Till Justice Is Served (11 page)

The student slid to a stop, looking him up and down. He remained silent, allowing her to catch her breath and start the conversation on her terms.

"One of the guys said you were on TV." She shuffled her feet as if standing barefoot on hot pavement, which she wasn't. "Were they lying? Are you really an FBI agent?"

This young girl's face screamed fear. "Guilty as charged, but I'm not here on business. I graduated from Westbrook."

"Really?" Her eyebrows lifted.

"For real. Go look at the pictures in the trophy case. I'm the football player wearing the number fourteen on my jersey." He smiled, and her bunched shoulders relaxed. "I'm Rafe Sirilli. And you are?"

"Grace...just Grace." She bit down on her bottom lip.

Rafe decided to approach her carefully. She was scared shitless and would bolt like a frightened rabbit if he pressed. "Why did you ask if I'm FBI?"

"I heard you were Ms. Brady's friend." She shifted again, this time looking over her shoulder.

"That's true. We went to school together." Rafe slowly maneuvered Grace to the bleachers. He sat down and patted the bench next to him. "I can't help if I don't know what's frightening you."

She hesitated and then moved to his other side. It was obvious she was uncomfortable being seen with him, so he shifted his body to shield her from prying eyes.

"I'm the new girl at school. We moved from Houston a couple of months ago." A thin sheen of sweat highlighted her forehead. "I didn't know anybody, and people weren't falling all over themselves to be my friend. Penny and her girls were the first who let me hang out with them."

"Are you somehow caught up in the lie about Ms. Brady?" He paused, waiting until she nodded. "Have you told the principal Ms. Brady didn't make inappropriate advances or threats?"

"I can't. I'm not opening my mouth." She jumped up. Her movements were so jerky the books she carried fell to the ground.

"Grace." He scooped up her books and handed them to her. "Telling the truth is the right thing to do."

"If you tell, I'll deny it." Books clutched to her chest, she stared at him for a long heartbeat. "There are two of us still alive. We just want to stay that way."

"Take my card. Call when you're ready to talk." He reached for his pocket. She waved him off. "Just take a look at it."

Her fingers trembled as she accepted the card. Her gaze dropped and then flashed back to his face. "I just wanted Ms. Brady to know I'm glad she was cleared."

"I'll pass that on for you. But I need to know more about the drugs that were in Penny's purse."

"I have to go."

"Stay safe, Grace. Call me if you change your mind."

"You should be careful, too. First Penny, then Sara, and last night some photographer who was covering the story. Looks to me like anybody close to this mess could be next." She rushed back inside the building.

What was this about a photographer? Fuck. Was he going to have to watch every news show that aired to keep up with this killer? He grabbed his cell and pulled up the news. Son of a bitch. The guy Rafe had pulled out of Erin's tree had been killed outside a bar. Stabbed in the back. Did the fact a knife was the murder weapon worry Rafe? Hell, yes.

Minutes later, he had Colton on the line.

"You're sitting on a bed of hot coals." As always, Colton had skipped the pleasantries. "You can't even go home without getting shit stirred up."

"What does that mean?"

"According to the boss, there's already a joint effort in Westbrook Hills, and you're not to get involved."

"How'd he know you were looking into the drug angle for me?" Rafe wasn't questioning if Colton had leaked information. He knew better. Yet here was a message to back off.

Colton chuckled. "While you had me discreetly poking around, somebody inquired about you. I was told to remind you that you're taking some time off."

Rafe's neck muscles tensed. "I knew it. I fucking knew it. Systems programmer, my dying ass. He's a federal agent."

"If you're referring to Linc Hawkins, you're right. While you and I were undercover in Mexico, he made quite a name for himself. Got a brother with the DEA. I suspect they're working the drug angle together. You'd better keep an eye on your lady friend. I hear Hawkins is almost as good with women as I am."

Rafe heard Colton laugh, but nothing he'd said really registered. Nothing past the fact that Linc was a fed. That should have made him happy. It didn't. Should have eased his concern about an ongoing investigation into drugs. It didn't. Should have assured him that Erin was well protected with Linc next door. It didn't.

