The Hunk Next Door (16 page)

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Come on,” she said to Riley. “We’ll take my car. Give them your keys.”

He raised his eyebrows but pulled them out of his pocket.

“When you’re done with this scene, process his truck. Thoroughly,” she instructed. “I’ll make sure his prints get into the system so you can rule them out.”

He told himself the cover story established by the Specialists would hold up under the scrutiny of the Belclare police department and he fell into step beside her. She darted into her house, returned seconds later with her purse and then rushed for her car.

“How are they going to process anything without a police station?”

Abby unclipped her keys from her purse strap. “Filmore was kind enough to leave us with half of a police station.”

“Just not the half your office was in.”

“Exactly.” She nodded, pulling open her car door. “We’re wasting time. Get in.”

She barely waited for him to buckle his seat belt before she hit the sirens and went barreling out of the neighborhood.

“You’re angry,” he observed.

Abby thought about that as she negotiated the light traffic. Moving to a smaller town was the best thing she’d ever done. For herself and her career. She wasn’t going to let some sick bastard ruin that by picking off her friends. “Yes.”

“About being my alibi?”

“Only a little,” she admitted.

“Your officers are protective and loyal. That’s a good thing.”

He had a valid point, which only emphasized how any of the men and women on the Belclare force could become targets at any time. Had, in fact, if she considered last night’s fire.

She slowed for the congestion on Main Street and it gave her time to glance at him. In profile his face was stern, his eyes on the road. The clean-shaved jaw was set with a determination that mirrored hers. He’d been so calm and steady with Calder and again at the fire. He’d barely flinched when Gadsden and Miller had been ready to haul him in. Somehow it made her feel better about taking a civilian to another crime scene. For the briefest of seconds, she wondered again if she was a fool to let him so close. She’d certainly misread Filmore, but she couldn’t dwell on that mistake.

“I’m angry that some maladjusted perp is yanking me around and messing with my friends.” She stomped on the accelerator once she was clear of the traffic. “More than that, I’m worried about Mrs. Wilks.”

“We’ll find her.”

“We damn well better find her alive. If he’s killed her—”

“He?”

She focused on the road. At this speed she had to or she’d be risking their lives, too. And she wasn’t letting the person responsible for all of this off that easily. “A generic term at this point.”

“But?”

How did he know there was a “but”? She supposed it was obvious. “Some of the more recent emails, the more personal threats, feel like they’ve been written by one person. Male. Thanks to technology they might be coming in from all across the globe, but I think one man is leading this vendetta against me.”

“That’s a big leap, Abby. The video was a smash hit.”

She swore, taking the fork toward the docks. “It’s Chief Jensen when we’re on scene.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He sounded like Gadsden. She didn’t have time to decide how she felt about that. As they approached the scene, she left her lights on but turned off the siren. “I know you didn’t do this. When we get there feel free to verify that’s your hammer.”

“Unless it isn’t.”

“Unless it isn’t,” she echoed. She couldn’t picture Riley kidnapping Mrs. Wilks with a hammer or anything else. Maybe he’d hold her hostage for more cookies. The idea made her want to smile. But first she had to find her neighbor...and friend.

She parked the car and prepared herself for the worst. If Mrs. Wilks had been found, they would’ve radioed that information to her en route.

“Chief Jensen.”

“Yes?” She faced Riley, startled by the intensity in his golden brown eyes.

“I
didn’t
do this.”

“I know.” Her instincts wouldn’t be that skewed by a few hot kisses and helpful deeds. Looking away from him, she let her gaze wander across the docks. A time-worn industrial scene on the best of days, the mismatched collection of warehouses, cranes and container yard weren’t any more inviting with the dusting of snow.

“We have to find her,” she said to herself. “I won’t let some faceless terrorists win.” She exited the car, grateful she’d opted for sturdy denim trousers and a thick sweater for working at home today.

The grim expressions on the responding officers’ faces told her they hadn’t come up with anything positive, but she asked for the status anyway.

“Nothing new.” Detective Calloway slid a dark look toward Riley. “What’s he doing here?”

