Eyes locked on her, he stalked forward with primal, masculine strength. Muscle shifted beneath the FBI jacket, larger than she remembered a few seconds ago. “You’re not going to shoot me.”
“Not if you tell me why you’re trying to sabotage my investigation.” She parried his approach and backed herself toward the open bedroom door. She could use the couches as cover until she had the opportunity to escape out the apartment and down the stairs. Most cops went three years without firing their weapons, but she’d always known where to find her suspects, where to aim, when to fire. As though something had pulled her toward them, she’d arrested every perp that came across her desk. Deep down, Grayson, or whoever he was, didn’t feel like one of them, but he certainly hadn’t convinced her he wasn’t worth shooting.
“All right. I was hired,” he said.
“Hired by who?” Fear tainted her words. Fear that she’d pull the trigger. Fear that she wouldn’t.
“A very bad person. If I tell you anymore—”
“I become a target. You said that already.” Her arms ached from keeping the gun raised. His body heat penetrated under her jacket and T-shirt as if he stood right beside her. Or maybe it was just doubt that had taken root in the back of her mind. Was he telling the truth? “What were you hired to do?”
Grayson stalked toward her again, most likely trying to get the upper hand. He obviously didn’t know her very well. “Find your sister’s killer.”
“And destroying evidence gets you there faster?” Heart in her throat, she swallowed hard. Her pectoral muscles ached with the weight of her raised gun. She wouldn’t be able to hold it much longer.
“I already know who killed your sister.” He focused on her, his interest so powerful every cell in her body woke with awareness. “Submitting that fingernail will only raise more questions rather than answer them.”
“Why don’t you let me decide that for myself?” She re-gripped her weapon, the burn in her arms almost unbearable. Checking over her shoulder for a clear path, she stepped backward into the living room. The fingernail she’d picked up nearly burned a hole in her pocket, but she wasn’t about to give up a solid piece of evidence to a man she didn’t even know. No matter how good-looking. “Tell me who killed my sister.”
“You’re a good detective, Nika.” He advanced on her again. A smirk pulled one side of his mouth upward and her gut clenched. “But you won’t be able to bring her in yourself.”
She had to get out of there. Her arms shook with effort of holding her gun high. Her heart raced faster. The pain in her shoulder blade intensified. Her hands trembled. The eagerness in his expression told her Grayson already knew her decision before she did. He knew a lot about her it seemed. “Go to hell.”
She spun on her heel and sprinted for the door. Stopped by the deadbolt he’d secured when he’d locked them inside together, she raised the gun over her shoulder in case he’d followed. He hadn’t, but she wouldn’t drop the gun yet. The deadbolt flipped back and she ripped open the door. The hallway and stairs passed in a darkened blur. She ran for what seemed like an hour, but wouldn’t look back until she got the fingernail to the lab. Even if it did make her the next target.
Chapter Four
Her spine jerked as Nika sat down hard in the chair beside Reynolds’s desk.
He didn’t even give her a second glance, completely focused on the case file in front of him.
Rachel’s case file.
The 19th Precinct hadn’t changed a bit in the last two months. Almost like it hadn’t even noticed she’d been suspended. Cubicles took up most of the main floor, a few desks sprinkled throughout. Vertical blinds hung in front of each window. The white plastic swayed with the cool flow streaming down from the air conditioning.
Her old desk sat across from Reynolds’s. Just like his, paperwork covered the surface. She’d been replaced. Of course she had. Turner had probably filled the position the day he’d kicked her to the curb, but the pang behind her ribcage didn’t make the realization any easier. She’d considered the 19th home away from home, somewhere she could focus, keep her mind off Rachel’s mental problems. All she had now was an empty apartment and a dead sister.
“You’re brooding,” Reynolds said.
Nodding, she set her elbows on her knees and turned her gaze to the floor. “Thinking about the last time I was in this place. Hell of a day.”
Her partner tossed his pen to the desk as he finally pulled his attention off the case file. “What are you doing here, Nika?”
She didn’t answer right away, letting him come to the conclusion himself.
