“Well.” Mocha exhaled with such force, Eden had to tip her cell phone away from her ear. “I do not like this at all.”
Ha! That was putting their current predicament rather lightly. Eden’s nerves couldn’t be more shot had they spent the entire afternoon being stretched and folded on the mechanical arms of a taffy puller. One more piece of bad news, the queasy, bottom-just-dropped sensation of reliving one more horrible memory, and she was liable to veer off the deep end straight into bat-crap crazy.
Even though she knew damn well Kelly was right.
Even though the thought of letting him down made her sick.
Even though the entire time she’d sat beside him at the breakfast bar, him laying out his concerns in a concise, logical manner, everything he’d said to her had made complete and total sense.
The idea she had to accompany him into the precinct still had her twisted in knots. That phone call had changed everything. All their options had disappeared the second he’d answered it, and she’d been left no alternative but to hit the shower so she could gear up for the performance of her career.
“Yeah, well, you’re preaching to the choir.” Exiting his master bath, she yanked her stockings off the handle of his dresser and tossed them toward her bag. One floated down and snagged on the open zipper. The other landed beside her purse and slithered halfway off the side of his bed.
Too bad her introduction to Kelly’s team was only the first phase a three-step process that was apt to push her over the brink. Each one worse than the next, with the last curdling her stomach like she’d accidently downed a swallow of sour milk.
Pretend they could barely stand to be in the same room together? Fine. She got that. Convincing everyone they disliked each other was the only way to ensure he remained in charge of the investigation. Especially once word leaked out they’d been locked in seclusion the past three days. Good God, she was not going there.
Spill everything about her life to the entire Chicago police force? Excellent. While they were at it, why not have her slice open an artery so she could just bleed all over the damn floor?
Sure, she realized the necessity. Unless everyone involved fully understood the psychotic monster they were after, they’d never be able to locate P-rat much less arrest and convict him. But that wouldn’t make sharing the details any less painful, and it certainly hadn’t stopped another, more problematic, neurosis from pinging around inside her head.
Like the ridiculous urge she had to smash Kelly’s phone against the wall, for example. What the heck good would that do? Or how about her knee-jerk response they ignore his orders and stay locked inside the safety of his house forever?
Geez, could she be any more pathetic? It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen this coming. And whether their time together ended for real or was some sort of act they faked for the benefit of others didn’t matter. In the long run, the result would be the same.
“Look, I don’t like this any more than you do, but my hands are tied.” She snatched her shoes off the floor and one heel caught on the lacy edge of her thigh high stocking as she crammed them inside her bag. “Detective Riordan has been ordered to bring me in and, if I don’t go, his captain is threatening to take him off the case.”
Plucking the second stocking off the bed, she fought the one still clinging to the zipper and the nylon shredded as she jammed the whole horrible mess inside.
Mocha sputtered. “Staring down a bunch of cops is the least of our problems at this point, baby girl. That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”
She sighed. “I know, sweetie. Trust me, I know.”
Trouble was, Mocha didn’t. Not really. Not when it came to Eden’s fears about making sure Adrian never hurt anyone again.
Enter the third and final phase in Kelly’s plan…
Letting him drive her someplace outside the city just seemed wrong. Weak. She wasn’t the type to run from a challenge and he hadn’t fully convinced her holing up like some scared little girl was the right move now.
Not that she’d been able to offer any reasonable alternatives. At least, not any she cared to voice. Besides, arguing with him over how he hoped to proceed would serve no purpose, and she didn’t want their time together to end the same way it had started—both of them at each other’s throats, her playing some stupid game only so he could catch her in the act.
She dropped to the bed with a bounce, picked up the discarded A-shirt he’d loaned her and fiddled with the sewn edge. Yeah, great. Now all she had to do was keep him from figuring out she was having second thoughts about stealing off into the night and everything should work out fine.
God. The second he looked at her face, he was bound to notice she was hedging. Hiding anything from him was like trying to conceal the mushroom cloud of a nuclear bomb.
Move along, folks. Nothing to see here.
Filling her lungs, she wadded his undershirt into a ball and shoved it to the bottom of her purse. She hesitated and then stuffed his boxers in as well. “For right now, all we can do is focus on the things we have within our control. The rest will just have to come later. As soon as we hang up, I need you to call Tanner and let her know I was able to reserve both of you a seat at the table. It’s important to me the two of you be at this meeting.”