She found it interesting that Gadsden hadn’t called ahead with a warning that Riley was with her. “He’s not responsible for this,” she said in an unyielding tone. “He can also verify if the item that implicates him is in fact his.”

Calloway scowled at Riley. “Come on then. It’s over here.”

She watched every nuance of Riley’s body language for stress and found none. He was either very good at hiding his reactions, or absolutely oblivious to the risks. Despite her belief in his innocence, they had to follow the evidence.

The detective held the hammer, enveloped in an evidence bag, in front of Riley’s face. “It has your name on it, O’Brien.”

Abby continued to watch for an indicator that Riley was lying about any of this. He didn’t even flinch as he manipulated the hammer inside the bag until his name showed. “Every temp worker in town has used one like this at some point this week. It’s company issue.” He handed it back. “Name or not, that isn’t mine.”

He didn’t need to start lying now. “Your name is right there on the handle,” she argued.

“Sure is,” he agreed. “But that isn’t how I write my name.”

“What?” She and the detective took a closer look at the same time.

“Compare it to the tools in my truck and you’ll see. Someone else wrote my name there.”

She nodded at Calloway. He called over to Gadsden for a quick picture and count of the hammers in Riley’s truck. When the picture proved Riley was correct, she sighed, relieved and frustrated. She appreciated the confirmation of his innocence, but they weren’t any closer to finding Mrs. Wilks.

“What now?” Calloway wanted to know.

“We talk to the folks who reported the abandoned vehicle.”

With a nod to Riley, she invited him to tag along as she posed her questions to the workers on-site. No one had been spotted coming or going from the vehicle. There were a few cameras on the docks, which had helped her bust the drug runners, but Mrs. Wilks’s car had been placed in a blind spot.

“On purpose,” Riley observed as they walked around the area. “They did a sloppy job trying to frame me,” he added.

She looked down the docks. The company he worked for was renting space in the warehouse farthest from the water. It was the largest but also offered better security and more parking. “What are the cameras like at your warehouse?”

“Are you kidding?” Riley pushed his hands into his pockets. “With all the negative attention, the boss added his own closed-circuit system. Says it’s the first time he felt like he had to.”

“Does everyone on the team know that?”

Riley shrugged. “I think so, but can’t say for sure.”

She walked back to where Calloway was overseeing the arrival of the tow truck for Mrs. Wilks’s car. “Let’s get the video from the warehouse where Riley works. Maybe we’ll identify who tossed the wallet at the Dumpster.”

Calloway hustled off to do as she requested. The only thing left to do was examine the car and she wanted to get that done before it was towed to the impound lot. Abby’s gut twisted, but she couldn’t avoid the inevitable. She told herself the odds of finding anything her officers had overlooked were slim to none, but she had to try. She owed it to her neighbor.

“Come on,” she said to Riley, handing him latex gloves. She had no desire to do this alone. Let the department—hell, the entire town—speculate, but she needed his support right now on a very personal level.

Mrs. Wilks was more than a neighbor, she’d become a dear friend. Based on the latest trash in Abby’s in-box, the man tormenting her had targeted and kidnapped Mrs. Wilks solely because she and Abby were friends. With every step, the burdens got heavier. The symbolic vandalism. Calder. Her shovel used against one of the vandals. Filmore and the fire.

She paused at the driver’s side, gazing across the top of the car at Riley. “I’m done playing catch-up here. We find Mrs. Wilks and then I’m doing whatever it takes to put this to rest.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Abby didn’t quite know how she’d do it, but she knew it was past time. There had to be some way to connect the dots and put a stop to this. Belclare was her town and she wouldn’t cower in a corner while terrorists dealt out fear. She put on the gloves to preserve any evidence and opened the driver’s door.

The driver’s seat was pushed back much too far for Mrs. Wilks’s smaller frame. “She didn’t drive herself,” she noted.

“Which might mean two perps. One to drive, one to control the hostage.”

Abby nodded, bending down for a closer look at the floor mats. “She’s feisty. It might have required two perps just to subdue her.”

“When does she prepare her coffeemaker?”

“Huh?”

