Kitabı oku: «Dying To Play», sayfa 2
“I’m training a couple new techs,” Walt said firmly, ignoring her comment about Kathleen.
Elaine nodded. She’d known he would do just that. “Yeah, I noticed the one in the lobby was a little trigger happy.”
Irritation wrinkled Walt’s brow as he leaned to his right to peer through the glass wall behind Elaine. She resisted the urge to turn around and see what the tech was up to now. The look on Walt’s face said it all.
Walt muttered a curse. “Can’t get decent help these days,” he complained as he stomped out of the office.
Henshaw made a covert gesture toward the door. Instinct warning her that this wasn’t good, Elaine followed him into the short corridor that led to the rear emergency exit.
“Look, Jentzen, there’s something you oughtta know,” he said quietly as he glanced first right, then left. He plucked the rarely lit stogie from his mouth.
“What is it?” she asked, instantly moving to a higher state of alert. Henshaw had been in the division longer than any other detective, even the chief. By rights he should have been deputy chief years ago, but the powers-that-be had allowed a jackleg like Hindman to keep the position until he retired, which was about ten years too long. When Hindman finally retired, Henshaw was too close to retirement himself to be considered for the position. So said the chief, anyway. Though Elaine was proud of her promotion and she damn well knew she deserved it, Henshaw had gotten a raw deal. He should have been DC years ago instead of Hindman.
“Just before you got here there were a couple of Feds snooping around.”
Elaine shrugged. “It’s a bank, they have jurisdiction. I’m surprised they’re not still here.” She actually hadn’t even thought of that until that precise moment. She swore silently. Just another example of how this morning’s appointment had rattled her. But she had to stay focused.
Henshaw stroked his chin thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “Yeah, I know it’s their jurisdiction, but there was something funny about it. Not the least of which was that one of ’em wasn’t local.”
Elaine felt the beginnings of a low dull ache right where a frown was creasing her forehead. “What do you mean funny?”
“Trace Callahan.”
She mentally repeated the name a couple of times before recognition broadsided her. Trace Callahan. “Jesus.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Henshaw muttered. “The way I heard it the guy’s been off field duty for two years.”
Elaine considered what she knew about Callahan. According to local scuttlebutt the Bureau’s top Febbie, the nickname regular cops used for federal agents, had gone over the edge a couple years ago and had been jockeying a desk ever since. “You’re sure it was him?”
“It was him.” Henshaw lifted one shaggy gray brow and gave her the look. The one that said, I can’t say where I heard it, but you can take it to the bank, no pun intended. “Word is he actually tried to kill some perp with his bare hands shortly after that whole bizarre case two years ago.”
She’d heard the same thing. “He lost his partner, right?” If she remembered correctly, there was also gossip that Callahan and his female partner were lovers. The idea only added to her uneasiness. This was definitely not her day.
Henshaw nodded. “Yeah. Most everybody, including Callahan himself, thought it was his fault. He screwed up an operation and she bit the dust.”
Callahan had been the best of the best, the Bureau’s big star, but he seemed to just come unglued. Everybody in Homicide had heard the rumors. Though Callahan worked directly out of Quantico, the liaison agent who worked between Atlanta PD and the boys at the local Bureau office had kept the chief unofficially informed of the whole sordid story. It was front-page news for a while before the big news outlets moved on to something else.
“Well,” Elaine offered, “if Callahan is one of the Feds assigned to this case, then we’ll simply have to deal with him.”
“I’m just saying,” Henshaw countered, “that it could be risky business. That’s all.” He waved his hands in a magnanimous manner. “Hell, he could be the greatest frigging investigator on the planet, but if you can’t count on him during a field op, I don’t want no part of working with him. If he goes ape-shit again I want to be clear of the fallout.”
Elaine’s cell phone rang, saving her from having to make promises she might not be able to keep. She dragged it from her shoulder bag and flipped it open. “Jentzen.” It was the chief. He was brisk and to the point. “I’ll be right there,” she assured him. He wanted her at the office ASAP. She dropped her phone back into her bag. “Got a command performance with the chief. I’ll touch base with you later, Henshaw.”
He nodded. “I guess I’d better get over there and see how the interviews are going or Flatt’ll be taking over for me.”
