Jamie Hill Triple Threat (A Cop In The Family)

by Jamie Hill

  He repacked his bag and wheeled it to the kitchen where she was just finishing her coffee.

  "Feel better?" Her amused expression mocked him.

  "Mostly. Some aspirin wouldn't kill me."

  "Ask and you shall receive." She removed a bottle from the cabinet and poured him a short glass of water. With one raised brow she asked, "Anything else I can get you?"

  Nate bit his tongue. He had a whole list of things on his mind but this didn't seem the time. She seemed all business this morning, a no-nonsense detective, and he felt ashamed of himself for drinking too much the night before. What kind of a first impression did that make? She probably wanted nothing more to do with him, and he couldn't blame her. What an idiot I am. "This is good, thanks." He popped a couple of aspirin and washed them down. "Guess I'm ready."

  "Let's hit it." She led the way to the garage.

  Nate grabbed his bag and followed her out.

  On the drive to the office, he tried again. "Mel, can we talk about last night, please? I really need to—"

  She whipped in to a parking space and stopped, looking over at him. "We're here. I told you, I only live a couple blocks away. I think we need to focus on the case, maybe try to figure out the significance of the cheerleading uniforms. They have to mean something."

  He sighed, and nodded. "You're right. I'll just put my things back into my car."

  Mel got out and pointed to the next row over. "Down that way. Biggest shiny black SUV in the row. Can't miss it."

  Nate smiled. "I remember. Besides, if you've seen one FBI SUV, you've seen them all." He wheeled his bag to his vehicle and loaded it in the rear.

  Mel had gone as far as the front door, where she paused and waited for him. He hurried to catch up, once again admiring the view of her shapely physique in jeans. Focus on the case, he internally scolded himself, but when he found himself behind her climbing a set of stairs, his mind was lost.

  He allowed himself the pleasure of ogling her for a few minutes, until they drew nearer the homicide department where he grew serious and focused his attention where it needed to be.

  Stone was already in the war room, making notes on a pad when they walked in. "Morning," he said, glancing from one to the other of them. "Notice I didn't say 'good' morning. That's because it's a Saturday, and we're here."

  "Hey little dude." Mel slipped into the seat next to him. "One Saturday isn't going to kill you."

  Nate's heart sunk. He'd assumed they'd been planning to work today. Mel hadn't told him differently. Of course, they couldn't work seven days a week. Just because he was here, he shouldn't have expected them to shift their routines. But they had, without saying a word.

  She glanced at Stone's notes. "What are you working on?"

  "The cheerleader angle. Why does he dress them in the old-time uniforms? Based on the amount of blood, the women are wearing them when they're murdered. And by the way, forensics confirmed that the slasher is a lefty, determined by the direction of the slash marks."

  "Sure." Nate sat a couple chairs down, where he had the best view of the bulletin board. "You could see that from the photos."

  Stone nodded. "Obvious, right?" He tossed Mel a glance but she didn't look at him, and didn't say a word.

  Nate watched the exchange but didn't understand, and didn't figure he'd better try. "Mel just said she wanted to work on the cheerleader angle today. You two really are in sync."

  "We are." Stone nodded, grinning.

  Mel rolled her eyes. "Or, we could have talked about it on the phone this morning. But if you want to go with the 'in sync' thing, that's cool." She glanced up when Samantha Becker entered the room. "Hey Sam. Thanks for coming in."

  "Good morning everyone." The detective sounded just as chipper as ever, and looked even perkier than the day before wearing a pink blouse, jeans, and pink pony-tail holder. "It's a beautiful day out there."

  Nate's head had been feeling better, but the sound of her cheery, almost squeaky voice caused a dull ache to return to the base of his neck.

  "Morning Agent Willis." Becker sat next to him, but not too close. She seemed ready to work like the others, and Nate thought that was a very good thing.

  "Hey." He didn't dare say too much, even small talk might make it seem that he wanted to carry on a conversation with her.

  "So where are we at?" Becker glanced around the room.

  Mel tapped her pencil on the table. "Why cheerleader uniforms? Why fifty-year old women? We have some questions to answer."