“She has a programmable pot. It was full and turned off when we were in the house. She had to have set it at some point.”

“Typically, she does that during the commercial break before the news. At least, that’s what I’ve seen her do on the rare occasions I was there at that time of night.”

“All right. Neither of us saw any strange cars on the street when we got home from the fire.”

Abby’s face heated as she recalled those steamy kisses. “We weren’t exactly looking for anything out of place.”

He shot her a wicked grin, the one full of sexy promises that made her pulse kick in hopeful anticipation. She ruthlessly reminded herself they were at a crime scene.

“Look at that.” He pointed to the floor cushion in the backseat closest to her side.

She opened the back door and shifted, letting the bright sunlight fall on a pink smudge on the upholstery. She sniffed at it, recognizing the cosmetic fragrance. “Lipstick. Damn it.”

Abby stood up, pulling the crisp air deep into her lungs, willing her stomach to settle down.

“Well, it’s confirmation she or someone wearing lipstick was in the car,” Riley said, coming over to her side so they could speak without being overheard. “Unless she typically kissed her backseat.”

She opened her mouth to say they’d known that already, but he was right—without an eyewitness, they’d been assuming Mrs. Wilks had been a passenger in the car.

“Okay.” Abby took another deep breath. “You and I arrived in the neighborhood just after eleven. Mrs. Wilks would have made her coffee before that. Assuming the altercation was limited to the hallway, one or two men grabbed her from her house before the evening news wrapped up.

Abby might have heard something if she hadn’t been in the shower wishing she had the guts to invite Riley over to wash her back. A weak laugh slipped out at the thought. If she’d done that, bringing him out of his house, he might actually have seen or heard something.

“This isn’t your fault, Chief Jensen,” he said.

She cursed herself for allowing him to see the uncertainties nagging at her. “Not quite what I was thinking, but close enough.” She pointed to the tires. “I’m not seeing anything on the tread or wheel wells that I wouldn’t expect to find in Belclare.”

“So what did they do in between grabbing her and dumping the car?”

Refusing to let her emotions run amok down that path, Abby regained a small measure of control. Planting her hands on her hips, she said, “Let’s check the trunk.”

“No one’s done that?”

“They said it was empty, but I want to look anyway.”

“Fresh eyes?”

“Exactly.” She went around to the passenger side and popped open the glove box to hit the trunk release. The car shifted when the trunk lid opened. “There has to be some clue about what they’ve done with her.”

“Stop.” Riley held up a hand, his gaze locked on the interior of the trunk.

“What?”

“Back away and pull back the others, too.”

“Tell me why,” she insisted.

“Bomb.”

The single word, delivered so calmly, jolted her system. “The trunk was empty when they found the car. No one could have planted a bomb since my guys got here.”

“Abby,” he warned. “Listen to me. Please.”

What could he possibly know about bombs? But his face was pale and now his body was rigid with tension. “I’m not leaving without taking a look.”

He shook his head, sending her a ferocious scowl, but she didn’t care. He had to be wrong. Her people had already popped the trunk and declared it empty and void of evidence.

“Fine. But call in a bomb squad while you look.”

Belclare didn’t have a bomb squad. She couldn’t recall for sure, but one of the firefighters might have had military experience with disarming explosives. The closest fully trained team was in Baltimore. “Is there a timer?”

“I don’t know yet.”

She stepped up next to him, but all she saw was the coarse fabric lining the trunk. “Riley, what am I missing here?”

“Too many wires into the brake lights.” He pointed out the difference between the right and left sides. “Call someone,
now.
”

“There’s no one local,” she whispered, even as she entered the number for the state police. “If we’re lucky they can have someone here in half an hour.”
Lucky
being the operative word.

No sooner had she’d ended the call than the sound of heavy engines jerked her attention to the parking lot behind them. She swore when two media vans stopped at the perimeter, as she’d requested. “Great. Now we’ll have an audience.”

“Someone tipped them off.”

“Possibly, but anyone can listen to the police radio,” she replied, equally irritated. “Tell me what to do.”

“Any chance you’ll back off while I take a closer look?”