Dying To Play
Debra Webb
A baffling series of multiple homicides leaves Atlanta's Deputy Chief of Detectives Elaine Jentzen no choice but to call in FBI agent Trace Callahan. Elaine is aware of Trace's reputation for being as ruthless as the killers he tracks–but she isn't prepared for the immediate and dangerous attraction that ignites between them.Trace is convinced a serial killer known as the Gamekeeper is behind the deadly sprees. But the evidence begins to point to Trace–until Elaine discovers a link in the crimes: a computer game.When Elaine logs on, she receives a message: Trace will be next to die.Now the only way Elaine can save Trace is if she plays the game.But not by the Gamekeeper's rules….
PRAISE FOR
Debra Webb
“Webb moves effortlessly between two very diverse romances
and masterfully keeps the reader on the edge
until the last page.”
—Romantic Times on Striking Distance
“Debra Webb delivers page-turning,
gripping suspense and edgy, dark characters
to keep readers hanging on…”
—Romantic Times on Her Hidden Truth
“Debra Webb draws readers into an
enthralling suspense with terrific characters…”
—Romantic Times on Physical Evidence
“Debra Webb’s fast-paced thriller
will make you shiver in passion and fear.”
—Romantic Times on Personal Protector
Dear Reader,
The editors at Harlequin and Silhouette are thrilled to be able to bring you a brand-new featured author program beginning in 2005! Signature Select aims to single out outstanding stories, contemporary themes and oft-requested classics by some of your favorite series authors and present them to you in a variety of formats bound by truly striking covers.
You may notice a number of different colored bands on the spine of this book. Each color corresponds to a different type of reading experience in the new Signature Select program. The Spotlight books will offer a single “big read” by a talented series author, the Collections will present three novellas on a selected theme in one volume, the Sagas will contain sprawling, sometimes multi-generational family tales (often related to a favorite family first introduced in series) and the Miniseries will feature requested, previously published books, with two or, occasionally, three complete stories in one volume. The Signature Select program will offer one book in each of these categories per month, and fans of limited continuity series will also find these continuing stories under the Signature Select umbrella.
In addition, these volumes will bring you bonus features…different in every single book! You may learn more about the author in an extended interview, more about the setting or inspiration for the book, more about subjects related to the theme and, often, a bonus short read will be included.
Watch for new stories from Vicki Lewis Thompson, Lori Foster, Donna Kauffman, Marie Ferrarella, Merline Lovelace, Roberta Gellis, Suzanne Forster, Stephanie Bond and scores more of the brightest talents in romance fiction!
We have an exciting year ahead!
Warm wishes for happy reading,
Marsha Zinberg
Executive Editor
The Signature Select Program
Dying To Play
Debra Webb
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for selecting my latest book, DYING TO PLAY, for your reading entertainment. Elaine and Trace’s story was one I had yearned to write for quite some time.
The premise for this story came to me after my computer crashed and I felt totally lost and out of the mainstream for a whole week. I marveled at the idea that microwaves, computers and cell phones had become such an integral part of our lives that we could hardly survive comfortably without them. We trust what our eyes see and what our ears hear. When we review our bank account balances or monthly bills online or on computer-generated statements, we assume that what we see represents accurately our assets and liabilities. But what if someone tampered with those checks and balances? How would one know until the damage was done if a payment were stopped on an important check without our knowledge, or automatic electronic payment for some special service that supports a loved one were to go missing in cyberspace? What if we simply got the wrong lab results or the wrong prescription? Would we take the time to notice? Would we think to even look? We’re so busy, why think? We have computers to do that for us now. Who’s running this showing anyway? Us or them? As a rational person, you’re probably asking yourself, what’s the big deal? You would eventually notice and set things right, correct? Well, toss this into the scenario: we all live with immense stress these days. We live fast, and often by the seat of our pants. For some people all it takes is one more straw to break the camel’s back. Have you been there? Do you know someone who has?
I think you get the picture. So, please enjoy this story. I know you’re dying to read it!
Best,
A very special thanks to Marsha Zinberg
for all her hard work and this fabulous opportunity.
This book is dedicated to the very first editor to read
my work, Tina Colombo. Thank you for the best advice
an aspiring romance author could ask for—it worked!
Dahmer, Bundy, Gacy…
Such pathetic attempts at greatness…
They knew nothing…
They did not know what I know…
I am pure genius, perfect in every way…
I, and only I, have the game…
And everyone is dying to play…
—The Gamekeeper
Contents
Prologue (#u23e8baa2-b9ee-56d6-b248-9d33761137fc)
Chapter 1 (#u82eb58a3-3331-5a79-a462-e9b974e811cd)
Chapter 2 (#ue21ee205-6fa3-58ee-ad0a-8dde406a93eb)
Chapter 3 (#u9b96eab7-21f1-5eab-a9af-cf6d59d82ca5)
Chapter 4 (#u6225bf88-4e2c-588b-8de5-f3afcfeb3ccf)
Chapter 5 (#u80a707e8-c61c-56b1-9d8a-0a81dcc4fce5)
Chapter 6 (#u0fcb6d4a-a149-5e6d-843e-f141da368bb2)
Chapter 7 (#u7a1c834a-4cad-57c7-94f0-d5b906d3121f)
Chapter 8 (#u13c3edb8-117a-5b2e-8aa7-5913a42a5844)
Chapter 9 (#uf0a3aa58-99c0-58c2-a2e5-29c1da685f5c)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)
Bonus Features (#litres_trial_promo)
A conversation with Debra Webb (#litres_trial_promo)
Getting to know the Characters (#litres_trial_promo)
Here’s a sneak peek… (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
Once the game is started it cannot be stopped. Not for anything. Not for anyone.
He had no choice.
Brad Matthews didn’t look like a murderer or even a man who would carry a weapon. His suit was Armani…his shoes Ferragamo. But his manner of dress had been more reflex than conscious thought. He’d had only one thing on his mind this morning.
Nothing else mattered anymore.
He no longer cared if he lived or died, but he couldn’t risk his wife…his children.
He wouldn’t risk them.
At 9:05 a.m., just as the Gamekeeper had instructed, Brad walked into the downtown Atlanta Commerce Bank. He strode straight to the private office of the bank’s president, an office where he’d done business many times.
His prey looked up and smiled, welcoming a trusted business associate of his beloved bank, but before he could rise from his leather executive chair, Brad drew the revolver he’d hidden beneath his jacket. He clenched his jaw and fired three shots into the president’s massive chest. The startled look that claimed the man’s face proved oddly calming to Brad.
He’d done it.
Screams and confusion erupted in the lobby beyond the glass wall that stood between him and the rest of those present inside the bank this Monday morning the first week of May…the last morning Brad would ever see.
The two security guards were sprinting in his direction, weapons drawn. Brad shot two more times, taking down one of the guards and sending the other one diving for cover. Then he turned the gun on himself.
Now it would end.
Picturing his wife and children one last time, he fired the final round.
Chapter 1
This was one of those necessary little annoyances in life a woman could definitely do without, Elaine Jentzen thought glumly. And on such a perfectly beautiful day. She’d fallen in love with the day the moment she stepped out into the early-morning sunshine. The air was fresh and the sky looked bluer than she’d ever seen it before. The sun glittered like a sparkling Georgia peach climbing its way into the cloudless blanket of pure blue. The smell of spring was everywhere. But she’d had to leave her small, neat, Dunwoody home to drive across Atlanta to be here at nine sharp.
She supposed it could be worse, though; she could be having her period and stuck on an after-hours stakeout with her partner, Hank Henshaw. Her nose crinkled instantly as her mind conjured up the odor of stale cigars and cheap aftershave.
No, she decided as she flipped through a fairly recent issue of Working Woman, this was even worse than an after-hours stakeout.
