Chapter 5
His grip tightened around the steering wheel to the point that his knuckles turned white. He had been expecting a torrent of details, explanations, and revelations, and yet he had gotten silence. Awkward, deafening silence stretched between them like darkness in the night. “Well? Are you going to tell me where you have seen that phrase before?” The aggravation in his voice was stronger than he had intended. He felt her eyes whip to him, the chill in her body was palpable, but as she cleared her throat, he focused on her voice, silk and cream, coated in bitter cold.
“There was a murder nine years ago, a double murder. The killer left that message at the crime scene. They never caught him. That’s all, I guess.” Her voice was cool and clipped. He waited for her to give more, but nothing came. Giving a deep sigh, he turned to look at her. Her profile, haunting in its feminine perfection, stared unfeelingly out of the windshield.
“That’s all? Yeah, right. Who were the victims? How do you even know about the crime, or the scene? Why did it crack you? That’s all, my ass.” His voice was growing agitated, both because of her frustrating calm and because of the unnerving knot the supple line of her jaw stirred in his stomach.
“The victims were my parents.” The callous tone of the statement, that answered all of his questions so succinctly, would have been believable if he hadn’t caught the quiver of her chin when he whipped to stare at her again. Pulling the car immediately to the side of the road, he slammed it into park and tuned to face her, but she would not look at him. Sighing, he cocked his head slightly. Strangely, she seemed scared right now. A mass of fear and sorrow hidden beneath the smooth sheen of her ivory skin. Suddenly, he saw the truth behind her facade. Though she tried so desperately to hide it, the murder of her parents must have truly marred her soul. The cold nature, the distrust and aggression, even the defensive need to be respected and taken seriously, all stemmed from that one horrible truth. The last of his anger melted instantly. She needed a friend, even if she didn’t want one.
Feeling the softening of his gaze like razor blades on her flesh, she forced herself to face him. The pity in his eyes tied her stomach in knots and made her blood run hot. How dare he pity me! She seethed inwardly. She had lived through that event and come out strong. She had turned her life into cold ambition, methodically planned, all in an effort to honor her parents and ensure that no other fourteen year old girl would ever have to live the horror she had. He didn’t know her story, and she wasn’t about to tell him. She couldn’t risk deepening that pity any further. Wanting to erase the look in his eyes, she gave him a bit more.
“They died, yes. I was young, fourteen, when I found them. That phrase was written on the wall in their blood. It just caught me off guard to see it again. I shouldn’t have let the shock affect me as I did. It won’t happen again.” The controlled ice in her voice made his eyes go wide and victory welled in her throat. “Shall we continue?”
One brow lifted as he studied her face, but she kept her countenance calm and collected, and when he turned back to the wheel, pulling them back out onto the road, she turned to stare out her window again. Satisfied she had told him all he needed, she went over the crime scene in her head. Everything matched so perfectly, right down to the pattern on the dress the desk clerk had been forced into. Doubt sprang into her mind. Perhaps she should have told him more, all of it, but she couldn’t. The memories were far to painful and she didn’t know him, nor did she care to. She would probably have to at some point. After all, she wanted more than anything to catch the monster that had completely destroyed what would have been her normal life. Part of her wanted to tell him, almost ached with the need to confide in him. It was that same small corner of her mind that fluttered any time his blue eyes roamed over her, and it shivered with the need of it. But she had been repressing that part of her, the part that craved the warmth of companionship, since the very day she had woken up in that horrible scene. She wasn’t about to give in to it now, and certainly not with him. He had called her kiddo!
A few moments later, though an eternity in the awkward silence if his car, they were pulling up in front of her building. How would it feel to walk through the doors now? Knowing that the man who did such deviously horrible things to her family might be targeting her again, at her very front door, no less? Calming herself, at least outwardly, she slid from his car with ease and preceded him into the lobby where yellow crime scene tape still cordoned off most of the expansive room from the public. To her surprise and gratitude, she had come down that morning to face the tarps that had been hung to screen the rest of the tenants from the mess still covering the marble floor. The C.S.I. team hadn’t finished processing the scene yet and until the clean up crew came through the blood pools would remain.
“We didn’t want to disturb the tenants, but the scene will be gone by tomorrow. The cleaning crew is scheduled to come in tonight.” It irked her that he could read her so easily, especially considering that he had been behind her. She halted and he came up to stand with her. Looking down at her, his eyes seemed to smile a bit and against all reason, she felt her face flush. Ridiculous, foolish girl, she berated herself, as she too quickly looked away, pulling his smile down to his lips. Again, that horrid, traitorous place in her mind sparked to life, begging her to take in that winsome smile she was sure he had. Chancing a glance, she discovered, much to her dismay, that it was even more beguiling than she had feared. His strong lips were parted slightly over a row of straight white teeth and the shared glow of his mouth and his eyes made that corner of her mind leap and swirl.
“I saw it this morning when I left for the academy.” Trying to sound aloof, she moved away from him, shifting the edge of the shroud and stepping through. The tarp prevented the air flow that would have allowed that thick, briny, metallic smell of so much blood to escape. Pinned in as it was, the stench was so heavy inside the confined space that for a moment her stomach lurched. Pulling herself up straighter before he filed in behind her, she scanned the scene, now blessedly free of corpses. The pools of blood were expansive and dark. There was so much blood.
