Fractured (12 page)

“We seem to have the same shopping list.”

She was actually very nice looking and he noticed her figure was on the rounded side—hey, any guy would. Breasts that weren't big but still could pass for voluptuous—he'd always found that a hilarious word, but it applied in this case—and she wore, in January no less, some kind of clingy sleeveless shirt that showed off her assets.

He didn't miss the flirtatious smile either.

Not a bad boost because he was kind of apprehensive about his “date” with MacIntosh, so he returned it, reminding himself that while women were interested often enough in his external appearance, it was the sarcastic attitude and internal baggage that turned them off.

He was working on it, but the progress was slow.

“So, what do you think?” He pointed at the case of different kinds of garlic bread. “Got a specific one I should pick? I'm kind of lost. I could maybe make my own, but—”

“Too much trouble. I'm with you.” She had even teeth he noticed as the smile widened. “Why do you think I'm picking up the same thing? I like that one. Some of them get too dry.”

Good tip. He took it, opening the glass door. “Thanks. Want one?”

“Absolutely. Bread and pasta are my downfall.”

“I think you're doing pretty good.” He deliberately let his gaze wander. Facetiously, he asked, “What else is on your list, since we seem to be shopping together.”

Her eyes weren't a striking hazel but dark instead, and she gazed at him very directly. “Um, I don't know. I like to wing it. How about you?”

The slight sexual innuendo didn't escape him. Noncommittally, he said, “I've been known to take a chance now and then.”

“You look like the type that might.”

Did he? Jason wasn't quite sure how to respond. He had no problem with a woman coming on to him, but he kind of had a date. If it even could be called that. MacIntosh was coming over for dinner only so they could talk about the case. He'd enticed her with the promise of murder.

They were probably both nuts, along with every homicide detective he knew.

“I usually get in and out as fast as possible.”

“Is that so?” Her brows were arched and lifted a fraction.

He was almost impossible to embarrass, but he felt a tinge of it at the moment. “I'm talking the grocery store. By the way, I'm Jason.”

She laughed and took his offered hand. “Nice to meet you. Maybe we could have a drink sometime.”

It was ironic, he thought as he paid for the groceries, her number in his pocket, how he was simply not interested. Maybe he was learning something about love after all.

 

Chapter 11

It was interesting to see he'd bothered to set the dining room table because she'd never seen it without stacks of mail and carelessly tossed magazines, none of which, she suspected, he ever read.

Santiago's apartment building always gave her a sense that she didn't understand people as much as she thought she did, because he lived in a complex that was designed for families. He'd once told her having laundry hookup in his apartment was what made him sign the lease, but Grasso had suggested maybe Jason Santiago just plain liked children.

Who would think? She loved children too, but living in a noisy building full of families seemed an odd choice for a bachelor who also happened to be a homicide detective.

Ellie set down the bottles of wine she'd stopped to pick up. “You asked about seafood so I brought a Pinot Grigio and a Pinot Noir.”

Santiago just laughed. “Yeah, you think my area of expertise is pairing wine with food? Whatever you want to drink is fine with me. At the moment I'm drinking a light beer that I'm proud to say is made in the great state of Wisconsin, but costs about ten bucks a case. College students won't even touch it, but then again, it is an acquired taste and I acquired it at about age fifteen. Old habits die hard. Let me see if I can find you a glass.”

His kitchen was small but efficient, and she'd always been surprised by how tidy his apartment was in general. Maybe it was his military background kicking in again, but while there might be some clutter, it was pretty clean at all times in her experience. He went to a cabinet above the stove and took out a glass that he inspected before he handed it to her. “Will this work?”

“It'll be fine. Corkscrew?”

It was strange she felt a little awkward. They spent most of every day together and yet this was a bit different—maybe a lot different.

But the vibe didn't feel weird, it just seemed like their private lives were colliding a little with their professional relationship. It was impossible to work with someone so closely and not at least get a sense of what might be going on under the surface, but then again, they usually didn't talk about it.

Santiago opened a drawer and handed her the item in question. “Little used since Kate left. I might even switch to wine myself if you swear to me it isn't that sweet crap.”

“It isn't.”

“Sounds good then. All I have left to do is toast the garlic bread.”

He moved around the kitchen easily, as usual in worn jeans and tonight a dark gray button-up shirt. As with anything else, he always chose his clothes for functionality instead of style, but he somehow managed to pull it off fairly well. Plain and without pretense suited him. The man might be at home at a rock concert in the pouring rain, but wouldn't be caught dead at the symphony. He wasn't a renaissance man by any means, but he didn't want to be either.

Ellie poured two glasses of white wine, and leaned against the counter, sipping hers. “I take it the brilliant note idea has not yet panned out.”

“Give it time.” He slid the bread into the oven and frowned when he turned around. “Help me keep an eye on that. My success level is raw or burned. That edible middle ground still evades me. Want to go sit in the living room? The instructions say twenty minutes, but I think my oven might be possessed by the devil.”

“And here I thought that was you,” Ellie said with a laugh.

His spontaneous smile was surprisingly boyish and maybe even a little charming. Charming was definitely not his style. “Okay, yes, guilty as charged most of the time.”

He chose a chair she guessed was where he often sat because it looked well-worn and faced the television. Ellie wasn't sure if she agreed with the now-absent Kate about the place being adolescent. She thought it just looked like an unattached male lived there in a comfortable way. Bryce's house was better decorated, but then again, he had an ex-wife with excellent taste, so he'd walked away with a sense of how to buy furniture.

That was an interesting question. She asked, “Did you and Kate ever talk about getting married?”

That certainly caught Santiago's attention. “Why the hell did you just ask me that? Are you and Grantham thinking about it?”

