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Darby
The rest of the afternoon was spent digging into Prairie’s life. Work. Doctor appointments. Occasional nights out with friends. An art show opening for one of her friends in the Crossroads Art District on Friday. Every day revealed a different aspect of our victim.
The slightest lead from Barrett and Felicia ended in a dead end: the call Saturday had been from a throw-away burner. The same number had called at fairly regular intervals for nearly a year. She’d also called the number as much as it had called her. Curious.
It was after end of shift by the time we decided to call it quits. I sat on the end of my desk, legs crossed, staring at the board.
“What are we missing, Mark?”
He leaned against his desk next to me, gazing at the board. “She seemed average, despite her occupation.”
“That’s just it.” I sat up straighter and my back screamed in relief. “She seemed normal. More normal than most people. Why was she killed?”
“Robbery gone wrong?”
“You don’t believe that as much as I don’t.”
“You’re right, I don’t. The body alone indicates this was not a stranger killing.”
On the board, the timeline shimmered rhythmically below the pictures of Prairie and her closer associates—Ian, Clark Hunt, Winifred, some close friends, and a few of her co-workers.
Someone had to know something. Was it someone on this board? The person who owned the burner? Someone we hadn’t talked to yet?
Abruptly, I jumped up and grabbed a stylus and wrote on the board, “Who knows something they’re not talking about?” and “What did Prairie know that got her killed?”
“Last one’s a bit of a leap.” Mark frowned. “We don’t know she knew something.”
“We don’t know she didn’t.” I chewed on the end of the stylus, thinking. Then I swept my hand over the last sentence, erasing it, and tried again. “Did Prairie know something that got her killed? If so, what?”
“Much better,” Mark said. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
“Right.” We were missing something, something big. But what was it?
I skimmed over the data. Mark had written in the cause of death below Prairie’s picture. In smaller images and writing, he and I had both input the information we had about Prairie’s associates. Nothing jumped out as important. Maybe we’d get something tomorrow.
Mark reached up and turned off the digital board, then straightened. “I’m going to head out,” he said. “Maybe pick at this from home. You feel like joining me?”
I frowned. Damn it. We needed that time, and I’d made plans already. “Sorry. I’m meeting Holly in a while.”
If she was able to get out of the morgue, of course.
For a moment, I thought about calling her to cancel. She’d understand, I knew she would. I warred with myself but decided to stick to the original plan.
Mark scowled, then inhaled deeply. “Sure the good doctor is going to get out of the lab?”
Had he read my mind or something? “If she doesn’t, maybe I’ll follow your lead and pick at the case from home.”
His scowl shifted. “I honestly don’t want you working on this tonight.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Mark, I’m a grown woman.”
He smiled. “Then don’t work the case tonight. You need a break.”
I stuck my tongue out at him.
He laughed. “If you’re sure you won’t join me for dinner, I’m leaving.”
“I have far more interesting people to go to dinner with than you.”
“Sure you do.” He put his gun in his holster, then clapped me on the shoulder, sending sizzles through my arm. They were a tiny bit painful, but not bad. Just a dull ache. “Goodnight, Darb. Have a pleasant, if boring, evening without me.”
He winked, then took his jacket off the back of his chair and slung it over his shoulder and strode toward the stairs.
Jerk, I thought affectionately, staring at his back. Okay, maybe he wasn’t as bad as I’d thought earlier in the day.
Alone but for a couple of my colleagues who were still in the process of wrapping up for the day, I stared at the now-dark board. It was quiet in the bullpen for once—one of the reasons I didn’t mind staying late or coming in early.
But the solitude also allowed my mind to drift.
I hadn’t had time really to think about the DSHA the last couple years. I’d been busy and had been trying so hard to keep what they’d done to me buried within my head. But the fear still managed to burble to the surface now and again.
Now was one of those times.
Having to deal with them on this case had made me nervous. Seeing as they’d been the main force behind my kidnapping two years ago, it was hard not to harbor some anger toward the agency as a whole, even if the local office wasn’t directly responsible for the actions that were taken.
