Alone in the Dark (38 page)

Deacon shook his head. ‘That’s okay. You did the last one. Plus I recruited him from the field office into the joint task force with CPD. Zimmerman will go with me.’

Zimmerman, Marcus knew, was the special agent in charge of the FBI’s Cincinnati Field Office and Deacon’s direct boss. Marcus knew this because Zimmerman had visited him in the hospital. He’d seemed like a decent man.

Scarlett dropped her hand back to her side. ‘If you change your mind, let me know.’

‘I will.’ Deacon turned to Marcus. ‘Why did you want to know when he was killed?’

‘Because I’m trying to put the pieces together in my mind,’ Marcus said, ‘to get the timeline straight. If he was killed as soon as he parked back there, then the shooter had to have been here before you arrived, which would mean he was likely left to guard the house. But since he wasn’t dead that long, the killer probably came back to find something – or someone.’

‘You think he came back for Tabby?’ Scarlett asked.

Marcus shrugged. ‘Maybe. Whoever broke down the door could have shot Anders and his family and left their bodies here, but they didn’t.’

Scarlett nodded. ‘They dragged them out kicking and screaming, according to Tabby.’

‘Lots of bullet holes in the walls upstairs,’ Deacon said. ‘There was a definite struggle.’

‘They might have killed them when they got them away from the house,’ Scarlett continued, ‘so that they didn’t leave any bodies for us to find. They didn’t take Tabby because Chip had shoved her under the bed.’

Deacon frowned. ‘It doesn’t make sense that he’d try to save her from the thugs that broke in after nearly killing her himself.’

‘She was trying to reach for a cell phone when I found her,’ Marcus said. ‘Chip might have shoved her under the bed not to save her, but so that
she
could save
them
later. Maybe he left the phone so that she could call the police, but she was beaten too badly to crawl out and get it once the intruders were gone.’

‘Vince, what can you tell us about the phone?’ Deacon asked, motioning the man over.

‘It’s a throwaway,’ Tanaka said. ‘The number doesn’t match the one that the victim used to text your cell phone, Mr O’Bannion,’ he added before Marcus could ask that very question. ‘It’s bagged and tagged. We’ll check it out at the lab, see if we can figure out who it belonged to.’

Scarlett was frowning. ‘If the intruders had known Tabby was here, they would have searched until they found her. I don’t think they would have left her here to be a witness.’

‘So Chip was keeping secrets from his dealer,’ Deacon said thoughtfully.

‘Secrets they might have since forced out of him,’ Marcus said. ‘That’s why they didn’t kill them here – they wanted answers.’

‘Like maybe who killed Tala?’ Scarlett asked.

Marcus nodded. ‘It keeps coming back to her.’

Scarlett retrieved her phone from where it had fallen when she and Marcus barreled through the door. ‘I’m calling in for a security detail to stand outside Tabby’s door at the hospital. If the shooter did come back to find her here, he might try to get her there. She may be our only witness to what happened here. If she lives.’ She made the call, then handed Marcus’s cap-cam to Tanaka, who put it in an evidence bag.

‘Wait,’ she said with a frown when Tanaka opened evidence bags for the trackers Deacon still held. ‘Why did they leave the trackers?’ she asked.

‘What do you mean?’ Tanaka asked.

‘I’m trying to get the timeline straight in my mind too,’ she said. ‘If the intruders came in through that door, they would have walked right by these trackers on the floor on their way to the stairs. They kidnapped the Anders family, firing shots in the process. They had to think that the cops might be called at some point. Why leave the trackers here for us to find later? Why not take them?’

‘Especially since they’re a match for the one you took off Tala,’ Deacon added.

Tanaka shrugged. ‘I can’t venture a guess right now. Did you get the serial numbers from these two?’ he asked, holding up the bags with the trackers.

Deacon nodded. ‘I did, thanks. I’ll check it out ASAP and get back to you. I’m off to pick up Zimmerman.’ He glanced at Marcus. ‘Lie low for a while, okay? Twice in one day . . . I’d hate to see them get a chance to get lucky on a third try.’

