Authors: Carolyn McCray,Elena Gray
“Did he have an alibi for the time of murder?” Alexis asked.
“Nope,” Beck replied.
“An alibi for any of the other murders?”
“Nope.”
Confused, Alexis looked at Nick, and then Grace. Did she miss something? “So, um, again, why isn’t he behind bars?”
Beck shrugged. “No evidence. A lot of conjecture, but nothing solid enough for the DA to indict. They got a search warrant, but found no supporting evidence.”
Nick stood. “So I am the lead on the case, then?”
“Not so much,” Beck replied.
Grace stood. “Thank you, sir. I will be sure to—”
Beck shook his head, and then purposefully brought his gaze to Alexis. “It is looking like we need some undercover work.”
“Sir!” Nick nearly shouted, and then dialed back to his “inside voice.” “I am by far the best candidate to—”
“Please,” Beck responded. “Nick, I love you like a son, but you dress like a cop … even when you are off duty.”
“But—”
“Do you know how my wife describes you?” Beck asked.
Nick squirmed a bit before answering. “No.”
“She says, ‘Oh, you mean the detective who
smells
like a cop.’ ” Nick went to open his mouth, but Beck kept going. “And do we have to go over your track record during your most recent undercover work?”
Alexis’ mind went directly to the time Nick was loaned out to vice for a prostitution sting. Not only did he not snare a single working girl, one of them actually thought he was a missionary and asked him for a pamphlet. At least he helped get one girl off the street, but just not in cuffs.
Nick must have been mulling over the same experience, because he shook his head. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary.”
Grace took in a sharp breath. “Sir,” she said, but then stopped. You could see her mind racing through the argument for Beck to choose her. Oh, how she probably wanted to throw something out there about Alexis’ connections having something to do with being picked for an assignment of this caliber, but not even Grace dared. Beck didn’t tolerate anything, not even an innuendo about Alexis’ father pulling strings for his daughter.
Before Grace could gather her thoughts, Beck pointed to the latest crime scene photo. “Grace, I love you like … well … a sister, but come on.
That
is Dekker’s type.”
Even Grace couldn’t argue after glancing at the beauty queen’s picture.
Slowly Alexis stood, trying not to feel quite so self-conscious or young. Sure, she had done some undercover work as a uniformed officer, but that was catching the dorm “x” dealer. Staking out serial shoplifters. Alexis looked again at the screen, where Dekker’s image was frozen as he opened his mouth wide to bite the security officer trying to restrain him.
Was she up for this?
Nick echoed her thoughts. “Sir, I respect your decision, but this man is a brutal murderer and Alexis is …” He looked at her, the apology in his eyes before he finished. “Not seasoned.”
Beck didn’t back down, though, as he leveled his gaze at Nick. “Noted. However, unlike the two of you, Alexis does know the difference between a dojo and a gym. Plus, she looks …”
Alexis’ cheeks burned as everyone studied her features. She thought she was past this “Who is prettier?” phase in high school. It wasn’t her fault that she inherited full lips and long eyelashes.
“Like Dekker’s type.” Beck turned to the door. “Nick, you and Grace dig into Dekker’s life. Financials, his favorite restaurant, everything.”
Alexis stood there as the others exited the room. Was that it? What was she supposed to do? Or should she know that already?
Her lieutenant turned back to her. “Well, Reed? Are you coming into my office for a private briefing, or are you just going to stand there?”
With a flicker of a grin, Alexis hurried to catch up. “Coming to your office, sir.”
She didn’t have to glance to either side to know that both Nick and Grace were
not
smiling.
As Alexis followed Beck into his office, she straightened her shoulders. “Sir, you won’t be disappointed.”
“Let’s hope not,” Beck said, dropping into the chair behind his desk. A mess of case files and empty coffee cups littered the surface. Another night spent at the office. A photo of his smiling wife, Sue, sat amidst the tornado of papers. A photo of Beck with his arm around Alexis’ father was next to it.
