Bad Cop (Entangled Covet) Page 7

  He took a few slow breaths. “This isn’t easy.”

  She waited patiently, calmly. For once, he wanted to talk about it. Like he wouldn’t explode as the words stacked together.

  “You read the media coverage,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you know Declan was one of the investigating officers. We’d discussed the case, combed over every damn detail until we thought our heads were on backward.”

  There was no rehashing this sitting down. His gut in a spin cycle, he stood. After settling her into his vacated chair, he paced in front of her desk.

  “And then a new vic turned up.” He ran his hands through his short hair. “I knew her. She was my maker’s subjugate. But he loved Leah, and they were to be mated after she transformed. She was my sister in everything but blood.”

  Alice’s face softened. He thought he’d break if she touched him right then, but damned if it didn’t feel like redemption when she rose to put her arms around his waist. What kind of loss had she suffered to have such powerful empathy that close on the heels of her anger?

  “Sean fell apart.” He spoke with his cheek against the silk of her hair. “He flashed into the daylight, leaving me with only ashes to mourn by nightfall. I came…quite close to following him.”

  She leaned back to see his face. “Oh, God.”

  “Alice, I lost her too.” Ian rubbed a lock of her hair between his fingers like a security blanket. “And then him.”

  Maybe he was being a big pansy, but it’d been long since he’d had this kind of comfort, having been on his own since Sean’s and Leah’s deaths. Half a century later, the grief lingered as if he’d lost them yesterday.

  “I wanted to hate him for it,” he whispered.

  Her eyes said she understood, and she did. “You loved him.”

  “Like I’ve never loved a man in my life, not even my own da.”

  Her arms tightened around him. But then she asked yet another dreaded question.

  “What happened with the killer?”

  Holy St. George, did she ever stop pulling thorns? “Died in a fire.”

  She pulled away from him, her hands resting on her hips as she paced. “You’re full of answers, aren’t you?”

  “You know what happened, dammit. You have the articles. What do you want from me, Alice?”

  “How about the truth?” Like a fabled Fury, she whirled on him. “From you. But that’s too much to ask, isn’t it? You know, when you’re doing something wrong, every tiny little sound makes you jump.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means something happened, Ian, something bad, something wrong. You’re jumpy about it. What aren’t you telling me?”

  At that moment, if he hadn’t needed her access to the casebook, he would’ve walked away. Instead, something grim and dark moved inside of him. “Don’t go breaking your shins on a stool that’s not in your way, Alice.”

  Her eyes widened, but he was saved a tongue-lashing inquisition by the ring of her cell phone. She reached in her purse and answered the call. Whatever issue warranted a call in the night had drained the flush of her temper. She squared her shoulders before turning back to him.

  “Another one, Ian.” Her tone had gone dead. “You could have been wrong. You could have accused the wrong man.”

  A deep, biting chill shuddered through him. Was she right? At the time, he’d been so ravaged, he would have jumped at the throat of anyone remotely responsible for the death of his family. But maybe he’d missed something in his blood-soaked haze.

  Maybe he’d killed the wrong man, and now the murderer was free to kill again.

  Chapter Nine

  After they left the office, Ian drove Alice to the crime scene. She spent the short ride too deep in thought to converse with him, and he seemed to be of the same mind. His reaction to her questioning was either extremely well practiced or he genuinely hadn’t been the one to assault Mr. Keeler. But trusting Ian would take a leap of faith she wasn’t ready to make, especially when his actions spoke louder than his charm. To be fair, he wasn’t the only man in the city of Seattle with a bit of brogue.

  Campbell and Denton, along with the on-duty CSIs and the medical examiner were meeting them at the new crime scene. She arrived with Ian before the others, courtesy of his black Bentley and maniacal driving. The Seattle PD had secured the scene in the quiet, residential Capitol Hill neighborhood where the body had been found. Ander’s mansion wasn’t far, and didn’t that work wonders for her nerves?

