Critical Instinct

by Crouch, Janie

  “It’s not enough, Wagner. And I don’t want the word serial killer even breathed unless we know something for sure. Especially not to Chief Pickett.” Captain Ameling left Brett’s desk and walked over to his coat and briefcase.

  Brett didn’t blame him. Nothing threw a city into a panic like announcing there was some sick killer on the loose.

  “Yes, sir,” Brett muttered.

  Ameling turned and looked back at Brett and the files on his desk. “But it’s a damn weird coincidence, so keep digging. That’s what you were brought here for, right? To see things we might have missed?”

  That wasn’t what Brett had been expecting.

  The Captain waved his arm out towards the files on Brett’s desk. “So work your magic.” The Captain turned and left without another word.

  Brett looked at the files for a long time after Ameling left. Could they all be tied together? Ameling was right. There were lots of holes in the theory that these women had been killed by the same man.

  But he looked at the pictures again. The women’s appearances were different in terms of hair color and skin tones, but they were all similar in build… thin, petite, with long hair. Almost fragile in appearance.

  Just like Paige.

  If all these cases were tied together then that might mean that Paige wasn’t just attacked.

  She should’ve been murdered.

  God, how it hurt him to see her battered face. He’d taken his fair share of punches to the jaw —scuffling with friends while growing up, not to mention a couple lucky hits from perps when he was a uniformed cop— but Brett had the build and stature to take it. Still each one had still hurt like a bitch.

  Paige was so damn tiny. The thought of someone’s fists being used on her in that way made him physically sick to his stomach.

  He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. She had survived; was alive. That was what was important. But the more he thought about it, the more he was sure whoever had attacked Paige hadn’t intended for her to live.

  Captain Ameling didn’t want Brett mentioning a serial killer. And Brett wouldn’t, not until he had more proof. But in his gut he knew these cases were tied together.

  And Paige was one of them.

  Brett stood, sliding his chair back. He had to see Paige right now. Even though he knew she was fine, he had to look at her with his own eyes.

  He would get back to these files tomorrow. They couldn’t wait until Monday. Brett had a feel that once he starting digging, he would find even more connections.

  More dead women linked in some way.

  But right now he just wanted to see the woman who probably should’ve been dead, but somehow was alive.

  Brett didn’t know why Paige was alive when the others weren’t. He just knew he was thankful.

  Chapter Seven

  Brett wasn’t sure what he had been expecting at Paige’s art show. He’d had a moment’s hesitation when he’d arrived and immediately seen that getting into this shindig was definitely invitation-only. There was a line outside —longer than ones he’d seen for nightclubs in Miami— just for access. And none of those people, all obvious fans of Paige’s, were getting into the show. As Brett walked up and gave his name to the man with a headset at the front door, he wondered if Paige had remembered to leave a pass for him.

  He felt more relieved than he should when he found out she had. Although he told himself it was just because he didn’t want to flash his badge to get inside.

  Once in, he’d been expecting people milling around, looking closely at the artwork and quietly murmuring about the interpretive statement, or use of light, or rhythmic composition or any other number of phrases Brett wouldn’t really understand. He’d planned to do a lot of smiling and nodding, if anybody deemed talk to him at all.

  But instead it was more like a fun, over-sized dinner party. People were walking around, chatting, laughing. Part of it may have been because of the wine and champagne served by the waiters circling around in an unobtrusive fashion. Part of it may have been the three-piece band playing in the corner. An upbeat tune from West Side Story, if Brett recalled correctly.

  When you’re a Jet, you’re a Jet all the way…

  But mostly it was Paige’s paintings that created the atmosphere. They were amazing. Compelling. Brett could barely drag himself away from one to look at the next. The colors.

  And just one look made him realize he had two small Paige Jeffries originals sitting at his townhouse. He’d never known who’d left the paintings on his doorstep that had reminded him so much of the sisters he’d lost. If he’d had any time to research Paige’s art he would’ve recognized the style immediately.

  Given the popularity of her art, they would probably commandeer a pretty price. Not that Brett would part with them for any amount of money.

  He looked around at some more of her work. They were all just as vibrant. Captivating. Sometimes even difficult to look at.

  And in the center of it all was some sort of 3D rendering of one of her paintings. It burst from the ground into the air, over ten feet tall, reds and oranges and pinks flowing like waves at the top. Breathtaking.

  Each canvas encouraged conversation, not just about the painting, but about emotion, life, joy and pain. About what it was to be alive.

  Brett never knew he was able to wax so poetic about art. But honestly, Paige’s work seemed to be beyond mere paintings to him.

  The thought that Paige could’ve been killed in her attack two years ago ate at him. The world would’ve lost a truly great artist.

  Brett would’ve lost the woman he hadn’t been able to get out of his mind since the moment he’d met her.

  “I wasn’t sure if you would make it,” Paige’s soft voice was right beside him.

  Brett couldn’t stop himself, he pulled Paige into his arms. He just wanted to reassure his psyche that she was okay, unharmed, not in the clutches of some madman. Paige stiffened for just a second, then relaxed into his arms.

