Читать книгу Dying To Play - Debra Webb - Страница 13

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.