“I can’t give you any information. You know that.” Reynolds’s expression remained stoic as he went back to the file. He probably couldn’t see a single word, just didn’t want to look at her. Bastard. “You’re not a detective anymore. Go home. Sort out Rachel’s life, put her to rest, and move on. I’m sure you’ll be able to find another job.”
“Is that really what you want? To move on?” His jab hit her in the stomach as though she’d been sucker punched. She’d trusted him with her life and saved his a handful of times and now he wouldn’t even throw her a damn bone? “Damn it, Reynolds, we were partners for three years. Doesn’t that mean anything anymore?”
He didn’t answer.
She ground her back molars. No point in picking a fight. He could have her thrown out of the precinct and she had business to handle. “You’re right. I don’t have a badge anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a cop. I can’t shut it off. Every time I walk down the street, I’m on alert. I can feel crimes happening all around me. I took an oath to protect this city and just because the lieutenant took my badge doesn’t mean I’m going to ignore the fact a killer is out there tearing out people’s hearts, one of which belonged to my sister. What do you expect me to do?”
“Like I said, go home,” he said.
She stood then studied the top of his brown sculpted hair. The invisible connection they’d shared for so long seemed to disappear right in front of her eyes. He didn’t angle up to look at her, but kept his upper body hunched, curved inward around his ribcage. “I can’t turn my back on this and I know deep down you wouldn’t want me to if it’d been you on that bank vault floor. Give me something. Anything.”
“Reynolds?” The feminine voice came from a uniformed petite blonde approaching from across the room. Sharp jawline, razor sculpted eyebrows, and high cheekbones. Steel gray eyes roamed over Nika then diverted to Reynolds with a wide, forced smile. A shudder chased down Nika’s spine. Her instincts screamed for her to run as though she stood toe-to-toe with a killer and there was nothing she could do about it, which was crazy. Nothing about that thin nose or oval-shaped face screamed danger, but something wasn’t right with this one. Pretty. But...off. “Are you ready for lunch?”
“You have a date?” Nika locked her attention onto her partner than swung it back to the rookie cop. “Seriously?”
Reynolds never dated. Especially within the department. After the two months of sleeping together, work had started to bleed into their personal lives and he’d vowed never to take that road again. She didn’t blame him. He had a life outside this place. Kids, parents, siblings, an ex-wife. He didn’t need her obsession with the job weighing him down. So he’d cut her and the idea he could have a relationship with another cop loose.
Until now. The dread that’d pooled in her gut since the pretty cop had shown up hadn’t lightened.
“Ah, yeah. Just need to wrap up a few things then we can go.” Reynolds looked up at Nika. A hint of red tinted his cheeks and neck. Ah, so it wasn’t only dating within the department. It was dating her he had a problem with. Didn’t matter. Romance hadn’t ever been a priority. Catching killers still ruled her life. Always would. And Reynolds had turned his back on her the second she’d been suspended. “Nika, this is Isabel. My...girlfriend.”
“Veranika Russo?” Isabel offered a hand. Those gray eyes seemingly studied every move Nika made. Li
ke a hunter on the prowl. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Michael.”
She took Isabel’s hand, the freezing skin almost dry as a bone, like paper. Her instincts fired the same way they had back in Rachel’s apartment. Like a bolt of electricity, they paralyzed her nerves from the neck down. Familiar, yet unsettling. She’d never met this uniform before, but would swear that slight burnt scent on the air smelled of sulfur. Like Rachel’s crime scene. Nika swallowed hard, trying not to raise her hand to block her nose. No. It couldn’t come from Reynolds’s new girlfriend. Isabel hadn’t even been at the crime scene. Nika would’ve remembered her.
Fire engine red fingernails caught Nika’s attention against her pale skin. The same color on the fingernail she recovered at her sister’s apartment. She ripped her hand back. A coincidence. Had to be. She forced her gaze to connect with Isabel’s. “Can’t say the same, but I’m not around here much anymore. Have you been with the 19th long?”
“I started last week.” A sensual smile crawled across Isabel’s face and the slide of gray eyes toward Reynolds shook her to the core. Couldn’t her partner—ex-partner—smell the sulfur?
“And you’ve already gotten into a detective’s pants. Good for you,” she said.
