Collision Control

by C. A. Szarek

  Nah. Wishful thinking.

  The trailer park had been vacant since Jared was a teen and most of the homes had been removed. There were still eight or nine on site. Decaying on their cement slabs, with various interlopers the police always ended up running off.

  Over and over.

  If the place could reopen and new homes were brought in, it’d help Antioch as a whole, forcing the druggies to find a new base, but the guy that owned the property was bankrupt.

  Why he didn’t sell was a mystery, but it didn’t really matter. Even if the bank owned the trailer park, APD would still have to stick to it like glue.

  Scum wasn’t concerned with who held the papers.

  Jared shut his pickup off and slipped out, wincing when the unintentional slam of his door rang in his ears.

  His partner’s head shot in his direction.

  A cool breeze chilled Jared’s cheeks, but he had to convince himself that was also the reason for the tremors chasing each other down his spine.

  Something’s wrong.

  His gut said it had everything to do with his brother.

  “You okay, partner?” Lucas asked, when Jared reached them.

  He forced a nod and cleared his throat. “What’ve we got?”

  “Brandelyn Willis and Michael Gentile are dead,” Carrigan answered.

  Shock washed over Jared and he squared his shoulders. “From Pompa’s gang.” The statement came out slower than planned, and he swallowed hard.

  They are in Antioch.

  Where’s Joe?

  Cole’s sharp gray gaze told him his partner had caught the shake in his words.

  Fuck.

  “No sign of the man of the hour,” Sergeant Crowley said, “but there’s blood on the floor behind a sorry excuse for a couch. Hopefully we’ll get some DNA.”

  “Let’s go inside.” Jared’s knees wobbled, but he locked them in place.

  “Waiting on Crime Scene,” Cole said.

  “Rather process it myself,” Jared said.

  Once again, his partner studied him. “No hurry. They’re not going anywhere.” Lucas’ mouth twitched, but the attempt at humor was lost on Jared—the FBI agent, too, if her glare was any indication.

  Stop looking at me like that.

  Jared always preferred to process his own scenes. Carried an evidence kit in the back of his truck as well as the white Crown Vic he usually drove when he was working. Cole knew that. It wasn’t unusual. Jared had always helped the CSIers out anyway he could over the years, as well.

  “I’m with Manning. I don’t trust this to anyone but me.” Carrigan’s even statement had Lucas smirking.

  “You sound just like me when I got here.”

  Jared snorted. He remembered.

  Cole had been irritated with everything APD had done regarding his case at the time—catching human trafficker and murderer, Carlo Maldonado.

  “Our team really is awesome,” Jared said. “Neil and his guys know what they’re doing. As does our lab. I just usually like to get in there on my own. Assess it with my own eyes.”

  One of Carrigan’s fair eyebrows shot up. She wasn’t convinced. “Right. I’ll have my own look, if you don’t mind.”

  Sergeant Crowley didn’t look impressed with the FBI agent—his mouth was set in a hard line. He stared hard at her, not moving, even as a frigid wind shifted his hair.

  “Of course.” Lucas’ tone was dry, and he gestured toward the trailer. “After you then, I guess.”

  She turned without another word, Cole on her heels.

  Crowley let out a low whistle. “That one’s a piece of work.”

  Jared laughed. “Oh, buddy, you got no idea.” He slapped his co-worker on the shoulder and jogged after his two partners.

  He’d seen many a body in his career, both as a patrol cop being first on scene then as a detective for APD, but for some reason, sadness washed over him at the sight of the young blonde woman’s body.

  According to the FBI case file, she was only twenty-five, and a virtual tech-genius. Brandelyn Willis should’ve used her talents in the real world, instead of joining up with his brother’s gang.

  The intel also reported she’d been involved with Joe, so who knew? Maybe that was what had kept her on the wrong side of the law. She’d had a rough life—not unlike Jared and his brother. Grown up in the system and having done juvie time for hacker jobs about five times before aging out of Child Protective Services. She’d also taken the rap for selling information and goods she’d obtained illegally.

