Dead Spaces: The Big Uneasy 2.0 (8 page)

A new name was added to the bottom, though really, it encompassed a family.

Baker.
Would they be a problem? The enemy of my enemy should be a friend, but the Bakers were loyal to the law first, and then each other. Could that be used? Further reflection required, before stirring things up.

A sigh slid out breaking the silence.

This could be done. It would be done. But it was annoying. Why make the timeline so tight? It felt like she’d been setup to fail. Again. Her lips tightened as she remembered all the years, all the women’s clubs, the slow rise through the leadership dealing with all those bitter, clueless cats and witches, and then—well, they hadn’t appreciated her. Hadn’t deserved her time and attention. She was meant to lead. To be on top. But she did hate the rushing. It was so messy.

A stray beam of light highlighted some dust that must be rubbed away from the sill. A metaphor perhaps? That order—the order of her life as it was meant to be—could be restored?
Would
be restored. Must be restored.

A final swipe and the sill gleamed. All clean. Just like that.

“
I
t’s frustrating
,” Hannah said.

Ferris glanced at her across the top of her car. He arched his brows because he didn’t know which particular part of the huge ball of frustrating she meant.

She hit the unlock and waited until they were both inside—and the car turned on so that the A/C could begin trying to cool stifling to bearable. She stared straight ahead for several seconds, then looked at him.

“Do you ever get a sense of pace when you’re working a case? Like a clock ticking in your head?”

“All the time.” He considered this one, letting the facts—few as they were—slide into the background. A cop did many things by instinct, followed clues, questioned suspects, asked questions. But yeah, the pace had been fast for one short day—and for such an old, cold case. Just a few hours really, since the coffins had been opened. He glanced at his watch. Three, maybe four. His thoughts jumped over lunch and the kiss. Couldn’t afford the distraction. Needed mental clarity around Hannah, which was ironic because she tended to shut that down.

It was interesting that she felt the clock ticking, considering that she worked with the dead. The not moving. He didn’t mention it though. The part of a crime puzzle that concerned her did have urgency, so that his side would have the facts they needed for the hunt. They were a team, even if a disconnected one at times.

“What are you,” he hesitated, “sensing?”

She made a face. “I’m not sure.” She rubbed her face, fiddled with the temperature knob, even though it was maxed out. The hot rush of air from the vents turned tepidly cool. “You were gone when St. Cyr died. Boring headshot, but then a flurry of action and counteraction.”

Ferris had picked the wrong time to be out of town. Or the right time. “It was fast.”

“And then…not much.”

“There was the dinner party,” Ferris pointed out. “Someone shot up the main course.”

She smiled. “Nobody died,” she said. “So I only got the family point of view. Weird, but in the end, more sound than fury.”

“True. And today has been lacking in both sound and fury.” And yet…he knew what she meant. It felt like something was happening out in the sultry underbelly of their city. The Big Easy was usually uneasy.

“I keep thinking about the brick. Why bury something important and then not do anything about it? Coffins aren’t safe deposit boxes. If it was Uncle Charlie, and he had proof of something, why not use it then?”

She had a point.

“Old…cold…only it doesn’t feel cold. It feels…wrong.”

“What about the missing papers?” Her reaction interested him, though he didn’t know how relevant it was. Didn’t know much of anything so how could he know what was relevant? Well, he’d like to kiss her again. He did know that. But didn’t look like that would happen anytime soon. Other than the lack of kissing, this Hannah interested him. She was scary smart—if a guy were afraid of smart. If he wasn’t. Holy Hannah.

“The ring was taken, too,” she said, almost absently. She glanced at him. “What if the papers were the afterthought, not the ring?”

“Okay. Why?”

She looked rueful. “I don’t know. Why would some old ring matter? This isn’t Mordor.”

He had a thought, might even have beat her to it, which would be a shock. “I wonder where Calvino’s ring is right now?”

She looked at him. “I can get a look at the list of personal effects on the body. It would be interesting if it is missing, too. Still be puzzling and inexplicable, but interesting.”

Puzzling, inexplicable, interesting. Both the case and the woman. “Yeah,” he said.

