Читать книгу The District - Carol Ericson - Страница 11
ОглавлениеChapter Four
Eric’s jaw tightened and he ducked around Christina to get a better look. The symbol mocked him, and he felt like smashing his fist through the glass.
Why had he never remembered the necklace and that symbol before now? He may have told the police about it after the kidnapping, had probably even described it to them, but he must’ve erased it from his memory after that.
Christina stiffened beside him and grabbed his arm. “Who put it there?”
Turning, he scanned the parking lot, his gaze traveling across the lampposts. “There aren’t any cameras here, so we’re out of luck.”
“It must be someone connected to Liz’s murder.” Her fingernails clawed at his flesh through his suit jacket.
“Or maybe just someone connected to Liz.” He smacked the roof of the car. “We need to find out what that symbol means, and we’re going to start by going to Nora’s bookstore.”
“Nora’s bookstore?” She snapped a couple of pictures of the symbol with her phone’s camera.
“The Kindred Spirit. Think about it. Sounds like one of those fantasy, sci-fi places.” He leaned forward and scraped the edge of the white markings with his thumbnail. “White shoe polish.”
“Do you want to head over there right now?”
“It can wait. I need to get out of this suit. I’ll make sure the store is open later.” He pulled out his phone and slid into the car. He tapped in a search for the bookstore and checked the location and hours. “They’re open until midnight—the witching hour.”
“Technically, midnight is not the witching hour. That would be 3:00 a.m., sort of the opposite of the time Christ was born at 3:00 p.m.”
“And you would know.”
“Did you just call me a witch?”
He glanced at Christina’s profile. Her smile was bright but brittle. He’d have to tread lightly. Too much unfinished business and animosity lay between them. “Isn’t your half sister into some of this stuff?”
She loosened her grip on the steering wheel. “Yep. She inherited some of my father’s particular gifts just like I did, and she ran with them.”
“How close are you to her? Maybe she could help us with this sign.”
“Not that close. I haven’t spoken to her in over a month, and I’m not comfortable discussing these things with her.”
“Okay. Forget that.”
She wheeled the car into the circular driveway of the hotel. “Do you want me to drop you off in the front?”
“Just park. I can wheel my suitcase in.”
She made the turn and slid a card into the slot for the parking arm, which creaked open. “Do you think I’m being followed?”
“Someone knows you’re working this case and knows your car.”
“Do you think that sign on the windshield is there to tell me something or threaten me?”
“I don’t know, Christina. Either way, it’s a break.”
“Either way, we need to inform Rich.”
He hauled his suitcase from the trunk and piled Christina’s briefcase and his own bag on top of it. She waited while he approached the front desk.
“Checking in. Brody.”
“I have your reservation right here, Mr. Brody, room 632.”
Christina made a sharp movement beside him. “I’m in 634.”
The clerk tapped a few keys on her keyboard. “Those two rooms are connected. That was a special request on the reservation for Mr. Brody.”
Eric held up one hand. “It wasn’t me. Travel made my arrangements.”
The hotel clerk’s gaze darted from him to Christine. “D-do you want a different room?”
“It’s fine.”
“Fine.” Christina echoed in a faint voice.
Eric tapped his Bureau credit card on the counter once before handing it to the clerk. He had to get ahold of his professionalism here. But why had the Bureau decided it was a good idea to pair him with his ex-fiancée on a case? Of course, it wasn’t the Bureau who had made that decision. It was the killer when he decided to leave those tarot cards on his vic in San Diego, linking that crime with Christina’s three cases.
He followed Christina’s clicking heels, dragging his suitcase behind him, trying to keep his eyes off her swaying hips.
She’d always been slim and athletic with some nice curves. Now those curves had become dangerous. She’d filled out where it mattered most.
Professional, Brody.
They got off the elevator and Christina stopped halfway down the hallway. “That’s yours and this is mine.”
“I’ll try to keep the noise down.”
She slid her key card into her door. “Well, let me know when you’re ready to head out to Kindred Spirits.”
“Do you want to join me for dinner first?” He’d suggest that to any colleague, wouldn’t he?
Her long lashes fluttered. “Sure. Knock on my door when you’re ready.”
Eric stepped into the room, closed the door and slumped against it, allowing the facade to slip from his body. He’d always been able to be himself around Christina, but now he felt as if he had to hold himself in check.
