Dead Center (The Rookie Club Book 1) (31 page)

She set her shoulders back, entered the office. She told the secretary that she needed a few minutes with Bruce Daniels if he was available.

The secretary told her to go on in.

When she reached Buck's half-open door, she knocked gently.

He looked up, his eyes barely widening in surprise. She saw a smile hover just beneath the firm lips. "Inspector Wyatt."

She didn't enter. "Hi. I've got a couple of questions on the list you made, if you have a few minutes."

They both spoke in work tones, full volume as though announcing to the department that they had nothing to hide.

He nodded to the seat across from him and she considered whether or not she wanted to sit, then decided she did.

Buck stood then and closed the door before making his way back to his own chair. She didn't watch him move. It would make staying away more difficult.

She studied pictures and diplomas she'd seen a half-dozen times. When he was settled back behind his desk, he rested his hands on top of some papers and gave her a little nod like a high school principal. "How are you feeling?"

She nodded. "Okay."

"You talked to Vail about it?"

"Had to."

"I agree." He rubbed his face, then glanced at her. "I was scared to death," he whispered. "I don't know what I would have done."

She shook her head. "I'm fine."

"I should've come to check on you sooner. I could've stopped him—"

She bit into her lip. Closed her eyes. "Yes, you should've." She looked up at him, his eyes wide. "Christ, I was almost—" She shook her head. "It wasn't your fault. I just can't—" She waved her hand, the words caught in her throat. "I can't talk about it now."

"What did you tell John?"

She cleared her throat, studied her hands. "I made the Scanlan thing seem like more of a wrestle. Mostly, though, it hasn't come up."

"But you have bruises on your ribs, don't you?"

She shrugged, glanced up. "It was a busy weekend with Mackenzie's attack. I've been really tired."

He nodded, understanding. "Will you have time this week?"

She lowered her gaze. "I can't. Not until this is over."

He didn't respond.

"Someone saw us. Someone knows."

He nodded.

"I actually came about the case."

He straightened. "Sure."

"I need to go back, understand some things."

He sat back, slightly rigid. "Okay."

"You were the first one out at the murder scene that morning."

He nodded.

"Why didn't you stay? She's a cop. Why wouldn't IA be involved?"

He glanced at the door behind her, paused.

"You were with her," she said quietly as though by speaking the words in a low tone she could soften the blow they would have if they weren't true. But they were. She knew it as soon as they were out.

"It was a long time ago."

She felt tired then. A long time ago. "How long ago?" She drew out a notebook and flipped it open to have something to look at. Then she could avoid him, avoid the pit in her gut. They'd been together eight months. She wanted to hear him say that it had been more than eight months ago. Only she suspected it wasn't.

"Early summer."

Her heart banged against her ribs. "This summer?"

He nodded. "June."

She wrote down the word June and underlined it. They'd been together then. He'd cheated on her. Goddamn it. She looked up at him, shook her head. Her hands trembled. Anger rocked in her chest, fighting to break loose. She clenched her eyes, thought about how she'd almost died in his lobby. "You bastard," she whispered. She pushed each word from her lips as though firing a gun.

Buck stood.

She pointed at his chair.

He sat, defeated. "It happened while you and John were up in Tahoe with the girls."

She struggled not to scream, told herself she had no right to be angry. She could not have a lover and feel any sort of betrayal when he took one. And yet she did.

"Hailey—"

She shook her head. She wasn't going there. Not here, not now. Damn, she wished they were somewhere private right now so she could yell at him. She held her hands together, took a breath. She let the fury burn through her in hopes it would smother itself, but it only burned fiercer. She stood, turned and paced.

"Hailey."

She shot her palm out, leaned across his desk. "Don't you dare," she seethed.

She forced herself to sit, focused on what she needed from him for the case. She focused on this one thing. She could do this. "I'm the investigator on a murder case," she said, keeping her voice low and even. "I need to know how long it lasted."

He came around the desk, sat in the chair beside her. "Can we talk about this somewhere else? Can we meet later?"

"I don't think so." She felt the words slip between her teeth, laced with anger. She looked up at him, narrowed her gaze, tried to hold herself cold. "I don't think we'll be meeting anymore."

He took her hand. "Please. It doesn't have to be my place. Just anywhere other than here."

She was desperate to scream at him, to vent the anger. But couldn't. Not now. Her thoughts veered back to Natasha. She pulled her hand away. God, Natasha. Buck was with Natasha, too. Christ, was everyone? She stood up, took two steps toward the door. She wanted to get the hell out of there, told herself it was a good idea. She would end it. There was always a piece of her that wanted to stop, to come out of the shadows where she was living. Now she could. Then why the hell did she feel such a loss? Christ. "Please just answer the question."

He, too, stood and crossed back behind the desk. "It started in June, lasted until the weekend of July Fourth. Ended that night."

"With fireworks, I hope."

He didn't respond. Shrugged. He felt her anger, she knew. He wasn't used to it. She didn't explode like this. She was the controlled one. Damn him for doing this to her. "Why were you there that day?"

