Nowhere Safe (4 page)

“I can only stay a minute,” September said, putting the vehicle into gear.

Bean There, Done That wasn’t the closest coffee shop to the station, but it was the one used most often by September and her partner. It took her a while to find a parking spot and by the time she pushed through the door she found that Gretchen had snagged one of the prime booths.

“I had to jump on this or lose it,” she said, “so you’ll have to stand in line for a drink.”

“No problem.”

September walked to the back of the order line, standing behind a man in a business suit with a hurried manner, and a girl tuned into her smartphone so deeply that September practically had to push her forward when it was her turn.

She ordered a skinny latte and then waited to one side along with the other milling customers for it to be prepared. She glanced over at Gretchen, who was also studying her phone. September had been paired with the brash detective when she’d first joined the department and had been leery of Gretchen’s reputation as a bitch on wheels. There was a reason she’d gotten that label, but September had learned early on that Gretchen knew her stuff.

Her name was called and she picked up her latte and slid across the booth from her partner. Gretchen had dark, curly hair and dark skin, a gift from her Brazilian mother, and slanted blue eyes, a gift from her father, who was, according to Gretchen, “as white bread as they come.”

“So, what’s with the Ballonni case?” Gretchen wanted to know.

“D’Annibal wouldn’t like it if I talked about a case with you,” September pointed out.

“You’re going to anyway, so stop with the ‘oh, I don’t know if I should’ shit. I’m only on administrative leave because I killed the fucker who was stabbing you.”

“Eloquently put,” September said. “And thank you.”

“You’re welcome. So, tell me,” she urged her.

September relented, never really intending to keep anything from Gretchen anyway. They’d been on the Ballonni case together and were likely to be on it again as soon as Gretchen was cleared for duty. She told her about finding Stefan at Twin Oaks Elementary without mentioning his relationship to her at first, but she finished with, “. . . and here’s the weird part—the victim, Stefan Harmak, is my ex-stepbrother.”

“What?”

“His mother was my father’s second wife.”

“He’s your
stepbrother?
”

“Was,” September stressed.

“Is every case about you? Jesus, Nine.” She frowned at her. “What the hell kind of thing is this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who is this vigilante?” Gretchen said, gazing past September to the middle distance. “Making them write those signs? Who would do that? But your stepbrother survived.”

“Maybe the guy didn’t really mean to kill Ballonni. Gotta be the same guy, though, don’t you think?”

“What did he look like?”

September related Stefan’s description, finishing with, “. . . not much to go on. Stefan just wants to sweep it all under the rug.”

“God, I gotta get back to the job,” Gretchen chafed. “How long does it take?”

“It’s pretty cut and dried. You killed him before he could kill me. It’s not like there’s any question about it.”

She nodded. September wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. “So, how’s your love life?” she asked next.

“I told Jake I’d move in with him.”

She picked up on September’s careful tone. “Big step. How long have you known Westerly?”

“Years. You know.”

“But, I mean, really known him. Like a month?”

“What about you and that bartender?” September shot back.

She made a face. “I didn’t move in with him.”

September glanced at the time on her cell phone. “D’Anni-bal’s probably heard I’m semirelated to Stefan and wants me off the case.”

“The Ballonni case is ours,” Gretchen reminded her.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got to convince the lieutenant of that.”

“God, I wish I was back.”

“Me, too,” September said, surprised that she felt so strongly about it. She liked working with Wes, but she missed Gretchen’s abrasiveness. It was like being thrown into ice water and sometimes that’s what it felt like she needed to sharpen her senses.

“When you talk to D’Annibal,” Gretchen said as they were leaving, “tell him to get his head out of his ass and let you stay on the case.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that. Then we’ll both be out of the department.”

“So, what are you gonna do?”

“Pull up the Ballonni file and go over it again.”

“I called the wife twice, but she wasn’t interested in reviewing the case. She didn’t like Chubb much,” Gretchen said.

