Читать книгу Detective Daddy - Mallory Kane - Страница 11

By the next afternoon, Ash was sick of hearing Natalie’s voice in his head. You’re in love with her. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He didn’t fall in love. He had fun, sure, and he did love women. But there was no place in his life for a family. He’d decided a long time ago that he didn’t believe in forever.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered in a last-ditch effort to shut up Natalie’s nagging voice. “I’m working on a plan.” He’d start by apologizing to Rachel for being a jerk about her pregnancy and officially offer his help with raising the baby. He’d provide for the child’s rearing and education. And if Rachel agreed, he wanted to be a part of his son’s or daughter’s life.

He’d woken in the middle of the night and discovered, to his surprise, that he wanted his child to know him. He knew Rachel would eventually get married. But she wouldn’t refuse to let him see his child—would she?

He’d tried to call her but she hadn’t answered, so he’d gone over to her apartment. As he stepped up to the door, he noticed it wasn’t locked. It swung inward a fraction of an inch. He frowned. It wasn’t like Rachel to leave her door open. Then he saw the splintered wood on the far side of the door facing.

Rachel! Someone had broken the door in. Adrenaline surged through him, upping his heart rate and tensing his muscles in fight-or-flight response.

He instinctively rose to the balls of his feet as he glanced around at the other three doors off this breezeway, then pulled his Sig Sauer from the paddle holster at the small of his back.

For two seconds, he stood perfectly still, taking deep, long breaths, working to calm his pounding heart. Then he held his gun in his right hand, his left supporting it, took one more deep breath and angled around the door. The sight before him ratcheted up his racing pulse. Rachel’s living room had been turned upside down.

He eased forward, his gun held at the ready, as he took in the tossed couch cushions, DVDs scattered on the carpet, chairs overturned. Where was she? Was she hurt?

He didn’t dare call out until he’d cleared the apartment. He moved across the room to check the bedroom. It was a mess, too, mattresses on the floor, bedclothes scattered, drawers ransacked. But no sign of an intruder.

“Clear,” he whispered, glancing into the bathroom. Crossing to the kitchen, he eased around the door facing and saw Rachel.

She was sprawled on the floor, dark blood staining the crown of her head.

The sight sheared his breath. Only his strict military training and crime scene experience kept him from rushing to her side until he’d verified that there was no one else here. He checked the back door. Locked—a double dead bolt.

Then he crouched down beside Rachel. She was breathing. Relief doused him like cold water.

“Rach, wake up.” He put out a shaky hand. “It’s Ash. Are you okay?” The dark blood in her matted hair was wet and shiny. It had started to ooze down her neck and drip onto the floor.

She stirred, moaning. “Ash?” she muttered. “My head—” She moved to sit up, but he stopped her.

“Careful,” he said. “You’re bleeding from your scalp. Does anything else hurt?”

She turned her head so she could see him, and grimaced. “No. Maybe my knee. He pushed me down.” She got her hands under her and pushed. “Let me sit up,” she demanded.

“Just wait a second. I don’t know if you should move. What about—?” He reached out toward her stomach. “What about the baby?”

Rachel’s head snapped up and her golden eyes searched his. “The baby’s fine,” she said. “But I need to sit up.”

He helped her. When she did, he saw her keys on the floor under her.

She moaned a little, grimaced and then relaxed. She touched her head. Her hand came away stained with blood. “Oh,” she gasped.

Her pain, shock and especially fear rekindled Ash’s anger—not toward her this time but on her behalf. His hand tightened on the gun and his vision darkened. Whoever had hurt her would have to answer to him.

“How long has he been gone?” he asked as the urge to give chase tightened his leg muscles.

“I’m not sure—maybe five minutes.”

“Damn it.” Ash considered running outside to see if he saw anyone suspicious, but he’d already been here three or four minutes. The man was long gone by now.

She touched her head again. “I was afraid to move. Afraid he’d hit me again or kill me. When I first heard your footsteps, I thought he’d come back.”

“You’re sure it was a man?”

