Don't Look Back

by Christie Craig

  “Yeah, I pay all our bills. Let me run to my car and get my laptop.”

  Ten minutes later, Tory had returned and emailed her the list of charges and Carlos’s credit card information. He had eaten in Willowcreek, Texas, at a steak house. Was it just a rest stop or did he meet somebody?

  With her phone out of battery, she used Tory’s phone and sent a message to Connor telling him what they’d found.

  After an hour, visitation opened again, so she and Tory went in to see Carlos. Feeling like crying, she slipped her hand into her partner’s.

  “You need to wake up, buddy.” His thumb shifted against her wrist. Gasping, she looked back at Tory. “He moved.”

  “He did it earlier with me. The nurse said sometimes they have involuntary movements.” But Tory still walked over to the bed and stared at Carlos’s face.

  The lump in her throat grew larger. Tory came and hugged her, and she heard his breath shudder right along with hers.

  A short time later, after more tight hugs and goodbyes, she headed home. She needed to get ready for work and give Psycho at least a minute or two of TLC. She’d forgotten about the break-in until she saw her door ajar. It gave her a jolt. Her first thought was to worry if the cat was still locked in the bathroom, as Connor had said. Her second was to wonder if someone could be inside now.

  Stopping on the doorstep, she listened. Despite hearing nothing, she still pulled out her Glock from the back of her jeans.

  As she inched the door open, she saw the latch had been damaged, preventing the door from shutting. Moving inside with light footsteps, she heard a clattering sound come from down the hall. She stopped. Her hold on the gun tightened.

  Then she heard the noise again followed by a meow. The sound had come from her bathroom. Probably just Psycho.

  She still did a walk through her apartment to make sure no one was there. Then she grabbed a chair from her table and fit it under the doorknob of her broken door. At least that would make it difficult for someone to get inside. And almost impossible for Psycho to get out. Then she hurried to the bathroom.

  Opening the door, she squatted down. “Kitty. Kitty.” She’d only had the feline two months. The shelter had set up a temporary adoption center at a strip mall, and just passing time, she had ambled over. A big mistake. She hadn’t planned on getting a pet until she saw Psycho. Abandoned and unwanted, he’d looked at her. Sentiments she knew all too well. Both from her father and later even from her mom. They’d warned her the kitten was leery of people. But since she was leery of people, too, she paid the adoption fee and brought him home.

  The moment she let him out of the carrier, he’d absconded to her closet. So she’d simply fed him and left the litter box in there as well.

  Finally, he’d started crawling into her bed at night. But anytime she moved, he’d dart back. After about a month, he decided he could trust her. She understood, she had trust issues herself. Two weeks ago, when she’d been on the sofa watching television, he’d actually curled up in her lap and purred as she stroked his fur. Brie had almost cried at his tentative trust.

  Psycho jumped out of the bathtub and came to her, purring and rubbing against her legs.

  “Hey. You okay?”

  He lifted up on his hind legs to brush his face against her chin. She considered picking him up and cuddling him, but afraid that might be too much, she just let him rub against her.

  She spotted the food and water and the litter box that Connor had left for him. And after the feline had scratched him pretty good, no less. She supposed that said something about the man. He could’ve just left, and let the cat run away.

  He hadn’t.

  She changed the cat’s water and gave him fresh food, then plugged in her phone. She listened to the voice mail from the apartment manager telling her about her apartment being broken in and called her back. Of course, the woman didn’t pick up. Brie left a message suggesting they fix the door and saying it would be cheaper to fix it than to have to send a biotech removal crew to come clean up her bloody, murdered body.

  Hanging up, she noticed the shoe prints on her comforter, so she stripped the bed and replaced the sheets. Realizing the time, she grabbed the notes she’d kept on the missing women who’d worked at the Black Diamond. She photographed the files and sent them to Detective Acosta. Then after securing her cat in her bedroom, she went to shower.

