An excuse to go into the kitchen was more than welcome.
“No, ma’am, thank you.”
Harper waited by a chair for her to take a seat first. If she could only convince him to loosen up. The ma’am thing got on her nerves. But he was far too courteous and dutiful to ever loosen up when it came to showing proper respect. His parents had taught him well.
She sat.
He sat.
“What’s the update on Howard?” Jess braced for more conflicting details.
“She’s conscious now and talking a little. Agent Gant and Deputy Chief Black have spoken to her but she was in no condition to give a statement.”
“What about lab results? Toxicology? Anything?”
A small smile breached the somber line of the detective’s lips for the second time since his arrival. “Black has a niece who works in the lab at the hospital. She gave him the results, verbally of course, before the lab got around to releasing their findings.”
It paid to have friends and relatives in the right places. “What type of sedative was used?”
“Ketamine.”
Special K, the very one the Player used. Not that he was the only one. The sedative, used for human patients as well as equines, was popular with the druggies dragging around a death wish. “Was she sexually assaulted?”
“No, ma’am, she wasn’t.”
One step forward, one back. Not that Jess wasn’t thankful the poor woman hadn’t suffered that horror as well. But the Player, Spears, always raped his victims.
Always
. That would seem to corroborate the scenario that regardless of the similarities to his work, this was most likely not Eric Spears. More likely the copycat. With no print matches and no other evidence, identifying a man wearing another’s face was not going to be easy.
Burnett appeared in the doorway. Harper brought him up to speed.
Jess waited, her patience growing paper thin, for her turn. “Was that call about the investigation?”
“It was Gant. He’d like to have a joint briefing with BPD at ten in the morning to review where we are on the case.”
“Does that include me?” Jess knew it was pointless to ask but she did it anyway.
He gave her a fake smile. “Since my ears are still ringing from the chewing out I got from the mayor as well as Gant about your television appearance, that would be a no.” Before she could protest, he added, “You have a different briefing at that time.”
“What briefing?” A barrage of new worries entered center ring in her already crowded brain.
“With one of the detectives assigned to your unit. She’ll be bringing you up to speed on how we do things at BPD and showing you around.”
Harper kept quiet. Probably wished he could run for the door.
In other words, Jess was out of all official steps related to the case. Period. She stood. “Whatever you say. You’re the chief.” She turned to Harper. “You should get some sleep, sergeant.”
Then she walked straight to the guestroom and slammed the door behind her. It was childish, she knew. But she was tired and frustrated and. . . a bunch of other things she didn’t want to think about.
With her suitcase plopped on the bed, she dug out her lounge pants and tee and her toothbrush. She tossed her glasses on the night table, peeled off the dress. She’d already kicked off the blasted high heels. When her sleepwear was on, she stamped into the en suite and washed her face and brushed her teeth.
Her hand slowed with the work of scrubbing her teeth as she stared at her reflection. For as long as she could remember she had worked harder than her peers to ensure she achieved her goals.
What else was a girl from no less than four foster homes going to do. She lowered the toothbrush and spit into the sink. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She understood the motives behind her own psychology. Her parents died when she and her sister were kids. They had nothing. At eighteen they were turned out of the last foster home with the same thing they brought in. Nothing. No one understood how that felt until they walked that lonely, frightening path.
Lil had chosen the course perfect for her. She wanted someone to rely on who would give her the home and life for which she yearned. Not Jess. She hadn’t trusted anyone else to take care of her. Her parents had deserted her by dying.
Burnett had left her.
But that was okay because by then she had known she could take care of herself. All she had to do was be relentless. . . be the best.
She stared at the band on her finger. Old forty had rolled around and she’d awakened scared that she would be alone for the rest of her life. Middle age did that to a woman. So she’d married a nice man, a fellow agent. Things had been okay at first. But he’d quickly grown disillusioned. Jess loved her work more than him. He’d wanted a social life. Jess didn’t have time. He’d wanted children. Jess didn’t have time. If she slowed down to do all that she would fall behind. . . and that was unacceptable.
