Intimate Danger (Empire Blue) (13 page)

“Something isn’t right,” he said as way of introduction.

“You’re barely getting that now?” she replied, her voice somewhat snotty. She couldn’t help it. All those weird fluttering butterflies were back and just like that, whoosh, her mind went on vacation. All of it simply because he was in her presence.

Trent didn’t say anything though and turned to where he had been looking before, the frown still on his face, his notebook held between his
arms crossed over his chest. He wore a light green Henley, dark distressed jeans, and black boots.

He looked good enough to eat.

Ugh.

Staring at him for a few minutes, she realized he wasn’t speaking and he was still frowning. She tried to follow his gaze, but gave up when nothing stood out.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He tilted his head, narrowed his eyes again at something in the distance, and then spoke, still not turning his gaze toward her. “Remember how we’ve talked about him scoping out his victims?”

She remembered him doing that profile, but she didn’t have to say that. “Yeah, also that he knows the area. What’s up?”

He turned toward her then and his beautiful blue gaze roamed over her face like a caress. He took in a deep breath, narrowed his eyes, then let the air out of his lungs. “Where have you been?”

Her eyebrows jumped. “Excuse me? What is this, reverse questioning? Didn’t I ask you a question?”

He leaned toward her. “And I’m going to
answer it, just after you do mine.”

“Why do you want to know?”

This time his eyebrows went up. “Are you seriously evading my question? Where were you?”

She crossed her arms, not understanding why she didn’t want to answer him, but damn
, after he’d played the disappearing act for so long on so many scenes, she felt justified in not answering.

“Charlie,” he warned, “Don’t make me ask again. You won’t like the consequences.”

Her face heated, and she was really getting sick of it doing that. “Or what?” she snapped.

He leaned even closer, his face inches from hers. “Or I’m going to go with my basic instinct and toss you on the ground here and fuck the shit out of you. Your smell is driving me abso-fucking-lutely insane. Your face is flushed, and your hair is wet. Where in the hell were you?”

Her eyes widened at his words and she felt another little quiver in her neither regions. Before her mouth could catch up with her brain, she blurted, “At the gym with Dwayne. I sucker-punched him.”

He stared into her eyes for a few moments and then a slow smile spread across his face. Breath stuttered from her mouth. He straightened and kept his gaze locked on her.

“Just so you know we’re going to talk about what happened this morning soon, and this time, you aren’t going to run off. You’ll stay there and we’ll face this, because if you try to run again, I’m going to handcuff you to my bed.”

She bristled. “Excuse me?”

He totally ignored her question. “Our guy is staking out his victims before he attacks.”

The abrupt shift in topic had her blinking at him for a few seconds. “How do you know?”

“He’s a smoker,” Trent answered, which really wasn’t a proper response for her question.

“I’m not following, Trent. Can you slow down and give me a proper answer?”

He tossed his head toward where he’d been looking earlier. “Cigarettes, four of them, in a location that neighbors report had been a car they’d never seen before parked just last night.”

Hope sweltered in her chest. “Forensic on it?”

He nodded. She whipped out her notebook from her back pocket. “What kind of car?” she asked.

“Dunno.”

She frowned, glanced back up at him, her pen hovering over the paper. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“Streetlight was out. Car was under that tree,” he said and tossed his chin over to a big willow oak hanging under a streetlamp. “All witnesses remember seeing is the car was a dark
, four-door car. If I had my guess, even if we had tags, it’d come back to a rental.”

Ugh
.

Charlie
wanted to scream. One step forward, two steps back. She turned toward the victim’s house. The rancher stood out from the others in the neighborhood with its fresh paint and well-maintained yard. Almost like a sore eye—a very pretty one—but when compared to the browning grass of surrounding properties, and the meticulous upkeep, the entire scene looked like it’d been brought in from an entirely different place.

“How’s the victim,” she asked, her voice sounding as lost as she felt.

Trent didn’t speak for a few seconds and his hesitation told her more than he said. “Not too good. She’s at the hospital now. Name is Sheila Grady. He caught her just after she came home. Came in through the backdoor. There are signs of forced entry, but it wasn’t violent. Almost like he’s had training on how to get inside without making much noise. No prints on the door or lock.”