“No.” She said it too hastily, so she amended, “No, to the extent we haven't discussed that topic. I was just wondering since you lived together, and that seems to be a natural progression, if the two of you had ever talked it over. Never mind.”

“This is pretty good wine.” He drank some, and then added, “We did a little. You know, at the end of the day, I was just too edgy for her. I really think she liked the idea of damaged goods in theory, but she didn't like the reality. I hope that isn't what happens when she goes into practice.”

As they never discussed anything but their cases this was different, but it did seem wrong to hash over corpses and then sit down to eat. “Damaged goods seems kind of a harsh way to describe yourself.”

“I'm no walk in the park.” He grimaced, lounging in his chair, his wineglass dangling from his fingers. “I work all the time, the subject matter isn't pleasant when we would talk about my job, and I don't have a lot of other interests. Maybe I should take up gardening, but guess what, I don't have a place to do that, and I'd be fucking lousy at it anyway, so murder tends to be my topic of choice.”

It was hers too. Ellie raised her wineglass. “So let's talk about it.”

*   *   *

Dinner had been
pretty good.

Delicious, in fact. It was kind of hard to go wrong with fresh shrimp Louie, but he'd even nailed the garlic bread despite his temperamental oven.

Jason set aside his fork, picked up his napkin, and consciously removed his elbows from the table. “So this is what we have? The university. Maybe the bank. Maybe the neighborhood … you have to do better than that, Detective MacIntosh. That's a lot of maybes.”

She wore a soft sweater patterned in blue and yellow, jeans that clung perfectly to her hips—not that he noticed—and she looked fantastic sitting across the table from him. Ellie lifted her shoulders. “We both know the basic facts. If you have some hidden information, fork it over.”

While he wished they didn't have the same problem, he was just as puzzled. “I'm afraid I don't know sh—er, anything.” He swore in front of her to annoy her, but he could behave himself now and then and it seemed like maybe he should this evening. Then he changed the subject. “Who in your family is sick? Mother, sister, or aunt?”

She gazed at him in consternation, and then answered her own question. “How did you … oh, you saw the pamphlets about breast cancer in my car.”

“And you didn't seem like someone who went on a relaxing beach vacation. You also have a printed form for a request for family medical leave with the dates blank in the drawer of your desk. Not snooping. I was looking for a pen. Can't seem to hold onto any of mine.” He held up the half-empty bottle. “More wine?”

“I'm driving. One glass is my limit. I should probably go anyway.”

To his dismay when she brushed back her hair from her face, her hand was shaking and he could see the liquid sheen of tears in her eyes as she got to her feet and turned away.

“Whoa,” he said, rising swiftly and going around the table without even thinking it over. “Ellie, Christ, I didn't mean to make you cry.”

“I didn't mean to cry,” she whispered, and a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. “I haven't cried yet and it just … happened. Don't worry about it.”

This was one hell of a time for Grantham to leave her all alone. Jason was tempted to say it, but stopped himself. There was nothing the man could do any more than there was anything Jason could do, but he could at least do this. Tentatively, he slid his arms around her and she didn't pull her weapon and shoot him on the spot, so that was a positive sign. He said, “The first shoulder you encounter is rent-free and could probably use a good rinsing anyway. Go for it.”

To his surprise she did, and of course he stood there like an idiot with no idea what to say, his partner, who could face a mangled body without flinching and hunt down ruthless killers, quietly sobbing against his chest. He'd had some specific fantasies that involved her in his arms, but not under these circumstances.

As his quest for something sensitive to say was met with no success whatsoever, he decided silence might be best. In the end, gently withdrawing, she thanked him for dinner, accepted a tissue from the box he kept in the bathroom, put on her coat, and assured him the storm was past and she was fine to drive. He walked her down to her car and she looked thoughtful when she turned before she got in. “We didn't really discuss the case much, but, you know, something strikes me.”

It was typical Ellie MacIntosh, he thought, looking down at her still-damp face. Hardly tough as nails, he'd never thought that, but smart as hell. “I'm all ears. What's that?”

“I wonder if they were related. Think about it. We have a picture of the professor but no idea what the second man looked like before the attack, but still it seemed to me they were about the same height and weight and had similar coloring. Brothers? Cousins?”

It was an interesting theory. He groaned. “Please don't make me go see that bitch Mrs. Peterson again.”

 

Chapter 12

Georgia had taken the day off to paint the bathroom and had the television on for company when she caught a phrase or two from the lead story.

Another slasher murder?

Riveted, she set aside her brush because she hated painting anyway, and watched the broadcast clip.

She knew what her two favorite homicide detectives would be doing this cold morning.

*   *   *

He'd learned about
the third murder via a text message at around six in the morning. Jason rolled over and groaned, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. The table rattled as he groped for the device.

“We have another body. Face slashed.”

Levering himself on his elbow, he'd read it again, trying to clear his brain of early morning fog.

Naked. Right. He always slept naked. Maybe it was all those years in the military without privacy. He'd gone to the bathroom in front of other people in about six different countries, and was glad to have them there to watch his back but it was a gift to be able to sleep as he wished, comfortable and in his own space.

Coffee. He really needed caffeine to come awake enough to process this. He pulled on boxers and jeans, went into the kitchen and started a pot, and from there called Ellie back. “What the hell?”

“Good morning to you too.” She'd sounded half-asleep also. “All I know is we have another body. Metzger was very charming on the phone, much like you, and he wants us right on it. I just got out of the shower. Want me to pick you up?”

What he really wanted was to go back to bed. “It's still dark out. Don't these maniacs ever sleep?” He exhaled and rubbed his face. “Yes, fine. Give me about twenty minutes.”

She'd pulled up right on time.

He was sipping coffee at the window and saw the arc of her lights in the parking lot below just as the radio announced it was four degrees below zero.