Elaine sat in a stiff, upholstered chair in front of her gynecologist’s cluttered desk. She waited, her patience wearing thin, for him to come in and go over his findings with her. She never understood the need for this particular part since the results of the Pap test wouldn’t be back for days. What could he tell her? That she looked tired? Overworked? She already knew those things. She worked fourteen-hour shifts most days, even the occasional Sunday. She’d accrued enough leave time to take the whole summer off, but she couldn’t…or wouldn’t, of course. Her job always came first.
If she were at work now she wouldn’t have time to reflect on things she’d just as soon not think about. She sighed and tossed the magazine aside. She hated these appointments. That was the reason she’d waited over two years to come in for her annual exam.
One would think she’d committed a crime of the worst order. Not only had the receptionist who’d made today’s appointment tsked when she saw on the computer screen that Elaine hadn’t bothered to come in at all last year, the nurse had also firmly counseled Elaine as she led her to the exam room this morning. The you-know-better-than-that lecture had continued as Elaine stepped into the tiny dressing room and removed her clothing.
She was the deputy chief of detectives for the Atlanta Police Department, Homicide Division, for Pete’s sake. She wasn’t supposed to cow so easily to a gray-haired, rosy-cheeked nurse who looked old enough to be her grandmother. But there was something oddly intimidating about having to take her clothes off under orders from a woman who would have made the staunchest instructor at the police academy proud.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, then there was the humiliating experience of greeting the doctor while wearing a paper gown that opened down the front. Of course, Dr. Bramm could always be counted on for bedside humor, especially the kind that involved police work, like, “Captured your quota of bad guys already this week?”
Elaine had laughed, as expected, and gone on to answer his barrage of health questions in the most normal tone possible, considering her body was being plundered with cold, clinical objectivity.
She’d explained about the acute cramping and the increased nausea, which were the actual reasons she’d even bothered to come in. She was twenty-nine, the youngest detective, male or female, ever to make deputy chief. She didn’t have time to be sick—or to be at this appointment. But she’d said nothing of the sort to the good doctor. Any negative comment on her part would only serve as a catalyst to start him on a tirade about how people took better care of their cars than themselves. She vaguely remembered hearing that one, the last time she was here.
She’d thought at first that her ulcer might somehow be causing the new problems and had said as much to the doctor. Lord knew it was already the bane of her existence. To her way of thinking she should own stock in the Tums and Maalox companies by now. But Dr. Bramm had informed her pretty quickly that her current symptoms might not be related to her ulcer at all. Then he’d felt compelled to repeat the lecture she’d already heard from the militant nurse who stood by, smiling and nodding in punctuation of his every word.
A lengthy exam and ultrasound later, Elaine waited in the doctor’s office for his closing comments. He would lecture her some more, she presumed with a fair measure of certainty. She’d decided that, when he drew out the exam and insisted on the ultrasound. She couldn’t ever remember one of these visits taking so long or being so complicated and uncomfortable.
Let him have at it with the lecturing. She’d take it, feign humbleness and swear on her life that she would never miss another annual exam. And everyone would be happy again.
When Dr. Bramm at last entered the office and sat down behind his massive mahogany desk, rather than feeling relieved as she’d fully expected, Elaine went on instant alert. Between his rigid posture and the solemn expression on his face, the news couldn’t be good. If it was, the man needed to seriously rethink his bedside demeanor.
She resisted the urge to jump to conclusions. She absolutely would not even think about the “c” word. Other than the blasted ulcer she was young and healthy, surely it couldn’t be that bad.
He opened her chart and stared at it for one somber moment before looking up at her over the rim of his bifocals. “Elaine, are you familiar with the term endometriosis?”
A tiny burst of fear flared inside her. “I don’t think so,” she said slowly, searching her memory for recognition. She found none.
He closed the chart and laid it aside, the gesture somehow ominous. “It’s an abnormal growth of cells in the female reproductive system which sometimes spreads to other organs. Some of the symptoms you related to me, the pain, the nausea, were suggestive of the disease.”
Elaine tried to read him for a clue as to the severity of the problem, but his expression was closed now. “So, just how bad is it?” Another slow, hesitant response, so out of character for her. She shrugged in an effort to shake off the adrenaline pumping through her veins, making her heart pound. It wasn’t as if he’d said cancer. Or had he? “And what do we do about it?”
He reclined in his chair and considered her questions for a time before answering. “Based on my preliminary findings and the severity of the symptoms, I’d say it’s advanced. Stage three or four. Of course, there are more detailed tests needed.” He flared his hands. “I’m going to refer you to a specialist. Once he confirms my diagnosis, he’ll likely suggest surgery and hormone therapy.”
“Surgery?” Elaine could feel her muscles tensing. She felt nauseous, even more so than usual. She should have eaten this morning. She would pay for that oversight. More Maalox or Tums, whichever she had in the car, would be in order.
“We won’t know how extensive the surgery will need to be until you see the specialist,” he said, obviously being vague. “He’ll give you more details about what you can expect and how the disease will affect your future.”
An epiphany abruptly struck Elaine with a stunning effect. “Does this mean I won’t be able to have children?”
The question seemed to echo in the room. Children. She hadn’t really given much thought to the possibility before. She would have one or two eventually, she’d assumed. Eventually being the operative word. Right now her whole life was focused on her career. She didn’t even have a boyfriend. She blocked that seed of self-pity before it took root. She definitely wasn’t going there at the moment. The fact was she’d put her entire personal life on hold eight years ago, and now the future was bearing down on her with what felt entirely too much like an ultimatum. She came from a big Catholic family. She wanted children. Someday.
Dr. Bramm sighed. He looked directly at her, his eyes giving her the answer before he spoke. “I can’t give you any absolutes. I can only say…it’s doubtful that you’ll be able to conceive at this point. Very doubtful,” he stressed. “If we’d only discovered it sooner.” He shook his head solemnly. “But we’ll do everything we can to increase the probability if that’s what you want. You’re still single?”
“Yes.” Elaine felt as if someone else had answered the question. This couldn’t be happening. She came from good stock. Both her parents were healthy and fit. Her older sister had four children already. And her three brothers had a whole gaggle of kids, all of which she doted on incessantly. Would loving her siblings’ children have to be enough for her?
The doctor went on to praise the credentials of the specialist he’d recommended, but another realization had hit Elaine with the force of a bullet between the eyes, stealing her attention. This was her fault. She’d put her education and career before all else since she was eighteen years old. She hadn’t taken the time to do the little things that she was supposed to do to take care of herself. Though she was thin by anyone’s standards, she ate too much junk food, didn’t really have time for anything else. She tried to make up for it by running every night with Sally, her big old golden retriever, until she exhausted herself. She didn’t smoke, but she did indulge in a little too much wine most nights before bed to help her sleep.
No one would argue, however, that she didn’t have the perfect excuse for her negligence. Her job was incredibly stressful.
Who was she kidding? Her job was murder.
Literally.
And now the prospects of having children, of sharing her future with anyone, were dim at best.
Maybe even dead. Who would want her now?
She had no one to blame but herself.
Suddenly her cell phone sounded, shattering the tense silence. Elaine fished for it in her bag and glanced at the number on the caller ID—Henshaw.
“I’m sorry, Doc,” she offered apologetically. “I have to take this.”
“Of course.” He stood. “I’ll have the nurse make you an appointment with the specialist,” he added on his way out.
Elaine nodded as she flipped open her phone, or at least she thought she nodded. It was hard to tell at times like this. She rocketed into cop mode, and all else zoomed into insignificance.
“Jentzen. What’s up?”
Henshaw’s rusty voice sounded on the other end of the line, “Need you down at the Commerce Bank on Peachtree. Got another one of those multiple one-eight-ohs just like last week. Three dead, one injured.”