However, it did make him curious. Was Hawkins really thinking about settling down in Westbrook Hills? Or had he been yanking Rafe's chain to piss him off?

What the hell? He didn't give a damn where Hawkins lived.

Rafe asked Colton to get the inside scoop on the murdered photographer and then ended the call. He arrived at the field house just as the door opened. Young men poured out onto the football field. There'd be no talking to the coach for a while.

He climbed the bleachers and found a good spot to watch practice. The first time the wide receiver ran downfield for a pass, Rafe visualized Nick doing the same, arms in the air, ready to catch the football. Once upon a time, Rafael and Nicholas Sirilli had made one hell of a team.

The young players had broad shoulders and thighs the size of tree stumps. Within minutes of practice starting, things turned ugly. Rafe remembered workouts so brutal that half the team puked. Aggression was expected, but the young men on the field today were vicious. Words were exchanged, and more than one confrontation turned into a shoving match.

Rafe's coach had been tough, preached teamwork and ethics. This man was encouraging the violent behavior. Hell, he was setting an example with his own taunts, shoves, and kicks.

Rafe had seen enough. He jumped to the ground and jogged to the sidelines.

"Coach," he called, interrupting a tirade directed at one particular kid.

The coach whirled. His lips were drawn back over his teeth. He released the kid's jersey. "Practice isn't open to the public. You'll have to leave."

Rafe flashed his badge, exposing enough to identify himself as a federal agent. This had to remain informal, but he had to interrupt.

"Rafe Sirilli," he said. Without hesitation, he walked to the young player and clapped him on the shoulder pads. "You okay?"

The kid's lower jaw moved, but no words came out. He swallowed, glanced at the coach, and then nodded. He jogged back to the action on the field.

"What can I do for you?" The coach moved to stand on Rafe's right side.

"I noticed things were getting out of hand. Thought a timeout might be welcome." Sometimes staying casual and keeping things light worked better than the tactic he wanted to use. He held back the urge to give the asshole a taste of his own medicine.

"If you're not here on official business, I'll get back to the team."

"You go ahead. There's no law against me watching from the stands." No way was he getting anything out of the man or his players.

Rafe climbed to the top of the bleachers where he could stretch his legs out in front of him. The coach called a huddle, and the players grouped around him. Rafe could only guess what was being said. He leaned forward, paying close attention to the big kid who'd most recently been on the wrong end of the coach's wrath.

Movement to the left of the end zone caught Rafe's attention. The girl he'd talked to earlier, Grace, was running across the parking lot toward the street. He stood, keeping her in his line of vision. She paused at the passenger door of a waiting car, caught his gaze, and held it for a minute. She disappeared inside.

Rafe couldn't see the license number, but he knew that particular yellow sports car cost eighty and a hundred grand and was recognizable from any angle. Why was she leaving school early?

Enough of this unofficial crap. It was time he was assigned to this case. Rafe pulled out his cell to call his supervisor. Maybe he could get Rafe assigned to the task force. His cell vibrated before he'd dialed the number. The name on the screen wasn't the boss. Now why'd his heart speed up at seeing Erin's phone number?

"What's up?"

C
HAPTER 10

Why had it gotten difficult to talk with Rafe? And why did she allow his looks to sidetrack her thoughts? Erin had been acutely aware of his rock-hard chest and muscular arms the day she'd stumbled in her hallway. He'd swept her up as if she weighed nothing. The tenderness he'd displayed had been endearing. In the span of a little more than ten years, he'd hardened, forged a rough exterior while nature had polished his physical attributes to a razor-sharp edge.

His Italian ancestry oozed from his pores. His strong jaw blanketed in dark stubble, smoldering gray eyes that looked right through her, and those tempting lips made it hard to concentrate. But damn, he wasn't in the room. He wasn't even in the house.

"Erin. Talk to me." His tone of voice held a hint of worry and a demand for a response.

"Sorry. I got distracted." She decided against telling him she'd been wondering if his lips were soft. "Detective Beckett is coming by. He's asking about a couple of people on the list I gave him. You..." Her mouth had gone bone dry. Erin swallowed and prepared for a rejection. "Do you want to join us?"

