She made a sudden stop as she exited the restaurant and he stumbled against her.
“Sorry.” He put a hand on her waist.
She shifted away from him and grabbed a newspaper from a rack. “My fault. I wanted one of these.”
Definitely skittish.
She waved the paper at him. “Spencer Breck died.”
“The billionaire who owns half the city?”
“Is there another Spencer Breck?” She studied the newsprint and whistled. “He’s leaving one big estate.”
“I know his wife died a few years ago, but he has kids. I’m sure he’ll leave a lot to charity, too. Nobody can spend that much money.”
“He has one child—London Breck—beautiful, skinny and now wealthy beyond belief.” She tucked the newspaper into her bag.
“Poor girl.” He punched the elevator button.
“You’re kidding, right? She has everything.”
Shrugging, he said, “All that money is nothing but trouble, and now there’s going to be a lot of publicity because her father just died. Publicity is never good.”
“Don’t cry for London. That girl loves publicity—skinny-dipping in fountains, driving race cars, following rock bands.”
“I guess some of us don’t follow the gossip rags as much as others, so maybe it’s not ‘poor girl.’ She sounds like a pain in the ass.”
This time when the elevator reached her floor, she left him with a wave of her hand.
When he reached his room, he blew out a breath and shouldered open his door, letting it slam behind him. He pressed the palm of his hand against the wall where he’d pinned Kacie the night before and closed his eyes. He could almost detect her scent—sweet, musky and all woman.
He brushed his teeth and set up his laptop on the table by the window, kicking the cardboard box out of his way. The files within shifted and his gaze darted toward the box.
Maybe Kacie had been onto something last night. Had Christina made note of the fact that the only witness to his father’s jump off the bridge knew him?
He lifted the lid from the box with the toe of his shoe and pulled out the disheveled folder on top. The word on the label jumped at him: Victims.
In the dark, Kacie had grabbed the wrong file anyway. Any mention of Cookie wouldn’t be in the file about the Phone Book Killer’s victims.
He dropped that file to the floor and shuffled through the box. Christina hadn’t created a separate file for the suicide. So maybe she hadn’t made the same discovery about Cookie as he and Kacie had. Even more reason to talk to Cookie that afternoon.
He secured the lid back on the box and delved into Crestview police work.
Ryan worked through lunch since he and Kacie had gotten a late start that morning. He took a trip down the hallway and got a can of soda and a bag of chips from the vending machine.
As he popped the tab on the can, his gaze strayed to the box again. Christina had been so thorough about researching his dad’s case, so thorough it had almost cost her the relationship with Eric. How had she missed that detail?
He swept his phone from the table and tapped on Christina’s name in his address book.
She picked up after the first ring. “Hi, Ryan.”
“Hey, Christina. Where are you?”
“I’m in D.C. with your brother. Is that why you called?”
That was Christina—all business. “No, I have a question about your research into Dad’s case.”
“How’s the book coming? Have you met Kacie Manning yet?”
“I’ve met her and I have no idea how the book is coming. That’s her business.”
“Except you’re calling me.” She covered the phone and shouted an order to someone.
“Are you busy?”
“Not too busy to talk to one of my future brothers-in-law. What do you need to know?”
“Did you look into the woman who witnessed Dad’s jump from the bridge?”
“Cookie Phelps, a hooker.”
“Did you talk to her? Look her up?”
She cleared her throat. “No. I just got her name and statement from the case file on the murders.”
“You never looked at the file on the suicide?”
“There was no file on the suicide.”
“Sure there was...is. I picked it up from Records.”
“That’s weird. I never saw that file and nobody ever offered it to me.”
“Well, I got it, and you wanna hear weird? My dad had arrested Cookie’s pimp several years before Cookie witnessed his suicide.”
Christina whistled. “That’s a coincidence.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“You think there’s some significance to it?”
“I met Cookie yesterday, and she was really nervous.”
“Is she still in the life?”
“She’s a Realtor.”
“Makes sense she’d be jumpy about reminders from the past.”
“Yeah, that’s what Kacie figured.”
“How is that intrepid true-crime writer, Ms. Manning? She must have some cojones to go toe-to-toe with that psychopath Daniel Walker.”
“Umm, yeah.” He took a sip of his drink, scrambling for a new subject or a way to end the call.
“Well, does she?”
Too late. He never should’ve taken a sip of soda. Christina was like a pit bull when she got hold of something. “Does she what?”
She sighed noisily. “Have cojones?”
“Not that I noticed.”
Christina swore. “You’re sleeping with her.”
No wonder she was such a good FBI agent. His brother was in big trouble. “Because I didn’t notice her cojones?”
She snorted. “Whatever. Keep us posted on what you dig up. And, Ryan?”
“Yeah?” He held his breath.
“Keep it in your pants.”
He ended the call and shoved his phone across the table. Eric had told him that Christina was from a family of powerful brujos, and now he didn’t doubt that at all.
He tapped his toe against the box. But not powerful enough to have gotten the suicide file.