“That’s right, I forgot you lived here…well, ki.., Detective Cord, what do you see?” He had caught the term in his throat when her head snapped viciously to him. Good, at least he could learn.
“Well, judging from the amount of blood, it’s a sure bet they died where we found them. Though, that’s not to say the carving was done here, nor the dressing of the desk clerk.” Her mind drank in the scene, all it offered, but especially what it didn’t.
“And what makes you think that?” She was certain from the respect the other officers had shown him at the briefing that he was good enough to already know. Part of her was offended that he would ask, but it dawned on her that he was supposed to be training her. Resolutely looking anywhere but at him, she explained.
“Well, according to your briefing, the desk clerk’s uniform was not under the dress,” the word hissed out of her mouth, “and it wasn’t found at the scene or in the dumpsters around the back or the cans along the street. So, one can deduce that the killer either dressed his victim somewhere else, or took the time to thoroughly clean the scene before laying his victims down to die.” Feeling his evaluating gaze narrow on her, she added, “and since the carvings were under the clothes, not through them, we can also assume that both men were shirtless at some point and then redressed. Also, this is a full building, with nearly two hundred apartments, so the time it would have taken to do all of it here in the lobby would have meant inevitably being seen. Honestly, I am a little amazed they were able to bleed out before someone, well, I, found them.” As she finished, she turned her head to find him watching her. Something that looked like pride seemed to hover over his eyes, and again her stomach knotted with a flourish of warmth.
Chapter 6
“Good. Perhaps you will be everything Moreano believes you will be, Cord.” He paused to relish the wave of pink that flashed across her face. Pretending he
didn’t notice it, or feel his guts tighten in response to it, he turned to the scene. “Actually, that puzzled me, too. The time it would have taken to carve and redress them would have been extensive. That, coupled with the fact that the bodies were positioned so precisely in front of the resident listing board, suggests that every part of this was planned. The stab wounds were deep, but, according to the M.E., they only nicked a few organs and no arteries, they bled to death slowly. With so many people, how did he prevent someone from finding them sooner?” His question was rhetorical, but when she offered a hasty, and poorly worded answer, he guessed that it had just sprang to mind, too sudden and shocking for her to hold it in, or even think it through completely.
“He was waitin’ for me…” Her drawl was thick, coated in fear, and her face was paler than it had been. His eyes were on her as a ripple of shock tore through her finely crafted features.
“What? Why would he wait for you? What makes you think that?” She knew something more, and now he was sure of it. He was staring at her when a shiver lit over her arms, making some foolish part of him reached out to her. The second his fingers touched her shoulder he regretted it. She rounded on him, all fury and no grace.
“If you have an accusation to make, make it! Otherwise, could you please refrain from touching me?” The ice in her voice almost burned him. So lovely and so cold, what had really happened so long ago to make her this way, he wondered, as he hastily retracted his dejected hand. “Everything about this was so planned, methodical, why not assume that I was meant to find it. Considering the phrase and the dress…” Her words faltered when she realized her mouth had betrayed her. She had said something she hadn’t intended to, and he pounced.
“What about the dress, Cord?” His voice was commanding and strict and she squirmed under his gaze. Part of him wanted to back down, but she had withheld information that could be important, something he, as her training office, could not overlook.
“It was just like the one my mom…was wearin’.” Her voice faltered and he heard that sweet southern drawl again. In spite of himself, he probed farther into the painful memory.
“And that wasn’t important until now because?” He very nearly growled at her. Why? It was so obviously painful for her, and she hadn’t held it back for too long. So why did he feel so betrayed? Why did this girl, whom he had barely met, cause him such disquiet? Forcing his anger to ebb back, he cleared his throat and tried to ask his question again, with less hostility, if possible. “I mean, if you are the target, that’s something I should know sooner rather than later, don’t you think? How am I supposed to protect you if I am taking you to a crime scene meant to affect you specifically?”
“Protect me?” Her laughter was shrill and forced and he realized that this wasn’t really funny to her in the slightest. “Honestly, didn’t Moreano tell you anything about me?” Chuckling coldly, she turned and moved out of the stagnate, tented scene and back into the lobby.
“Damn it…” he cursed and followed behind her. By the time he cleared the tarp, she was pushing the door open. Chasing after her, he called out, making her stop a moment and look back at him. “Yes, protect you, that’s what partners do, or did Moreano not tell you that?”
A gray storm rose in her eyes and her plump lips pinched in anger. The sight very nearly sent he hurdling toward her, teetering between rage and desire. He was normally so smooth and deliberate. Until this morning he had been the youngest person promoted to detective. With two years in the army and only one year as a patrolman, he had impressed every superior officer and instructor he had ever had with his cool head, balanced temper, and kind demeanor. Why, then, did he lose himself in fits of irrational emotions, specifically anger, every time this wisp of a woman even looked at him?
