Embrace the Darkness (Darkness Series) (5 page)

Puncture wounds to the neck, his body drained of blood—gruesome wasn’t the word for it. It was the stuff of nightmares. It was the stuff of
her
nightmares
.

The fear came rushing back. Her pulse quickened.

Forcing herself to relax, she thought of gently rolling waves smoothing the shoreline as they carried her dark memories out to sea. The tension eased from her shoulders. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Gruesome or not, we don’t have proof. We don’t even have a shred of real evidence.” And she wasn’t about to run off half-cocked.

But Reid was on a roll. She could see the excitement in his eyes—hear the exhilaration in his voice. He was vibrating with it. If she didn’t say or do something to slow him down, he’d leap before seeing where the evidence led.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to espouse my theories to Captain Stratford or anyone else. I don’t want this case going to the Feds or to narcotics. This is our baby and we’re going to rock it.”

The knot in her stomach tightened. This case was going to end badly. She sensed it as surely as she’d sensed impending disaster in Iraq.

She swallowed the lump of fear that suddenly lodged in her throat. “I agree. It’s
possible
this case has nothing to do with Delaroche or Maxwell and everything to do with Axle Travers. Maybe he split after witnessing the murders. Or maybe he’s dead. A missing employee makes a damn good murder suspect. But we need evidence. Not theories.”

Reid slowly turned. His face broke into a wide grin. “Oh, we’ll get our evidence. We’re not going to Alexandria tomorrow. First thing in the morning, we’re going to Richmond.”

****

Shannon Travers looked older than her forty-seven years. Haggard and worn, she raked a strand of stringy, bleached-blond hair behind her ear and stared at Reid with rheumy blue eyes. Her thin fingers shook. Her chin trembled. “I haven’t seen my son in over a year.”

Her voice was soft and southern—and more cultured than Amber expected. The woman sitting across from them in the interrogation room was awaiting trial for her third count of possession with intent to sell. Three strikes. She was possibly looking at hard time.

“He ever get strung out with you?” Reid asked in his “I’m such a bad-ass voice.” He was playing bad cop to Amber’s good cop. It wasn’t a role for Reid. He thought threatening a suspect was the best way to get answers.

Nervously chewing a ragged nail, Shannon shook her head and spoke around her index finger. “Axle doesn’t do drugs.”

Reid leaned across the battered table, glaring. The suspect shrank back, her skin seeming to shrivel on her bony frame as Reid continued his verbal pounding.

“He was eleven when you split with Brit Travers. Yet when given the choice, he chose to live with you instead of his father. Your husband was an attorney. He had a home and a job. You were unemployed and left him to live in a hotel. You were busted on drug charges before the ink was dry on the divorce papers. How do you explain that?”

The finger slid from her mouth. “It was a misdemeanor possession charge.”

Reid gave no quarter. “Axle stayed with you for fourteen years. Paid your rent when he was older. And you’re telling me the two of you never got high together? That he never dealt?”

“Axle don’t do drugs!” she snapped, her grammar slipping along with her cultured voice. “He ain’t no dealer, and he ain’t no gang-banger.”

“Have you heard from him since he went to visit his father?” Amber said in a soft voice, trying to calm the agitated woman, hoping Reid would back off and let her handle the rest of the interrogation. “Has he called since he left Richmond?”

Shannon lowered her pointed chin, her eyes shifting from Reid to Amber, some of the hostility in her expression fading. “Yeah. A few times. At first. Before I run out of minutes on my cellphone. He called the night he arrived in Asheville to say he was safe. Then he called again to say he met his dad and that Brit didn’t ask no questions, just welcomed him into the family. Axle has a brother, you know.” She smiled briefly, revealing stained, decayed teeth and enflamed gums.

Meth mouth.

“I knew his dad remarried,” she added softly, the lingering resentment fading from her eyes, “but I didn’t know Brit had another kid.”

Amber glanced sharply at Reid, warning him not to interrupt. Then she smiled at Shannon. “His name is Jerome. He’s eleven. The same age Axle was when you left your husband.”

“Yeah. That’s what Axle said. He and his little brother got close real fast like.”

