Howard Johnson Inn, 11:50 p.m.
The hot water relaxed her muscles and seeped deep into her bones. Jess exhaled a chestful of tension and eased lower into the water. It might not be a jetted tub or even one with bubbles, but filled with hot, steamy water this old motel tub did the trick. And as long as she kept her eyes closed she could imagine that she was surrounded by sleek travertine and glistening fixtures. The fragrance of vanilla bean drifted from the candle she’d picked up at Walmart and parked on the toilet tank.
Cracking one eye open she reached for the plastic cup of wine perched on the toilet lid. The sweet white pleasure was room temperature, but after three generous cups she was well on her way to not caring. The flickering flame of the candle gave the dark, cramped room a hint of ambiance.
She cleared her mind of work—especially those damned shoes Darcy Chandler should have been wearing as she took that fatal plunge. Not her case. Finding DeShawn Simmons and analyzing the Druid Hills gang problem was the only case on her agenda. Captain Ted Allen from the Gang Task Force had provided an on-the-spot and comprehensive briefing into his investigation of the gang activities in Birmingham. Based on what Harper had told her, Allen had done an outstanding job, but the problem was out of control. He needed help. He needed SPU.
And DeShawn Simmons needed to be found. Allen couldn’t connect Simmons with any gang members or activities on his radar. Ordinarily that might prove fortunate, but since Jess was better than ninety percent certain his disappearance was gang related, the lack of available information was rather unfortunate. Jess told Allen as much. If he monitored this territory as thoroughly as he claimed, why wasn’t he aware of Simmons and some gang leader’s ex-girlfriend named Nina? Allen had no answer for her.
After the drive-by situation was wrapped up at the Simmons home, Jess had dropped by the ER to ensure that Harper was patched up and had a way home since she was driving his SUV—which, incredibly, had survived with less damage than if he’d driven through an unexpected hailstorm. She’d requested a security detail for the Simmons home for the next couple of days. Though she suspected the intent of the shooters had been to send a message to the cops, if the intent had been to show the cops who was boss by taking one or more out, then tonight’s shooters were scandalously bad shots. With her and Harper out in the open like that, even a half-assed shot should have been able to do better than grazing a thigh.
For Jess, the message was loud and clear. DeShawn Simmons crossed the wrong person and had paid the price. If his grandparents insisted on pursuing the matter, there would be trouble. But what those thugs needed to bear in mind was that their problem was Jess, not the grandparents.
If, as she suspected, Simmons’s disappearance was related to MS-13, that reality added a whole new layer of ugliness to the situation. MS-13, Mara Salvatrucha, represented a growing and mobile threat in most communities. They were fearless and used the most violent tactics. As recruiters they were relentless, as enemies ruthless. Their range of criminal activities was broad and varied. Drugs, murder, prostitution, robbery, you name it. There was little they wouldn’t do and violence was always the overwhelming theme. Their members were either immensely loyal or stone-cold dead.
She and Harper were damned lucky that, for whatever reasons, this evening’s warning had been decidedly nonlethal. It didn’t quite fit unless that was only the preview before the main event.
To her surprise Burnett hadn’t shown up at the scene or at the hospital. Usually he was Johnny-on-the-spot to do the protector thing. Which would have provided the opportunity for her to demand why he’d kept Helen Simmons’s request from her. Why not just tell her that she couldn’t stay on the Chandler case because she had been requested by the family of a possible victim in another case?
Helen Simmons had prayed for Jess’s help after watching the news. Had she missed the part about how badly Jess had screwed up the Player case?
Jess squeezed her eyes shut and forced images of Eric Spears and Matthew Reed from her head. Spears, the Player, had gotten away. A serial killer with dozens of murders on his score sheet, and he had slipped through their fingers.
Through her fingers. Not once but twice.
His protégé, Matthew Reed, hadn’t been so lucky. He was dead. The sound of the bullet exploding from her Glock echoed in her brain. She’d had no choice. She’d do it again if necessary. Reed had killed Special Agent Nora Miller and he’d very nearly done the same to Realtor Belinda Howard just last week. The bureau had since learned that Reed had killed his own parents and planted them in the backyard of their West Coast home. Those three murders were documented. There was no way to know how many others he’d murdered. As much as she believed in and respected the justice system, there were those who didn’t deserve a trial… who didn’t deserve even the most remote opportunity to repeat their heinous acts.
Matthew Reed had been one of those people.
Didn’t matter to the powers that be that she had used that single bullet fired from her weapon on a twisted killer who would have kept on killing as long as he had breath in him. She still had to deal with the consequences. The internal review into her actions was ongoing, and that included a psych eval.