T
wo days of nothing new
—always with the clock ticking in her head, though Frank did email her the copies of the missing papers. She didn’t have time to do more than glance at them. A sudden spate of drive-by shootings meant long hours for everyone at the NOCC. No sight, sound, or contact with Logan Ferris, which allowed doubts to set in about the kiss, about what he’d meant about their age difference. About everything.

Heat built into the city, which didn’t seem possible but somehow was, while that clock kept ticking inside her head. Other than the shootings, nothing seemed to be happening with their non-case. Nothing from Sarah either. She did catch an occasional glimpse of Ingrid coming from, or heading to, a new crime scene. The rest of her family was as MIA as Logan Ferris, though that wasn’t unusual since she lived alone in a microscopic apartment off Magazine. Her family scoffed at it, but at least she never had to wait for the shower—just the hot water and then only when it was cold. This time of the year she could use a little more cold in her shower.

After two days of digging bullets out of bodies—was it bad to wish for a nice, complicated poisoning or even a stabbing that would at least be a change of pace? She paused, the stomach still over the body cavity she’d just extracted it from. Was professional boredom the reason for her interest in the cold case? She sighed and quickly finished. Then nodded to the attendant, who wheeled the body out.

She stripped off blood splattered gear, grateful when another body didn’t appear. She checked the time, tiredness hitting her like a rogue wave. Couldn’t remember the last time she ate. She washed up, made minimal repairs to her face. Tried to figure out if she had the energy to pursue food. As she turned to dry her hands, the door swished open. Almost she cursed, but when she turned it wasn’t another corpse. Guido Calvino stood framed in the doorway. Well, not a corpse yet, she amended a bit wryly, though thankfully not out loud.

She didn’t have a dramatic start in her. An unexpected upside to tired-to-her-toenails. From her side of exhausted, she knew she should be worried, if not actually afraid. He wasn’t just a bad man. He was the just anointed king of evil.

“Dr. Baker.” He had a pleasant look papered over evil. He studied her but kept his conclusions to himself.

Hannah didn’t need him to conclude anything. She wasn’t at her best. Her make-up repairs were just enough to keep her from being mistaken for a corpse and her scrubs were pretty nasty. She didn’t sniff her armpits, even though that would have cleared the fog some. Might by why he didn’t come any closer. She summoned up enough energy to arch her brows.

“I was hoping you’d join me for a coffee or perhaps something to eat?”

She blinked. So he did think she knew something. It kind of surprised her this did not worry her more. She was that tired, but a girl couldn’t grow up with seven older brothers and not know how to take care of herself. Even if Guido had a couple of bodyguards with him, she could take three without breaking a sweat. They wouldn’t see it coming. Her brothers never did and they knew her a lot better.

“Dr. Baker?”

She blinked again. “Sorry, I think I dosed off for a minute.”

“I presume you do eat?” he said, bringing a lot of charm to the smile that followed the question.

It was wasted effort. She couldn’t even appreciate what didn’t suck about him, but he couldn’t know that. She considered the real problem. He wanted to find out what he thought she knew. She knew that what she knew wasn’t that interesting to him, but could result in unwelcome attention for Zach. So if she blew him off now, he’d be back. Until he concluded she didn’t actually know anything. If she could get him to believe that. But the more she put him off, the harder that would be. She balanced the risks. Tired might help in this case. He’d expect her to lie to him, so would be looking at her reactions more than listening to her words. She had few of either left in her. And she did need food. If he was going to be a pain in her backside, he might as well feed her.

“I do eat.” Though not nearly often enough when they were busy. She was aware she needed to add something to that. “Thank you.” Okay that felt wrong. Even though it was polite. Was one required to be polite to pond scum? Had Emily Post ever had that problem?

“Is that a yes?”

It was more of a “whatever,” but she nodded. She grabbed her purse, checked that her computer was off and walked toward him. He backed into the hall without touching her, which was good. Or maybe he’d caught a whiff of her. She started toward the back entrance and her car. He headed for the front. They both stopped.