She was up and out of the doctor’s private office before her partner completed his last statement. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Elaine hurried from the clinic with the promise that she would call back for the time and location of the appointment with the specialist.
Right now duty called. And, as she’d said before, her job was murder.
Chapter 2
The trip from the clinic on the east side to the scene of the crime on Peachtree Boulevard took nearly half an hour in the early-morning rush hour traffic. Elaine cursed under her breath every mile of the way. No amount of road construction ever seemed to alleviate the overcrowded expressways and streets in Atlanta. It amazed her that the city planners couldn’t think far enough ahead to do better than this.
Images of empty cradles and groomless weddings kept vying for her attention, but she savagely tamped down each new intrusion before it could form fully in her head. There was no time to dwell on this newest development in her life. There was never enough time.
If she’d ever once contemplated slacking off on her career at some point in the future, that wasn’t going to happen now. The job was likely all she’d have, considering what fate held in store for her. She clenched her teeth and blinked back the welling emotion. She didn’t need this right now.
Her faithful old Jeep screeched to a halt at the entrance of the parking lot located next to the downtown Commerce Bank. Uniformed cops were checking every vehicle that came in or out. She couldn’t recall the two rookies’ names but they recognized her and waved her through without question. Elaine flashed her badge just the same.
The usual crowd of spectators and newshounds had gathered on the sidewalk near the street. Some were likely employees from the various other businesses along this block, others were probably early-morning shoppers.
Several patrol cars, lights flashing, were parked strategically around the bank. Elaine climbed out of her Jeep and approached the large two-story building’s entrance. The setup was just like any one of the dozens of other banks in the Atlanta metropolitan area. What made this one the target this morning? That was the million-dollar question.
“Detective Jentzen!”
Elaine slowed as a familiar voice called out from the crowd of onlookers.
“Detective Jentzen! Can you tell us what’s happening inside?”
Turning toward the voice, Elaine manufactured a smile for the Chronicle reporter to cover her impatience. Three more reporters pushed forward in hopes of getting an answer to their questions or at least a usable sound bite. A television crew was already setting up just outside the crime scene perimeter. The circus was in full form, and she wasn’t even in the ring yet.
“I have no comments at this time,” she said calmly. “I haven’t even been inside. I’m sure we’ll have a statement for you by noon.” Ignoring the barrage of demands that followed her response, she resumed her journey toward the bank’s entrance.
“Deputy Elaine!”
Elaine suppressed a groan. Just what she needed. Skip Littles. Reluctantly she glanced over her shoulder without actually slowing down.
“Deputy Elaine! You won’t take even one question this morning?”
Though Skip wore a press pass he wasn’t really a reporter. But he desperately wanted to be one. He grinned at her, the sun glinting off his thick eyeglasses. He worked at the Telegraph, that was true enough, but he was just an assistant. He was one of those people who garnered instant sympathy from her; she just couldn’t help herself. Besides, he had helped her out once or twice when she needed some research ASAP.
Walking backward a few steps so as not to give the impression that she intended to stop long enough to field their questions, she held up a finger. “Just one,” she said placatingly, earning a few glares from the real reporters.
Skip grinned from ear to ear. “Did someone die inside the bank this morning?”
She hesitated but couldn’t see the point in evading the question. “Yes.”
The satisfaction on his face perked up her low mood. Turning her back on the new onslaught of questions, she hurried to her destination. She’d done her good deed for the day.
A couple more uniforms guarded the double-door entry leading to the lobby. Elaine badged her way inside.
About a dozen employees, all clearly shocked into silence, stood huddled together near the long teller counter waiting for their turn to give a statement. In situations like this it was preferable to take the witnesses one at a time, to lessen the likelihood of confusion or agreement based simply on what the other guy said.
A forensics tech was methodically photographing the lifeless body of a security guard who lay on his back in an unnatural sprawl in the middle of the marble-floored lobby. Annoyed that the find-’em-and-bag-’em guys had started without her authorization, but not bothering to make a scene about it at the moment, Elaine crouched down to take a closer look at the victim. One bullet hole marred his brow just above his left eye. His gaze was frozen in a look of surprised horror or something on that order. Blood had leaked from the wound and matted in his blond hair. The guy couldn’t be more than forty. Elaine blew out a heavy breath. Most likely married. One glance at his left hand confirmed her assumption. Kids, too, probably.
Another bout of foolish emotion wreaked havoc with her equilibrium. She had to get a grip here.
A few yards away an EMT was patching up the second security guard. A uniform hovered nearby, waiting to question the wounded man.
Elaine pushed to her feet and moved in the direction of the dense crowd of official personnel, including her partner. Through a glass wall she could see him in one of the offices. Henshaw, Detective Jillette and Walt Damron, Chief Medical Examiner, were deep in discussion. Walt rarely showed up at crime scenes anymore. Elaine wondered briefly if he was shorthanded this morning.
Henshaw saw her coming and met her just outside the office door. “Everything check out all right?” he asked, eyeing her speculatively.
“Fine,” she lied. “You the first on the scene?”
He rolled the cigar stub that served as a permanent accessory to the corner of his mouth. “Yep. I guess that puts you in charge. Jillette just dropped by to watch the show. Flatt’s around here somewhere.”
Elaine resisted the urge to grimace. Flatt was an ass. He’d gone out of his way to make her life miserable since she made DC. She glanced around the chaos of the spacious, Greek-Revival-style lobby. “Looks like you’ve already initiated all the right moves.”
Henshaw angled his head toward the office he’d exited. “Want to see the primary victim and the perp? It’s just like the last one…too weird.”
She nodded, her mind automatically sifting through the images from last week’s mass murder. A customer had walked into a beauty salon and opened fire with a 9mm Beretta. No apparent motive, no nothing. A twenty-four-year-old college graduate in her first year of medical school, home for the weekend, had killed three people, then turned the weapon on herself. No family problems, no financial woes, no love-life theatrics.
Nothing.
Except four dead women, one being the shop owner.
Drawing back to the here and now, Elaine followed Henshaw through the group crowded outside the office. A brass plaque on the open door proclaimed the space as belonging to the bank’s president, Harold Tate. Mr. Tate sat crumpled in his leather executive’s chair, his starched shirt now gruesomely bloodied by the round bullet holes in his chest. Oddly, his navy-and-gray pin-striped tie lay unsoiled against the red-stained white cotton blend of his shirt.
“Brad Matthews,” Henshaw announced, staring down at the dead man on the floor in front of the president’s desk. “Financial consultant and newest full partner at Wylie, Brooks, Renzetti and Matthews just down the street. Wife, two kids, no record.” Henshaw shrugged. “Just like the lady last week.”
“Anyone here know him?” She glanced back at the employees in the lobby.
“All of ’em. They said he was a nice guy. He’s done business here, personal and professional, for years. He was quiet, polite and extremely intelligent, according to the first uniform on the scene. He said none of the employees can believe Matthews did this.”
Elaine squatted down and took a closer look at the shooter. Thirty-five maybe, fit, handsome. Two kids. She shook her head. What a terrible waste. “No problems between these two?” She looked from Matthews to the older man behind the desk, then at her partner.
“None that anyone knows of,” Henshaw said.
Elaine stood, uneasiness poking its way through her usual objectivity. Nothing about this felt right. “There has to be something,” she insisted. “Dig until you find it. Having two unmotivated mass killings this close together is simply too bizarre. There has to be a reason. We’re just missing it somehow.”
“If there’s any chance these two can be related,” Jillette offered, abruptly reminding Elaine of his presence, “I think we should work on it as a team.”
