Criminal Promises

by Nikki Duncan

  BD took a step toward Pritchett before catching sight of a young boy about Jared’s age sitting with his mother, a pretty brunette, with another detective. Bruises covered their faces. They shrank back when they looked at him. Whether the mom’s fear was from the thought of a killer or BD pounding on someone he’d never know.

  Everyone watched, waited, for his reaction. Swallowing his rage, he turned back to his desk and grabbed a rubbery stress ball from a drawer—he had several. He went and knelt before the little boy. Holding the ball out, BD offered an encouraging smile. “When you’re scared or angry, use it.”

  “Playing with balls. Figured you for a cock lover.” Pritchett spouted more obscenities.

  BD ignored him for the sake of the boy. “Squeeze ’til your hand shakes and your arm hurts. The bad stuff will fade.”

  The mom rested her hand on her son’s shoulder and nodded. He took the ball with a quiet thanks and trembling hands.

  Without a second look at Pritchett, BD headed toward the conference room. The day would come for Pritchett to eat his own balls and BD would do the feeding.

  “Speaking of Maggie,” Craig said as he stepped into the hall with him, “any word on how she’s getting along with Officer Phillips today?”

  “No.” Unwilling to leave her alone, BD had begged an off-duty female detective posing as a visiting friend to stay with Maggie. He had no doubt she would one day call in a return favor. “Phillips will call if there are problems.”

  Two hours later, having had no success at deciphering Adalia’s notes or finding anything else of use, he stepped through the front door and landed smack in the middle of the chaos that seemed to be Maggie’s home.

  “This has to stop!” Maggie’s angry shriek echoed through the tiled hall.

  The living room was messy, with knick-knacks moved around or knocked over, couch cushions tossed to the floor, a chair turned over and DVD cases strewn about.

  So much for an hour with the punching bag to work off building frustrations.

  “Mrs. Sullivan. Maggie.” Tension rose Detective Phillips’s voice a couple octaves above normal. “We need to call Harte.”

  Following their voices he rushed toward Maggie’s room. She stood just inside the doorway, shaking with rage. Chunks of her habitually perfect braid had been pulled loose—hopefully from her own hands in frustration.

  While the living room was messy, her room had been destroyed. Dresser drawers hung half open. Clothes and shredded lingerie were scattered. Her bedding, including the mattress and pillows, had been gutted, and the headboard sported a giant X in what looked to be blood rather than paint. The blinds had been ripped from the windows, leaving a clear view into the empty neighboring house.

  This was pure sadistic rage left in Adalia’s wake. A calculated evil that would spill over to the public if she wasn’t stopped. Fast. Her single-minded focus was the only thing working in their favor. She would miss a step.

  “Maggie.” He took her hand to pull her into the hallway.

  She spun and swung at him with her free hand fisted and eyes wide. He jerked her around, pinned her back to his chest with her arms beneath his before walking her into the hall.

  Adrenaline fueled by fear swept through him. Emotional fear.

  Maggie was not like other jobs.

  “Lora?” He asked the officer for an update.

  “We took a walk. Were gone maybe thirty minutes. Got back less than five minutes ago. Maggie found this. We locked up before leaving.”

  “Have you checked the house?”

  “Not yet.”

  Harte loosened his grip on Maggie enough to turn her to face him, but not enough to let her free. His heart drummed in his ears. He’d had a shitty day with little progress on any of his cases, especially Maggie’s, and it had just gotten worse. BD pulled his gun and grabbed Maggie’s hand again.

  “Seriously, we’re doing this again?”

  “Yes, and you’re staying with me.” Adrenaline roared. Possibilities snapped like starved crocodiles. They may have missed Adalia or scared her away. They may also have driven her into hiding. “Lora, check the far side of the house. Closets too.”

  “On it.” The officer pulled her gun from her waist at her back and headed to the office.

  “You know, Harte—” Maggie trailed behind him semi-obediently, “—you take this paranoid cop thing too far at times.”

