The Detective Read online

  Just one second here. She’d gotten fired and he dared take an attitude with her? Really?

  “I’m on my way to my house to retrieve the key to the Williams place. Brenda demanded I return it by noon. After she fired me.”

  “You should have waited for my dad. You can’t go there alone.”

  Oh, please. As if she had time for one of his annoying lectures. And had he even heard she’d been fired? He’d completely blown by that fact when he should be thanking her for not going ninja on him. For restraining herself when all she wanted was to demand answers and beg him to tell her he hadn’t humiliated her.

  “Well, Brodey, I don’t have the luxury of waiting for an escort. I have clients to see. Considering I just lost one because your friend Detective McCall went to her house and accused her of killing her husband.”

  “Stop it. He didn’t accuse her of killing him.”

  So he knew.

  Fueled by her damned heart splitting in two, a burst of anger soared and she gritted her teeth, fought the rage shredding, absolutely dismantling her from inside out. God, how did she have such colossally bad judgment with men? Honesty shouldn’t be a lot to ask for.

  She stared at the cars moving through the intersection, focused on the movement, the various shades of blue and silver and red, and brought her mind to a place of detached calm. “You knew about this and didn’t tell me?”

  “Lex, it happened fast. When was I supposed to tell you?”

  “Uh, maybe when you decided she was a suspect?”

  “Come on. You knew I hadn’t completely ruled her out. You know the wife always gets a look.”

  Now he wanted to weasel out of it on a technicality. And worse, manipulate her into thinking this was her fault because he hadn’t shared information with her. He could have at least warned her this might happen. She’d trusted him to do the right thing, to not keep things from her, to not betray her. Instead, she’d been blindsided. She may not have walked in on Brodey with another woman, but he hid things from her, and a lie by omission was just as devastating.

  Once again, she’d allowed a man to humiliate her.

  And break her heart.

  Foolish, foolish woman.

  “Don’t even, Brodey. You never told me things were moving forward on her. Or that McCall was going there today. Frankly, I can’t blame her for firing me. I’d probably do it, too. You knew what I had riding on this project, and now she’s blaming me because you and your detective buddies accused her of murder. You could have warned me!”

  “Why is she blaming you?”

  Ugh. Idiot man. “Because I brought you into this! She thinks if you weren’t involved, the case would be stalled.”

  Still holding the phone, she slid her briefcase to her shoulder and scooped up her sample book. The left side of her body would be a war zone after hauling all that weight, but right now, that was the least of her issues.

  “She’ll calm down,” he said. “I’ll have Jenna talk to her.”

  “Oh, you’ll have Jenna talk to her? Why, thank you. That makes me feel so much better.”

  A car flew by the intersection and beeped at a truck stopped at the corner. That would be the capper of the day; getting mashed between two vehicles. She’d just hook a right and cross at the other end. Away from this traffic.

  “What’s that honking?” Brodey asked.

  “Cars. It’s a city. We have them.”

  “Are you gonna knock it off with the sarcasm and let me explain?”

  “What’s to explain? You knew she was a suspect and didn’t tell me.”

  “It’s an investigation.”

  “Oh, oh, oh, it’s an investigation. Funny. You weren’t saying that last night when you had me stripped naked on my damned sofa! You lied to me. I trusted you to do the right thing. God help me, I always pick the liars.”

  “What?” he roared, his voice so loud she yanked the phone from her ear. “Do not lump me in with that scumbag.”

  Lexi sucked in a breath at the outburst. Brodey had a temper. Even if she’d never seen it in action, she’d sensed its swarming presence, waiting to be unleashed.

  Well, she’d apparently set it free.

  “Don’t yell at me.”

  “And what? You want me to sit here and let you compare me to that cheating piece of garbage you almost married? That’s what you think of me?”

  No.

  Yes.

  So confused. Continuing her trek down the street, she shook her head, blinked back tears. “I don’t know what I think.”

