“Looks like I grazed him. My team is getting a bulletin out to local E.R.s and urgent care clinics in case he seeks medical attention.” His phone rang, drawing his attention. He frowned at the screen, his deep scowl letting her know something was wrong.
“Excuse me a minute.” He stepped out of earshot and paced. Back and forth. Over and over, quick steps across the alley and back, his hands plunged into his hair.
Seemed as if some things didn’t change. He was still so driven to succeed he rarely stood still. It had taken her a year to get him to let his guard down and fully relax around her. He’d obviously returned to his breakneck pace in Chicago. She was sure he’d burn out long before he aged out of the bureau.
He stowed his phone, that frown deepening even more as he rejoined her. “We can go now.”
She knew better than to ask about his call and marched toward the end of the alley. The hum of conversation from bystanders greeted her before she spotted them crowding behind wooden barriers. They pointed at her, and she heard cameras clicking. Looky-loos. She should’ve expected them, but she’d let her thoughts of Logan distract her. They were searching for anything sensational to grasp on to from the robbery. Maybe they’d tweet about it or post pictures on Facebook.
The last thing she needed today.
She slowly lowered her head and pushed forward to get out of the limelight as quickly as possible. Black wingtip shoes planted themselves in her path, forcing her to stop. She raised her head to find a male dressed in khakis, a white button-down shirt and a tie decorated with blindingly bright Christmas ornaments. He shoved a microphone into her face.
“Paul Parsons, News Channel Four. We heard that you were injured in the robbery, Deputy Brennan.”
“I’m fine.” Skyler tried to sidestep him, but he jumped in front of her.
“Are you working with the FBI to bring Clyde in?” Excitement lifted his tone.
Logan stepped forward. “Deputy Brennan’s assisting us, as are all of the witnesses. Now if you’ll excuse us, she needs to get to the E.R. to have her injury checked out.” Logan shouldered the reporter out of Skyler’s way and his hand came to rest on her back, urging her toward the crowd. This wasn’t the time to argue against his touch, so she allowed it and hurried ahead.
“You heard it on our station first,” Parsons said in his reporter’s tone. “Portland’s own Deputy Skyler Brennan will be working with the FBI on the Bonnie and Clyde investigation.”
“Like that’s newsworthy,” Skyler mumbled and gingerly climbed over the barrier.
“Deputy Brennan, wait, please.” Parsons’s voice came from behind her.
Skyler groaned. Even if she could dredge up the energy to bolt away from him, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t afford to antagonize the press when she was still seeking positive publicity for the shelter’s upcoming Christmas party. She turned slowly to keep the world from spinning.
Parsons rushed up to her again, the microphone now shoved in his pocket. “I’d really like to do an exclusive interview with you. People want feel-good stories this time of year, and we could combine your work for the shelter with the way you kept the hostages safe. You know, a local hero kind of thing.”
She was far from a hero, but the shelter could use as much publicity as possible to raise awareness. Still, connecting the shelter to a violent bank robbery wouldn’t be a good idea. “I really—”
“This isn’t the time for this discussion,” Logan barged in. “She needs to see a doctor.” Before Parsons could respond, Logan parted the crowd with one hand and urged her forward with the other.
She allowed him to direct her, but her irritation flared with each step. How dare he presume to know what she wanted? Sure, she didn’t want to do the interview, but he had no right to make choices for her. Not now. Not when he was out of her life.
After moving out of sight of the crowd, she shot him a testy look. “What was up with that? You have no right to speak for me. I let it go the first time Parsons asked because I didn’t want to be interviewed today, but interfering the second time says you’re planning to make a habit of it.”
“What?” he asked, clearly confused.
“When we were together, it might’ve been different. I’d at least try to understand if you spoke up on my behalf like that, but you gave up that right when you walked out.” She rushed ahead of him. The world whirled in front of her, and she instantly regretted it.
“Skyler, wait.” He hurried up beside her and steadied her. She could barely abide his touch, but it was either his hand or a face-plant on the concrete.
“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I wasn’t trying to talk for you—I just didn’t like the way he kept stopping you from getting to the hospital.”
She twisted to stare up at him, sending a breath-stealing jolt through her head. Or was it his nearness after all these years that took her breath away? Seeing his eyes up close. Smelling his expensive cologne. Remembering their time together, always remembering.
He didn’t pull away or say a word. His gaze locked on hers.
“Skyler,” he finally whispered as his hand lifted to her face. He brushed his fingers lightly over her cheekbone, his touch feeling like a branding iron. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I never wanted to hurt you.”
Her heart leaped at the open regret in his voice, but his comment also reminded her of the lonely nights she’d spent at home after the Christmas holidays, longing to see him. She shook off his fingers and forced herself to move back. “As you said, now’s not the time for such things. I really need to see that doctor.”
He frowned and gestured down the street. “My car’s at the end of the block.”
His car. Here in Portland. Not in Chicago.
“When were you going to tell me you were back in town?” she blurted out before she thought better of continuing their personal discussion. “Or weren’t you planning to contact me?”