He glanced at the clock on his computer and shoved it away from him. He had just enough time to go for a quick workout in the hotel gym, shower and change.
Maybe Kacie would agree to have dinner with him after they saw Cookie. The evening might not end up the same way it did the night before, but if Kacie wanted to dial back the passion and put him firmly in the friend zone, he’d comply like a gentleman.
That didn’t mean he’d ever forget the previous night—the way she tasted, the way her smooth skin felt beneath his fingertips, the way she clung to him and took all he had to offer.
Better make that a cold shower.
* * *
KACIE STEPPED FROM the shower and pulled on a lacy thong and a matching bra—not that she planned on any high jinks with Ryan that night, but a girl never knew when she’d be in an accident and need to have her clothes sliced from her body. Best to be prepared.
Of course, if she did seduce Ryan again, she could place herself back in his room in the dead of night and take another crack at the file in the box. All she needed was one picture.
And really, there wasn’t much involved in the seduction of Ryan Brody. He wanted her—and she wanted him. That fact soothed her conscience. There was no trickery involved, at least during the seduction phase.
She studied her body in the mirror, naked except for the bit of froth between her legs. She cupped her breasts and ran her thumb across the reddish flesh where Ryan’s beard had scuffed her. Closing her eyes, she sank against the vanity. She could make the sacrifice one more night to get her hands on that picture.
The knock on the door made her jump and her eyes flew open. She stuffed herself into the bra and tiptoed to the door. Pressing her eye to the peephole, she called out. “One minute, Brody.”
She wriggled into a pair of skinny jeans and snagged a black camisole from the dresser drawer.<
br />
Panting slightly, she pulled open the door to her hotel room. “Are you early again?”
“Right on time.” He tapped his watch. “Were you working or daydreaming?”
A little of both.
“All work and no play. I think I got a good start on the intro to the book.”
She’d flung open the door and Ryan had stood with his shoulder wedged against the wall as she grabbed a blouse from the closet and shoved her feet into a pair of flats.
“Can I read it?”
She scurried to her laptop and made a few quick clicks with the mouse. “Not yet.”
Not until I have another opportunity to savor every inch of your delicious body before you discover my true intent.
He threw up his hands. “Okay. Am I going to have to read it along with everyone else?”
“I think that’s a good idea.” She leaned close to the mirror and spread some lip gloss across her lips with the tip of her little finger.
“Just like Walker.”
She dropped the tube of gloss. “What?”
“He didn’t read the book until it was published, either, did he?”
“Nope. Do you want to get some dinner after we see Cookie?”
“Sure.” His green eyes lit up, almost as though they were shooting sparks.
Oh yeah. Getting Brody back into bed tonight would be easy.
Ryan drove to the open house in his car, since parking on the residential streets of the Sunset District was easier and faster than taking public transportation. They pulled up to the curb across the street from the house, and Ryan pointed to the blue sedan parked in front. “That’s her car, but I don’t see any others. You think she’s alone?”
“If she’s not, we can pretend to be interested buyers until the real interested buyers leave.”
They slid from the car, both of them snapping their doors shut as if fearing Cookie would hear them out there and take flight.
Kacie approached the slightly ajar door first and placed the palm of her hand against the green-painted wood. She eased it open and stepped into the house.
The smell of freshly baked cookies had her mouth watering, and she winked at Ryan. “You’re in luck. You can probably have all the leftover cookies.”
He didn’t return her smile. Instead, his gaze darted around the room as his jaw tensed.
His concern radiated out toward her. She scanned the empty living room and kitchen, her brow furrowing. “Do you think she saw us coming?”
Putting his finger to his lips, he shook his head.
Did that mean he didn’t think she saw them coming or that he wanted her to keep quiet? And why?
Ryan poked his head into the kitchen. “Look at the cookies.”
Mounds of dough crowded a cookie sheet, while the oven clicked and heated up the room.
“Looks like she left in a hurry.” Kacie turned off the oven and backpedaled out of the kitchen. “Or maybe she’s in the backyard with some potential buyers.”
A side door led from the kitchen to a small patio. Ryan jiggled the handle and then opened the door. He shuffled onto the brick patio, and Kacie crossed the room to peer down the short hallway.
Maybe Cookie was in the bathroom.
“Cynthia?” Kacie took two steps down the carpeted hallway and froze. She tilted her head. Was that a noise? Was Cookie hiding from them back there?
“Cynthia, we just want to talk to you.” Trailing her hand along the wall, Kacie took several more steps down the hall.
The door of the first room stood open, and she glanced inside. A lone wicker wastebasket gaped at her from its side in the center of the room.
She continued to the next open door and ducked her head inside. She stumbled backward, clutching her throat.
The room was empty...except for Cookie’s bloodied and crumpled body in the corner.
Chapter Ten
She must’ve screamed.
“What is it?” Ryan bumped her shoulder as he crowded past her into the room. He swore and strode across the carpet, dropping to the floor next to Cookie’s body.
“What happened to her?” Kacie felt like such a chicken, but she stayed back, clinging to the doorjamb.
“Call 911. She’s still breathing.”