  Nate studied the victims' photos as he spoke. "Our guy could have been spurned by a cheerleader in high school. Maybe he's paying them back for the way they treated him."

  Stone piped up. "The uniforms are from the seventies. A woman in her fifties would have been in high school at that time. Does that make our perpetrator also that age?"

  Becker scribbled on her notepad. "If he was spurned by these particular women it does."

  Mel shook her head. "It's doubtful he went to school with these specific women. Two of them didn't grow up in Wichita and Donna Leonard didn't even graduate from high school."

  Nate nodded. "She was bipolar. They probably didn't know what that meant in those days. She would have had trouble in school."

  "Besides," Mel screwed up her face. "I can't see our guy being in his fifties. None of the women were murdered where they were found, so he's had to kill then move them. They've all been slender, but still we're talking about this guy lifting a hundred pounds of dead weight, pardon the pun."

  Nate couldn't resist. "Are you suggesting a fifty-year old man wouldn't be up to that task? Pardon me while I go get fitted for my truss."

  She chuckled. "You are nowhere near fifty. You're nowhere near forty, are you?"

  He waved her off. "I'll never tell. But seriously, I was just giving you the business. I agree with you. Statistically, the perp in cases like these is generally in the twenty-five to forty age range. Which gives us another angle to consider. We could be looking at a guy who had some issues with his mother."

  "His mother?" Stone blinked a couple times and looked at the photos. "Who would do such a thing to his mother?"

  "Probably not a good little Asian boy." Nate waved his pencil in the air. "Which allows us to add 'most likely Caucasian' to our profile."

  They all studied the photos in silence. Nate's comment about the perp having issues with his mother had obviously thrown them for a loop, and they were taking time to digest it.

  "Interesting theory." Mel nodded. "But at this point it's just that—a theory. I think we have to keep all our options open."

  "Of course we do," Nate agreed. But just wait and see when this case is solved, I bet I'm proved right. He smiled, keeping his thoughts to himself. He remembered something else and asked, "The vice cop one of the girls mentioned, Marshall somebody?"

  Mel nodded. "Brady Marshall. Been in Special Investigations for a number of years."

  "You think he'd come over and talk to us about the case? He most likely knows the neighborhood. We've got a lot of leads to track down. Thrift stores in the area that might have sold those uniforms, that kind of stuff."

  "I'm sure he would, but it's going to have to be Monday."

  "Monday it is."

  They batted around more ideas for another couple of hours, and when someone mentioned lunch, Nate glanced at his watch. He looked at Mel. "We seem to be at a standstill until the first of the week. I'd like to take the case files with me to study over the rest of the weekend. We can pick this up again Monday morning."

  Stone and Becker both lit up. Mel seemed to like the idea, but didn't want to appear too enthused. "If you say so, I think that would be all right."

  They stood and each of them gathered their own paperwork. Nate took the opportunity to speak softly to Becker. "I wanted to apologize for last night. I think I was trying a little too hard to unwind and forgot I hadn't eaten much yesterday. The beer knocked me on my ass."

  She stared up at him with a pleasa
nt but blank expression. "I don't know what you're referring to. Last night was fun. I hope you'll be in town long enough that we can all do it again." She gathered her things, turned and walked out.

  Mel followed, leaving him standing there with Stone. Nate scratched his head. "The females in your department have me bamboozled. I've tried to apologize to each of them for drinking too much last night, but neither one wants to hear it. So, do I have anything to apologize to you for after last night?"

  Stone grinned. "Oh, if I told you now, that would be waaay too easy. You need to live in fear a little while longer."

  Nate shook his head, unable to suppress his grin. Mel's partner was a pretty cool guy. "Jerk," he muttered genially as they walked out. "You're so much like Mel, it's scary."

  Stone kept walking toward the door. "I'll take that as a compliment. Enjoy your weekend in Kansas, Agent Willis. Hope I don't see the rest of you soon."

  "Hope I don't see you either," Mel called back, and added, "See you Becker."

  "Bye all." Becker followed Stone out.

  Nate turned to Mel and blinked. "Hope I don't see you?"