She nodded gingerly. “I could tell by his voice.”

“His voice? What did he say?”

“Nothing to me. He was muttering to himself and cursing.”

“Did you get a look at his face?”

“No.”

“His build? Complexion? Clothes?”

“I—don’t know.” Her gaze met his, wide-eyed, worried. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay. How are you feeling? No other pains? Are you sure—?” He stopped, his voice strangled by an odd tightening in his chest. He cleared his throat. “Are you sure the baby’s okay?”

Her fingers spread across her tummy and she met his gaze. Her brow furrowed slightly as she shook her head. “I didn’t hit my stomach or land on it. I’m sure the baby’s fine.”

“Turn your head. Let me look at that cut,” Ash told her. He examined the wound closely. “How badly does it hurt?” he asked.

“Just kind of throbs and stings a little.”

“I don’t think it’s more than a cut. Scalp wounds bleed like crazy.” He took out his phone. “But I’m going to call an ambulance anyhow.”

“No,” she said emphatically.

“Sorry, standard procedure.” He dialed. “This is Detective Ash Kendall. I’ve got a home invasion with injuries,” he said and gave the address. “And send an ambulance.”

Rachel’s hazel eyes sparked with anger. “You’re getting an ambulance out here to bandage a cut on my head?”

He shrugged. “Like I said, standard procedure. They’ll check you out and issue an official report of your injuries. Don’t worry about it. Here, let me help you up.”

He took her hands and helped her to her feet, then guided her to a chair. She seemed so small. His anger at whoever had done this flared again.

He sat across from her, watching her closely. Her eyes weren’t dilated and she looked directly at him, so she wasn’t having trouble focusing. At least she didn’t have a concussion. “Tell me what happened.”

“I’d just lain down for a nap when I heard something. Like wood splintering. I realized someone had broken in the front door. I grabbed my keys and tried to run out the back door, but—” She paused and shuddered. “He grabbed me from behind and hit me on the head.”

“With what?” Ash asked.

“I don’t know. It hurt. I guess I was knocked out for a while, but I could hear him throwing things around and cursing.”

Ash glanced back toward the kitchen. “He didn’t go out the back,” he said.

“No. It’s a double dead bolt, and I guess I fell on top of my keys. He had to have gone out the front.”

Sirens sounded in the distance. “They’ll be here any minute,” he said. “As soon as the EMTs are done with you and the detectives question you, I’ll get you out of here.”

“No. The way it sounded, he tore up everything. I need to put things back.”

Ash stood and held out his hand. “You won’t be cleaning in here for a while.”

“What about my clothes?” she asked.

“Not ‘til CSI gets through. You know the drill.”

Her face shut down. She nodded. “Do you think I could have a drink of water?”

Ash smiled at her. “I think we could manage that.” He filled a glass from the cold water dispenser on her refrigerator and handed it to her. She sipped it carefully, trying not to tilt her head much.

He sat at the table across from her. There was dark, dried blood on her neck and occasionally she’d brush at it with her fingertips.

Ash closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The sight of the dried blood catapulted him back twenty years, just as it did every time he worked a violent crime, to the morning he’d woken to hear Natalie’s screams. He’d worked dozens of murders and assaults in his eight years on the job, and every one of them evoked that awful morning.

He’d been thirteen, too young to have prevented his parents’ deaths, but old enough to feel guilty that he hadn’t. Time and wisdom had allowed him to forgive himself.

After all, the kids’ rooms had been in a separate wing of the mansion. The police had said that if their bedrooms had been near their parents’ room, they all might have been killed.

Ash knew himself well enough to know that he’d chosen law enforcement as a way to make up for not saving his parents. Every time he collared a murderer, he felt a little less empty, a little less damaged by his mom and dad’s violent deaths.

Now he was going to be a parent himself. That odd tightness started in his chest again. He’d come over to Rachel’s apartment to acknowledge his responsibility to her and the baby, but now, seeing her so hurt and small, he realized his heart hadn’t really been in it. He’d resigned himself to doing his duty toward her and their child—nothing else. Just his duty.