  “Then you need to figure it out. I didn’t lie to you, Lexi. I’m not even supposed to be investigating this thing. I’m on leave. My involvement could seriously screw up this case. If they bring charges against her, I’m gonna have to answer for it. I could lose my damned job.”

  “Now that’s my fault, too? I didn’t tell you to get involved. Talk to your sister about that. In fact, I don’t want to hear from you anymore.”

  “I’m a homicide detective. There are things related to cases I won’t be able to share with you. It comes with the territory. You want full disclosure all the time, and as much as I’d like to do that, I can’t. Simple fact.”

  And, wow, didn’t that just sum up their biggest issue. Yes, she wanted honesty. More than that, she deserved it. Clearly, he didn’t understand that. “I trusted you and you...you...you disappointed me. Brodey Hayward, you broke my heart. And that, I won’t tolerate.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Lexi!”

  Brodey dragged the phone from his ear. Call Ended. Damn it. She’d hung up on him. And eee-doggies the woman was steamed. Well, hell, so was he. After all this damned work, she’d compared him to a lying, cheating scumbag. As much as he enjoyed her, craved her, that was a no-go and he really would be a liar if he didn’t admit the whole scenario got him riled.

  Temples throbbing, he stood on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop where McCall had given him the what’s-what on his talk with Brenda. A fight with Lexi, he didn’t need today. Suddenly, his professional and personal lives were crumbling into a hot mess.

  Take a breath. Yeah, a minute to regroup. Focus. Get organized.

  He inhaled, drew in the filthy fumes from a city bus—just his luck—and released the poison from his body. Regroup.

  From what McCall had told him, there were no accusations made, but Brenda Williams wasn’t stupid. The minute the detective started asking about the suspicious transactions, she’d shut him down, which meant she had something to hide or she’d panicked.

  Maybe both.

  With the timing of Lexi’s call, Brenda must have called her the minute McCall had left. Who else had Brenda called? Think like a criminal. Had it been him who’d hired Ed Long to kill his spouse, old Ed would be next on the call list. She’d want to alert him, close ranks and make sure they had their stories straight.

  And Long had already tried terrorizing Lexi. Seemed both Brenda and Ed wanted to blame her for their screwups. A siren blared, bringing Brodey out of his mind and he turned to see a patrol car whipping around a cab and screaming through the intersection. Sometimes he missed patrolling and that shot of adrenaline that happened when the sirens wailed. Sometimes. Most times, he’d take a good, complex investigation.

  Right now, he wanted to do a time reversal, go back to the day when his sister asked for his help and tell her to beat it, that he wasn’t risking his career for something that would wind up being a pain in the chops.

  Yeah. As if he’d ever do that with Jenna. He loved his baby sister too much for that. And she knew it.

  Women.

  He took two steps and froze. Lexi’s on her way home. If Brenda had called Ed Long...

  A stream of pavement-melting swearwords flew from his mouth. An older wo
man standing on the corner gasped and shot him a horrified look.

  “Sorry, ma’am!” he hollered as he ran by.

  His feet hammered against the sidewalk and the joint-shattering pounding shot straight up his legs to his bum elbow. Nothing but issues today.

  He’d parked three blocks over. From there it’d take him fifteen minutes, if he got lucky, which wasn’t typical lately, to get to Lexi’s. She could call him paranoid all she wanted, but if Long had tried scaring her off before they’d had any solid evidence, what in the hell would he do if Brenda had broken the news about a paper trail?

  At the second corner, a man pushed the button on the light pole and waited for the walk sign. Forget that. Brodey angled around him and jumped off the curb, where a cabbie screeched his brakes in an attempt to not tattoo Brodey to the pavement. Brodey held up his hand and kept running. “Sorry, dude!”

  He stopped at the adjacent corner, his breaths coming in short, hard bursts from the sprint. Ignore it. He inched his way into the street, his elbow howling as traffic whizzed by. He’d be in that sling for a month after this. Come on, come on. Finally traffic cleared and he darted across the intersection. With only a block to go, he alternately scanned the sidewalk in front of him—no one blocking his way—and scrolled for his dad’s number. There. He hit the button.