  The left of two nearly identical, three-story brownstones on the west side of the street was cordoned off from prying eyes. Typical of Capitol Hill, they were elegant, with small, well-kept yards and arched windows with a round one neatly placed on the third story, but Alice never did appreciate the repetition of suburbia. The small alleyway between buildings didn’t help. It had the ambience of downtown without the skyscrapers. Yuck.

  Ian jogged up the stairs and stepped over the taped off area. An officer standing guard stopped him right away, his burly partner only half-attentive as he scrolled through something more interesting on his cell phone.

  “Sir, the scene’s secured until investigators arrive. If you want, you can wait on the steps.” He indicated the steps by the sidewalk at the end of the walkway fronting the house.

  Ian got right up in the officer’s business, nearly chest to…well, shoulders—Ian was a tall man. “If you want, you can suck the sweat from my balls.”

  The officer clenched his jaw, but to his credit, stood his ground.

  “Ian, that’s disgusting.”

  “You think so?” He glanced over his shoulder at her and held eye contact, his lips twitching at the corners. A kaleidoscope of steamy images torched her imagination, and the idea of putting her mouth anywhere down there didn’t sound so off-putting. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she became mute.

  “Alice! Nice to meet you in person finally.” A portly, ruddy-faced man approached them, his hair peppered a gray that matched his bland suit. He held out a blunt-fingered hand. “Henry Campbell.”

  “Nice to meet you, Detective.” She returned his handshake. He had a firm, confident grip and a friendly face. Neither did a thing to ease her distrust.

  “Denton isn’t far behind me. Don’t know about them CSI guys. They’re always a day late and a dollar short, but they work fast once they get where they’re going. My opinion? They wait long enough for the doughnuts and coffee to get there first.”

  He laughed at his own joke, and her answering smile felt awkward. “Shall we?”

  They headed into the old but well-kept brownstone. As tidy as it was, the stale smell meant it had been sitting empty for a while. Then again, there was a FOR SALE sign posted at the front corner of the yard. Campbell conveniently handed them booties and gloves for their trek through the house. Good thing she’d worn jeans and tennis shoes, thinking she’d be in her office most of the night.

  “Maybe this is unrelated,” Ian said, too low to be aimed at the investigator.

  “Yes and Red Bull really does give you wings.” She donned her protective gear. “She’s a newly turned vampire, a fledgling, and she had ID on her. The database said she transformed last night.”

  His brow furrowed, and she didn’t miss the fleeting panic that crossed his face. The thought of this being the same killer ate at him like a parasitic virus. Before she could wonder any more at his odd behavior, they were carefully led down a hallway to an enclosed porch at the rear of the house. At first sight of the body, she had no doubt the murders were linked. The woman was laid out exactly as Jeff had been. Same traces of candle wax. They’d find other blood there, too, once they had more light.

  Ian glanced up from his inspection of the floor. “Three different blood scents here.” Hm. That nose of his sure came in handy. He turned to the officer he’d insulted earlier who followed them in. “It’s fresh, too. Witnesses?”

  “Only a neighbor across the street. He c
alled in after seeing light in the windows. Knew the place was supposed to be empty. My partner and I found the body after entering.” The man seemed to have gotten over Ian’s earlier insult. He handed a paper over to Campbell. “Name and address.”

  “Thanks. I’ll get his statement before we leave,” Campbell said.

  “Hellooooo!” An older woman with heavy wrinkles entered, wrapped in a white jumpsuit like the CDC in the middle of a plague. “Honey, I’m hoooome.”

  That was Alice’s signal to clear out. The rest was the detectives’ job, and she’d seen enough anyway. After tugging Ian’s arm, he followed her without much foot-dragging. A small crowd gathered around the line of police tape around the tiny yard, but she largely ignored them. Ian didn’t. He stopped on the steps, his eyes fixed on a gorgeous dark-haired siren in a slinky red dress. She had more skin showing than she had dress. Alice peered back and forth between them.

  “Otsana.”

