Cold Hearted (Cold Justice Book 6) (9 page)

Bickham cleared her throat, oblivious to the sexual undertones simmering between him and Donovan. “That’ll be great, Agent Singh, thanks.”

“Call me Darsh.” He gave the officer his best smile.

“Yes, sir.” Bickham nodded and quickly left.

“Why’s she so nervous?” he asked Erin after the rookie was gone, grateful to have something other than them or the case to discuss.

Erin tapped her pen on the table as she read some notes she’d made in her book. “I think she’s a little in awe of the fact you’re FBI,” she said absently. “She told me once it’s her ultimate dream to become an agent.”

“I can give her some advice about the application process when she’s ready. If she wants.”

Erin smiled and Darsh stared like a fool. He kept forgetting how incredibly pretty she was when she wasn’t spitting mad at him.

“I’m sure she’d appreciate that.” She stood, leaning a hip against the table, crossing her arms, revealing cleavage, badge, and sidearm. His skin got tight. His neck hot. “She also tends to be swayed by pretty faces.”

He stilled. Raised his chin. “You think I have a pretty face?”

“No.” Erin gave him a smirk that told him she knew exactly what he was thinking before she gathered up her notes. “But she does.” With that she left the room with an arrogant swagger to her hips.

He found himself grinning. Then he stopped smiling and climbed slowly to his feet. He was in danger of starting to like her all over again.
And you’re investigating whether or not she screwed up badly enough to send an innocent kid to prison, not to mention get two girls killed.

Yeah. And that.

*     *     *

The crushing weight
that had settled on Erin’s chest when she’d first seen the two murdered girls had lifted a little at the knowledge they were probably already dead by the time the 911 call came in. But ten hours later, she came out of the team meeting no closer to finding this killer than when she’d first rolled up to the girls’ front door.

The TV news blared in the background, rerunning the footage of black body bags being loaded into the Medical Examiner’s wagon. Reporters had flocked back to town like vultures circling a kill. The smart money was on her for being the number one carcass of choice.

So much for that vacation.

Harry Compton, her fellow detective, was working through the social media stuff and contacting the cell companies for records of calls and voice messages. Physical evidence was being couriered to Quantico and fast-tracked for analysis. That alone told her someone higher up than Agent Singh was pulling the strings.

Everyone on the sex register list had an alibi for Monday night. There were no easy suspects.

No sheets had been found in any dumpster inside the town limits. Uniforms were continuing to canvass the neighborhood, talking to people who’d been out the first time they’d knocked on doors. That was the cornerstone of good police work—canvassing and asking the same question over and over again. Now she and Agent Singh were off to interview Tanya Whitehouse and Alicia Drummond, both of whom were staying at their sorority house. Then she had a date at the morgue, followed by another team meeting at three.

She was a little surprised she had the lead on this, but figured it would make it easier to fire her if she didn’t make an arrest. How long would they give her to get results? A day? A week?

“We’ll take your car,” she informed Darsh as she caught up with him outside the chief’s office. “They know mine on campus, and I wouldn’t put it past someone to slash the tires.”

He grimaced. “That popular?” He pulled out his keys and they headed down the steps towards the rental.

“As spare ribs at a vegan barbecue,” she told him.

The reporters, who’d been made to assemble on one side of the parking lot, started baying for blood when they saw her. She ignored them and the biting cold that wanted to sink into her flesh. Darsh pressed his key fob, and she got into his vehicle, appreciating the comfort of the soft leather seats.

“Quite the fan club you have around here. How do you cope with all the adulation?”

Apparently she didn’t have the monopoly on sarcasm. “It’s easy. I have a badge and a gun, and I know how to use it.” She pulled a face, needing a little honesty. “I do my job, even when no one likes the results.” She put on her seat belt, uncomfortably aware of the proximity to the rock hard body she’d once investigated naked. To her consternation, she realized her backside and thighs were getting hot. Heated seats. Thank God. “This is a lot more swank than my truck.”

“You don’t seem like the truck type.” He started the engine and backed out of the space.