September nodded. And she hadn’t liked Gretchen much, she would bet. Her partner’s bullish style definitely took some getting used to. “But now there’s been another attack. I’ll meet with her, if D’Annibal lets me stay on the case.”

“Keep me informed.”

“I’ll try,” September said.

Lieutenant Aubrey D’Annibal signaled for September to come inside his office, a cubicle of glass tucked into one corner of the squad room, almost the moment she returned from her locker. She’d intended to check the Ballonni file, but now that was going to have to wait.

“Close the door,” he said as she stepped inside, and she did as he requested, then took a seat across his desk from him.

D’Annibal was lean, gray-haired, and his suits were sharp and neatly pressed. Everything about him was neat, in fact, and he’d intimidated September her first few months on the job before she learned that, though he strictly stuck to protocol, he was fair and listened more than a lot of men in his position did.

Now he gazed at her directly and asked, “How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“You could have taken more time off.”

“I know.”

“You’re moving a little slowly. Maybe you should be part-time, like Pelligree, until you’re at full speed.”

“I’m okay. Really. I’ll dial it back if it gets too hard.”

He thought about that, then nodded. “All right. We’re shorthanded around here and with the hiring freeze . . .”

She wanted to ask him when her brother would be back full-time from his gig with the Portland PD, but decided to keep her thoughts to herself. Auggie liked working undercover more than straight detective work, no matter what he might say differently. There was an even chance that he would be moving into a position with the larger police force full-time, and she didn’t feel like facing that yet.

“What about this stun gun/robbery/kidnapping this morning?” the lieutenant asked her. He’d been standing, but now he seated himself across from her.

“The victim, Stefan Harmak, is my ex-stepbrother,” she said. “I didn’t know it until I was on scene, but I probably would have gone anyway. The MO is almost identical to the Christopher Ballonni case: victim drugged, tied up, left with a placard in his own hand. Ballonni’s was
I MUST PAY FOR WHAT I’VE DONE
, and Harmak’s is
I WANT WHAT I CAN’T HAVE
. We’ve never known for certain if it was a homicide, or possibly an assisted suicide, but Harmak says that the doer forced him to write the message, so I’d say Ballonni’s death is a homicide.”

D’Annibal steepled his fingers and said, “I agree. He died of exposure after being tied to a pole.”

“Whoever did it let Stefan live.”

“What does he have to say about it?”

September recounted her hospital conversation with Stefan and added what Wes had told her about the crime, too. “This man, this avenger, takes an awful lot of extra time just to make his point.”

“Did you ask him if he knew why the doer wanted him to write on the placard?”

“Not exactly. He was reluctant to talk to me.”

The lieutenant drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “I know you and Sandler were working the Ballonni case, but now that it involves your stepbrother, I think I’m going to hand it over to Pelligree or Thompkins.”

“Let me stay on the Ballonni case, sir. I’ve been working on it since I got here. If Wes works the Harmak angle, I can stay off that part of it, but I don’t want to stop on Ballonni, especially now that there’s some traction on the case.”

“But you have a personal connection to it now.”

“Stefan Harmak’s my ex-stepbrother,” September said firmly. “He’s really not a part of my family any longer.”

“I saw how you walked in here. Like everything hurts. I’m only agreeing to have you stay because we’re so short staffed.”

“I’m just a little sore. I can spend most of my time at my desk making phone calls. I want to re-interview Mrs. Ballonni. See if anything’s different since Gretchen called her last summer.”

D’Annibal looked past her and through the glass surrounding his office. September turned to see what he was looking at. What was visible were the empty desks lining the squad room with George in the corner, tapping his computer keyboard, and Wes on the other side of the room, leaning back in his chair, deep into a phone conversation.

“Okay,” he capitulated. “You can work the Ballonni angle, but stay out of the Harmak case. And send Pelligree in here next.”

September was already to the door. When she crossed the squad room toward Wes, he looked up at her, still on the phone. She signaled for him to go in and see the lieutenant, and he nodded his understanding. Then she went to the file drawers that held current cases, searched through until she found the murder book on Christopher Ballonni, then returned to her desk.

