by Kylie Brant
The man seized the pen eagerly, then paused to think before he began scribbling. Abbie wished she knew when to expect results from the crime scene techs, who were processing the Bronco at that moment. There would be another round of interviews if the search yielded some evidence, unless Juarez had lawyered up by then.
But most of all she wished she could shake the feeling that Juarez was telling the truth.
Chapter 6
“You can’t know that.”
Robel’s voice was irritated as he slid across the cracked red vinyl of the diner’s booth. Abbie followed suit, facing him across the table, already regretting she’d allowed him to bait her into rendering an opinion.
“You didn’t ask me what I know. You asked what I thought. And with what we have right now, I wouldn’t have picked Juarez as our guy.”
“The techs found blood in the back of the vehicle. If it matches Billings’s—and I’ll bet you twenty that it will—you might think differently.”
Abbie took one of the plastic-coated menus from the rack holding the salt and pepper shakers, opening it without much hope. A quick glance confirmed her worst fears. Leave it to Robel to find the greasiest spoon in the city. But at this hour of the night, there couldn’t be many spots to choose from. “I’ll be surprised if that Bronco wasn’t the vehicle that transported Billings to the sound. But that doesn’t mean . . .”
“That Juarez is the rapist. Well, I’m not so sure about that.”
She was too used to his annoyance with her to allow it to have much effect. “You’re the one who pushed for an opinion. Do you really believe Juarez is smart enough to have committed four rapes, leaving no trace evidence—”
“Yet—”
“Smart enough to steal plates so his vehicle can’t be identified, but dumb enough not to get rid of them?”
“Hey, ninety percent of the people I arrest are a couple fries short of a Happy Meal.” He held his mug up as a waitress walked by and she came over to fill it with coffee. Abbie shook her head when the woman offered some to her and waited until she’d walked away before continuing. “Guys like that can be cunning about the crimes they commit, even if they aren’t exactly rocket scientists.”
She knew he was right. One study done on rapists suggested nearly eighty percent of them made little or no effort to disguise themselves to avoid identification. But that was hardly the case with the UNSUB they were tracking.
Their discussion was cut short when the waitress returned with an order pad. “All right, honey, now what can I getcha? You want to hear about our specials?” The words, delivered in an obviously flirtatious tone, were directed at Ryne.
“I’ll have the number three on the breakfast menu, eggs over easy, with bacon and toast.”
“No hash browns? Cook makes ’em with plenty of butter. Best in the city.”
Abbie managed to avoid rolling her eyes. The syrup in the woman’s tone was as thick as the spray in her heavily teased hair.
“None for me, thanks.” The waitress reluctantly turned her attention to Abbie.
“Do you have any fresh fruit?”
The woman looked blank. “You mean like grapefruit?”
Giving up, Abbie said, “Just get me half a ham and cheese omelet with orange juice, please.”
After the woman had moved away, Ryne said, “Sure that will hold you? I thought we decided that neither of us had eaten since breakfast.”
Which was the only reason he’d suggested she accompany him to get a bite, Abbie knew. After the interview they’d both been punchy. She’d been on the job since seven that morning, and he’d been there when she’d gotten in. “I’ll be fine.”
He picked up the coffee mug, drank. “You do much running like you did today, you’re going to need more than an omelet to refuel.”
He had a slight smile playing around his mouth, but it was a far cry from the sardonic little smile he’d given her a few times her first day on the job. It altered his face, softened the hard angles of his jaw, which was in need of a shave. It made him look all too human. And dangerously attractive.
To distract herself, she took her time putting the menu back in place. “I run. Usually work out in a ring regularly, too. I meant to ask you about a place where I can do both.”
Interest sharpened his gaze. “You box?”
“Spar,” she corrected. “I train in Muay Thai. But I like to stay in shape on the road.”
Ryne sat back in the booth and surveyed her speculatively. “Kickboxing.”
“A form of it.”
“I don’t know of a place like that around here. But the gym I belong to has a ring, a track, and free weights. Nothing fancy, but a lot of cops use it. I think you can buy passes by the week.” He took a pen from his pocket and wrote the name of the place and the address on a napkin, then pushed it across the table toward her. “Just don’t let McElroy talk you into climbing into the ring with him. He fights dirty.”
“Hardly surprising,” she said dryly. But she tucked the napkin away in her purse. With no way of knowing how long she’d be here, a gym with weekly passes would be perfect for her. “But if I ever find myself in the ring with McElroy, I think I can handle myself.”
His smile reached his eyes. “I’m beginning to believe it. I jog myself, but you weren’t jogging out there today. You looked like . . .” He shook his head, as if words failed him. “Never figured someone your size could move that fast. It was like trying to keep my eye on a hummingbird.”
She didn’t know whether to be offended or pleased. She’d been fighting the battle of bias about her size all her life. In the end, though, it was the warmth in his gaze that decided her. It sent an answering heat sliding along her spine that was both unfamiliar and alarming.
“I’m a sprinter. Did low hurdles in high school, too, but in college my race was the hundred-meter dash.” Running had saved her sanity once, a long time ago. Even though she’d given up believing she could outrun her memories. It’d taken her years to accept that her past was wrapped up inside her, no matter how hard she’d tried to shake it loose.
