Emma closed her eyes and dropped her forehead to her arms on the table. “Greyson,” she paused, “I’m so sorry.”
He took her lead. “Honey, I am too. We need to be united on this one.”
She couldn’t agree more. “I didn't mean that cheap shot about me finding anyone else. I couldn’t. Everyone else in the world pales in comparison to you.”
Reaching across the table, he took her hand in his. “I didn't mean to doubt you, and I trust your ability. You’re tough, Emma Croft.”
“I need your faith in me. I can’t do this without you, Grey. If you walk away believing I’m a failure, I am.”
“Emma! I never once thought you weren’t going to make it. I was giving you an out. There’s nothing wrong with you saying you can’t do it.”
“I will do it.”
“Do you really dislike Trudy?” He had to know why. She seemed like a nice woman to him.
“I don’t dislike her,” she lied. When he lifted an eyebrow signaling there was a boundary being crossed, Emma restated. “I don’t think she has a freaking clue and has been sitting on her ass letting her husband take care of her too long. Anyone who’s been shot at knows that the last damn thing you’re thinking is, ‘Oh crap! I ruined my dress’. She’s jaded and I’m not like that.”
He grinned. No she wasn’t.
“I don’t hate her. I just would rather fall into a tank of piranhas than hang out with her. I like beer on the couch with my husband while watching a game. I’m not into makeup lessons and shopping for dishes with some woman who is trying to be twenty again to impress her husband- which she’s failing at since he’s a lecherous asshole.”
Croft started to laugh. Yeah, Tom certainly was one.
“You want to get divorced? Make me hang out with her.”
Before he could inform his wife that there would be a divorce only over his dead body, their breakfast arrived.
The waitress stood there and then recognition dawned. “Oh my God! It’s them!” she shouted.
Both Emma and Greyson looked up, thinking she was insane. Why not? It seemed to be going around in Vegas lately.
Everyone in the place turned and started pointing.
The waitress rushed away and returned with the morning paper for them to see.
Croft read it and didn't know if he should laugh or weep. Turning it around, he showed Emma why they were all pointing.
The headline of the paper showed a big picture of them together. There were two actually- one where they arrived at the premiere, and then the second as hell was breaking loose all around them. The chaotic photo was of Emma in a dress ruined by blood, a gun in her hand, and Croft standing protectively beside her in the same stance. His hand was on her shoulder as they both stared off into the crowd.
She stared at him with her mouth hanging open. As she checked out the headline, she wasn’t sure what think.
Beauty and the Fed are keeping Vegas safe.
Croft started chuckling, because it was a long night, both were close to exhaustion, and they were no closer to finding the killer. His eyes filled with tears from laughing so hard.
“This is just awesome. You get to be the cop at least. I’m the ‘beauty’!”
He laughed even more as people were still staring. He motioned the waitress over. “Can you box these up to go? And I’m taking this paper, so charge me for it.”
The woman ran to do it right away.
“Grey, this isn’t funny.”
He was still laughing. “Emma, it kind of is.”
She brought him back to reality. “Every single person now knows what we look like. Before we were just names, but this little spectacle of an assignment has just painted a bull’s-eye on the new FBI director and his detective wife. We no longer have anonymity.”
He stopped laughing.
“This makes our jobs harder.”
Shit, she was absolutely right.
~ Chapter Fifteen ~
Sunday Mid-Morning
To say Greyson Croft was now officially paranoid, it would be an understatement. Walking back to the office, he was watching everyone around them. The idea that his wife no longer had the cover of anonymity bothered the hell out of him. How was she supposed to do her job and watch her back at the same time?
Yeah, he didn't care if they all stared at him, knew him or watched him. Croft wasn’t on the street all day, every day. For this assignment, he was in the field, but this wasn’t the norm.
Jesus, what had he done? Staring over at her, his stomach was sick. “I’m so sorry,” he said as they hustled back to the precinct.
Emma wasn’t worried. “Grey, let’s not stress it. What’s done is done. At least they posted the before picture, so everyone doesn’t think that you married a train wreck.”
He pulled her behind a tree on the street. “Emma! You’re not a wreck! I don’t like hearing you put yourself down. You’re everything in this world to me!” Greyson kissed her soundly on the mouth, needing that connection to chase away the fear. He held her tightly against his body to prove he spoke the truth.
Slowly, they broke apart, and she stared up into his eyes. “I’m not worried. I’ll wear Kevlar daily and make sure I keep my eyes open.”
He groaned as he pulled her towards the precinct. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
As they walked into the squad room, Ford was there. He pointed to her desk and the massive bouquet of flowers. “They came with two visitors, and they’re in my office.”
Croft stormed towards them, wondering who had the audacity to send them to his woman. Pulling the card, he read the message and nearly had a stroke.
“Can I read it myself?” she laughed, taking the card from his vibrating hand.
To my heroine, with much affection, Randall Mason.
“This day is getting worse,” he muttered, as he desperately wanted to snap all the cheery blooms in half. “I’m going to strangle the man,” he muttered, following his wife to Ford’s office.