“Whoop-de-do.” Who didn’t want some shrink crawling around inside their head? She had a degree in psychology, for heaven’s sake. Another human being was dead because of her. Yes, she understood that. She had committed the ultimate violent act against a living being. Got it. But it was either kill him or allow him to keep killing innocent people at the bidding of an even more evil man. She had made the right decision. The only decision.
Given the chance, she would put a bullet between Spears’s eyes as well. A smart man would never allow himself to get that close to her again. But maybe even the most brilliant of evil men had temptations they couldn’t resist. If she needed to test that theory, all she had to do was consider that Spears still contacted her when the right occasion presented itself.
He’d had the audacity to text her before boarding a commercial airliner to flee the country just five days ago. The bureau had lost him and Jess hadn’t heard from him since. But she had a feeling that he wasn’t finished playing his games with her just yet.
Until next time.
“That’s right, Spears. I’ll get you next time.”
If Burnett found out the peace lily plant sent to the hospital when he was recovering from last week’s stabbing had come from Spears, he would be fit to be tied. Spears had apparently placed the order before boarding that flight out of JFK. He could be anywhere now. Part of her hoped he stayed wherever the hell that was, but another, more twisted part of her wanted to end this once and for all. Wanted to ensure he never killed again. Burnett, on the other hand, would prefer that Spears never got anywhere near her again. The problem with that scenario was that letting him close might just be the only way to get a killer like Spears. Dangle the bait and wait. That was precisely the reason she couldn’t tell Burnett about any contact with the bastard. As long as Spears had some sort of twisted attraction to her there was a chance she might find herself face-to-face with him again.
Jess sipped her room-temperature wine as she recalled a line from on old Clint Eastwood movie. “Go ahead, Spears, make my day.”
Just further proof that she actually did need that psych eval. Poor Mrs. Simmons. She had prayed for Jess’s help. Bless her heart.
Pounding on the door made her jump. She dropped her plastic cup in the tub. “Shit.”
She felt on the floor next to the tub for her Glock, her heart racing a hundred miles per hour, and snatched it up. Who the hell would be at her door at this hour?
So much for her Dirty Harry attitude.
Weapon in hand, she stood, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around her. One dripping foot hit the floor, then the other. She eased the bathroom door open and listened. Besides the candle, the dim glow from the table lamp by the bed was the only other illumination in the motel room that currently served as her home.
She mentally ran down the list of people who knew her temporary address. Wouldn’t be Harper. He would call first. Lori, maybe? Jess doubted she would show up without calling first either.
Another round of pounding followed by, “Jess! You in there?”
She rolled her eyes. Burnett.
“Hold your horses!”
Where was her robe? Closet. After placing her weapon on the counter, she swabbed her damp skin with the towel, then tossed it aside and grabbed her robe.
“Coming!”
At the door, she drew in a deep breath and wished she had taken the time to comb her hair. The wild mess was pinned haphazardly on top of her head. Unfortunately she wasn’t one of those women who could pull off the freshly-risen-from-tousled-sheets look.
Be that as it may, she unlocked and opened the door. “I was trying to relax in the tub. What’s up?” Why didn’t you call? she didn’t bother tacking on.
If she had her guess, he was here to scold her about not being better prepared in a neighborhood like Druid Hills. Or for making that comment to Captain Allen about his Gang Task Force having completely missed the Simmons connection. Oddly enough, Allen had taken her dressing down pretty well.
One look at Burnett’s grim expression and she decided that maybe Allen hadn’t taken it so well after all.
She’d built her reputation on crossing lines. Why was Burnett or anyone else surprised at her tactics? Actually, he should be here checking on her well-being. Not to mention her top detective’s.
“What happened tonight?” Burnett demanded.
“It’s almost midnight. Are you just now getting the news?” He was the chief of police. Didn’t someone inform him when there were bullets fired at one of his deputy chiefs? And what was with the two cups of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee? He towered in her doorway, a cup in each hand. A peace offering? Chocolate would have been a better choice.
Or more wine.
For two weeks she had fussed at him about checking up on her and worrying about every little thing she did and doing the protector thing. Oddly, after being shot at, she was a little miffed at not getting any of that.
She mentally added wishy-washiness to her list of reasons the psych eval was a good thing.
Those blue eyes that she quite often felt could see through brick walls and definitely could see through her big fat lies searched her face before skimming her robe-clad body. “Are you all right?”
She relented and backed up. “Get in here before my neighbors mistake you for a drug connection or a pimp.”
“After this weekend I suspect it’s too late to avoid all sorts of conclusions.” He came inside and closed the door. “I wouldn’t lose any sleep over what the regulars in this neighborhood thought.”