If D’Avella was calling in her team, Eden was going to make damn sure hers was included as well. She wasn’t about to expose Dirty Deeds to the upper echelon of the Chicago PD unless the two other people who held a vested interest in the business were present.
Since she was one of a very select few who would be able to recognize Adrian Pratt on sight, and her testimony was critical to providing a motive for Malcolm and Viv’s murders, Captain D’Avella had consented without too much fuss.
Or so Kelly had told her.
Bracing her cell between her shoulder and ear, Eden tugged Scarlet’s dress off the back of the armchair and folded it over her arm. “Thank God, Kelly’s captain seems to have her priorities in order. He said she was happy to include you and Tanner given our combined efforts of locating Adrian and making sure his conviction sticks.”
“Good. Hopefully, Ms. Bossy Pants will be as accommodating in person.” Yep, Mocha got that right. “Okay, so, that leaves us just under an hour. What do you need from me?”
A small smile tugged at Eden’s lips as she crammed Scarlet’s dress in her bag. God, she was lucky to have him. Regardless of the hardships life threw at her, she could always count on Mocha, no matter what.
“To be brutally honest, I’m not really sure what the hell I’m doing.” Understatement of the year. “Give me a little while to sort out the details and, as soon as I know, I’ll let you know.”
Dead air crackled through the line. “Huh. I’m not so sure flying by the seat of your pants works for you. What’s this about?”
Yeah, right. If only describing how she felt were that easy. But Eden barely understood the confusing jumble kicking her heart around, herself. Explaining it to Mocha fell somewhere along the line of removing the traitorous organ so she could dissect the chambers and see what the heck was going on inside.
Leaving, pretending, scheming… Those things had become as natural to her as breathing. She didn’t doubt for one second she’d be able to play her part to a T.
But that was exactly the problem.
Planting her hand on Kelly’s pillow, she fisted the downy softness and yanked it onto her lap. A waft of his sandalwood-infused skin filled the air and she closed her eyes, losing herself in his sultry masculine scent.
Up until he’d walked into her life, taking on a different persona had been nothing more than a means to an end. A good end. A fair end she’d been proud to own. But with Kelly…she worried too much the closeness they’d shared would somehow mess him up. Blur his abnormally sharp eye.
If she followed her instincts and remained in the city after the meeting, he was bound to get angry, and folks tended not to think straight when they were upset. Deep down, he would start to doubt her. The scam they’d cooked up for the benefit of his team would become reality and, instead of parting ways as friends, she would end up hurting someone who had become her grounding point. Her touchstone for what was real.
Was wounding Kelly, was losing him for good worth repeating the same mistakes that had caused this mess in the first place?
Hell, maybe Mocha had nailed it a second time. Flying by the seat of her pants was making her lose her damn mind.
“It’s nothing.” Everything. Only her entire world. She rolled her eyes. Yep, she’d officially lost what few marbles she’d had left. “I’m fine.”
He snorted. “And I’m the Queen of England.”
“I’ve always thought you have a royally fine ass.”
His husky chuckle echoed through the line as she glanced at the clock, stood and propped Kelly’s pillow against the headboard. “Just get in touch with Tanner and I’ll see you at the station in forty-five.”
She ended the call, tossed her phone into her bag and shouldered the strap. One last survey of Kelly’s room to make sure she’d gotten everything, and she stepped for the door.
Her focus drifted back to his pillow, and she stopped in the threshold. After her shower, he’d made omelets. He’d stood in the kitchen and cooked for her like it was a regular, relaxing Sunday morning, and he was some lucky chick’s half-naked, gourmet-seasoned boyfriend.
For shit’s sake, how was she supposed to walk away from that?
On impulse, she snagged his pillow off the bed and headed down the hallway.
He stood from a stool near the breakfast bar as she approached, stashing his cell in the breast pocket of his leather jacket. The deep red shirt peeking past either side of the open zipper framed his white A-shirt in sharp relief, and her toes curled inside the pointed tips of her white, ankle-high boots over the way that stretchy material hugged every hard ridge of his torso and chest.
The indigo dye following the seams of his jeans perfectly matched his eyes. Darker today than normal. Stormier. More…restless.