  “Mags.” Her tone didn’t relay the casualness her words did and with his patience already close to exhausted for the day, he didn’t feel like placating her. Adalia had probably already gone, but it was a chance he couldn’t take. “I have a job to do and it includes keeping your stubborn ass alive.”

  “You think Adalia’s still here?”

  “I’ve seen stranger things happen.”

  Maggie nodded and became agreeable. “Got it.”

  After a thorough search turned up an empty house, they met back in the living room. “Lora, call Craig, McClain and Lewis. And I want CSIs.”

  “On it,” she said just as she had before and walked away, pulling out her cell phone.

  “All right, Mags, here’s how this is going to work.” He led her to the built-in bookshelves stuffed with romance novels and pointed. “Pick out a book. I’m going to process your house with my team, and I need you to stay out of the way while I’m doing it.”

  “So you’re telling me to pick out a book as if I’m going to be able to relax like nothing’s going on?” Her agreeable attitude was slipping away beneath her bristling need to be independent.

  “I’m asking you to please pick out a book and go to my room to wait for me. Read. Pretend to read.” He shrugged. “I don’t give a dam as long as you let me do my job.”

  She studied his face intently. Her fingers flexed in his. “Answer one question for me first. No qualifications or evasions allowed.”

  This didn’t bode well. She wouldn’t ask an easy question he could talk his way out of or around. “One question.”

  “It’s been relatively calm around here the last couple of days in regards to murdered women, animal carcasses and haunting memories from my life with Mike. I was just beginning to relax and now this. How is it Adalia is able to hit me from every angle at the perfect moments?”

  It was a tough question, but easier than if she’d asked about the connection to Mike. Still, he had to be careful with his phrasing. To speed things along, he reached up to grab a book from the shelf. Stuck in a corner of a shelf was a small, almost unnoticeable bug. His jaw stiffened until it throbbed.

  The destroyed bedroom had netted Adalia nothing so she’d messed up part of the house and planted bugs to see what else she could learn. She wouldn’t stop with the privacy invasion until she had what she wanted.

  “Because she’s gotten lucky. Now, take this book and come with me.”

  Maggie opened her mouth, no doubt to argue his answer wasn’t good enough or that he was being bossy again. He put a finger on her lips to stop her and then led her to his bathroom.

  “I want you to take a nice long bath.” He motioned for her to stay quiet a little longer. “I realize this tub isn’t as luxurious as yours, but it’s still quite nice. You said it yourself, you’ve had a rough few days.”

  He sat the book on the counter, closed the doors that led to his room and to the hall, turned on the bath water and then searched the room for a bug. “You deserve to relax and let someone else do the worrying for a little bit.”

  She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “Sounds like I should schedule a spa day. Mani, pedi, facial, full-body massage.”

  He looked up from his search and found her watching him with arched brows and pursed lips. She’d figured out what he was doing and was biding her time. She noticed too much at times, but times like now her awareness worked in his favor.

  “I hear you women love those. My mom and sister do.”

  Once he was satisfied the bathroom was free of bugs, he left the water running and kept his voi
ce low in case he’d missed one. “Adalia is good, but not good enough to do all of this without help. We think she’s got someone on the inside, and by that I mean someone on the force. As for how she knows when to strike, I think she’s been watching you from very close by—like from the empty rental house next door.”

  She didn’t react physically, which made it impossible to know what she’d do or say next. “And when she’s been in the house she’s planted bugs.”

  “Unless you see a need to spy on yourself, yes. So I am asking you to please stay in here or my room while my team processes your house. No phone calls.”

  “Fine.” The mutinous glare in her eyes broadcast her difficulty with agreeing. “I want an update as soon as you finish.”

  “I agreed to answer one question. We’ll see about more later.” She didn’t like it, but she’d backed herself into the corner of having to take what he’d give her. Once he had her assurance she would cooperate, he left to join his team.

