Beck pulled into the driveway behind Macy. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t the large two-story Victorian near Swiss Avenue. Houses in this neighborhood were worth more than Beck expected to make during her entire career as a cop, and she couldn’t imagine a reporter, even an award-winning one like Macy, would be able to afford to live here.
Turn off your cop brain.
She tried, but it wasn’t an easy task. Her cop brain was the reason she was here, right? If she wasn’t here to talk to Macy about the Parks and Rec Killer, then she had no business sitting in her driveway, let alone going inside. Or maybe coming here had felt less fraught with danger than sitting across from Macy at the bar where the buzz of alcohol and the thump of the dance beat served as a siren call, beckoning her to cross the line.
The question was what line and where it was. Or if there was even a line anymore. She’d already crossed a line by talking to a reporter, especially having done so about a fellow cop, and that action alone was likely enough to cement her adversarial relationship with the rest of the force. But the alternative was to sit by and let the media print whatever the hell they wanted, and while silence might have been the more prudent route, she’d already proved silence wasn’t her go-to style by speaking out about Jack in the first place.
A knock on the Jeep window startled her out of her thoughts and she turned to see Macy standing beside her door. She rolled down the window.
“Change your mind?” Macy asked.
This was it—a perfect opportunity to decline the invitation, to drive away, and pretend she’d never started working on an unofficial investigation into one of the cases her commanding officer had deemed unsolvable and pretend she hadn’t also agreed to come to Macy’s house because she was attracted to her allure.
But she was here, and she was curious and what kind of a detective would she be if she walked away now? “Not a chance,” she said before she could change her mind.
She followed Macy into the house, noting that Macy locked both deadbolts behind them. The house was even bigger than it appeared from the outside and it appeared to have been frozen in time, furnished with heavy, heritage antique pieces each of which was cluttered with a variety of knickknacks. Again, seemingly out of character with how she’d pictured Macy.
“Is something wrong?”
She met Macy’s curious gaze. “Nothing’s wrong, but I think I pegged you for more of a minimalist.”
“Really?”
“Bad cop instinct, I guess. You always seem so focused on your work, I envisioned you in an apartment with no yard, sleek lines, etc.” She gestured toward the room. “This is a lot.”
“It was my grandmother’s house. She left it to me when she died along with a fund to pay the property taxes for years to come. Otherwise, I’d never be able to afford to live here. The only condition was that I live in the house. If I move out, the house gets sold and the proceeds donated to one of the many charities she donated to when she was still alive. If I stay and have kids, then the house goes to them when I croak. It’s a complex legal pain in the ass and could probably be challenged in court, but for a reporter who doesn’t make a ton of money, it’s the perfect setup.” She looked around. “It is a lot. I totally get that.”
Beck instantly regretted her insensitivity. “Sorry. I wasn’t criticizing. I swear.” She drew a finger across her chest. “It’s a beautiful house.”
“Sure. For a family of ten.” Macy gestured toward the hallway. “Would you like a tour?”
“Absolutely.” She followed as Macy led her down the hall and pointed out the various rooms. A den, two living rooms, and a giant kitchen. One of the living areas was lined with bookshelves and looked like a cozy bookstore or library nook with leather armchairs and a mid-century style bar cart. Now that she was here, she could almost imagine Macy curled up in one of the chairs, with a heavy glass of whiskey, reading one of the tomes from the giant bookshelves. The image suited her, and she wondered why she ever thought of Macy any other way. What other layers had she missed with her assumptions?
“It’s my favorite room.”
She turned to see Macy watching her, like this tour was a test of sorts and she was determined to pass. No, she was determined to excel. “I can see why.”
“Would you like to see my other favorite room?”
A loaded question for sure, and Beck’s mind wandered completely outside professional bounds while she contemplated the more private areas of the house. But it was a little too late to be wondering about boundaries, so she gave the only reasonable answer. “Absolutely.”