Heat spiked in her belly as he trailed those baby blues up her white stretchy jeggings, past the tied belt of her thick cable-knit sweater and lacy camisole to the pillow she clutched like it was her personal life preserver.
He locked onto her face and cocked an eyebrow. “What’s with the pillow?”
Shit. She couldn’t exactly say why she wanted it, she just did. For future reference, maybe? So she could keep some part of him with her once everything was said and done?
God, that sounded so lame.
She boosted her chin. “I’m taking it with me.” So there. He could fight her as much as he wanted, she wasn’t about to change her mind.
Lips pursed, he nodded, crossing his arms, and the naughty twinkle in his eyes made her downright uncomfortable. “Should I be prepared to take inventory? Replace anything else you might’ve stolen on your way out the door?”
Double shit. She cinched his pillow tighter. But, come on. Would he really miss one measly undershirt and a pair of boxers? “You want to search me, Detective? Go right ahead.”
His pupils dilated. The moment stretched, and her lungs constricted as he took one long stride forward and shoved his hand into her hair. “Hell, yes, I wanna search you. In fact, nothing would make me happier than my hands on your body every Goddamned second of the day.”
Oh, man. Why did he have to say things like that? Her lashes fluttered as he tipped her head back and brushed a kiss along her jaw. Lips skimming. Barely there. In direct contrast to the way his fingers clenched and massaged the back of her head.
Tingles skipped across her shoulders, heating her arms and palms as arousal flooded her belly. Didn’t he have any idea what those words did to her? How the way he saw her had begun to define her?
She placed her hand on his chest, fisted his t-shirt as he switched directions and swept a kiss down her throat. Her body vibrated. Shivers coursed over her skin as he exhaled into her ear.
Good grief, much more and her legs would be useless. He’d have to scoop her off the floor and carry her to the car in a bucket.
“Maybe it would be a good idea to remember that while we’re at the precinct.” His arm slipped around her waist and he yanked her close, smashing the pillow between them like a giant marshmallow. “Take anything of mine you want, baby.” His whisper was gruff, lips perched at her ear. “Everything that matters is already yours anyway.”
He pulled back from her, ran his hand down his face and cleared his throat. Jerking his chin toward the back door, he turned away. “We should go.”
The sudden change in direction threw her off balance. Or maybe it was the way he’d turned her into a quivering pile of goo. One touch from those talented lips and every practical thought in her head jetsetted to parts unknown.
Right. She squared her shoulders. They had a meeting.
Wait, what was hers? She stumbled after him, past the dining table and into the utility room, her steps as agile as a tango choreographed by a drunk chicken. Everything that mattered was already hers? What in God’s name was that supposed to mean?
A series of beeps broke the silence as he deactivated the alarm and stepped aside, swinging the door open. She passed through into the garage, peeking at him from under her lashes, approached the car and waited outside the passenger side door.
Oh-h-h, no. No, no, no. She wagged an imaginary finger at him. He could just take his mushy “you already have everything that matters” and stick it in the pocket of his low-slung jeans. Painful as it was for her to think about leaving, she wasn’t about to let him fill her head with some ridiculous notion about the two of them galloping off into the sunset. Life didn’t work that way. And, for crying out loud, things between them were already complicated enough.
He shunted open the locks on the car and she popped the handle to climb inside. There was only one ideology in her book. She plopped her heavy bag on her lap. Mutual respect, trust…an equal sense of give and take were what counted. Knowing someone believed in her regardless of how the rest of the world viewed her actions.
He loaded himself into driver’s seat and slipped the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, and he narrowed his eyes at the windshield. “Do you have a social security number?”
She jerked her face forward, staring at the garage wall. Case in point. After three days with her, the man still assumed she was the Unabomber. “Of course, I do. Have you ever met a foster kid who wasn’t automatically tagged by the system?”
“What about taxes? You pay those every year?”
Was he kidding with this? She crossed her arms. What kinda lowlife scumbag did he think she was? “Rest assured, Detective, the government cheats me out of plenty of my hard-earned cash every April fifteenth.”
He tapped a button near his visor and the garage door rumbled toward the ceiling. “Then if it’s okay with you, I’d like to field any questions the captain might ask about your history. It’ll really piss me off if Dirty Deeds gets a bad rap because of that piece of shit, Adrian Pratt. He already wrecked your past. The last thing you need is him fucking up your future. If I run a little interference, I should be able to redirect the discussion back to where it needs to be.”