Unreasonably annoyed, Elaine looked at the man who’d spoken. He was only a couple years older than her, but he already had that male-chauvinist mentality down to a science. His dark hair was slicked back and, as usual, he was over-dressed. He looked ready to attend Sunday church service rather than investigate the scene of a multiple homicide. Jillette and Flatt did the GQ look like no one else in the division, earning themselves the nickname Ivy Leaguers.
How could she have forgotten Jillette was here? He and Flatt were working the beauty salon case. The similarity of the MO of this one had no doubt drawn them to the scene. As much as Elaine hated Flatt, she supposed Jillette’s suggestion made sense. “If we find a connection,” she qualified, “we’ll do just that.”
“Any reason we can’t get started now?” Walt wanted to know, another presence that had slipped her mind while she studied the dead man…husband…father. A parent—something she might not ever be. A pang of hurt sliced through her before she could evict the ugly reminder from her head.
Elaine surveyed the fairly undisturbed scene once more. The gray suit jacket hanging neatly in the corner where Mr. Tate had left it only minutes before his life abruptly ended. The overturned chair where Brad Matthews had fallen. The .38 Smith & Wesson Special clutched in his cold, unyielding fingers. He could have gotten that weapon anywhere. They were a dime a dozen on the street.
“Go ahead,” Elaine told Walt. “I’d like his drug tox and anything on that weapon as soon as possible.”
Walt cocked an eyebrow and feigned the offended bit a little too well. “Everything I do is done as soon as possible. Or didn’t you know that, Deputy Chief Jentzen?”
Elaine rolled her eyes. “Of course, what was I thinking?” He was right. Walt was as efficient as he was meticulous. She frowned then, remembering the oddness of his presence. “What’re you doing down here, anyway? I didn’t think Kathleen allowed you out of the morgue.”
Kathleen was Walt’s secretary. She was widowed, had been for years, just as he had. It was rumored that those two were secretly in love with each other but refrained from a relationship because of the job.
The job. God, what a pathetic existence they all lived in this line of work. No wonder there were so many divorces among criminal-investigation and law-enforcement personnel.
“I’m training a couple new techs,” Walt said firmly, ignoring her comment about Kathleen.
Elaine nodded. She’d known he would do just that. “Yeah, I noticed the one in the lobby was a little trigger happy.”
Irritation wrinkled Walt’s brow as he leaned to his right to peer through the glass wall behind Elaine. She resisted the urge to turn around and see what the tech was up to now. The look on Walt’s face said it all.
Walt muttered a curse. “Can’t get decent help these days,” he complained as he stomped out of the office.
Henshaw made a covert gesture toward the door. Instinct warning her that this wasn’t good, Elaine followed him into the short corridor that led to the rear emergency exit.
“Look, Jentzen, there’s something you oughtta know,” he said quietly as he glanced first right, then left. He plucked the rarely lit stogie from his mouth.
“What is it?” she asked, instantly moving to a higher state of alert. Henshaw had been in the division longer than any other detective, even the chief. By rights he should have been deputy chief years ago, but the powers-that-be had allowed a jackleg like Hindman to keep the position until he retired, which was about ten years too long. When Hindman finally retired, Henshaw was too close to retirement himself to be considered for the position. So said the chief, anyway. Though Elaine was proud of her promotion and she damn well knew she deserved it, Henshaw had gotten a raw deal. He should have been DC years ago instead of Hindman.
“Just before you got here there were a couple of Feds snooping around.”
Elaine shrugged. “It’s a bank, they have jurisdiction. I’m surprised they’re not still here.” She actually hadn’t even thought of that until that precise moment. She swore silently. Just another example of how this morning’s appointment had rattled her. But she had to stay focused.
Henshaw stroked his chin thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “Yeah, I know it’s their jurisdiction, but there was something funny about it. Not the least of which was that one of ’em wasn’t local.”
Elaine felt the beginnings of a low dull ache right where a frown was creasing her forehead. “What do you mean funny?”
“Trace Callahan.”
She mentally repeated the name a couple of times before recognition broadsided her. Trace Callahan. “Jesus.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Henshaw muttered. “The way I heard it the guy’s been off field duty for two years.”
Elaine considered what she knew about Callahan. According to local scuttlebutt the Bureau’s top Febbie, the nickname regular cops used for federal agents, had gone over the edge a couple years ago and had been jockeying a desk ever since. “You’re sure it was him?”
“It was him.” Henshaw lifted one shaggy gray brow and gave her the look. The one that said, I can’t say where I heard it, but you can take it to the bank, no pun intended. “Word is he actually tried to kill some perp with his bare hands shortly after that whole bizarre case two years ago.”
She’d heard the same thing. “He lost his partner, right?” If she remembered correctly, there was also gossip that Callahan and his female partner were lovers. The idea only added to her uneasiness. This was definitely not her day.
Henshaw nodded. “Yeah. Most everybody, including Callahan himself, thought it was his fault. He screwed up an operation and she bit the dust.”
Callahan had been the best of the best, the Bureau’s big star, but he seemed to just come unglued. Everybody in Homicide had heard the rumors. Though Callahan worked directly out of Quantico, the liaison agent who worked between Atlanta PD and the boys at the local Bureau office had kept the chief unofficially informed of the whole sordid story. It was front-page news for a while before the big news outlets moved on to something else.
“Well,” Elaine offered, “if Callahan is one of the Feds assigned to this case, then we’ll simply have to deal with him.”
“I’m just saying,” Henshaw countered, “that it could be risky business. That’s all.” He waved his hands in a magnanimous manner. “Hell, he could be the greatest frigging investigator on the planet, but if you can’t count on him during a field op, I don’t want no part of working with him. If he goes ape-shit again I want to be clear of the fallout.”
Elaine’s cell phone rang, saving her from having to make promises she might not be able to keep. She dragged it from her shoulder bag and flipped it open. “Jentzen.” It was the chief. He was brisk and to the point. “I’ll be right there,” she assured him. He wanted her at the office ASAP. She dropped her phone back into her bag. “Got a command performance with the chief. I’ll touch base with you later, Henshaw.”
He nodded. “I guess I’d better get over there and see how the interviews are going or Flatt’ll be taking over for me.”
Elaine watched Henshaw amble out to the lobby before she made a move to go. Callahan. Though she’d never met him in person, she’d heard plenty about him. The man had received numerous commendations from the FBI director, even a couple from the president himself. By all reports, Callahan was some sort of Bureau legend. Then, two years ago, things had gone wrong for him. According to the chief, he hadn’t been the same since. She’d seen his face splashed across the TV screen during the hoopla after his partner was murdered. Elaine shivered. He was as handsome as sin.
And every bit as deadly, if even half the rumors were true.
Chapter 3
By eleven-thirty, only twenty minutes after he’d called, Elaine stood outside the chief’s office. Connie, his longtime secretary, had told her to go on in, but she hesitated for some reason. She couldn’t actually justify her hesitation. It seemed irrational, yet she felt compelled to wait a moment longer.
Maybe it was everything that had happened that morning…a bad mix of personal crisis and unsettling professional remorse. Too much waste. Too little time. The possibility that the two mass murders could be connected—could happen again—weighed heavily on her. How was she supposed to keep Atlanta safe if she couldn’t solve these two crimes? It was her job to see that they got solved. She needed more Maalox. More time, and a frigging crystal ball.
At least, she considered, the day surely couldn’t get any worse.
Taking a deep, bolstering breath, Elaine clasped the door-knob, gave it a swift twist and pushed her way into the large, perpetually cluttered office. She didn’t bother to close the door behind her. Why feed the rumor mill? She marched straight up to the boss’s desk and produced a wide professional smile.
“Good morning, sir.”
Chief John Dugan glanced up from the papers he was riffling. “Have a seat, Jentzen. I’ll be right with you.”