  Like Joe, since reaching adulthood, Brandelyn Willis had managed to stay out of jail. So, she’d refined her skills and not gotten caught, because she obviously hadn’t changed her ways.

  Photos in the file showed a pretty girl with fair hair and big brown eyes. Slender and petite, she looked too delicate for car theft. Jared didn’t want to look at that form marred with bullet holes, her life stolen by her choices.

  “What a waste,” his partner said, as if Cole had read Jared’s mind. He hovered over Brandelyn Willis’ pale body.

  Jared sighed and threw Lucas a nod. He surveyed their surroundings like he was supposed to, being observant. Memorizing the scene.

  He’d always been good at this part of investigation, catching things other detectives hadn’t. Lucas always liked to get his impression, no matter what case they were on.

  Too bad Carrigan thinks otherwise.

  The place had seen better days. Wallpaper peeling, the carpet torn and pulled up from the floor—missing in some places. Only two of the kitchen cupboards had a door, and one of the sinks was missing. Someone had gutted the place.

  The gray countertop was complete at least, currently splattered with blood. A shell casing sat at the edge, but Jared couldn’t tell what caliber from where he stood.

  Someone—probably Carter Bennett—had kicked the door so hard it was completely gone, ripped from frame and hinges. It lay in two pieces, one in the kitchen and the other in front of a dark green couch that had seen better days. Wood fragments were scattered from the threshold to the kitchen.

  “Bloody footprints over here,” Jared called, as soon as the evidence caught his eye. “Big.” He compared them to his own size thirteens on the filthy linoleum.

  “Smeared or clear?” Cole asked.

  “Pretty clear, actually. I can see brand imprint. It’s something to go on, anyway.”

  “Good deal.” His partner didn’t look up from the female body. His small flashlight’s beam darted around her bloody clothing. “Looks like she’s been hit twice.”

  “Damn, I guess it counted,” Jared said, keeping his voice low.

  Carrigan took ginger steps, looking around the crappy trailer, notebook in hand, pen poised. She stared and jotted in rhythm, standing still for only a few seconds as she cataloged, but her movements had a confident care. She was making sure not to contaminate the scene.

  Still, Jared tried not to roll his eyes when he observed her stiff back and hard expression.

  Game face, I guess.

  Her wavy strawberry blonde hair was in its normal librarian’s bun. Navy blazer firmly in place, as well as matching dark slacks.

  When she smiled, she was rather pretty. Too bad the stick up her ass ruined it.

  “It’s getting dark.” Cole stood next to the other body now, a huge man lying on his side by the L-shaped bar in the kitchen. Michael Gentile was built like a truck. Tall. All muscle. “Not much light coming in.” Lucas gestured to the two windows in the living room with his flashlight. One had been shot out, glass littered the carpet.

  “Yeah, no electricity, so we’re better off letting Crime Scene light up the place and get what they need to,” Jared said.

  Carrigan had a flashlight out too, shining it on the fragmented linoleum floor of the kitchen. “Shell casings,” she said, as if Jared and his partner hadn’t just spoken. “Looks like a forty.”

  “I’m sure there’re a lot. Let’s head outside and wait for Neil and his t
eam,” Lucas said.

  “Neil and his team are here.” Neil’s portly frame filled the doorway of the ratty mobile home, the thick black strap of his case over his shoulder. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The wind rustled his balding hair, and one side was swooped up like a wing. “And Neil doesn’t need cops contaminating the scene.” The lead tech’s voice was dry.

  Jared smirked.

  “Agent Carrigan preferred to see things first-hand,” Cole said, a smile playing at his lips.

  Go, partner. Throw her under the bus.

  Carrigan shrugged, unrepentant.

  Neil gave a curt nod and gestured for Chuck, one of his guys, to enter the trailer.

  The crime scene photographer, Marion, glared at Jared when she slipped inside, but she was already snapping pictures.

  Amusement rippled across his partner’s face and Jared didn’t know whether to sigh or scowl at him.

