by Lori Ryan
To her, that lifestyle seemed empty. She liked to dress up and go out as much as the next girl, but night after night of that would make her crazy. She’d be bored to tears if she didn’t have something to do with herself each day. Something more than shopping or partying.
“Did you see Samuel? He was the older man with the beard and that leathery quality to his skin that tells you he’s spent way too much time outside? He sometimes comes in and sits here even when he doesn’t have an appointment. We don’t usually let people do that, or it would become a big problem. But with Samuel it’s different. He entertains the kids. Did you see the faces he makes? He doesn’t always get smiles out of them, but most of the time he does.”
She took a breath before pushing forward, wanting to paint a picture of people for him. The people who made up her world. “He told me he had grandkids in Colorado but his kids don’t let them see him anymore. I can’t even imagine that, can you? I don’t know what their side of the story is. I mean, I can guess. Many of the people who rely on the clinic have mental illness issues or they fight a constant battle with addiction.” Carrie snapped her mouth shut as she recalled the conversation she’d overheard outside the copy room not moments before. It sounded like Jarrod’s own brother struggled with some of the same issues, and she didn’t want him to think she was trying to take advantage of that connection.
When did he get so close? The detective was standing over her, watching intently, but not saying a word.
Carrie clamped her lips together. “I just want you to see,” she said, speaking quietly now, “there are people at stake here. There’s a community at stake.”
He nodded, but she couldn’t at all read his face. He reached behind her, his arm brushing hers, their bodies nearly close enough to touch. She held her breath, eyes not looking away from his, and heard the quiet click as he turned the doorknob to open the door.
Carrie spun and put her hand on the door, blocking his path. Not that he couldn’t have exerted enough force with his little pinky to open it. “And don’t get me wrong, I know lives are on the line here. I understand that men have died and I mourn each and every one of those lives,” she said, not sure if she was getting through to him at all. “When you walk back through that waiting room, look at the ones who are still here. Because they matter, too. I want to stop whatever is going on here just as much as you do, but I want to find a way to do it without shutting down the clinic or scaring off the people who come to us for help. I know we need to stop this person, but I’m not willing to do it at the expense of all the people sitting in that room.”
His brow furrowed and a frown marred his features. “Neither am I, Carrie.”
Jesus. He’d called her Carrie. He had realized as soon as he said it that he’d been calling her that in is head for a while now.
Jarrod stepped from the small space and shook the fog she’d induced from his brain.
When he’d first followed her into the office, his mind completely short-circuited at the close quarters. Then she began to lecture him and the fire that snapped in her eyes as she talked shocked the hell out of him. He thought she was gorgeous before, but when she was worked up and passionate about something, she came alive. It made him want to find out everything else she was passionate about. Everything. Because he knew, suddenly, what kind of person she was. She wanted to fix and change and help things. Help people.
It’d taken a lot more control than it should have for him to walk out of that freaking office without hauling her gorgeous ass against his body and kissing the hell out of her. That shook him. It wasn’t something he’d ever experienced on a case. She was a suspect, and at the very least, a witness. She was close to whatever was going on. Not only that, but he knew full well he and Carrie Hastings came from two very different worlds. She was from money. He, most definitely, was not.
His dad had barely stuck around for the first few years of his life, and by the time Jarrod was six, he’d vanished altogether. Jarrod and his mom had done the best they could to get by, but there’d been times there hadn’t been food in the house. His clothes had come from church donations and the Goodwill store.
He had no doubt Carrie had overheard him telling Cal about his deadbeat brother and his arrest. He didn’t know what she’d thought of that, but he could guess she hadn’t been impressed.
He spotted Cal waiting across the room and made his way over to his partner, feeling Carrie walking behind him. He never thought he’d be able to feel somebody like he felt her. Sure, he was always aware of those around him. It was a cop’s instinct, trained into him from the start. But this was different. He felt her with an intensity he hadn’t felt before. Every move she made, his body was aware of where she was, what she was doing, how close she was to him.
“You about ready to get started?” He asked his partner as he approached.
Cal looked at him quizzically but didn’t question what he’d been doing with Carrie. “Yep.”
Jarrod turned to Carrie. “We’d like to begin by speaking to the people that worked with Dr. Coleman the most. The nurses that worked with him, the front staff who would work shifts that he did. Then we’ll need to speak with you afterward.”
Carrie’s expression was tight, but she nodded. “We don’t have an office or conference room or anything for you to use. The entire building is stretched to capacity as it is. I’ve put a sign on the staff break room door, though, asking people not to use it for today. You can set up in there and I’ll bring people into you as they’re available. Of course, not everyone is in today.”
She looked between the two men and even though she was apologetic, Jarrod didn’t get the sense that she was nervous or anxious to please them as some other people would be. Carrie always seemed to have a grace and dignity about her. It made sense, given her upbringing.
Their research had shown them that Carrie Hastings didn’t need to be working in this clinic or shelter at all. Her family’s money meant that she would have everything she needed in this lifetime, and many more. She could blow thousands a day on shopping sprees and not even come close to blowing through the monthly allowance her family’s coffers provided.