“What do you mean?”

“More a hybrid SUV kind of person.”

She snorted.

The press would be trying to run his plates before they got around the block. What would they make of the fact there was an FBI profiler on the case? The chief would probably tell them soon anyway. Anything to feed the maw of the beast.

She shrugged. “I needed a vehicle that was good in the snow and that I could use to transport furniture when I moved up here from Queens.”

“When did you leave the NYPD?”

The innocent question brought back all sorts of painful memories. “Take a left out of here and a right on Main.” She hoped he’d forget the question.

No such luck.

“So when you started working here is privileged information?”

“If I had a choice my whole life would be privileged information.” The defensive edge to her voice gave away too much. He’d find out if he wanted to, and now she’d made it into a
thing
. Damn. “Three years ago.”

“Not long after we hooked up?”

Fiery heat worked its way across her cheeks at the reminder. “Three months after my training course with the Bureau, yes. You turn right in about half a mile.”

She watched his fingers handle the steering wheel. Long and tapered. Short, clean nails. She remembered them drifting over her skin.

She jolted when he spoke.

“I take it your husband didn’t come with you?”

She fought the urge to retch. “No.”

“How come?”

She glared at him in silence.

“You know I can find out.” He shrugged those impressive shoulders, and Erin wished she was a better liar.

“Have fun with that.” But all he needed to do was read the newspaper reports surrounding the trial. Reporters had had a great time digging into her “tragic” past.

“I’m not trying to be an asshole here, but—”

“But you have an issue with having had sex with a married woman. Trust me, I got it when you slammed out of the hotel room that morning.”

“That’s not what I was going to say—”

“You think anyone who cheats is inherently untrustworthy.”

He drew in an audible breath. “You broke
vows
, Erin. Isn’t that the definition of untrustworthy?”

She stuffed her hands in her pockets to hide the fact they were shaking. “Then you know everything you need to know about me. Let’s leave it at that.”

Another long, loud exhale suggested he was trying to hold onto his temper. “You’re putting words into my mouth. That’s usually a deflection tactic.”

“Deflection from what? You asked why the man I married didn’t come with me when I moved here? He died. Okay?” Shame rose up inside her. “And you want to know if he knew about the fact you and I hooked up?” She forced herself to say it casually, like one night stands were something she did all the time. “He didn’t.”

“Good.”

He swallowed her explanation, which inexplicably made her resent him more. “I guess I should have picked one of your buddies to take home from that bar, huh? Someone with less of a conscience.” She gave a sharp laugh. Jesus, he was going to think she was a lunatic.

His eyes narrowed, and his fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I guess you should have.” But the expression on his face told a different story. Anger drew his features tight. A vein pulsed in his neck.

A sane person would tell him the truth, but it was so ugly. And she didn’t want forgiveness or understanding, especially from this man. The less he liked her, the less this attraction between them would be a problem.

“Maybe we should stick to discussing the case?” he said, finally.

Exactly what she’d wanted, except now she felt like her insides had been scraped raw. “That would probably be best.”

“Tell me about the evidence you gathered from the other crime scenes.”

She pressed her lips tight together. Reviewing the evidence for the other case didn’t mean she’d made the wrong collar. “We found hair at the scene of one of the rapes last year that belonged to Drew Hawke.”

“But no semen, right?”

“No semen,” she agreed. “He wore a condom.” The image of Cassie’s naked body flashed through her mind, and she huddled deeper into her jacket. The idea of being that exposed and vulnerable destroyed her. “We might get luckier this time.”

“Perhaps. Taking the sheet is a good way of removing trace evidence and shows some knowledge of forensics. Not to mention the bleach. Hawke never admitted taking the sheets?”

She shook her head. “And we never found them.”

“It’s an unusual MO,” he said.

“Hawke didn’t even admit to having ever seen the other women, let alone raping them. He didn’t use the ‘I thought it was consensual sex’ defense, which is so much easier to defend against.” And which led to so many victim-blaming situations and “not guilty” verdicts in court. The case had been such a landmark victory with the university and the establishment standing so firmly with the rape victims in this high-profile case. She didn’t want to think what that would mean if she’d arrested the wrong guy.

