Cold Hearted (Cold Justice Book 6) Page 11

  “She never changed her name?”

  “No, she didn’t. Maybe she liked playing off the family ties?”

  “You going to change your name?” he asked, knowing he was delaying finding out about Erin’s husband.

  Mal laughed. “I haven’t thought about it but, yeah, probably.”

  “You could always hyphenate.”

  “Mallory Rooney-Parker? I sound like a law firm or a production company. Although I guess you could call me a production company right now.”

  He could hear her grinning. Mentally he braced himself. “So what happened after they got married?”

  “They met on the job. Donovan switched precincts so they worked in different places. All was quiet on the home-front until she filed for divorce in September 2011.”

  He blew out a short, relieved breath. They’d hooked up in October 2011, and while she’d technically been married, it wasn’t quite the same as cheating.

  “Why’d she file for divorce?”

  “Irreconcilable differences was what she cited in the papers. She actually attended a training course at Quantico that October.” Darsh kept quiet and hoped Mal couldn’t read minds. “The real drama happened in December, just before Christmas that year. Price walked into her precinct while she was booking a suspect, pulled out his off duty weapon, and blew his brains all over the ceiling tiles.”

  Nausea swirled in his stomach. Fuck.

  “She applied for the job in Forbes Pines that January.”

  No wonder she didn’t want to talk about it.

  “There’s something else. Alex found it somewhere he shouldn’t have been. There’s a hospital report filed for Erin Donovan. Bunch of photographs and x-rays. Looks like someone beat her up that June.”

  “Anyone arrested?”

  “There was no police report about the incident, just the hospital report. And, hell, he just found another one at a different hospital.”

  Darsh climbed to his feet, unable to pace in the cramped confines of his broom cupboard but unable to remain still. “That asshole hit her?”

  “Or she was incredibly clumsy when she was married to him.”

  He thought of the woman who took down two-hundred-thirty pound athletes without blinking. The one who’d given him one of the best nights of his life. Had her husband taken his fists to her? Was that why she was so good at taking care of herself now? Rage burned through his mind and made him miss what Mallory said next.

  “Sorry?” he said.

  “I said how’s the case looking?”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Complicated.”

  “Where you staying?”

  He laughed and looked around his six-by-six-foot office currently stuffed with boxes. “At the police station. The press descended and someone forgot to book me a hotel room.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got about a billion statements and pieces of evidence to go through tonight anyway.”

  “Anything we can do to help?”

  “I might take you up on that tomorrow, after I’ve looked the evidence through. Right now I don’t know my ass from my elbow. There is one thing. Can you check out the football team and coaching staff for any previous assault or rape allegations?”

  “Sure, I’ll get Agent Chen on it tomorrow.”

  Ashley Chen—a new agent in BAU-4. “How’s she working out?”

  Mal laughed. “She’s difficult to read. A hard worker who doesn’t like being told what to do, but I can’t exactly talk.”

  Darsh took a slurp of hot coffee. “You’re an excellent agent, Mal. A good team player. You’re doing better than I did at your stage.” Maybe better than he was doing now. The constant need to prove himself got old.

  “Oh, please. We’ve all heard about your wicked undercover work.”

  Darsh grinned. “Sometimes prejudice works in the good guys’ favor.”

  “You’re a badass.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Alex isn’t too keen on Agent Chen. Doesn’t trust her. Says her background looks suspect.”

  “He isn’t keen on anyone he hasn’t personally vetted from their day of birth.” It had made Darsh uncomfortable at first to realize Alex knew all about his mother’s murder, but the guy had kept it to himself. Darsh didn’t think he’d even told Mal—although if anyone understood, it might be Mal.

  “That’s what I told him.”

  “What do you think of her?” Darsh had only met Agent Chen briefly. She had classic Asian features and a New York attitude. He knew someone else with a New York attitude, and hell if he didn’t like it.

  “She’s intelligent and hardworking…”

  “But?”

  “There’s a wall there when it comes to her private life. She doesn’t trust us yet.”

  He thought of Erin. She had walls too. Maybe he was beginning to understand why.

  “I gotta go. Alex is tapping his watch. Hey, Frazer’s getting out of the hospital soon, but he’s taking two weeks leave.”

  “Leave?” That was a surprise. Darsh didn’t remember the guy ever taking a break.

  “I think there might be a woman involved.” Her voice was full of intrigue.

  Darsh’s gut tightened. “Lucky bastard.”

  “Lincoln Frazer is many things, but lucky isn’t one of them.”

  Darsh grunted. “Okay, true, thanks for the information. Call me if anything comes up, but don’t stress.” The last thing he wanted was to put the baby at risk.

  “Gotcha.”

  He ended the call and slumped in his chair, tiredness pulling at his muscles so much he wanted to lay down his head and close his eyes. Then he stared at the piles of reports and dragged the first box closer. The sooner he could decide on whether the old rapes and new murders were connected, the sooner he could get out of Forbes Pines and leave behind the temptation of Detective Erin Donovan.

