Don't Say a Word

by Beverly Barton

  The house was dark, everything quiet except for the terrified screams. Julia pressed her back against the wall. Her breaths were coming fast and hard. Bobby was across from her, pressed against the wall on the other side of the front door. The woman inside was yelling bloody murder, calling hysterically for help. Then, abruptly, the screaming stopped and silence dropped over the night like a heavy, thick blanket. The call had been a domestic dispute, the husband a known felon with a penchant for violence and rage.

  Bobby put his forefinger against his lips and signaled that she should go low when they went in. Her heartbeat went crazy inside her chest. Her weapon was out and pointed down, but she kept her finger very close alongside the trigger. She was tense, more so for Bobby than for herself. They had broken the departmental rules, begun to get romantically involved, and both would be reprimanded, possibly even demoted, if the chief found out.

  “Let’s do it,” Bobby mouthed as the woman cried out again. He stood back, then kicked the door open. He went in high; she, low. It was pitch-black inside, but she could see light coming from an open door down a side hall. That’s where the woman was. Julia could hear her moaning now. They crept across the room, edging along opposite walls toward the light and the victim.

  Julia froze as the sudden, loud blam of a gunshot blasted her ears. Bobby went down to his knees, blood blooming on the front of his light blue dress shirt and tie. A second bullet slammed into the wall beside her head, and then she heard the sound of a gun jamming. She got off a shot into the bedroom behind Bobby, and then another as the shooter came at her from the darkness, grabbing her by the hair, unfazed by the bullet in his body. Her heart hammered out of control as he shoved her up against the wall, knocking the breath out of her. They grappled for her weapon, and then he had his thumbs on the front of her windpipe, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing the breath out of her . . .

  Will stopped the Hummer outside Julia Cass’s weathered boathouse, got out and looked around. She had definitely lucked into one idyllic little riverside nest, very private, almost isolated. The river flowed by, very close to the house. The constant rush of the water was soothing, the fluttering leaves of the old oak trees peaceful, and the twittering song of real early birds getting real worms was all over the place. He held the drink carrier from Starbucks in one hand and the box of doughnuts in the other as he climbed the steps to the screened porch.

  Hands full of breakfast, he kicked the bottom of the screen door a couple of times with his toe, rattling it loudly on its old hinges. Startled, he watched Julia shoot up to a sitting position on the daybed pushed against the back wall. Her black hair was all tousled around her shoulders, the way he had always wanted to see it, those incredible eyes heavy with interrupted sleep. Unfortunately, she also had her weapon in her hand and trained on his chest. He ducked instinctively, nearly knocking both coffee cups off into the rosebushes.

  “Whoa, whoa, Cass! It’s me! Put that gun down!”

  “What the devil are you doing here?” she snapped, lowering the Glock. “Trying to get yourself shot?”

  “Good God, do you sleep with your weapon?” he said, slightly unnerved by her extreme reaction to the unexpected noise. She could’ve shot him dead.

  “Yeah, don’t you?”

  He did, but decided not to admit it. He had better reason to, though, or at least he thought he did. They stared at each other for a moment. Her voice was still hoarse with sleep as she placed the weapon on the side table and threw back the faded blue-and-white patchwork quilt. Shapely bare legs swung over the edge of the bed. “You should know better than to sneak up on a cop and bang on the door when they’re sound asleep. What time is it, anyway? Crack of dawn?”

  “It’s six thirty, and J.D. asked me to pick you up. He’s taking the Charger in for a tune-up and new tires today. He tried to call you. So did I.”

  “No, he didn’t, or I would’ve been ready. Why didn’t he just let me take it in?”

  Will hitched a shoulder. “How should I know? But it’s okay. I’ve been wondering where you lived. Pretty neat place you got here.”

  Julia frowned as she stood up, obviously not pleased with his unexpected visit or being rousted out of bed so early. Will tried not to stare at the way her breasts mounded provocatively underneath the thin pink cotton T-shirt, but he couldn’t drag his eyes away. The shirt was short, too, and the same went for those long, tanned legs of hers as she padded barefoot across the porch and flipped up the hook on the screen door.