Elaine watched Henshaw amble out to the lobby before she made a move to go. Callahan. Though she’d never met him in person, she’d heard plenty about him. The man had received numerous commendations from the FBI director, even a couple from the president himself. By all reports, Callahan was some sort of Bureau legend. Then, two years ago, things had gone wrong for him. According to the chief, he hadn’t been the same since. She’d seen his face splashed across the TV screen during the hoopla after his partner was murdered. Elaine shivered. He was as handsome as sin.
And every bit as deadly, if even half the rumors were true.
Chapter 3
By eleven-thirty, only twenty minutes after he’d called, Elaine stood outside the chief’s office. Connie, his longtime secretary, had told her to go on in, but she hesitated for some reason. She couldn’t actually justify her hesitation. It seemed irrational, yet she felt compelled to wait a moment longer.
Maybe it was everything that had happened that morning…a bad mix of personal crisis and unsettling professional remorse. Too much waste. Too little time. The possibility that the two mass murders could be connected—could happen again—weighed heavily on her. How was she supposed to keep Atlanta safe if she couldn’t solve these two crimes? It was her job to see that they got solved. She needed more Maalox. More time, and a frigging crystal ball.
At least, she considered, the day surely couldn’t get any worse.
Taking a deep, bolstering breath, Elaine clasped the door-knob, gave it a swift twist and pushed her way into the large, perpetually cluttered office. She didn’t bother to close the door behind her. Why feed the rumor mill? She marched straight up to the boss’s desk and produced a wide professional smile.
“Good morning, sir.”
Chief John Dugan glanced up from the papers he was riffling. “Have a seat, Jentzen. I’ll be right with you.”
That perfect blue sky she’d admired this morning served as a backdrop behind him through the wall of windows. His office had an amazing view, one of the best in the city. At night the city lights were awesome. She knew firsthand. Another twinge of regret needled her. God, if she didn’t know better she’d swear she was premenstrual.
Putting all personal worries aside, she sat down, dropped her shoulder bag to the floor, crossed her legs and relaxed into her chair. She mentally reviewed what she’d noted at the crime scene that morning. Then reviewed it again in an effort to keep her mind from wandering.
It didn’t work.
Despite her most gallant attempt, her gaze followed the chief’s every move. The slow, methodical shuffling of his strong hands. The determined set of his shoulders. He was tall and quite attractive for a man closer to fifty than forty. He wore his graying hair cropped short. Smile lines bracketed his eyes and mouth but didn’t detract from his good looks. He was a solid, good man. Inside and out.
That was what had first attracted her to him.
As a new detective assigned to his division, the only female at the time, John had taken her under his wing. He’d treated her as an equal and made sure she’d learned her lessons well. The affair had been an accident.
Neither of them had intended for it to happen. John was newly divorced, she was plain lonely. All work and no play had sent her social life on a crash-and-burn course. Falling into a relationship with John had been so easy…too easy. For an entire year they’d stolen forbidden hours every chance they got, had great sex and generally enjoyed each other’s company. But that was the extent of it. Neither of them had visions of a future together. It had been about safe, convenient sex.
Six months ago, though, when she’d gotten her promotion, Elaine had ended the relationship. She’d felt it was wrong under present circumstances. Truth be told, she’d felt more than a little uncomfortable for a while before that. John had sworn he’d recommended her for the promotion based on merit, but she couldn’t dispel the niggling little doubt that their personal relationship had somehow played into his decision.
She knew she was the best person for the job…that was a cold, hard fact. She worked harder than anyone else in the division, had from the beginning. Her very first case, kidnapping and murder involving four Atlanta children, was proof of her single-minded focus. Breaking that case had been a huge boost to her fledgling career. She’d maintained a collar record to match her ambition ever since. She was a natural at organizing ops…a born leader, John called her. But still, she was the youngest detective in the division, seniority- and age-wise. Henshaw had been the first to publicly show his support of her selection. But others, Flatt in particular, had not liked it one bit. He had even gone so far as to make little accusing remarks when he had known she would overhear.
John had told her to ignore the rumbles. It would pass, he’d assured her. And it had, for the most part. Flatt and a couple of others were still a little PO’ed about being passed over, but she could deal with them.