Macy grinned and pointed down the hall. Beck followed her, noting the creak of the original hardwood with every footfall, giving a slightly spooky feel to the historic house. How many other people had walked these halls? The house was fascinating, but more so was the woman leading her through it. What was it about Macy that had her so intrigued? It could be she was drawn to the similarity of their pursuits. She might not care for the press in general, but Macy was singularly focused on finding the truth. It was the same thing cops were supposed to do, but the difference was Macy did it to sell papers, not for the greater good.
She replayed the thought in her head and realized she sounded like an ass. Plenty of cops she knew got into the work out of a sense of duty, but there were just as many who did it for the stability of a steady paycheck and guaranteed retirement income. They’d put in their twenty, take their pension, and start a new career doing something that was more dream than drudge. Not exactly a higher purpose.
“You get inside your head a lot.”
She looked up to see Macy standing at the end of the hallway, staring at her. “I guess I have a lot on my mind.”
“Of course you do.” She held out a hand.
Beck took her hand and noted the firm grip. Macy tugged her closer and pointed at a closed door.
“Are you ready for a distraction?”
Again, with the infectious grin, and this time, Beck couldn’t help but grin back. She had no idea what was in store next but cared more about the contents of this room than the consequences of following Macy inside. As Macy pulled a key and unlocked the door, a flash of anticipation surged through her, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. By the time Macy pushed the door open, she was practically salivating.
Macy reached for her hand again. “Come on in.”
The minute Beck crossed the threshold, her mind was blown. She’d completely misread the situation because the room she was standing in wasn’t a bedroom, it was a war room. She’d seen similar setups at HQ. Detectives gathered on a task force with multiple whiteboards full of photos and scribbled notes indicating connections between the snips of evidence. She looked around the room looking for the other telltale signs of war, boxes of files, computer monitors, stale coffee, stacks of to-go containers. Check, check, check, and check. Still, her mind was having trouble processing that she was still in Macy’s house and hadn’t warped back into the homicide unit gathered to solve a crime.
“What do you think?”
She spun in place, drinking in the sensations, but she froze at the sight of a wall plastered with photos and articles and large, block-lettered notes that looked like a graffiti artist had been cut loose on the whole mess. She’d never seen anything like it outside of a TV program and she stood transfixed while she took it in.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
She turned slowly to find Macy staring at her expectantly, like her opinion mattered, which was surprising since Macy didn’t strike her as the kind of person who cared what people thought about her. Beck flicked another glance at the wall. It was crazy. An investigation on steroids. But crazy wasn’t a value judgment. In fact, she was more than a little impressed by the level of commitment to solving these cases that was present in the room. “To be perfectly honest, I’m impressed. And a little jealous.”
Macy cocked her head. “Jealous?”
“You have the freedom to work these cases in any way you see fit. On the other hand, I have the authority to investigate, but not the permission.”
“Permission is for the weak.”
“It must be nice to be so cavalier. I’ve worked hard for my career.”
“And you think I haven’t? My editor is breathing down my neck for me to put this story to bed and write the kind of clickbait crap that dulls my brain but lines the pockets of our investors. Every day that I focus on this case is a risk that I’ll lose this job, but every day, I stand my ground because these stories must be told, not written off as unsolved cases that take up too many resources to be solved.”
Beck nodded along with Macy’s words. She was right. The stories did deserve to be told, which was why she’d spent the day reviewing the files. She had the intel and Macy had the tenacity. Could they join forces to bring these women justice? And what if Macy’s supposition that the killer was back at it was true? Didn’t she have a duty to make sure he was caught before he harmed more women?
There’s a perfectly capable detective already assigned to the case.
There was, but she doubted Claire Hanlon had a resource like Macy Moran and her Great Wall of evidence. Plus, she knew for a fact Hanlon wasn’t spending any time in the cold case unit connecting dots.