“Do you know why I really picked you over Grace?” Beck asked, casually leaning back in his chair. The sunlight peeping through the blinds highlighted the flecks of gray in his hair.
Alexis pulled out the chair across from him and perched herself on the edge. She hated these “guess what I am thinking?” games. However, if she did want to be a cop, she probably should get used to it.
“I can fit in with Dekker’s crowd better.”
“Nice try, but no.” Beck’s tone turned serious. “Travis is streetwise. He’ll be looking for a mole. We need someone who doesn’t think like a cop.”
“Sir, I have an exemplary record and—”
Beck put up a hand. “Let me add, ‘yet.’ You don’t think or move or act like a cop—
yet
. Procedure isn’t baked into your bone marrow like it is with Nick and Grace.”
“But—” she stammered.
“Look at it as a good thing, Alexis,” Beck said, overriding her. “There is a golden moment in a cop’s career when he or she knows enough intellectually to get the job, but is inexperienced enough to keep the job.”
“Thanks … I think.”
“Look, I just wanted to make it very clear that you need to be careful.”
All cops needed to be careful. If you went in unprepared, you were dead. How many funerals did her father have to attend? But would Beck be telling Nick this, or even Grace, for that matter, if either one occupied her chair?
Alexis tensed. “I always am.”
“How’s your dad?”
Just like that, Beck turned off his stern lieutenant mode and went into godfather mode. If it wasn’t hard enough having a father that was chief of police, try having your godfather be your lieutenant.
“Enjoying retirement, sir,” Alexis said, nearly on reflex. The truth was that her mom was about to toss her dad out unless he got a hobby or something. Following her around Walmart figuring out the cost per ounce of dishwashing soap was getting to be a little too much.
“Good. He deserves it.” Beck sat forward, his arms resting on his desk. His eyes softened. “It’s not the same around here without him.”
Alexis couldn’t help but laugh, knowing that her next statement was absolutely true. “I don’t think he would have retired if you weren’t my commanding officer.” She had that specific argument with her father. If she didn’t stay in Beck’s unit, her father would come out of retirement to find out why.
“I know,” Beck sighed. His eyes studied Alexis. “He’s entrusted me to look out for you. Don’t make me regret my decision to put you on this case.”
“You won’t, sir.” She
hoped
. Her gut had not quite caught up with her brain. She was going undercover for a murderer. It still seemed unreal.
Beck shuffled some papers on his desk. “I know that you’ve taken a lot of flak from the rest of the department.”
That was putting it mildly.
“But you should know …” Beck suddenly looked decidedly uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat and avoided eye contact.
Was he regretting his decision so quickly?
“I should know?” Alexis prompted.
“That we both, your father and I, are proud of you,” he blurted out. “You’re a fine detective, and you get to take all the credit for that.”
Alexis wasn’t quite sure what to say. Beck didn’t seem to know, either. That was possibly the most personal thing that Beck had ever said to her. Usually he just elbowed her and told her to tell her father “thanks for the cannoli.”
If anything, this only amplified the pressure that Alexis felt. If Beck was digging deep down into his emotional well to tell her that, he must think that this assignment was important. Really important.
Alexis had to clear her throat. “Thank you.”
She struggled with what to say next. How to respond and let him know how much she appreciated his guidance. But as quickly as he had gone into godfather mode, he switched back to cranky lieutenant mode.
He heaved a stack of thick files toward her. “All right. Read up on our Mr. Dekker. You’re going in for recon only. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Alexis stared at the files in her lap. How much information could there be on a washed-up MMA fighter?
“We just want names and places,” Beck reinforced. “No confrontations, no playing hero. Just plain ol’ simple information gathering.”
Alexis gulped as she nodded. Information gathering. She could do that.
“Have I made myself clear, Detective?”
“Yes, sir,” Alexis said, rising from her chair. She tried to sound a hell of a lot more confident than she felt.