  She smiled. "If we see each other soon, it means we got called in to work another homicide."

  "Oh! Of course." He looked toward the empty doorway. "Hope I don't see you either."

  Mel laughed. "I'm famished. Shall we grab a bite to eat before I show you to your hotel? That is, if you've remembered the name of it by now."

  He patted his breast pocket. "I have their card, right here. I'm starving, too. How about a more leisurely lunch, instead of grabbing on the run. Pick someplace nice, anywhere that isn't full of cops, that is."

  She smiled. "Planning to do something illegal?"

  He sidled up close to her. "Of course not. But possibly something immoral, and I don't need fifty of your closest friends watching."

  She seemed to contemplate his offer for a moment before replying, "Okay, I'm game. I know just the place. Do you like Italian?"

  He let his gaze travel to her full, lush lips. "I love Italian."

  Her eyes captured his for a moment, and they studied each other. She pulled away. "Grab your files and follow me. The restaurant's not far, but I think we should take two cars. That way neither one of us will overindulge on the wine."

  He grinned. "I don't plan on doing that again for a long time. But I'll follow you, just because I like the view."

  She looked over her shoulder and smiled.

  Chapter Four

  The restaurant was crowded for noontime, but they had a booth in the corner available. Mel threaded her way through the tables, trying to keep up with the waiter. She slid into the booth and didn't stop until she'd reached the middle.

  Nate moved in from the other side, sliding around until their legs touched. He glanced at her and smiled.

  She looked away quickly, suddenly feeling nervous and shy. The waiter was explaining the daily specials but all she could think about was the warmth of Nate's thigh pressed against hers.

  "You said something about wine?" Nate asked softly.

  "One glass," she agreed.

  "Red or white?"

  "Um, red, please."

  He pointed to a selection on the menu then requested more time before they ordered. The waiter nodded and left. Nate smiled as he went, then said to Mel, "If that boy wants a good tip, he better figure out we're not going to be rushed here today. I said leisurely lunch and I meant it."

  She leaned back against the booth and sighed. "Sounds good. I haven't taken a lot of time to relax since this whole thing began. It's been a stressful couple of weeks."

  "I understand the feeling. Even now, it almost seems wrong sitting here enjoying ourselves when that madman is still out there. I want to be doing something. Patience is not my strongest virtue."

  She smiled at that. "What is your strongest virtue, SSA Willis?"

  The waiter returned with their wine and Nate smiled. "Saved by the waiter."

  The young man poured a small amount for Nate to taste. Nate did, and nodded his approval, so the waiter filled each of their glasses.

  "We'll have the Antipasto for starters, and after that we'll place our order."

  "Sure," the boy said, and walked off.

  Nate lifted his glass and swirled the contents. "Not going to have him bring our salads after one bite of the appetizer."

  Mel chuckled. "You were serious about this leisurely lunch business, weren't you?"

  He gazed into her eyes. "Let's put it this way. When we leave here, I have an empty hotel room and three dead people's case files to go home to. Now, what do you think I'd rather be doing this afternoon?"

  The sultry tone of his voice sent a chill right to her core. She lifted her wine glass and clinked it carefully against his. "We'll eat very slowly."

  Nate smiled. "Now that I've got your undivided attention, you're going to hear my apology for last night. Whether you choose to accept it is up to you."

  "Nate, really. I don't need—"

  He lifted one finger and pressed it to her lips. "You may not need to hear it, but I need to say it. I'm sorry, Mel. I never drink that much and I still can't believe how badly it affected me. I'm mortified how I acted in front of you and your colleagues."

  She blinked. "Is that what you're sorry about?"

  He cocked his head. "Of course it is. What did you think I was going to say?"

  She looked down, unsure if she should even bring it up.

  Nate placed one figure under her chin and raised her face to meet his. "What did you think I was apologizing for?"

  "For kissing me?"

  The corner of his mouth twitched before his face split into a wide grin. "Oh God, no! I expect there's going to be a lot more kissing. I hope I don't have to apologize for that."