Helping Macy solve this case could either save her career or end it—there probably wasn’t any in-between. She could hear Liam’s voice in her head, telling her to think it through. Talk to her union rep or some other cop she trusted before making the decision to help Macy on the sly, but she already knew that any other officer would tell her to keep her mouth shut and walk away. Of course, they would’ve said the same thing if she’d asked for advice before reporting her own partner. The bottom line was there wasn’t anyone who’d ever been in her situation she could truly trust to guide her in this situation, leaving her to rely on her gut.
She wasn’t sure why she was even going through the motions of reviewing the pros and cons since she’d known what she was going to do the minute she walked in this room. Listen to your gut. Do the right thing. “Let’s find this guy.”
* * *
Macy hid her surprise at how easily Beck agreed to help with the investigation. She’d expected it would take more convincing and now that she’d agreed, she was kind of at a loss as to where to go next. “Let me show you around.”
She pointed at one of the whiteboards across the room, but Beck appeared to be fixated with her wall of facts, and Macy’s heart surged as she watched Beck’s reaction. No one else had ever been in this room. No one else even knew about it. She kept it locked and carried the key with her always. She wasn’t sure what she thought would happen if anyone discovered her research/work in progress, but the idea of sharing this space and its contents had always filled her with dread. The dread of being judged, the dread that came with a lack of understanding. It was easier to keep her pet project secret than to share and risk rejection. It wasn’t the rejection she feared but seeing other people’s true colors and not being able to unsee them. Yet, instinct had driven her to share this room with Beck, and the captivated look on her face signaled she’d been spot-on.
“This is fascinating,” Beck said, raising her hand to point to a group of photos on the wall. “These are all the women, right?”
Macy wanted to beam, but they were talking about dead young women who’d had their lives cut short, so she tempered her happiness that Beck was impressed with her. “Yes. It helps me to have their pictures grouped together. It’s a reminder that, other than their relative ages, they didn’t have that much in common. They didn’t look alike, they didn’t dress alike, they weren’t all students, and they didn’t work in the same professions.”
“They were all sporty types—that’s why they were all at the lake.”
Macy pointed to a photo of a brunette with her hair pulled back. “Not this one. This is Lynn. She may be dressed like she was out for a run, but she was at the lake to scope out a perfect spot for her upcoming engagement photo shoot. Apparently, the arboretum next door charges to reserve space for photo sessions, and she was saving for the big day and was blowing through her budget.”
Beck frowned. “None of that is in the police report.”
“See!” Macy poked her forefinger into Beck’s chest. “This is how we can help each other. I bet I’ve interviewed more of the parties involved than they did. If I had the full reports and not the half-ass, redacted version they hand out to anyone who asks, then I could fill in blanks here,” she pointed to the wall, “not to mention, I’d have a better idea of what information law enforcement doesn’t have so I could share with them.”
“You know, you could share what you have without conditions.”
Macy heard the skepticism in Beck’s voice. “You think I’m being an asshole? That if I don’t simply hand over my years’ worth of work investigating these cases, that I’m obstructing justice or some such?”
Beck raised her palms up. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m playing devil’s advocate here.”
“Then try this on for size. I have shared. Every piece of evidence you see on this wall, except for the info that relates to the two recent murders, was provided to the detectives who originally worked this case. Fat lot of good it did. Maybe you should talk to Claire Hanlon about her former mentor, Bruce Kehler. He handled these cases. Or rather, he was assigned to handle them.”
She watched Beck’s face and caught the exact moment when Beck made the connection. “Assistant Chief Bruce Kehler? Damn. I mean I recognized the name. He retired last year.”
“Retired implied he had a choice. He was forced out after what happened with Frank Flynn’s case,” she said. Surely Beck had heard about Flynn having his murder conviction reversed after it was revealed Kehler and his partner had failed to disclose key evidence to Flynn’s attorney at trial.
“I heard the rumors.”