Still, at moments like this she wondered.
“So.” John settled back into the leather chair behind his desk and focused his full attention on her. “Does it look like the bank case could be connected to the beauty salon murders?”
“There are some similarities,” she admitted. “But it’s still too early to tell. We may discover that Matthews had a beef with Tate.” She shrugged. “Or even that he slipped over the edge for some reason. Who knows? Maybe the bank turned him or one of his clients down for a loan.”
John considered her words for a moment. “If there’s even a remote possibility that there’s some sort of shared manipulation or influence playing into this, I want you to follow it as far as you can. I don’t want another multiple homicide scene next week. The papers are going to have a field day with this. We’ll be reading about it every step of the way.”
Elaine nodded. John had to deal with the uppity-ups on these kinds of high-profile cases. The mayor would not be a happy camper if this happened a third time. Of course, all good detectives could see into the future. Determining if the two crimes were connected and preventing another one should be a piece of cake in the mayor’s opinion. It truly amazed her that the man had gotten elected.
“We’ll have to keep close reins on this one,” John reiterated, in case she didn’t get it the first time. “The mayor doesn’t want any leaks. We need to keep a lid on every aspect of this investigation.”
“I’ll do my best.”
John smiled at her. The same kind of smile that had once made her pulse react, now only flooded her with asexual feelings of affection. She wondered briefly if she’d forgone birth control during their relationship, would she have gotten pregnant? Had it already been too late then? How would he have taken that kind of complication? How would she have dealt with it? She almost sighed aloud, but caught herself. Had that whole year been another waste? If she’d tried harder, could it have been more? God, she really was a mess. She didn’t have the time or the option, careerwise, to try harder. Not then, not now.
“I know you’ll do your best,” he said, dragging her focus back to the conversation. “There’s just one glitch.”
She tensed, a warning registering. “What kind of glitch?”
He exhaled a frustrated puff of air, clearly dreading what he was about to say. “You know this one is Federal jurisdiction.”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “If they want lead, they’re welcome to it.” She sure as hell wasn’t going to fight for this one. It was a no-win situation. Then again, the last thing she wanted was to be at the beck and call of a couple of arrogant Federal agents who thought they were God’s gift to women, if not mankind as a whole.
John erased all emotion from his expression right before her eyes. Uh-oh. Whenever he went deadpan, things deteriorated rapidly for the detective sitting on the opposite side of his desk.
“They don’t want lead,” he said quietly, too quietly. “In fact, they’ve asked for you by name.”
The air in the room suddenly thickened with the uncomfortable feel of a setup. Elaine arched an eyebrow as much in surprise as skepticism. “For me? Why would they want me?”
“Apparently they’ve heard of your stellar reputation.” A hint of a grin quirked his lips. “If they want the best, they’ve asked for the right detective.”
Irritation nagged at her despite the compliment. “Stop stonewalling and tell me about the glitch.” There was more to this, a lot more. She had a bad feeling. He was doling out too much good up front.
The chief took his time before answering. “Apparently there is some aspect of this case that caught the Bureau’s attention. They believe these two murder sprees are definitely connected. One of their agents thinks he may know who’s behind them.”
That was just too surreal. “We don’t even have any tangible evidence,” Elaine argued. “How the hell could he know that? It’s not like there’s even been the first real clue.”
John flared his hands, obviously as much at a loss as she was. “Beats me. But if the FBI director trusts this guy enough to follow his instincts, I’m certainly not going to question him.”
He had a point there. And a good chief or director always backed his detectives and agents. Elaine had to admit that as much as she despised Flatt personally, he was a good detective. She’d back him if the need arose.
“So, what exactly do they want?” She needed clarification here. If she was going to have to play flunky for some G-man, she wanted as much information as possible at the start.
John looked directly at her and said the last thing she wanted to hear. “They want to team you up with their agent. They want the two of you focused solely on solving this situation.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he stopped her with an uplifted palm. “They’re that sure of this guy, Elaine. I wouldn’t have said yes, if they weren’t so sure. Especially under the circumstances.”
She sprang from her chair and parked her fists on her hips. “You said yes without asking me first?”
That deadpan expression never wavered. “I did.”
