Deep Dark (17 page)

“If you had to
guess
why Hall is so worked up over this shooting,” she said, “what would you think?”

“I don't know,” he said. “But it might have something to do with the FBI turning up at the crime scene.”

“We didn't call them?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm. Curiouser and curiouser.”

“So why don't you?” he asked.

“Don't what?”

“Go out with cops?”

She tilted her head to the side. “You're a detective. See if you can figure it out.”

“I don't know.” Another smile. “I'm thinking of some gun jokes, but they're a little crude.”

Veronica rolled her eyes and stepped past him to stack the files on her desk. She glanced around the lab to make sure everything was off for the night.

“Really, what is it?”

She looked at him. Did he truly not know?

She'd learned the hard way that cops talked. A lot, especially the detectives. They shared evidence, swapped stories. It was one reason they were good at their jobs, but from her perspective, it was a problem. She had to work with these guys day in and day out, and she didn't want to be fodder for a bunch of locker-room gossip. So even though she'd been asked out a lot over the years—by detectives and beat cops and even lab technicians—she made a habit of saying no.

But this time, she felt tempted.

“Come on.” Jay stepped closer, evidently taking her silence for ambivalence. “One dinner.”

“It's almost midnight already.”

“I know. You must be starving.”

She grabbed her purse off the back of the chair. “You're very tenacious.”

“Tenacious, huh? I like that.” He smiled sheepishly. “I was worried I might be coming across as desperate.”

She sighed. “Listen, it's really nothing personal, but—”

“We can go to the IHOP over by campus. You can catch me up on your work, I'll catch you up on mine. It'll be like a staff meeting. But with food.”

She folded her arms over her chest but didn't say anything.

“Come on. What else do you have to do tonight? Go home and watch
Bones
reruns?”

That was exactly what she'd planned to do, damn it. She couldn't help it—she smiled. “You detectives are really obnoxious. You know that, right?”

•   •   •

Reed glanced at the clock. After three. He rolled out of bed and grabbed a pair of jeans off the back of the chair in the corner.

He watched Laney sleeping as he zipped up. She was out cold. He walked to the front of the house and checked the lock, then peered through the window at Laney's car in the driveway. He checked the garage door and the slider, frowning down at it because he'd thought he'd left it unlocked.

He glanced back at the kitchen. A pair of glasses sat on the counter beside the sink, and Laney's purple phone was plugged into his charger.

She was sneaky. He hadn't even felt her slip out of bed. Reed flipped on the back porch lights and returned to the bedroom.

He paused in the doorway. She lay on her stomach now, her arms tucked under the pillow. Her back was pale and smooth, and the sight of her asleep in his bed made his chest feel tight. For a moment, he couldn't move—he just stood there in the doorway, wondering what he'd gotten himself into.

She was evasive. And infuriating. And unpredictable. But there was something about her that pulled
at him. She was a mystery he still hadn't managed to unravel. Just seeing the dark curtain of hair against her cheek stirred something inside him, something raw and emotional that he hadn't felt since that first year with Erika, before they'd even been married. He'd been twenty-five and practically a kid then, about the same age Laney was now.

This was so fucked up. He was much too old for her, and they had nothing in common, really.

But they had chemistry.

He'd been drawn to her in a deep-down, yearning kind of way since the moment she'd bumped into him in that coffee shop. He'd thought sleeping with her might snap him out of it, but it looked like he'd been wrong.

She rolled onto her side. Then she lifted her head off the pillow and glanced at the empty side of the bed.

“Hi.”

She sat up and looked around. “What time is it?”

“Late.”

She swung her legs out of bed and grabbed his shirt off the floor. She shrugged into it, and he thought she was headed for the bathroom, but she walked right past him into the hallway.

“You okay?”

“Hungry,” she said over her shoulder.

He followed her into the kitchen, where she quickly discovered he had nothing to eat. He'd meant to order some carryout, but he'd gotten sidetracked.

He propped his shoulder against the wall and watched her frown at the contents of his fridge. His shirt went almost to her knees, but she'd left it open in front, which had the effect of waking him up.

“Pathetic.” She glanced at him.

“I know.”

She tried the freezer. “But . . . there's hope.” She grabbed a pint of Ben & Jerry's and read the label. “Phish Food. How'd you know?”

He opened a drawer and got her a spoon as she peeled off the lid. She sauntered past him into the breakfast room, where she glanced out the window at her car in the driveway.

“You should have security lights,” she said, digging into the ice cream.

“I do. They're motion-sensitive.”

She sat back against the table, watching him as she slid the spoon from her mouth. His imagination was kicking into gear now. “I called the hospital,” she said.

“And?”

“He got through surgery.” Her voice was somber. “He's still in recovery, so they don't really know . . .”

Reed pulled out a chair and sank into it. He hadn't expected to talk about this again tonight, but no reason to put it off. “How'd you get that? Usually, they only talk to family.”

“I spoke with the nurse I met when I was there earlier. She thinks I'm his sister.”

Reed scrubbed his hand over his face, fully awake now. He leaned forward, watching her. “You have any idea why the FBI was there tonight?”

She looked at him warily. “You guys didn't call them?”

“Why would we call them?”

She poked at the ice cream. “I don't know.”

He waited. She wanted to talk, he could tell. But he had a feeling he wasn't going to like what she had to say.