“I haven’t moved back here, Skyler.”
Disappointment she didn’t want to feel lodged in her throat, and she swallowed hard. “Then why are you working the bank robbery?”
“I was successful in solving a similar robbery spree in Chicago, so the bureau assigned me to head up this investigation.”
Something in his tone led her to believe he wasn’t being completely forthright with her. Not a surprise. He’d kept the job opportunity in Chicago from her for a month before telling her he was leaving, and he had even less reason to be candid now. But it still hurt. Would continue to hurt. Which was why she needed to give her statement and be done with this investigation.
He clicked the remote and unlocked his rental car. She jerked open her car door before he could get it for her as he’d frequently done in the past. She’d always considered him the perfect gentleman. He may still be a gentleman, but she now knew he was far from perfect.
She slid onto the buttery soft leather seat as he settled behind the wheel. He soon merged the car onto Twenty-third Avenue, but she didn’t even notice the bustling traffic for the tension filling the car.
Thankfully, the hospital was nearby.
At a red light, he turned the knob on a portable police scanner. Right. His emotions weren’t tainting the air. Only hers. He didn’t feel the same distress. As usual, he was thinking about the job.
Good. His choice served as a reminder to be far more careful with her emotions around him.
He twisted his head around to check for cars, then switched lanes. “I’d forgotten about the crazy traffic in this neighborhood.”
Small talk. Had they really come to this? “I’m sure Chicago has a trendy area with shops and restaurants like this,” she replied.
“I don’t get out much, so I couldn’t say.”
Not surprising. He probably ate all his meals at work or his apartment. It took time
to make friends. To do things with them. Precious time he’d devote to getting ahead at the FBI.
How had she ever thought the two of them made a good couple? That she and anyone made a good couple? Her parents, with all their bickering and unhappiness, proved that marriage wasn’t a good idea. With them as role models, how could she even think about finding lasting happiness in a relationship?
She stifled a sigh and stared out the window.
He glanced at her. “Tell me about the robbery.”
Thankful to have a safe topic, she recounted the details. “I have a feeling Bonnie and Clyde are both into drugs. Marty’s teeth screamed meth user. Both their eyes were glazed, and they seemed to be coming down off something.”
“The autopsy will confirm that.” He clicked on a blinker. “Did you notice anything odd about their physical appearance?”
“Odd?” She thought for a minute, wincing when visions of Marty’s angry eyes glaring at her over the gun barrel came roaring back. She took a deep breath and forced herself to replay the entire incident. “I remember thinking Nicole had a perfect complexion, which is odd for a drug user.”
“Makeup.”
“Excuse me?”
“She was wearing a prosthetic nose and heavy makeup to throw us off.”
“Really?” Skyler swiveled to look at him. “How interesting.”
“I’m guessing Marty wore theatrical makeup, too. But you didn’t notice it up close?”
“No.”
“What did you see?”
“Nothing. At least nothing else that I remember.”
“You must’ve noticed something.”
“Don’t be so sure. All cops like to think we’ll be cool and calm under pressure, but when your life is on the line...” She shrugged.
“Maybe it would help if you closed your eyes to visualize the scene.”
She never wanted to close her eyes again. Never wanted to replay the memories of Marty and relive that fear. But if doing so aided in bringing Marty to justice, she’d try it.
She rested her head on the seat back and forced her eyes to close. Her other senses shot to life. She felt the cool air-conditioning blowing over her face. Smelled Logan’s sandalwood cologne mingling with the car’s pine air freshener. Heard the bustling traffic. But her mind refused to go back to the bank.
Calm down, she told herself and pressed her fists against her knees.
Logan settled his hand over hers.
She jerked it free, her eyes flashing open.
“Relax,” he said. “You’re safe here.”
Ha! She wasn’t safe. At least not emotionally. Her reaction had nothing to do with the robbery and everything to do with him.
“Close your eyes again,” he continued soothingly. “Concentrate on Marty. His clothes. His smell. His accent.”
She closed her eyes but kept her hands out of Logan’s reach. She dredged up Marty’s voice as he talked to Nicole. “He didn’t have an accent. Not even regional.” Thinking about his smell, she flashed forward to the end when he’d forced her to put her arms around him. “He smelled like powder. Not baby powder, but like face powder. Maybe from the makeup.”
“What about his body? Did he have a tattoo or other identifying marks?”
“Not that I remember. Plus, if he was going through all the trouble of changing his appearance, I doubt he’d let something like that show.” She ran through the whole event, pausing at his latex gloves. “A ring. He wore a ring. It was large. Gold, no stone, but a raised top that had a symbol or words.” She mentally zoomed in on it. “He wore latex gloves, so I couldn’t make out the letters. Maybe it was a class ring.”
“From a college?” Logan asked.
“He didn’t seem like the collegiate type.” She looked at Logan. “I’d put him in his early thirties, so it’s doubtful he was still wearing a high school ring. College is a better guess, I suppose.”
