But even as he mulled it over again, his thoughts veered onto another track, one that caused him to shift in his seat. He’d seen her one other time, too. He’d been on a date in New York when she and Kit had walked into the same restaurant. He’d been struck by how different the two women walking into the restaurant had appeared from the two women he’d seen in the hospital several months earlier.
They’d been dressed up for a summer night on the town. Carly had worn a blue silk dress that looked like a long tank top. Only it hadn’t been all that long, hitting her at mid-thigh and giving view to an impressive expanse of leg ending in nude heels.
And an anklet. A damned anklet that popped into his mind at odd, and unwanted, hours. A delicate gold chain with a small cross that dangled right over her anklebone. In that dress, with those heels, it seemed almost sacrilege to be wearing it. Still, months later, when he thought of her, he remembered that anklet, and just about the only thing he could think of then was wanting to see her wearing it and nothing else.
“Drew?” Dani’s voice brought him abruptly back to the conversation.
Glancing at Carly, he noted that her hazel eyes were watching him. As they often seemed to be.
“Yes?” he answered, switching gaze to Dani.
“Carly’s food is getting bagged up so we were saying good-bye,” Sam said.
His eyes swung back to Carly, who was rising from her seat. Nice, he’d been the one to invite her over and he hadn’t spoken a word. How suave of him.
“Why don’t I walk you to your car?” he asked, standing.
“No, thank you, that isn’t necessary.”
“I insist.”
Her eyes came up and held his for a brief moment, a question flashing through them. “Really it’s not necessary. I just parked in the parking lot behind the restaurant.”
His eyes narrowed. “Humor me.”
• • •
Humor me. Carly knew she’d made a tactical error by mentioning the parking lot. She could tell by the way Drew’s voice had become clipped and his shoulders had drawn back that he was remembering another dark night. After Kit’s attack, she wasn’t exactly fond of parking lots, either. But she was perfectly capable of walking herself to her car. There was also the fact that she had no interest in being alone with Drew just then. His eyes had been too observant for her liking all evening.
But even so, short of being overtly rude, she could think of no way to refuse his offer. So she turned a brittle smile on him and accepted. Offering a much warmer good-bye to his family and safe wishes for their travels home, she made her way back to the bar to pay her bill and pick up her soup.
Donning his jacket and gloves, Drew joined her as she waited for Rob to attend to a few other customers before running her credit card. “Did you get everything done that you needed to today?” he asked.
Her eyes flicked to his before returning to watch Rob mix drinks. She found it interesting that Drew hadn’t just asked her if she’d moved all her boxes. It was as if he already knew she’d lied. But of course, that was how it was with him—how it had always been, since that first moment she’d met him in Kit’s hospital room. It was in his eyes, in the way he looked at her. He always seemed to have the answer to whatever question he had asked before he’d even asked it. And that made it seem like what he wanted from her, what he was really asking, was for something more. More from her, or maybe more of her.
It had unsettled her then and it unsettled her now.
“Yes, I did. Thank you.” Rob stopped by with her bill, easing some of the tension she’d felt building in her shoulders. She signed the receipt, grabbed the bag with her soup, and turned toward the door. Beside her, Drew showed none of the discomfort she felt coursing through her body as he calmly held the door open for her.
As they walked in silence toward her car behind the restaurant, she listened to his measured steps as he matched her gait. Always so precise and efficient. She wondered what would happen if she ever had the courage to throw him off. She wondered what would happen if, heaven forbid, in the dark of the parking lot, she tugged his tidy shirt loose from his well-pressed pants and ran her palms over his skin. But as he came to a stop, exactly where he should beside her car to give her just enough space to open her door and slide in while still being close enough to protect her if needed, she knew she would never do it. His appearance of calm, his cool composure, was something she knew instinctively was hard fought and learned. And just as she knew that, she knew she wasn’t equipped to handle whatever she might unleash in him with her touch. Especially not now.
“What happened today?” Drew’s sharp tone brought her thoughts back from the wayward path they’d taken. Standing beside her car, hands tucked into the pockets of his cashmere coat, he studied her.
“I should think it was obvious. A woman was murdered.” She turned from his scrutiny and unlocked her car door.
“I saw the color drain from your face when you saw the victim, Carly. I want to know why.”
It was shocking, really, how quickly she could go from contemplating what it would be like to run her hands across his bare skin to debating just how to tell him to mind his own goddamned business. Had he asked politely, maybe expressed some concern for her, she still wouldn’t have answered. But asking in the way he had, as if he were entitled to an answer, made her wish she wasn’t a semi-public figure and could be more liberal with her language.
“How nice of you to be concerned. But I assure you, it isn’t necessary.” She opened her door and stepped around it. His eyes narrowed on hers.
“Something about that body scared you.”
“I was shocked,” she shot back.
She saw his jaw clench. “Carly.”