  The tall, slender Asian beauty was on the shy side. A nice, wholesome girl, and Jared had had sex with her once, about two years ago. One-night stands were far from her routine, and he’d never called her after they’d gone out—and spent the night at his place.

  Why she’d gone to bed with him was a mystery, but after the shouting lecture she’d graced him with a few weeks later, Marion had assured Jared she wouldn’t suffer from that particular lapse in judgment again.

  Jared had to admire her self-control.

  She never spoke to him. Not even about work. Marion would always go through someone else, rejecting his repeated attempt to smooth things over. He’d regretted how he’d treated her from the morning after their night together.

  He’d tried to apologize tons of times. Marion wouldn’t hear it—even two years later.

  Jared had seen her struggling with heavy equipment a few weeks ago when he’d been dropping off some evidence at the lab, but Marion hadn’t let him help. Even when she’d almost tripped. She’d just mumbled about him under her breath. First-class jerk, she’d said.

  She was right.

  The photographer’s glare or scowl was the only look he ever received. Not that he’d ever expected a smile.

  Marion was sweet, reliable. The kind of girl who would do anything for the people she cared about.

  Relationship material.

  Mel’s blue eyes danced into his mind. Her smile, the long, light brown waves of her hair. Her gorgeous curves.

  Shit.

  Jared had screwed things up with the photographer, and he was on his way to do the same with the teacher, too.

  No.

  Somehow, he had to convince Mel to go out with him.

  She was different. Made him want to be different.

  “Whaddya think, Neil?” Cole asked, yanking Jared from thought.

  Thank God. He was likely to depress himself.

  The lead crime scene tech hovered over Michael Gentile’s body. “Two to the chest. Probably dead for a few hours. But Max would know better than me.”

  Assistant to the Medical Examiner, Max Koto, had yet to make scene, but Jared didn’t doubt he’d be there soon.

  Marion sauntered past Jared and started snapping photos of the bloody footprints without so much as a look his way. He winced against the bright light of her camera flash, despite Chuck having set up perimeter lights so the whole trailer was illuminated.

  “Well, we’ll get out of here so you can work. Gonna look around this place to see if anyone saw anything,” Cole said.

  “Doubt it,” Jared answered. “I’m sure sirens set off all the scum-radar, if the gunshots didn’t make the druggies scatter. This place is the ghost town it’s supposed to be, ’cept for us.”

  “Sergeant Crowley said the nine-one-one call was anonymous,” Carrigan said.

  The way she said the sergeant’s name made Jared assess her. She’d stared at the long-time cop the night they’d met at McAuley’s. Did the snooty FBI agent have a thing for him?

  Jared narrowed his eyes.

  Another member of APD besides Cole she can halfway stand?

  Nah.

  “Send you my initial report in the morning, like always.”

  “Thanks, Neil.” Cole offered a head nod and a thumbs-up that had Carrigan rolling her eyes.

  Jared chuckled and followed them out, as the crime scene unit continued to do their thing.

  Sergeant Crowley was speaking to Officer Nina Ricketts. He gestured to Jared, Lucas and Carrigan.

  “Ricketts says there’s blood between this trailer and that one.” He pointed to the mobile home sitting in the next lot, only about ten feet from the one where the bodies were found.

  “There’s a nice gap in the skirting and a smeared bloody handprint,” Ricketts said. Her blonde ponytail whipped around with the winter wind.

  “All right. Widen the perimeter,” Carrigan ordered.

  “You got it,” Crowley said. He was still holding a fat yellow roll of Police Line. Do Not Cross barrier tape.

  “I’ll give CSI a holler to check it out,” Cole said.

  “Nah, got a kit in the truck. I can see if I can lift something,” Jared said.

  “There’s also some nice boot prints in the dirt,” Ricketts said. “Thanks to the rain we had yesterday.”

  “Awesome,” Cole said. “I’ll grab Neil to see if he can get an impression.”

  “I’ll grab my kit.” Jared jogged across the yard. When he hit the narrow roadway, gravel crunched under his combat boots and his leather jacket creaked.

  Frigid air burned his ears and he hunched his shoulders, hunkering down in his bomber.

