Читать книгу Battle Tested - Janie Crouch - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Six months later

“Would it be okay for us to see Steve now or should we make an appointment?” Brandon Han, Omega’s top profiler, asked one of Steve’s assistants in the outer office.

“Yeah, maybe we should make an appointment. For around eighteen months from now.” That was Liam Goetz, leader of the hostage rescue team. “When hopefully Steve is in a better mood.”

Cynthia, the assistant who kept his entire office running, laughed. “I think it’s safe now.”

Steve winced. Obviously nobody realized the door to his office was cracked and he could hear everything they were saying.

“Should we remove our weapons?” Liam asked.

“Why? Are you afraid you might shoot him?” Cynthia’s gentle laughter didn’t make Steve feel better.

“Are you kidding? I’m afraid he might take them and shoot us.”

The topic moved on to more neutral ground: Liam’s twins and Tallinn, the little girl he and his wife had adopted. Liam had pictures. Steve stopped listening.

Liam’s jokes didn’t bother him—Liam was always making jokes—but Brandon’s initial question did. These men were an important part of the Critical Response Division’s inner team. Steve’s team. Moreover, they were his friends. They didn’t need an appointment to see him.

But evidently they thought so given Steve’s behavior over the last few months.

Rosalyn.

He ran a hand over his eyes, then turned his chair so he was facing the Rocky Mountains out the window.

When he’d awakened as the sun began to rise in Pensacola and found her gone, he’d at first thought she’d decided to walk on the beach or run out to get donuts or something. Heaven knew they hadn’t left the room in a day and a half. Maybe she’d needed some air.

Then he realized all her stuff, including that giant catchall bag she carried, was gone.

Going against his nature, Steve still gave her the benefit of the doubt. She was scared of something, he knew. He’d hoped to convince her to tell him what it was, to let him help.

Every time he’d considered broaching the subject—telling her he worked in law enforcement and could help her with whatever had her so afraid—they’d ended up making love instead.

Not that Steve had minded that. The only time he didn’t see shadows floating in Rosalyn’s eyes was when they were filled with passion. He had hoped to convince her to stay the rest of the week with him and during that time get her to tell him what was really going on with her. To share whatever burdens she carried. And the secrets she was obviously keeping.

Starting with her last name.

But it soon became obvious Rosalyn wasn’t out to grab coffee or go for a jog. Steve had known that from the beginning, although he hadn’t wanted to face it. Someone who looked over her shoulder as much as Rosalyn, who’d been so willing to stay inside the bungalow even when there was a gorgeous beach right outside, wouldn’t be going out for a casual walk.

Checking his wallet confirmed it. She’d taken every bit of his cash.

She’d played him.

Even now, six months later, the thought sat heavily in his gut. The time they’d spent together hadn’t meant anything to Rosalyn. He was just a means to an end.

Steve had packed up his stuff that afternoon and returned to Colorado Springs. He’d been in a bad mood ever since. Obviously something everyone was aware of, from the conversation that had just occurred outside his door.

The thing was, he would’ve given Rosalyn the money—more if she’d needed it—if she had let him know what was going on. Would’ve done it without her having sex with him or waiting until he was asleep to steal it.

But she hadn’t. She’d found him to be an easy mark and taken off.

Steve stood and walked over to the plastic evidence bag on his windowsill and picked it up. It held a glass inside. One from the bungalow that he knew contained Rosalyn’s fingerprints.

Steve had brought it back with him like it was some damn souvenir or something.

“Hey, boss.”

Steve put the bag back down quickly. “Brandon, hi.”

“Liam is showing Cynthia pictures of the twins.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Who would’ve thought the great womanizer would become such a family man.”

Brandon joined Steve at the window. “Just takes the right woman.”

Brandon had found the right woman a couple of months ago—Omega behavioral analyst Andrea Gordon—and Steve couldn’t argue the change it had brought about in the man. The peace it had brought both Brandon and Andrea.

“You brought that home from Florida, right?” Brandon asked, pointing to the evidence bag. “Prints, I’m assuming. But you’ve never run them.”

Steve shrugged. Brandon was a certified genius and a profiler. Not much got past him.

“I’m assuming something happened with a woman down there. If I had to guess, I would say a one-night stand.”

Sometimes Han was spooky good at his job. Steve shrugged again. “It was Florida. And you guys did pitch in to get me the romance package.”

“Then I’m assuming she took off suddenly, probably while you were unaware.”

“Why do you say that?” Steve crossed back over to his desk chair.

Brandon leaned a shoulder against the wall. “You sure you want me to go into this? I didn’t come here to profile you, Steve.”