“Nika, what the hell is the matter with you?” Reynolds bolted from his chair. His expression darkened, losing all signs of the guy she’d depended on to get her through their worst cases. He might’ve fallen head over heels for the recruit, but the instincts screaming for Nika to back up and put a gun in her hand wouldn’t relent. The disgusting scent of sulfur. The red nail polish that matched the evidence in her pocket. Somehow she’d always known where to find her suspects—a sixth sense—and Isabel the Rookie had now signed her name to the list. If she could see if Isabel had a broken fingernail...
“Your sister’s on a slab downstairs, isn’t she?” Isabel asked.
Every muscle in her body tensed rock hard. Her jaw locked, her teeth clenched. For the space of two breaths, she couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Reynolds’s girlfriend was a rookie, not privy to homicides, which meant she’d either poked her nose where it didn’t belong or someone had told her about Rachel’s case. She turned on Reynolds. “Do you tell her about all your cases?”
“What? Of course not.” He had the balls to look confused. “I never told her about Rachel.”
The flash of red across Isabel’s irises and the slithering of a smile forced Nika to take a step back. Bile pushed into her throat. Lieutenant Turner’s eyes had done the same thing at the crime scene. She yearned for the Glock she’d left in the car, but walking into a precinct with an unregistered handgun promised bigger problems. Who the hell was this woman?
Another hallucination? No, not possible. She’d worked hard to rid herself of the monsters she and Rachel saw as children. Therapists, medication, prayer. It’d taken years to feel normal. All the while her sister had given into her hallucinations, blamed Nika for abandoning her “gift.” She hadn’t had an episode in over twenty years. So, no. This couldn’t be a hallucination. But the alternative...
Isabel and Reynolds came into focus as her throat went dry. Her lips wavered with the words hanging on the tip of her tongue. If Isabel had anything to do with Rachel and her partner’s deaths, Reynolds was in danger, but anything she said now would sound insane and jealous. Not what she had in mind. She’d get him alone, away from Isabel, to warn him of her suspicions without tipping his new girlfriend off. But not now. Now they had a lunch date. “Have a nice lunch.”
Making a beeline for the stairs, she stalked passed former coworkers without stopping to chat, their confusion boring into her from behind. She could practically hear their thoughts asking themselves what the hell she was doing in the building. Her own panic pushed her forward. She had to get the broken fingernail to the lab. Then she could prove Isabel had something to do with Rachel’s death. Wood-paneled walls gave way to sleek drywall as she sank into the precinct’s basement level. Everything went white. Tile flooring, corkboard ceiling, pale walls. Just like a hospital.
Unlike other cops she’d worked with, sanitized areas like this didn’t give her the creeps. In fact, aside from the comforting silence of her apartment, Dr. Anderson’s lab offered the most peace. No one down here talked back.
Then again, the dead had to be chaperoned by one of the living.
Dr. Anderson had her back to the door. Wavy, strawberry hair cascaded down over a white lab coat. They’d had a pleasant acquaintance back when Nika had a badge, maybe the closest thing she had to a friendship. If she’d ever had friends. Time to use that to her advantage.
“I know what you’re here for.” Dr. Anderson turned around, her voice almost an echo underneath the face shield strapped around her head. Soft green eyes communicated the sympathy in her tone as she set the bone saw on the table beside the body she’d been analyzing. “Detective Reynolds called me.”
Son of a bitch. That bastard. “Then you know I’m not leaving without your help.”
The city coroner studied her for a moment, almost as if she wasn’t really looking at her, but considering the consequences if she gave a suspended detective what she wanted. Took no more than three seconds. “The full autopsy report is on my desk. I just finished.”
“Thank you.” Nika picked up the manila folder from the desk and flipped to the final page, reading the summarization of cause of death. The lacerations across and deep inside Rachel’s chest had punctured her lungs. Her sister had drowned in her own blood. The heart had been removed after she’d already died. According to Dr. Anderson’s research, no known animal matched the claw-like rips in the skin.
Which meant what?