Oh. Well, color her spanked.
She stiffened in the seat. Sputtered then choked. Holy crap, she was totally screwed. The man made her fantasize about things that could never be a part of her reality.
Kelly frowned in her direction. “You okay? It’s no big deal if you prefer to do it.”
“No, no. It’s just…” Well, hell. She tossed her hand in the air. “You keep surprising me and I hate that. Can’t you just act the way I expect? Do something to disappoint me?”
He grinned. “Not a chance.”
Revving the engine, he shifted the car into reverse and squealed from the drive.
Tanner jumped as the door swung open, and Eden sent a reassuring smile across the long wooden table as Captain D’Avella and her entourage filed inside the precinct’s logistics room, Kelly second in line.
Ignoring the impulse to read whatever private message might be stamped on his face, Eden kept her focus glued to their fearless leader, returned D’Avella’s polite nod and pushed to her feet.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Ms. Smith. On behalf of the Chicago Police Department, I wish to extend our deepest condolences for your loss.”
Exactly like Kelly had said, Meredith D’Avella was petite, slender. The lines of her black suit were sharp enough to slice bread and the reflection off her black pumps came down just shy of a mirror. She wore her hair short, above the collar, her salt and peppers curls cut into layers she’d gelled to frame her high cheekbones. A pair of wire-rimmed half-glasses occupied the tip of her nose, the beaded cord attached to each temple an identical match to the gold chains dangling down the front of her starched white blouse.
“Thank you.” Gripping the captain’s hand in a firm handshake, Eden skated a quick glance over the rest of the group. Kelly had done a good job—Archer, Molly, DeFranco. She recognized each of them from his descriptions.
Captain D’Avella swung the door closed as the group took their seats around the conference table, Kelly across from Eden on Tanner’s right, Detective Archer on her left, and Tanner’s cheeks pinked as the two men caged her in like some high-octane demi-god tag team. Molly hurried over to set up her laptop on Eden’s left and Nick DeFranco slapped two clipboards down on Eden’s right. Once everyone was seated, Captain D’Avella edged around the perimeter of the room, spread the manila folders stacked on her arm across the conference table and claimed the chair at its helm.
“You already know Detective Riordan.” She opened a flat hand toward Kelly and Eden acknowledged his presence with a set of flared nostrils, crossing her arms.
But she didn’t look at him, and based on how the mercury in the room plummeted ten degrees, she was pretty sure everyone got the hint she wasn’t interested in the two of them exchanging pleasantries. “I do.”
“I’ve been told you also may know Ben Archer, lead narcotics detective who was working with your friend, Vivian.”
Gratitude the size of a tsunami washed over her, and Eden didn’t need to fake one iota of thanks as she leaned forward and propped her forearms on the table. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to finally meet you in person, Detective Archer.”
He was a weekend warrior, based on the silver dog tags around his neck—as if the buzz-cut of his sandy blond hair and spine-grinding stiffness wouldn’t have been enough—and given the way his gray t-shirt screamed at the seams, his body fat content maxed out somewhere around two percent. “If there’s ever anything I can do to—”
“Just doing my job.” He bobbed his chin in a sharp nod. “No thanks necessary.”
Tanner sputtered, snapping her head over with a frown. Archer slowly pivoted to face her, but he didn’t so much as flinch.
The temperature in the room dropped another five degrees.
Wow. Eden resisted the urge to check Kelly’s reaction. One of two things had just happened. Either Archer had bought into her act hook, line and sinker, and was ticked she’d been rude to Kelly after everything he’d done for her. Or, the more distressing option, Archer hadn’t bought her lie for a second, and was ticked she’d been so rude to Kelly after everything he’d done for her.
Either way, the guy considered her disposable. Awesome.
“Molly Simmons is our lead AV Tech on the case.” D’Avella nodded toward the young woman on Eden’s left.
Disheveled was the first word that came to mind. In fact, Eden wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had told her Molly had just crawled out of bed to attend the meeting. Not that her eclectic wardrobe counted for anything. Or those bedazzled flip-flops on her feet.
The excitement in her hazel eyes is what made Eden hesitate, until she remembered how Kelly had told her Molly had once paid the bills as a hacker.
That was impressive. It took a boatload of brains and nerves of steel to hoe that row. Eden would be smart to keep one ear tuned in Molly’s direction during this bizarre mishmash of individuals à la Fellowship of the Ring.