“Perhaps I should ask for protective custody, run and hide until I’m no longer in danger. Is that what you suggest?” Her voice came out far calmer than she felt. He was very near to finding out just how little protection she really needed. Her retort seemed to enrage him even more and for a moment, she regretted it. But it was a brief moment. Color rose high in her face as she pushed through the door into the cool of late afternoon Manhattan in the fall. Striding to the car she tugged on the handle, finding it tragically locked. His turn to chuckle. Behind her, she could hear him draw near. She could almost feel his warmth in the chill air and it rippled through her in a way she had never felt before. When she heard the click of the lock, she reached for the handle, only to be beaten by his hand.
“Allow me.” His voice was a raspy, deep purr now, so far from the angry growl from only moments ago that she nearly turned to make sure it was him, but she didn’t dare. He unnerved her in a way she had never encountered and she would be damned if she would turn and give him another chance to rattle her cage. Whether it was anger or calm written on his face, she knew both would be equally disturbing to her. Sliding through the opening door, she plopped into the passenger seat and stared straight ahead. After a long pause, he closed her door, gently, and moved around the front to his side. She watched him pass the front of the car, his stride giving her the distinct impression of a practiced fighter. She sat wondering what it would be like to spar with him.
He slid into the car and, without so much as a glance in her direction, turned the car back toward the station. For most of the drive they rode in awkward silence and part of her feared that was to be their fate. She could not be sure if he was too furious, too tired, or simply too disgusted, to speak to her and at the moment she didn’t care. The silence, though thick, was blissful in comparison to their heated exchange at the crime scene. As if in reaction this this very thought, he broke the quiet.
“So, what is ‘the bait program’? I’ve never heard of it, and I’ve been the departments top detective for nearly four years now.” His voice was collected and practiced. His interrogation voice, she mused to herself. But all desire to challenge him had left her. Their verbal spar had flooded her with adrenalin, more than almost any of her physical confrontations in the park had, and its inevitable ebb had left her weak.
“It’s exactly how it sounds.” Her voice was low, silky, and free of sarcasm, unwilling, just now, to stir him up again. “We, our team, set up a route, cameras, surveillance the works, along a specific path in the park. The ‘bait’ walks the path late at night, dressed in some provocative way, in the dark, looking for a nibble. Then we lure in the predator, allow him to make his move, then arrest him for it.” A strange sense of pride washed over her as she described the work that had become her life.
“Sexual assaults, muggings, that sort of thing, right? Sounds a little like entrapment.” His voice was steady. Somehow, they had found a momentary place of balance between them. She wondered how long it would last, and whether or not she wanted it to. A dark part of her had enjoyed their row, reveled in the rush that squaring off intellectually with someone who, for all intents and purposes, was her equal, had given her.
“We had a few lawyers argue that in the beginning, but the surveillance tapes are extensive. We give them at least half a mile to turn back, change their minds. Then, we give them a distinct moment, an absolute decision point where the ‘bait’ turns from the main path. If they follow, their choice is clear, no entrapment. Then we wait for them to attack. The ‘bait’ subdues them and the team swoops in for the collar.” She couldn’t suppress the smile this time. Turning toward him, she caught his peripheral vision and he turned to look at her. For some reason, the fire in his eyes unbalanced her and another flush of pink washed over her cheek bones. His smile was quick and piercing. She turned away before she fell into it. No. Attraction was simply out of the question. All men, no matter how noble their intentions or posturing, were cruel and depraved creatures deep down. Never before had she felt anything stronger than tolerance for one, save perhaps her father and her uncle, until now, and she barely knew this man.
Turning back to the road, he continued, “So, what’s the turnover for ‘bait’? I can’
t imagine anyone wanting to do something that fool hearty more than a few times.” She actually laughed this time.
Chapter 7
Her laugh, her real laugh, was intoxicating. Soft and warm, it rattled his bones and caused a tensing flush in his hips. She excited him more than any woman he had ever dated, ever met, ever even dreamed about. There hadn’t been that many, if he were honest with himself. His job was his life. His last relationship had ended nearly eight months ago when he realized that the only reason he was with her was because she was even busier than he was. They almost never saw each other, and even when they did they never had anything to talk about. The physical aspect had been moderately satisfying, but when that wasn’t enough anymore, he had simply walked away. Until now, the thought of dating again hadn’t crossed his mind. And yet, after knowing this cold, fierce, distant girl for less than a day he needed to adjust himself, but he didn’t dare. Then, making matters worse, her voice, breathy and rasped, made his gut clinch in a futile effort to slow his involuntary hardening. What was the matter with him! She hated him…didn’t she?
“We didn’t have any turnover. Our ‘bait’ enjoyed it too much.” The way she said it, the sound of her smile curving her words, made the truth suddenly obvious.
“You!? He used you as BAIT? For rapists and thugs? Of all the…” The little calm he had managed to find was shattered. How could Moreano put her in that much danger? Every night. For a year! Rage bubbled in him and the hardening length between his legs twitched. The idea of allowing her to be attacked even once made him sick to his stomach. From the moment he had seen her in the lobby of her building the night before he had felt an irrational desire to protect her, to spirit her away to some safe place and watch over her. Grinding his teeth, his hands tightened on the wheel.
Little Belle Gone Page 3