  “I brought you coffee,” he said, stepping onto the porch. “Take it as a little thank-you for not blowing me away a minute ago. By the way, do you always draw your weapon if somebody knocks on your door?”

  “I was having a bad dream, if you’ve got to know. The banging on the door played into it.” Julia eyed his grin as she took the Starbucks cup he held out to her. “Black, right?”

  “You bet. Just the way you like it. I do try to please, Jules. It’s pretty clear to me at the moment that you’re not going to win any awards for Most Cheerful Morning Police Officer.”

  “No, I’m not, and so what? I, for one, can’t stand anybody so chipper and smiley this early in the morning.” But she gave him a faint smile as she ran her fingers through all that tumbling, silky, black hair of hers. She hooked her flowing hair behind her ears. “What, no doughnuts? What kind of partner are you, Brannock?”

  “You sell me short, Cass,” he countered, holding out the box of goodies.

  “You better have some jellies in there.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re out here at six thirty a.m. Early birds, jeez, I can’t figure what makes you guys tick. Cathy’s the same way. It’s disgusting. Anyway, you should’ve given me a call.”

  “And you should keep your phone charged.”

  Julia was smiling now, though, and Will followed her inside the boathouse, thinking that he did like those deep dimples in her cheeks. He wished she’d smile more often, and wear thin cotton T-shirts more often. In fact, he wished she was a flight attendant and not the partner he had to work with every single day. And despite his earlier complaint, he also liked the fact that she slept near her weapon. He had learned to do that the hard way. He wondered if her other partner’s death had triggered that habit.

  Stopping just inside the door to the house, he glanced around the room while Julia pulled on a short, white, terry cloth robe that, lucky for him, still showed those great legs of hers. Good God, this place was antiquated, to say the least. Antique city, to be exact.

  “Who lived here last, Cass? Grandma Moses?”

  Julia pulled her sash tight and frowned at him. “What’s it to you, Brannock? I think it’s got a nice homey feel. Comfortable and well taken care of.”

  “Yeah? Maybe if you’re eighty years old. What’s that smell, anyway? Vicks VapoRub?”

  “Very funny. Can’t wait to critique your house.” Julia sat down in an old-fashioned, white wicker rocking chair and placed her paper cup on the coffee table. She gestured for him to take a seat on a colorful chintz couch across from her. “Where is your place, anyway, Brannock? You live in your truck, or what?”

  Will opened the tab on his coffee, still unwilling to answer that question. Nobody knew where he lived and wouldn’t anytime soon. Especially Julia Cass. But he found himself wanting to tell her; to tell her everything she wanted to know about him. She had asked him a few questions earlier, casually, but he knew she was curious, maybe even suspicious. Hell, she was a detective, a damn good one. He’d incurred her interest, and she wasn’t going to stop digging. He took a sip, savored the caffeine kick, and brushed off her question. “Sometimes it sure feels like it.”

  “I’m beginning to think you’re hiding stolen property at your place. Or maybe you’ve got a kidnapped flight attendant handcuffed to your bed?”

  Ignoring the flight attendant jab, Will flipped back the lid of the box, took out a chocolate cake doughnut with white icing sprinkled with chopped pecans, then offered the breakfast past
ries to Julia. Let her think he was a real womanizer. Maybe that would put the brakes on his growing attraction for her. Hell, growing? He wanted to throw her on that daybed, jerk off that little robe of hers, and kiss her until neither one of them could breathe. Damn, what was it about her? It was a good thing she kept pushing him away, because he was weakening big-time. Keep it light, keep it easy, Brannock, he told himself. “Take your pick, Cass. I got two of everything so you wouldn’t freak out if I took your favorite.”

