Killer Score (The Irish Garda Files Book 2)

by Melinda Colt

  Chelsea’s shoulders relaxed a little. “Not all. I’ve read the basics and summarized the rest. Then I did a search on Mandi Klein. A man would have to be dead to resist that kind of bombshell, with her mile-long legs and flame-red hair. Hell, I’m a woman and can admit she was gorgeous.” She gave him a chagrinned look from under her lashes. “She’s the kind of woman all men want and all women hate.”

  He shook his head. Amusement had tinged his fury. “For every woman like that, there’s a man who’s tired of her.”

  Chelsea raised her eyebrows. “Bollocks!”

  He laughed aloud at her expression. His anger was still there, along with humiliation, but he decided he might as well come clean. Talking to someone about this could be a good way to make peace with it himself. And wasn’t it time he did talk to someone, instead of beating himself up every chance he got? He didn’t give a shit what most people thought of him, but all at once he realized he cared about Chelsea’s opinion of him. If she was going to judge him, he wanted her to hear the story first, from him.

  Taking a deep breath, he began talking. “I met Mandi in a bar one night when I was too tired to work a minute longer and too pissed off to go home. I went to get a drink and cool off. I was working twelve to fourteen hour days on the Robin Hoods case, and supervising two other cases. To say I was overworked would be an understatement, but in my gut, I felt I was on to them, getting close enough to smell their fear. Later, I found out that’s why they brought Mandi in to distract me. Our meeting in the bar was not accidental, nor were all the things we talked about that evening. She was gorgeous, as you said, pretended to be interested in the same things I was, liked the same movies, listened to the same music, so I liked her right away. Of course, she had done her homework regarding me, so she would be certain we’d hit it off.”

  He took a sip from his cocoa, then gulped it down to soothe his dry throat. He was glad the drink was sweet, since it made the taste of bad memories more palatable.

  “I know I’ll sound like the most misogynistic prick on the face of the earth,” he went on, “but I needed an outlet, something to balance the insane pressure I put on myself at work. In short, I needed to get laid.”

  He looked over at Chelsea expecting a judgmental smirk, but her face was expressionless. She was a good sounding board, he had to give her that.

  “Since she made it clear she was interested in me, I took her home that night,” Evan continued. “I don’t know if it was the fatigue, or the fact that I was half-drunk, but the sex was great. I thought I’d hit the jackpot. We continued to see one another, and she knew exactly how to keep me hooked. She wasn’t clingy, she didn’t call me all the time, she played hard to get sometimes, and she was fantastic in bed—you know, the typical things most men like in a woman. What can I say? We are primitive creatures with basic needs. Turns out all those militant feminists are right about that.”

  “My envy for this super woman grows by the second,” Chelsea joked.

  Evan stared at her, his eyes involuntarily cruising over her body. God, he was truly acting like a prick!

  He looked back into her eyes. “Trust me, you have no reason to envy any woman.” His voice was low and hoarse.

  Pink spread across her cheeks, but she kept her tone light. “Let’s agree to disagree on that. What happened next?”

  “I started noticing little things about her that seemed false, things that didn’t jibe with her stories, didn’t resonate with the background she’d given me. I started doing some research of my own, careful not to raise her suspicions. I did a full search on her, and although the front layers were what she’d sold me, when I dug deeper I discovered she was a member of the Robin Hoods. That was exactly the night before it all came down. She showed up at my place, and since I only had circumstantial evidence, I decided to go on with the charade and act as though nothing had happened. I didn’t want to spook her, but she must have sensed something because at around three a.m. I caught her nosing around in my phone. I was careless enough to keep email conversations between me and another agent with whom I’d shared the data about Mandi. The sneaky bitch freaked out when she realized I was on to her. Before I could dig my handcuffs out of my jeans, she grabbed my gun and shot me, then ran. I was lucky her aim sucked and she got me in the shoulder,” he said, absently rubbing his left shoulder.

  It still hurt, especially in this weather. He’d been indeed lucky. An inch or two in a different direction and the bullet could have touched the heart or an artery. He would remember the deafening noise and the brutal push of that shot as long as he lived.