“Where can we meet?” she asked, hoping it wouldn’t be too complicated. Wasn’t sure she could manage complicated.

He named a place a couple of streets over. If she’d had the energy she’d have grinned. It was pretty low brow for him. Suited her present ensemble, however.

“If parking will present a problem, we could walk?” he suggested. “Or my car is out front…”

Wasn’t sure she could walk two feet but didn’t want to get into his car. She wasn’t that tired, had never been that stupid.

“Walk it is,” she said, not surprised when two bodyguards met them outside. She studied them while they assessed her. And dismissed her as a threat. Yeah, she could take them.

“I wanted to thank you for the list of contents from the two coffins,” he said, as they turned and started down the street. “I will admit it was not expected.”

What had he expected, she wondered? “It wasn’t me. No body, not my job.”

He paused at a light, directing his gaze down at her. Hannah met his gaze blandly. Or possibly indifferently.

“I received the impression that my return the other day startled you.”

“Did you?” The walk light flashed and she stepped down onto the street. She internally debated the wisdom of leaving it or— “I thought it was my brother coming back.” She looked at him then, caught a narrowed, considering look. He wasn’t going to leave it alone.

He smiled, but his eyes didn’t warm. “Your brother does not like me.”

“No,” she agreed, stepping up onto the side walk again.

He chuckled, a hint of surprise, and something more in the sound. But real humor as well. She’d never considered it before, but it was possible pond scum could have a sense of humor.

“And you, Dr. Baker? Do you like me?”

She stopped and a bodyguard almost bumped into her. She arched her brows. “Why should I?”

That surprised him. He didn’t seem to mind though. Which was probably good. It was a public street, but one not exactly teeming with people.

“I am not so very bad.”

She gave him a skeptical look and started walking again. She was tired enough that the street had a kind of wavering quality. Perhaps that’s why, when the van turned onto the street it didn’t startle her, even though its tires shrieked. It did cause the bodyguards to leap into action. Hannah wasn’t sure if they knocked Guido down or just dived onto his diving body. They knocked her down, which was a surprise. Unless they hit her in their scramble to protect Guido. Whatever the intention, she was where she needed to be when the shooting started….

F
erris found
himself unexpectedly alone with Zach Baker, father of the thirteen Baker siblings—including the one he’d kissed a couple of days ago. How did fathers feel about men who kissed their daughters, he wondered, then wished he hadn’t when Zach’s shrewd gaze narrowed. No wonder his children tended to toe the line. He managed to not shift guiltily in the suddenly hard chair, held the gaze by reminding himself he’d faced down bad guys.

Old guys who were dads, he conceded, might be tougher than bad guys. He searched for something to say that wouldn’t be revealing or stupid. The silence stretched long enough to tighten his tie. He didn’t tug on it. But the fight not to tug helped, kept his focus on something besides those eyes boring into head and trying to mess with it.

In the end, his sense of humor saved him. If his dad had been this tough or this interested—he cut that thought off. Zach’s gaze eased, as if he’d caught that thought. If the old man was psychic, Ferris was in trouble. He glanced at the clock hanging over the kitchen sink.

“Alex okay?” Wasn’t like him to not be waiting when Ferris arrived.

Zach snorted, his fingers tapping the newspaper spread out on the battered table top. “What’s okay?”

Not dead. Or sick. Off his game. Not in love with the grand niece of two wise geezers. Ferris looked up with relief at Alex’s appearance in the arched doorway. Zach’s gaze found him again. Part two of laser look was a bit easier to take, only because it was shared with Alex.

“You got a bur under your saddle, Zach?”

“Got no burs, no beef with a son who thinks his old man can’t be trusted.”

Ferris stood up with some haste. Almost tipped the chair over. Grabbed it in time. Eased it back under the table.

“You mean a son who learned from his old man to keep his trap closed?” Alex shot back.

Zach didn’t speak until they were at the door. Ferris felt for the knob, fumbled it open.

“Gonna play with dolls again today?”

Alex glared at his dad. “Who—”

“What? You think I don’t have friends still in the force? Friends who just might know more than a—” Zach stopped, his grin sardonic. “Well, more than someone else.”