Charlie sighed and rubbed at her head. Why was this guy so hard to catch?

“You want to hear the rest?” Trent asked.

She nodded even though, no, she didn’t want to hear the rest. But she had to.

“He caught up with her in her bathroom, just as she was getting in the shower. Blade to her neck. She said he wasn’t wearing a mask, but she didn’t get a good look at him. He kept her face down for most of the entire time and when she wasn’t face down, he kept a hand over her eyes. Ms. Grady is single, about five feet, nine inches. Successful CEO of an accounting firm.”

Charlie closed her eyes and turned back to Trent. He was right there, watching her, assessing. “More?” he asked.

She bit her lip and nodded.

“He controlled her. Big power play. His instructions to Ms. Grady were very detailed, specific, and if she followed through, he rewarded her.”

She scrunched up her face. “With what? Reward? With what?” she said again, her voice rising. This guy had raped this woman!

Trent sighed and shook his head. “Charlie, this guy is the master manipulator. His rewards to the victims can be anything from praise to a choice on what happens. They don’t scream and he’ll offer them a choice between two things. While it may not seem like it’s much of a choice, it’s still a reward to someone who has had every bit of safety taken from them.”

“God, more of your profiling?” she groaned. “What the hell are we going to do?”

Trent stared at her for a few silent moments before he answered with just two words. “Catch him.”

Chapter Ten

Trent was dragging ass. He couldn’t focus, was out of it, and the world operated around him in a blurry, hazy dream he couldn’t escape, no matter how much caffeine he ingested.

Caffeine.

Had it only been twelve hours since he stood outside of the victim’s house with Charlie, hating every second he had to recount the crime to her? It felt like a lifetime. He glanced down at the cup of joe, his fourth and it wasn’t even noon. Sleep was the answer, and he’d love to do nothing other than go back to the hotel, draw the blackout shades, turn the air conditioner on, and bury his way under the covers for the next twenty-four hours. He understood why he couldn’t. Too much work needed completing, and a thousand questions required answers.

He took another sip of the hot liquid, prayed like hell this cup would give him the jolt he needed, and thought back on the cute little barista at Starbucks.
She was nothing but smiles and flirty winks. Every look a silent invitation for unspoken erotic secrets, but for the first time in his pathetic existence, he couldn’t seem to step over that invisible line. Instead of his body reacting to a perky, petite blonde with double-D tits, flashes of a tall brunette with curves and muscles in all the right places refused to leave his thoughts.

He cursed beneath his breath and pushed open the front door of the station house. Noise engulfed him at once.
The sounds were so out of the norm, he stopped and took in the room. People filled the small space, women and men scattered throughout, all shouting at the haggard looking desk sergeant sitting behind bulletproof glass. The young officer’s eyes snapped to his, and he shot a look that screamed help.

Trent winced and shook his head, turned on his heels and
started for the Detective’s Unit.

“Someone needs to do something
. You can’t just leave this man to prey on women.”

He stopped
, but kept his back to the crowd, pretending to fiddle with the keyless entry at the detective’s room.

“There have been attacks nearly every other night. What is the
chief
doing
?”

“How much longer did you expect to keep this a secret? Why isn’t the police department doing anything more? Giving us any warning?”

Oh, shit, word got out? Neither the police nor the FBI had released anything. He’d made sure of it. The only way the town could know is through the victims, the increase in police activity, and deriving a conclusion. Shit.

He keyed in the mechanical code
and entered. As the door closed behind him, noise from the crowd cut off as if a needle wiped from a record, abrupt and unnatural. He looked up and found six pairs of eyes staring at him. Agent Echols, the chief, Charlie, Pete, Dwayne, and a dark-haired man he didn’t know. All lifted their brows in almost a practiced unison.

This day kept getting weirder.
A beat of time passed in silence before the group turned back to Charlie.

“
There hasn’t been anything else that’s come up from this latest attack, Chief.” Her sultry voice rolled through the air. The tendrils reached him and desire pitched low in his gut like a warm ball of need. He fought his body’s reaction.
Damn the woman.