“Good.” Beck braced his palms on the desk, pushing himself to his feet. “I want you at Dekker’s studio at 7:00 p.m. sharp. You’ll go in as a prospective student. I’m sure you’ll have no problem talking your way into private lessons.”
“I’ll try my best, sir.”
Just like that, he escorted her out of his office. There was barely enough time to let a flicker of a smile rise to her lips, when she spotted Grace. The older detective was slamming drawers and mumbling under her breath about a lost pen. Anger management, much?
Alexis took the long way around to her desk as Nick caught up. He didn’t say anything for five steps. A record. “I’m sure you have something to add?”
Nick frowned. “Mixed martial arts, huh? Zumba doesn’t count, Alexis.”
She turned on him. Granted, he had been the nicest and most supportive of all the detectives—hence, the pity dates. But Nick could still go too far.
“Zumba? Really, that’s all you’ve got? Like you’ve ever taken a roundhouse to the chin.”
Nick’s eyes flashed with anger. “That’s not the point.”
“Yeah, it kind of is.” Okay, after her talk with Beck it wasn’t, but Nick didn’t need to know that. “And as a matter of fact, I do have significant MMA experience.”
Okay, maybe dating a guy in college who never went pro wasn’t significant, but at least she knew the terminology and wouldn’t embarrass herself by leading with the wrong leg.
Nick sighed. “There’s nothing I could say to change your mind?”
Alexis just shook her head.
“Then how about I try to say it over a beer and my world-renowned organic onion rings?”
Nick tried, he really tried, but Alexis needed a guy who maybe didn’t have to try so hard.
“Look, Nick …”
Ugh. Nick got that look on his face. The one that puppies get after having a bone taken away. The look that said, “I guess everyone was right. Nice guys do finish last.” It was the look that had gotten her to go out with him in the first place.
“I can’t,” she said, and Nick’s face fell a little further. “Beck wants me at Dekker’s gym tonight.”
“Tonight?” Nick said, suddenly not crestfallen at all. “So soon. Are you ready for it?”
Actually Alexis wasn’t at all sure, but she definitely wasn’t going to admit that to Nick. Not with Grace hovering around, and not-so-subtly eavesdropping.
She just gave him that look. That way she didn’t have to lie.
“All right, all right,” Nick said, hands in pretend defeat. “I won’t ask any more questions as long as we have dinner tomorrow night.” Nick hurried on. “Did I mention that the oil I use to deep-fry the rings has zero trans fat?”
Right. Like her cholesterol level was the biggest hesitation to saying yes to the ominous third date.
“Let me get back to you tomorrow morning.”
Nick’s lips didn’t quite fall into a frown, but neither did they smile. He looked ready to press the issue, but then just nodded.
“You won’t find it offensive if I offered you good luck?”
Given the fact that Alexis needed all the help she could get, Alexis answered, “Not at all.”
CHAPTER 2
The rope from the ring bit into Travis Dekker’s callused hands. Two of his students sparred in front of him. Well,
attempted
to spar. This was supposed to be MMA fighting. It was more like a kindergarten karate class. But that is what you got when you lost control in the ring, as he had. The crowds that once cheered you on to victory threw you out into the cold.
The cold world where a once-great champion was forced to teach those so far inferior. The gym was filled with them. While these two attempted to spar, the mats behind him were filled with equally eager but inept wannabes. Dekker could hear the sound of punches hitting the bags. Never quite as satisfying as hitting flesh though, he could tell you.
Gritting his teeth, Dekker watched as Bull grazed his sparring partner’s face with a weak backfist. Both men’s breaths came in gasps, and they dragged their feet as they circled the ring. Bull’s opponent, Mitch, retaliated with a front kick. His stance weak, guard dropped, Bull sidestepped the kick, sweeping Mitch’s leg. His opponent stumbled, but righted himself.
Dekker had seen enough. Slow and sloppy. What they needed were quick jabs and pivots. Go in for the kill. Otherwise, what else were they doing here? This wasn’t some Zen Buddhist kung fu, “only learn to fight to protect yourself,” crap. This was fighting to
win
.