  Her mind still on Acosta, she recalled the day she’d gone to their office and insisted he owed her lunch for the tip she’d given him about his case. In truth, she’d simply been hoping to make a few friends in the department, which she had. She remembered the butterfly feeling she’d gotten when she’d laid eyes on his partner Connor.

  Kicking off her shoes, and tugging off her socks, she stepped out of her jeans. When she pulled off her shirt, she caught a whiff of a spicy male scent. Pulling the white fabric up, she buried her nose in it. It smelled…good. A little musky, with earthy tones. She recalled catching that scent earlier when he’d stood too close.

  Or was it not close enough?

  Realizing her thoughts were headed someplace naughty, she tossed the shirt on the counter, started the water, and sat down on the closed toilet lid, waiting for the water to get hot. Sitting there, her bare feet tapping on the cold tile floor, her gaze fell back to the shirt. Picking it up, she took another long deep sniff and let her mind go places it shouldn’t.

  Only when steam billowed out from the shower curtain did she put his shirt down and crawl into the shower. But she couldn’t wash his scent from her mind.

  Chapter Eleven

  Connor had checked both Dunn’s office and his home address. The man wasn’t at either one. Nor was he picking up his phone. Where the hell was he? Connor left a message telling him he needed to talk to him about his case.

  When he hung up, he called Brie, but her phone went straight to voice mail. He left her a message telling her he hadn’t gotten in touch with Dunn, so she should be on guard.

  Walking back to his car, he realized all he’d eaten all day was a stale donut at the office. Crawling behind the wheel, he headed straight to the closest fast-food joint.

  He’d just parked when his phone rang. The aroma of grilled burgers and greasy French fries penetrated his car. His stomach growled as he pulled his cell from his pocket. The anonymous number almost had him letting it go unanswered. Then thinking it might be Dunn, he picked up.

  “Detective Pierce.”

  “You said to call if I saw her.” It took a minute to realize it was Brie’s landlord.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Well, I saw her car in the parking lot when I got back from the store, but I had to take another call as soon as I walked in. I’d just hung up when her neighbor phoned to say she’d spotted the same man sneaking into Ms. Colton’s place again.”

  “What? Is Brie still there?”

  “Who’s Brie?”

  “I meant Star.” He checked the time. She said she had to be at work at eight. It was still a few minutes before. “Is her car still there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you have a security guard on the premises?”

  “No.”

  “Search for her car right now! If it’s there, call 911. I’m on my way.”

  Connor made the ten-minute drive in six. He was parking when the landlord called to say Brie’s car wasn’t there. His gut said she’d left before the perp showed up, but what if he’d taken her car, too? He hauled ass to her building. In the glow of a porch light stood the landlord and the neighbor he’d met earlier.

  “She’s not there,” the landlord said. “I checked to be sure she wasn’t lying in there hurt. And Mrs. Edwards”—she pointed to the neighbor—“saw the guy leave.”

  The knot of panic in his belly loosened, and he focused on the neighbor. “Are you sure it was the same guy?”

  “Yeah.” She appeared nervous and he knew why.

  “I thought you said you didn’t see the guy who broke in
earlier.”

  She flinched. “I may have seen him briefly. Look, I don’t like getting mixed up in stuff.”

  Connor figured what she really didn’t like was cops. “What did he look like and how long was he here?”

  “He wasn’t here three minutes. And he had red hair. A big guy.”

  Connor heard a meow. He looked over at Brie’s door and saw her cat half-in and half-out the door.

  “No.” Knowing how sharp the fellow’s claws were, he shooed the cat back inside with his foot, then tried to shut the door. It wouldn’t shut. The neighbor took that opportunity to run back into her place.

  “Do I need to call the police again?” the landlord asked.

  “No. But you need to fix her door.”

  She walked away. Connor saw the cat peer out of the opening again. Great. Now he had to put Psycho back in the bathroom and probably get clawed again.