  Chapter Nine

  Erin wore Lycra pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt with a thin fleece jacket thrown over the top and fine black gloves. Her blonde hair was hidden under a thin wool cap, which she pulled as low as it would go over her ears. She turned on her headlamp and pressed start on the stopwatch. She jogged down the alley at the back of Cassie’s house and swung south. The cold air pierced her lungs. It was dark and dank with dense fog swirling in the rapacious breeze. She scanned the tarmac for patches of ice, kept up the pace, knowing a younger athlete would leave her in the dust.

  She cut down another street and headed into a small park. There were a couple of lonely street lamps spread out at wide distances, their halos hovering over the ground just visible in the frozen mist. She ran through a small wooded area, branches rattling, making her nerves dance and her heart beat faster in eons-old fear. She’d checked the route on her phone before she set out, and this was the shortest distance from A to B.

  Her blood was pumping now, her internal furnace firing up and combating the icy chill. Besides the woods, the only sound was her feet hitting the pavement, and her breath sawing in and out of her chest. She entered the college grounds, and the dense fog cleared a little as she weaved between Biological Sciences and Chemistry. Her foot skidded, and she threw her hands in the air, but righted herself before she hit the ground. She carried on running. It was six AM, but there were already a few people around. Cyclists. Another intrepid runner. A campus security cop making his rounds. She glanced up as she ran, looking for surveillance cameras. She didn’t see any, but she made a mental note to ask campus security if they had any that covered this area.

  She ran past the gym complex and up onto the sports fields where the mist gathered in thick sullen patches. The grass was crisp under the soles of her Nikes. A group of guys appeared out of nowhere. The football team running drills. Morning practice. She veered away from them. Someone wolf whistled, proving they couldn’t see her face. The last thing she wanted to do was encounter Jason Brady when she was trying to figure out whether or not he’d had the time to kill Mandy and Cassie the night before las
t.

  She kicked hard and hit the rim of the fields, hooking a right as she crested the embankment, running along the top toward the frat houses, and came to a halt exactly where she’d seen Brady that night. She jogged on the spot and checked her stopwatch. Six minutes forty-eight seconds. She took a different route back, avoiding the sports fields by running along the road to where she’d parked her truck on Cassie’s street. She checked her watch again. Nine minutes. She bent over and caught her breath. They needed to check Brady’s alibi from that night, but at least she now knew it was physically possible for the guy to have made the 911 call from Cassie’s house at 9:54 PM and run back to the frat house in time for when she drove past.

  Her phone buzzed against her side. She reached down and checked the number and remembered she’d missed another call last night, too. Rachel Knight. Damn.

  Erin wanted to smack herself. How could she have not called Rachel yesterday? But no matter how urgent, she couldn’t talk to her where someone might overhear. She’d call her back from the police station.

  Her breathing and heart rate began to return to normal, and she stretched out her muscles. Slowly, she became aware of the sensation of eyes crawling over her body. It was particularly creepy standing outside the house where Mandy and Cassie had been brutally slain.

  Erin never discounted her instincts—unless she counted her disastrous marriage. But Graham had never seemed anything except devoted during their courtship—maybe too devoted, she thought, looking back now. She searched her peripheral vision, but couldn’t see anyone or anything out of the ordinary. Crap. She stretched a leg against the truck, then straightened and climbed inside, giving it time to warm up, using those precious minutes to check out nearby cars and houses.

  Had the killer come back? Did he live nearby? Was he watching?

  Nothing stirred. Not a soul was visible. After five minutes of nothing, she told herself she was being stupid. Paranoid. She couldn’t sit here all day looking like a damn fool. She put the car in gear and headed off to work.

  * * *

  Darsh grabbed a quick shower in the station then set off in search of Erin. He found her in the opposite corner of the building behind two room dividers, talking on the phone. She looked at him without comment and jammed the handset between her shoulder and her ear, rummaging through the stack of papers on her desk before pulling out a pen and a piece of paper. They hadn’t spoken since he’d muscled in on the Brady interview yesterday, but after his conversation with Mallory last night, he now understood the woman a million times better—not that he could admit that. If she found out he’d been snooping, she’d be more pissed than ever.

  Her blonde hair was tied up in a thick, wet braid that left a damp streak down the back of her blue cotton shirt. The subtle sweetness of her soap and shampoo caught him off guard. She’d obviously just showered, and he did not want to think about her being naked anywhere on the entire contiguous landmass of North America, let alone a handful of feet away from his office.

  The shadows beneath her eyes were disguised with makeup, but at least she looked like she’d gotten some rest.

  “What time?” She wrote something down. “Okay. See you then.” She hung up and let out a long breath before glancing up to meet his gaze. “Find anything last night? Any blinding omissions or flashes of inspiration as to how we catch this guy?”

  He grunted. Police work was rarely easy or speedy, and last night was no exception. He’d spent hours trawling through witness statements and trial transcripts. He rubbed the back of his neck. At least she was talking to him again. “Still working my way through the evidence and reports.”

  Those pretty eyes of hers weighed him silently, and he wanted to ask if her husband had ever hit her. He wanted to apologize for being such a judgmental asshole after they’d slept together. But this wasn’t the place. And it wasn’t the time.

  “How’d you sleep?” She frowned then turned away, looking for something else amongst the mess of her desk.