“Emma!” Randall exclaimed as he hugged and dropped a kiss on both her cheeks. “I am so glad to see you. I see you got my flowers. They’re just a token of my affection. There is so much more to come.”
Croft had to count to ten, or he was going to kill him.
“Mr. Mason, I’m a public official. You really can’t be giving me gifts.”
He started laughing. “Oh my dear! You are priceless. I cleared it with your boss first.”
Now, Croft stared at his friend. “Really, Tom? You didn’t know how pissed off they’d make me?”
Emma needed to step in. “Thank you, and for future reference, donate the money to a charity in my name. I really only want flowers from my husband. Call me a traditionalist.”
His hand went to her back.
“Anything you say,” he grinned. “Anyway, I wanted to give you this.” He pulled his card out of his pocket. “This is my direct line. You can call me if you need anything. You saved my life, and you have full access to anything you need. If you want to fly to Paris with your husband, then call me. If you feel like a yacht ride, don’t hesitate to dial my number.”
Croft was about to blow when the captain’s phone began ringing. He grabbed it and all conversation stopped as he held up his finger. Suddenly, he scribbled down an address and hung up.
“Looks like you were right,” he said to Emma. “A grounds keeper at Saint Mary Cemetery found a body. It’s your next victim.”
Emma wished she was wrong. “Is it the same MO?”
He nodded. “Yes, and this time he left the body at a crypt.”
Croft found that odd. It had to mean something that the killer was now changing locations up too. “Who did it belong to?”
“The name on it is Eleanor Mason.”
The man in the room gasped and looked horrified. “That’s my beloved mother!”
* * *
Emma stood in the cemetery and scanned the grand area. There were granite mausoleums that were ornately decorat
ed in memory of their departed loved ones. It wasn’t lost on her that the crypt with the victim propped against it was the biggest and most expensive.
The man must have really loved his mother.
Back behind the line was Randall Mason and he was fuming that he couldn’t get to the crypt. Emma didn't care who he was. There was no way he or the commissioner were accessing her crime scene before it was totally swept.
Because of the magnitude, the FBI was called in full force. There were agents assisting the lab techs as they searched every area and every space.
Greyson had been terrified to take his wife out in the open, where someone could ‘pick her off’.
She found that funny, because there’d be more glory if someone took out the director of the FBI. She was merely a lowly city detective. Greyson Croft would be a bigger prize.
Mental note, pointing that out to him didn't go over well and neither did demanding he wear Kevlar over his t-shirt. Not in front of a room full of men anyway.
Apparently, being pigheaded was something to be proud of and worn like a badge of honor. So, here she stood protected, while her husband wasn’t.
Doctor Steele Bentley was kneeling beside the woman and checking her temperature as he logged all his other initial findings. As Emma stood above him, she could see that the killer had taken it one step beyond creepy, by stitching the woman’s ears to her arms.
“That’s damn sick,” she said to no one in particular.
Bentley had to agree. “I can tell you right now, something’s in her mouth. After the last surprise, I’m hesitant to just open her up.”
She didn't blame him.
“What else can you tell me, Doctor?” Emma asked. It was hard to concentrate, since she was watching her husband in the distance. Fear was choking her.
“The eyes are gone, her ears are attached to her arm, and by the indentation it looks to be same weapon. What’s completely different is that our victim’s clothes are askew.”
“She does look messy,” Emma added, scanning her body.
“Our girl has no undergarments, and from the bruising on her inner thighs and hips, she either had enthusiastic sex or was assaulted.
Croft wandered over and stood inches from his wife. He was leaving no chance that she’d be harmed. “When are you conducting the autopsy?”
Bentley looked up. “Well, I have two in the chiller. The earliest I’ll get to her is tonight, but I can send in the swabs for semen and open her mouth as soon as I x-ray her back at the lab.”
“I’d appreciate it, Doctor. I need everything as soon as you can.”
One of the FBI agents walked over. “Ma’am,” she addressed Emma. “The police commissioner and gentleman at the tape want your attention in the worst way.”
Her husband mumbled something that sounded like ‘kiss my ass’, but Emma wasn’t sure. “Okay, I’ll be right there.”
“When you’re done, we’re finished for the day.”
“What?” she asked. “I have work to do on this case, Greyson.”
Croft stared at her. “Emma, we’re going home. We’re going to eat, and we’re going to work out of our condominium. We’ve been on duty over thirty hours straight. I want to swing by the hospital, check on your partner and take some down time.”
She wasn’t going to give in, until he placed his hand on her cheek and stared into her eyes. “Please come home with me? I need my wife beside me.”
“Okay,” she answered. “You get better responses when you ask nicely,” she replied grinning.
He smiled, until she turned away. Now his eyes were on Randall Mason. Croft wasn’t pleased, and he planned on telling his friend that too. There was a little too much ass kissing for his liking, and if Tom Booker was okay with planting his lips on the man’s behind so be it, but he and Emma were not.
At the line, she stopped in front of two men. “Yes?”