  Julia wrinkled her nose at him, then leaned forward and picked out the biggest jelly doughnut. His second favorite. She took a bite, and Will watched her tongue flick out and catch a bit of raspberry jelly on her full lower lip. Then she slowly wet her lips—innocently, but still one of the most erotic things he’d ever witnessed. Will’s masculine sensibilities jumped up and took note—okay, maybe it was more like a jolt of pure lust, enough to make him shift positions on the couch. Julia Cass was one desirable woman, especially at the moment. Not many women looked this good when they had just got up, with no makeup and long hair all tangled and wild around their shoulders. Natural beauty. He realized the way he was thinking and stomped hard on his carnal brakes.

  Man, what in the hell was his problem? He was acting like an idiot. She wasn’t interested in him, and even if she was, she wouldn’t any more act on a mutual attraction with a partner than he would. Partners just didn’t get involved. It was an unwritten rule. She’d already broken that rule once, with tragic consequences. She wasn’t crazy enough to do it again. Worse, she was J.D.’s sister, and J.D. was ultraprotective about his female relatives. Another good reason for Will to keep his distance. On the other hand, they weren’t really partners, technically speaking, and never had been.

  “So what’s on the agenda today? Must be something important, since we’re starting work before the sun comes all the way up,” she grumbled, taking another bite.

  “The sun’s up. See, look outside. Enjoy the morning.”

  Will dragged his eyes away from her mouth and watched Jasper amble out of the bedroom, yawning so widely that it looked almost painful. When he saw Will, he loped over and bounded up beside him on the couch, sniffing at the box of doughnuts. Will laughed and rubbed the floppy ears and fed him a generous bite.

  “Admit it, Cass. Your dog loves me.”

  “Yeah? Well, I never said he was bright, just loyal.” She propped her bare feet on a grandma-ish stool covered with an intricate needlepoint image of a white cat sitting in a rocking chair with a big ball of red yarn. “It’s probably just the doughnuts. He’s a bloodhound, you know, known for his nose. The smell of jellies always draws me in, too.”

  “Jellies are the way to your heart? I’ll have to remember that the next time I tick you off.”

  “You might have to buy a Dunkin’ Donuts franchise for that.” But she smiled, a real one that showed those damned dimples again. He stared at them until her smile faded and she said, “So, anything new on the case?”

  “Not yet. We really need to get a break soon. This guy’s going to strike again. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “Nothing’s come in on Maria Bota?”

  “Not yet. I still think she could be connected to the murder somehow. It’s worth pursuing, in any case. Something just doesn’t add up about her working at the judge’s house, then disappearing the way she did.”

  “I still haven’t gotten any hits on the scales. Maybe we ought to publicize a picture of it and see if we get a tip.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. The media would salivate to get anything, now that they’re calling him the Tongue Slasher to jump-start their ratings.” Will finished off his doughnut and wiped his fingers on a napkin. “I think we need to check out the rest of Lockhart’s girlfriends. Starting with Jane Cansell. With a little prodding, a jealous woman might be apt to point the finger at her rivals for his affection.”

  “You speak like a man who deals with lots of jealous women.”

  “Cass, c’mon, give it a rest, already. You do know you’ve got me pegged all wrong, don’t you? I date some, just like any other guy, but I’m no Casanova type, trust me.”

  “Could’ve fooled me that day out at the airport. But hey, it’s none of my business.”

  “What about you? You got a boyfriend that you pull a gun on first thing every morning?” He grinned, that visual amusing him. Especially if it was Max Hazard.

  “Nope, but I just moved here. The best ones haven’t found me yet.”

  Will laughed. That was probably true. He wondered about her past love life. She was in her midthirties. She was a drop-dead gorgeous woman. There had to be lots of men, other than Bobby Crismon, who’d been interested in her. Like Max Hazard. He was finding her almost as secretive as he was. Ironically, her reticence annoyed him.

  Julia stood up, stretched, and yawned as big as Jasper had. The stretch brought the robe up to dangerous levels. Same thing with his heartbeat and other things prone to rise up and be known.

  “Okay, Brannock, I’m going to take a quick shower. Try not to peek. And don’t let Jasper eat too many of those doughnuts. He’s got a delicate stomach. And don’t snoop around, either.”