  Careful not to let the cat out, he eased inside. The feline darted under the sofa, staring at him with bright green eyes. He shut the door as far as he could. Right beside the door was a chair. Brie must’ve used it to keep the door closed.

  Turning around, he refocused on the cat. “I’m not the enemy. It’s the other guy you should’ve clawed up.” The two of them held a staring contest. “I don’t suppose you’d just head on back to the bathroom, would you?”

  The cat meowed.

  “I didn’t think so.” He squatted down. “Come here, kitty.” Psycho didn’t budge. When he tried to reach in, the cat hissed.

  Standing up to find a towel to grab the cat, he walked down the hall and stuck his head in the bathroom door.

  The smell—her smell—hung thick in the still damp room. The scent, a little like fruity shampoo, filled his senses. Immediately, his mind created a vision of her standing in the shower with droplets of water slipping down soft, touchable, bare skin.

  He ran a hand over his face and blew out a mouthful of air. Then he saw his shirt on the countertop. The image of her in the sexy lace bra filled his head.

  “Damn,” he muttered when a certain southern part hardened.

  He grabbed the light blue towel from the rack. It was damp. Her smell wafted up from the thick cotton.

  When had a women’s scent ever made him hard? Maybe when he hadn’t indulged in sex for two months.

  Frowning, he stepped out of the bathroom and his gaze shifted to the bedroom. Moving in, his eyes went to the bed, which had new sheets. Then he saw that the dresser drawer was open. Several pairs of panties were strewn on the beige carpet.

  Her place had been neat when he’d been here before, so the asswipe who’d broken in must’ve gone through her things. The need to protect Brie rose up in his chest.

  He looked around, wondering if the guy would come back. Would he be waiting for her when she got home?

  He pulled out his phone to see if Brie had texted him back. No response, so he sent her another one. He waited for the three dots to appear.

  Nothing.

  His stomach grumbled. If he could grab the cat and put it back in the bathroom, he could do something about his empty stomach.

  He turned to go back to Psycho when his phone rang. Thinking it was Brie, he answered it without checking the number.

  “Hello?”

  “Detective Pierce?” the deep voice said.

  Was this Dunn? “Yes.”

  “This is Eliot Franklyn.”

  A vision of the tall, dark, ex-Special-Forces guy filled his mind. “Yes?”

  “Brie insisted on going to work, and that I not show up there. I’m concerned. If you’re a half-decent cop, you should be concerned as well. Are you doing anything to make sure she’s protected?”

  “You don’t have to worry. We’ve got someone there.”

  “Good.” The line went silent. He pulled his phone down and stared at it. No “thank you.” No “goodbye.” Giving thanks wasn’t his favorite thing to do either, but his mother had taught him some manners.

  He went to shove his phone back into his pocket when the dang thing rang again. This time he checked to see who was calling: Mark.

  “Hey,” he answered.

  “I thought I’d let you know we got someone on this Armand guy. They’re headed out to see if he’s at his hotel now.”

  “Good,” Connor said. “The asswipe who broke into Brie’s place earlier came back. The manager hasn’t gotten her door fixed, so he just walked in.”

  “Shit. Did you catch him?”

  “No. He was gone before I got here. I didn’t let the landlord call it in either. But I think we might need to have a little chat with the bastard. His interest in Brie might not just be justice for his boss. Looks like he got into her underwear drawer.”

  “Did Brie know his name?”

  “No,” Connor said. “And like you, I had no luck finding Dunn. I’ve left messages, but he hasn’t called me back.”

  “Okay, tomorrow we’ll come up with a plan.”

  “What if he comes back tonight?”

  “Warn Brie about it. She should be able to hold her own for one night.”

  Connor raked a hand over his face. He didn’t like that answer.

  “Was Brie sure this guy is connected to Dunn?” Mark asked. “I mean, if she’s mistaken—”

  “She claimed she was sure. But I’ll confirm it again.”