It was time to switch the conversation back to business. Even the scanty amount of personal information she’d shared made her uncomfortable.
Because he saw too much. She’d noted that yesterday, and she wasn’t any more willing today to have that shrewd gaze aimed her way. And if he was looking at her as a man instead of as a cop, well, that was unwelcome, too. Nothing shifted her attention from a case she was working. Not even its lead detective.
Especially not its lead detective.
“Any other interesting developments today?”
He shook his head. “Nothing important. No progress made working the list of Bronco owners, although that’s no surprise now. Heck of it is, they’d worked through the H’s. Probably would have hit on Juarez tomorrow. The kennel lead is a dead end. The manufacturer ships all over the world. That particular brand is sold by a half-dozen pet stores in the area, in addition to being available from department stores, farm supply outlets, vets . . . There are even some breeders who keep a few on hand to sell to customers.”
“What about the syringe angle? Some states still require a prescription, don’t they?”
“Georgia’s not one of them. They can be purchased over the counter and at veterinary supply stores. Hell, they can even be bought on the Internet. If Juarez does turn out to be our guy, he wouldn’t have had to work too hard to get his hands on them.”
“But from what you’ve told me about the drug, we’re looking for an UNSUB who has the chemical skills to mix his own drug, and access to the ingredients, or—”
“I see where you’re going with this.” Ryne sat back as the waitress approached and set a steaming plate of food in front of him. “Juarez probably doesn’t have the expertise, I’ll grant you that. But our perp doesn’t have to be scientifically inclined, he just has to know someone who is.”
With amusement, Abbie noted that the waitress was spending an inordina
te amount of time arranging Ryne’s plate in front of him and placing a napkin in his lap. Even more entertaining was his look of discomfit at the attention. Despite his expression, she didn’t doubt that he was a man used to a woman’s interest.
Abbie’s food was delivered with much less care, and they both commenced eating. After the first bite, she discovered that she was ravenous. They were both silent for several minutes as they attacked their meals. She reached for her juice, drank, caught his gaze on her.
He pointed his fork in her direction. “You went shopping.”
For a moment her mind went blank. Then she looked down at the blue striped shirt she was wearing and made the connection. Caution slammed firmly into place. “Didn’t have a lot of choice. I suppose I should be grateful whoever broke into my place didn’t slice up my pants and shoes, too.”
“I was thinking about that.” He chewed slowly, watching her. “Chopping up your clothes seems personal. A vandal might spray some graffiti, smash up the place, but what was done in your closet . . . sounds like something a woman would do.”
For a moment Abbie’s heart seemed to stop. It was all she could do to force air into her lungs. With studied nonchalance, she picked up her fork and finished her meal. “Because only women would be interested in clothes? You’ve never met my hair stylist.”
“Okay, maybe a guy. Definitely someone who knows how to get to you.” Although she refused to lift her gaze, she could feel his eyes on her. “An ex-boyfriend maybe. Do you have someone who might have followed you here? Someone pissed off at you?”
At first she was so relieved to have him shift his suspicion from a female intruder to a male, that she missed the note in his tone. Surely it was her imagination that there had been a hint of something other than professional interest in the conjecture.
Dodging both, she lifted her glass and drained it. “Hard to imagine anyone being pissed off at me,” she said in her sun niest voice as she set the glass back on the table. “I’m absolutely charming.”
When she would have reached for her purse, he stilled her action with a hand over hers. “So you’re not going to tell me?”
Ignoring the pounding in her veins, she gave him a blank look. “There’s nothing to tell.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie, she thought, nudging aside a sliver of guilt. She’d probably jumped to conclusions last night. There was no good reason for Callie to have followed her here, after months of avoiding all contact.
But good reasons were frequently absent from Callie’s behavior, especially if she’d gone off her medication. And any explanation about her sister would lead to revelations that she had no intention of making. Not to this man.
Their gazes did battle for long moments. Long enough for her to see that his eyes weren’t always glacial. That they could warm with interest, concern, and maybe something a bit more personal.
He withdrew his hand and she squelched an uncustomary note of regret. She didn’t do personal. Hadn’t for more years than she could count. And it was better that way. Less complicated.
“When will you know whether you have a match between the blood in the vehicle and Billings?” She took a ten out of her purse and handed it to him for her share of the bill. He waved it away, and handed the check and payment to the waitress, who’d stopped by his side again.
“The sample has already been delivered to the lab. It’s not a complicated test. They’ll probably run it first thing in the morning.” At Abbie’s raised brows, he gave a sardonic smile. “I don’t know what strings Dixon pulled to get this case stamped high priority, but I’m not complaining. The district attorney’s office has already drawn up the paperwork for a warrant on Juarez’s apartment, so we’re ready if the results come out the way I expect them to.”
He stood, and she followed him out of the restaurant. The street beyond the diner’s parking lot was nearly deserted. It was after midnight. If Savannah had a bustling nightlife, it was located far from here. “If and when a search is conducted on Juarez’s place, I’d like to be there,” Abbie said as they stopped next to her car.