“You’re good.” She placed her hand on Eden’s arm, voice subdued as she leaned in. “But I’m better.”
Eden hesitated. Better at what?
Kelly coughed—an oh-so-phony attempt at warning Molly to zip it—reached for the thermal coffee pot in the center of the table and poured a cup.
“I figured out the algorithm,” she whispered.
Ah. Eden winked. The program X-Ray had designed which bounced all incoming calls to Dirty Deeds off multiple servers. Nice. Molly had just earned herself a Get Out of Jail Free card. At some point soon, Eden would have to slip her the password.
“And lastly, I’ve asked Nick DeFranco to sit in on today’s proceedings.” D’Avella inclined her head toward the man on Eden’s right. “Chief Medical Examiner working under Detective Riordan.”
Cripes, those glasses had to weigh a ton. Poor guy. Still, his brown eyes were kind behind those thick lenses, and if Kelly trusted him, well, then, that was good enough for her.
Eden shook his hand before nodding across the table at Tanner. “I’d like to thank everyone for welcoming Tanner Jones as well. As one of my closest associates, I value her input.” She glanced at the door. “Unfortunately, before we get started, there’s one other important person I’d like us to wait f—”
“Oh, yeah?” A loud ruckus echoed from the hallway. “Well, I don’t remember asking your permission!”
The door flew open and Mocha entered, plunked his floppy purse on the end of the table and propped his hands on the rhinestone-studded hips of his designer jeans. “Geez!” He tossed a section of his dark weave over one shoulder. “You’d think this place was Fort Knox.”
Eden smiled down at her lap. God love him, Mocha always did enjoy making an entrance. Only one of the many kickbacks from his time dragging it up onstage.
“Everyone, this is Mocha.” She scanned the stunned faces of the group, introducing D’Avella’s team in reverse order, but nothing on God’s green Earth could’ve stopped the humor from coloring her voice. Especially once she got to Kelly’s jaw-flapping frown. “And, finally, I’d like you to meet Detectives Kelly Riordan and Ben Archer.”
But whether or not Mocha paid any attention or even cared about their names remained up for grabs.
“Starsky.” He bobbed his chin at Kelly before shifting his attention to Archer’s glacial stare. “Hutch.”
Eden rolled her lips to stifle a laugh.
“Just Mocha?” Archer crossed his arms. “No last name like, I don’t know, Smith or Jones or Doe?”
Tanner scoffed, her angular bob swinging around her chin as she shot Archer another ass-singeing glare. He peeked at her out of the corner of his eye, but his jaw stayed locked, his face a concreted mask of indifference.
One of Mocha’s tweezed eyebrows inched toward his hairline, and he flipped his hands open on either side of his lavender suede blazer. “Does this look like it needs a last name to you?”
He wheeled his chair away from the table, sat and smacked his palms to the top, peering down the length toward Captain D’Avella. “Now, I wanna know exactly what your plan is to keep my baby girl safe.”
Fabulous. Let the games begin. Eden straightened her shoulders, crossing her legs as she pivoted toward the captain.
Kelly cleared his throat and stood. “I’d like to take the lead, if that meets with everyone’s approval.”
Most of the group swiveled to face him. Others nodded. Eden bounced one shoulder in a non-committal shrug.
She’d known this was coming. Heck, they’d rehashed this strategy during the car ride here. Kelly would fill in the missing blanks in the case, handle any questions. All she had to do was sit here and listen while trying not to lose her shit.
Molly sat forward and her fingers skipped over her keyboard at the same rate popcorn exploded in the microwave. An authoritative rap, and the lights dimmed as a white board hummed down from the ceiling, covering the wall at Tanner’s back.
P-rat’s mug shot flashed onto the screen, and Eden started in her chair. Jesus. She turned her face to the side in an attempt to lessen the sting. Not that it worked. That calculating sneer had been stamped on her brain for all eternity.
Her shoulders dropped, along with her stomach, heart and every other internal organ taking up space in her body.
God. Viv.
Lowering her focus to the table, Eden swallowed at the thickness in her throat. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the terror her long-lost friend had suffered at seeing Adrian in person. The mind-numbing shock. Viv had probably been so freaked out, nabbing her off the street had been like jerking the strings on a puppet. Hell, given their history, she’d most likely followed wherever Adrian had led without so much as a peep.