"Yeah. I'll head your way right now."

"I make a mean chicken-fried steak. I'll share with you if you want to stay for supper."

"Is Beckett joining us?"

His chilly tone surprised her. Was Rafe jealous? Heat rolled through her system and settled, snuggly and low, in her stomach. "I didn't invite him."

"What wine goes with chicken-fried steak?"

"Any kind you like." The heat in her belly slid lower with his soft chuckle.

"I'll think of something."

Erin disconnected and flopped down on the couch. Had Rafe's low sexy tone hinted he'd assumed this was more than dinner between friends? Was it? He wouldn't be in town much longer. Could she let her guard down and fulfill a few fantasies? A smile pulled at her lips. Why not? He'd be gone soon, and she'd never see him again.

Sex without emotional attachment. Could she do it? Why not? She couldn't remember the last time she'd had sex. A reminder might be just the thing she needed.

She raced through a shower, took particular care with her makeup and hair, and finished minutes before the doorbell rang. Her heart pounded against her ribs, until she looked through the peephole. Hiding her disappointment that it wasn't Rafe, she opened the door.

"Detective Beckett, come in." Erin peeked around his wide body, scanning the porch and yard for his partner. "Where's Detective Henry?"

"Busy. Can we dispense with formality? My name is Wade." He waved a hand toward the empty street. "I see you've lost your audience."

"I heard about the photographer. I guess they're following his story." Erin caught movement from the corner of her eye.

She held the door while Rafe parked in her driveway and came inside. He shook the detective's hand. She took the bottle of wine and cake box from Rafe, leaving the two men to talk. She turned to find them at her breakfast counter. Both were over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, and they filled the room.

"Iced tea?" At their nods, she poured three glasses and set them on the counter. "You found somebody on the list interesting?"

"A couple of them warrant talking about." Wade flipped open a small notebook. "What's your opinion of Coach Terry Evans and YMCA Administrator Domingo Ramirez?"

"I wouldn't think it unusual for the girls to be seen talking with either one. Terry is always talking with students. A lot of the kids use the Y, so Dom would logically be in contact with them."

"How about the principal?"

"The same. Professional. He spends more time on administrative duties. Vice Principal Bushnell handles the staff and students."

Rafe frowned. "There's no Bushnell on my list."

"Her name is Rachael Bushnell."

"Oh." He nodded. "Give me your personal take on the men I mentioned," Wade continued.

"I think Coach is a sleazeball, and Dom is friendly but always professional." Deciding she might have been too hasty, Erin took a second to collect her thoughts. "Terry's a jerk. He bullies the boys and flirts with every female, from teachers to students. Principal Mueller is a politician. He's a little awkward around women. Dom loves everybody. He enjoys working with the girls at the Y. He's always giving pointers to any player who wants to improve her game." Erin shook her head.

Rafe held up a finger. "What are you not telling us?" he asked Wade.

Wade hesitated. "Two of them have had run-ins with the law. A few complaints, but nothing that resulted in arrests."

Rafe placed his empty glass on the breakfast bar. Erin moved to give him a refill. His hand covered hers. His strong fingers wrapped around hers as she gripped the handle of the pitcher.

"I'll pour." Rafe refilled his own glass. "Not good enough," he said to Wade. "Define complaints."

Wade hesitated. "You know I can't share that with you."

Erin had to ask, "Do you think one of them sold the drugs to Penny?"

"I'm just working your list against our records," Wade said. "Until I have proof, I'm not commenting. Right now, I'm looking for loose ends."

"Here's one. Erin initiated the whole investigation by reporting the drugs. If she's in danger, I want to know." Rafe's words chilled the air. Harsh and flat, his tone was menacing.

"I can see you're itching to get involved." Wade's back straightened. "I can't allow you to interfere."

"Me?" Rafe's eyes flashed wide. Erin guessed this was his innocent look. "I won't get in anybody's way." He casually brought his glass to his lips and drank a sip of tea.

"Anyone else interesting?" Erin decided to route the conversation back to the list.

"No one stood out." Wade shifted on the stool, turning so he faced only Erin. "Your response to Terry Evans makes me want to chat with him."