‘I’ll keep my head down,’ Marcus said. It was the most he would promise, because he didn’t want to lie to Deacon.

Scarlett’s pointed gaze said that she hadn’t missed his evasion and that he hadn’t heard the end of the matter. ‘I’ll start tracking down Annabelle,’ she said to Deacon.

Deacon sighed wearily. ‘Zimmerman and I need to notify Agent Spangler’s wife. Don’t forget about our meeting at the field office. I’ll meet you there.’

When he was gone, Scarlett moved to the open doorway, stepping around the door that lay on the floor. Silently she studied the wreckage, then turned to face Marcus, her expression subdued. ‘I’ll take you back to your office now.’

Sixteen

Cincinnati, Ohio
Tuesday 4 August, 2.30
P.M.

Scarlett buckled her seat belt, then leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. She’d been calm through the whole ordeal, but now that they were truly alone, she let herself feel the terror of those moments when bullets were flying far too close to their heads. Or, more accurately, to Marcus’s head. Those bullets had not been meant for her. A shooter good enough to follow them as they fell to the ground had aimed several inches above where her own head had been. ‘You could have been killed,’ she murmured to the man sitting beside her. ‘Again.’

‘But I wasn’t,’ Marcus responded calmly, his voice giving her chills despite the fact that the black department car, having been sitting in the August sun, was about five million degrees inside. ‘Again,’ he added, his voice dipping lower.

A new shiver raced over her skin, tickling between her legs. Swallowing a sigh, she pressed her thighs tighter together, her hands clenching the steering wheel. Words formed in her mind but disappeared before they reached her lips, so she sat there, clenched and . . . wanting.

‘Although,’ he said after a minute of absolute silence, ‘I might die of heat stroke soon if you don’t turn on the air.’

The rueful amusement in his voice shook her into action. Starting the car, she kicked on the AC. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, looking straight ahead.

‘I’m not.’

She twisted her head to stare at him, exhaling when she saw the raw desire in his eyes. ‘You can’t look at me like that.’

‘Why not?’ His lips curved, sinfully sexy. ‘I’m not a cop. No breaking of police rules there. I’m not a suspect, am I?’

‘No.’ The word she’d intended to sound businesslike and practical came out husky and breathless.

His jaw clenched and he swallowed hard. ‘You can’t talk to me that way, then.’

She drew a breath, executed a quick three-point turn, and pulled away from the line of police cars. ‘Okay.’

From the corner of her eye, she saw his lips twitch. ‘Okay to what?’

‘I won’t talk to you that way and you won’t look at me that way.’

His almost-smile disappeared. ‘Where will I, then? And when?’

She didn’t pretend not to know what he was asking. She knew what she should say, that they couldn’t have a relationship until this case was finished. Or maybe ever, at least until she knew what kind of reporter he was and what kind of threat he represented. But none of that came from her mouth.

‘Not at a crime scene. And not in public while this case is still ongoing.’ She could feel his gaze, studying her profile.

‘Why were you looking at that door in the basement?’ he asked.

She blinked, not expecting that response. ‘I wanted to see where the bullets hit. He was aiming at you. If you hadn’t moved, you’d be dead.’

‘But I did move, and the bullets missed us. You’re not dead and neither am I. Not by a long shot,’ he added in a mutter.

She glanced over at his face, then down at his lap. And had to bite back a whimper. No, he was not dead. Nowhere even close. She clenched her hands around the wheel to keep herself from touching him, from stroking that hard ridge that beckoned her.

‘God,’ she whispered. ‘That’s not fair, Marcus.’

‘Don’t I know it,’ he said under his breath, then adjusted himself with a grimace. ‘So where, Scarlett, and when?’

‘I . . . I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far.’

‘I have,’ he said quietly. ‘Take me home with you.’

She turned her head with a jerk to stare at him. He was not joking. She’d never seen a man look more serious. Another car tooted its horn, and she abruptly returned her attention to the road just in time to avert an accident. ‘You mean now?’

‘Yes.’

‘I . . . Marcus, we can’t do that now. I have to walk my dog and get back to work.’