  Her heart soared, and she couldn't hold back her grin. Before she could answer, their young waiter returned with the appetizer, some plates and warm bread. "Thank you," she said to him.

  "Give us about fifteen minutes, then we'll be ready to order," Nate advised the boy.

  He nodded and retreated.

  Mel focused on the big plate of meat and cheeses. "This looks good." She reached for her plate but Nate scooped her hand into his.

  "You were going to tell me if I needed to apologize for the kissing."

  Mel faced him and squeezed his hand. "Most definitely not. More kissing is absolutely in order. I just wasn't sure, last night, I mean. We really don't know each other. When you had a little too much to drink I figured it was the stress of the day. Then I started overthinking things. Like, was the drinking a normal thing for you? It is for a lot of people in our line of work."

  He tightened his grip. "You're right, you had no way of knowing. But it's not normal for me. It's not normal at all. I might drink a beer every couple of weeks on the weekend. Usually we're gone somewhere working a case, and I never drink then. This time, being here by myself without my usual support staff, was different for some reason. Not sure I can explain it."

  "You don't have to explain," she insisted. But looking at his face, she could tell he needed to try.

  "Five days, Mel," he said simply.

  "Excuse me?"

  "My bureau chief gave me five days in Kansas to see if I could solve this case. The rest of my team went to Tacoma, as I mentioned yesterday."

  She nodded. "I remember. Henry asked if a missing kid in Tacoma outranked a bunch of dead hookers in Wichita. You said absolutely not."

  He loosened his grip on her hand and studied her palm. "I lied about that. Of course it does. I was all but on the plane to Tacoma when this case came across my desk. Had to put in a special request with my chief. To say he wasn't thrilled would be an understatement. I did my best to convince him, and he gave me five days."

  "Five days," she repeated, skin tingling as Nate's finger traced the lines on her hand.

  He looked up. "Four, now. I've never felt so much pressure on a case before. It's agonizing, because I know I can figure this
thing out. I just don't know if I can do it in five days."

  "Four now," she repeated again.

  He smiled and released her hand. "We should eat. What would you like for your main course? I'll order the next time Skippy comes back."

  "Veal parmesan?"

  Nate smiled again, and nodded. "Sounds good to me. Try this." He took some meat and put it on her plate. They ate for a few minutes, and when the waiter returned Nate placed their order.

  Mel pushed her small plate away. "If I eat any more of that heavenly bread, I won't be hungry for the veal. So…." She watched his face. "You miss your team. Anybody you especially miss, or are they all pretty much about the same?"

  He stacked his plate on hers and set them aside. A small grin crept across his face as he sipped his wine. "I think I know what you're asking. No, I'm not seeing anyone on my team. They're a crackerjack group and I trust them with my life on a daily basis. But that's about as intimate as it gets."

  The timing felt right, so Mel pressed on. "No Mrs. Willis waiting at home back in Texas with a baby on her hip?"

  That made him chuckle. "Babies? Not me. Women, not now. Never an ex-. Dated a few, sure. Been serious a couple of times, but things just didn't fall into place. I trust you'll understand when I say it takes a certain breed of woman to be married to the FBI. My first serious romance ended when I got accepted into the academy. The second went belly up when one of my teammates was shot and killed. She freaked out that it could have been me. We went to counseling and everything, but she just couldn't get over that one small issue."

  "What small issue?" Mel was trying to keep up.

  "That I could die." He shrugged. "She was way too hung up on that. I'd never given it much thought. After that I did, but it was too late. She was gone."

  "I'm sorry." Mel placed her hand on his knee.

  He shrugged again. "C'est la vie. Such is life. So what about you, Melanie Curtis? Boyfriend waiting in the wings that I should know about? Husband? Lover? Secret children? I should add, they'd scare me worse than any man."

  She laughed. "No children, so no worries there. Like you, a couple of serious relationships in the past, but none that stuck. The first one, also like you, couldn't handle my being a cop. Drove him nuts every time the phone rang, wondering if something had happened to me. He cut his losses and walked away before we got too attached, or so he said. Personally, I felt pretty attached. Took me a while to get over Dean." She paused and sipped her wine.