But now, someone had hurt her and could have hurt his baby—their baby. Something primal swelled up within him—a fierce protectiveness—adding to the mix of anger and that other emotion he couldn’t name.

“Rach,” he said, glancing over at her.

Her eyes met his.

“I swear to God, I’m going to find who did this. And until I do, I’m not letting you out of my sight. You and that baby are my responsibility, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone get close enough to hurt you again.”

Rachel’s brow wrinkled and she looked down at the water glass.

He watched her trace the condensation on its side with a finger. She hadn’t liked what she’d heard, and he knew why. His intention had been to reassure her, but it hadn’t come out exactly right. He’d sounded harsh and angry.

From the look she’d given him, it appeared she didn’t believe him. She had to know he could take care of her. So why did he get the feeling she didn’t want him to?

THE POLICE AND the EMTs arrived at the same time. Rachel found herself in the hands of two young men in scrubs who cleaned the blood from her scalp wound, then called over a policeman who took photographs. Once he was done, one of the EMTs applied something to the cut that stole her breath, it stung so badly.

“I’m putting sterile strips on the cut,” he told her. “It’s not bad enough for stitches. It’s shallow and about two centimeters—that’s about three quarters of an inch.”

She nodded.

“Don’t wash your hair for a day or two, then have it looked at. It should be closing up by then. If your head hurts, take some acetaminophen or ibuprofen. And it would be a good idea if you stayed with someone tonight, so they could check on you about every four hours, just to be sure your pupils are equal in size and you aren’t feeling dizzy or seeing double.”

She didn’t have anyone she could stay with, certainly no one she could call at this hour. But that was okay. She felt fine, except for the throbbing headache and the blurred feeling in her brain.

As she thanked the EMTs, she saw Detective Neil Chasen coming toward her. He was a big man, tall and muscular, with skin so dark it almost looked black. She smiled at him.

“Rachel, how’s your head?”

She made a wry face. “Hurts.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Neil sat down at the kitchen table. “I’ll get this over with as quickly as possible. I need to ask you some questions about the person who attacked you.”

She nodded gingerly. Every movement of her head increased the throbbing. She much preferred the intense but quickly gone burning of the medication to the persistent headache she had now.

“Take me through what happened,” Neil said. “Start with when you got home.”

“I stopped at the grocery after work, so I got home about six. I put the groceries away, and decided to lie down for a few minutes.” She paused, debating whether to tell Neil she was pregnant. She decided it wasn’t relevant. “I don’t think I went to sleep. I heard a crash, like wood splintering, then I heard the front door swing open and hit the wall. It squeaks. So I knew someone had broken in.”

“Do you know what time that was?”

“No.” She glanced at the kitchen clock. It read 7:15. “Maybe 6:15 or so?”

“Okay.” Neil was scribbling in his notebook. “Go ahead.”

“I grabbed my keys and ran for the back door, but before I could get there, he grabbed me from behind and hit me on the head.”

“When you say grabbed—”

She closed her eyes, trying to relive the terrifying feeling of his hand stopping her. “I think he caught the back of my shirt.”

“Where’s the wound? Can I look at it?”

“Sure.” She turned her head and pulled the hair away so he could see the cut.

“It’s on the left side.” Neil sat back down and wrote some more. “He must have grabbed you with his right hand and swung the weapon with his left.” Neil acted out his theory. “Maybe a lefty. Then what?”

“I guess it stunned me. I fell. I remember hearing him throwing things around and cursing.”

“Are you sure it was a man?”

She nodded. “I could tell by his voice, and—and aftershave or cologne. He smelled like a man.”

“Good. Could you identify the aftershave?”

“No.”

“Did he—touch you again, or talk to you?”

Rachel shuddered at the implications of Neil’s words. “I was afraid to move. I wanted him to think I was still unconscious. He threw something—or kicked something, cursed loudly and slammed the front door.” She took a breath. “I didn’t know whether he’d left or not, so I still didn’t move.”