And then she wouldn’t be the best anymore.
The idea terrified her.
Dan had asked why she still wore the ring and she’d lied. She wore it because to take it off would show the world that she had failed again. Burnett had left her and twenty years later her husband had, too.
Another truth flashed in her eyes. She saw it. . . couldn’t deny it.
She had run away from Birmingham all those years ago because she could never be the best here. She was just a poor kid from foster care, doomed to mediocrity. Katherine Burnett had never let her forget that. Then, twenty some odd years later she ran back after her first true failure at the Bureau.
Part of her still wanted to believe that the failure to bring down Spears wasn’t her fault. That she was one-hundred percent correct about him. But maybe she wasn’t. Maybe the failure was all hers. The fear of failure had sent her running again.
Just like Spears or his protégé, the lookalike, was scared of failure so he was making mistakes. Acting illogically. . . acting on impulse.
Determination filled her.
Maybe she didn’t have this case figured out yet, but she refused to be afraid of that. . . of failure.
Jess rinsed her toothbrush. She stared at the woman in the mirror and gave her a message. “Not this time.”
She didn’t need to be the best anymore and she damned sure wasn’t running.
Jessie Lee Harris was here to stay and she would stop this evil.
Dan stood outside the guestroom door. He should have told Jess straight up what the deal was, but he’d needed to do that when they were alone. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Harper. Hell, Harper was one of the best detectives he had. Not to mention he would be working in Jess’s unit. Decisions related to her position now and later should not influence his opinion of her. And, right now, Harper was emotionally compromised.
Since the shooting when Wells took that bullet intended for Harper, Dan had watched the two grow closer and closer. He didn’t have a problem with that building relationship unless it interfered with their work.
So far that hadn’t happened.
But Wells was a victim in this case. If Harper wasn’t such a damned good cop he wouldn’t even be on this case in any capacity. His oversight of the evidence gathered and working as liaison with the search commanders was invaluable.
Still, if push came to shove, Harper might break under the emotional stress. This whole situation between Jess and the Bureau was highly charged and incredibly sensitive. The Bureau, more specifically OPR, wasn’t going to give up the witch hunt until satisfied that they were in the clear.
If Dan didn’t help her protect herself, Jess was going to be the one burned at the stake. For Christ’s sake, look at the way she’d put herself out there by making that statement to the press. She wasn’t thinking clearly.
He rapped on the door.
It opened immediately as if she’d been standing on the other side waiting for him. Knowing her, she probably had been.
“Are you going to give me a chance to explain?”
She stared at him a moment, arms crossed over her chest. She’d scrubbed her face clean of make-up, taken off her glasses, and traded that killer dress for a tee and lounge pants.
“I was already in bed. It’s late.”
Sure enough, she’d thrown the covers back but that didn’t mean a thing.
“You’re up now.”
“Fine. It’s your house. Suit yourself. Explain.”
“I’m not shutting you out, Jess. But if Gant suspects for a second what we’re up to, he’ll make life seriously miserable for you. Detective Wells’ life is at stake here and both our careers are as well. We have to walk a fine line between playing nice with the Bureau and doing what we both know is right.”
Arms still crossed, suspicion still clouding her face, she asked, “You won’t keep anything from me?”
“Why the hell would I keep anything from you?” That ticked him off. “I need you on this. We’ve known each other most of our lives. How can you not trust me?”
Hadn’t they worked this part out already? Shortly after she came here to advise on the case that had his whole department baffled, they’d butted heads about the past. He’d thought they talked it out. Apparently not.
She looked away. “I want to trust you completely. But the truth is, part of me just can’t.” She shook her head. “I’m genuinely sorry I feel that way, but that’s just the way it is.”
As tired and emotionally drained as he felt after Andrea’s abduction and this damned Spears case – not to mention the memories and feelings just being around Jess again evoked – he’d doubted anything else could damage him today.
