by Fiona Archer
“Is that how he and Harper met?”
“Yeah.” Heath cast a quick look her way before turning his gaze back to the road. “You didn’t know?”
“Nope. I knew Harper to say hello and chat with when Cleo and I visited Seven Dishes. I know her much better after today.” She shrugged. “I think we’re on the way to being good friends.”
He smiled, and seeing his pleasure at such an idea had her mouth lifting at the corners too.
Heath turned into her street and, in a moment, parked outside her home.
Did he want to come in for a coffee? A meal? A kiss? Okay, the last was a mixture of nerves and wish fulfillment, but these were the moments she usually bungled when it came to dates. Not that this was a date. Heath was simply giving her a lift home.
One he’d insisted on making happen.
Heath pulled out his keys. “I’ll get your case.”
“Okay.” Was he inviting himself in or simply being polite?
She made her way to the front door and unlocked it, by which time Heath had joined her, put his hand on her hip, and gently eased her into the wide front foyer.
Clearly no doorstep goodbye.
She dropped her keys into the small dish on the hall table and turned to face him. Heath’s gaze was locked on the pile of unopened mail next to her keys.
“Not a fan of opening your mail?” He switched his gaze to her face, with a bemused expression.
“The urgent stuff, sure, but I don’t panic and open everything right away. Sometimes I leave stuff for a week.”
Heath stared at her, his mouth and jaw a little slack. “How can you stand not knowing what’s in the envelope? What if it’s important and you guessed wrong?”
She shrugged. “Then I guess I’ll find out sooner or later, won’t I?”
He slowly shook his head. “You really are a creature of chaos, aren’t you?”
His tone was one of frustration. As if he’d been hoping the news wasn’t so but the evidence now couldn’t be denied.
Not everyone wanted to live by a boring routine. “And you’re Mr. Rules and Regulations.”
“Hey.” He frowned, his tone full of affront. “I have as much fun as the next guy. I just like order in my life.”
She snorted. “Right. I bet you have your meals planned out for the week.” No reaction. Hmm, maybe… “Or maybe you like to keep everything tidy? Everything in its place.” He went to speak before pressing his lips together. Gotcha. “Why don’t you try living life on the edge and leave your trash can out for two days in a row.”
His gaze flashed with annoyance.
“Just the idea drives you crazy, doesn’t it?” she teased.
He looked to the heavens before settling his gaze back on her. “You are the most maddening woman I’ve ever met.”
“You don’t have to stay, Detective.”
A gleam entered his eyes, one she didn’t trust.
“I’m more than ready to live life on the edge, London.” He moved into her space, backing her against the wall without touching her.
Her pulse raced. She tilted her head back. His handsome face, broad chest, and muscular shoulders filled her view. The scent of his aftershave—mountains in summer—teased her senses. “Oh, really?”
He nodded. “Absolutely. Keeping up with your contrary nature is going to turn my hair gray.”
“That’s if I allow you to hang around long enough to turn into a silver fox.” Her mind filled with an image of Heath, a slash of salt gray at his temples. Nice.
His deep laugh echoed in the hallway. “I’m going to have to make a stronger impression on you, Red, so you don’t banish me.” A stronger impression? When he already had her thinking of him way too much? “Maybe I should get started on that mission right away?”
She blinked. “Uh—”
His mouth captured hers, wonderfully, firmly, not giving her a chance to object. His arms closed around her, drawing her tight against him. Her lips parted, allowing his tongue to sweep inside to taste and explore.
A thrill of pleasure raced through her. She softened against him, complying with his dominance as her fingers explored the hardness of his muscled chest.
Strong. Unyielding even. Warmth spread through her body, centering low in her belly, then lower, between her legs.
She kissed him back as her hands fisted the dark cotton of his t-shirt. An intoxicating blend of need and curiosity drove her to press harder, demand more. She grabbed at his hair.
Heath growled and nipped her lower lip. He wrapped a hand in her hair and pulled, forcing her head back. His voice was hard, commanding. “I’m in charge.”