That perfect blue sky she’d admired this morning served as a backdrop behind him through the wall of windows. His office had an amazing view, one of the best in the city. At night the city lights were awesome. She knew firsthand. Another twinge of regret needled her. God, if she didn’t know better she’d swear she was premenstrual.
Putting all personal worries aside, she sat down, dropped her shoulder bag to the floor, crossed her legs and relaxed into her chair. She mentally reviewed what she’d noted at the crime scene that morning. Then reviewed it again in an effort to keep her mind from wandering.
It didn’t work.
Despite her most gallant attempt, her gaze followed the chief’s every move. The slow, methodical shuffling of his strong hands. The determined set of his shoulders. He was tall and quite attractive for a man closer to fifty than forty. He wore his graying hair cropped short. Smile lines bracketed his eyes and mouth but didn’t detract from his good looks. He was a solid, good man. Inside and out.
That was what had first attracted her to him.
As a new detective assigned to his division, the only female at the time, John had taken her under his wing. He’d treated her as an equal and made sure she’d learned her lessons well. The affair had been an accident.
Neither of them had intended for it to happen. John was newly divorced, she was plain lonely. All work and no play had sent her social life on a crash-and-burn course. Falling into a relationship with John had been so easy…too easy. For an entire year they’d stolen forbidden hours every chance they got, had great sex and generally enjoyed each other’s company. But that was the extent of it. Neither of them had visions of a future together. It had been about safe, convenient sex.
Six months ago, though, when she’d gotten her promotion, Elaine had ended the relationship. She’d felt it was wrong under present circumstances. Truth be told, she’d felt more than a little uncomfortable for a while before that. John had sworn he’d recommended her for the promotion based on merit, but she couldn’t dispel the niggling little doubt that their personal relationship had somehow played into his decision.
She knew she was the best person for the job…that was a cold, hard fact. She worked harder than anyone else in the division, had from the beginning. Her very first case, kidnapping and murder involving four Atlanta children, was proof of her single-minded focus. Breaking that case had been a huge boost to her fledgling career. She’d maintained a collar record to match her ambition ever since. She was a natural at organizing ops…a born leader, John called her. But still, she was the youngest detective in the division, seniority- and age-wise. Henshaw had been the first to publicly show his support of her selection. But others, Flatt in particular, had not liked it one bit. He had even gone so far as to make little accusing remarks when he had known she would overhear.
John had told her to ignore the rumbles. It would pass, he’d assured her. And it had, for the most part. Flatt and a couple of others were still a little PO’ed about being passed over, but she could deal with them.
Still, at moments like this she wondered.
“So.” John settled back into the leather chair behind his desk and focused his full attention on her. “Does it look like the bank case could be connected to the beauty salon murders?”
“There are some similarities,” she admitted. “But it’s still too early to tell. We may discover that Matthews had a beef with Tate.” She shrugged. “Or even that he slipped over the edge for some reason. Who knows? Maybe the bank turned him or one of his clients down for a loan.”
John considered her words for a moment. “If there’s even a remote possibility that there’s some sort of shared manipulation or influence playing into this, I want you to follow it as far as you can. I don’t want another multiple homicide scene next week. The papers are going to have a field day with this. We’ll be reading about it every step of the way.”
Elaine nodded. John had to deal with the uppity-ups on these kinds of high-profile cases. The mayor would not be a happy camper if this happened a third time. Of course, all good detectives could see into the future. Determining if the two crimes were connected and preventing another one should be a piece of cake in the mayor’s opinion. It truly amazed her that the man had gotten elected.
“We’ll have to keep close reins on this one,” John reiterated, in case she didn’t get it the first time. “The mayor doesn’t want any leaks. We need to keep a lid on every aspect of this investigation.”
“I’ll do my best.”
John smiled at her. The same kind of smile that had once made her pulse react, now only flooded her with asexual feelings of affection. She wondered briefly if she’d forgone birth control during their relationship, would she have gotten pregnant? Had it already been too late then? How would he have taken that kind of complication? How would she have dealt with it? She almost sighed aloud, but caught herself. Had that whole year been another waste? If she’d tried harder, could it have been more? God, she really was a mess. She didn’t have the time or the option, careerwise, to try harder. Not then, not now.
“I know you’ll do your best,” he said, dragging her focus back to the conversation. “There’s just one glitch.”
She tensed, a warning registering. “What kind of glitch?”
He exhaled a frustrated puff of air, clearly dreading what he was about to say. “You know this one is Federal jurisdiction.”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “If they want lead, they’re welcome to it.” She sure as hell wasn’t going to fight for this one. It was a no-win situation. Then again, the last thing she wanted was to be at the beck and call of a couple of arrogant Federal agents who thought they were God’s gift to women, if not mankind as a whole.
John erased all emotion from his expression right before her eyes. Uh-oh. Whenever he went deadpan, things deteriorated rapidly for the detective sitting on the opposite side of his desk.
“They don’t want lead,” he said quietly, too quietly. “In fact, they’ve asked for you by name.”
The air in the room suddenly thickened with the uncomfortable feel of a setup. Elaine arched an eyebrow as much in surprise as skepticism. “For me? Why would they want me?”
“Apparently they’ve heard of your stellar reputation.” A hint of a grin quirked his lips. “If they want the best, they’ve asked for the right detective.”
Irritation nagged at her despite the compliment. “Stop stonewalling and tell me about the glitch.” There was more to this, a lot more. She had a bad feeling. He was doling out too much good up front.
The chief took his time before answering. “Apparently there is some aspect of this case that caught the Bureau’s attention. They believe these two murder sprees are definitely connected. One of their agents thinks he may know who’s behind them.”
That was just too surreal. “We don’t even have any tangible evidence,” Elaine argued. “How the hell could he know that? It’s not like there’s even been the first real clue.”
John flared his hands, obviously as much at a loss as she was. “Beats me. But if the FBI director trusts this guy enough to follow his instincts, I’m certainly not going to question him.”
He had a point there. And a good chief or director always backed his detectives and agents. Elaine had to admit that as much as she despised Flatt personally, he was a good detective. She’d back him if the need arose.
“So, what exactly do they want?” She needed clarification here. If she was going to have to play flunky for some G-man, she wanted as much information as possible at the start.
John looked directly at her and said the last thing she wanted to hear. “They want to team you up with their agent. They want the two of you focused solely on solving this situation.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he stopped her with an uplifted palm. “They’re that sure of this guy, Elaine. I wouldn’t have said yes, if they weren’t so sure. Especially under the circumstances.”
She sprang from her chair and parked her fists on her hips. “You said yes without asking me first?”
That deadpan expression never wavered. “I did.”
She bit back the scorching four-letter word that raced to the tip of her tongue. “I hate this,” she murmured fiercely. “I want that on the record up-front. I already have a partner, a real cop. What’s Henshaw supposed to do while I’m playing lackey to some buttoned-down hotshot who thinks he’s some kind of Top Gun character?”
“Don’t worry about Henshaw,” John assured her. “We’ve got plenty to keep him busy. I thought I’d put him on the Fishnet murders.”
“Oh, he’ll love that,” Elaine mused, some of the fight draining out of her. What was the point, anyway? Damn, she needed more Maalox. Her stomach burned like hell.
The Fishnet case was a string of prostitute murders where the victims had been strangled with fishnet stockings while in a compromising position. Henshaw wouldn’t mind. He’d probably enjoy the scenery. Elaine wanted to kick something. But what was the use? She’d still be stuck working with the Feds. Up close and personally.
“This won’t be the first time you’ve worked a joint task force. What’s the big deal?” John wanted to know.
What’d he expect? Enthusiasm?