She bit back the scorching four-letter word that raced to the tip of her tongue. “I hate this,” she murmured fiercely. “I want that on the record up-front. I already have a partner, a real cop. What’s Henshaw supposed to do while I’m playing lackey to some buttoned-down hotshot who thinks he’s some kind of Top Gun character?”
“Don’t worry about Henshaw,” John assured her. “We’ve got plenty to keep him busy. I thought I’d put him on the Fishnet murders.”
“Oh, he’ll love that,” Elaine mused, some of the fight draining out of her. What was the point, anyway? Damn, she needed more Maalox. Her stomach burned like hell.
The Fishnet case was a string of prostitute murders where the victims had been strangled with fishnet stockings while in a compromising position. Henshaw wouldn’t mind. He’d probably enjoy the scenery. Elaine wanted to kick something. But what was the use? She’d still be stuck working with the Feds. Up close and personally.
“This won’t be the first time you’ve worked a joint task force. What’s the big deal?” John wanted to know.
What’d he expect? Enthusiasm?
She looked directly at him and said exactly what was on her mind. “I have a partner. I don’t need another partner.” She glared at her boss for emphasis. “And I damn sure don’t want one who no doubt suffers with the same ailment all Feds do—the God complex.” One of the chief’s comments abruptly pushed its way through her irritation. Especially under the circumstances. What the hell did that mean?
“Well if it makes you feel any better, Detective,” a husky masculine voice drawled from the doorway some ten feet behind her, “I don’t want a partner, either.”
“Dammit,” she hissed, her eyes closing briefly in self-deprecation. Elaine turned slowly toward the man who’d spoken. Though she’d never met him, she recognized him instantly. That ruggedly handsome face as well as the stance, both weary and wary, contrasted sharply with his starched shirt and khakis, silk tie and polished brown leather loafers. There was something raw about him—besides the weapon nestled in its holster against that mile-wide chest. It radiated off him in waves. A distracting mix of confidence, masculinity and sexuality.
Elaine disliked him on sight.
“Elaine Jentzen,” John announced unnecessarily, then cleared his throat, “this is Special Agent Trace Callahan. Your new partner.”
Callahan strolled slowly toward her, each step a deliberate act of intimidation. But Elaine wasn’t intimidated. Surprised at her body’s foolish reaction to him, yes, but not at all intimidated. Ignoring the swirl of awareness in her gut, she thrust out her hand when he got within shaking distance.
“I wish I could say it’s a pleasure, Agent Callahan,” she said bluntly. So he was the circumstances the chief spoke of.
Callahan closed a hand over hers, unexpectedly sending a surge of pure heat spiraling through her. Those analyzing blue eyes never left hers for a second. “The pleasure’s surely mine, Detective Jentzen,” he said smoothly, so damned smoothly that she almost shivered. “And not to worry,” he added, holding on to her hand when she would have pulled away. “I left my God complex at home this morning. I’ll be sure to do that for the duration of our partnership.”
Fury burst inside her, and a different kind of heat scalded Elaine’s cheeks. “See that you do, Callahan,” she shot back. “And we’ll get along just fine.”
Something on the order of a smile played about the corners of his mouth as he released her hand. “No problem. We Top Guns are always on our best behavior when working with real cops.”
Her day had just gotten worse.
Chapter 4
“Have a seat, Agent Callahan,” John offered before shooting Elaine a look that meant two things—sit down and shut up.
Too pissed off to be submissive, she ignored her boss and looked directly at Callahan, daring him to make the first move. This close, his gaze startled her. It was more than simply analyzing…it was penetrating. Pure blue, like today’s sky, only ice-cold. Those eyes bore the experienced lines of someone who had witnessed too much…given too much. A chill shivered through her.
“After you,” he said with a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. It was more like a practiced offering. A compromise he’d trained himself to make during situations like this.
Elaine blinked and looked away from those disturbing eyes. “So, who’s in charge?” she asked John, determined to nail down that point right off the bat.
“You’ll lead,” Callahan interjected. “So long as,” he qualified, “we understand each other.”
Oh, he was smooth. She knew precisely what he meant. So long as he got his way, she was in charge. She sent him another evaluating look. “I think we understand each other perfectly.” With that said, Elaine sat down. She didn’t miss the relief on John’s face. This was awkward for him she knew, but at the moment she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to play nice under present circumstances.