Her core clenched at his show of authority.
She lowered her hands back to his chest, and slowly, he lessened his grip on her hair while still keeping his hold. And knowing he could once more pull on her hair and deny her his mouth thrilled her. To give him such power seemed wrong and bad and so…so sexy.
The shrill note of his phone ringing crashed into their shared intimacy.
“Jesus.” He reached into his back pocket, but his other hand cupped the side of her face, keeping them connected, intimate. “One moment, London.” He scanned the caller ID and cursed. “I gotta take this.” Another kiss, then he stepped away, his back to her.
London leaned against the wall and inhaled a steadying breath. Kissing had always been nice, even lovely. And never before had she pulled a man’s head down and demanded more, not so soon. With Heath, on the other hand… This man was a whole different package. Firm, powerful, and when it came to kissing, he took no prisoners.
Shock and awe.
In an effort to give him some semblance of privacy, she wheeled the case into her bedroom.
“Your timing sucks, Gregson.” Then silence. “Right, you’ve called Derek?” Damn, that didn’t sound good. “Yeah, on my way.” He ended the call and turned toward her as she walked back out of the bedroom.
She took some comfort in his obvious frustration and the way his hungry gaze stayed locked on her face.
“You have to go.” She stated for him.
“Double homicide. Derek and I are the next team up.”
Two people dead? That sounded horrible. She attempted to lighten the mood. “It seems the fates never want us to have more than thirty minutes in each other’s company.”
“Fuck fate.” Heath held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”
She reached down for the tote she’d dropped when she came in the door, retrieved her phone, and handed it over.
Heath handed her his cell, opened on a new contact slot. “Enter your details.” He did the same on her cell. Once complete, he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, his grip wonderfully firm. “Double homicide means I’ll have no free time for the foreseeable future, but I’ll try to make your signing Wednesday night. In the meantime, look out for a call.” He dropped a soft kiss on her mouth before resting his forehead against hers. “I’ve got to go.”
“Stay safe.” She ran a hand down his arm as he moved away, and she watched him walk down the path to his SUV before she closed the front door.
She dropped her tote on her bed and remembered earlier in the day when she had referred to herself as Cinderella. Did that make Heath her rough-around-the-edges Prince Charming?
If so, his kisses certainly made for one scorching fairy tale. And Lord help her, she couldn’t wait to find out more.
CHAPTER THREE
“Detective, it was just supposed to be a dare.” The teenager stood with his back to the gray cement blocks of the wrecking yard office. His gaze darted from his three friends lined up beside him and Heath and Derek in front. “Get over the fence and take a selfie in one of the cars,” he rushed out. “I thought it would be fun to take mine in the trunk of that old Lincoln.’ He swallowed. “That’s all.”
Except the kid’s Sunday afternoon soon turned into a crapfest.
Heath glanced across the yard of mini skyscrapers of junk cars stacked one o
n top of another as the crime scene techs processed the kid’s grisly find. “And then you found the bodies, Peter?”
The kid nodded. “Man, the smell.” He shuddered as his three friends nodded in agreement, one of them making an all too realistic gagging sound. “It was”—he shook his head—“bad.” He broke off and lowered his gaze to his sneakers.
Heath could sympathize. The rancid stench of a dead body burned its putrid way into a person’s memory. And the summer heat wouldn’t have helped matters.
“Detective…” The boy’s father spoke as he stood off to the side, his forehead lined with worry. “Peter and his friends were stupid, but trespassing into Wazkowski’s Yard is a neighborhood tradition that’s gone on for three generations. Frank and I”—he gestured to another of the boys’ fathers next to him—“did the same when we were their age. Not that I’m excusing what the boys did, but even the owner knows this happens. Wazkowski doesn’t have any security except for the chain and padlock on the front gates.”
Heath didn’t waste time putting the father at ease. “Detective Shaw and I have already agreed we won’t be charging the boys.” Under the circumstances, the teens had already suffered a big enough scare. They had been checked for shock, given water, and interviewed with their parents in attendance.