  “Killian. You never call anymore.” Otsana’s voice was as sultry as her body. Or so Alice thought until the woman turned toward her, revealing a mottled, maroon scar over the right side of her face. From her temple, it angled to the inner edge of her sculptured eyebrow and then followed the curve of her cheek down to her chin. It didn’t dim the woman’s beauty one watt. “Who’s your date?”

  Ian laughed. “I wish.”

  Alice tried to pretend she hadn’t heard his comment or the wry, wistful way he’d said it. His personal interest in her shouldn’t sound so damned appealing after knowing him only a few days.

  She nodded toward Otsana. “Alice Capshaw. I’m acting Vice Director for the VLO.”

  Otsana’s smile went a touch plastic, strained, but she made an affirmative sound, much like a purr. The woman’s dress-matching eyes took in Alice’s appearance with a single, toe-to-head sweep. The jeans and tennis shoes had become an unfortunate fashion choice.

  “What happened, love?” Otsana tipped her head toward the front of the house. Her lacquer-nailed fingers smoothed the midnight-blue shirt over Ian’s forearm. He pulled his arm away, and for some reason she wasn’t about to explore, that made Alice’s night.

  “You know already,” he said. “Where’ve you been since twilight?”

  Otsana raised her scarred eyebrow. “Why, Killian, are you implying something?”

  “Not implying at all. Where were you?”

  “I was in the middle of a dinner party when I heard the commotion. Would you care to interrogate my guests as well?” The Barbie smile turned smug. Neither version seemed pretty to Alice. Otsana didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s a shame Ander’s not here to see this.”

  “Why?” she asked. For once, Otsana addressed her directly.

  “Oh, it’s his house, of course, the poor dear,” she said. Alice could have gagged on the dismay overkill. Still, the connection Otsana made sent a tide of guilt rising in her. Maybe she’d been too hard on Ian. Maybe she’d crossed Ander off the suspect list too easily. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Ander had ties to both victims.

  “Don’t make me hit a girl, Otsana.” Ian’s irritation made him sound gruff. “Go back to your idea of a party.”

  With a gleeful laugh, Otsana glided away through the gathering mass of neighborhood gawkers and media. Speaking of media, Alice needed to escape before she was pegged by one of the vultures.

  “Who the hell was that?” she asked. Before he could reply, she urged him toward his Bentley.

  He grinned, slowing his step in front of her. “In a hurry, are we?”

  She gave him a forceful shove. “You’re in a hurry. I’m just being gracious.” She jiggled the locked door handle. A pair of reporters who hadn’t worked their way to the front of the mob eyed them suspiciously. The all too familiar anxiety rose, making her go light-headed and constricting her lungs. “Ian!”

  He must have taken pity on her because at last, the door clicked open. Once they were safely away and she could breathe, she grabbed a handful of his shirt.

  “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

  He thought that was pretty funny, but he wouldn’t much longer if she gave in to her urge to nut tap him.

  “I take it you’re not too fond of the media.” When he glanced at her, his expression sobered. “Sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  He patted her thigh in a gesture of comfort. “Kind of.”

  With the warmth of his touch lingering, she snorted and folded her arms to cover her body’s physical reaction to him. His gaze darted her way several times as he drove. It didn’t escape her notice what her posture did to her breasts. That explained a lot.

  Clearing his throat, he shifted in his seat as they waited for a stoplight. “What Otsana said…would you think about… I mean, would you want to go out sometime? With me.” A car honked behind them after the light turned green, but he ignored it, his eyes on hers. “On a date.”

  Her heartbeat hammered in her ears, and languid warmth slipped up her spine to curl inside her head. She bit back the dreamy sigh trying to escape. A date. So he liked her, for real, even after she’d given him lip for his methods. Even though she’d chastised him more than once—as if a man with an ego his size couldn’t take it. Except for her loudmouthed left brain, every other part of her wanted to say, “yes.” Fortunately, her brain had enough sense to take command.

  “I don’t date cops, Ian.”

  His sexy mouth tightened as he hit the gas and headed the last few blocks to her building. “Right.”