More than once, Jarrod had wondered why she did it. He’d talked to Carrie a few times and he still didn’t get what made her tick. What had led this woman, who could have taken an easy ride, to take this path instead?
“That’s fine. We’ll talk with the people you have here today, and then either try to catch people at home if you’ve got home addresses for them, or come back and set up interviews another day.” Cal stepped into the break room, holding the door for Carrie and Jarrod to join him.
It was a small room with only a couple of chairs to one side, a small counter with microwave, miniature sink, and fridge. There was a small table in the center with three chairs around it.
Two hours later, they’d talked to the two front desk staff on duty, the three nurses who worked most frequently with Dr. Coleman, and one of the other doctors that rotated into the clinic. The doctors were going to be the hardest to get a hold of and nail down for interviews. Most only worked one day a week, and some only rotated in one day a month at the clinic.
So far, everyone agreed the doctor seemed to be under a great deal of stress in the last few months. They’d been told that a scientist from Simms Pharmaceutical, Alan Sykes, visited the doctor from time-to-time to drop things off, but they didn’t know what. Apparently, no one had thought to ask Dr. Coleman. They simply assumed it was donated items or something related to an approved test. That was the only immediate connection they could find between Coleman and any of the clinic’s donors.
It was only in their last interview that one woman finally told them she heard whisperings about gambling debt. She said it was only rumors. She didn’t know any details, but it matched the stress they’d been hearing about.
“It makes no sense,” Cal said, “for Coleman to increase his volunteer time here if he’s got gambling debt. The only way it adds up
is if he has a reason to need to be here.”
Jarrod agreed. “Like a fake drug trial.”
“All right. Go. Give me two.”
Two theories. Cal and Jarrod had a long-standing practice of giving one another a minimum of two theories to keep from heading down a path with tunnel vision. He needed two ideas that could explain the evidence they were collecting other than the false trial.
“The heart attacks are nothing but an anomaly and Dr. Coleman was shot and killed because of his gambling debt.”
Cal gave him a look. “So the people he owes money to had him killed?” He made a sound like a buzzer on a bad game show. “Try again.”
Jarrod wasn’t deterred and he didn’t care if his theories were shot down. That’s what the exercise was about. Tearing apart their theories and ideas. “The heart attacks were an anomaly and Dr. Coleman’s wife found out about his gambling habit and the debt he’d put his family into. She hired our gunman to have him killed.”
Cal weighed that theory for a minute. “I don’t like that both theories require us to discount the deaths of the homeless men, but it’s worth looking at the wife.”
“And worth looking at the homeless men and Dr. Coleman’s death separately, until we’re sure they’re connected,” Jarrod said.
The two men sat for a minute, mulling over the little bit of information they had.
“We need to talk to Darla again,” Jarrod said. Darla was the homeless woman who’d been kidnapped by the man hired to kill Coleman. She hadn’t given them much in her statement. Just that she’d been under the bridge by the shelter when someone had grabbed her.
“Agreed.” Cal scratched at the back of his neck. “Her story never did add up.”
Jarrod nodded and made a note to circle back to Darla and talk to her again. Television shows never showed how dependent real police work was on interviews. They often talked to the same people again and again, searching for little threads to pull.
“So if it’s the wife, why grab Darla? That makes no sense. And we can’t just ignore half the information we have to make a theory fit.” Jarrod tossed his pen on the table and leaned back in his chair. “All right let’s hear your two.”
“I don’t have theories so much as questions. I want to chase down Coleman’s gambling debt, see who was holding all the cards there. I also want to see if we can track down this Sykes guy. See if he really works for Simms Pharmaceutical or what.”
“Agreed. Let’s finish up here.”
Cal stood. “Do you want to handle the interview with Carrie Hastings and I’ll go talk to Reggie McKinney?”
Jarrod stood, throwing the cup of coffee he’d been nursing into the garbage can and picking up his phone and notepad. He would never admit to his partner how eager he was to see the shelter’s Assistant Director again. He thought about asking Cal to interview Carrie instead. He’d never had a woman in a case tempt him like this before.
He opened his mouth to tell Cal to take the Hastings interview, but his brain must have overruled him. On second thought, it might have been another part of his body that overruled his brain. “You got it,” he said, heading out the door to track down Carrie.
Chapter 2
Jax Cutter answered the door to his home after a brief pause, during which Jarrod imagined he’d been looking through the peephole in the door. He didn’t blame him. If the woman he loved had been attacked not once, but twice, in one week, Jarrod would be taking every damned precaution he could too.
Woman he loved.
The thought mocked him but, for once, instead of a blank-faced anonymous woman flashing in his mind in the role, Carrie took her place. Not that he was in love with Carrie. He barely knew her. That didn’t stop her from standing beside him in the fantasy, her easy smile and bright eyes turned his way.
“Hey Jarrod,” Jax said, offering his hand. “Thanks for coming to the house. I think Mia tried to bounce back a little too quickly from this. The pain got ahead of her and she’s been feeling a bit worse in the last day. I’m hoping she’ll take it easier today and take the pain meds the doctor prescribed.”