  In the living room, after he pointed out the bug and signaled for a sweep to be done, he lined out what he wanted done with silent instructions for the one in the bookshelf to be left for the time being. He could use it to their favor.

  “Maggie’s obsessive,” BD told them, “so it will be easy to spot anything out of place.”

  McClain and Lewis were on bug duty. The CSIs would take prints and pictures. He and Craig would take Maggie’s room. Lora called in her partner and they would take the house next door.

  With everyone heading their own way, he and Craig headed to Maggie’s room. Craig pulled his digital camera out and took pictures. Then they settled into the work of sorting through everything to see what Adalia had hidden for Maggie to find.

  “This is about more than some papers. It’s like Adalia has a personal vendetta to settle.”

  “She hasn’t found what she wants and she isn’t seeing the results of getting into Maggie’s head.” As if the mental rape of destroying her room wasn’t a clear enough message, BD picked up a piece of paper pinned to a black lace thong. He didn’t need the image in his head of Maggie in a thong. Or the knowledge they seemed to be her preference judging from the scattered clothes. He wouldn’t look at her in her proper slacks the same way again.

  “Interesting place to leave a note.” The humor in Craig’s voice snapped him back.

  “Very.” He unpinned the slip of paper and dropped the panties back onto the pile on the floor. The note shoved the image of Maggie’s ass framed in black lace backwards.

  “Mike paid for turning me in. Don’t try to outsmart me. Get me the papers or die.”

  —Adalia

  “Mike turned her in?” Craig paused with a wrinkled T-shirt that might have belonged to a non-OCD Maggie in hand.

  “You think he called in the tip about that meeting?”

  “It could follow. Maybe he'd decided he was in over his head. Helping stop her was the only way to get out.”

  Shit. He hadn’t wanted to be right about Mike being involved, and if Maggie found out… It would rip her down to the level Adalia wanted her. “We need a more thorough background on Sullivan. I need to finish searching the house, and Maggie is in the way of my doing that.”

  “You could clue her in and see what she knows.”

  “No.” Involving her could only be a last resort. “At least not yet.”

  Chapter 8

  “Mags.” Exhaustion darkened Harte’s eyes when he returned for her.

  Checking the clock, Maggie saw she’d been waiting in his room for five hours. More shocking was she’d actually read over half of her newest romantic comedy and the humor had eased some of her tension. “You done?”

  “Yeah.”

  Prepared to spend the night cleaning, she marked her place in the book and headed toward the living room. His team had pawed through her entire house, so she would likely have days of work to do.

  She rounded the wall into the living room and stumbled. It was clean. Not just tidy, but clean. Clean to her standards. “Did you guys fingerprint stuff?”

  “Yes.” He pointed to the bug. “The bedroom’s still a little messy, but the rest of the house is clean.”

  “I’ll deal with it.” She nodded her understanding and went to see his definition of clean for the rest of the house. Harte didn’t follow, as if he knew she needed to face this alone. Every room was as spotless as the living room had been, but she’d saved her room for last.

  After a bracing breath, uncertain she wanted to see her room again, she stepped inside and stared.

  He’d folded her clothes and stacked them in tidy piles on the dresser. The shredded mattress, bedding and damaged headboard were gone. In their place sat a new mattress on a plain frame. Her knick-knacks had been straightened and all other reminders of the scene were gone. “He…”

  Breathing raggedly as her heart shook and her throat grew tight she swiped at her eyes. Unable to mute the hum growing louder and louder in her brain, she shook her head and stared. “He cleaned…”

  He had thought of her. Whether he’d known having to clean the mess would shred her guts and rob her of more control or not, he’d dealt with the destruction for her. He’d given her a brief respite from having to handle everything on her own. He’d sheltered her. Yes, there was work still to be done, but she could easily live with letting it wait a little bit.

  She bit her bottom lip and walked to the middle of her room. Her hands trembled violently as she reached for an undamaged pillow from the chair. Sinking to the floor, she buried her face in it and curled into a ball. No man had ever touched her like Harte managed to do by cleaning. Tears stabbed her eyes like hot ice picks. Massive sobs racked her body until she ached everywhere.