A call came in and she glanced up to see who was answering. George was reaching for the phone and she was glad to let him be the point man. She wanted to review the Ballonni file while her meeting with Stefan was fresh in her mind.

George answered, listened briefly, and then said, “Rafferty, it’s yours.”

September glanced up from the file, then picked up her desk phone. “Detective Rafferty,” she answered.

“Just checking in on you,” Jake drawled. “How’re you doing?”

September straightened as if caught in a nefarious act. “Fine. Why didn’t you call my cell?”

“I did. Half a dozen times. Decided to come home from lunch and called you again and that’s when I heard it singing away. It’s here on the kitchen counter.”

September swore silently. Despite what she’d told D’Annibal, she wasn’t herself. She hadn’t even thought about her cell phone once since she’d come to work, though normally she brought it with her to her desk.

“I’ll come back and pick it up. Time to grab some lunch anyway.”

“I’ll pick us up some sandwiches at Wanda’s. What do you want?”

“I don’t know. Surprise me.”

“How about a Reuben?”

“How about a turkey club?”

“See. I know better than to surprise you,” he said.

She found herself grinning, amazed how glad she was to hear his voice. She’d just seen him this morning and yes, she’d been having a helluva time being his patient, but now that she was back at work she was missing him more than she would have believed. She shouldn’t be this dependent on him, this fast. It didn’t bode well for the future.

“I’ll be there in twenty,” she told him.

By the time September was pulling up to the rambler that was Jake’s house, after battling some unexpected road construction, she’d actually chewed into thirty minutes of her lunch hour. Not that the department was a stickler for a punch card on its detectives, but it had been less than a year since September had been promoted to detective and taken a job with the Laurelton PD and she didn’t feel comfortable abusing the unwritten rules too much. She’d already used up her weekly allowance by meeting with Gretchen and that didn’t even count the information she’d revealed that she probably shouldn’t have.

Jake opened the door, completely naked. He had her cell phone to his ear and was carrying on a bogus conversation. “. . . yes, she’s here now. No, sorry, she’s going to be busy for a while.” A pause. “She’s looking for the Johnson file,” he said as September cried, “Jake!” and reached forward, ripping the phone from his hand, just to make sure he really wasn’t talking to someone.

He was laughing as she said dryly, “I think I see the Johnson file.” She checked the phone, then clicked off, relieved he was just joking around.

“Really? Where?” he asked innocently.

She pushed him through the door, shutting it behind them. “Good thing we don’t have close neighbors.”

“You’re late. You gave me time to get the sandwiches and think up something fun for us to do.”

“Uh-huh. And me being an invalid.”

“Okay, we can just have lunch.” He was grinning like a fool and she let her gaze slide over his muscled chest and lean torso.

“How fast are you?”

He’d been turning toward the kitchen, but now he glanced back, giving her a penetrating look. “Fast,” he said.

“I only have about ten minutes and I’ll have to take the sandwich to go.”

“You sure?”

She tested her shoulder, feeling the pain but sick of being a slave to it. “Yessirree.”

“Giddyup,” he said, and with that he hurried her along to the bedroom as fast as he could, helped her out of her clothes, and then made good on his boast about speed.

 

 

“What are you smiling at?” Wes drawled as he stared across the squad room at September. He was leaning back in his chair, a grin playing on his lips also.

“What?” she asked.

“I don’t think it’s something in that file.”

September glanced down at the pages of the Ballonni file, knowing she hadn’t retained a word of what she’d just read. Her mind was full of images of Jake’s body in rhythmic motion with hers. She could feel his body shake with silent laughter as she whispered, “Ride ’em, cowboy,” before the mood changed and the only sounds were the rustle of the sheets and her own soft moans and his deeper growls of pleasure.

She slapped the cover shut and said, “The Johnson file.”

It was Wes’s turn to ask, “What?”

“Nothing.”