Callahan settled into the other chair, his gaze lingering on her. She could feel him watching her…weighing the challenge she represented.
“We don’t want any conflicting obligations,” John told her, getting back down to business. “I don’t want your focus scattered by anything. We’ll let Flatt fill in as deputy chief while you’re on this case.”
Elaine stiffened as insult was added to injury. No way was she taking this without a fight. “I don’t see the necessity. I’ll still report in as usual. I can handle both.”
John shook his head. “I’m in agreement with the Bureau on this one. The case needs yours and Agent Callahan’s full attention. Anything less is unacceptable.”
Fury flamed inside her. It didn’t have to be this way. “Why not Henshaw? He’s senior, let him fill in.”
“My decision is final.” The look John gave her was more telling than his words.
Elaine recognized the futility of arguing the issue further. Once John Dugan made up his mind there was no changing it. Whatever his reasons for choosing Flatt over Henshaw, she had no choice but to accept the situation. But she didn’t have to like it.
“Fine,” she agreed tightly. This whole day had sucked. What was one more injustice? She almost laughed. And here she’d thought things couldn’t get any worse.
“I’ll need a status report every twenty-four hours,” John went on. “To keep the mayor abreast of the situation. I’ll also keep Senior Supervisory Agent Douglas informed,” he advised Callahan. “It’s my understanding that you’ll report directly to me throughout the investigation just like Jentzen.”
Callahan nodded. “That’s right.”
Surprise, surprise, Elaine thought. The Feds were staying out of the main loop. She wondered what hidden significance that goodwill gesture carried. Someone was pulling out all the stops on this one. No doubt to appease the mayor.
“So we understand each other here?” John asked looking at her again.
“Absolutely,” she said succinctly despite the fact that she didn’t understand any of it. And she damn sure didn’t like it. She hated this kind of politically motivated crap.
John stood, an act of dismissal. “Then I’ll let the two of you get started.”
Elaine snagged her purse and pushed to her feet. “Thank you, sir.” Disappointment flared briefly in John’s eyes at her curt tone. She refused to feel guilty for that, too. Though she felt sure he really didn’t like this any more than she did, she resented the feeling of helplessness it gave her. He’d been in on the decision making; she’d had no say at all. But he had a job to do. And so did she.
Not waiting for Callahan, she walked out while he was still shaking hands with John. It didn’t take the guy long to catch up to her. She’d just pushed into the stairwell when he breezed in behind her.
“We headed someplace special?” he asked as he slipped on a navy-blue jacket that exactly matched the silk tie he wore.
“Back to the scene of the crime. Where else?” Elaine started down the stairs without looking at him. If he was lead, would he have started someplace else? She banished that line of thinking. She was lead; she didn’t care what he would do.
“You want me to drive?” He was right beside her, his feet keeping time with hers. “My rented car’s—”
“I’ll drive.” She still didn’t look at him.
“Suits me.”
The last two flights of stairs were descended in silence. Well, silence, that is, if she discounted the war of conflicting thoughts and emotions inside her head. Every part of her that made her a woman wanted to cry out at the injustice fate had thrown her. The cop in her wanted to rant further about the whole setup of this little joint task force. But she couldn’t lose control…not right now. Later, when she was at home alone, she would allow herself to think about something besides the case again. Definitely not now, with some hotshot secret agent on her heels.
At the west exit that would take them to the personnel parking area, Elaine hesitated before opening the door. Something the chief had said suddenly rose above the rest of the chaos inside her head. She turned to the man waiting behind her. “Why me?”
His stare was analyzing and went on long enough to make her want to squirm, but she resisted. There was something totally unnerving yet somehow intensely spellbinding about his eyes. It was as if he could read her thoughts…could see inside her. She purposely cleared her mind, just in case.
“Does it matter?” he answered her question with a question, his voice carefully devoid of inflection.
“Chief Dugan said you asked for me,” she explained, suddenly uncharacteristically uncertain of her ground.
Something shifted in those intense blue eyes…some barely discernible emotion she couldn’t possibly read. “Douglas asked for you. I wouldn’t have.”