Kacie twirled around to retrieve the purse she’d left on the kitchen counter. Now she really felt like a coward. The woman was alive and suffering, and all she could do was scream like a ninny.
She dumped the contents of her purse onto the counter and grabbed her cell phone. She babbled over the phone until the operator asked her for the address.
She knew the street name and stumbled outside to read the number from the front of the house.
Clutching her phone between clammy hands, she returned to the bedroom. Ryan had found a towel and was wrapping it around Cookie’s head, stanching the flow of her blood.
“An ambulance is on the way. What happened to her? Is she going to be okay?”
“Someone beat her to a pulp.” Ryan tucked in the ends of the towel to secure it and picked up Cookie’s wrist to feel for a pulse. “As to whether or not she’s going to be okay, I have no idea. She’s in bad shape.”
Kacie’s stomach churned and she sealed one hand over her mouth.
Sirens wailed, and Ryan glanced up. “Go out front and meet them.”
Grateful to have something useful to do, Kacie rushed from the room and tripped onto the porch. The ambulance came to a screeching halt behind Cookie’s car, with two cop cars hot on its heels.
As she led the EMTs to Cookie’s inert form, she told them as much as she knew. They got to work immediately as Ryan backed up, giving them space.
He held out his hands, stained with Cookie’s blood.
“Did she say anything, Ryan? Was she conscious?”
“No.”
The presence of the police officers halted any conversation between her and Ryan. She’d wondered how much of the truth Ryan was prepared to give to the cops, but she should’ve known better. He told them everything. Of course, they’d have probably figured out sooner or later that Ryan Brody, the police chief of Crestview, wasn’t house shopping in the city.
Before their conversation with the police ended, the EMTs wheeled Cookie from the house.
“Wait—her purse.” Kacie grabbed Cookie’s purse from the counter, and her phone slid out. Her eyes shifted to the side, where Ryan was still talking to the cops, and then she snatched the phone and slid it into her back pocket.
Not everyone was as honest as Ryan Brody.
She dangled the purse from its handle. “Should this go with her to the hospital?”
“We’ll take that, ma’am.” One of the cops held out his hand and she hung the purse over his arm.
The police kept them for another fifteen minutes before releasing them, although the work of law enforcement had just begun. She and Ryan crossed paths with a horde of crime-scene investigators and additional cops and detectives.
When they got to the car, Ryan rested his hands on the steering wheel and blew out a breath. “Wow.”
“What are you thinking, Brody?”
He turned his head and his jaw relaxed for the first time since they had entered the open house. “Are you all right? You were as pale as a ghost in there.”
“I’m fine. You’d think I’d be used to it by now—two violent-crime victims in the space of a few days.”
“That’s right.” He drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel.
“What do you think happened?”
“Someone came to the open house and beat her.”
“I know that, but why?”
“Why do you think?”
She swallowed and ran her tongue across her dry teeth. “Because of us? Because she talked to us?”
He drove the heels of his hands against the steering wheel. “It seems that way, doesn’t it?”
“Why?”
“Someone doesn’t want her talking to us.”
“Do you thi
nk,” she said, licking her lips, “that whoever beat her up wanted her dead?”
“I don’t think he cared one way or the other. Even if she doesn’t die, she’s not going to talk now. She got the message—loud and clear.”
She gripped his forearm, her nails digging into his corded muscle. “What’s going on, Ryan? Why would someone want to keep Cookie quiet? She witnessed your father’s suicide. That’s public record.”
“She must know more.” He smacked his thigh. “She knows something, or someone thinks she does. We had our opportunity to find out yesterday. We had the element of surprise, and we blew it.”
“She blew it. She should’ve told us everything she knew yesterday. If she was scared or worried, maybe you could’ve given her some protection, or the SFPD could’ve helped.”
“She was obviously scared. I should’ve pressed her.”
“Shoulda, coulda, woulda. We didn’t and she didn’t, and now we just have to figure out who attacked her and why.”
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m hoping the cops can come up with some evidence—if we didn’t destroy it all by traipsing through the house.”
“I believe in being proactive.” She patted her purse, where she’d slipped Cookie’s phone. “If I had to count only on law enforcement in writing my book about Walker, I never would’ve had a book.”
“What do you mean?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
She dug into her handbag and pulled out Cookie’s phone. “I have this.”
“Congratulations. You have a phone.”
“Not just any phone.” She tilted it back and forth. “Cookie’s phone.”
This time his eyebrows jumped to his hairline. “You stole a piece of evidence from a crime scene?”
“I don’t see it that way. Cookie’s murder is directly related to us, and we deserve to take a few matters into our own hands instead of relying on the SFPD to feed us info when and if they want to.”
He shook his head. “You have a loose concept of ethics.”
Heat flashed in her cheeks and she turned to her open window to gulp in a few breaths of fresh air. He didn’t know the half of it. “Do you want to see Cookie’s incoming and outgoing calls or don’t you?”
His gaze strayed past her and took in the law-enforcement personnel scurrying in and out of the open house. “Not here.”
The Wharf Page 11