  “Another thing. Juan called me. He got the files from Brie of the other girls who went missing. Since some had also worked the streets, he sent the pictures to the vice unit. One of the cops recognized one. He’s pretty sure he arrested her several years back for prostitution. But he said the name Brie had for her didn’t ring a bell. He’s going to look at old files in the next few days and let Juan know what he finds.”

  “Good.”

  “Yeah,” Mark said, “but it also leads me to believe that these missing women might not be missing. Just living under fake identities. Not victims of human trafficking. I’m betting management helped them avoid the law by getting fake paperwork.”

  Connor frowned. “Yeah.”

  “Oh, I had one of the uniforms walk the route that Brie said the perp probably took when he ran, looking for cameras. He’s found two. But most of the businesses were closed, so Billy’s going tomorrow. It’s a long shot, but who knows.”

  “Did Agent Calvin get back to you?” Connor asked.

  “Yes. He thinks the shooting is related to Brie’s sister, not one of their own being behind it. They decided to do their own investigation, beginning with combing through Alma Ronan’s file, as if our officers missed something. I asked what they were looking for but he wouldn’t say. Of course, they expect us to share anything we learn with them.”

  “Right.” Connor glanced again at Brie’s shower, thinking about her in it. “Did we find anything in Olvera’s hotel room that helped?”

  “No,” Mark answered. “Oh, and despite tomorrow being Saturday, Juan and I agreed all three of us should work the case. I’m assuming you’re okay with that.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. I should go break the news to Annie that I’ll be working tomorrow.”

  No sooner had he pocketed his phone, when Connor heard someone call out, “Hello?” A female someone. Then came a clatter.

  He headed to the living room and got there just in time to see the landlord pick up the chair she’d dislodged from the door, and Brie’s cat dash outside.

  “Shit!”

  “Oops,” she muttered.

  Connor tore past her and couldn’t help thinking this gave whole new meaning to “chasing tail.”

  * * *

  “Hello there, Ms. Colton.” The tall black bouncer stationed at the door stepped aside for her.

  “How you doing tonight, Danny?” she asked. She’d liked the man the first time she met him. Not because he never hit on her or any of the other girls, but because he reminded her of Eliot. Kind, a little protective, and she’d never heard him curse.

  “Fine as frog’s hair,” he s
aid.

  She grinned and walked into the club, which always smelled like beer, hormones, and smoke. While there were NO SMOKING signs posted, the boss never called anyone on it, unless there was a complaint. And it couldn’t come from an employee. She’d tried.

  As she entered the main section of the club, she remembered to be on the lookout for FBI. She searched for any black suits and her heart jolted when she spotted one. She moved to a partially hidden corner and waited for her eyes to adjust to the obscure club lighting. Pulse fluttering at the base of her neck, she finally got a good look at the man. Not an FBI agent, just a businessman with bad taste in suits.

  “Star.” Mr. Grimes, a tight frown on his chubby face, waved her over. As she approached the bar, he tossed a cleaning rag behind the counter and walked around.

  “My office,” he bit out and started toward the back.

  Crap. She followed. This had to be about the Mustang.

  He barreled through his office door.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked, in a calm, oh-so-innocent voice.

  “I’d say!” He moved behind his desk, dropping into a chair that screamed for mercy.

  He flattened his palms on the desk. “Mr. Dunn believes you took his Mustang.”

  “Mr. Dunn?” she asked, playing naive.

  “Charles Dunn. He’s a regular.”

  “He thinks I took his car?” Her Alabama accent thickened, and she dropped down in the chair. “Why would he think that?”

  “Because you waited on him. Because his keys were on his table. Because you left and his car disappeared, but your car was here!”

  “A friend picked me up and we went out. I came back and got my car later. I didn’t…Wait. Isn’t his car like expensive?”

  “More than someone like you could afford.”

  She had to bite her tongue. Little did the idiot know that she’d inherited more money from her stepfather than he’d ever see in his lifetime. “If I stole his car why would I come to work today?”