That didn’t sound like a man who’d walk away from a newly discovered family. Or a man who’d get involved in a drug deal or murder.

Amber had a bad feeling they weren’t going to find Axle Travers alive.

“Can you think of any reason Axle would disappear? Why he’d walk away from a father and brother he only recently found? Or where he might have gone?”

“You know it has to do with drugs. Don’t you, Shannon?” Reid said in the same sharp tone drill sergeants used on new recruits. “You’re the reason your son is missing.”

“No!”

Stifling a groan, Amber curled her fingers into fists. She’d never wanted to punch anyone as badly as she wanted to punch Reid. Now was
not
the time to play bad cop. Shannon had been about to open up, but she shut down fast in the face of Reid’s anger. Her lips firmed and her eyes hardened. And she didn’t say another word.

****

“I still think we should have gone to Alexandria. We should at least question the night clerk at Morgan Suites to see if Delaroche was actually there that night.”

“We have the credit card receipts,” Amber said as Reid pulled up to the curb in front of her house. She’d barely spoken to him on the ride back from Richmond. She was still angry he’d let his arrogance overrule his common sense.

“How long you gonna give me the cold shoulder?” He slammed on the brakes and threw the car into park.

Amber jerked forward, the seatbelt pulling against her shoulder and scraping her neck. She waited until the rocking motion of the car subsided before turning to glare. “You blew it.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” He raked a hand threw his short dark hair and slammed his fists on the steering wheel. “She looked scared and weak. I thought I could break her.”

“It was the wrong time and in the wrong way. She already feels helpless and you not only hinted that her son was in danger, you blamed her. How did you expect her to react?”

“I said I was sorry. Now how do we fix it? We have to talk to her again. She’s our only link to Travers.”

“She’s not our only link. We can talk to Brit Travers tomorrow.”

“Fine.” He leaned back against the seat with an irritated huff. His hands still clung to the steering wheel. “I’ll let you take lead this time.”

Not that he’d like it. But at least he was trying to tone down the testosterone and treat her as an equal. She’d give him an “A” for effort. Or maybe a “B.”

“This isn’t a power struggle,” she said with a sigh.

“It feels like one. Worse, it feels like I’m losing.” He turned his head, his mouth stretching into a lopsided grin. “We both know you’re better trained. You were in the military. You drove Humvees and tanks. And you have a hell of a lot more experience with weapons than I do. And now I’m finding out you’re a better detective. I don’t like it. Sorry, but I can’t fight my nature. I’m a bit sexist. I admit it. And we’re both going to have to deal with that.”

“A bit sexist?” She choked on a laugh. Reid could be such an ass at times, but he was a genuinely nice guy. And a good partner—when he wasn’t being sexist and arrogant. But she trusted him with her life.

He chuckled. “Okay. A lot. But I’m trying. Okay? Give me a break.”

“I will. But give yourself some credit. I’m not a better detective. I just have more patience. You can’t force the evidence. You have to follow where it leads.”

“I’ll try to remember that. Now get out of my car and get some sleep.
You’re
picking
me
up tomorrow.”

Warmth settled in the pit of Amber’s stomach. She liked her job when she and Reid got along. And things seemed to click when they weren’t butting heads. Like earlier today when they agreed on a drug connection.

Hand on the door, she paused before opening it. “Gerard Delaroche isn’t involved in the killings. Agreed?”

But he damn sure knew something about the case—not that he’d talk with Reid around. The two of them mixed about as well as gunpowder and a match.

Reid’s gaze narrowed, but he didn’t disagree.

Stubborn man. “Can we at least agree he’s not involved with drugs, and this case most likely involves drugs?”

“I’ll agree with that,” he said, carefully weighing his words.

“Can we also agree that you and Delaroche don’t get along?”

“No shit, Sherlock. The man’s hiding something. That’s obvious. Even to me.”

It
was
obvious. But Amber wasn’t sure if it had something to do with the murders, Axle Travers’ disappearance, or both. “Well, Watson, then may I suggest the next time we interview Delaroche, you let me go alone?”

“No! Absolutely not.” The vehemence of his reply startled her.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t trust him. He’s dangerous.”