“No, please. Continue.” Brandon was rarely wrong and Steve needed to hear what the man thought of his behavior.

“Okay, you met a woman. You were extremely interested in her. I would assume the relationship became intimate, but you didn’t and still don’t know much about her.”

All right so far. Steve gestured for Brandon to continue.

“Something happened. Something not good. The fact that you have an evidence bag with a glass with her prints suggests that you want to know more about her. Who she is. But the fact that you haven’t run them suggests that she hurt you personally in some way rather than actually committing a crime against you, in which case you would try to find and arrest her. She hurt your pride.”

Actually, Rosalyn had done both, committed a crime and hurt his pride.

“And you’re mad at yourself.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”

“You keep that bag in the center of the windowsill. You look out that window at least a dozen times a day. Every time you do, you’re reminded of the woman who got the best of you. Who got past your guard, then hurt you. You want to remind yourself never to be weak like that again.”

Steve leaned back in his chair. “I’m glad you’re on our side, Han.”

Brandon walked over to Steve’s desk. “It’s okay to want to check on her, Steve. To see if she’s okay. To be concerned about her even after she did whatever she did.”

Now he was getting further off course. “You getting that from an evidence bag too?”

“No. I can tell that from knowing you for so many years. Nobody just gets the drop on you. You let this woman close to you for a reason—more than just a physical one. No matter how it all ended, you’re still a little concerned about her.”

A picture of Rosalyn’s haunted blue eyes jumped into Steve’s mind but he pushed it away. Rosalyn was a consummate actress. She’d faked passion with him, then stolen his money. She was lucky he wasn’t running her prints—he was sure she’d end up in the system somewhere—and having her arrested.

He told himself it was because stealing less than $200 wasn’t worth the taxpayers’ money needed to have her arrested and put in jail for a few months.

It had nothing to do with being concerned for her.

“Well, most of your profile of me and this situation is correct, except for the last part. I don’t have any concern about her.” Steve smiled, but it was stiff, as if it had been so long the muscles seemed to have forgotten how. “Just want the reminder not to be a jackass again.”

“Oh man, are we profiling Steve?” Liam asked from the doorway. “I missed all the good stuff.”

Liam would probably make the worst profiler ever. The man didn’t care how people thought, just wanted to understand the best way to bring down bad guys.

“Don’t worry, Liam, I’ll try to control myself and not use your own weapon against you.”

Liam at least had the good grace to look sheepish. “Sorry about that, boss. I know I—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve cut him off. “I know I haven’t been the easiest person to be around for the last few months.”

“Are you kidding me? I have a wife trying to nurse newborn twins. She hasn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep since they were born. You are not the grumpiest person I know.”

Steve snickered. “Glad to hear I at least beat out an exhausted new mother.”

“Yeah, well, I keep my weapons away from her too.” Liam grinned.

The two men took a seat. It was good to feel something besides anger. Listening to Brandon’s profile had helped Steve realize it was time to let it all go.

Yeah, he’d been a fool and had gotten played. But now it was time to move on.

* * *

STEVE LEFT LATE that night and was back in the office early the next morning, as per his usual habits. Like always, Cynthia was in the office before Steve got there.

“Morning, Steve.” She handed him a stack of papers as he came in. “I’ve got your overnight Washington, DC, briefings, your weekly Omega Division Directors’ update and your Pensacola police briefings.”

Steve took the papers from her. “Thanks.”

As he got to the door to his office, he turned back. It was time. Past time.

“You can stop the Pensacola PD briefings. I don’t need those anymore.”

He didn’t even know why he had started them in the first place. Well, actually, he did. He figured Rosalyn would probably be arrested at some point. If she was a small-time crook preying on traveling salesmen, she would probably get arrested eventually.

What he really didn’t know was what the hell he planned to do if her name came across his desk in an arrest report. Press charges himself? Or go get her released and keep her with him and make sure she never did anything that stupid again?

He shook his head, irritated with himself for his thoughts. He walked over to the evidence bag with the glass. He picked it up and carried it to the trash can by his desk. He hesitated just the briefest of moments before tossing it in.

It was time.

Steve set the division updates—the weekly reports that allowed all the directors to know what was happening in the different sectors of Omega—in one pile. He grabbed the Pensacola police reports and prepared to throw them in the trash.

A picture from that group caught his attention and brought him up short. A Jane Doe the Pensacola police hadn’t been able to identify.

It was Rosalyn. She looked like she was sleeping peacefully.

But the picture was from the county morgue.

Rosalyn was dead.