She looked directly at him and said exactly what was on her mind. “I have a partner. I don’t need another partner.” She glared at her boss for emphasis. “And I damn sure don’t want one who no doubt suffers with the same ailment all Feds do—the God complex.” One of the chief’s comments abruptly pushed its way through her irritation. Especially under the circumstances. What the hell did that mean?
“Well if it makes you feel any better, Detective,” a husky masculine voice drawled from the doorway some ten feet behind her, “I don’t want a partner, either.”
“Dammit,” she hissed, her eyes closing briefly in self-deprecation. Elaine turned slowly toward the man who’d spoken. Though she’d never met him, she recognized him instantly. That ruggedly handsome face as well as the stance, both weary and wary, contrasted sharply with his starched shirt and khakis, silk tie and polished brown leather loafers. There was something raw about him—besides the weapon nestled in its holster against that mile-wide chest. It radiated off him in waves. A distracting mix of confidence, masculinity and sexuality.
Elaine disliked him on sight.
“Elaine Jentzen,” John announced unnecessarily, then cleared his throat, “this is Special Agent Trace Callahan. Your new partner.”
Callahan strolled slowly toward her, each step a deliberate act of intimidation. But Elaine wasn’t intimidated. Surprised at her body’s foolish reaction to him, yes, but not at all intimidated. Ignoring the swirl of awareness in her gut, she thrust out her hand when he got within shaking distance.
“I wish I could say it’s a pleasure, Agent Callahan,” she said bluntly. So he was the circumstances the chief spoke of.
Callahan closed a hand over hers, unexpectedly sending a surge of pure heat spiraling through her. Those analyzing blue eyes never left hers for a second. “The pleasure’s surely mine, Detective Jentzen,” he said smoothly, so damned smoothly that she almost shivered. “And not to worry,” he added, holding on to her hand when she would have pulled away. “I left my God complex at home this morning. I’ll be sure to do that for the duration of our partnership.”
Fury burst inside her, and a different kind of heat scalded Elaine’s cheeks. “See that you do, Callahan,” she shot back. “And we’ll get along just fine.”
Something on the order of a smile played about the corners of his mouth as he released her hand. “No problem. We Top Guns are always on our best behavior when working with real cops.”
Her day had just gotten worse.
Chapter 4
“Have a seat, Agent Callahan,” John offered before shooting Elaine a look that meant two things—sit down and shut up.
Too pissed off to be submissive, she ignored her boss and looked directly at Callahan, daring him to make the first move. This close, his gaze startled her. It was more than simply analyzing…it was penetrating. Pure blue, like today’s sky, only ice-cold. Those eyes bore the experienced lines of someone who had witnessed too much…given too much. A chill shivered through her.
“After you,” he said with a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. It was more like a practiced offering. A compromise he’d trained himself to make during situations like this.
Elaine blinked and looked away from those disturbing eyes. “So, who’s in charge?” she asked John, determined to nail down that point right off the bat.
“You’ll lead,” Callahan interjected. “So long as,” he qualified, “we understand each other.”
Oh, he was smooth. She knew precisely what he meant. So long as he got his way, she was in charge. She sent him another evaluating look. “I think we understand each other perfectly.” With that said, Elaine sat down. She didn’t miss the relief on John’s face. This was awkward for him she knew, but at the moment she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to play nice under present circumstances.
Callahan settled into the other chair, his gaze lingering on her. She could feel him watching her…weighing the challenge she represented.
“We don’t want any conflicting obligations,” John told her, getting back down to business. “I don’t want your focus scattered by anything. We’ll let Flatt fill in as deputy chief while you’re on this case.”
Elaine stiffened as insult was added to injury. No way was she taking this without a fight. “I don’t see the necessity. I’ll still report in as usual. I can handle both.”
John shook his head. “I’m in agreement with the Bureau on this one. The case needs yours and Agent Callahan’s full attention. Anything less is unacceptable.”
Fury flamed inside her. It didn’t have to be this way. “Why not Henshaw? He’s senior, let him fill in.”
“My decision is final.” The look John gave her was more telling than his words.
Elaine recognized the futility of arguing the issue further. Once John Dugan made up his mind there was no changing it. Whatever his reasons for choosing Flatt over Henshaw, she had no choice but to accept the situation. But she didn’t have to like it.
“Fine,” she agreed tightly. This whole day had sucked. What was one more injustice? She almost laughed. And here she’d thought things couldn’t get any worse.
“I’ll need a status report every twenty-four hours,” John went on. “To keep the mayor abreast of the situation. I’ll also keep Senior Supervisory Agent Douglas informed,” he advised Callahan. “It’s my understanding that you’ll report directly to me throughout the investigation just like Jentzen.”
Callahan nodded. “That’s right.”
Surprise, surprise, Elaine thought. The Feds were staying out of the main loop. She wondered what hidden significance that goodwill gesture carried. Someone was pulling out all the stops on this one. No doubt to appease the mayor.
“So we understand each other here?” John asked looking at her again.
“Absolutely,” she said succinctly despite the fact that she didn’t understand any of it. And she damn sure didn’t like it. She hated this kind of politically motivated crap.
John stood, an act of dismissal. “Then I’ll let the two of you get started.”
Elaine snagged her purse and pushed to her feet. “Thank you, sir.” Disappointment flared briefly in John’s eyes at her curt tone. She refused to feel guilty for that, too. Though she felt sure he really didn’t like this any more than she did, she resented the feeling of helplessness it gave her. He’d been in on the decision making; she’d had no say at all. But he had a job to do. And so did she.
Not waiting for Callahan, she walked out while he was still shaking hands with John. It didn’t take the guy long to catch up to her. She’d just pushed into the stairwell when he breezed in behind her.
“We headed someplace special?” he asked as he slipped on a navy-blue jacket that exactly matched the silk tie he wore.
“Back to the scene of the crime. Where else?” Elaine started down the stairs without looking at him. If he was lead, would he have started someplace else? She banished that line of thinking. She was lead; she didn’t care what he would do.
“You want me to drive?” He was right beside her, his feet keeping time with hers. “My rented car’s—”
“I’ll drive.” She still didn’t look at him.
“Suits me.”
The last two flights of stairs were descended in silence. Well, silence, that is, if she discounted the war of conflicting thoughts and emotions inside her head. Every part of her that made her a woman wanted to cry out at the injustice fate had thrown her. The cop in her wanted to rant further about the whole setup of this little joint task force. But she couldn’t lose control…not right now. Later, when she was at home alone, she would allow herself to think about something besides the case again. Definitely not now, with some hotshot secret agent on her heels.
At the west exit that would take them to the personnel parking area, Elaine hesitated before opening the door. Something the chief had said suddenly rose above the rest of the chaos inside her head. She turned to the man waiting behind her. “Why me?”
His stare was analyzing and went on long enough to make her want to squirm, but she resisted. There was something totally unnerving yet somehow intensely spellbinding about his eyes. It was as if he could read her thoughts…could see inside her. She purposely cleared her mind, just in case.
“Does it matter?” he answered her question with a question, his voice carefully devoid of inflection.
“Chief Dugan said you asked for me,” she explained, suddenly uncharacteristically uncertain of her ground.
Something shifted in those intense blue eyes…some barely discernible emotion she couldn’t possibly read. “Douglas asked for you. I wouldn’t have.”
Douglas—his boss. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who had a problem with a new partner. “You wouldn’t have?”
“I would have preferred a male partner.” That unsettling stare cut to her marrow.
“You think one of my male peers would do a better job than me?” she demanded icily. She felt a muscle tic in her cheek at the absurd notion that Flatt or Jillette or any of the others could do a better job than she could.
He shook his head. “I’m sure you’re more than competent, Detective Jentzen,” he said in that slow, quiet drawl, honey sweet and polished smooth. “But in my experience women are ruled more by their emotions than by their gut. Emotions can get you killed.”
