Dead Center (The Rookie Club Book 1)

by Danielle Girard

  Devlin glanced over her shoulder coyly, then looked at Jamie and grinned.

  "Knock it off, Natasha," Hailey Wyatt said.

  Devlin's eyes widened. "What do you mean? I'm not doing anything."

  Jamie stood. "Don't bother, Hailey. I'm leaving."

  Tim touched Devlin's shoulder again. She waved him off.

  Tim's expression stiffened in anger. "I need to talk to you."

  "God."Devlin rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Not now, Tim."

  He grabbed her arm. "Now."

  Devlin turned in her chair, set her wine down, and stood slowly. "I said no, Tim."

  He pulled her toward him. He spoke softly, frowning.

  Devlin stared over his shoulder.

  Tim jerked her arm to get her attention.

  When she turned to him, her face was set in fury. "Get the hell away from me."

  He grabbed her shoulders with both hands.

  Suddenly everyone was watching them. Jamie was embarrassed—for them, for herself.

  "Stay the hell away from me," Devlin said and shoved Tim with both hands.

  Hailey stood.

  Jamie froze.

  One of the assistant district attorneys, Chip Washington, stepped in and grabbed Tim's arm. "Is everything okay here?"

  "It will be if he leaves me alone right now," Devlin said.

  Jamie watched the pain in Tim's face, the cruel smirk on Devlin's.

  "Don't do this," Tim whispered.

  "God, stop with the drama already," Devlin said, her voice commanding the attention of the room.

  Tim reached for her.

  Natasha winced. There was a momentary flash of fear. Then she regained herself. "Stay the fuck away from me."

  Jamie studied Devlin's face. Why the fear? Was she acting? Tim had never been an angry person.

  Tim didn't let go. Instead, he yanked her closer and spoke through gritted teeth. "You'll be sorry, Natasha."

  Jamie shuddered at the emotion between them. Unable to stand another moment, she turned away. She took two steps and felt her phone buzz on her hip.

  She didn't recognize the number. "Vail."

  "Inspector Vail, this is Officer Hamilton. You're needed on a scene."

  Christ. She pulled her notepad from her jacket pocket and flipped it open. "Where are you?"

  "Eight fifty Bryant, ma'am."

  "The station? You got a suspect?"

  "No. A scene, ma'am. Main building in the stairwell, bottom level."

  Jamie stiffened. "You've got a rape scene at the Hall?"

  "Yes, ma'am. We've got medical response on the way for her, but they told me to call you."

  Medical response. "How bad is she?"

  His voice cracked as he spoke. "Real bad, ma'am."

  "I'm on my way." She started to hang up, then added, "You have an ID on her?"

  "She's with the department."

  Jamie closed her eyes.

  "The name's Osbourne, ma'am. Emily Osbourne."

  Jamie glanced back at Washington between Tim and Devlin. Jamie turned for the door, didn't look back. She was on her way to another rape scene.

  Another police officer raped.

  Chapter 3

  They stood at the closed office door. He pressed her against the hard surface as his tongue explored her mouth. His huge hands gripped her breasts, then trailed downward, cupping between her legs. She pulled back for a quick breath. Her insides fluttered with the feel of him. She had a buzz, heightened by alcohol and the fight.

  She gripped the knob and pushed the door open. With his tie in her fist, they stumbled into her office. He came up behind her, pressed his erection against her. With a sweeping motion, she cleared the papers off her desk and turned toward him, propping herself on the edge. Spreading her legs, she pulled him between them. Crossed her feet on either side of his buttocks and gripped him between tight thighs.

  "You're so hot," he whispered, kissing her neck.

  She let her head fall back, hair cascading down her back. She knew what this looked like. She'd practiced in a mirror. It was good. Irresistible. And he was no different than the others.

  His mouth trailed toward the mound of her breasts. She pulled his head into her, pressed his nose to her flesh. His fingers fumbled on her buttons and she leaned back, drew her feet onto the desk. One at a time, she let her stilettos drop to the floor. His expression grew fierce as her jacket came off. She unhooked her bra, let it fall off her shoulders.