And then the asshole had tortured her. Again. He’d tied her up and stabbed her over and over in hopes of learning information she didn’t even have in her possession.
A choking rage boiled up from the pit of her stomach, and Eden ground her molars, hands fisted under the table. God, what she wouldn’t give for just ten seconds alone with the egotistical prick. For the first time in her entire life, the hard, fast line she’d drawn against physical revenge wouldn’t matter. If the jerk got so much as within fifty feet of her, she’d nail his feet to the floor before hacking off his balls with a machete.
“Ms. Smith?” Kelly’s voice broke through her anger and she snapped her head up. Apprehension shone in each set of eyes around the table, everyone staring at her like she was some sideshow circus freak, but the only opinion about her state of mind that mattered was Kelly’s. More than anyone else, he’d pinpointed exactly what she’d been thinking. The understanding in his eyes said it all. “Would you like a moment before we continue?”
He was just being sweet. Trying to watch out for her like he always did, but the only thing she wanted was P-rat’s car careening off the edge of a steep cliff. Preferably above a gaping chasm filled with sharp, metal spikes.
“What I’d like, Detective, is irrelevant.” None of this would be better until the sadistic jackass got exactly what he deserved, but she couldn’t do a damn thing about making him pay while stuck in this room. “The sooner we get this over with, the better. Please continue. I’m fine.”
Kelly nodded and turned toward the screen, but based on the stiffness that had crawled into his shoulders, the tension cranking through his jaw, he was worried about her. She glanced around the table, everyone concentrating on P-rat’s mug shot or consulting their notes. At least, it seemed so to her.
Her spine wrenched, and she blinked. Hold on, that was it. The solution she’d been searching for ever since Kelly had suggested she leave the city.
From the very beginning, his strategy had seemed off to her. Misguided. But now? The answer was so obvious she couldn’t believe she’d missed it.
The screen changed and a picture of the Pratt residence appeared center stage. Another tap of Molly’s finger, and three of Adrian’s last known associates filled the screen.
Eden shifted uncomfortably, re-crossing her legs. So now what? Countering Kelly’s points in front of the entire team was going to crash and burn like the Hindenburg. Not to mention how pissed he was bound to be once he heard she’d changed the plan.
He’d want his hands on her, all right. To throttle her neck.
But maybe that was best. The supposed silver lining behind the miserable pressure bent on squeezing the air from her lungs. After all, what better way to convince both teams she and Kelly were truly on opposite sides of the fence than to force an argument right in front of their faces? Yes, it would be a dirty hand to play, but wasn’t catching Adrian the whole point of this meeting? To make sure he paid for the crimes he’d committed? While Kelly’s plan had merit, if hers worked, they’d be guaranteed success much, much faster.
Eden dropped her forehead into her hand as he laid out a detailed synopsis of the events leading up to the discovery of Viv’s body. Malcolm’s involvement, the trial and how Eden had been the linchpin to making sure Adrian had been led away in chains. But she didn’t really listen. She’d lived every unforgiving moment. Had groveled and begged to stay safe and alive through the hell everyone jotted down like her existence was no more than a grocery list.
And disconnecting, trusting Kelly to make the call on what was and wasn’t important was just better. Less disturbing.
It was either that or she was apt to lose what little control she had left.
“Have we learned any information about the location of Vivian…” D’Avella flipped through the file folders she’d spread over the table. “Eggers’s murder scene?”
Archer shook his head. “No leads have surfaced. Whoever this Pratt character is, he’s good at covering his tracks.”
Eden huffed. The dude had no idea.
The captain shifted her attention to Molly. “Did we make any progress on how Adrian Pratt received his parole without Ms. Smith being notified of his release?”
Surprise jabbed the pit of Eden’s stomach. How the heck had D’Avella heard about that? She peeked at Kelly out of the corner of her eye and he lowered his chin just enough to provide the answer. Gotcha. He must’ve reported the snafu the minute he’d had the captain’s ear. Or, better yet, he’d gone straight to Molly and asked her to track what had happened to the missing letter.
“I’m guessing it’s because no notifications were ever sent.” Molly clicked a few keys and the ID badge of a middle aged woman blanketed the wall, mousy brown hair pulled back in a bun, tired brown suit jacket hanging off her shoulders. “Say hi to Jane Edwards. File clerk for the Third District Parole Board. Far as I can tell, the paper trail both starts and ends with her.”