‘Why, Scarlett,’ he said, the dry amusement back in his voice. ‘I’m only planning to look at you. You know, like
that
. Which I can do while you’re walking your dog. Whatever did
you
mean?’ He clucked his tongue. ‘You naughty woman, you.’

She had to laugh. ‘You’re . . .’ She sobered, then sighed. ‘Alive. You’re alive.’

‘I am,’ he said just as soberly, all the humor gone. ‘I’m afraid you’ve seen me at my worst. I’m not normally dodging bullets. This is an unusual day.’

‘You wear a bulletproof vest. You get death threats on a regular basis.’

‘You’re a cop,’ he countered evenly. ‘People shoot at you all the time.’

‘Actually, they don’t. I think you’re ahead of me in that department.’ She tapped the tactical vest she still wore. With a shooter after Marcus, she wasn’t taking any chances at being collateral damage. ‘This is not my everyday attire.’

‘Why don’t you want to take me home?’

Unfamiliar panic rose to clog her throat. ‘I didn’t say that.’

He raked his fingers through the thick dark hair at his temple, then held his bloody hand out far enough for her to see without taking her eyes off the road. ‘I need first aid.’

‘The concrete chips,’ she said. The ones he’d sheltered her from. He’d been hit while she didn’t have a scratch on her body.

‘You have to take me home with you so that you can clean the wound and bandage me all up.’

She bit her lower lip. ‘I meant to have the paramedics look at it.’

‘They needed to tend to Tabby.’

‘They could have sent another pair of medics and you know it. Dammit, Marcus. I’m taking you to the hospital.’

‘
No
.’

The word sounded almost as panicked as she felt. ‘Why not?’

He drew a breath. ‘I don’t like hospitals.’

‘I guess I can understand that, given what happened last year. I don’t care much for them myself.’ An exit was fast approaching and Scarlett took it.

‘Where are we going?’ Marcus asked suspiciously.

‘I’m going to check you out. If it’s worse than I can deal with, I’m taking you to a doctor. Not a hospital,’ she added before he could protest.

The first parking lot she saw belonged to a church. At this time of the day, it was largely deserted. Scarlett stopped the car and went around to open Marcus’s door. She gave him her hand. ‘Stand up. It’s too dim in the car and I need more light to see. We’re sheltered here. No one can shoot at us unless he comes back here in person.’

And if that happened, she was taking the shooter down.

He cooperated, following her as she led him around the open door, backing him up so that he half sat, half leaned against the hood, his feet planted wide. From this position she’d be able to see a shooter approaching before he saw them. ‘Head down,’ she said.

‘Up, down,’ he grumbled, but dropped his chin obediently. ‘You’re bossy.’

‘And you’re just figuring that out?’ She leaned forward to get a better look at the cut on his head. Then sucked in a breath when he gripped her hips and pulled her closer, tucking her between his spread thighs.

‘You said you wanted to look,’ he murmured, his voice a low caress that made her shiver from the inside out. ‘So look.’

Her hands unsteady, Scarlett ignored the silky invitation, carefully parting the hair around the cut on his head. ‘It’s not too deep. I think I can fix it.’

‘Good.’ He pulled her closer, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder and drawing a deep breath. ‘You smell so good,’ he said, his exhale warm against her skin. ‘I could stay here all day. All night.’

The mental image of them writhing between her sheets had her trembling. ‘Marcus,’ she protested, but it was a weak protest indeed. Every cell in her body was urging her to press closer.

He lifted his head from her shoulder to look into her eyes. He was as serious as she’d ever seen him. ‘We’re not at a crime scene and nobody is shooting at us. I think we’ve waited long enough, Scarlett.’

Without further warning, he curled his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss that instantly took her breath away. No gentle introduction, this. His mouth was hard, intense and so . . . proprietary that she could only moan, wrap her arms around his neck, and kiss him back. His hands roved up and down her back impatiently and she cursed the tactical vest she wore for robbing her of his touch. With a frustrated noise deep in his throat, his hands slid down her back, past the vest, to close over her butt, kneading her cheeks.