  He cupped her breasts, rubbed her nipples. She arched her back, set her feet on his shoulders, tilted her hips toward him. He unzipped her pants. His breath rasped in the silent room. She moaned, watching the reaction it caused. His hands fumbled. His mouth dropped open. He could hardly contain himself.

  He yanked at his tie, yoking himself. She laughed and sat up to help him. She moved her fingers slowly, drawing out each motion until he was clawing at his buttons. He tugged the shirt from his pants. A button popped off and struck the hardwood desk. He grunted.

  She laughed. He swooped down and grabbed her mouth in his, swallowing the snicker that rose in her throat. She closed her eyes. Her pants slipped off her legs. Her underwear tugged away from her hips. Warm fingers fondled her. She arched, moaned. She gasped as he entered. Then, his motions grew frantic. She clung to the desk as he gripped her thighs.

  She lolled her head up, watched the frenzy. A minute passed. Then several. His expression tightened into a grimace. His fingers dug into her buttocks. He stopped, drove again, and she felt the pulsating inside her.

  He smiled, proud as he slumped over her.

  She ran her hands through his thick hair like she might a child, held him against her.

  "Oh God, baby," he whispered.

  She smiled. She waited until the pulsing had stopped and pressed him up gently. "You should go."

  He lifted his head and kissed her lips. "When can I see you again?"

  She held the smile, softened her brow. "Soon, sweetie. Call me tomorrow."

  He kissed her lips. She pursed them, let him search for the passion he'd felt. He thought it was still there. It was gone for her. He pulled himself out, grabbed a fistful of tissues, and wiped himself before handing her the box.

  She glanced at the red in his cheeks. He looked like an overgrown schoolboy. But didn't they all?

  She slipped back into her pants, found her bra, pulled the jacket back over her shoulders. Turned her back to button it.

  She saw his button on the floor and pointed to it. "Don't forget that."

  He picked it up and cupped it in his palm. "Maybe I'll leave it here as a souvenir." He set it on the edge of the desk and kissed her again. Then, after taking his coat off the chair, he left.

  He turned back once at the door and winked.

  She smiled, thinking he was an idiot. They were all idiots.

  When the department door clicked shut, she scooped the button up and tossed it toward the secretary's trash can. Missed. Next time, my ass, she thought.

  Back at her desk, she ran her hands through her hair and pulled her compact out of her purse. The brown eyes in the reflection were wide, flat of emotion. She smiled, watched them light up. Control, she thought.

  She clicked the mirror closed and dropped it in her purse. She glanced at the mess. To hell with it.

  She heard a creak behind her. She spun around, startled.

  His frame filled the doorway. His eyes narrowed.

  Her pulse raced. A rush of heat filled her belly. Seeing him created a bigger buzz than the last ten minutes. She thought of the other man inside her. Secretly reveled at the thought of another lay. Line them up like toy soldiers. She stepped forward. "Hello."

  He crossed the threshold and shut the door behind him. Locked it.

  She reached out for him, but he thrust her hand away.

  "What is going on?" he demanded.

  She frowned, tossed her hair. "What's wrong?"

  He didn't speak. His jaw set tight, he reached for he
r arm.

  She pulled herself away. "You should leave," she said, moving to pass him.

  He clamped his hand into her hair, wrenched her head back.

  Tears flooded her eyes. A wave of panic swelled up around her. She fought it back. "Let me go."

  "What the hell game are you playing?"

  "Let go now."

  He lifted her by her hair. She felt his ragged breath, so much more powerful than the one before. It made her excited. She tried to touch his face.

  He shoved her away.

  She tumbled to the ground, slammed her face on the edge of the desk. She cried out.

  She sat up, felt the fury rise inside her. "You pathetic moron. Did you really think that you'd be enough? That I'd be satisfied by you?"

  He bared his teeth, sank them into his lip.

  She smiled and reveled in the pathetic expression on his face. "We're through."

  "You c-c-can't."

  Power streamed through her. She stood, smiling. Touched her lip, licked the warm blood. Shoulders back, she let the power buzz through her. She moved past him, reached for her purse. She turned back, raised an eyebrow. "I just d-d-did."