Swiveling his chair back to the table, Archer cocked a brow. “I’ve already sent a squad to pick her up. Trust me, Ms. Edwards and I will be having a nice long discussion regarding her job responsibilities.”
“Start with her finances, instead. According to her most recent bank statement, a large deposit was made…” Molly paled. Slowly sitting back from her keyboard, she grimaced. “Shit. Sorry, boss.”
Uh, oh. Eden swiveled her head toward D’Avella.
“How many times do we have to go over this, Molly?” The captain braced her forearm on the table, thumb furiously clicking the mechanical thingamajig on the end of her pen. “Do you think I like putting you on probation? The paperwork gives me a migraine.”
“I know, I know, I was playing a hunch.” She hiked her shoulders near her ears. “Sorry,” she squeaked.
“Wait. Isn’t filing a form on Molly sorta pointless?” Nick DeFranco sat forward on Eden’s right. “I thought she was still on probation from our last case.”
D’Avella’s team shared a chuckle, the captain and Kelly included. All, except Molly, who shot a scowl down the table toward the medical examiner.
Okay, what the heck was going on here? Eden’s gaze ping-ponged around the faces in the room. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve sworn this meeting was taking place at Dirty Deeds. Everyone treated each other like family. Instead of Molly shrinking under D’Avella’s reprimand, they acted like her being in trouble was a joke.
“All right, enough.” The captain waved her hands over the table. “Enough, people.” She waited for the group to settle before peering at Eden over the top of her half-glasses. “You’ll have to forgive us, Ms. Smith. I’ve repeatedly warned our Tech AV about hijacking people’s personal information without first attaining the proper warrants. I can assure you, those are not our usual methods.”
Uh-h-h, was she kidding? Eden crossed her arms, studying the clever twinkle in Meredith D’Avella’s eyes. No, not kidding. Fibbing. For Eden’s benefit. In fact, letting her subordinates play their hunches was exactly the way Captain D’Avella ran her organization. Why else would they treat Molly’s violation like a regular occurrence?
Results are what mattered to this team. Exactly the same as each case Eden contracted at Dirty Deeds. Making sure their victims saw justice, so as long as everyone covered their asses by filling out the proper forms.
No, wait. Eden frowned down the table at Mocha and he shrugged. Come on, that couldn’t be right.
She refocused on Captain D’Avella and raised a brow. “I completely understand.”
“Thank you.” The captain pointed to the young girl peeking over the screen of her laptop. “Molly, I expect a search warrant on my desk first thing in the morning. And no counterfeits this time. That wasn’t funny.” She firmed her lips as if she’d just caught Molly with her hand in the cookie jar. “In the meantime, good work. I’m sure Detective Archer appreciates the tip.”
Molly grinned down at her keyboard, sneaked a peek at Eden and rolled her eyes. She pressed a key and the fluorescents gradually brightened to their previous headache-inducing glare.
Kelly reclaimed his seat as the white screen retracted into the ceiling. “So, given the background on this case and lack of additional victims, I think it’s pretty safe to say Ms. Smith is our perp’s final target. With that in mind, I’m proposing we move her to a secure location outside the city and keep her under surveillance until Adrian Pratt has been apprehended. Once he’s in custody, it’s just a matter of matching Pratt’s DNA to the cells DeFranco found under Vivian Eggers’s fingernails. In addition to Ms. Smith’s testimony, that should make this case a slam dunk.”
The group exchanged a round of nods, except for Tanner and Mocha, who both looked to Eden for approval. No doubt, this was the way D’Avella and her team generally rolled with the punches. It was formulaic. Customary. Standard witness protection procedure.
And completely and totally wrong.
Yes, the evidence stacked against Adrian would be highly suspicious, but it would also be circumstantial. Neither the DNA match nor his motive would confirm he’d killed Malcolm and Viv beyond the shadow of a doubt. Too many holes would be left in the case. Too many ways Adrian’s attorney could plant a seed of uncertainty in a jury’s mind.
No way in hell was Eden about take that risk.
Adrian Pratt deserved life behind bars.
She exhaled a slow, calming breath to steady her nerves. God, this was gonna suck. “I firmly and wholeheartedly disagree.”