The
chief nodded, and Trent walked up an aisle, desks lining each side, the room illuminated by natural light from the windows above. Charlie stepped away from a rolling white board and turned it abruptly around. He frowned. Pictures, fresh ones, from the quick glimpse he’d gotten, littered the surface. What in the hell was going on now? She intercepted him halfway across the room.

“I need to speak with you, Agent Rossi.”

“Agent Rossi? Huh, so we’re back to
that
again?”

She either didn’t hear him or ignored him
and walked away, heading down the hall toward rooms in the back of the detective’s area.

He glanced over at the
chief and Echols. Woolsey talked in a low tone, head bent toward the senior agent. Echols had his eyes on Trent. He shrugged at Trent’s questioning look and gave a short nod at Charlie, then returned his attention to the man in charge.

Willing himself to wake up, he scrubbed a hand along his face. He was missing something, almost as if he was about to make one hell of a mistake and there was no stopping it.
But with the problems back home, the ones dealing with a very frail, old woman, he was going in two very different directions at once.

He felt out of control.
As if a bull was set on a rampage, tearing through the streets of Barcelona, and he was the red flag waving in the middle of the center.

He turned to her and tried to find a hint of what was going on. Trained in the art of interrogation, through numerous body language classes taught by the best, and
holding an ability to read someone, he should have been able to spot something. Instead, she stood impassive, unreadable, made of granite, just several feet away from him. It felt like miles. He gritted his teeth and lifted his hands, one still holding the coffee cup, then motioned ahead. “Lead the way, Detective.”
What in the fuck was going on?

She turned when the desks ended and proceeded along the wall where the
chief and Captain’s offices sat, heading toward the interview rooms. He trailed along like a puppy waiting for a bone.

Charlie stepped into a
small room. He followed. White, bare walls lined four sides and a metal table with two chairs sat in the middle. To his right was one-way glass, and above, a camera with a sign advising of recording in process. He sighed, sat the cup on the table, and hooked his foot around a chair, pulled it out, then sat.

“What’s going on, Charlie?”

She shut the door and without saying a word walked over to the camera and reached behind. An audible click sounded before she spun around. Her wary eyes studied him, alert and cautious.

He frowned and stared back. She stood unmoving,
still refusing to give anything away. Impatience swirled in his gut, unease skittered through his veins, and just as he felt he would explode, she spoke.
Finally
.

“Where,” she started, pronouncing each word with care, “were you last night, Agent Rossi?”

His heart thumped against his chest once, a painful thud threatening to break his ribs. He tightened a fist on the table, and she glanced at his hand, then brought those eyes that saw too much back to his face. Questioning.

“What I do on my off-duty time, Detective, is no one’s business but my own.
Now, can you explain to me why we’re wasting time here, instead of figuring out why we have an entryway full of pissed off citizens. What’s going on?”

She leaned against the door
, crossed her arms, and glared down the length of her nose. The lamp above seared into his neck, heat soaking in his skin. He wouldn’t do this, open up under this kind of pressure. His mother and her health weren’t important to this case, and he sure as hell didn’t appreciate being bullied into giving up his private life. No matter if the woman questioning him tied him up in knots.

“I tried to call you. A dozen times.
At almost as many scenes.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, but held an underlying sense of…was it anger?

Okay, he could get how she’d
be pissed about not answering his phone. His mother was the same way. He sat back, set a foot up to his knee, and ran through his evening last night. His phone had been off, so he had no clue she called.

“You didn’t leave any messages.”

A muscle in her jaw pulsed. “I called you.”

“I was busy.”

“Where?”

“Nice try. Isn’t fucking happening until you tell me what the hell is going on.” He pushed to his feet, and laid his knuckles on the table, leaning over. “Stop fucking with me and just say it, Detective.” He gritted out the last word, a dirty taste in his mouth.

“There was another attack last night.”

H
is throat tightened with emotion. He forced down the anger building. “Where?”

She did
n’t move. “Down the street, only three blocks from this precinct. Seems as though either our guy is getting brave, or he’s stupid. I’m counting on the latter.”