  “Anyway,” he resumed, taking a gulp of air. “I ran after her and caught her in the end. We made quite a picture in front of my house—me, bare-assed, and her in a skimpy red negligee. Even though it was the middle of the night, the raucous woke up most of my neighbors, who saw me cuffing her. They probably thought we were playing kinky games because none of the bastards moved to help me call for backup. They stood like gawking statues in their slippers and robes, while I held Mandi down with one hand, blood dripping from my shoulder all over her face.”

  Chelsea’s lips trembled, pressed together, then her face grew red. Her burst of laughter was contagious. Evan had a sense of humor heavy on cynicism, but Chelsea’s reaction reflected the absurd tragi-comedy of his story. Before now he’d never seen the comedy, only the tragedy. Yet as he watched Chelsea flush and fight to contain her giggles, he couldn’t help picture the scene he’d just related to her. It would have made a damn good scene in a comedy.

  It was a relief to be able to laugh harder than she was after all the months he’d punished himself. As it turned out, he had needed to talk about it. Not only that, but just as important, he’d needed the right person to listen. And that person was Chelsea.

  By the time their laughter subsided, she was dabbing tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes.

  “Jesus, I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard,” she said, catching her breath. “I wish I could have seen it, but you do know how to paint a picture.”

  He grinned broadly. “I suppose it takes time before one can see the humor in situations like this.”

  “It does.” Her face relaxed slowly, her gaze turning serious. “But you have to talk about it. I’m glad you trusted me enough to talk to me.”

  He moved his shoulders in a careless gesture. “Well, since you already knew the basics, I wanted to fill in the blanks, give you the whole story before you judged me.”

  Her lips parted and her eyes grew rounder, softer. “I would never judge you, Evan, you or anyone else. Hell, do you think that I’m not human, that I don’t make mistakes, or do things I regret later? I know my profession can be off-putting for some, but at the end of the day I’m a normal person, just like you. I’m actually more flawed than many individuals.”

  “I doubt that. I’m glad I get to see you as Chelsea, not Doctor Campbell.”

  She smiled back at him, and spread her hands, palms up. “Both Doctor Jekyll and Ms. Hyde are one and the same person.” Laughing, she picked up her cold cocoa and raised it in a toast. “Here’s to human flaws. Slàinte!”

  “Slàinte!” Evan repeated. He lifted his cocoa cup, and after realizing it was empty picked up the water bottle, making Chelsea laugh again. “I heard it’s bad luck to toast with water, but what the hell. It’s either this or pancake syrup.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re superstitious.”

  “Not in the least. But many people are. I suppose it’s fortunate, since it’s how I became the proud owner of a black cat.”

  “Really? How did that happen?”

  He pulled the plate of pancakes closer and began to cut a piece from one. They weren’t hot anymore, but they were fluffy and drowned in chocolate syrup, making his mouth water.

  “It’s a long story,” he said, then ate the piece of pancake.

  Its sweet, creamy texture was delicious, and made him realize how hungry he was. Kieran would love some of this.
He looked back up at Chelsea, who’d started eating too, but still glanced at him expectantly.

  “Well, maybe not that long,” he said. “It turns out Shannon had a cat, but her parents refused to take him because they thought he was bad luck.”

  Her face softened in a smile. “So you took him. That was lovely of you.”

  He chewed away, eyes on his plate. Her reaction made him feel a bit sappy and heroic at the same time.

  “I didn’t have much choice. I had to take him or they probably would have put him down, all because of his coloring. That sounds like discrimination to me.”

  When he looked up again, she was still watching him, fork forgotten halfway between her plate and mouth. God, a man could get lost in those amethyst eyes…

  “I agree,” she said. “I had a black cat when I was in high school. She was my best friend for seven wonderful years. My dad found her abandoned in the field and brought her home to me. She was so small and hardly had any fur. But that was her lucky day. I named her Tail, because she was very temperamental and was always sweeping the floor with her tail. Cats do that when they’re pissed off.”