  “Me? You wound me, Cass.”

  Will watched her until she disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door. He heard the lock turn. There was just no denying it. He was interested in her, very much so and no doubt about it. God, next he’d be having dreams about her. Okay, so be it. Maybe someday, maybe after they solved this ugly case and went their separate ways, he to the TBI, she to the CPD. Then they wouldn’t be colleagues, exactly. Maybe he’d ask her out. Maybe she’d go, maybe she wouldn’t. And that would end it. Time would tell. Meanwhile, he needed to concentrate on the case and not her legs or her dimples or that rockin’ body of hers. He fed Jasper the last bite of his cake doughnut, then picked up a glazed one. When he heard the shower come on, he walked back out on the porch and sat on the big swing facing the river. He ran the case through his mind. Over and over; how many times he couldn’t begin to count. Leads weren’t exactly pouring in right now, and it was frustrating as hell.

  A few minutes later, his cell phone dinged. It was his boss, Special Agent in Charge Phil Hayes. He answered, said hello, and then listened as Phil filled him in on the latest development. Frowning, he finished the call just before Julia showed up in the doorway, dressed in a dark blue polo shirt and jeans. Her Glock was buckled to her belt, along with her badge, and she had a lightweight white jacket in her hand.

  “Cass, you ever heard of a guy named Roc VanVeter?”

  “That jerk radio guy? Sure, who hasn’t?”

  “Well, he’s dead. Found hanging on the balcony of his high-rise downtown apartment. Guess what the killer left behind?”

  “Scales?”

  “You got it.”

  “Tongue and dimes, too?”

  All business now, Will nodded and opened the screen door. “Let’s go. We’ve got ourselves a serial. And a whole lot more trouble.”

  Chapter 13

  Roc VanVeter lived in a ritzy high-rise in the downtown area near the Walnut Street pedestrian bridge. It seemed that foulmouthed, crude, and vicious radio commentators did very well for themselves. Yes, VanVeter was the local shock jock that took low-life shots at anyone and everyone in the news. His radio and television shows consistently harassed and humiliated people who had the misfortune of catching his attention, especially anyone involved in sensational court cases or celebrity missteps.

  Julia shook her head as she and Will Brannock got out of his Hummer in a taped-off zone at the canopied entrance.

  “You do know that when the media gets wind of this, all hell’s going to break loose,” she said to Will as the uniformed police officer checked their ID and let them enter the building. “They were giddy enough about Lockhart’s murder. There’ll be celebrations in the press-room with this one.”

  “Let’s just hope it doesn’t happen for a few days.”

  “When it’
s Roc VanVeter? Dream on, Brannock.”

  “Where is he?” Will asked the policeman.

  Julia didn’t know the CPD police officer, but he was a young, muscular African-American, clean shaven, tough, a man who looked like a prizefighter. Probably a rookie, judging by his fresh-faced, eager response to Will’s inquiry.

  “Top floor. Penthouse apartment. Nothing’s been touched. They said to wait for you to get here.”

  “Good work. What’s your name?”

  “Officer Shane Williams. CPD.”

  “Who found the body?” Julia asked him.

  “Some old lady who lives in a high-rise just south of here. Said she likes to watch people through her telescope and called CPD when she saw a man hanging by the neck on a balcony. She thought it might be some kind of joke, but my partner and I checked it out and it wasn’t any mannequin. The victim was dead, with blood all over the place. That’s when we called it in to Chief Mullins. We’re still waiting for your forensic team to show up.”

  As the elevator whisked them up to the top floor, Julia handed Will a pair of latex gloves and paper booties that she’d brought in from the truck. They donned the protective gear, both serious about what they were about to walk into, well aware that a serial killer stalking the streets of Chattanooga was not something they wanted to deal with. When the doors slid open, they stepped into a silent hallway with dark gold travertine tiles and pale yellow walls set with gold glass sconces. Julia decided it definitely did not fit Roc VanVeter’s style. Nope, nasty graffiti and blood spatter was more in keeping with that guy’s personality.