Straightening
, he picked up the cup, and took a swig. He almost gagged at how cool the liquid had turned in the brief time they’d been talking. Or was this an interview? He hated cold coffee, but with the icy demeanor Charlie threw off, it seemed to fit. The pseudo-interrogation and her lack of detail in explaining the night prior stuck in his mind. “Give me more. You can’t expect me to read your mind.” The look on her face, the sense of foreboding…He knew what she would say before it left her mouth, and braced.

“She was raped.”

He closed his eyes, tried to rein emotions in. He caused this, needed to fix it. But, how? How would he dig himself out of this hole and make everything better? He focused on Charlie. Hair gathered in a ponytail, long tresses hanging loose over one shoulder, the tips brushed across the swell of her breast. Holy hell, she was a remarkable sight.

Good God, why the hell did he react to her like this?

And why, asshole, are you not paying attention to what’s going on here?

“We knew it was bound to happen. I’m only sorry I wasn’t here for you. I’ll try to be next time.” He
went to move to the door, but she slid in front of him. Trent popped a brow.

“So you admit there’s going to be a next time?”

Enough. “What the fuck? Have we caught the asshole yet? No. So yes, I’m suspecting there’s going to be a next time, unless this jerk-off suddenly sprouts a conscience, decides to be citizen of the month, and turns his ass in. Somehow though, based off what I know of the guy, I don’t think we’ll be celebrating an arrest any time soon.”

“What has you so convinced, Rossi?” Her hazel eyes stormed like a hurricane moving through the Bahamas
. She held his gaze, and his patience snapped.

“Enough!” He was so fucking tired, confused, and needed to get the hell out of here. “Get out of my way, Charlie, before I move you myself.”

The air charged, cracked between them, waiting to see who’d move first. He ground his teeth, and after a heavy pause, she stepped aside. He grabbed the knob and yanked the door open. The metal slammed against the wall with a loud clang, the plaster on the other side shaking, pictures rattling. He stormed down the hall, refused to focus on anything other than the exit sign ahead. Trapped, exhausted, and needing air, he had to get away from the accusation sitting in her eyes. Things were out of his control, accidents he couldn’t prevent. However, telling her about his history and the kind of man he was just wasn’t an option.

“Agent Rossi.” Echols’ voice rose from behind.

Trent lifted a hand, cutting him off. “I’ll be back later.”

He slammed against the emergency exit handle and stepped out, strode through the crowded waiting room, pushed his way out the front. Sunlight and fresh air greeted him with a punch, and he drew in a sharp breath. Closing his
eyes, he tipped his face, forced his breathing to slow, and let the heat from the rays saturate his skin. He swayed and gripped the rail.

Down the street, a child laughed, even farther, a dog barked. Cars passed in front of the station, and people grazed along the sidewalk. Life continued on, like nothing was wrong. His seemed to be spinning out of control, as if he was on a merry-go-round and could not get off
, and here, in this small town, things gave the impression of peace.

It was anything but peaceful
. He knew that all too well.

****

“What in the hell just happened?”

Charlie flinched at the
chief’s question and his angry, red face.

She sighed. “I take it he didn’t appreciate some questions I asked.”

He stared at her, didn’t say anything, but his color switched from tomato to scarlet in five seconds.

“Shit—”

“Save it. Go fix whatever the hell you did. And you had better fix it right. The last goddamn thing I need to top off a serial asshole on the loose is an Agent pissed off at the police department. The very one he’s supposed to be helping. Go fix this. It. Him.”

She nodded, wanting to kick her own
—and said agent’s—ass. “I’m going to head out, try to track him down.” She had already made up her mind about that, but for reasons unlike what Woolsey suggested. Trent was holding something back. She could feel it and her instincts screamed at her not to let it go.

“You’re damn right, I’m right.”

“Oh, Christ, Uncle Ben.”

“Fix it,” he thundered.

She pushed out of the room and stepped outside. Sunglasses over her eyes, she scanned the streets. The blue cruiser Rossi and Echols brought still sat in the parking lot. She walked down the steps and around a large green shrub before she caught sight of Rossi. He walked north on Broadway, hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans, head ducked, gaze on the ground. About a mile further was the town’s center, filled with nothing but shops and restaurants. On the other side sat another residential area, along with the main stretch of I-287.