  Voice mail. Of course. “Dad, get over to Lexi’s. She’s on her way there. So am I. I’ll explain later, but bring your sidearm.”

  * * *

  LEXI DUMPED HER briefcase and sample bag at her front door and dug out her key. Between the lack of sleep and the emotional onslaught of the past thirty minutes, a sob gurgled in her throat. Blasted man. After a night of pure sin, ecstasy to the highest level, he’d duped her. But, no, she would not cry. Damn him. He’d had her thinking maybe, just maybe, he could be trusted. That he wouldn’t hurt her. Not intentionally anyway. And he’d done it. All he’d needed to do was be honest with her. Instead he’d lied. He knew what the Williams project meant to her, that she’d finally be able to afford an assistant and have some kind of life again, sleep a few extra hours a night and not die of a stress-induced heart attack anytime soon. And he’d disregarded that. Tossed it aside like last week’s moldy bread.

  And that might be worse than finding her fiancé with his intern.

  She slapped her hand against the front door, and stinging pain rocketed into her palm up her forearm. Brilliant, Lexi. Way to make it worse. The heck with it. I’m crying. Why not? After the week she’d had, she deserved a good healthy cry. She flipped the lock and shoved the door open. Immediately, the annoying beep, beep, beep of the alarm filled the house, scraping against her eardrums like sharp nails. Thirty seconds. That was how much time she had to punch in the code. Beep, beep, beep. She grabbed her sample bag and briefcase, dragged them over the threshold, kicked the door shut—beep, beep, beep—and reached for the keypad. Beep, beep, beep. “I know, I know. Just shut up.”

  Before this week, life had been so simple. Busy but simple. No annoying beeps from the alarm, no ugly keypad marring her perfect walls, no man making love to her on her precious sofa.

  No strangers invading her house.

  The door. She hadn’t locked it.

  “Shoot.”

  Beep, beep, beep. She tapped in the code, silencing the alarm—thank you. Something squeaked. Oh no. An instant prickle skidded straight down her spine. She hadn’t locked the damned door.

  She turned toward the door, her body moving slower than her brain would like until finally... Oh God.

  Ed Long stood in the entryway, his cold, dead eyes squinting at her. Fear stormed her, spreading everywhere at once, her heels, her legs, her arms. Then, as if taunting her, it slowed, prickling along, making her shiver until it reached her neck.

  She stepped back, her body moving of its own accord, wedging her between the outside wall and the man blocking the front entry.

  Back door.

  The front door would be useless. She’d have to get through him to escape. Plus, she had heels on and he’d easily catch her. But she wouldn’t stand here having a conversation. Whatever he wanted wasn’t good. Not if he’d murdered Jonathan Williams.

  Slowly, she slid out of her shoes and he smiled at her, his crooked top teeth flashing. She’d missed that the first time. Not this time. But that menacing look let her know that he knew she’d run.

  Which she did.

  She tore sideways, her socks slipping on the floor, but she’d gotten a decent jump and focused on the back door at the end of the short hallway.

  Almost made it, too. Just past the kitchen, he grabbed hold of her coat, yanking hard and tugging her backward. Momentum knocked her off balance and she swayed left—don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall—before toppling over.

  Still he hung on. She scrambled, her feet sliding against the tile as she tried to get up.

  “No, you don’t,” he said.

  “Please. I haven’t done anything. Just leave. I won’t call the police.”

  “Too late for that, isn’t it?”

  He jerked her to her feet, pain blasting her shoulders. On the way up, her arms rubbed against his jean-clad legs, and the stench of his soap, something cheap and medicinal, burned her throat.

  “I warned you.” He shoved her, hard, and she flew against the sofa, the edge of the arm connecting with her ribs. Ow. Knifing pain sliced into her and the tears started again.

  “Please,” she screamed, praying someone outside, maybe Mrs. Jenkins, who heard every tiny thing, would hear her.