He shrugged out of his suit jacket and hung it in the closet. He crossed the room to the window and paused halfway there, glancing at the door that connected his room to Christina’s.
He didn’t need the temptation, but if he requested a different room he’d come off looking weak or worse, as if he really cared that she was on the other side of the wall sleeping, undressing, showering.
He smacked his fist into his palm. He could get through this assignment.
Filmy, white drapes covered the windows and he yanked them back to reveal a view of Union Square. He’d grown up in this city. Knew it like the lines crisscrossing his palms, but his job with the FBI had taken him all over the place, including D.C. where he lived now. Could he ever live here again with the constant reminders of his family tragedy, and views of the Golden Gate Bridge from vantage points all over the city?
He left the drapes open and crashed across the bed. It was high time he came to terms with that past, including his kidnapping as a child.
He stared at the ceiling for several seconds until he heard the shower from Christina’s room. He toed off his shoes and sat up on the edge of the bed where he got rid of his socks and loosened his tie.
Dinner and then the bookstore—no drinks, no casual conversation, no flirting. Definitely no flirting.
He shed the rest of his clothing and padded into the tiled bathroom. Bracing his hands on the vanity, he hunched closer to the mirror. What did she see when she looked at him? Had he changed in the past two years like she had?
Because she had changed. He couldn’t put his finger on it. She seemed softer, less brittle. Maybe in stoking his anger against her, he’d built up her hard shell in his mind.
He’d watched for it, but he never did see that book come out about his father. Never saw any wedding announcement for Christina and Ray Lopez either. Not that he still didn’t see Lopez around.
In fact, Lopez had been sniffing around his brother’s case recently, trying to poke at old wounds. Sean had shown Lopez a lot more courtesy than he would have. Of course, Lopez had never been in cahoots with Sean’s fiancée either.
Eric stepped into the shower and let a steady stream of hot water cascade down his back. He rolled his shoulders to get the kinks out. The leave of absence had done him good. He didn’t want to have to take another after this case.
He twisted the towel around his waist. His toes sank into the carpet as he approached his suitcase in the corner where he’d parked it, his garment bag folded across the top. He hung up the garment bag in the closet and unzipped the suitcase.
He pawed through some shirts on the top and pulled out a pair of jeans. Dropping the jeans on the floor, he scooped up an armful of shirts and shook out each one before laying it out on the bed.
The knock on the adjoining door made him drop a shirt. “Yeah?”
“Are you ready for dinner yet?”
His gaze flicked to the towel slipping from his waist. “Give me a few more minutes.”
“I’m starving.”
“Five minutes.”
He left the shirts on the bed, grabbed a clean pair of underwear and stepped into his jeans. A sharp knock on the door halted his progress back to the bathroom.
“Ready yet?”
Blowing out a breath, he crossed to the connecting door, unlocked it and yanked it open. “Impatient, aren’t you?”
She made some reply that didn’t register with his brain—because all reasoning had fled the scene, crowded out by his visceral emotions.
Christina had shed the pantsuit and replaced it with a pair of dark skinny jeans topped with a wide-necked red sweater that slid off one shoulder, revealing a black lacy tank top. Her loose, dark hair tumbled around her shoulders, and she tossed it back as she sized him up with narrowed eyes.
“You’re not even dressed.”
He dipped his chin to his bare chest. “Almost there. You had the advantage of being here a few days. I went straight to the P.D. from the airport.”
“Excuses, excuses, Brody. Put some clothes on, will ya?”
He grunted and grabbed the shirt he’d dropped onto the bed. Had they slipped back into that easy camaraderie after just one afternoon spent together? That was part of Christina’s charm. She came off like one of the guys, but lurking beneath the sarcastic banter was a potent sensuality that could lure you in and wrap you up before you even knew what hit you.
Now that he knew all her tricks, he could resist her. He stuffed his arms in the sleeves of his shirt and his nostrils flared. Her exotic perfume wafted across the room and slid into his shirt with him.
“Did you bring the case files with you?” As he buttoned up the shirt in front of the mirror, his eyes strayed to her empty hands.
She arched an eyebrow. “I’m not bringing those to dinner. We know the basics. I have a notepad and pen in my purse just in case we have some amazing breakthrough.”