She lifted her chin defiantly. “You would certainly know more about getting someone killed than I would.”
He flinched and she immediately regretted her words. At least to a degree. Obviously Henshaw had been right about Callahan’s past.
“Let’s just say,” he offered in that same controlled tone, “that I’d rather spare you learning how that feels.”
He reached for the left breast pocket of his jacket as if it were second nature. A frown lined her brow as she considered the small bulge in that same pocket. A pack of cigarettes?
“You smoke?” she asked, her intolerance of the habit more evident in her voice than she’d intended. This just kept getting better and better. Her favorite uncle had died of lung cancer after half a lifetime of smoking. She’d almost broken Henshaw from the habit. What the hell was she supposed to do with a good-looking, smooth-talking, cigarette-smoking partner who had gotten his last partner killed?
His hand dropped back to his side. “I used to,” he admitted, just a hint of reluctance weighting his words.
She arched a skeptical eyebrow. “If you’ve quit, why are you still carrying a pack?” She glanced at his pocket once more for emphasis.
“It’s a long story. One I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested in.”
Before she could say anything else he reached around her and opened the door. Her breath caught at his unexpected nearness. The vaguest scent of aftershave, something she couldn’t readily identify, piqued her senses, made her want to draw closer.
Turning swiftly away from him, Elaine led the way to her black, badly-in-need-of-a-wash Jeep. She climbed into the driver’s seat and reached over to clear the passenger side. She tossed the files she’d taken home to review, her linen jacket, and a take-out box containing the remainder of yesterday’s lunch into the back seat.
Callahan slid onto the seat, his long, lean frame making the vehicle seem suddenly too cramped. He pulled on his seat belt after noting she’d done so. The act was awkward, unpracticed, as if he rarely performed it. Well, whenever he rode with her he would wear it. She would see to that. She might be stuck in this situation, but she would retain every aspect of control possible.
As she pulled out onto the street, she glanced at his profile. He had those chiseled good looks, all angles and shadows, that Hollywood clamored for in leading men. A pair of designer sunglasses slipped into place as she watched, only adding to the movie-star mystique. His dark-brown hair was short, a little longer on top where it waved, draping a few locks down his forehead for a sexy touch.
Just another reason to dislike him. He was too perfect on the outside. Women likely flocked to him in droves, only to discover the internal goods were damaged.
She fixed her gaze on the street before her. Damn, just what she needed. A new partner who would not only get in her way, but who would also create distractions, for her as well as any other female around, wherever they went. Dammit, dammit. Why the hell hadn’t Douglas picked Flatt or Jillette for this assignment? A realization of sorts struck her with staggering force. She was a woman. The Bureau likely believed she would be easier to control.
Well, Elaine didn’t like playing the submissive part. She didn’t like it one iota. She stole another sideways glance at her passenger. Midthirties, she guessed. Definitely not the marrying type. Before she could school the thought, she’d checked out his left hand. No ring.
She wanted to kick herself for looking. She didn’t care if he was married. She didn’t care that he was too damned handsome. She had a job to do, and Mr. Hotshot Superagent wasn’t going to distract her.
Pain stabbed deep in her midsection, followed by a burn at once familiar and dreaded. She grimaced. Dammit. She needed to eat. But she wasn’t about to go to lunch with this man. Keeping her eyes on the road, she reached for the Maalox in the center console. She opened it with a savage twist and drank a long, deep swallow.
Feeling immensely better as the thick, velvety liquid slid down her esophagus headed toward the volcano erupting in her stomach, she screwed the top back on and chucked the now-empty bottle onto the back seat. She’d definitely have to remember to pick up a new one.
He was staring at her again. She could feel him. She flexed her shoulders, a useless attempt to release the stress building there under his steady gaze. Only then did she consider how what she’d just done with the antacid probably looked to an outsider.
She stopped for a traffic light and turned to meet the question no doubt in his eyes behind those damnable shades. “Don’t ask. It’s a long story. One I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested in,” she said, repeating his earlier words.
His smile was slow in coming, like a dewdrop slipping down a tender new leaf, reaching for that point where the sun would glitter from it like Nature’s mirror. And when it reached fruition it was a sight to behold. Butterflies took flight in her stomach, and she knew she’d just witnessed an event as rare as a blue moon.
It was definitely something she wanted to see again.
And that only made bad matters worse.
Chapter 5
Trace stood outside the Atlanta Commerce Bank for a long while after Elaine Jentzen went inside. He was in no hurry to go inside. He’d already seen all there was to see. There would be no inadvertently left evidence, no conclusions to be drawn from the scene staging. Nothing. And that was the only clue Trace needed.
A cool breeze shifted the wide leaves of the massive magnolia trees shading the nearly empty parking lot. He studied the details of the large brick structure with its bold, white-column sentries guarding the double entry doors. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he huddled against the sudden chill that danced up his spine.
Why had he chosen this particular bank? Was it because Matthews used this one? Or was it the bank’s president that had made this institution the target? Trace knew little about the case so far, but he had enough information to recognize the familiarity of the game.
Dread pooled in his gut.
If last week’s beauty-shop murders had left any question, today’s bloodshed had cleared up the doubt. As far as Trace was concerned, anyway. He’d managed to convince his superiors at the Bureau, barely. He recognized that even the remote possibility of a repeat of two years ago had done more of the persuading than anything he had said or done. And Supervisory Special Agent Douglas appeared to be on his side…not that his support was much of a consolation. The bottom line was simple. No one wanted to take the risk.
The caption above the entrance to the bank snagged his attention, drawing him several steps closer. In God We Trust. He wondered briefly how many other Atlanta banks featured that logo. It would please the scumbag responsible for these senseless murders to no end to make a mockery of the people’s trust.
That was part of the thrill for the Gamekeeper.
He preyed upon those supremely confident in their ability to recognize the difference between right and wrong. No one saw the danger coming…until it was too late. He toyed with his chosen victims, manipulated them in every possible way. Then, when he tired of their frantic struggles, he used them to act out his evil schemes.
Worry creased Trace’s brow as he stood beneath the shaded portico of the bank entrance. There was one major difference, however, in these two cases and the ones from two years ago. The Gamekeeper, without exception, made the final kill himself. It was part of his signature—part of the ritual he followed religiously. But with both the beauty-shop case and the current one, the supposed perps had offed themselves. That had been the major sticking point with the brass. The profiler had been reluctant to agree with Trace when he suggested that the Gamekeeper could be behind last week’s murders. He would say the same about this one.
Serial killers rarely changed their MOs…unless some life-altering event predicated the change. He knew that better than anyone. But it didn’t sway his thinking.
Memories of the night his partner died abruptly slammed into him with the power of a train exploding from a dark tunnel.
Molly had been as green as they came. Brand-new to the Bureau. That alone had made her the perfect candidate for the trap Trace had devised. He’d asked for her, insisted on having her. She would play the part of his new girlfriend, his lover. And she would be the bait for the Gamekeeper. He would be the one to actually get close enough to make the collar. Molly had loved it. Thanked him over and over for allowing her the opportunity to work with a legend.
A legend. Yeah, right.
He swallowed hard, emotion making the action nearly impossible. He’d had such a hard-on to solve the case…to be the one who brought the Gamekeeper down, he hadn’t fully considered the risk to her. But he hadn’t worried because he’d been in control….
Or so he’d thought.
They’d played a twisted little game back and forth, he and the Gamekeeper. At the time, Trace could almost taste the triumph. He was so very close. He was going to nail him.
So many dead. All young with great futures ahead of them. Those were the ones the Gamekeeper liked best. No junkies, hookers or homeless people for him. He liked the challenge of more worthy opponents.