  “Mine is a lazy, fat male and I don’t think I’ve seen him move his tail yet. His name is Kieran.”

  “Oh, that means ‘dark’ in Irish, did you know? Kieran sounds like the best companion for you.”

  Evan smiled at her. His impulses were going to get him in trouble again, but the hell of it was he couldn’t help asking his next question.

  “Do you want to meet him?”

  Chapter Nine

  Chelsea was surprised by the neighborhood where Evan lived. It wasn’t the kind of area a bachelor chose to live because it would cramp his style. The old, well-kept buildings and quiet streets looked as if no one had given a party here in decades. She could bet the majority of the inhabitants were elderly people, who valued their silence as much as their privacy. Was Evan like that? She’d never imagined there was a single person, man or woman, in their thirties who preferred this type of lifestyle. Other than her.

  “Did you pick this place, or was there nothing else available for rent when you moved here?” she asked, climbing out of his unmarked police vehicle and looking up at the battered, majestic brick walls.

  Evan smiled, locking the car. “Would you change your opinion of me if I said I live here by choice?”

  She returned his smile. “Not at all. My place is not much different, although the houses in my neighborhood are newer. But the setting is similar.”

  He led the way, opened the building’s front door for her, then unlocked the door to his flat. Chelsea stepped inside, glad the apartment was warm. Immediately, a black cat appeared from an open doorway and made his way toward her. He didn’t rush and didn’t look in the least put off by having a stranger on his turf.

  “Hey, you must be Kieran.” She knelt down and stretched her hand to let the cat sniff it. “Aren’t you adorable, acushla? Aye, come here and give me a hug.”

  Slowly, she drew him into her arms, happy when he let her lift him up and dug his claws in her sweater to better secure his place. Busy with her work, during the past years she’d forgotten the simple, absolute joy of having a pet, a sweet soul to love her unconditionally and keep her company even in the darkest moments, when she wanted to get away from everything and everyone, including herself.

  “I see there’s no need for introductions,” Evan said from behind her, reaching out to scratch Kieran under his chin.

  The cat purred loudly, better nestling his furry butt in Chelsea’s arms. She laughed in pure delight, not caring she was squatting on the floor in Evan’s hallway. Apparently, he was more practical because he helped her get to her feet by placing his hands under her arms.

  “Here, let me get your coat, then you two love birds can settle on the couch,” he said, chuckling. “You’ll be more comfortable there.”

  Chelsea set Kieran down gently, then shrugged out of her coat, took off her scarf and placed it next to her bag on the entryway hall tree. As Evan guided her through the flat, she noticed the furniture was what she had expected—minimalist, old but well-kept pieces, serviceable, with no extra fluff, all in tones of wood brown. It was surprisingly clean for a single man’s apartment, but considering Evan seemed to be a workaholic too, he probably didn’t spend much time in here.

  The living room was small, appearing cozy rather than claustrophobic. The space contained a brown leather sofa, a coffee table and a couple of armchairs. On the opposite wall, a bookshelf framed a smart TV. She could bet that was Evan’s contribution.

  “This is really nice,” she said, gazing around.

  “It works. Have a seat. Want something to drink?”

  “Sure. Anything non-carbonated.” She laughed when he scratched his head, brow furrowed. “I know, I’m sort of tying your hands, huh?”

  “I’ll say. And not in a good, kinky way.”

  She grinned back, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach. That mischievous sparkle in his eyes was as dangerous as it was playful. Suddenly, she was aware they were alone in his apartment, and she knew the statistics of what this sort of situation usually entailed.

  “Water is fine,” she said, clearing her throat.

  “I think I have some fruit juice somewhere if that’s ok. Make yourself at home.”

  She sat on the couch, grateful for Kieran’s presence. She hadn’t had time to consider why Evan had invited her here, or what she expected, but her feelings were conflicted. While she felt safe with him, she wasn’t sure she was safe from herself. Or if he was safe from her.

  Shaking her head, chagrinned and not a little annoyed at her foolishness, she stretched out her legs, wiggling her toes in her thick red socks. Jesus, could she have worn anything less sexy? Kieran seemed to like them, because he pounced on her foot, biting it playfully and kneading it with his claws.