  "You whore!" He spit the words, launched himself at her.

  She backed away.

  He was too fast.

  He knocked her down. She tried to roll over, but he straddled her. Using his hips and thighs, he pressed her to the floor.

  She felt fear.

  She'd never seen him angry, not even a little. He raised his hand to strike her. Reaching out, she punched him in the groin.

  He fell backwards, cupping them. "You bitch!"

  She used the break to push him off. Scrambled to her feet. She reached for the door, but he caught her foot. On his feet, he spun her to face him. Anger burned in his cheeks.

  She struggled to speak, to try to talk him down. His fingers dug into her shoulders as she shook her head. No. His fury grew as he launched her across the room. She caught her foot, tumbled sideways. The desk was coming up at her. She reached to brace herself. Too late. Something like a giant wave crashed down on her head and underneath, there was only the absence of light.

  Chapter 4

  San Francisco General Hospital was a series of square brick boxes, stacked and connected like a child's LEGO creation but without the color and creativity. The building lacked symmetry. Or interesting architecture. What it screamed was functionality and Jamie supposed that made sense. General was not a particularly happy place.

  Though some mothers did give birth at General Hospital, the building had only seven labor and delivery rooms. On the other hand, as the city's only level one trauma center, General Hospital treated more than one and a half million people each year and almost five thousand trauma patients. The city's worst injuries came here. Maybe the architect thought an attractive structure would be hypocritical for the building's grim reality.

  Jamie took deep drags off her cigarette and steeled herself for the worst part. This was always where she considered a transfer to Homicide. It would be easier. They got grieving, angry families, but no victims. But leaving sex crimes wasn't an option. Not for her.

  This first day, only hours after the rape, the victim had yet to realize how the rape would change her life. Jamie knew. She had witnessed her best friend raped when they were young. It was why she did the job. To make up for that day. For just standing there, watching helplessly. Every time she stood in front of S.F. General, she was back to that day, watching that man...

  She sucked the last drag off her cigarette, dropped it in the ashtray outside the emergency entrance, where thousands of others had gone before. She opened her Timbuk2 bag and found a pack of spearmint gum. Popped two. Then she squeezed out a dollop of antibacterial lavender-scented lotion and rubbed it into her hands and dabbed a little on her neck. Smelling like flowers and spearmint, she walked through the emergency room entrance to the back hall, where the rape exam room was located.

  2R was a tiny exam room, painted in a light yellow. A single bed sat in the center—allowing Jamie and the assisting nurse, Maxi Thomas, to circle the victim for evidence collection. Maxi and Jamie had been doing this together a long time and on the rare occasion that Maxi wasn't on call when Jamie had a victim, Jamie appreciated her even more.

  2R had very little in terms of equipment. Three bright, blinding lights shone from overhead and two exam lights on swivel stands that could be moved around the room. Other than that, the room had boxes of tissues, and gloves, and the materials they used for evidence collection. Nothing else. If a victim required an x-ray or scans, she (or, very rarely, he) was moved. Unless a victim was physically unstable, she stopped at 2R. Jamie paused at the door and took her last breath before entering.

  When the door opened, she stared at the same eyes she always saw on a victim—wide, red rimmed, terrified, humiliated. Perhaps it was penance for not being attacked all those years ago, but Jamie took the gaze head-on. Only today it was a face she knew. Today it was her fault.

  She blinked hard. "I'm so sorry, Emily."

  Emily Osbourne shuddered. She ran a hand over her bare arm. Her right hand was wrapped with an Ace bandage. The bandage was just a temporary hold until evidence was collected. The arm was probably broken.

  Jamie balled a fist and sucked in a breath. Bastard. She fought the temptation to look away. Instead she studied Emily. Her left eye was swollen closed, the rim purple where the blood pooled above her cheekbone. Blood stained her upper lip where her nose still bled. Sitting in the pale green hospital gown, Emily looked about seventeen.

  Jamie's cell phone buzzed on her hip. "Vail."

  "It's Klein. I checked the records on Marchek."