“Good night, Drew. Thank you for walking me to my car. It’s been a pleasure and I hope you have a safe trip back home.” She slid into her seat and reached for the door. His hand came up to stop it from closing. She raised her brows at his high-handed method and gave him a look to let him know that releasing her door sooner rather than later would be in his best interest.
“You were scared,” he said again. Only this time, his voice was quieter and she heard a hint of worry.
She let out a breath and counted to five. “I’m fine. Really. I just want to get home and go to bed.”
He eyed her for a long moment and she had no doubt that he didn’t believe a word of what she’d just said, except maybe the last part about getting home to bed. Much to her relief, though, he stepped back and let his hand fall away. “Take care of yourself.”
She nodded and shut the door. As she pulled out of the lot, she saw him in her rearview mirror. Still standing where she’d left him. Still watching her.
Chapter Four
Early the next morning, after passing through security, Drew followed an escort to Dr. Vivienne DeMarco’s office at the state crime lab in Albany. Flipping through a folder on her desk, she looked up when the guard delivered him to her door.
“Come in, Mr. Carmichael,” she said, rising to shake his hand.
“Please, call me Drew,” he replied as he returned her greeting. She gave him a polite smile then sat down. Leaning back in her chair to look up at him, she quietly drummed a pen on its arm. He thought about sitting down across from her, but opted to stay standing instead.
“What can I help you with today?” she asked.
Rather than answer right away, he glanced around her office. Kit had told him enough about Vivienne DeMarco that it didn’t surprise him to find that she’d been given a sizable office, despite being only a consultant for the lab.
“I understand you’re the medical examiner for Columbia County.”
“I am, yes.”
“And for the state?”
“No,” she said, her pen still drumming out a steady tattoo. “I do act as a secondary opinion for other county MEs, but I’m not the official state ME.”
“Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest, if you were needed to consult on on
e of your own cases?” he asked, resting his palms on the back of the chair in front of him.
“I work for Dr. Sameer Buckley, here at the lab. He would provide any secondary opinions on my cases, if needed,” she answered, seemingly unperturbed by what must have seemed like a random line of inquiry.
“But I can’t imagine you came here to discuss my work arrangements, did you, Mr. Carmichael?”
The leather of the chair under his fingers felt smooth and worn from years of use. He had a fleeting thought as to what Dr. DeMarco might find on it if she ever ran it through a series of evidence tests. “No, I didn’t,” he answered. He hesitated, then, going out on a limb, he spoke. “I’d like to be brought in on the case you’re investigating from yesterday. The body of the woman found in Windsor.”
The drumming of her pen stopped and she studied him openly. He’d heard tales of Dr. DeMarco’s intelligence and he wondered how long it would take her to figure him out.
“You’re CIA, aren’t you,” she announced.
Apparently, not long.
“What makes you say that?” he asked.
“You’re obviously not any local law enforcement or you would have let us know yesterday. I also know you’re not FBI—”
“How would you know?”
“You’re old enough to have risen in the ranks, and with your air of superiority, I would bet you’re used to giving orders. And while I don’t know everyone in the FBI, if you ran in those circles, I would either know you or know of you,” she answered.
Interesting. The comment about his age stung a bit. Sure, he was older than the doctor was, maybe by a few years, but not many. Unlike Carly—he had to be at least a decade older than she was. And, well, as to Dr. DeMarco’s comment about his air, she wasn’t the first person who’d called him arrogant.
Taking a seat, he gestured for her to continue.
“You’re not the NSA type,” she said, which he took as a compliment. “And as far as everyone knows, you’re a businessman from New York. There are very few agencies that could or would set up that kind of cover, and usually when they do, it’s not really a cover at all but holds enough truth to it to be mostly real. The DEA would, but only the CIA would keep the cover in place as long as I know yours has been. Or at least the only agency you would risk hinting to me about.”
Kit had not been exaggerating about Dr. DeMarco’s intellect. Impressed, he remained silent as she continued to study him.
Then she asked, “Why?”
He took a deep breath. “Because Deputy Chief Carly Drummond knows something she isn’t sharing with the rest of you,” he said, not having any idea how Dr. DeMarco would take his statement.
She arched an eyebrow at him.
“When you rolled the body over yesterday morning, you should have seen her expression,” he continued. “It was clear to me that she either recognized the woman or recognized something about the way she had been killed. And based on what I heard last night, you still don’t have an ID, so I’m assuming she hasn’t shared what she knows.”
“Last night?” Another eyebrow arch and Drew had a fleeting idea of what Dr. DeMarco’s young son, whom he’d met at the fundraiser, had in store for him as a teenager some day.
“She borrowed Kit’s SUV yesterday—ostensibly, to pick up some boxes from storage. I saw her at The Tavern after she’d returned the car to Kit’s house—and it was much later than it should have been had she just stayed local like she said she was going to when she picked the car up. I think she went somewhere else, and after seeing her reaction yesterday, I think she needs to answer some questions.”
“She’s a grown woman, Mr. Carmichael—”
“Drew.”