  “Excuse me, Sir,” a security guard tapped Brett on the shoulder. “I need you to release Ms. Jeffries immediately.”

  Paige looked at the other man. “It’s okay, I’m fine, Jacob.”

  Brett let go of Paige. He hadn’t meant to make her nervous in any way, hadn’t thought about how his touch might cause her fear. He’d just needed to touch her.

  She kept a hand on his arm. “Really, I’m okay.” She looked up at Brett first when she said it, then turned to her security guard. “Thank you for checking, Jacob. I appreciate it.”

  The man faded back into the crowd.

  “I wasn’t thinking,” Brett told her, trying, and failing, to force himself to ease back from her. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

  She smiled up at him. “Well, I wasn’t exactly expecting a bear hug, but it didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

  “It made Jacob pretty uncomfortable.” Brett tilted his head towards the security guard who was still eyeing them.

  “Jacob knows I don’t like to be touched. Sometimes enthusiasts of my art can be a little fervent in their demonstrations of affection. It can be… overwhelming for me.”

  And then he had to grab her in a hug as soon as he saw her. Way to go, jackass. “I’m sorry, Paige. I didn’t even think.”

  “Please, don’t apologize.” Her hand still rested on his arm and she gave it the slightest squeeze. “It was nice to be able to call Jacob off for once. Is that normally how you greet people you were questioning a few days ago?”

  Brett gave a short bark of laughter. “No, I can assure you it’s not how I traditionally greet suspects, victims, or witnesses.”

  “Good, then I feel special. Can I show you around a little bit?”

  * * *

  Paige was a little shaken by her brief embrace with Brett but not for the reasons she would’ve thought. She knew what it was like to break out in a cold sweat every time she shook someone’s hand, to suffer full-on panic attacks when someone touched her
shoulder from behind.

  A full embrace? Paige could admit she hadn’t let a man anywhere near close enough for a hug in two years. It would have sent her running screaming for the hills.

  And yet, here she was, walking with her hand linked in the crook of Brett Wagner’s arm. No running. No screaming. No hills.

  Go figure.

  She could still feel the imprint of his body —just the slightest bit— from when he’d been pressed up against her. Could still smell the manly scent of him. No colognes, just the vague residual scent of whatever soap he’d used. What it was had made Paige want to snuggle closer just for a second.

  So different from her normal behavior, she knew it would catch other people’s attention. She saw Melissa’s surprised glance from across the gallery and knew she would have questions from the governor’s wife before the night was over.

  “So what do you think about the show?” she asked him, turning away from Melissa’s gaze. She would deal with her friend’s inquisition later.

  “It definitely wasn’t what I was expecting.”

  “In a bad way or a good way?”

  His smile made something flutter in her center. “Definitely good. Although I have to admit, I don’t have much basis for comparison.”

  Paige wasn’t surprised. “Not a normal art-show attender?”

  “No, not really. I always figured they would be more…” Brett seem to struggle to find the right word.

  “Boring? Pretentious?” Paige arched her eyebrow at him.

  Brett laughed. “Well, actually I was going to say too intellectual for me. But yeah, I guess either of those others would work too.”

  “Some art shows are everything you’d fear.”

  “But not yours?” Brett leaned just the slightest bit closer and she was amazed again when she didn’t feel her normal need to draw back.

  “My art is an extension of me. It’s just what I do. I think it’s crazy that people spend so much money for my paintings.”

  “It occurs to me that I didn’t realize it, but I’ve had two Paige Jeffries’ originals for about fifteen years now.”

  She blushed, she couldn’t help it. “I had drawn those with your sisters the year before. Always reminded me of them, so I wanted you to have them. Of course, it never occurred to me that you wouldn’t know that and you might just toss them.”

  “I didn’t. They always made me smile. Even though I didn’t know who they were from or what they meant, I couldn’t get rid of them.”

  She squeezed his arm. “I’m glad. I was so shy back then, talking to you would’ve been nearly impossible.”

  “We talked in our class a couple of times.”

  She grinned. “I don’t think, ‘there are quizzes in an art class?!?’ counts as much of a conversation.”

  “I’m still scarred about that. You painted long before high school, right?”

  “Yes. I painted for as long as I can remember. What do you think of them?”

  It wasn’t a question she asked very often. Normally she didn’t put much stock in other people’s opinions, but she found herself studying Brett’s expression closely.

  She knew she shouldn’t care if he liked her work, but she very much did.

  She watched as he looked around the room almost 360 degrees before turning back to her. Her hand was still tucked in the crook of his arm as his brown eyes locked with hers. She took a step closer before she could help herself. Everything around them blurred into a background hum.

  “I’m not great with words about stuff like this,” Brett said in barely above a whisper. “But your work is compelling. I never knew that art could make me want to keep looking at it.”

  Paige felt a warmth spread inside her. Brett couldn’t have said it more perfectly if he had a degree in art.

  “Thank you.” She squeezed his arm. “That’s exactly how I hope people feel about it.”

  “And that centerpiece is amazing.”

  Paige studied it. “It’s one of my pieces scanned then printed with a 3D printer. I never knew anything like that was even possible.”