She turned to the crime scene report. All blood evidence belonged to Rachel or her co-worker. No fibers had been transferred onto the bodies from the killer. No skin under her fingernails. No leads to identify a possible suspect. Hundreds of fingerprints belonged to even more employees and patrons at the bank. Nearly ninety percent of them had been matched already without any red flags. Desperation forced her attention down the list of confirmed identities. Harold Ortiz. Vdarra Jansen. Jacob Strauss. Nothing jumped out. She dropped the file against her thighs. Damn it.
But she still had the fingernail from Rachel’s apartment. She tossed the case file back on to the desk. “I found something that needs to be analyzed. Might be evidence.” She turned toward the coroner, her attention glued to the body on the table for the first time since she’d entered the room. She swallowed hard. Oh, God.
Rachel.
Dead bodies didn’t normally bother her, but her heart wrenched violently. Tears welled at the edges of her eyes. She pushed her gaze away from her sister’s face to focus on anything but the nausea overwhelming her control. The room blurred for a moment, but she couldn’t give into the grief. Not with Rachel’s killer on the loose.
Dr. Anderson set her tools down. The corners of her mouth pulled down. In the next second, a sheet had been draped over the body and Nika released the dread pooled at the base of her spine. “I’m sorry. I was taking a closer look at the lacerations. If I would’ve known you were coming—”
“It’s fine.” Nika scanned over the lump beneath the sheet. She nodded absently, remembering the baggie in her pocket. Reaching deep into her jacket, she pulled the fingernail and handed it over to Dr. Anderson. “I found this in Rachel’s apartment.”
“And why isn’t Reynolds the one handing me this?” Dr. Anderson pulled off her latex gloves. The snap jolted something inside Nika’s chest.
She didn’t want to lie to the one person who’d helped her so far, but if any word got back to Lieutenant Turner that’d she’d had anything to do with the case, he’d send her straight to Sing Sing Correctional with actual proof of evidence tampering and corruption. The silence turned awkward as the coroner connected the dots.
“You’re going after the perp yourself. You want to be the one to catch him,” Dr. Anderson said.
“Yes.” What more could she sa
y? That she owed Rachel for turning her back on her last year? That she needed to be the one to find the suspect to make up for all of the horrible things she’d said to her sister? For believing her sister was crazy?
With a swish of her lab coat and pencil skirt, Dr. Anderson opened the evidence baggie and slid the fingernail onto the light box. “I’ll call your cell if something comes back, but to be clear, I’ll be keeping Reynolds informed as well. I won’t lose my job for this, Detective.”
“It’s Nika. I’m not a detective anymore. But I understand. Thank you.” She headed back up the stairs, her legs already burning with exhaustion from the long day. Mind buzzing, she counted each step as she ascended, but froze as a pair of black slacks and shiny shoes entered her vision. She followed the slacks up to a lean waist, over a strong, powerful core, and across wide shoulders. Agent Grayson Wyatt had ditched the FBI jacket, his dark dress shirt pulled tight over his upper body. Her gaze connected with those mesmerizing green eyes. Her skin prickled as if she’d been dropped into ice-cold water and left to fend for herself. Numb. Frozen. He’d tried getting her to hide evidence from her sister’s murder case. Did he really think chasing after her would strengthen his reasoning? “How did you know I’d be here?”
She cringed at her own breathlessness, heart in her throat.
“Where else would you have the fingernail analyzed?” Grayson stared down at her with a combination of disappointment and concentration etched into his features. “I may not have wanted you to turn it over to the NYPD, but I’m glad to see you’re still in one piece.”
She struggled to inhale through the slow burn taking residence in her lower abdomen. His voice melted the numbness she’d taken years to build in a few short seconds. Her heart rate picked up. It didn’t make sense, but she was actually relieved he’d followed her. Made his claims more viable, if nothing else. “Even after I pointed a gun at you?”
“Yeah, because now you owe me.” A playful brightening in his eyes and slight pull at his mouth twisted her insides. The humor bled from his expression the longer he stared at her and transformed into something more heated. Her throat constricted with all the possibilities in a dangerous look like that. What did he want from her? She studied the strength under his dress shirt. What would he do when she sank her teeth into him as he drove into her?
His Seductive Target (Afterlife, #2) Page 4