. Well, that’s what he meant to do, but he missed with one of his arms, so he ended up flopping both arms down by his side after a couple of failed attempts. Didn’t have quite the impact he’d been looking for.
Reggie looked at Had, then cleared her throat. “We’re at a dead end. Three victims, no apparent connection--”
“There’s always a connection,” Joshua interrupted.
“Yeah, that’s pretty much what Coop said,” Had replied, his face brightening.
Joshua sighed. “Great. Sounds like she has matters well in hand.” He made a move to usher them out the door, but Reggie resisted.
“Listen, you prick. We need your help.”
Prick? That hardly seemed fair. A couple of drinks to take the edge off the nightmare he was living through made him a phallic euphemism? Didn’t he warrant at least a full descriptor? She couldn’t have at least gone with flaccid penis or turgid dick?
“Whatever,” he said, waving at them as he flopped back down on his bed. Standing wasn’t going to make them leave any faster, apparently, and he was feeling a little woozy.
Had stepped in again, his tone much more conciliatory. Joshua wondered if they realized they were doing good-cop/bad-cop with him.
“We just wanted to know what you would do if you were in our place,” Had suggested. “You know… if you were stuck.”
Joshua thought about it for a moment. He could keep blowing them off, which would more than likely extend their visit. Or, he could give them what they wanted.
“Fine,” he growled. “First off, I wouldn’t be stuck. I’d be out doing something.”
“We have been doing something,” Reggie shot back. He ignored her.
“Whatever. Keep doing it. Go to the coroner’s office, look at the bodies. Get in the same space with the victims.”
“That’s…” Reggie began, then stopped. “Actually, that’s good.”
“Fantastic,” Joshua crooned. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind telling housekeeping I want to talk to them on your way out…”
“Yeah,” she answered. “That’s not going to happen.” She gave him a long look, appeared to be about to say something to him, then thought better of it. Closing her mouth, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the door.
Had lingered a moment longer. “I miss you, Joshua.” The young cop wasn’t looking at him. “I’m here for you.”
In spite of himself, Joshua was moved by the simplicity of Had’s plea. Didn’t mean he was going to do anything about it, of course, but he was moved.
Bella whined as the two left, looking up at Joshua and cocking her head at him. It was the look she always gave him when she didn’t approve of what he was doing.
“Don’t you start with me,” he warned her, looking for her leash.
He searched around his bed for his shoes. It was time to get out and find himself some liquid solace.
It was the only thing that would help him forget.
* * *
Sariah was on her way down to Records. There was an anomaly in one of the files she’d been looking at, and she couldn’t tell if it was a bad scan of some original paperwork or if it really said what she thought it did. Probably didn’t matter one way or the other, but she had nothing better to do, so…
Walking down the hallway, she nodded to the one other person she had encountered down here, an older gentleman who was pushing a janitorial cart. He smiled at her and tipped an imaginary hat as he passed by. She smiled in spite of herself.
Sariah was strong. After several months of shying away from her power as an agent, as a person, and even as a woman, she felt like she was back. And it was interesting to see what other people’s reactions to her were.
The vast majority seemed to enjoy being around her. Even that old man that had just smiled at her, seemed at ease. That had never been the case, back when Sariah had first started as an agent. Hell, the second she’d gotten into Quantico she’d started getting flack from the men around her.
But the few that did want to lock horns with her seemed so much more threatened by her strength. The responses were night and day it seemed.
She passed by an open doorway, one that appeared to lead to a janitorial closet. The man she had passed in the hall must have left it open. After checking the handle to make sure it wasn’t in the locked position, she started to close it.
Without even a scrape or breath behind her to give warning, something struck her between the shoulder blades, shoving her into the closet.
A large form followed closely behind, keeping Sariah trapped within.
Spinning around, Sariah found herself face-to-face with an enraged Detective Jackson. He shoved her back even farther into the closet.
“Don’t move,” he whispered, the tone intense, his face inches away from her own. “You’re going to listen to what I have to say, and you aren’t going to say a word. No one’s down here and there are no security cameras. You’re all alone.”
Too shocked to do anything other than to just stare at the man, Sariah stood there as the man somehow managed to get his face in even closer to hers. She could smell his breath, a fetid combination of what seemed to be garlic and stomach acid and something more sour as he continued to speak to her. He’d been drinking.
“Your kind isn’t welcome here. Not in this city, not in this precinct, not on this case. And until you leave, I’m going to make your life a living hell.”
She found her voice. “My kind? What do you think my kind is?”
“I think I’m talking to a black dyke bitch from the big city who thinks she’s hot shit. And let me assure you, you’re not.” His face was contorted into a mask of loathing, and Sariah realized in a moment of clarity that the man was afraid. Her strength, her intelligence, even her competency, were inherently threatening to this man.
And he was lashing out in the only way he knew how.
Time to let him know she wasn’t a defenseless victim who would just take it. Sariah punched the detective in the kidney, causing him to grunt and step back a pace. That opened up enough space that she was able to bring up her knee to try to hit the man in the crotch. But he was ready for the second blow, managing to block her knee hard enough with his arm that it hurt.
He savagely backhanded her across the face. She stumbled back, shocked by the abruptness of the attack. Following up his slap, Jackson pressed his body into hers, pushing her back up against the metal shelves behind her, her arms trapped down in front of her. The aluminum jutted into her back, its presence unyielding.
“You can try to report this,” he growled in her face. “But no one will believe you. Your word against mine, bitch.”
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