“I wouldn't be surprised if Scream's business has put him on the FBI's radar,” she said.

“You're talking about Edward?”

“Yeah, that's his nickname. I'm pretty sure they've been watching him for a while.”

“Why?” Reed leaned back in the chair, trying to ignore how his shirt gaped open in the front.

“He sells zeros. Software bugs that can be exploited and used to gain secret access to companies. It's a lucrative business, but not all of what he does is strictly legal, so . . .” She shrugged.

“And I'm guessing he's made his fair share of enemies along the way?”

“Probably.”

Which meant plenty of people had a reason to want him dead. And his getting shot
might
not be related to Laney's visit. She could simply have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But Reed didn't know why she'd been there. Because she still hadn't told him.

He watched her pick at the ice cream. The purple lock of hair hung in her eyes, but he didn't need to see her face to know she was feeling all kinds of guilt right now.

“Did he say—”

“Look, I don't want to talk about this now,” she said.

“When?”

“Not now.”

Laney had come inches away from being dead herself. She'd dodged three bullets.
Three
. And now she was sitting here in his kitchen, holding out on him and trying to distract him with sex.

She still wouldn't give him the full story. And the
only other person who could provide it might be dead by morning.

She glanced up at him with those doe eyes. “Tomorrow maybe.”

She was lying again. He could see it on her face.

“I don't want to fight with you right now.” She set the ice cream aside and eased closer to him. She was still leaning back against the table covered with mail and bills. And his shirt was still floating around her, giving him glimpses of skin.

His gaze locked on hers. “What is it you want to do?”

Slowly, she stepped over his legs and lowered herself onto his lap. “I don't know.” She leaned close, resting her arms on his shoulders, and her breath was warm against his ear. “Anything besides fight.”

CHAPTER 19

Reed was already in a foul mood when the doorbell rang the next morning. He strapped on his holster and crossed the house to find Jay on his doorstep.

“You're early.”

“The meeting's bumped up.” Jay stepped inside. “I sent you a text.”

Jay followed him into the kitchen. Reed saw him notice the liquor bottle on the counter, the glasses by the sink, the mail scattered on the floor around the breakfast table.

“Late night?” Jay looked at him.

Reed ignored the question and unplugged his phone from the charger to read his text messages. Jay had written him a book. The meeting with the Delphi Center DNA tracer had been bumped up an hour, and Hall had scheduled a meeting at eleven.

“Veronica sent the slugs in.”

Reed glanced up. “Already?”

“She processed everything last night. Hall put a rush on it.” Jay leaned back against the counter. “Hey, you got any coffee?”

“No.”

Reed scrolled through the rest of his messages. One from Erika, one from his lieutenant, nothing from Laney.

Not that he'd expected anything.

He had woken up at six fifteen in an empty bed. He wasn't used to women sneaking out on him. In fact, he couldn't remember a single time it had happened, and the more he thought about it, the more it pissed him off.

Reed slid his phone into his pocket and grabbed his jacket off the chair. With any luck, he wouldn't need it today. With any luck, he wouldn't find himself knocking on some poor woman's door to tell her that her husband or her son or her daughter was never coming home.

“You ready?” Jay asked.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, hey, and I called the hospital. Gantz made it through the surgery.”

“Maybe we'll actually get to interview him, get some answers.”

“Wouldn't count on it,” Jay said. “I hear the guy's chances are slim.”

•   •   •

The hospital wasn't nearly as busy as it had been the night before, which would make Laney's task more difficult. As she walked toward the nurse's station, she noted only two people in the waiting room—an elderly woman watching
Good Morning America
and a guy in a suit standing beside the watercooler texting away on his phone. Laney's gaze lingered on the suit a moment, trying to decide whether he was FBI. His striped shirt looked a little flashy, and anyway he was using an ­iPhone. So not a fed, then.

She approached the nurse's desk and tried to look confident, even though she didn't recognize anyone.

“I'm here to see Edward Gantz.”

“Are you family?” a nurse asked without looking up from her computer.

“I'm his sister.”

The woman stopped typing and gave Laney a once-over, pursing her lips. Despite her cheerful
SpongeBob
scrubs, she didn't look friendly.

“I spoke to Nurse Molina last night?” Laney glanced around. “Is she still on duty?”

“No.” The woman looked Laney in the eye for a long moment, then tapped something into her computer. Her expression changed, and Laney felt a pang of dread. “His condition's been downgraded, I'm afraid. He's listed as critical.”

“Is there any way—”

“No visitors right now. Doctor's orders.”

Laney stood there, debating whether to push her luck. The nurse was watching her, stone-faced, and she decided to quit while she was ahead.

“Thank you.” Laney glanced at her watch. “I'll check back later.”

She returned to the elevator, pulling out her phone as she went. Reed had called again, and Laney's stomach tightened as she stared down at his number. She'd managed to avoid him this morning, but that wouldn't last long.

The elevator doors slid open, and an orderly stepped off, pushing a cart filled with covered food trays. Eggs and bacon, from the smell of it. Laney held the door for him and stepped into the empty car just as the neighboring elevator
dinged
. Several men in suits walked
out, and Laney's pulse jumped. They were the FBI agents from last night. She jabbed at the close button and held her breath.

As the doors slid shut, a man lunged between them.

“Not so fast,” he said. “Who the hell are you?”