It felt so good that she almost whimpered. Hell, maybe she did whimper, because he growled and yanked her closer, using his hold on her butt to press her hips into his. She’d felt his erection when he’d lain on top of her in the basement, and it had taken every ounce of her willpower – and the knowledge that a gunman could be coming through the basement door – not to give in to temptation. But now there was no shooter, no situation. Just Marcus, his hands on her ass and the very impressive ridge in his jeans.

All for me
. The realization left her heady. And greedy. She rubbed against him, lifting her leg to bracket his hip.
Closer
, was all she could think. She needed to be closer.

His groan vibrated through his chest as he pulled back only far enough to let her breathe, grazing her lips with his. ‘I want you,’ he said, his voice gone gravelly and rough. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, then smiled against his mouth, a sudden surge of happiness rising up within her. ‘I figured that out for myself.’

He squeezed her butt even as he smiled back. ‘And?’

Leaning away to see his face, she abruptly sobered as reality came crashing through.
Shit.
They were parked behind a church, going at it like teenagers with no regard for . . . anything.

His smile faded. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I want you too,’ she confessed quietly. ‘So much that it scares me.’

His brows crunched together, his body going very still. His hands still covered her ass as if he didn’t intend to let her go, and the notion felt way too good. ‘Why does it scare you?’

‘Because I got so caught up that I forgot to be careful. You’re standing out in the open and I wasn’t watching. Anything could have happened to you.’

He drew a deep breath, his stiff shoulders relaxing as he exhaled. ‘Then you have to take me home with you.’ One dark brow lifted. ‘We’ll be safe there, right?’

Feeling the tension leave his body helped the tension leave hers. ‘Yes. But we can’t stay there long, and we can’t do any more of
this
, no matter how pleasant it’s been. I have to find Annabelle and Tala’s baby. And the bastards who shot you. Both of them.’

‘I’d feel sorry for them if they didn’t have it coming. I wouldn’t want to be on your shit list.’ He pulled away reluctantly. ‘So this has been
pleasant
?’ he asked, his tone saying he knew full well that it had been so much more.

Scarlett was nearly undone. Willing herself to move away from him, she returned to the driver’s seat and buckled up, staring straight ahead. Because if she looked at him, she might not be able to look away. ‘Yes,’ she said firmly when she heard his seat belt click into place. ‘Pleasant. A woman has to make sure you don’t get a big head.’

‘I think that train’s left the station, Detective. It’s already pretty big,’ he said blandly.

Scarlett whipped her head to stare at him, then snorted a shocked laugh when she saw his innocent expression. ‘I’m not sure what to do with you.’

He smiled at her. ‘Oh, no worries. I have lots of ideas.’

She put the car in gear and headed toward the highway, feeling breathless in the best of ways. ‘I’m sure you do, Mr O’Bannion. I’m sure you do.’

Cincinnati, Ohio
Tuesday 4 August, 2.35
P.M.

Ken strolled down the stairs to his basement, a plate of steaming lasagna in one hand and a glass of iced tea in the other. He’d needed a little extra time to breathe through his temper after his call with Demetrius. To put his thoughts in order. And to make himself lunch.

That cocky, careless sonofabitch
. Ken had pulled up the phone-tracking software on his own phone so that he could see Demetrius’s actual location while he’d reheated the lasagna from dinner the night before.

Demetrius’s phone was where Demetrius had said he’d be – on his way to O’Bannion’s newspaper office. Ken had set an alarm so that he’d know if Demetrius veered off course for any reason, then let himself enjoy the aroma of his lunch. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been until his stomach growled. Holding back from breaking Stephanie Anders’s pretty neck had burned a lot of fuel.

The aroma of food served another purpose as well, giving his captives another reminder that they were . . . captives.
At my mercy for food, water. Life itself
. Chip and Stephanie should be hungry and thirsty by now. If the smell of Marlene Anders’s blood and the sight of her gaping throat hadn’t permanently stolen their appetites.

When he returned to the basement, father and daughter looked up, both their gazes still intense. The break had allowed them to recharge. It would take a little while to wear them back down. Time Ken didn’t have.
Stupid fucking Demetrius
. If he’d called thirty seconds later, Ken would have already had the information.