He paused. "Marshall knew about us. A few people did. It's one of the reasons it ended. An IA officer and someone with her reputation—"

She nodded, couldn't look at him.

"I felt guilty, Hailey. It actually felt like I was cheating on you," he added, lowering his voice. "But then, I thought, that's nuts. You were away—with your husband."

She ignored the reference. It was different. He knew she had a husband. He knew the score with her. He had no card to play there. She focused back on the morning of Natasha's murder. "So Marshall sent you to the scene?"

"He called me first to find out when I'd stopped seeing her—that I had. Then he told me about Deputy Chief Scanlan. I'd heard the rumor before that, but we decided I should go down there to be sure someone else from the department hadn't been there—that there wasn't something obviously harmful to the department."

Her hands trembled. "And you didn't tell me?" She lowered her voice again. "You screwed with my crime scene and you never told me?"

He pleaded with her with his eyes. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head.

"David asked me to keep it quiet. I did as he asked."

She turned to leave.

"There's something else I've wanted to tell you. I don't know if it'll help."

She didn't turn back, waited. Fury coated her skin like hot chills after a sunburn.

"She called maybe a month ago. I didn't call her back the first time. I didn't want anything to do with her, and it didn't sound like a business call."

She waited.

"She called back a few days later. She was furious. She'd somehow heard about the list we had. She told me to send it to her so she could make sure we hadn't missed anyone." He shook his head. "She had a right to be pissed."

"Hell yes, she did."

"The list wasn't my idea."

She shook her head, turned her back. "I don't care."

"That last conversation, she made a comment at the end, something that I never quite figured out."

Hailey waited.

"She said something about the list missing her most recent conqu-qu-quest."

"What does that mean? That the guy has a stutter?"

He nodded. "That's how I took it."

Hailey remembered Tim's comment that he'd been struck by someone who had stuttered. "Deputy Chief Scanlan?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so. I've never heard him stutter."

She frowned. "But you don't know."

He paused. "No, I don't. Some people only stutter when they're upset. I've never seen him really heated."

She started to leave but paused. "Why didn't you tell me about the comment before?" Bruce didn't respond. Hailey waited, her pulse drumming. "What about you, Bruce? Do you have an alibi for the night she was killed?"

He frowned. "Yeah."

She hesitated, suddenly not sure she was prepared for his answer. "You were home alone?"

"Not quite."

"You were with someone
else
?"

He nodded.

"Shit," she said, the word just slipping out.

"Hailey, you know—"

"Don't," she said, cutting him off. It felt almost comical now. "Don't say anything. Please." She shook her head, lowered her voice. "Don't fuck it up any worse than you already have."

"Christ, this is a mess," he said. "I want to talk about this somewhere else. I'm done talking here. As for your case, Marshall knows about it. He's had my alibi confirmed. I am not a suspect in this case, but I'm also not participating in the investigation of her homicide—because of the fact that we were—had been intimate."

She felt the word "intimate" hit her like a blow. Exhaled. "I'm the lead investigator. I need to know who slept with her, Goddamn it."

He shook his head. "Everyone slept with her, Hailey."

"So that's supposed to make it better?"

"I'm not talking about us right now," he said. "You see someone else. I see other people, too. Anytime you want it to change, I'm ready."

That was it. The whip had cracked and it struck hard. She rubbed the spot just above her left breastbone. She sucked in a breath, let it slide out through closed teeth. She couldn't make demands when she wasn't prepared to fulfill her end of it.

And yet she would. She knew she would. She didn't need to be with him. She could walk away. It was either only her or she was done. Those were her rules. That was the upside of the affair. It was all about her. Everything else was laced with complications—kids, family, but not this.

She didn't look back at him, couldn't. "God, this place is like musical fucking beds," she whispered as she left.

She walked back through the department, head down. All she could think was what right did she have to stake a claim to him when she would let him stake no claim to her?

None.

And yet she still knew she would do just that. She would have it no other way.

Chapter 31

Jamie arrived at the station at 8:50 a.m. to see the front of the Hall blocked by news vans. She left her car down the block, left her police parking pass on the dash, and hurried to the stairs. The newscasters were each recording their bits off to the side of the main entrance, and Jamie recognized the start of a press conference. What the hell was it about?

Her stomach knotted, she started up the stairs when the chief's press secretary walked out the glass doors. Behind him was the chief, Captain Marshall, and Hailey Wyatt. Chip Washington followed behind them. Hailey caught Jamie's eye and shook her head. Bad news.

Jamie stood back and waited.

As soon as the chief was in view of the camera, the reporters began shouting questions.

"Is it true that the murdered inspector had a long-term relationship with Deputy Chief Scanlan?" called one. "Is he a suspect in her murder?"

"Christ," Jamie whispered under her breath. How the hell did that get out? She watched the lines on the chief's face deepen into a scowl. Hailey looked as though she'd already taken a tongue-lashing. She stood, expressionless, and waited for more shit to follow.