I really didn’t want to be back on their radar. Being involved in the case to solve their employee’s murder was a bit uncomfortable, to say the least.
I closed my eyes, and all I saw was Clark Hunt staring holes through me.
I shivered involuntarily and got to my feet. I couldn’t sit here and think about this anymore. The fear that they’d come after me again was getting to me.
My adoptive father, Simon Cuthbert, had tried to talk to me about the fear and occasional brief panic attacks I’d had in the last couple years.
It hadn’t helped much, despite the smile the old movie quote evoked from me. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hatred leads to the dark side.
Not exactly the most theological thought, especially for a pastor. I’d tried very hard not to harbor anger at the DSHA and the associated agencies which had aided my kidnapping, but it wasn’t easy to not feel angry with them from time to time. We still didn’t know, two years later, what they’d done to me. I should feel violated, right?
Okay, I needed to stop thinking about this. It was getting me nowhere.
I called Holly’s office, found she’d be at least another hour before she was free, and tried to decide what I could do to kill some time and take my mind off the DSHA, the issues with my partner, and really even the case.
It had been a while since I’d logged any range time, before Costa Rica for sure. I usually was in at least a couple times a week.
Shooting mindlessly in the gun range downstairs would kill time, keep me sharp, and hopefully help me empty my brain from my troubles.
Downstairs, the officer in charge of the gun room handed me three bricks of standard issue bullets, plus a couple boxes for my smaller Glock.
Goggles and earmuffs on, I approached the range and methodically went through my routine. I practiced straight shooting, and rehearsed quick-drawing both my firearms—my service pistol at my hip, and my clutch piece at my ankle. I practiced until I did it without having to think about the motions.
I went through all the rounds I’d been given.
After reloading both magazines, I signed out and ran up three flights of stairs to the second floor where Vice and Homicide were situated. I badged through the door, took three steps, and ran into William.
Literally.
Again.
This time, however, neither of us dropped anything.
“There seems to be a habit developing, Darby,” he said in his smooth voice, his hand on my shoulder. “Two nights we both stay late, both times you barrel into me.”
I blushed. “Sorry. I just realized I’m due to meet a friend soon.”
“Then you’re not free for dinner this evening?”
“No, sorry.”
“That’s my loss. I should have put an invitation in my note this morning.”
We both turned, and Will slid his hand to my elbow, escorting me to my desk. I glanced at his hand. His placement felt a little possessive in a way which kinda ticked me off.
But then I was okay with it. And thinking I could blow off my plans with Holly.
I smiled up at him. “Thank you. I can’t remember the last time someone sent me flowers.”
His green eyes twinkled. “Then you are sorely lacking. The men in your life should be ashamed.”
I pulled away, unlocked my desk with the fingerprint scanner, and retrieved my backpack from the bottom drawer. “Haven’t had many men as of late.”
“An even bigger shame.” He shifted, leaning against the edge of Mark’s desk as I packed up what I needed. When I was nearly done, he caught my hand. “Tell you what. Why don’t I make good on that dinner invitation? Say, Friday night?”
I gazed into his eyes, and my stomach did a flip-flop. Say something! Before he changes his mind! I cleared my throat. “Umm, sure?”
He smiled. “You don’t sound too certain.”
I told my stomach to stop doing the jitterbug. “Sure. Sounds fabulous. Unless a case intrudes, of course.”
His grin widened. “Of course. Are you leaving?”
I glanced at the clock. “Yeah, or I’ll be late.”
“Then let me walk you out.”
“Oh, you don’t have to!”
“But I have an ulterior motive.”
I fell in step next to him, and we headed for the lifts. “What might that be?”
“I haven’t graced the local SuperHuman Society with my presence yet, and I hear they’re having a meeting on Thursday. Would you do me the pleasure of joining me?”
Great. The SHS again.
The doors opened, and I ordered the lift to the ground floor. “I, uh...I don’t attend the SHS meetings regularly.”
“Too busy with your work?” He clicked his tongue. “Darby, you should. Especially for a super with your unique powers.”
“Only a few of the supers in the area actually like me.”