She and Jake had only had a few minutes of actual talking time and even that was rushed. But he had managed to tell her that Colin and Neela were on the “baby train,” and she’d looked at Jake and wondered what he thought about that. Their own relationship was so new that they were a long way even from marriage; babies were another world.

Not that she believed love, marriage, and babies had to come in that order. A case in point, her sister July, who’d recently let September know that she’d gone to a clinic, picked out her baby daddy’s sperm, and now was pregnant. No one else in the family knew yet, so September hadn’t told Jake, either. That news would all be self-evident soon anyway.

She’d left Jake at his house with a promise to come home early, take care of her stiff and tender shoulder, and rest. He wasn’t planning to return to the office as he was going to spend the afternoon shifting furniture around in preparation for her belongings.

Were they moving too fast? Yes . . . maybe . . . no . . . probably. But she also knew that she was sick of living alone and wanted to give it a try. If their relationship failed, which she sincerely prayed it would not, then she could always move out again. Still, she could feel that she was dragging her feet. She wanted to live with Jake. She really, really did. But she was suffering from a bad case of ennui. Was it because of her injury that she felt so tired and energy-less? Or, was this some kind of enervating dread that had infected her? Either way, whenever Jake talked about the upcoming move she wanted to lie down and put her arm over her eyes, classic ostrich behavior.

Now, she shook herself back to reality. She’d placed a call to the number she had for the Ballonni household and had reached their voice mail and Mrs. Ballonni’s voice:
You’ve reached Janet and Chris; leave a message after the beep.
At first she’d thought Chris was Janet Ballonni’s husband and she’d never changed the message on her voice mail or she’d simply wanted to keep her husband alive in this way. But then she’d glanced at the file and realized the Ballonni’s son was named Christopher Jr. and figured the two names on the message were meant for Janet and her son.

She left her name and the department’s number, just in case Mrs. Ballonni would need to verify her identity, then added her cell-phone number as an afterthought. George was on the phone at the same time September was and as she hung up, he suddenly slammed down his phone on an incoming call and barked out, “Woman’s body discovered at Foxglove Park. Who wants to go?”

“I will,” Wes said.

“I’ll go with you,” September said.

“We’ll take the Rover,” Wes said, getting up from his chair.

September had already eased herself to her feet. She could feel new and interesting tweaks and jabs inside that had nothing to do with the still healing knife wound. “Giddyup,” she said under her breath, smiling some more.

As they headed out Gayle looked at them as they passed by her desk. Once outside, September said, “You’ve been messing with her.”

“I just believe in Guy’s attention to protocol.”

“Bullshit.”

Wes grinned, his teeth a slash of white. “All right, I’ll leave the temp alone. Don’t want to wish Urlacher back too soon.” He hit the remote on his black Range Rover.

“Foxglove,” Wes mused as they drove away from the station. “That’s some kind of poison, isn’t it?”

“Maybe you’re thinking of hemlock.”

“Nuh-uh.”

As they drove to the park, which was about two miles west of the department on the outskirts of Laurelton and nearly to Winslow County, September’s cell phone rang. Caller ID showed her father, Braden Rafferty’s, cell number. He’d been calling her almost daily since she’d been stabbed, and she found it more annoying than helpful. They’d never been close and that gap had widened after her mother’s death and then his subsequent marriages to first Verna, then Rosamund. When she and her twin had opted to become cops, he’d basically disowned them and his relationship with Auggie was still very tenuous. Recently, there had been baby steps toward a reconciliation but it was still a long ways off.

She debated on not answering, but it would only put off the inevitable. “Hey, there,” she answered.

“Hi, September. I just wanted to check in and see how you’re feeling.”

“Better every day. I’m back at work.”

“Already?”

“Yes.” She heard how testy she sounded and changed the subject. “How are the renovations going?”

“Coming along. Rosamund’s working with a decorator.”

He sounded cautious, and September could well imagine why. The recent fire at the sprawling Bavarian-style house that was their family home, was the other reason her father kept phoning her. It had started in the garage and ruined Rosamund’s lime green kitchen, which no one was mourning, least of all Braden, apparently.