The heat that swept through her like a flash fire whenever she thought about this past weekend scorched her now. Frustrated the hell out of her. Twenty-some years ago they had been madly in love and then he’d given up on them and walked away. Before a couple weeks ago she hadn’t even seen him in ten years. Another annoying flash fire roared through her at the memory of them running into each other in a Publix supermarket that Christmas over a decade ago. They’d ended up in bed together that time too.
What did it say about her that she kept repeating that particular mistake?
“Don’t start again with where I live.” This motel was only temporary. She had to sell her house in Stafford before she could consider buying one here. Unlike the Dentons and the Burnetts of the world, she couldn’t afford to own two houses at the same time and drive luxury vehicles to boot. Besides, she might not even opt to buy another house. She was rarely home. Why not just get an apartment or condo? Who needed all the lawn maintenance responsibility? She kind of liked knowing that stuff was taken care of. This secret would go to her grave with her, but she had grown somewhat attached to having a maid as well. Not that the one here was that great, but not having to worry about vacuuming or making the bed was a serious perk.
All those years she had castigated Katherine Burnett for being too lazy to clean her own house. Well, now she knew.
He held up the coffee. “You’re right. No more low-rent-district jabs.” He offered her one of the cups. “I know it’s late. I brought coffee. Thought we could catch up on what happened this evening.”
That he still wore the charcoal suit he’d been wearing at work today told her he hadn’t been home yet. He worked too hard. But the fine lines all that responsibility had etched into his handsome face just made him look distinguished. Unlike her, he pulled off the rumpled look as if he’d taken lessons from George Clooney.
“I don’t want any coffee. Are you just leaving the office?”
The instantaneous and complete lockdown that closed his expression gave her the answer before he opened his mouth to offer whatever excuse he was clearly scrambling to dredge up.
It was too late to take back the question. Mortified, she suppressed a groan. That they had shared the bed only a few feet behind her for most of Saturday and Sunday didn’t give either of them controlling stock in the other’s business. They had rules about that. Sort of.
“I had dinner with Annette at Bottega’s. We needed to talk about Andrea.” He shrugged, the gesture too quick and blatantly stilted. “She’s having a tough time and after today it’s only going to get worse. I didn’t realize my cell was on silent until I was headed home.”
Wow. He had dinner with his most recent ex-wife and had his cell on silent? He didn’t even do that when they had sex. Far more suspicious was the idea that it was almost midnight and he was just leaving Annette.
Jess stiffened her spine. She absolutely refused to show the nasty green jealousy currently coursing through her veins. “What does Brandon have to say about all this?” Brandon was Andrea’s father and Annette’s current husband who used to be her ex. Jess did a mental shake of her head. These people were the ones who needed a psych eval.
“Brandon’s out of town on business.”
Do tell. “With her husband out of town,” Jess offered, “she had nowhere else to turn, I’m sure. It’s a good thing you could be there for her.” Gag.
Avoiding eye contact now, Burnett crossed the dinky room and placed the cups of coffee on the counter next to her Glock. Turning back to her he did a double take and studied the open bathroom door an extra second or two. Oops. He’d spotted the bottle of wine on the bathroom floor. Damn. She should have closed that door.
He gave her one of those looks that came from the chief of police, not the man. “Wine and a hot bath? That’s a dangerous combination for a woman alone in a motel room. Don’t you watch the news?”
Way to change the subject from his ex-wife and her out-of-town husband. “That tub is hardly deep enough for me to slip under the water on purpose much less by accident.” She would never in a million years admit that he had a valid point.
Another survey of the room and then his attention settled firmly on her. “Nine tomorrow morning. Dr. Pricilla Oden. You have her address on Nineteenth Street. Don’t forget.”
He’d already given her that instruction. He’d even had Harper checking up on her. Now he comes to her after dinner with his ex at one of Birmingham’s finest Italian restaurants wagging coffee to remind her that she needed to see the department shrink. “Thanks for the reminder, Chief. Now”—she gestured to the door—“I’d like to get back to my bath. And, FYI, Sergeant Harper was shot but it was only a flesh wound and he’ll be fine.”
For a long moment Burnett didn’t move. Just stared at her as if there were many things he wanted to say but somehow he couldn’t find the words. And, standing this close, she was nearly certain she could smell Annette’s perfume clinging to his jacket. Of course that could be explained by a mere hug. Everyone hugged in the South. It was some sort of unspoken rule or irresistible compulsion.
Jess had never been a hugger. Maybe it had something to do with multiple foster homes and nearly two decades in the bureau. Annette, on the other hand, was a hugger. She and her daughter often gave and accepted hugs twice in a row.
“I spoke to Harper a few minutes ago. He called to let me know what happened. No one else felt inclined to do so.”
