by Freya Barker
Still, it beats staring at my ceiling obsessing over Bella, whom I haven’t seen in a week. Fuck, I used to stay busy all the time, but these days I just can’t bring myself to stir up interest in anything other than this particular case.
Our talk with the dispatcher, Trish, has indirectly netted the names of two more officers to look into. She was able to name the colleague who actually had taken the call from McMahan the night of Franklin Davis’ shooting, who in turn was able to recall quite a bit of detail. Including the call number of the second unit that showed up at the scene. It wasn’t hard to trace back the names of the officers.
I can’t do much with those names, though, except keep an eye on them. If I question them, word will surely get back to the chief, and I don’t want him to know we’re looking into him. Not until there is something solid I can produce in evidence.
I followed McMahan coming out of his office tonight, but instead of turning right to go home to his family, as he’d done every other night, he turned left. He drove into a new residential area behind the hospital, turned onto a driveway, and got out to knock on the door. I wasn’t able to get a good look at the person who let him in, so I’ve been waiting around, hoping to catch a glimpse.
This time I’m ready, and the moment the chief comes out the door, I have my camera poised and start clicking.
“GET ANYTHING?”
Damian looks up when I walk past the open door to his office.
“Maybe. Our chief took an hour detour on his way home tonight. Give me ten and I’ll show you.”
The beauty of digital photography is that there is no time lapse for developing. It is instant, and the moment I download the images on my computer, I have the connection we’ve been looking for.
“You’ll like this,” I announce, walking into Damian’s office and taking a seat across from his desk, tossing the printouts on his desk.
“Who is this?”
“The man walking away is McMahan, and the man who is standing in the lit doorway is none other than Eugene Lipczyk’s son: Dr. Scott Lipczyk.”
“Should I know him?”
“He happens to be an ER physician at Mercy and doesn’t seem to have any qualms putting his hands on women without invitation, namely your sister.”
“Are you shitting me?” I instantly feel the heat coming off Damian.
“Nope. And my guess is that if he got handsy with Bella, the likelihood is he’s gotten handsy with others as well.”
“Any record of that?”
“I haven’t had a chance to look into it yet, but I will. Although with Lipczyk senior on the hospital board, any complaint against his son may have been squashed before it got anywhere.”
“Unless they filed a complaint directly with the Durango PD,” Damian observes, and I pick up on his train of thought.
“Which might not have gotten very far either, if McMahan got his hands on them.”
“Damn. One hand washing the other. That might explain why Lipczyk was using that consortium trust fund to pay off the Davis family,” he surmises. “Payback.”
“Would be my guess.”
“Okay. Get Luna up to speed tomorrow, ask her to see what she can find out at Mercy, fish around the ER without drawing attention. You work on police reports, see what dirt you can come up with. This is starting to make sense, we just have to find the right loose thread and start pulling.”
“What about talking to Blackfoot? Who knows, he may have some insight.”
“I’ll talk to him tomorrow. We’re meeting for breakfast at CJ’s.” Damian gets up, tucks his phone in his pocket, and grabs his keys off the desk. “I’m heading home. I suggest you do the same.”
“I will soon.”
Soon turns out to be almost one in the morning before I walk out to my truck. Too pumped to sleep, so I find myself driving in the opposite direction, up the mountain to Bella’s house.
Her place is dark, quiet, but just sitting out here in my truck, like some creepy stalker, makes me feel more settled.
I recline my seat a little, so I can lay my head back, and mentally go over the bits and pieces I’ve uncovered, trying to put them in some kind of coherent order.
I found the reports. A whopping sixteen of them, dating back as far as eighteen years, when a girl at Lipczyk’s high school had claimed Scott followed her into the women’s bathroom and tried to force her to perform oral sex on him. The complaints vary from sexual harassment all the way to the statutory rape of a seventeen year old, only eight years ago. Scott had been almost thirty at the time.
Take one guess who was listed on all those cases as officer on record? Not sure how McMahan thought he’d be able to get away with that, except perhaps sheer arrogance.
I looked into Scott a little further and easily hacked his Facebook account. That’s where I found several pictures that confirm the personal relationship between McMahan and the Lipczyk family. He appears in a photo taken at some kind of family barbecue, and again with his arm around Scott’s shoulders at his graduation. In the description, McMahan is referred to as his godfather.
Slowly but surely, the puzzle pieces are starting to add up, painting an unmistakable picture.
A knock on my window startles me, and the first thing I notice is it’s starting to get a little lighter outside. A sleep-tousled Bella is standing barefoot in the dirt beside my truck.
“What are you doing out here?” I fire off at her the moment I open my door.
“I should be asking you,” she counters, her hands on her hips as she steps back, giving me room to get out.
“At least I’m dressed. You’re practically naked.”
“I’m wearing a robe,” she points out, but I happen to know what she has on under there is minimal to the point of nonexistent.
Without wasting any more words in this pointless conversation, I grab her hand and march her back inside.
“Coffee?” she asks, kicking the door shut and sauntering into the kitchen, as if I simply stopped by for a casual visit. At fucking four o’clock in the morning.