“Okay. When did you move?”

“I heard someone come in. I could hear their footsteps. Then I heard—I heard Ash’s voice.” Rachel’s eyes filled with tears and she put her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. “I’m sorry, Neil. I was just so scared. I thought the man had come back.”

Neil nodded.

“But it was Ash—” She sniffed.

Neil dug in his pocket and handed her a neatly folded handkerchief. “Have you had a chance to look around? Is anything missing?”

She shook her head and handed back his handkerchief. “I haven’t looked.”

“Why don’t we look now?”

Rachel let Neil take her hand and help her up. They went through the rooms. The man had trashed each one, but for all the disarray, Rachel couldn’t tell that anything was missing. Not even her jewelry, which was scattered across the top of her dresser.

“What about papers, case files, anything to do with a case you’re working on?”

“I don’t bring anything home that has to do with a specific case,” she muttered, grimacing at the stinging pain from the head wound.

“Nothing?” Neil asked. “Not even a laptop or PDA?”

She shook her head. “No. Nothing. We have to sign out case files. I’ve never signed one out. If I have to work late, I stay at the office.”

“Does everyone know that? Is it possible that someone might break in here thinking you’ve got files at home?”

“I’m sure it’s possible. You think that’s why he broke in? Why he didn’t steal anything? I thought he was just a burglar who probably didn’t know anyone was home.”

Rachel didn’t want to think about the possibility that the intruder might have targeted her. She worked on sensitive cases, identified dangerous criminals. So she was very happy that her job was insulated from direct contact with criminals and victims.

She knew a lot about police procedure and handling dangerous situations from her dad. He’d taught her how to shoot and clean a gun. She even had a carry permit. Then her dad had been killed when he’d answered a call about a domestic dispute.

After he had died, Rachel, who’d almost let him talk her into going to the police academy despite her mother’s opposition, went back to graduate school and got her Ph.D. in Molecular Biology.

“Could be.”

“What?” Rachel blinked. She’d drifted off into thought. She pressed her fingers against the skin near the cut.

Neil was still talking. “I’ll need a list of your current cases. Is there one that stands out? That might be particularly controversial?”

Rachel bit her lip. Of course there was. The Christmas Eve Murders. Could the man who had assaulted her have been looking for information about Rick Campbell’s DNA? She glanced over at Ash, who was talking to one of the EMTs. She wasn’t supposed to know whose DNA it was. And neither was Ash. She tried to corral her thoughts so she could answer Neil.

“I work a lot with cold cases, where DNA is analyzed or reanalyzed. Those files are usually sanitized.” That was true, as far as it went. She hoped Neil would take the cue and request those official files rather than asking her anything else about them. She knew Neil would find the Christmas Eve Murders in with the rest of her recent cases, but she didn’t want to call attention to it. Let him be the one to bring it up.

“Okay.” Neil pocketed his notebook and stood. “I’m sure I’ll have more questions later, but that’s it for now.” He smiled and shook her hand. “Have you got someplace to go? Need a ride anywhere?”

She shook her head as Ash came over to join them.

“Anything?” he asked Neil.

“Not much. Rachel can’t identify anything that’s missing. I think we’re going to have to assume the break-in was connected with one of her cases until we can prove otherwise.”

“One of her cases? Which one?” Ash glanced at her sidelong.

Neil shook his head. “I’m going to have to get a list of all her recent files—see what turns up.”

Rachel saw Ash’s shoulders visibly relax. He’d been worried she’d tell Neil about Campbell.

“How’s your head?” Ash asked her.

Before she could answer, Neil spoke again.

“There is one more thing,” he said.

Rachel looked at him.

“How did you happen to find her?” This was directed at Ash.

Rachel realized she hadn’t even thought about why Ash had come to her rescue. She’d just been thankful that he was there.

Ash frowned at Neil, then shrugged. “I had something I needed to talk to her about. I got here a little after six, because I figured she’d be home from work by then.”

“You missed her at work?”

Ash’s lips thinned. “This wasn’t work-related,” he said shortly.