“Drew,” she corrected. “It’s entirely possible she had a valid reason for being out so much later than you deem appropriate.”
Dr. DeMarco’s allusion did not escape his notice and he sensed she had deliberately put it out there to check his reaction.
“You and the rest of the team are too close to her to see that she’s hiding something. You need an outsider,” he said.
“On the contrary. I did see her reaction. I also saw how you watched her. How your eyes tracked her every move.”
Shit. He should have realized that Dr. DeMarco wasn’t just book smart.
“Carly is hiding something,” he insisted.
“Carly hasn’t told us yet,” she countered.
He shot her a look of disbelief.
Vivi set her pen down with a sigh. “I agree. She knows something we don’t. But unlike you, I trust her. I trust that if she is keeping something from us, she’s doing it for a good reason. And I also trust that when she feels she can, she’ll tell us.”
He didn’t hold back his bark of cynical laughter. “That’s quite a leap of faith you’ve taken there, Dr. DeMarco,” he said, feeling every bit as jaded as he sounded.
She picked her pen back up and started drumming again. “I’ve been doing this a long time, and I don’t like to boast, but I have a pretty good sense of what goes on inside people’s heads. She’ll tell us when she feels she can.”
Dr. DeMarco’s calm surety hit him like a slap in the face. The idea that someone with her background and experience still maintained trust and faith in people left him nearly speechless—or perhaps envious. Because any kind of trust or faith was getting harder for him to maintain with each passing day.
“Have you ever been wrong?” he asked, both curious and wary of her answer.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I have. But I’m not about this.”
Again, that surety, not just in what she thought but in someone. He paused, realizing he’d counted on her to be just as cynical as he was. This discussion wasn’t going the way he had intended.
Deciding to try another tack, he conceded. “Perhaps. But I have unique expertise to bring to the table.”
“No offense, but I doubt it,” she said. Vivi DeMarco did not cut a man a break and he kind of respected her for it. But he did have something to offer.
“She was cut wasn’t she? Several times and in patterns of five, a center piercing surrounded by four slices. Most of the patterns were probably centered on her stomach, but there were likely several scattered across her body,” he said, pulling out what he hoped would be his trump card.
The pen stopped.
“And how would you know?” she asked.
“I saw the spots seeping through her clothes when we first came across her body. I recognized the pattern.”
“And what does it mean?”
“It’s the symbol of the Pen Royal Group, an organized crime conglomerate, for lack of a better word, that formed in the late eighties and operates out of DC.”
Again, she studied him for a good long while before speaking. “Your information is accurate but old. They were formed in the DC area and operated out of there for several years before moving their primary headquarters to Dallas a few years ago. I guess with the growth of Russian and Chinese organized crime, DC got a little overcrowded,” she added, the first hint of humor he’d seen from her.
“Or maybe they’re getting old and wanted to live somewhere warm,” he said, hopeful that even though she seemed to already know what he’d told her, she’d warmed up to him enough to allow him to join her team, if only temporarily.
She rolled her eyes at his comment, but a small smile touched her lips. “There are much easier ways to show a woman you’re interested in her than this, you know.”
“Do you know if what she knows has put her in danger?” Drew asked, ignoring her comment.
He could almost see her calculating those odds. But what he’d suggested did have some truth to it. Maybe Dr. DeMarco was right. Maybe Carly had an excellent reason for keeping her secret. But just because she had a reason didn’t mean there couldn’t still be a monster lurking under her bed.
Finally, the doctor sighed and leaned forward. “Fine, assuming we get interagency approval, I’ll request your participation in th
is investigation solely as an expert on the Pen Royal Group. At least they’re an international group, so agency involvement won’t look too fishy.”
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It had been a long time since someone had put him through his paces the way Dr. DeMarco had. “Thank you,” he said writing down the contact information of his boss, Rina Ahmed.
He’d called Rina earlier and left a voice mail detailing his request. Knowing she would have seen through him in a heartbeat, almost as fast as Dr. DeMarco had, and then called him to the carpet and ordered him home, he’d been glad to only get her answering service. But with the request coming in from the state lab and from a doctor well respected in her field, Drew had at least a fighting chance of not having Rina tear him a new one when he returned to the office.
Of course, if she did, he would deserve it. Jurisdictionally, the case was gray, and even he knew there would be little to no return on his investment. Not even politically since, on the off chance they were to find something on PRG, the FBI would take over given PRG’s US headquarters.
Dr. DeMarco took the paper he slid over and looked at the information before leaning back in her chair. “I’ll call this in now.”
“I appreciate it, Dr. DeMarco.”
“Call me Vivi,” she said, reaching for her phone. “We’ll meet in the lab in an hour,” she added. “Go talk to Ruben Allende in security, he’ll get you set up with access.”
He nodded, took that as his cue to leave, and rose. But as he passed through the door, she called him back.
“Drew?”
“Yes,” he said, turning to face her.
“To be clear, next time I expect you to just ask her out.”
An Inarticulate Sea Page 5