“Okay, boys. Go with Sergeant Baker.” Heath indicated the female uniformed cop on his left. “She’ll organize your statements and talk with your parents.”
He noted the remorseful looks on the kids’ faces before walking with Derek over to the late model Lincoln. They stepped around two crime scene technicians setting up lights on tripods. It was four o’clock in the afternoon, but processing a scene took hours and the techs and detectives would be working until well past sundown.
The foul stench of decaying flesh slapped Heath in the face as he neared the car’s trunk. Small shallow breaths through the mouth. He blinked twice, regained his focus and studied the bodies jammed into the trunk. A male and female. Clothed. The woman on her back looking up to the sky, the male on his side, face toward the trunk’s carpeted floor and obscured from view. Both had their legs bent at the knees.
Heath and Derek nodded to a man in white paper overalls who was busy snapping photos of the trunk.
“Hey there, Tom. What can you tell us?” Derek asked of the Crime Scene Unit Detective.
Tom waved a hand toward the trunk. “Both victims shot in the back of the head. Execution style. Not killed here. Autopsy will tell you more, but my guess is they’ve been here at least a couple of days.”
Execution style. An organized hit?
The woman wore a black dress in a flimsy material with a halter top barely covering her breasts. The man had on jeans, a dark shirt and engraved leather boots, which would have cost a mint.
The man’s clothing—finer material and those expensive boots—were in stark contrast to the cheaper quality of the woman’s attire.
This was no couple.
Heath slid on a pair of nitrile gloves. “Any ID?”
“Yes.” Tom lifted a clear evidence bag lying on a blue tarp at his feet and passed it out to Heath. “Female had a handbag. Driver’s license says Alyssa Holmes. Age twenty-eight. Sergeant Baker recognized the name. She’s a prostitute. Pulled her in before.”
Heath took the evidence bag, and pushed the ends of the small black clutch inside to get a view of the bag’s contents. Condoms, an iPhone, travel packet of Kleenex and ID were the only contents.
“The male’s Donny Jacobsen.”
Heath’s gaze snapped from the victim’s clutch to Tom. “The two-bit drug dealer?” His days in Narcotics were years ago, but Heath had arrested the guy a few times.
“A deal gone bad?” Derek said as if to himself, repeating Heath’s thoughts.
Heath glanced to his partner. “Your brother Aidan works Narcotics, right?” Aidan would have more background on Jacobsen, which might save them time digging up shit.
“On it.” Derek pulled out his phone and walked away a few paces.
Passing the evidence bag back to the tech, Heath scanned the yard.
A jumble of cars stacked one on top of another. One more car down the back of the lot wouldn’t attract attention. Hidden. The smell of the bodies would eventually bring attention. But not straight away.
Heath waved over one of the uniform cops. “Where’s the yard’s owner?”
“In Idaho at his daughter’s wedding.” The officer checked his notebook. “Victor Wazkowski. He’s been gone since Tuesday. Closed the yard for the week. It’s a family operation run with his two sons. The father’s on his way back now.”
Someone making good use of an opportunity? The killer would have had to know the owner had shut up for the week. “Get me his contact details.” He’d call Wazkowski once back at the station and set up an interview with the guy for as soon as he returned.
“Right,” Derek said into his cell phone. “Yeah, we’ll see you in an hour or so.” He ended the call and turned his gaze on Heath. “Aidan said Jacobsen had a fight with some younger dealers over turf a week ago. He’ll see what he can dig up and meet us back at the station.”
“Good.” There wasn’t much he and Derek could do here while Tom, his crew, and the coroner’s staff processed the scene. “We need to track down the next of kin. Let’s get that done, then catch up with Aidan.”
At the very least, Sergeant Baker had recognized the woman’s name.
“Alyssa had a pimp. Ruiz Vargas. He runs a string of girls in North Seattle.” Baker named the hotspot for prostitution in Seattle. All the old cheap motels left over from the World’s Fair offered the perfect backdrop for johns looking for a cheap score. “Don’t think she had any family, at least not local.”