“No problem. You’ve earned that, after today.”
She nodded, satisfied. If it had taken the events of the day to gain a measure of the man’s respect, the hours had been well spent. Even with the stiffness settling in one knee, warning her that she hadn’t escaped the scuffle with the suspect unscathed.
“Why don’t you give me your cell number, in case I need to reach you after hours.”
As she rattled it off, Ryne punched the number into the directory of his cell. She watched him complete the action, feeling for a moment like a high school girl giving the most popular boy in school her phone number. She shook her head to rid it of the mental flash. She definitely needed some sleep. She hadn’t spent her high school years dating, and if a guy anything like Ryne Robel had approached her, she’d have run in the opposite direction.
“Got it.” He flipped the phone shut and slipped it in his pocket, extracting his card and handing it to her. “You’ll want to program yours with my numbers, too.” Seamlessly, he switched subjects. “Did the glass company get to your place today?”
She took the business card and slipped it into her purse. “They’re coming tomorrow. Security company will be there at the end of the week.” He didn’t look pleased by her answer, but she hadn’t been able to arrange anything faster. “I doubt the intruder is coming back anyway. They’ve already seen there’s nothing there to steal.”
“I could call the security company for you. Sometimes they need a push. . . .” At the look on her face, he held up his hands, as if to stave off an argument. “Okay. End of the week it is.”
She started the car door. “Thanks for the meal.”
As he opened his mouth to reply, his cell phone rang. Abbie paused, looked back. If this was a new lead reported in the case, she wanted to hear about it. If it was something more personal, well, she could always apologize for eavesdropping.
Ryne turned half away as he answered with a curt “Robel.” She noted the sudden stillness that came over him as he listened for a few moments. Then he threw her a glance, his expression a mask of grim satisfaction.
“Good work. This might be the lead we’ve been waiting for.”
Her pulse jumped. The call had to be about the case, but from whom? CSU? One of the other detectives? With mounting impatience, she tried to discern an answer from the one-sided conversation, but he was maddeningly reticent.
“You thought right. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
As he tucked the phone away, she demanded, “What is it? Did CSU find something else in the vehicle search?”
“You could say that. Balkins said they would have missed it completely if they hadn’t pulled out the backseat. It was wedged down pretty tightly. . . .”
He had to be doing this on purpose. “What was? What did they find?”
He grinned at the impatience in her tone. “A syringe. And it’s full. Looks like we’ve finally caught a break.”
“If the contents can be matched to the tox reports,” she cautioned, but the statement was automatic. She could barely restrain the wild leap of anticipation at the news, and impulsively reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “This could be big.”
He covered her hand with one of his, squeezed lightly. “Yeah, well, we’re due, right? I’ll have to be pushier than ever to get the lab to get at this right away, but . . .” He shrugged. “I can do pushy.”
“Don’t I know it.” Belatedly, she became aware that she was still touching him, and withdrew her hand, ignoring the lingering heat on her flesh. A wave of self-consciousness flooded her, and silence stretched, grew awkward.
Ryne relieved it by saying, “I’ll let you know if something else comes up. But right now I have to get back to headquarters.”
“Sure.” A measure of relief surged through her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Abbie watched him as he moved away, considered the fact that maybe she hadn’t changed as much as she tho
ught over the years.
She’d been out of high school a dozen years and men like Ryne Robel still had her running in the opposite direction.
On the way home she dialed her sister’s number again, expecting, and receiving, her voice mail inviting the caller to leave a message. Abbie checked her rearview mirror as she spoke while backing out of the space. “It’s Abbie. I’d really like to talk to you, Callie. Can you call me back tomorrow?”
She hung up, strangely relieved not to have reached her. Callie hadn’t returned her messages for months, so nothing had changed, really. It was probably a stretch to believe her sister had gone from being incommunicado to following Abbie to Savannah. For the first time since she’d searched her house yesterday, she began to give real credence to the possibility that the break-in was exactly what she’d tried to convince the police of—an act of a vandal.
She turned at the light and headed toward her house on a street almost devoid of traffic. It was sad, but she’d find it infinitely preferable to handle a routine B&E than to deal with the unexpected appearance of her sister.
The smoke hung low over the pool tables, and music blasted from the aged jukebox in the corner. Callie Phillips raised her glass and the bartender obediently tipped another two fingers of cheap Tequila into it.
“Hey, baby.” The man plastered against her right side leaned down to bite her neck. “Your ass is ringing.”
She slapped his hand away when it would have reached for the cell phone clipped to the back waistband of her low-rise jeans. “Doesn’t matter. Everyone I want to talk to is right here.”
The man on her left slipped his hand into her tight bra top tank and cupped her breast. “And what if we’re tired of talking?”
She turned to look at him through alcohol-hazed eyes. She’d long since forgotten his name. Or that of the other man. Names didn’t matter anyway. Nothing mattered but the familiar hunger that was rising, that could only be put to rest one way. Well, any number of ways, actually. And she was betting that the two unshaven tattooed men who’d been buying her drinks all night would be only too willing to help in that area.