  “Me either.” They began walking around so he could see more. “How often do you have shows like these?”

  “At least once a year. More if my agent can talk me into it.”

  “Will all these paintings sell? There’s got to be, what, fifty or sixty in here?”

  Paige shrugged. “Actually, most of them were already sold before tonight, I think.”

  “Wow.”

  Paige didn’t like talking about the business of her art. She had no idea why people bought her paintings, although she was glad they did. “I just paint. I realize I’m one of the fortunate few who is able to make a living from doing what I love to do. I wouldn’t know how not to paint. Even if I just had to stuff the finished pieces in a closet somewhere, I’d still paint.”

  Brett tucked her hand a little closer into the crook of his arm. “These paintings stuffed in a closet somewhere would be an absolute crime. And you’ve got a room full of people here who think so.”

  “Yeah, success is still a little surreal for me, even though it’s been over five years since my paintings started selling.”

  They walked up some stairs of the converted warehouse that had been turned into the art gallery, further from the jazz band. Paige liked the big, open space of it all, and was glad for its largeness now. It gave her a chance to talk with Brett in relative privacy. She knew it wouldn’t take long until her agent, Hunter Barnes, was looking for her wanting her to converse with some of her more important collectors.

  Paige would much rather be here chatting with Brett.

  “I’m a little surprised you showed up, actually,” she told him as they took the last few stairs to the loft. From here, they could look down on the rest of the show. They weren’t the only people up there, but at least it was less crowded.

  “Well, I was surprised you remembered to leave me a ticket.” He chuckled. “That line outside would put Miami nightclubs to shame. I never would’ve gotten in otherwise.”

  Paige let go of his arm and turned so she was leaning back against the loft’s railing, her back to the show. She didn’t want to be able to see when Hunter tried to get her attention. Brett put his hands on the railing, facing the show. Paige would swear she could feel heat where his pinky touched her waist against the railing. Their faces were close.

  “I really am glad you made it tonight,” she whispered, reveling in the intimacy, in the surprising desire not to pull away.

  “I needed to see you.” His voice was just as low as hers as he leaned closer.

  She could tell there was more that he wanted to declare; shadows in his eyes that said his words held darkness and were more than just a statement of the attraction between them.

  But he said nothing further, and the shadows melted away — whatever he might have said gone too. Only the attraction was left. She felt his hand slide to the side of her waist, his arm crossing her torso as he took a step closer, still to her side.

  “You know what I’ve been thinking ever since last week?” he asked, voice deep.

  “What?”

  “How stupid I was not to ask you out in high school.”

  Paige couldn’t help her blush again. “I couldn’t have handled the QB. I was too shy. Too introverted.”

  He stepped closer, his cheek against hers as he looked out at her show and she faced the other way. She couldn’t see his eyes anymore, but the feel of his cheek against hers —the stubble rough and masculine— stole her breath.

  To anyone looking at them from below, it would just seem like a conversation between two people struggling to hear each other over the noise of the room. But Paige could feel every place where their bodies touched one another, and all she wanted to do was get closer. She leaned into him just the slightest bit.

  “I hope you’ll be willing to give him a chance now. Brett, not QB. He doesn’t exist anymore.”

  She just nodded, caught in the soft br
own of his eyes.

  “I know this isn’t the place, isn’t the time,” he continued. “You’re needed elsewhere, I’m sure. This is your business. But I wanted to see you. To touch you with my own hands.”

  Slowly he stepped back from her. Paige forced herself not to move towards him, to keep their bodies in contact as she desperately wanted to do.

  “It looks like your agent is looking for you,” Brett continued. He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a card and held it out to her. “Here’s my number at my office, with my cell phone number on the back.”

  Paige took it, holding it in her hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught her agent Hunter making his way up the stairs, his arm linked with Melissa MacKinven. Brett was right, their stolen moment was almost over.

  She was surprised how disappointed that made her. Paige was usually thrilled to end a conversation with anyone. Especially a much larger and stronger man.

  Brett placed his thumb under her chin and tipped her face back towards his. “I will call you soon so we can finish this,” she felt his thumb caress her throat, “but I want you to have my number in case you need me.”

  His lips touched the corner of hers for just the slightest second before he stepped away. Their gaze held as Hunter crossed to them.

  “Paige, sweetness, there you are!”

  Paige managed to drag her eyes away from Brett to look at the older man who had been her agent, and close friend, for years. Long before Paige had become famous.

  “Sorry, Hunter. I needed a little space. Hunter, Melissa, this is Detective Wagner, from the Portland Police Department.”

  Instantly Hunter’s hackles went up. “Surely you’re not questioning Paige now, are you?” Both Hunter and Melissa put themselves between Brett and Paige.

  Paige realized she’d been letting other people, mostly Hunter and Melissa, run interference for her for too long. She had needed the buffer. But she didn’t now, definitely not with Brett.

  She stepped out from behind them, closer to Brett. Saw her friends try to hide their surprise as she did so.

  “No, Brett is here as my guest. I invited him.” She touched Brett on the arm and saw Melissa’s eyes widen even more.