I’m pissed I fell asleep outside her door like some lovesick teenager, but I’m really ticked she caught me. Still, I answer, “Yes.”
The little smirk of her mouth spells trouble, and it stares me in the face when she turns around, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand, and her robe undone. I was right; what is underneath does not constitute coverage of any kind. The only things not see-through are the lace straps of her top and on the edge of her panties. She may as well be naked.
“Isabella...” I warn, when she walks over, her full breasts swaying with each careful step.
“I’ve been waking up every morning around this time, did you know that?” she asks, handing me my coffee, but making no effort to cover herself up. “I’ve tried going to sleep late, drinking a few glasses before I turn in, and I even bought a diffuser, hoping maybe aromatherapy would work, but nothing seems to keep me from waking up at the very crack of dawn. Why do you think that is?”
It doesn’t sound like a question that requires an answer. Not from me anyway. Besides, I’m not sure I quite trust myself to speak yet, not until I can peel my eyes away from that body. I take a good swig of my coffee instead, burning my mouth in the process. Jesus.
“I miss you.”
Those three words hit me hard. I focus on her liquid brown eyes that hold more than I deserve.
“Sweetheart, I don’t—”
“It’s funny,” she continues, undeterred. “I’ve spent the past week working hard to feel solid ground beneath my feet again. To get real with myself. Trying to process what happened up in that cabin, instead of shoving it down—where I would normally shove feelings I don’t want to examine too closely—only to have them blow up in my face at a later time. It’s been good. It’s been cathartic. A relief. Except for the one thing that has me wake up every morning between three and four, like some annoying internal alarm.” I just swallow hard as she slowly closes the distance between us. �
��Seeing your truck out there this morning clued me in.” She puts her hand in the middle of my chest, and I’m sure she can feel the heavy beat of my heart. “I miss you. I just wanted you to know that.” She turns away and heads back to the Keurig, dropping in a fresh pod.
“Goddammit, Squirt,” I grind out between clenched teeth, already moving close to her. I wrap my arms around her from behind, pulling her flush to my body as I drop my face in her tangled hair. “Are you sure you want this?” One hand slips under her flimsy top to cup her heavy breast, the other dives straight into her panties where I find her already wet for me.
The small gasp from between her parted lips as I roll the pad of my finger over her hard little clit, works like a red flag on a bull. I pull my hands free and strip down her robe before lifting hers to brace against the counter. I sink to my knees behind her and pull that flimsy piece of confection down her legs. The lush, dimpled cheeks of her butt are an invitation to put my teeth to. She jumps a little at my nip, but instantly lifts up on her toes and tilts her ass high enough for me to see the slick promise of her pussy.
“Yessss,” she hisses when I spread her cheeks with my hands and lick her slit, front to back. There is nothing fucking sexier than a woman who knows how to take what she wants, and Bella knows. She rides my face with full abandon, and I almost come in my jeans when she throws her head back, brushing my face with her long hair, and moans out her release.
I don’t know how fast to get to my feet, drop my pants, and tag my wallet to fish out the protection I’d started carrying around.
“Loose the top,” I mumble, my lips on her shoulder as I try to focus on rolling the condom on. I whip my own shirt over my head, so I can feel her skin against mine as I curve around her. With one hand low on her belly, and the other bracing against the counter, I line my cock up to her entrance and slam balls deep into her wet heat.
“I THINK I COULD SLEEP a few more hours now,” she says, twirling her fingers through the down on my chest.
We’re lying on the kitchen floor, sticky but sated, and already I’m beating myself up.
“I’m not sure—” Her fingers come to press against my lips.
“I am. You’re good for me, Jas,” she whispers, pressing kisses to my chest. “I know you don’t believe it, but give me a chance to prove it to you. That’s all I ask.”
I answer the only way possible.
“Come to bed, Squirt.”
CHAPTER 23
BELLA
“Have you seen Joanne around?”
Ryan is waiting outside the women’s locker room for me and pushes away from the wall when I come out.
“Not in the last few days. Why?”
“I’ve left a few messages already and I haven’t heard back yet. Last time I saw her was the night she and I went out before our shift.”
“Maybe she’s on vacation?” he suggests, but I shake my head.
“No, I’m sure she would’ve mentioned something to me.”
“If you’re worried we can check with Brenda, I think she’s working. If anyone would know, it’s her.” I follow Ryan into the ER where he easily locates her. “Hey, gorgeous,” he flirts with the nurse who’s old enough to be his mother. “Do you have a new haircut? Something is different about you.”
Even the generally down-to-earth Brenda is not immune to his charms, but she gives as good as she gets, despite the faint tug of her lips. “Give it up, boy. Told you before and I’ll tell you again; you ain’t man enough to handle me.”
“Breaking my heart, Brenda. Breaking my heart.”
I shake my head at the silly banter, but can’t help a smile. From the corner of my eye, I see Scott Lipczyk leaning an elbow on the nurses’ station, looking in our direction.
“Have you seen Joanne around?” I ask, wanting to get out of here before LimpDick decides to come looking for another confrontation.