  But he grabbed her again, scooping her up around the waist and tossing her onto the sofa as if she weighed nothing. For a skinny man, he was strong. Too strong to fight. Getting away would be her only chance.

  “Get out!” she hollered again, still praying for the miracle of her nosy neighbor.

  He smirked. “She’s not home. I saw her go out half an hour ago. Lucky me, I got a parking spot two doors down. Been waiting on you, Lexi. And now we’ll have some fun. And then your boyfriend is next. You two are causing way too much trouble.”

  Rolling sideways, she got to a sitting position and he leaped on her, straddling her in the exact spot where she and Brodey had made love last night. The image burned in her mind and she smacked at Long, flailing against him when he tried to grab her hands. She landed a punch, right in the chest, startling him for a few seconds. Groin. Fist still at the ready, she snapped her arm out.

  And connected.

  Yes. Her attacker reared back, teetering on the edge of her knees and howling enough that her ears should have bled. He covered his crotch and—push—she shoved. One good thrust that sent him tumbling backward, his arms pinwheeling as he tried to catch his balance the second before he landed—fwap—flat on his back on the floor.

  One chance she had to run and to get out.

  She bolted off the couch, made it as far as the hallway that led to the back door before he caught her again. To her right stood her beloved Wedgwood vase. The one she’d been so concerned about after the first break-in. The one that made her realize the intrusion wasn’t about money. Ed Long gripped the waist of her slacks and she smacked at him. No good. Too strong. He yanked her to her knees and she hit the floor hard, every bit of that hit blasting through her legs. God, help me. She kicked out and her heel connected with his jaw, startling him enough to give her a few seconds. She reached up, grabbed the neck of the vase with her right hand and swung. Whoosh! It bounced off his shoulder. She kicked out again, followed it up with another swing of the vase and, boom, clocked him. Right on the head. The vase shattered and its delicate pieces flew, sprinkling over the floor and creating a path of broken glass she’d have to run on. Lexi clawed at the wood and a sharp shard pricked her skin. She winced but leaped to her feet.

  And ran.

  Back door. So close. Right ther
e. Locked. Got it. Before she had even stopped running, she had her hand out, ready to flip the new dead bolt Brodey had installed. Short, heavy gasps filled her lungs and her head spun from the oxygen burst. She reached for the lock, flipped it and swung the door open.

  Frigid air hit her cheeks, brought her mind to a hyperfocus. Just ahead, the side of her garage and the back alley came into view. Get there.

  Oooff. A huge weight landed on her and something dug into her shoulders. She went down, crashing to the path leading to the garage, and pain exploded in her hip. “No!”

  God, she couldn’t get away. So close.

  “I’m done messing with you. That boyfriend of yours is talking to the cops. He sent one of them to Brenda’s.”

  And his voice, low and gravelly and angry, fired another burst of panic. Lexi smacked her hand against the pavement. “Help me!”

  Now on his feet, he gripped her arm, powered her to her feet, and she finally got a look at him. Blood streamed from the side of his head where she’d clocked him with the vase and a red mark stretched over his jaw where she’d kicked. She’d done some damage. Do it again. She would not die on one of the coldest days of the year. Why that should matter, she had no idea, but no. She would not have it.

  As tired as she was, she’d hit him again and again and again.

  “Let’s go.” He yanked her toward the garage. “In here.”

  Not the garage. If he took her in there, she’d never come out. That she knew. And there were enough tools—hammers, axes, saws—from the previous owner to do some real damage.

  Just a foot in front of them was the side door to the garage. He kicked out, his heavy boots decimating the hollow door. “Inside. Now.”

  Another shove sent her stumbling and she sprawled across the cement floor, her hands taking the brunt of it. A few scrapes wouldn’t be the worst of it if she couldn’t get out.

  Once again, she pushed off the frozen floor and got to her feet. Pricks of icy cold shot into her sock-clad feet and up her calves. She screamed again, raging at her attacker, wanting to claw his eyes out. Beat him worse than she’d already done.