Baker’s words on who was left to mourn Alyssa proved true one hour later as Heath and Derek questioned the girls walking up and down the main avenue. The daylight hours cast a layer of extra hardness on their overly made up faces. Or maybe it was years of living with meager hope? Either way, their answers were the same. Alyssa was a product of the foster system. Friendly enough. Drank, but no drugs. No enemies. All had amnesia on where her pimp Vargas could be. The guy wasn’t in any of the motels he and Derek checked out.
Heath sighed as he followed Derek back to the station in his SUV. A person’s life distilled down to four short, emotionless sentences. How fucking tragic.
It wasn’t lost on him that his and his brother’s lives could have turned out the same way if it hadn’t been for Aurora Justice.
As for Donny Jacobsen, the guy’s record stated he had a brother in Oregon. Derek had already rung their counterparts down south to deliver the news and arrange a proper ID of the body.
Twenty minutes later, they were back at Headquarters and walking into the Homicide unit. The days of ’70s cop shows where the units were dark, gloomy rooms filled with cigarette smoke and metal desks were long gone. Heath and Derek’s work area looked more like any normal office with boring beige colored cubicles and a tile ceiling patterned with strips of fluorescent lighting.
At the far end was the major incident room, partitioned off from the rest of the unit by glass dividing walls. Whiteboards covered in notes and photos of the Fox murder scene covered the walls. Heath glimpsed his fellow Detectives Kennedy and Faulkner examining some notes. Next to them stood one of Tollison’s colleagues Heath remembered from the Fox mansion.
The natural urge to check in on their progress would have to wait. He had his own cases to keep him busy.
A tall man dressed in jeans and a gray shirt stood next to Derek’s desk, his back to them.
“Aidan,” Derek called out.
The man turned, and Heath caught the resemblance to London with his green eyes and similar hair. No, change that. Not exactly like London’s hair, more brown with russet streaks, but close enough it was obvious they were related.
“Derek,” Aidan nodded to his older brother before facing Heath. “Heath, good to see you.”
“Likewise.” Heath shook the man’s hand. They hadn’t worked together, but he had seen Aidan around Headquarters. The detective had a reputation as tough and skilled at catching his marks.
Derek sat on the corner of his desk, crossed his arms over his chest, and regarded his brother. “You said on the phone you’d heard Jacobsen was involved in a turf war with younger dealers?”
Aidan nodded. “Jacobsen was a two-bit dealer barely hanging onto his patch. Early forties, liked to dress smart and look the part, but sampled too much of his product. He’d lost his street cred, if he ever had it at all. The younger guys are ambitious and wanted to squeeze him out. But”—he glanced over at Heath—“they’re also smart. Getting rid of Jacobsen is one thing—a serious beating would likely force the man to move on. Killing him plus a prostitute?” Aidan shrugged. “Seems heavy handed. He was weak, had no friends to back him up.”
Good point. Why complicate matters with two killings? “You got any names?” Heath sat at his desk, ready to look at any leads on the system.
“Yeah.” Aidan provided details of the two leads. “Their troops have already taken over Jacobsen’s patch. However, since he’s been missing for a few days, it’s not proof alone. Nobody would leave fertile territory unclaimed for long.”
Heath sat at his desk and typed the names in and pulled up a couple of rap sheets. Two brothers. Both in their mid-twenties. Both had priors for assault, but minor. No drug convictions. These guys obviously kept their business tight. Got others to make the rounds for them and take the risks.
“We should coordinate our teams and pay them a visit,” Heath said.
Aidan sighed. “Damn, this means we’re gonna miss Mom’s roast tonight. Mercy and I were heading over.”
“I took you away from that sweet girl of yours. Still can’t understand what she sees in you.” Derek chuckled at Aidan’s one-fingered salute. “I was looking forward to a roast dinner. I’ll be living on take-out and cold coffee until this case is done.”
Heath’s mind raced back to London, alone, with no plans to visit for a family dinner. At least, not before he left. Maybe she’d end up at her parents? “What about London?”