She was more concerned about Maxwell. He was the hothead and the more dangerous of the two. Fear crawled down her spine, pebbling her skin with gooseflesh. “What about Maxwell?”

A blank look came over Reid. Total and utter confusion. “What about him?”

“Do you trust him? Do you think
he’s
dangerous?” Had Reid been “brainwashed” with a look? Or was she slipping back into a dark world of nightmares and paranoia?

Did fearing paranoia make her paranoid?

Reid shrugged. “I haven’t given him much thought. Now go on and get out. I’ll watch until you get inside.”

Amber sighed and opened the door. “I’m a big girl, Reid. And I carry a gun. I don’t need a baby sitter.”

“Fine. Suit yourself.”

He peeled out as soon as she shut the door. She knew he’d regret his childish outburst in the morning, but whether he apologized or not was another matter. She hadn’t expected the apology she got tonight.

Shaking her head, Amber dug her keys from her over-sized handbag. Reid wasn’t a bad partner. He was just sexist, arrogant, and impatient.

“It’s almost like being in the army again,” she said aloud as she walked up the sidewalk toward the modest Cape Cod on the corner lot.

The porch light was on and the shrubs were neatly trimmed. Her car was parked inside the garage with the inside door closed and locked. Everything looked safe. Secure. And yet the hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end.

She pushed the edge of her jacket aside and touched the grip of her Glock. An instant feeling of calm came over her. Armed, she felt prepared to defend herself against any intruder. She unsnapped the thumb break on the strap of her nylon shoulder holster.

Damn. I shouldn’t have let Reid drive away. I’ll never hear the end of it if I have to disarm a suspect on my own property.

Senses on high alert, she walked slowly toward the steps leading to her front door, her hand sliding deliberately over the gun’s checkered grip, her finger slipping into place between the trigger and trigger guard.

“You shouldn’t have let him drive away,” an accented voice said from the shadows.

Amber turned—gun in hand, body crouched and ready to fire. “Give me a reason not to shoot.”

Gerard Delaroche stepped into the circle of light beneath a streetlamp. “I’m unarmed.”

In a well-lit room dressed in a suit, the man was handsome. On a shadowy street corner wearing dark jeans and a dark tee shirt that clung irresistibly to his wide chest, he was downright sexy. Shadows concealed his face but his eyes sparkled.

Like a nocturnal animal’s in the dark.

A chill traveled the length of Amber’s spine and settled in her stomach. Her muscles tensed. Her aim steadied. “You may be unarmed, but I’m not foolish enough to consider you harmless.”

“
Merci beaucoup
.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

His smile was disarming. She gripped the Glock tighter.

“Truly. I’m quite harmless.” His voice was smooth. Enchanting.

A buzzing sounded in her ears. Tension eased from her shoulders. She lowered the gun but didn’t holster it. Her mind began to fog. Resisting the temptation to relax her guard, she forced herself to look away.

Call it women’s intuition or some inner awareness all soldiers develop after their first tour of duty, but she knew not to look into those eyes when he stared so intently.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he continued in a coaxing tone, stepping closer. “We need to talk.”

“No.” She raised her eyes and quickly lowered them again. She could almost feel him compelling her to look at him. But her will was stronger than his. She refused to look.

“I know you have questions.”

“Then I’ll ask them tomorrow when I’m with my partner.”

His attitude altered. Like the wind changing direction before a storm. His shoulders stiffened. His voice hardened. “I won’t talk to you when he’s around. He’s an arrogant ass with a closed mind. He won’t listen.”

“And what makes you think I will?”

“Because you’ve already started to question what you’ve seen.”

Another shiver snaked down her spine. This one left her skin as cold as ice. Her heart knocked against her ribs, stealing her breath.

How close am I to the house? How far from safety?

Every instinct she possessed told her a gun would be useless against this man. But could she make it up the stairs, onto her porch, and inside her house before he stopped her? If she didn’t invite him in, would she be safe inside her home?

Irrational fears clouded logical thinking. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her frazzled nerves and runaway imagination. In as steady a voice as she could muster, she said, “I don’t know what you think I’ve seen or questioned but it’s late. And I’m tired.”