Will huffed. “Well, that’s rubbish. A super of your abilities should be held in high acclaim, perhaps even worshiped.”
I winced. “Trust me, there’s a band of would-be worshipers who show up regularly to my crime scenes.”
We stepped off the lift and headed for the employee entrance.
“That will simply have to change if I’m a part of the local SHS. You’re confirmed, right?”
I nodded. “A long time ago.”
“Then it’s settled. They have no reason to hold a grudge. I’ll get involved, and you can come with me, so they’ll have to be more inclusive.”
I stopped in front of my car. “I appreciate the sentiment, Will, really, I do. But I don’t need you or anyone doing that. I’m happy where I am. I have friends of both the super and normal varieties. I honestly don’t have time for the SHS, nor do I have the patience for their political posturing and cliquish behavior.”
He put his hands on his hips. “You may not, but I do. Besides, they shouldn’t treat a lady like that. If someone doesn’t step up, it’s going to continue.”
He had at least part of it right.
I sighed. “They meet at Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art. There’s a commons area near the main entrance with fountains called Rozelle Court. Social and wine hour is at six-thirty, and the meeting starts between seven-forty-five and eight.”
He smiled. He had pretty teeth. “I would enjoy it if you would accompany me.”
I turned away and opened my passenger door to drop my pack into the seat. “I think I’ll pass this time. Nothing to do with the company—”
“But it has everything to do with the company.” He leaned back. “They’ve been quite hurtful, haven’t they?”
I came back around the bonnet of my car. “All but a few.”
“Maybe it would be different if you were with me.”
“I don’t know...”
“Tell me you’ll consider it.”
I wanted to say no. “I’ll think about it.”
“Fantastic. I’ll ask again before the meeting. I really hope you’ll join me.”
I very nearly told him I would. Instead, I coughed. “Well, thanks. Have a good evening.”
I started to duck into the seat, but Will took my hand.
“Don’t think you’re getting out of here so easily.” He lifted my hand to his lips. “Goodnight, Darby.”
Then he guided me into the seat and gently closed the door.
* * *
Mark
COLD, LEFTOVER PIZZA made a dinner for Mark. He could have gone to the trouble of heating it up, but didn’t care for how hard the crust invariably got when he nuked it. Cold was fine. Cold was easy.
He read case notes as he ate, though they didn’t yield much, but at least it helped to keep things fresh in his mind.
He put the glass he’d been using away in his messenger bag, and cleaned up what he could.
Feeling a little lonely, he called his sister, Melinda. “Hey, sis, can you come over for a bit? Need a second opinion.”
His second oldest sister sighed. “Mark, I’m not going to look at some wound again. I’m not in that area of the medical field.”
He chuckled. “If I wanted that, I’d call Reid.”
Reid was their sister Moira’s husband.
“Fair enough. Sure. I suppose I can be bothered for a while.”
“See you in a bit.”
Mark was in the garage, big door open, when Melinda pulled up half an hour later.
“Oh, wow.” She stuffed her hands in her back pockets. “Mark, Claire is going to flip.”
He glanced down at the dollhouse he’d been working on for the last few months. “Really? You think?”
“That is your best one yet.”
He chuckled. “After nine of them, I should be getting halfway decent at this.”
“I hope it’s not your last.”
He smiled sadly. “Last niece, though.”
“Oh, you never know. One of us could have an oops.”
Mark gave his sister a one-eyed squint. “And if it were you, Magnolia, or Miranda, I’d be asking some big questions. Like why you’re sleeping around.”
She laughed, then patted his shoulder. “Maybe you’ll have a daughter one of these days.”
Mark smiled tightly. He could only hope.
“Of course, it would help if you had a girlfriend.”
Mark snorted as he grabbed a tape measure and began taking measurements of the roof so he could start cutting shingles.
“Prospects?”
He sighed. “Melinda...”
“I know, I know. I’m prying.” She grabbed a folding chair as well as a bottle of hard cider from a mini-fridge he kept in the garage. “I just want to know you’re happy.”