“We’ll try to enhance the video to see if we can identify it, but if not, would you be willing to look at pictures of college class rings?”
“Sure, but without knowing anything about Marty or Nicole, how would you even know which colleges to begin looking at?”
“Though they’ve been quite successful, Marty and Nicole are amateur robbers, and amateurs often target banks close to home. Dumb, I know, but they do. So I’ll go back to their first robbery and pull colleges in the general area.”
“Maybe he’d recently moved there or he went to school out of state.”
“You could be right, but despite their amateur status we have very little to go on, so this is as good of a place as any to start.”
“You keep saying amateur, but their intrusion style behavior didn’t fit an amateur’s profile. Amateurs usually pass notes and don’t carry weapons, right?”
His eyes widened in surprise, likely over her knowledge of bank robbers. “That’s how they operated at first. But after the success of their first two holdups, they started showing up with guns.”
The mention of guns sent Skyler flashing back to the moment Nicole lost her life, falling to the ground with a sickening thud. “We’re only talking about Marty now.”
“Right. Just Marty.” Logan’s fingers tightened on the wheel, going white from the tight grip. He came to a stop at a red light and met her gaze. “There may only be one of them now, but don’t think that means you can let your guard down. Marty’s the one who pulled the trigger on the hostages in L.A. and now he has a grudge to settle with you. That not only makes him dangerous, but deadly, as well.”
* * *
For about the hundredth time, Logan paced past the large Christmas spruce scenting the E.R. lobby with fresh pine. It was amazing he even noticed the tree at all. Celebrating Christmas was the furthest thing from his mind right now. And he wasn’t even thinking about the job. Concern for Skyler kept his thoughts occupied. She’d been with the doctors for three hours.
Maybe something was seriously wrong with her. Maybe he should march up to the desk to demand an update from the nurse.
He hadn’t caught even a glimpse of Skyler since she’d rushed out of his car at the entrance, saying she’d find her own ride home. Of course, he didn’t listen to her. He couldn’t leave her alone here. So he’d parked and gone inside. After he’d collected Faith’s clothing, he’d started passing the time by making phone calls, starting with Wagner.
Not that it moved the investigation forward. Wagner didn’t find matching prints for Nicole in any of the databases. So she didn’t have a record.
Strike one.
Logan called SAC Frank Inman to fast-track Nicole’s lab work in the event she’d been a crime victim and her DNA was in a database. He’d agreed, but they both knew it was an extreme long shot.
Strike two.
Calls finished and still no Skyler, he tried to make a to-do list. He couldn’t concentrate, though, and his thoughts kept going back to her.
Not in a good way. Over and over, he replayed their last conversation the night he’d left for Chicago, two days before her annual shelter Christmas party. Leaving her to complete the final prep for the party without his help was lame, but he’d had to go that night, for his own peace of mind.
She held parties for the families on Valentine’s Day, Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas. If he’d spent another wonderful holiday with her, he would never have been able to leave. That would’ve ended with him resenting her for keeping him from his goals. Neither of them would’ve benefited from that.
Now she was mad. Good and mad and she was his main witness. He doubted she’d relax enough around him to come up with those repressed memories if she had any.
Strike three. He was out.
Enough waiting.
Logan crossed to the harried nurse to ask for an update. He heard Skyler’s v
oice coming from behind a divider, grinding his feet to a halt. He listened as a doctor explained that rest, particularly resting her eyes, would let her brain heal faster from her concussion.
A concussion. Just like Darcie suspected.
Skyler’s voice as she thanked the doctor for the quality care and said goodbye cut through his thoughts. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was spying on her so he took his seat again and pulled out his phone. She stopped at the nurse’s desk, but Logan couldn’t make out their intense conversation.
When he finally heard her footsteps crossing over to him, he resisted making eye contact. Instead, he continued to thumb through the screens on his phone.
“Logan,” she said, now standing over him. “I thought I made it clear that I’d find a ride home.”
He looked up, and, though her brows were knitted in irritation, his heart turned over. Seeing her today had unsettled him more than he would’ve thought possible.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He schooled himself to remain detached as he stood. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
“No concussion or other damage?”
“I said I’m fine.” She turned away, her tension palpable.
She was unable to face him while dodging his question, which meant she was planning to hide the concussion from him. He opened his mouth to demand she tell him, but he had no right to know about it or anything else in her life. As she’d said, he’d given up that right when he’d walked out. But he wouldn’t let her jeopardize her health. He was about to ask more probing questions when Paul Parsons rushed into the lobby, his tie loosened at the neck and a five-o’clock shadow darkening his jaw.
“Good, I’m glad I caught you,” he said, sounding out of breath, his microphone conspicuously missing.
Skyler rubbed her forehead. “Now’s not a good time for an interview.”
“I’m not giving up on the interview, but this isn’t about that.” Parsons took a gulp of air. “I was outside and Clyde called the station, demanding to speak to me. They patched him through to my cell.”
Silent Night Standoff Page 4