Brenda’s eyes immediately swing around to the nurses’ station. “Not here,” she says under her breath. “I’ll meet you at your rig. Give me five minutes.”
She slips through the curtain into a cubicle, and Ryan motions for me to follow him out. Well, that doesn’t do much for my peace of mind.
“What was that all about?” I wonder out loud, when we climb in the back of the rig to check it’s all stocked up.
“We’re about to find out.” Ryan’s eyes are focused over my shoulder, and I turn to see Brenda hurrying toward us.
“Didn’t want open up that can of worms in there,” she says by way of explanation. “I’m not sure exactly what happened, but Joanne called me, not last week but the week before, asking if I could take her shift that night. She said she wasn’t feeling well, but I’d heard all about the showdown with him—” She tilts her head in the direction of the hospital. “—the night before. When I asked if it had anything to do with that, she didn’t deny it, just said she might need to take some time off. That man is a snake. I suggest you be careful around him.”
“Wait,” I call out when she turns and starts back. “Will you tell me if you hear anything from her?”
She gives me a thumbs-up and keeps going. Just then the radio crackles with our first call of the day.
“I’m gonna call Jasper,” I announce when Ryan pulls away from the hospital.
“You don’t think it’s a bit over the top to call in the FBI just because she hasn’t called you back yet?” I swing my arm, hitting his shoulder. “Ouch. Didn’t know you’d get violent.”
“Don’t be an ass. I was thinking maybe he could find out her husband’s phone number so I could try that. He’s good with stuff like that.”
“Oh he is, is he?” Ryan teases. “So am I to deduce from that you two are back together?”
I smile, shrugging my shoulders. “It’s complicated.”
I don’t tell him I kissed Jasper goodbye on my porch steps early this morning, or that he made it so I’ll never be able to look at my Keurig again without smiling. The truth is, though, things aren’t that simple. I’m sure there will be other roadblocks ahead, either thrown up by him, or even by me—but right now—I’m riding the high this morning left me on. Staying in the moment.
“Seems pretty simple from where I’m sitting.”
Jasper
“That was Bella.”
Everyone at the table turns their head toward me.
Damian had brought Blackfoot back to our office after their breakfast. CJ’s diner being a favorite breakfast spot in town, the risk was too big they’d be overheard. We’ve been laying out what we’ve uncovered so far, and are in the process of planning out next steps.
“She hasn’t been able to get hold of a friend of hers in well over a week and wants me to look up a number for the woman’s husband.”
“So look it up,” is Damian’s response.
“I will, but I thought it interesting that the friend also happens to be an ER nurse at Mercy, and she went AWOL right after a confrontation with the very man we were just talking about; Scott Lipczyk.”
“What’s her name?” Luna wants to know, already poised at her keyboard.
“Joanne Shredder.”
“So what kind of confrontation?” This from Keith, who’s been relatively quiet since walking in here.
“According to Bella, it was in the middle of the hospital lobby; the guy was being a douche, her friend told him off and he threatened her job. Apparently the friend knew Lipczyk in high school.”
“Joanne Thompson?” Damian asks, flipping through the sixteen archived reports I printed out this morning and pulling one from the bottom of the stack.
“Thompson is her maiden name,” Luna pipes up. “Married Mark Shredder in 2010.”
“This is her,” Damian says, tapping his finger on the report. “Same Joanne who was accosted in the high school bathroom by this dirtbag. Report says she came into the station with her parents to file a complaint. She was brushed off as a...” he reads straight from the report, “... jealous attention seeker. In contra
st Scott was described coming across as an intelligent young man from an upstanding family. Signed by Tom McMahan.”
“Jesus.” Keith lowers his head in his hands. “This makes me sick. Worked with this guy for twelve years, never liked him much, but this turns my stomach.” He waves his hand at the pile of reports.
“Got a number for the husband,” Luna says, handing me a piece of paper.
Via the husband, I’m able to get hold of Joanne Shredder, who according to him is visiting her sister in Pagosa Springs. The woman is more than a little apprehensive at first, but once I explain my call, she opens up. The same night of the incident in the lobby, Lipczyk followed her out into the parking lot after her shift. He shoved her against the car, had his hand around her throat, and threatened her. By the end of our conversation, I manage to convince her to talk to Keith Blackfoot, who takes the call in Damian’s office.
“She didn’t say anything to her husband, because she knew he’d insist she report the doctor, or worse, try to confront him. She just packed up her baby and left for her sister’s.”
“Don’t blame her,” Dylan comments. “Given her previous experience reporting the ass.”
“Except she says she was planning to come back in a few days anyway,” Keith interjects, walking into the room. “She needed some time to think, but had the foresight to have her sister take some pictures of the bruising around her neck. She wants to file an official complaint, she just wants to discuss it with her husband first. She will call to let me know when she’s coming into the station, so I can make sure I’m there. We can kill two birds with one stone, if we play this right.”
“You mean use the woman as bait?” Luna clearly does not like that idea.
“Her idea, not mine, Roosberg,” Blackfoot fires back.
“It’s a good one,” I have to agree. “Filing an official report will provoke Lipczyk and prompt McMahan to try and intervene. We can be on top of it.”