  Damn, it’s cold.

  Something made Jared pause before he reached his F-150. He tensed and flexed his right hand, hovering his palm over the Sig in his waistband.

  What the hell?

  His skin crawled and it had nothing to do with the temperature. He pressed forward, letting his eyes dart around the road, yard and buildings in view.

  The streetlight on the far side of the former office was burned out, so he couldn’t see much. It was fully dark now.

  Someone was watching him.

  It wasn’t a cop.

  There were only two uniformed officers left—Shannon Crowley and Nina Ricketts. Two of the cruisers had peeled off, the other cops back to patrol duties.

  Max from the ME’s office hadn’t arrived yet, either.

  The CSI van was parked on the other side of his truck, further blocking proper view of the whole office structure.

  Jared’s gut told him someone was right there, right out of sight. He’d left his radio in the truck, and if he shouted for help, he risked spooking his observer. He didn’t know if whoever watched him was armed, and he wasn’t wearing a vest.

  Fuck.

  He drew his weapon, muttering a quick prayer. After inching closer to his truck, he flexed his grip on his forty and concentrated on penetrating the dimness with sharpened vision. To no avail.

  Double fuck.

  A dark figure slid into view from the side of the decrepit building, both palms spread wide. “Don’t shoot, little brother. It’s me.”

  “Joe…” His brother’s name fell from his mouth, the barest whisper, as shock washed over his whole body.

  Jared’s heart galloped, but he didn’t lower his gun.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He reholstered his weapon. Jared glanced over his shoulder, but none of his co-workers were in sight.

  Thank God.

  “J-man.” Joe offered a small smile with the childhood nickname. “Look at you. All grown up. Taller than me. You look great.”

  Mixed emotions hit him in the gut. Jared rushed forward.

  His brother braced his broad shoulders as if he thought Jared was going to clobber him, but he threw his arms around the man.

  Joe returned his embrace with tentative arms.

  When he pulled back, Jared noticed the blood. Covered the guy’s whole torso. “Fuck. Are you hurt?”

  “Nah, man. Not my blood.” Sorrow rippl
ed across Joe’s face, but his brother schooled his expression fast.

  Jared pressed his truck key into his brother’s palm. “Get in the F-150. Keep your head low.”

  “Jared—”

  “Just get in the damn truck. I’ll be right back.” Jared cursed every word in the book as he grabbed the evidence kit from the toolbox mounted in the truck’s bed. He whirled away, even before Joe had shut the passenger door.

  His instincts screamed to protect his brother, even if it was going to fuck Jared.

  No matter what Taylor Carrigan thought, Joe didn’t kill John Murray.

  One look into Joe’s dark eyes confirmed what he’d already known.

  His brother wasn’t a killer.

  And what’re you going to do with him now?

  Jared couldn’t take him to his apartment.

  “Fuck me.” He rammed his hand into his hair, tugging it tight. His whole body shook as he headed back toward his two partners.

  Sergeant Crowley was restringing yellow tape and Jared cursed some more.

  You’re damn lucky he didn’t see Joe.

  Or…you with Joe.

  Jared ordered the inner monologue to go to hell and trudged on, joining Lucas and Carrigan between the trailers.

  Neil was with them, and Cole was lighting the area as the crime scene tech knelt, getting ready to pour plaster so he could solidify and lift the boot imprints Ricketts had found.

  Probably Joe’s footprints.

  Probably his bloody handprint on the trailer skirting, too.

  Jared sucked in a breath, even though the winter air stung his lungs. It was good. A little pain would help him focus.

  All this time he’d been dying to be the one to find Joe.

  And he had.

  Yay?

  Why didn’t you make a plan?

  Idiot.

  Now that his brother had found him, Jared was lost.

  That little foster kid without a home.

  A voice whispered he owed his partner—probably both of them—full disclosure, but he ignored it. Cole would probably understand, maybe help him out of his mess, but Carrigan would take pleasure in snapping metal bracelets on his wrists and loading him in a cell right next to Joe.