“You sound like you have doubts.” He shot her a sideways glance.

“I don’t like having two dead women in my jurisdiction, and I’m not about to stick my head in the sand when there are obvious similarities between the crimes. Doesn’t mean I don’t think he did it. Take a left up here.” She was a detective, and detectives looked at the evidence.

They drove in silence, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. Another five minutes, and they pulled up outside the sprawling pale green sorority house.

“The girls met here in their freshman year and moved out together as sophomores,” she told him.

Darsh stared at the building for a moment, making no move to get out of the car. “I’ve never understood the appeal of fraternities.”

“Me, either,” she agreed. “I lived at home all through college and shared a room with my younger sister. She’s messier than a houseful of frat boys.” She missed her family even when they annoyed the crap out of her.

“I stayed in residence,” he said.

“The whole time?” She undid her seatbelt and put her hand on the door handle, pausing before she got out.

“I dropped out of college after two years. Joined the Marine Corps.”

“So you really
were
a Marine.” That amused her until she realized he’d probably joined up after 9/11. It had been a terrible time to be in NYC; the endless list of victims, many of whom she and her family had known. Firefighters she’d gone to school with. And a lot of people had gotten sick afterwards. It was a miracle her family hadn’t lost anyone.

A lot of people had heeded the call to serve their country after that nightmarish day. It had changed the course of US history. “I guess the Marines are a fraternity of sorts.”

“Ooh Rah.”

“You miss it.” She detected the affection in his voice, the fierce pride.

“The Corps was fun. War not so much.” His expression closed down, and she knew better than to push it.

“Well, you didn’t move far.” Quantico wasn’t just the home of the FBI, it was also a USMC base.

His smile was crooked. “I was based in California. Twentynine Palms but, yeah, I spent some time in Quantico for training courses.”

She looked into those ridiculously dark eyes and that beautiful smile and found herself catching her breath as her heart did gymnastics in her chest. Then the air in her lungs seized, and she pushed her way out of the car before anything stupid came out of her mouth. God, she was so blonde sometimes.

So he was good-looking? So what? She rolled her eyes at herself. She had a job to do. Justice to serve. She led the way up the path to the front porch. Darsh joined her as she rang the bell.

The door opened, and an attractive woman in her fifties stood there.

“Mrs. Conway,” Erin said. They’d met during her investigation last year. “This is FBI Agent Singh. We’re here to see Tanya and Alicia.”

“We’ve been expecting you.” Mrs. Conway was the house mother and made sure the rules were followed, girls were fed, and curfew enforced. “They’re in the dining room. Come in.”

Even though it went against everything she’d been taught growing up, Erin didn’t take her boots off at the door, and neither did Darsh. If the situation went south the last thing she needed was to be in her stockinged feet. She wiped the soles of her boots thoroughly and winced as she crossed the pristine floor in the wake of the trim figure of Mrs. Conway.

“We’d like to interview them separately if possible,” Erin said to the woman’s retreating back.

“Not without a lawyer, I’m afraid. If you want to wait, we can call one.”

Erin eyed Darsh, but he shook his head. The girls had both made written statements and had enough time to share stories anyway. It probably didn’t matter.

They walked into the dining room with its enormous table and about twenty chairs. Tanya and Alicia sat at one end of the table cradling steaming cups of coffee.

“Would you like coffee? Tea?” Mrs. Conway asked. “I have some made in the kitchen.”

“Appreciate it,” Erin accepted for them both, anything to get the woman out of the room.

Tanya was wearing pajamas and wrapped up in a fleece blanket. Alicia was still wearing the clothes she’d worn last night when Erin had met her in the street. Both girls eyed her warily. “This is Agent Singh from the FBI. He’s helping us with our investigation.”

Alicia’s gaze sharpened, and both girls looked at Darsh with a mixture of trepidation and female curiosity. The guy was hot. You’d have to be dead not to notice.