  He said nothing more, even after they’d pulled up to the curb in front of the VLO. Plucking at a fraying string on the seam of her jeans, she brooded over what to say, to explain, but decided it best to ignore the unexpected rift between them.

  “What do you think about Ander owning the house?” she asked.

  Staring out the windshield, he locked his arm straight as he gripped the wheel. “Not surprising. He owns more of this town than most people know. Probably more than Olen Rex and Evangeline did before they died. It’s like a contest to him.”

  “He who has the most toys.” The flimsy attempt at humor fell flat, and an ache unfolded in her middle. Regret. Somehow, the world didn’t feel right without him smiling. Even in the middle of a dire situation, he had laughter. Professionally, he epitomized everything she didn’t like about law enforcement officers, so why was it so damned hard to remember that? Maybe things could be different if he’d open up to her. “Was there anything tying the victims together?”

  “Why are you asking me?” His knuckles went white. “Don’t assume the cases are the same, Alice. That would be a mistake.”

  Rather than spurring her frustration, his cold words only sharpened the ache. “They were fledglings, linked to Ander. You tell me, Ian. Was Ander ever brought up in the Infancy case?”

  “Yes,” he said, “but only as a witness.”

  She leaned against the door so she could face him squarely. “Ian.”

  When he didn’t answer, she cradled his jaw in one hand and turned him toward her. He leaned closer, his eyes bright, molten, and alive with longing. His hypnotic gaze lowered to her lips. The effect of that alone pressed her lips apart. She swayed toward him until their breaths mingled.

  “Alice,” he whispered.

  “Hmm?”

  “You said dating’s out, but how do you feel about more…casual…encounters?”

  When her eyes widened and her jaw dropped, he laughed softly. With a huff, she tried to move away, but he’d clasped her upper arms.

  “Don’t.” He chuckled. “Stay here. I like being close to you.”

  A big, fat jolt of happy hit her. The frost had left him. He was smiling and watching her as if she was the only one under the moon again. Oh God, she wanted to delve her fingers through his dark russet hair, explore his firm, masculine form, kiss the smile from his lips, see if he had a six pack or an eight pack, search his body for freckles. Maybe she really was bipolar. Because those desires had no business burni
ng when it came to Ian.

  He watched her inner struggle play out, and his smile faded. “Frustrating wench.”

  “Irish hick.” She played with the buttons on his shirt. “Are you having a midlife crisis?”

  There. That brought that grin and twin dimples back. “Why do you ask?”

  “Fast cars. Chasing after much, much, much younger women. You know.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

  “You are unbelievable.” And he left it at those softly spoken words before turning to business. He settled back into his seat, leaving her hands cold without the feel of him beneath them. “There is something the victims have in common. None were Legion. They were all Dominorum.”

  The divergence in conversation threw her off, but she recovered quickly. “I hadn’t thought to check that. You think that’s essential to the ritual or random?”

  “Essential probably,” he said without hesitation. “But I can’t figure out why.”

  “Maybe the ones involved are Legion and have something against the Dominorum.”

  “Good possibility.” He frowned. “The castes have been on shaky ground for a very long time now, and it’s only getting worse. Could be the recent political upheaval spurred a—”

  She waited a few beats, but he didn’t finish. “A what?”

  “A fresh round of murders.” His voice had gone quiet, and then he gazed out his side window, his face angled away from her.

  “What are you saying, Ian?”

  He ran a hand through his hair and then rubbed his chin before facing her. “I’m saying I think the cases are the same.”

  Chapter Ten

  It was a good thing Ian was parked when the realization struck, or he’d have caused an accident. No amount of rationalization could save his soul. He’d murdered Hesperos in cold blood. Hes had been a right prick, but if he hadn’t been the murderer, he hadn’t deserved to die like an animal trapped in a wildfire. A crazed animal. Hes had spouted some filth before Ian had left him to the rampant blaze.

  Insides flayed and raw, he slammed his hands against the steering wheel.

  “Ian, are you okay?”