Douglas—his boss. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who had a problem with a new partner. “You wouldn’t have?”
“I would have preferred a male partner.” That unsettling stare cut to her marrow.
“You think one of my male peers would do a better job than me?” she demanded icily. She felt a muscle tic in her cheek at the absurd notion that Flatt or Jillette or any of the others could do a better job than she could.
He shook his head. “I’m sure you’re more than competent, Detective Jentzen,” he said in that slow, quiet drawl, honey sweet and polished smooth. “But in my experience women are ruled more by their emotions than by their gut. Emotions can get you killed.”
She lifted her chin defiantly. “You would certainly know more about getting someone killed than I would.”
He flinched and she immediately regretted her words. At least to a degree. Obviously Henshaw had been right about Callahan’s past.
“Let’s just say,” he offered in that same controlled tone, “that I’d rather spare you learning how that feels.”
He reached for the left breast pocket of his jacket as if it were second nature. A frown lined her brow as she considered the small bulge in that same pocket. A pack of cigarettes?
“You smoke?” she asked, her intolerance of the habit more evident in her voice than she’d intended. This just kept getting better and better. Her favorite uncle had died of lung cancer after half a lifetime of smoking. She’d almost broken Henshaw from the habit. What the hell was she supposed to do with a good-looking, smooth-talking, cigarette-smoking partner who had gotten his last partner killed?
His hand dropped back to his side. “I used to,” he admitted, just a hint of reluctance weighting his words.
She arched a skeptical eyebrow. “If you’ve quit, why are you still carrying a pack?” She glanced at his pocket once more for emphasis.
“It’s a long story. One I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested in.”
Before she could say anything else he reached around her and opened the door. Her breath caught at his unexpected nearness. The vaguest scent of aftershave, something she couldn’t readily identify, piqued her senses, made her want to draw closer.
Turning swiftly away from him, Elaine led the way to her black, badly-in-need-of-a-wash Jeep. She climbed into the driver’s seat and reached over to clear the passenger side. She tossed the files she’d taken home to review, her linen jacket, and a take-out box containing the remainder of yesterday’s lunch into the back seat.
Callahan slid onto the seat, his long, lean frame making the vehicle seem suddenly too cramped. He pulled on his seat belt after noting she’d done so. The act was awkward, unpracticed, as if he rarely performed it. Well, whenever he rode with her he would wear it. She would see to that. She might be stuck in this situation, but she would retain every aspect of control possible.
As she pulled out onto the street, she glanced at his profile. He had those chiseled good looks, all angles and shadows, that Hollywood clamored for in leading men. A pair of designer sunglasses slipped into place as she watched, only adding to the movie-star mystique. His dark-brown hair was short, a little longer on top where it waved, draping a few locks down his forehead for a sexy touch.
Just another reason to dislike him. He was too perfect on the outside. Women likely flocked to him in droves, only to discover the internal goods were damaged.
She fixed her gaze on the street before her. Damn, just what she needed. A new partner who would not only get in her way, but who would also create distractions, for her as well as any other female around, wherever they went. Dammit, dammit. Why the hell hadn’t Douglas picked Flatt or Jillette for this assignment? A realization of sorts struck her with staggering force. She was a woman. The Bureau likely believed she would be easier to control.
Well, Elaine didn’t like playing the submissive part. She didn’t like it one iota. She stole another sideways glance at her passenger. Midthirties, she guessed. Definitely not the marrying type. Before she could school the thought, she’d checked out his left hand. No ring.
She wanted to kick herself for looking. She didn’t care if he was married. She didn’t care that he was too damned handsome. She had a job to do, and Mr. Hotshot Superagent wasn’t going to distract her.
Pain stabbed deep in her midsection, followed by a burn at once familiar and dreaded. She grimaced. Dammit. She needed to eat. But she wasn’t about to go to lunch with this man. Keeping her eyes on the road, she reached for the Maalox in the center console. She opened it with a savage twist and drank a long, deep swallow.
Feeling immensely better as the thick, velvety liquid slid down her esophagus headed toward the volcano erupting in her stomach, she screwed the top back on and chucked the now-empty bottle onto the back seat. She’d definitely have to remember to pick up a new one.
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