  His back felt like someone had hammered nails into it. “Let’s just say it’s a good thing the chair in my office is better than this piece of shit.” He tapped the leg of the crappy chair she was using.

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “You slept here?”

  “All the motels are full.” He grimaced because they were going to be full for a while. “You need a better office chair.”

  She laughed. It was the first time he’d heard that sound in three long years. It soaked into his skin like sunshine.

  “No kidding.”

  “I’m going to have to find a couch somewhere or sleep in my car,” he admitted, twisting his shoulders.

  “Press are gonna love that. Homeless FBI profiler working case at elite college.”

  “No such job title as FBI ‘profiler’ as you well know.”

  She waved his comment away. They both knew the press would say whatever the hell they wanted regardless of the veracity of the statement. She gave a triumphant cry when she pulled out a candy bar from under some file folders. “Hallelujah.” She tore it open and bit into one of the Twix bars, munching happily. “There’s always the conference room after the boss goes home,” she said between mouthfuls.

  His stomach growled, and he hoped to hell she didn’t hear it. “I’ve slept in worse places. Armored vehicles during a sand storm. Flat rooftops under the blazing Arabian sun.”

  “I’m more of a bed girl myself.”

  Images of her naked on white cotton sheets flashed through his brain. His blood rushed through his body like steam. Oblivious, she nibbled the candy and didn’t notice the way he shifted his stance.

  This attraction was going to be a pain in the ass because he was still investigating her work on the Hawke case, something that could get her fired. For the first time, he thought about asking Brennan to send someone to replace him. But their unit was stretched to breaking point, and he didn’t intend to be the weak link.

  And so what if he actually enjoyed working with Erin and found her ridiculously alluring? He wasn’t going to compromise his ethics because they’d once slept together. If she’d screwed up, he’d put it in his report.

  She licked her lips.

  Right. Great.

  His stomach growled again, and he leaned over to snatch the second piece of the candy bar out of her hand to steal a bite before handing it back.

  “Hungry?” The sparkle in her eyes sent shockwaves of lust rushing through his system.

  She had no idea.

  She handed him the remainder of the chocolate, and he consumed it in one gulp. “Thanks.”

  “I timed the run from Cassie’s house to the frat houses this morning,” she began, wiping her lips.

  “What? When?” He glanced out the window. The sun wasn’t even up yet.

  “Before I came in. About six.”

  “You went alone?” He tried not to sound like her big brother. His feelings weren’t even remotely brotherly.

  Her spine stiffened. “Yeah. Why?”

  Because most people on campus wanted to lynch her. “Next time you do something at the college, let me know. I’ll come with you.”

  Her brows rose skeptically. “I can look after myself. And you won’t be around that long.”

  “Jeez, you’re stubborn. Just pick up the damn phone.”

  “Seriously?” She smiled, but the way her eyes narrowed held a warning. “You’re gonna do what? Ride to my rescue every time some asshole wants to take a potshot at me? I’m not a florist, Darsh. I’m a cop. And I don’t need some fed to save me.”

  He tossed the wrapper in the garbage. She was right, but he didn’t have to like it. “At least tell someone where you’re going.”

  “I told Ully Mason before I left home.”

  Something ugly twisted inside him. “You two seeing each other?”

  Erin’s features hardened as she leaned back in her chair and took in his telltale body language. You didn’t need to be a behavioral analyst to recognize jealousy. �
��Why do you care?”

  He blew out a big breath and felt like ten kinds of fool. “I have no idea. But for some crazy reason I do.”

  “I called Ully at his house from my house. Despite what you might think, Special Agent Singh, I do not sleep with my co-workers. Ever.”

  And if that wasn’t another warning, he was a card-carrying member of the Ku Klux Klan. “What about your ex?” Jesus, his brain had clearly left the building.

  “First, I moved precincts when we started dating. Second, I didn’t sleep with another cop”—she held up her left hand and wiggled her bare fingers—“until he put a ring on it.”

  He stared into those gorgeous eyes and wondered if she knew how much she’d just given away. She’d been chaste, but she’d slept with him. No dating. No rings. Just fast and hard, then slow and sensual, and everything in between. She’d tried to shed her old skin, and the bastard she was divorcing had punished her for her newfound independence by blowing his brains out in front of not only her, but her entire precinct.

  And they were the only two people in the world to know about that night, he realized. There’s no way Erin would have told anyone else.

  Her expression turned pensive, and she looked away. Maybe she could read whatever he was thinking in his eyes, which made him the worst kind of fool.

  She pulled out some photographs of the knots of blue rope from her desk and put them in a yellow file folder. She grabbed her parka off the back of the chair. “I’m going to see Rachel Knight—”

  “The first victim?” He pulled his attention away from Erin and back to the case.

  She nodded. “The three other rape victims live out of state and didn’t return to Blackcombe this year. If I’m not back in two hours send out a search party—”

  “Won’t need to. I’m coming with you.”

  “I don’t need your protection,” she bit out.

  “I want to talk to her.” The first and last victims always held the most clues.

  Erin folded her arms over her chest in an age-old defensive move. “She doesn’t like talking to strange men.”