Sworn to Be His (The Archer Family Book 3) (7 page)

J
ade breathed
deep as she rolled over, her arm still tucked under Derrick's head. She wasn't sure where to look, what to say.

Good job?

Thanks for the good time?

Everything she could possibly think of sounded wrong or dumb or just...strange.

Still, she opened her mouth, hoping that whatever came out would help break down this invisible wall of anxiety she'd built between them.

And then her pager sang out from where she'd left it discarded in her puddle of clothes.

Seconds later, the trill of Derrick's beeper joined hers and they both rushed to them, reading the call quickly before throwing on their clothes as quickly as they could.

"A murder," he said. "Think it has anything to do with Scaglietti?"

"I can't imagine what else it could be. The coincidences..." She said, her voice shakier than she would have liked.

"I guess there's only one way to find out." He glanced at her over his shoulder and she put a hand to her cheek, trying to cool her still warm skin. Even now when he looked at her she felt herself heating up again. Felt the ghost of his kiss on her lips, on her neck, and lower.

"Right," she breathed. "I guess I'll meet you at the station?"

"Right," he said, and for an instant it seemed like he was about to say something else, but then, just as quickly, he turned on his heel and left.

When the door thumped closed behind him, she closed her eyes and leaned against her living room wall, trying to stop the spin of the room and the racing of her heart. What the hell had she done? Twice now?

And why was it that this time she didn't feel the least bit sorry?

Securing her badge in her pocket, she made for her car and raced toward the station, her mind humming with thought the whole way.

Or, more specifically, thoughts of Derrick.

She had to tell him she wanted him, that she didn't care about Zac. After all, who was Zac compared to Derrick Archer? He couldn't make her body yield to his the way that Derrick had. And he couldn't make her smile the way Derrick did. Didn't make her feel comfortable, like herself.

She pulled into her parking spot to find Derrick idling by his car.

"They want us to go to the scene." He nodded at her. "Want to come in my cruiser?"

She smiled, thinking of how she might have answered the question under different circumstances, then gave a stiff nod.

Business first. They'd handle business first.

Then they'd get back to pleasure.

He opened the door for her and she slid in and turned on the radio, expecting him to whinge about whatever 90's pop band was blaring from the speakers. Instead, he ignored it and started the ignition.

"So, listen," he said, almost too softly for her to hear.

"Yeah, I..." she started, but she didn't know how to finish and let the words hang in the air between them.

"It looks like I have to apologize again." He reached toward her and ran his thumb over the side of her neck.

She pulled a compact from where she'd left it in his glove box and stared at the tiny love bite on her neck, red and shaped perfectly like his mouth.

"Oh, right," she said.

"We'll make sure it gets covered before we get back."

"Right, good call." She nodded again and folded her hands in her lap. "Listen, Derrick, I think..."

I think what we did was the best thing that's ever happened to me.

I think you're perfect.

I think this could really be something.

"Maybe you should wait to tell me until you know everything. I think this case is going to upset you."

"Why? What happened?"

"The code...the victim was a twenty-six-year old female, blonde hair. She was a dancer. Patricia McGill was her real name, but on the stage she went by Crystal."

"No." All the blood drained from her face and she stared down at her interlocked hands. "You think..."

"I know. Someone found out she informed on them."

"But that's impossible. I was so careful..."

"I know. Listen, this isn't your fault."

"It is, though. She would still be alive if I didn't follow that lead. If I..." Her throat constricted and she choked in what little air she could. It wasn't as though she'd never lost a witness before—she had. But like this? To people like this? Who would have tortured her, maybe even raped her, for what she knew?

It was wrong. All so wrong.

"Jade—" Derrick started, but she held up a hand. "Let's just go to the scene. We'll figure it out from there."

Without another word, he pulled out of the parking lot and sped onto the street, siren blaring.

S
omething wasn't right
.

The whole time they went through the apartment, he just couldn't shake it. Something here didn't add up.

After all, there was no record of who'd been held witness after the robbery. Even if the mob did have a guy hacking their files—hell, even if they had a man on the inside, they wouldn't have been able to tell who'd spoken and what they'd said. Jade hadn't even submitted the paperwork yet.

The forensic examiner nodded to him as he sauntered by with a cup of coffee, grim-faced as ever, and Jade stood by the chalk outline, staring fixedly at something he couldn't see.

Whoever had done this, Derrick wanted to make sure they saw justice—one way or the other. Not just because a young woman who'd done the right thing had lost her life, but because of what this was doing to Jade. Jade who was ashen-faced and mute since she'd found out about Crystal. Jade who would likely feel this was all her fault.

He knew that feeling too well to wish it on anyone else, least of all on someone he cared about as much as Jade.

Maybe if he told her...

He winced just thinking about saying the words aloud. He'd carried them for so long he couldn't imagine what they'd sound like when he finally let them out. And worse, what if she looked at him differently? What if she saw himself the way he did—like a monster?

He pursed his lips and pulled out a notebook, determined to set aside all thoughts save for those of this case. For now, he'd focus on getting justice for this girl. After? He'd make sure Jade had some of that justice, too.

W
hen the investigation
had closed for the day, Jade walked by his side silently all the way to the car. After she settled into her seat and closed the door, she looked down at her hands, that same ashen expression on her face. Pained. Like she'd just witnessed the greatest tragedy of her life.

And maybe she had.

He took a deep breath, trying to find the words he would have wanted to hear. "It's not your fault, you know."

"That girl...she trusted me. She counted on me to protect her and I let her down."

"That girl knew the risks of what she was doing and sometimes..." Sometimes you just couldn't control the odds, the obstacles. Sometimes there was no winning no matter how battle-trained you were.