He pursed his lips. Happy? He wouldn’t say he was unhappy, although he did feel the ache for a family of his own. He wanted what his sisters had—spouses and gaggles of children. The fact they all had ten to twenty years’ lead on him also hadn’t escaped his notice.
“Mark?”
He took a sharp breath, having nearly forgotten she was there. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She was quiet for a long minute as he started calculations. “You haven’t talked about Darby in a while. She, uh...She doing okay?”
“She’s fine.”
He rubbed at his forehead, eyes squeezed shut. Figuring out the shingles was always difficult.
“You sure?”
He scoffed and set down his personal comm and the calculations it held. “Why don’t you call her up and talk to her yourself?”
Melinda blinked. “You guys fighting or something?”
“You could say that.” Even though things had softened a bit that day, their fight was not resolved.
“Work? Or personal?”
He rolled his eyes. “Darby is a great detective.”
“What? She’s dating someone, and my baby brother is jealous?”
If it had been anyone else, he’d have snarled. “Maybe.”
“You’re being awfully cagey. I thought you wanted company.”
He hunched his shoulders. “I wanted a second opinion on the house.”
“Bullcrap. The only time you want a ‘second opinion’ is when you’re lonely. So spill. What’s up?”
Mark winced. He couldn’t tell his sister much. Even though he was closest to her, he hadn’t told any of his sisters about the strange connection he had with Darby, and with so little information on what Darby had told him, he hadn’t told a soul about the apparent discrepancies with his DNA.
But maybe Melinda could at least be a sounding board. She was a woman, after all. “Have you ever intentionally not told Jerry something? Like for a long time?”
She snorted. “When I found out I was pregnant the last time, I didn’t tell him for like four months. He finally noticed the weight I was putting on.”
“Kara’s his favorite, though.”
“He didn’t want a fifth, and I’d miscalculated my cycle.”
Mark grimaced. “Didn’t need to know that.”
She shrugged as she lifted her cider. “It was pertinent.” She sipped. “Darby didn’t tell you something? For how long?”
His eye twitched. What could he tell her? “Longer than you held back with Jerry.”
“Is it important?”
He shrugged.
Melinda watched him for a long moment. “I’m going to guess that it wasn’t the kind of thing you’d be happy being surprised about, huh?”
He shook his head.
“Kind of hard to offer advice when I don’t know what it’s about.”
“It’s...personal. Between her and me.”
“Did you two sleep together?”
“What? No! Get your head out of the gutter, Melinda!”
Good grief, if Darby had heard that question, she’d have turned seven shades of red, and maybe have taken a swing at his sister. And, with the way things had been going with the two of them, she’d have tried to give him a black eye just because he was there.
Melinda chuckled. “Had to check, knowing you.”
“I’m not like that anymore.” Even as he said it, his thoughts drifted to the night with Genova. The way she’d made him feel if only for a few hours. The cold shock of reality the next morning.
The regret.
He closed his eyes, closing his hand over the bare wood of the dollhouse roof.
“Right.” She didn’t sound like she believed him.
“Help me figure this out, okay? Why didn’t you tell Jerry you were pregnant? He was going to find out anyway.”
Melinda blew out a breath. “I was in denial for the first few weeks. I didn’t want to be pregnant. Partially because I knew he’d be so upset.”
She went on, but he didn’t hear her. It made sense. Darby tended to be a private person, and she didn’t make announcements unless she’d thoroughly thought things through. Her getting shot in Costa Rica had forced her to tell him so he could help save her life.
He stared down at his hands for a minute. They’d always seemed ordinary to him. Broad, strong, and, yeah, starting to show their age.
He’d never realized he’d had the ability to heal someone.
“Mark? Did you hear anything I just said?”
He shook his head and smiled at his sister. “Sorry.”
She scowled. “Sure, you ask me over for advice, then don’t even listen to what I have to say.”
He winked at her. “You know how we guys are.”
“So, Darby. You’ve been taking things slow with her.”
“She’s needed it.”
“Maybe too slow?”
He cocked his head. “Maybe I have.”
She smiled. “So, are you going to tell her or not?”