“I want to see the woman and my mother’s grave,” he said, hopefully. “Please, Detective.” He stared into her face. “You know what it’s like to lose people. I want to see if I knew her.”
Emma didn't like the card he was trying to play. “Mr. Mason, if you bring up my past one more time, I promise you I’ll make your life hell by road blocking you. You might say that the flowers, the card with your number, and the search into my past could be considered stalking. We may have to see that avenue pursued too.”
Tom Booker looked appalled. “Emma, you didn't mean that!”
Croft walked over and was ready to interject his own heated comments.
“It’s okay, Tom. Emma is absolutely right. I have to say, it’s been a long time since someone’s stood up to me. I appreciate her forthrightness. I apologize for throwing my weight around. Can I please see the crypt and victim?”
Croft was glaring at his friend. “We need to have a discussion, Tom.”
The man shrugged noncommittally.
“I’ll walk you over, but you’re not touching anything,” Emma warned.
He ducked under the tape, and Emma escorted him there. As they rounded the corner, he got his first view of the woman on the ground. “Oh dear God,” he mumbled as his body wavered a little.
Emma was pretty sure he was going to hit the ground. She helped lower him to the grass and checked his pulse. “Mr. Mason, are you okay?” she asked, patting him on the cheek. He looked up at her with blue eyes. “Yes, that was just startling. How you do this every day is beyond me.”
“Do you know her?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, but I recognize her. She’s one of the girls from last night. I was at tryouts when she came in for the audition. I’ll get you a list of women from opening night. There’s a show this afternoon. My son will know who is missing when they don’t show up.”
Emma sat beside him. “You know this is personal right? Whoever is doing this left a body on your mother’s grave. Something is causing this, and I’m going to figure it out.”
He patted her knee. “I hope you do. I’ll help you anyway I can.”
“Even if it’s someone close to you?” she asked, hinting.
“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
It was a very telling reply.
Croft arrived beside them. After his conversation with Booker, he was shaking his head. If anything, it had been infuriating.
Basically, the man told him he needed to learn how to play the game and move with the power people in town. It was reminiscent of a threat.
Yeah, there was no chance that was going to be happening in this lifetime.
Doctor Bentley began packing the victim up. “We’re headed back. I’ll send you an email when I open her mouth and after the autopsy is done.”
Emma nodded. “I’ll be contacting you, Mr. Mason. Get her name from your son and expect my call.” With that, she left the man sitting there, staring at his mother’s crypt.
For now, it was time to focus on the living.
Sunday Afternoon
Briggs sat in the chair right beside the bed. He held her hand, hoping that she’d be waking soon. When she did, he wanted to be the first person she saw. He watched her bandaged chest as she slowly breathed in and out, and he wished he’d been by her side last night.
Maybe he could have saved her.
When she squeezed his hand, his heart began pounding. “Brynn? Are you waking up?”
The woman’s eyelashes fluttered as he stared down at her.
Her face was filled with pain and confusion as she tried to piece it all together. “I was shot, right?” she asked softly.
“Yes, so don’t move,” he replied. “You’re patched back up.”
“It hurts.”
“It’s going to,” he answered. “You’re going to be fine. The doctor was in, and there’s no damage that wasn’t fixable.”
“How long have I been here?” she asked, noticing her watch was gone from her arm.
He glanced at his own. “Around fifteen hours.”
“H
ave you been here the entire time?”
Briggs nodded. “Yes.”
“I need something for the pain,” she muttered as her body was on fire.
He picked up the pressure button and placed it in her palm. “You can dose yourself.”
“Thank you for staying,” she whispered as she hit the release and found some relief. “I appreciate it.”
Curtis leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips. “You owe me a date night without gunfire,” he said, watching her eyes close as she slipped back into sleep.
He dropped down into his chair, and ran his hands through his hair. When he heard a noise, he glanced up. Emma and Greyson stood in the door. “Hey,” he said, trying to smile. “How’s it going? You just missed Brynn waking up.”
They’d had better days.
“We just caught the fourth victim,” Emma answered.
“So, the shooter wasn’t the killer?”
Croft shook his head. “I grabbed these from the office. You can change into some more comfortable clothes. I would have grabbed your things from our place, but we haven’t been home yet.” He handed him some FBI sweats, t-shirt and his own sneakers from his locker. “I’ll get you some of your things.”
“Go take a shower, Curtis. I’ll sit here, and Grey is going to go grab you food from the cafeteria. You can take a few minutes to relax.”
The man stood and finally rushed towards them. He hugged Emma and his partner at the same time. “Tell me this isn’t my fault for not staying beside her,” he mumbled, holding onto his adopted family. “Tell me that she didn't almost die because of me.”
Emma ran her hand up his back. “This isn’t your fault, and she knows it.”
“Did you break him?” he asked, needing to know.
She nodded.
“Thank you,” he answered as he took the clothes and headed to the bathroom.
“I’ll be back,” her husband said, walking to the door. “Stay here, Emma, and promise me you won’t leave.”
Vegas is Dying (A Croft & Croft Romance Adventure Book 2) Page 38