He wouldn’t bring case files to a normal working dinner either but this was no normal working dinner and he wanted the security of a distraction—a distraction from those dark, liquid eyes that shimmered with a hypnotic glow in candlelight.
“Give me one minute to make some sense of my hair.” He retreated to the safety of the bathroom, but she followed him.
“Really? Eric Brody uses hair product now?” She curved against the doorjamb like a long, lean cat.
He rubbed the gel between his hands. “It’s that or get a haircut.”
“Don’t do that. I like your hair longer.” She tilted her head. “How do the big boys feel about the long hair?”
“They haven’t said one way or the other, but then I don’t see much of them.” He rinsed his hands off in the sink and grabbed a towel.
“I’m sure they’re just thrilled to get you back, long hair and all.”
He stuffed the hand towel over the rack. “There are a couple of restaurants within walking distance to the hotel, but since we’re going to hit the bookstore after dinner we might as well drive.”
“There’s a restaurant I’ve been wanting to try for a while. It’s in the Haight-Ashbury district and should be pretty close to the bookstore, too.”
“Sounds good.” Anything sounded good about now—just to get out of this confined hotel room with Christina looking and smelling like sex on wheels.
Once in the parking garage, he stopped at the bumper of the little rental. “Do you want me to drive?”
“That’s okay. The car’s in my name.” She clicked the remote. “We don’t want to break any laws, especially with your brother, the SFPD detective, out on vacation.”
He had no choice but to be a passenger in her car while she sat in the driver’s seat. But he didn’t have to be a passenger on this journey. He didn’t have to be swept along a current of old feelings and desires. He’d been willing to give this woman everything, and she’d betrayed him...for a good story.
She swung the car into the line of traffic and sped up to avoid the cable car trundling to their right.
“It’s a little tricky driving these streets.”
“You’re a native—you should be used to it by now.”
“I didn’t drive much when I lived here—walking and public transportation have always been the best ways to get around.” She hunched over the steering wheel and peered at the road in front of her. “Do you think you’ll ever move back to the city?”
“You know I’m in D.C. now? I like it but if opportunity knocked, I could make my home here again.” He just might have to if he wanted to slay his demons.
“Do you plan to see your brothers while you’re here?”
“As you already know, Sean’s on an extended vacation, and I don’t think Judd’s in town either. I may take a trip up the coast to see Ryan.”
“Yeah, Sean had an interesting case a few months ago.”
“And Lopez was trying to get that story, too.”
Christina bit her lower lip.
The silence in the car lasted just a few awkward minutes.
With her hand balanced on the top of the steering wheel, she pointed out the window. “I think we can park on this street for the restaurant and the bookshop.”
She did an admirable parallel parking job, and he hopped out of the car. The confines of the car ended up being a lot worse than the hotel. Dinner had to be better.
He opened the restaurant door for her and she brushed past him. Was she trying to drive him crazy?
The Friday night crowd was crammed into every table in the room and perched on every stool at the large circular bar in the middle of the restaurant.
“Ugh, I didn’t even think about making a reservation.”
Eric hunched toward the hostess stand. “How long is the wait?”
She ran the eraser end of her pencil down the columns of a book. “Just two?”
“Yes, and we promise we won’t stay long.”
“We just had a cancellation, so I can squeeze you in.”
“Perfect.” Eric slipped her a twenty as she turned to lead them to a table.
Christina pressed in next to him and whispered in his ear. “Must be that Brody charm.”
As she pulled away, the strands of her hair tickled his neck.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. He needed a good, stiff drink, and probably should stop thinking about a good, stiff anything.
The hostess led them to a decent table along the wall and tucked behind a plant.
“I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”
Christina made a face. “I’m driving, so I’ll abstain. Did you hear about Zollars?”
“DUI?”
“In a company car, on company business.”
“Did he get his hand slapped?”
The waiter approached and Eric ordered a scotch, neat while Christina asked for ice water.
When the waiter left, Christina shook out her napkin and draped it across her lap. “He got reprimanded and suspended for six weeks.”
“Idiot.”
“How was South America?”
“Hot and humid.”
“I heard your team brought down a pretty high roller down there.”
“We did all right. I heard you’re making your mark on the serial killer unit. Dream come true, huh?”
She stopped fussing with her napkin and planted her elbows on the white tablecloth. “Can we just get this out of the way so you’ll stop taking jabs at me?”