Macy shook her head. “They were more than rumors. He framed Flynn, and I know for a fact the department combed through every case he had worked on while he was in homicide to make sure there weren’t grounds to overturn any more convictions. Plenty of defense attorneys with clients sitting in prison made sure of that.” She held up a file. “But I doubt anyone even gave these unsolved cases a second look.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yep. These files and who knows how many others were buried in the cold case unit with Sergeant Mendoza assigned as the gatekeeper. She does a grade A job of ignoring FOIA requests and keeping secrets buried.”
Beck cleared her throat and looked uncomfortable.
“Are you going to stick up for her?” Macy asked, hearing her voice rise, but unable to control her brewing frustration. “Do you think she’s even remotely interested in solving any of these cases? If you do, then you need to hand in your shield because you’re not going to make it as a detective.”
“Hey now,” Beck said. “The last thing I want is a reputation for ratting out all of my fellow cops, but I’m not sticking up for Mendoza. I don’t know what her agenda is. Hell, I don’t know anything about her, but I do know she’s not keen on me doing anything but cataloguing case info.” She paused for a moment, frowning.
“What is it?” Macy asked, sensing Beck was holding something back.
“Councilwoman Villa came in today. She wanted a full tour of the unit and had a lot of questions about the files. The mayor has assigned her to a task force reviewing the procedures for clearing these cases. If it makes you feel any better, Mendoza seemed pretty annoyed by the visit.”
“Her annoyance is a small price to pay for the truth, but I’ll take it.” She softened her tone. “I appreciate you telling me about Villa’s visit. You didn’t have to share that.”
Beck grinned at her. “We’re a team now, right?”
Macy hesitated. It was a big step going from her solitary work behind a locked door, to sharing all the information she’d amassed over the years with someone from the very agency that had kept her shut out from these cases all along. Aside from the amateur investigators at Unfrozen, she’d worked on this case alone, and it was a big step to invite anyone in, let alone a rookie detective. But she needed the help, especially if she was going to wrap up the anniversary piece before Jerry shut her down for good. She had to trust someone. Why not trust a cop who’d shown she had more integrity than most?
She tried not to dwell on the fact that her trust level might’ve gotten a boost from the blast of attraction she got every time Beck walked in the room. Hell, if she was going to work with someone, it may as well be someone she enjoyed being around, and not simply for her keen mind. She reached for Beck’s hand. A simple shake to seal the deal, but when their fingers touched, the surge of arousal took over. Instead of clasping palms, their fingers intertwined, and Macy stepped closer. Beck was a magnet, and she couldn’t resist.
The heat was palpable, blazing through her, and judging by the way Beck’s eyes went dark, she was feeling it too. Would one quick kiss be enough to extinguish the flame, or would it stoke it into an uncontrollable blaze?
Before she could process the thought, Beck’s lips pressed into hers, eliminating the need to analyze. She melted into the taste of her, and the force of their kiss drove away thoughts of conflict and the cases and anything outside of the firm press of their tongues tangled in mutual desire. She lost herself in the pleasure of Beck’s sure touch, soft and firm by turns. She moaned with pleasure as every single one of her nerve endings tingled and begged for more. Moments later, when Beck pulled gently back, she was no longer sure where she was or what they’d been doing, and the lack of grounding didn’t bother her in the least.
“Are you okay?”
She looked up into Beck’s still dark eyes, but she couldn’t form the words to convey exactly how much more than okay she was. She reached up and ran her hands through Beck’s blond waves, pulling her hair back from her long, sleek neck. She leaned forward and traced a path up the side of her neck with her lips and tongue. Light, teasing kisses, designed to whip Beck into the same kind of frenzy that consumed her. When her lips reached Beck’s ear, she whispered, “So much more than okay.” She moaned. “So much.”
Beck turned in her arms and captured her lips again in a searing kiss, and Macy accepted the invitation. When Beck pulled back slightly to take a breath, Macy laced their fingers together again and with her free hand motioned to the door. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”
Beck’s breath hitched. “Please.”