  She cried for the loss of Mike. She cried for Jared’s pain. She cried for Emma, who would never know her father. She cried for the rediscovery of herself.

  Her neighborhood was no longer the quiet and safe place she’d once thought. Her home had now been invaded and bugged by a killer. Whatever Adalia wanted, Maggie could do nothing to make it all go away.

  And as scary as it all was, she had a man in her life, if only temporarily, who had considered her feelings and gone above and beyond in his job. And he’d talked his team into helping. Generally stubborn and demanding, his flashes of thoughtfulness and tenderness struck a chord deep inside and he calmed her as if he’d been doing it for years. He brought to light the reality of what she’d hold out for if she were to ever marry again.

  She swiped away a tear and trembled.

  It had been less than a week and Harte knew her better than Mike, which was sad considering she’d grown up with her husband.

  “Mags.” Harte squatted beside her and brushed the hair away from her face.

  Looking at him through tear-blurred eyes, she yearned for the freedom to curl into him. To know he’d protect her and his comfort was the kind she could grow to need. Even depend on.

  A shiver pranced along her spine. Knowing that kind of connection with Harte, a man who could die any day on his job, wasn’t a chance she could take. Opening up again just to lose again… No way.

  He settled on the floor, pulled her into his lap and handed her some tissue. He’d apparently taken a quick shower while she wandered the house because he was slightly damp and dressed like he’d been the night the power went out.

  Engulfed by helplessness to listen to logic and reason, unable to resist his comfort, she bowed to desire and curled into his warmth. The dusting of hair covering his chest rubbed softly against her cheek. He fit against her perfectly. She hadn’t noticed the fit when he’d comforted her after Mike’s death, but she’d noticed it each time they’d been close recently. Her pulse sped.

  Noticing it now wasn’t less scary.

  And wanting him for this moment wasn’t wrong. It didn’t mean she’d come to rely on him or that he’d stay when it was all over. For now, for just a little while in the security of his embrace, she pretended she was special to him.

/>   “Mags, I’m going to make this right.”

  She shook her head. “Things will never be right again.”

  “Ooh, honey.” He rubbed his hands along her back and pressed her closer. “It feels that way now, but things will get better.”

  “You can clean up and scrub away the physical reminders of what’s happened to my family, but the images live in my mind.” Leaning away from him a little, she swiped her hands under her eyes. “I’ll never completely get over the feeling of being violated.”

  “Good.” His gentle eyes contradicted his harsh tone. “You don’t get over what’s happened, Mags.”

  “Very encouraging, Harte.”

  He smiled and traced his thumb along her cheek. “You don’t get over it. You embrace it. You move past it. You let it make you stronger and smarter.”

  Let it make you stronger and smarter. Closing her eyes, she thought about his advice. She’d survived a year of single-motherhood and grief. She could survive this. She’d grown stronger during her pregnancy and dealing with the day-to-day details of being a widow and single mom.

  Stronger. Smarter. Braver.

  Breathing deep, she opened her eyes and rested a palm on his cheek. “You cleaned my house.”

  He lowered his gaze and shrugged. “It was no big deal.”

  “It is to me, and you know that. I’m losing my grip.” Her grip on the control she’d fought for to survive was slowly eroding as if it was being worn like seashells on an ocean’s shore.

  “You’ve been faced with a lot in a few days. You’ll be fine.” He cradled her in his arms as if she weighed nothing and meant everything.

  Resisting him grew tougher. Falling for him became a real possibility, and she was too vulnerable to deal with it when he left. Still, she craved the intimacy of the closeness they shared in these moments.

  Before she could register what he was doing, he repositioned his arms with one behind her back and the other beneath her legs and picked her up. Letting herself enjoy this moment, she rested her head on his shoulder, inhaled his spicy scent and wrapped her arms around his neck. A sigh of happiness escaped, but she didn’t care.