“Am I jabbing?” He knew damn well he was. It was the only thing keeping him from pulling her into his arms and kissing the smart aleck from her.
“You’re too manly to play coy, Eric. I told you then, and I’m telling you now, I did not get into a relationship with you to get your father’s story.”
“But you wanted the Brody story.”
“Joseph Brody’s story has always fascinated me. I’m not gonna lie. But I had no intention of writing a book about your father.”
“The notes?”
“Were notes. Something about your father’s case always bothered me. I don’t believe for one minute that he was the Phone Book Killer.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and when the waiter returned with his drink, he tossed back half of it. The smooth heat rolled down his throat and radiated throughout his chest.
“I’ve heard this before, Christina, but Ray Lopez told a different story.”
She snorted. “If you had been in your right mind back then, you wouldn’t have given Ray’s story—any of Ray’s story—a second thought.”
She grabbed his hand, upsetting her waterglass. “I was your woman, Brody. I never would’ve betrayed you like that. The only reason you believed Ray over me was because of Noah Beckett. You were wrong about Noah, too.”
The pain that sliced through his temples had him reaching for his glass. This time he downed the rest of the scotch and his eyes watered.
“I should’ve saved Noah.”
“You followed the protocol for kidnappings. Noah would’ve met the same fate with anyone else at the helm.”
“I was at the helm.” He jabbed his chest with his thumb. “I should’ve known better. I was a kidnap victim myself. I should’ve done better by Noah. I should’ve done better by his parents.”
“Just because you were a kidnap victim, didn’t mean you had some magical power to save all other kidnap victims.” Her nails dug into his forearm. “You did your job to the best of your ability, and the Becketts knew that.”
“It wasn’t good enough.” He waved the waiter over. “Another scotch, please, and another napkin for the spilled water.”
“Would you like to order now?” The waiter’s eyes flicked back and forth between him and Christina.
“I’ll have a Caesar salad and the steak, medium rare.”
Christina ordered the salmon, and the waiter backed away from the table as if afraid to turn his back on them.
She pleated the napkin on the table. “If Noah’s case hadn’t come to its tragic end at the same time you found my notes, I know you would’ve given me a chance to explain, Eric.”
He slumped against the banquette and rolled his glass between his palms. “Maybe you’re right. The book never did come out, and you never married Lopez.”
Her eyes popped open. “Marry Lopez? What gave you that crazy idea?”
“Lopez.”
“And you believed him?” She grabbed the glass from his hand and took a gulp. Coughing, she slammed the glass back down on the table.
“It made sense at the time.”
“At the time, you were in crazy town.” She sniffed and dabbed a corner of the napkin under her bottom lashes.
She was right. He’d been out of his mind with grief and anger after losing Noah. When he’d turned to his fiancée for comfort and support, he’d found her notes about his father and his family and a nosy reporter feeding him lies.
Over the past few years, he’d had time to think about it all. It did seem pretty far-fetched that Christina would get into a relationship with him, agree to marry him, sleep with him—all to get the goods on his family tragedy to write a killer book.
She stuck out her hand, wiggling her fingers. “Can we call a truce while we’re working on this case together?”
“Sure.” He clasped her fingers, still chilly from mopping up the ice water. “I think I can even manage an apology. I overreacted to seeing those notes—bad timing all around.”
She squeezed his hand. “Me, too. I should’ve never kept...that from you. I figured if I told you I had been researching your father’s case, you’d think I was a creepy stalker.”
“Truce.” He dropped her hand and held up his own.
“So you’re done with the well-aimed barbs?”
Truth was, he’d forgiven her a while back when he’d been on his leave of absence and was able to think clearly about the situation. It helped that no book had come out, and he hadn’t heard anything linking her to Lopez.
And the barbs? Self-preservation against her charms. Just because he’d forgiven her didn’t mean they should resume their engagement. She’d kept things from him, and he didn’t like secrets—had grown up with too many of them.
“No barbs, well-aimed or otherwise.” He pushed the rest of his drink aside and tore into a roll. The tension he’d been holding in his shoulders all day had slipped away. She’d been right about that, too—get everything out in the open.
They had a job to do.
Their food arrived and between bites, they discussed her cases and his task force in South America.