  Marchek was her serial rapist suspect. He had spent six years in jail after being convicted without the help of DNA evidence. Now he was out. Marchek had a penchant for women in authority. Two officers of the court and a judge were his victims. He'd used condoms, but finally one woman identified him. Now his DNA was on record and Jamie thought he was good for the latest crimes, too. They showed consistency with his MO, but so far Jamie didn't have any evidence to run against his DNA.

  An anger retaliatory rapist, Marchek loved to beat his victims. Head and face, especially. Jamie had brought him in yesterday afternoon for questioning on an attempted rape in the police station parking lot. A traffic officer, Jill Muhta, had gotten away unharmed. She'd been unable to ID him, so they had no choice but to cut him loose.

  Marchek was also suspected in two other police officer attacks. Though targeting police officers was inherently risky, Jamie knew the police represented an attractive target for more violent, anger-motivated criminals. The police represented power, and for someone like Michael Marchek, a woman police officer was the ultimate prize.

  "Thanks, Klein. What time do you have him leaving?"

  "He signed out at 7:58 p.m."

  "Anyone see him leave?"

  "A guard named Cash saw him leave the building. Walked out the front toward Bryant."

  "And after that?"

  "Nothing. Cash was just talking a smoke break. Said Marchek turned left on Bryant and that's all he saw. You think he's your guy?"

  Jamie blew out her breath. "I do."

  Emily began crying again.

  "You want me to send patrol to pick him up?"

  "Yeah. Thanks." Jamie snapped the phone shut and blinked hard. Emily Osbourne had been attacked at 8:19 p.m. The bastard had literally gotten out of jail and walked over to the department in search of a new victim.

  That was on her. Jamie had gotten him riled up. She'd hoped to taunt him into saying something. Like most criminals who committed serial crimes, he wanted to boast. He was proud of his work. A perfectionist. The best way to rile a perfectionist was to tell him that he wasn't perfect. That was what she'd done. She used the failed attempted rape of Officer Muhta to provoke him.

  "I'd hate to think you'd lost your touch. Prison will do that, I hear." Marchek was not the explosive type. He
held it in but she knew he was angry. She'd done everything in her power to make him angry. And then, what? She'd walked away. Three hours later, they cut him loose. Her captain had denied her request to have him followed. They didn't have the manpower. Osbourne was attacked in the stairwell. Her stairwell. He'd come to Sex Crimes, her department. The only reason to come there was to find her.

  He was looking for her and instead, she let him walk right up to another officer. Christ. It should have been her on this table not Emily. How could she have been so stupid?

  Chapter 5

  Jamie Vail drew a slow breath to calm herself. This was not the time for self-recriminations or pity. This was Emily's time. Turning her focus to the interview at hand, Jamie announced the time, date, day of the week, and location of the rape, for the recording. But she wrote nothing. Her job was to watch for anything the tape would miss. Maxi would record important details, including victim's race and gender. 99.5 percent of the cases she saw were female, but she'd had male victims, too. It was no easier with them.

  "For the purpose of the recording, I'm Jamie Vail. I'm an Inspector with the San Francisco Police Department's Sexual Assault Unit." She lowered her voice. "Have we contacted your family?"

  Emily started to cry.

  Maxi Thomas patted her shoulder ever so lightly. "We called her parents. They're back in Connecticut. She has an aunt coming down from Stockton. We called her boyfriend, too, but didn't reach him."

  Parents. Aunt. Boyfriend. She was a daughter, a niece, and a girlfriend. She wondered how the boyfriend would handle it. She had seen a wide range of reactions, most of them bad. Husbands and boyfriends often displaced anger at the rapist onto themselves or the victim. Some couldn't handle the idea that their partner had been with another man as though the rape were some sort of infidelity. Others lacked the ability to be patient while the victim recovered. Often, she didn't want to be intimate for a long time. It was an impossible scenario. From Jamie's experience, a rape either made a couple indestructible or it flat out ruined them. Unfortunately, odds favored the latter.

  "Thanks, Maxi." Jamie focused on the victim. On Emily, she told herself. "I'm here to catch this bastard."