Alex looked fit to explode, but Ferris? He was curious. Did the old man know something? Zach seemed to have two expressions. Glare and not-glare. When he wasn’t glaring, he looked like the first cousin to a Sphinx. How did they—he and Holy Hannah—find out what he knew?

Zach’s gaze shot to him again, as if he’d heard that holy and didn’t like it. Ferris almost tripped on the step in his haste to get gone. He made a mental note to can the holy around Zach. His dad-dar was the best Ferris had ever seen.

He clambered behind the wheel with silent prayer of thanks—that lasted until Alex’s cell shrilled from multiple texts. Alex looked down and cussed.

“Hannah’s been involved in some sort of drive-by shooting incident with Guido Calvino.”

“Is she—” His heart jerked in his chest, like it had been punched.

“She’s fine, but what was she doing with Calvino?”

Ferris knew but he wasn’t stupid enough to say so.

Texts kept arriving as Alex jerked his seatbelt across and shoved it home.

Ferris put the car in motion with the feeling the scene was about to get Baked like no scene ever got Baked before.

H
annah sat
in the back of NOPD patrol car, her feet propped on the edge of the opening while she sipped water from a bottle someone had brought her. Every few minutes a legal someone or other stopped and asked her if she was okay. At least they’d quit asking if she wanted to press charges against Guido. She wondered which one of them had ratted her out to her big brother and how long it would take for Alex to get there.

Guido and his goons did not appear to be getting the same level of concern she was, which did not seem to bother him or them. In fact, she thought she spied some thoughtful lurking at the back of his impassive expression. Thoughtful was not the usual go-to expression for someone who’d been shot at, but perhaps he was used to it.

It was not a huge surprise when Ben showed up, since he belonged to the Organized Crime Unit of the NOPD. He strode toward her, mainlining big brother almost as well as Alex. Well, he was the second oldest. And apparently he was the closest. Based on the texts hitting her phone, the sibs were either incoming or pissed they weren’t incoming.

She rose as he halted in front of her. “I’m fine. A few scrapes from hitting the turf.”

His mouth worked a few times, which was kind of interesting. Ben was typically more easygoing than Alex.

“What the—” He stopped and glanced around. Lowered his voice. “What were you doing with that—” His mouth worked some more as he tried to find a sister-friendly word for Calvino.

“He offered to buy me lunch. On my salary…” she trailed off, aware the words were provocative, even though she didn’t mean them that way. Tired had been displaced by adrenalin, but that was fading. It did give her a bit of a buffer as he processed her words without visible pleasure. A distraction seemed in order, particularly since she might lose the ability to form words before long. “No one’s taken my statement yet.”

A certain level of sentience returned to his gaze as cop began to take over from big brother. “So what happened?”

“We were walking along when this van came around the corner and started shooting.”

Her gaze tracked to the line of shots where the shooting had started and stopped. Why had the shooter stopped before it reached them? She had some minor scratches from flying glass and had scraped her knees and elbows when she hit the pavement. The two goons had done more damage to them both while trying to protect Guido.

Someone had marked their positions on the pavement, all of them well clear of the line of bullet holes.

Ben grunted and started to leave.

“I wrote down the license plate number.” She held out the paper.

He took it but still didn’t ask her if she’d seen anything else.

“The shooters were young. Excited. Might be why they missed.” But they had been dead on with their shooting until they stopped. Why had they stopped?

“Maybe it’s another message for Calvino.” His tone said to leave the detecting to the detectives.

She’d said the same thing to Ferris the other day, but this annoyed her. Maybe because it felt big brother rather than one kind of professional to another.

It had happened so fast and it was her first drive-by shooting. She was surprised at how much she remembered, how crisp and clear the memories were. She’d rather expected to be like most witnesses, long on shock and short on details.

“I can probably come up with a couple of sketches of the two kids I saw,” she said, even though he hadn’t asked, “if you send over your sketch…person.” Clarity faded as tired moved in. Or rather, clarity moved to a different part of her brain, one without access to her speech centers. “But let me get some sleep first.”