If someone had told him two years ago that he’d be sitting across the table from Christina laughing and sharing stories, he never would’ve believed it. The time off had done him good. Talking with his brothers had done him good.
As he signed the credit card receipt, Christina pinged his glass of scotch, sending ripples through the amber liquid. “Are you leaving this? By my calculations, that’s about eight bucks sitting in that glass, eight bucks the Bureau isn’t paying for.”
“I’m good. Do you want the rest?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Only if you toss it in with some sweet liqueurs and mixers and stick a colorful umbrella in it.”
“Uh, no.” He folded the receipt and stuck it in his pocket. “Are you ready?”
“Kindred Spirits is around the corner.” She picked up her phone and tipped it back and forth. “Open until midnight on Friday night.”
“Let’s go inhale some incense.”
He placed his hand on the small of her back and steered her out of the crowded restaurant.
As they passed their car on the street, Eric fed a few more quarters into the meter. “You don’t want to stick the Bureau with a parking ticket.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you really think they’d pay for my parking ticket?”
“Even more reason not to get one.” He slipped another quarter into the slot.
They turned the corner and he dipped his head against the sharp wind that whipped around the building. Even during the summer, the San Francisco Bay kept the city cool. “Is it on this block or the next one?”
Holding up her phone, she answered, “It’s actually in an alley off this street.”
They walked about halfway down the sidewalk, and Christina jerked her thumb to the right. “Down here.”
The alley dropped two steps and the ground beneath their feet changed to cobblestones. Music wafted or blared from the storefronts, depending on the wares inside. A wooden sign with Kindred Spirits printed in red along with a bubbling cauldron creaked in front of one of the stores.
He tugged on a wayward lock of Christina’s long hair. “That’s our store.”
“Cute logo.” She tapped the edge of the sign as they ducked into the store.
The top of his head brushed a tassel of bells hanging from the doorway and their light tinkle announced their arrival.
Soft New Age music played in the background and Eric’s nose twitched at the smell of sandalwood incense. He sniffed. “Told you so.”
“Smells nice.”
A woman emerged from the back of the store, throwing one impossibly long gray braid over her shoulder. “Welcome, kindred spirits. Can I help you with something, or are you here to browse?”
Eric pressed his twitching lips into a hard line. “We’re actually here to ask you a couple of questions about a former employee, Nora Sterling. We’re with the FBI. I’m Agent Brody, and this is Agent Sandoval.”
Shaking her head, the woman placed her hands together as if in prayer. She mumbled a few words between barely moving lips.
He took a quick glance at Christina, but she refused to meet his eyes. “Excuse me?”
“A very sad situation.” The woman lowered her hands. “But the police already came in here asking questions.”
“We’re not the police.” Christina took a few steps through the crowded store toward the woman and thrust out her hand. “And you are?”
“Libby Rivers. I’m the owner of the...” She had taken Christina’s hand and then jerked, almost flinging Christina’s hand away.
Christina took a step back. “A-are you okay?”
“I’m sorry. A little static electricity.” She smoothed her hand along the length of her braid. “As I was saying, I’m the owner of the store and Nora worked for me.”
Eric drew his brows together. Christina was staring at the woman, rubbing her palm against the thigh of her jeans.
“I’d shake your hand, too, but I don’t want to shock you.” He plucked a green marble from a glass bowl and rolled it in his palm. “Can you tell us anything about Nora? Did she have visitors to the store? Complain about anyone stalking her? Have any unusual interactions with a customer?”
Libby flicked her fingers. “The police already asked me all of that.”
“It’s different talking to someone in person and reading someone else’s notes.”
“What do you really want, Agent Brody?”
He blinked. Were his questioning skills that bad? He reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out the piece of notepaper with the symbol. He snapped it open and turned it toward Libby. “What does this mean?”
Libby’s faded blue eyes flickered. “Where did you see that?”
“Can’t tell you that, Libby.” He waved the paper under her nose. “What does it mean?”
She snatched it from his hand and pressed it against her chest, right above her heart. “It’s the symbol of a coven, Agent Brody.”
He folded his arms. “A coven? You mean like a coven of witches?”
“There’s a war going on, Agent Brody, a war against this coven.”
Then she dropped the paper and her hand shot out, and she grabbed Christina’s wrist, pulling her closer. “And that includes you, Agent Sandoval.”