  She was laughing out loud when Evan came back with a glass of orange juice. Her giggles subsided as she noticed he’d ditched his sweater and was wearing only a T-shirt. The white cotton fit like a second skin, clearly delineating his rounded pectorals and biceps. Chelsea swallowed and forced her eyes up to his face. She was here to talk about the case, not for seduction.

  “Thank you.” She accepted the glass of juice and drank deeply, grateful for the excuse to take her eyes off Evan. “This is great.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He sat next to her. The movement created a light current of air, and the smell of his aftershave reached her. It was so masculine it was hard to describe. No citrusy or flowery tones, just pure man—like perfumed steel.

  “It was kind of you to take him,” Chelsea said, refocusing her attention on Kieran, who was now belly up on the floor, tired from all the activity, a claw stuck lazily in her sock.

  Evan shrugged beside her. He reached out a foot to nudge the cat gently, and Kieran responded by stretching out a paw to stroke his new master.

  “I didn’t exactly have a choice. John already has a cat, so I got stuck with this one.”

  Chelsea wasn’t fooled by his nonchalant tone. She sensed he had a kind nature, even though it was hidden under the bad-ass façade out of necessity. Her job wasn’t easy, but it didn’t compare to his. Being a man was hard. Being a cop, especially a good one, was a colossal challenge.

  “Did you ever have pets?” she asked.

  It was just a conversation startup, so she was puzzled when she glanced at him and noticed his face darken.

  “I had a dog once, briefly. My… foster parents lived in a tiny apartment, so there wasn’t enough room for a pet. They got rid of him.”

  Foster parents? Chelsea’s heart tightened, afraid she’d committed a terrible faux pas. At the same time, she wanted to know why he had grown up in the system, rather than in a loving home. What had happened to his parents? She wasn’t wondering out of calculated curiosity, but out of selfless, emotional interest.

  He must have sensed her silent questions because he seemed c
ompelled to offer an explanation. “My parents were killed in a car crash when I was fifteen. That’s how I ended up in a foster home. They weren’t bad people. I can’t complain, since I’ve seen kids who’ve had it much worse than I did.”

  “I’m so sorry about your parents.” Chelsea was rarely out of words, but this time she couldn’t find anything significant to say. Perhaps, at some level, because she was involved emotionally. “Do you still keep in touch with the family who fostered you?”

  “No.”

  He didn’t elaborate, so she left it at that. Unintentionally, she’d pried a lot into his life today. She tried to think of something else to say.

  “So, tell me about the leads you have. That character, Black Dawn, sounds like it’s worth investigating.”

  “I think so too. But other than a skimpy social media account, I’ve got nothing on him or her.”

  “Can’t you request his or her data from the platform?”

  He made a scoffing sound. “Are you kidding? I don’t have enough probable cause to even think of requesting a warrant to do that. These social media networks are adamant about protecting their users’ data. For now, this is a dead end.”

  “Can I take a look at the account? Maybe I can help.”

  “Sure. Hold on.” He stood and went out of the room, returning a few moments later with a laptop. He set it on his knees and switched it on, while Chelsea leaned over to set her empty glass on the coffee table.

  When the laptop started, Evan opened the internet browser, and after a quick search called up Black Dawn’s social media profile. He handed the laptop to Chelsea.

  “I’ll be right back. I have to feed Kieran.”

  He left the room, the cat trailing him, and Chelsea made herself more comfortable as she analyzed Black Dawn’s profile. The choice of profile picture was a sleek, black panther, fangs bared, yellow eyes glinting as though it was stalking its prey. Other than that, there was no personal information, at least not for public view. The timeline contained quite a few posts though, the most recent one dating more than a month ago. It was a political rambling, no doubt written as a response to a news report Chelsea had read about Northern Ireland. Politics were always a sensitive subject, and many people had passionate beliefs about it. From Black Dawn’s post, she gathered the person was a radical, clearly an adept of socialism or fascism.