Mia Kent, the daughter of one of the homeless men they suspected was killed by the mystery drug, had been one of the women attacked by Trace Jones. Jones had kidnapped Darla Mann and Mia. They escaped with their lives, but Mia had suffered a blow to the head and had a cracked bone in her wrist. Jones had also held her up by her neck, coming close to taking her life. The pain had to be severe.
“No problem. I just wanted to see if she’d remembered anything else. If she’s talked about anything that might have happened.”
“I haven’t, I’m afraid.”
The men turned toward the voice and Jarrod saw Mia wrapped in a sweatshirt that appeared to be one of Jax’s old ones, judging from the NAVY logo and the way it hung on her small frame. She wrapped her arms around her body as if unable to get warm.
Jax pulled her to the couch and she curled up next to him. Jarrod buried the pang of envy at what the couple had found and sat in a chair across from them.
He walked her through a bit more of what she’d told them, hoping to jog a memory. “You said you could hear Trace Jones and Dr. Coleman arguing when you came in the building?”
“Yes.” She didn’t flinch as she spoke and he was glad. Putting victims through the hell they’d been through again and again as they searched for answers was one of the shittier parts of his job. “They were just arguing at first, but I could hear it get physical very quickly.”
“How could you tell?” From what she’d said before, she hadn’t seen the two men. Only heard them.
“I could hear them knocking things over.” Now she made a face like she wanted to clock out the memory. “And the sound of them hitting each other. Fists hitting flesh.”
He knew that sound. It wasn’t a pleasant one. “Are you sure you didn’t hear anyone else? No other voices?”
She seemed to be searching her memory then shook her head. “No. I don’t think anyone else was there.”
“Have you found something?” Jax sat forward and Jarrod knew he was as eager as Jarrod to solve this case. They both wanted justice for the men who’d died. Jax had been good friends with Mia’s father, Leo Kent. He’d also been the one to bring the deaths to Jarrod’s attention. Without him, they wouldn’t even know they had a case to look into.
“We’ve got some leads we’re considering.” It was a vague answer and Jarrod hated doing that to Jax, but he couldn’t share what little info they had at this point.
Jax studied his face. “But you don’t think this is over? It didn’t end at Dr. Coleman.”
“No.” Jarrod saw no point in lying about that. “We think this had to involve others. We just aren’t sure who yet.”
It didn’t take a genius to see what Jax was thinking. The man had to be concerned with Mia’s safety. She’d been targeted twice. Jarrod didn’t blame Jax for wanting to get her out of town.
“Is it all right if we take a vacation? You don’t need us to stick around, do you?” Jax spoke quietly, but Jarrod heard Mia’s intake of breath.
“Just make sure I can reach you if I need to.” Jarrod didn’t think there was more they could tell him, and he wasn’t about to make them stick around where they might be in danger. The more people he could get out of the way of whoever was tying up loose ends, the better. He needed all the help he could get in this case.
Chapter 3
“Why did you come to work at the shelter, Ms. Hastings?” Jarrod wanted to put her at ease, but he also wanted to stick the formal title back between them. He needed the distance.
Her cheeks reddened. “Carrie is fine, really.” She glanced away. “I came to the clinic initially as the Director of Giving and Funding. Now I’m the Assistant Director, but I still do a lot of the fundraising. I still run the gala, but I have two assistants who help me with that.”
She hadn’t answered his question, but he had the sense she wasn’t trying to keep anything from him.
She seemed embarrassed to talk about herself in a personal way.
“Why here?” he pressed. “Why with the homeless?” He’d initially asked the question to try to set her at ease and work their way into the interview. Now, he’d realized it wasn’t setting her at ease, but he wanted to know with a fierceness that surprised him. He wanted to know what made this woman tick.
She watched him, seeming to assess for a moment before answering. “When I was twelve, we used to drive by this one intersection all the time. There was a man there every morning.” She chewed at her lip, as if thinking back, before continuing. “I remember thinking his life was nothing like mine. I guess that’s strange for a kid to think.” She laughed a little and blushed.
Jarrod nodded, hoping to keep her talking. She fidgeted with the pencils on her desk, straightening them as she spoke. “He was filthy, with a thick beard and the same clothes he wore every day. I always wondered what brought a person to that life. One morning, we drove by and there was an ambulance there. EMTs were loading him onto a stretcher.” She looked like she could still see the events of that day in her mind’s eye as she spoke to him. “We were in traffic so my father was driving slowly. The man looked right at me, and he looked frightened. Alone.”
She shook her head a little, as if bringing herself back to the present. “It stuck with me. I just remember thinking about him and wondering if he was all right. I thought it was so sad that he was alone and hurting and scared. A year or so later, I wrote about it in an essay for school and the teacher talked to me about the choices we make in life. That we can effect change with our choices.” She shrugged, as though her choice were nothing, but he knew it was. “I volunteered with several organizations that worked with homeless people in high school. To me, it was more rewarding than a lot of the things I could have been doing with my time. When I was older, I went to business school. My parents would have much preferred I put that degree to use in the business world somewhere, but I wanted to work with the people of the world that don’t always have someone to be with them in the scary times or the sad times.”