He was blaming that on her? “And if I had called, how would you have known since your cell was on silent and you were otherwise occupied? After ten o’clock the work side of my brain retires for the evening.”
“You’re disappointed about the Chandler case. I get that,” he said finally, apparently opting to blame her attitude on work rather than his nightlife. “But I have to play by the rules, Jess. If you recall, we talked about rules on Saturday.”
Her face flushed and he noticed. The rules he referred to had been about their personal relationship, or more precisely their physical relationship. That she couldn’t control an outward reaction to the memory or to his pointing out the fact flustered her.
“That’s right,” she granted. “We’ve had that conversation already.” She wasn’t having it again unless he changed his mind about bending the work rules from time to time. Like allowing her to be involved in the Chandler investigation. That wasn’t going to happen unless Black begged for assistance. And that definitely wasn’t going to happen.
The position she had accepted at the BPD had looked a whole lot better when she was unemployed and her future, personal and professional, was up in the air. Now, in the harsh light of reality and the fact that all the best cases might get hogged up by Black, she was, frankly, having second thoughts. If that made her selfish or arrogant, then so be it. Wine did that to her sometimes.
Besides, these days she felt more comfortable about working murder cases. It was hard to do additional damage to a victim who was already dead… but finding one who might still be alive before it was too late was a whole different game.
For seventeen years she had profiled evil and investigated cases with the bureau and never once doubted her ability. Eric Spears had taken that away from her.
The department shrink would have a field day with that revelation. Except Jess wasn’t telling.
“I don’t know all the details on what went down this evening,” Burnett said instead of leaving, “but you could have been killed. Harper could have been killed. I assigned the Simmons case to you and that makes me responsible. I’m the chief of police; ultimately I’m always responsible.”
Now he wanted to play protector again. And guess what? That ticked her off, too. Maybe there was no neutral place in their relationship unless it was between the sheets. “We had that conversation, too. I don’t need you trying to protect me from my work. If Chief Black had been in my position would you be dropping by to see him with coffee at this hour? I don’t think so.”
That his attention remained on her lips a beat or two too long made it difficult for her to capture a decent breath.
“It’s late,” she announced in hopes of breaking the tension. “We both have big days tomorrow.” Hers wasn’t so much big as it was dreaded.
He blinked as if her words had just penetrated his brain. “I guess I’ll see you after your appointment.” He started backing toward the door.
“I guess you will.”
At the door he didn’t immediately reach to open it or even turn away from her for that matter. He just stared at her as if he wanted her to invite him to stay. Or maybe he wanted to explain that what happened in this room on Saturday and then again on Sunday couldn’t ever happen again. Whatever he wanted to say, he looked way too tempting for her to continue to ignore the hum of desire now vibrating stronger and stronger through her.
“The truth is,” he admitted, sounding as breathless as she felt, “I assigned the Simmons case to you because they need you, Jess. As tragic as Darcy Chandler’s death is, she’s gone. There might be hope for the Simmons kid. His family needs you. They deserve the same advantage Andrea and the others got. They deserve to have you on the case.”
“You didn’t tell me the grandmother asked for me. You didn’t tell me any of this.” His heartfelt admission would have made accepting the decision about the Chandler case a whole lot more palatable.
“I should have but I didn’t because I needed you to accept my decision because it was my decision.”
“Oh. I see.” Guess she’d crossed the line again. Failed to respect the chain of command, and all the other deputy chiefs were watching to see if she got away with it. Okay, she got it. It was late and she didn’t want to think anymore. The fight drained out of her in one sudden whoosh. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have questioned your decision.”
For a long time they just stood there watching each other. She imagined he was wondering the same thing she was. What now?
Might as well put them both out of their misery. “Night, Burnett.”
He reached behind him for the door and muttered, “Night, Jess.”
Then he was gone.
Jess locked the door behind him and collapsed against it.
Somehow they had to find their balance in this relationship. He couldn’t be her boss and play the part of personal protector at the same time. He damned sure couldn’t be her lover and show up armed with coffee in the middle of the night with the scent of another woman on his clothes.
She certainly couldn’t take note of his absence like she had after the shooting this evening and then be pissed that he showed up to check on her—with coffee no less.
That was a discussion they apparently needed to have at some point. Where work was concerned, she had been investigating crime too long for him to be checking behind her as if she were a rookie. She needed to stop with the waffling back and forth on the matter and get a grip on her professionalism. If she was completely honest with herself she would admit that the past few weeks had turned her life upside down and she was still reeling.
Any lingering frustration she felt fizzled.
He’d left without even giving her a good-night hug.
So much for Southern traditions or her professionalism. From the moment she had arrived back in Birmingham, Alabama, nearly two decades of expertise and experience had flown out the window.