But her words managed to do just that.
“All right then.” He felt at a loss as to what to say next. “Goodnight.”
He left it at that. Nothing he said would change her mind.
Maybe he’d made a mistake thinking there was still something between them. Twenty years was a long time. A gap that spanned that wide wasn’t going to be bridged in a few days.
Maybe not in another two or three decades.
But if misunderstandings and further damage to their tenuous relationship was what it took to keep her safe. . . then so be it.
Southpointe Circle, Hoover, 2:00 a.m.
Chet Harper sat in his SUV. He’d been sitting here trying to work up the nerve to get out for five minutes or so.
The streetlights showcased a picture perfect neighborhood. Nice, landscaped lawns. Proud two-story homes. Vehicles tucked into garages for the night. No scattering of cars cluttering the curbs.
In this world all was as it should be.
And it was late. Too late to wake his ex-wife. Too late to see his son. But he needed to see him. To watch him sleep for just one minute and to smell his little boy scent.
Sherry wouldn’t understand. She never understood anything about Chet or his work. Why the hell had he ever believed they could make it as a couple? They’d had nothing in common. As a high-powered executive at a research corporation, she’d had no respect for his work. The long hours. The risks.
You could do better, Chet. Your pay sucks
.
He stared at the dark house. Nice neighborhood, great school district, well above a mere cop’s salary, even with the promotion to detective sergeant.
The house his wife paid for. Not a day had passed without her getting in a dig about his pay and the long hours. Every moment he had resided within those walls he had been reminded that the house was her accomplishment. Not his.
But it had been his home with his son, no matter that the place had been just one more nail in the coffin of his marriage.
Now another man lived there.
The new guy had built a tree house in the backyard. He’d gotten Chet’s son a dog when Sherry had refused to allow a dog on the property, much less in the house, when she was married to a measly cop.
Chet opened the driver’s door and got out. Somewhere down the street a dog barked. He eased the door closed and moved up the walk. His heart thumped harder with each step.
He shouldn’t have come. At the steps leading up to the front door, he hesitated. If he knocked or rang the bell the dog would bark. He didn’t want to wake his son. Not for this. His own selfish needs.
Tired, he sat down on the top step.
He’d lost any semblance of a normal life with his son two years ago. Maybe Sherry had been right when she said Chet’s life would never be normal as long as he was a cop.
But the life he’d had, he’d cherished.
Waking in the middle of the night and being able to go to his son’s room to watch him sleep. Watch him breathe. Waking him in the mornings, his hair all mussed and his eyes still heavy with sleep. Those moments had been precious to Chet. He missed that time with his boy.
The door behind him opened.
Chet shot to his feet and turned, prepared for a clash with the new husband.
“What’re you doing out here at this hour?” Sherry, clad in her favorite cotton gown, stood in the open doorway, the springer spaniel at her feet, tail wagging.
For one moment the memories of all the times he’d unbuttoned those tiny pearl buttons and pushed that worn thin white gown down her body held him captive. How had they lost their way and gone so far down the wrong path?
Didn’t matter. . . she had moved on and so had he.
The newer memories of Lori in his arms had his eyes burning again.
Chet held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She puffed out a breath. “You didn’t. I have a huge presentation tomorrow and I’m still fine tuning.” She frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“Tough case.” He shrugged. Might as well tell the truth. “I just needed to be close to Chester.” He backed down a step. “It was a bad idea.”
A moment passed.
He was sure she would send him on his way, after telling him what a selfish bastard he was.
“Come on in. I’m pretty sure I won’t be getting any sleep tonight anyway.” She stepped back in invitation. “Might as well share in our misery.”
Startled, Chet cleared his throat to buy time to find his voice. “What about William?”
“He’s in Chicago. He won’t be back until tomorrow.” She laughed. “Today, I mean.”
Grateful she hadn’t been in the mood for a scene, Chet crossed the threshold.