He took a deep breath, willing himself to remember that day. He'd blocked it off for so long, had kept it in the little corner of his mind where he promised himself he'd never visit it.

But if he wanted her to feel better, if he wanted her to know just how much he understood...

"
Y
ou know
why I never talk about the service? Why I left?"

She shook her head, but her gaze didn't meet his.

"Let me tell you," he said, and then he began his story.

The first thing about that day was the music. Will had been in charge of manning the radio in the Humvee after drawing the shortest straw—one of the rare cases where everyone else was forced to suffer while the short straw prevailed. As they rolled through the desert, Will had blared "Poker Face" and sung along at the top of his lungs, occasionally slapping his seat and singing louder when the other cadets complained.

"If I have to hear this goddamned album one more time—" Someone in the back grumbled as they ripped open an MRE and Derrick laughed, holding out his hand for some candy as he steered the tank forward.

It was a dusty day, even for Afghanistan. The way the sand drifted over the land made it nearly impossible to see a hundred feet out, let alone yards or miles. Or maybe he'd just told himself that in the years that had passed. Whatever the case, he couldn't remember the road. Couldn't remember anything but the way the gritty fruit-flavored sugar had tasted on his tongue as he crunched on one skittle after another.

"Fine, fine, if it's that much of a problem, I'll change it." Will rolled his eyes and slid another CD into the player. Within seconds, the Beatles started wailing about being back in the USSR.

"Way to set the mood," Derrick had said, and Will smiled at him.

Will's smile had been crooked. Derrick remembered that. With one jagged front tooth that stuck out a little too far.

He was the youngest of their platoon, a recruit straight out of high school. In a way, the kid reminded him of himself. He was always talking about his kid sister whom he'd left behind, and of a girl back home who'd promised to wait for him. The guy had kept both pictures in a little pocket on the front of this uniform, but Derrick would be damned if he could ever remember which was the sister and which the girlfriend.

They all just looked so damned young.

From the back, the guys called jeers and prayers for Lady Gaga's return.

"Free bird!" One wiseass shouted.

"Ignore them. You got the radio. They can fuck themselves," Derrick said, and Will laughed.

"Thanks." The kid hummed along with the song and Derrick turned his attention back to the road. To where something tiny glinted in the sun so close that he didn't have time to inspect it. Didn't have time to stop.

The explosion was quick and devastating. One second he'd been sitting in his seat, relaxing and listening to Will's off tune crooning and the next he could hear nothing but the long, prolonged sound of chalk scratching on whiteboard over and over again. His ear rang with it, and as he stretched one hand out, he found that he couldn't move it. He could only stare around absently, taking in the wreckage of their convoy.

The Humvee had been flipped over, and few of the men still clinging to the sides of the windows. Their gaze met his and he knew they were alive. He'd thought...

He'd been so stupid.

In that moment, when he saw them, he really thought everyone was safe. That it was a mistake, but he'd been the only one to suffer for it. That he'd be able to manage.

Then he looked in the other direction and saw another pair of eyes, glassy and brown, gazing lifelessly back at him. A snaggle front tooth still prominent in his gaping mouth.

"Will, " he called for the other man, but he still couldn't move. Hell, he could hardly speak. The words grated on his throat and he pushed past the pain to focus on the other man. No, not a man. A boy. A boy who'd died because he'd been too much of a damned fool to pay attention to what he was supposed to be doing.

Derrick shook his head. That image was always the one he woke with—of Will staring back at him, unspoken words still hanging from his lips.

"I was almost up on my contract at that point," he forced himself to say, forced himself to remember that Jade was still here. Listening, expecting.

He cleared his throat and went on, "So when my tour ended I decided to come back to Hawaii and stay for a while. I didn't reenlist. You should have heard how happy my sister was about it. Like she thought she was getting me back after all those years. The thing people don't get, though, is that you don't come back. You never come back. Not really."

Jade was silent, waiting.

"The thing is, though, that even though I should have been paying attention, Will knew the risks of deployment when he signed up for the Army. Just like I did. Just like anyone else. It was the same way with this girl. She knew the risks of talking when she shouldn't. It's not your fault, Jade."

Jade folded her hands in her lap. "It probably wasn't your fault either," she said, almost too quietly for him to hear.

But he did. And he almost smiled.

"I've had a long time to deal with this. It might take awhile for you, too. And I'm not going to lie to you. You might not really come back. But you're going to be okay. That much I can promise you."

"Can you?" Her bright blue eyes met his at last and he held her gaze.

"Yes, I really can. Now let's focus on what's important. This case."

He paused, waiting to see if he'd made the right choice, but there was simply no way to know. No way to judge.

"This case isn't right, Jade," he tried again, gently.

"I know, I know it." She shook her head and slid lower in her seat, wringing her hands as if they might have some kind of answer for her.

"No, I mean...I looked at everything. There's no recent ex-boyfriend. No current boyfriend. The other investigators say there are no clear suspects."

"You know who did this as well as I do," Jade whispered.

"I do...but what I don't understand is how."

"What do you mean? She talked. They punished her for talking."

"But you haven't filed the paperwork. There's no record that she said anything."

"What about the recordings?" Jade asked.

"They always take at least a week to get filed."

"So you're saying there's someone on the inside? Someone watching the tapes?"

"Maybe..." Derrick gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"What?" Jade asked.

"Have you talked to anyone about this case?"

"What?" She furrowed her brow.

"I mean, have you spoken with anyone within the department about our plans or our trip to the strip club."

"No...just Zac, I think."

Zac. Yes. It all made sense if it was Zac, didn't it?

He was so keen to work every angle of the case, to squeeze every little detail he could. And he'd know that he could use Jade for whatever he wanted. Knew she'd be vulnerable to him.

"What's going on?" She asked, her soft voice breaking him from his thoughts.