What was the fun, he’d said in one of his taunting calls to Trace, in stalking and murdering an already helpless creature?
He wanted to play.
To draw out the pleasure.
Sick bastard.
Trace clenched his jaw. He should have seen it coming. He should have known the Gamekeeper was too smart to fall for such an ordinary sting. The scumbag had known that Molly was Trace’s partner, not his girlfriend. But he’d also known that they’d grown close during the course of the investigation. He’d watched them, studied them. And the bastard had wielded every bit as much hurt…as much pain in the end.
She was dead. It was Trace’s fault. Nothing he could do would bring her back.
She’d died in his arms. He’d tried to stop the bleeding…tried to keep her alive until help arrived, but it had been useless.
He’d made a fatal mistake.
Trace jerked back to the here and now. He was shaking. A sheen of perspiration slicked his skin. His stomach roiled with the bitter dregs of his own guilt…of the vengeance he’d waited so long to wreak. He needed it more than his next breath. He wanted the Gamekeeper dead.
He’d managed to get off one good shot that night. He’d hit him, Trace knew he had. But he hadn’t killed him. The Gamekeeper was still alive. Trace felt him. The fact that the sick piece of crap had apparently dropped off the face of the earth for the past two years had lent credence to the possibility that Trace had managed a fatal hit that night. But he knew differently. Every fiber of his being sensed the evil lurking close by.
Whatever the Gamekeeper’s reasons for lying low until now didn’t matter. He was back, and Trace intended to stop him this time. He intended to kill him. He wanted to personally help perform the no-holds-barred autopsy on the son of a bitch. To hold the saw that cut into that twisted brain.
Trace fought to stem the tremors quaking through him. He dragged in a breath, ragged with his efforts to regain control. He had to keep it together.
This was his second chance. Second chances didn’t come along often. He would do it right this time.
“You coming in or what?”
Trace looked up to find Detective Jentzen glaring at him from the bank’s entrance. He jerked, startled.
Her eyes narrowed as she quickly took in his pathetic state. He squared his shoulders and blinked away the last of the lingering images that haunted him day and night. He could do this.
“Yeah.” He started forward, each step a conscious effort to remain steady. “I’m coming in.”
Not bothering to hide her annoyance, Jentzen held the door until he reached it, then gave him her back and strode across the lobby.
Trace moistened his lips and exhaled a relieved breath. He couldn’t let that happen again. If she suspected for one second that he was experiencing difficulty staying in control, she would certainly insist that he be removed from the case.
Not that he could blame her. In this line of work, who wanted to partner up with a guy who couldn’t watch his partner’s back? The Bureau had stuck him on desk duty. This was his one shot at making things right. His new partner resented the hell out of him, but he could live with it. She certainly hadn’t been his first choice, either. Though by all accounts she was a damned good cop, she was a woman, and he wasn’t sure he could trust her to react like a cop when the chips were down.
He couldn’t make a mistake and he couldn’t allow her to make one. This was his opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. To bring down the Gamekeeper and to get his professional life back. He didn’t really care that he no longer garnered any respect from the other agents. And he sure as hell didn’t need any friends. It was the job that kept him going…that he needed. If he had to go back to that desk for the rest of his days…well, he just wasn’t sure he could handle it.
Sure, he hated the way everyone looked at him now. As if they feared he’d go berserk at any given moment. But more than that or even the ever-present talk behind his back, he hated the looks of sympathy.
The panic he struggled with on a daily basis abruptly surged into his throat.
He choked it back.
This time would be different.
He would do everything right this time.
“Callahan, this is Detective Henshaw.” Jentzen stood next to an older man, fifty, fifty-five maybe. He looked a little rumpled and a lot cop smart. The cigar clenched in the corner of his mouth gave him a sort of Columbo-without-the-trench-coat look.
Trace extended his hand automatically. “Trace Callahan,” he said, not missing the older man’s methodical scrutiny.
Henshaw pumped his hand a couple of times and grunted. “I’ve heard of your reputation.”
Trace forced a smile. He’d just bet the old man had heard of him, but he doubted it was anything good. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” he suggested in as good-natured a tone as he could manage.
Henshaw chuckled, but those cunning eyes told the tale. He knew a lot more than he would dream of saying. “I’ll bear that in mind, Callahan.”
Trace looked from Henshaw to his reluctant partner and back. “I suppose Jentzen told you about the working arrangements?”
Henshaw nodded. “I can live with it. Temporarily.” He looked at the woman at his side. “I’ll have my final report ready by the end of the day.”
“Just leave it on my desk. I’m not sure when I’ll—we’ll get back to the office.”
“Will do.”
Jentzen’s cellular phone rang, and she stepped away to take the call. Henshaw gave Trace a final curt nod before walking past him. Trace reciprocated, damned tired of the pretending and the double-talk, but he had to play it out a little longer.
Until he set things right again.
“Just one more thing,” Henshaw said, as if he’d almost forgotten some important aspect of the case he needed to pass along.
Trace turned to face him. “What’s that?” Their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills.
“Don’t let anything happen to my partner,” the old man warned. “You risk her life unnecessarily and you’ll answer to me. You got that, hotshot?”
Trace read no malice in the man’s tone or expression…just genuine fear for his partner’s well-being. The warning wasn’t anything he hadn’t anticipated. “I’ve got it.”
“Good.”
Detective Henshaw pivoted on his heel and exited the bank. He paused outside the door to light his cigar. A puff of blue smoke rose above his head. Trace looked away, suppressing the urge to reach into his own pocket for a cigarette. He’d quit smoking ten years ago. Then, when everything had gone to hell, he’d picked them up again. Last month, he’d finally worked up the nerve to quit for good. He hated being at the mercy of the habit…almost as much as his new partner obviously hated the idea of being partnered up with someone who polluted her air space. She seemed to make an exception with Henshaw. Or maybe she had him trained not to light up in her presence.
His gaze sought and found Elaine Jentzen. She was no green, right-out-of-the-academy rookie like Molly had been. She was street savvy and smart, but more than that she was experienced. Despite her youth, she’d worked long and hard to get where she was. A degree in criminology with a minor in psychology and graduating top of her class from the police academy were pretty impressive feats to have accomplished by age twenty-two. Her very first case in Homicide had made a hero of her. She’d been flying high ever since. Not to mention making deputy chief before hitting thirty. He imagined she’d made a few enemies along the way as well. No one moved up the ranks that quickly without pissing off somebody.
According to what he’d pulled up on the computer about her, she was a third-generation cop. All three of her brothers were either policemen or firemen. Her sister was the only exception in the bunch. She’d chosen education for her field of expertise, then married during her first year of teaching. Five years and four children later, she was a stay-at-home mom with a college professor husband.
Trace didn’t have any siblings. His parents had died long ago. It was just him. That hadn’t really ever bothered him before. But now, somehow, it did.
Considering Jentzen’s brood, it made him feel lonely. He almost laughed at that one. He was alone.
And that’s the way he liked it.
Self-pity wasn’t his style.
Nor was being dependent upon another human being.
He surveyed his new partner’s long legs, then all that dark hair that fell past her proud shoulders. She was tall, five foot seven inches or eight maybe. Thin, but more lean than skinny he’d bet. The black slacks weren’t formfitting, but were well tailored to the sweet contours of her body. She wore her badge and weapon at her waist in a no-frills fashion. The white blouse was something soft and flowing. It nestled against her skin in all the right places. His gaze lingered a little too long on her breasts. He blinked and forced his attention up to her face.
But her brown eyes were her best asset, in his opinion. Her every emotion shimmered in those wide, oval pools. She emanated more strength and courage than most women in his experience. The fact that she’d already earned his respect to an extent surprised him. He was usually slow in allowing that kind of confidence.
As she argued with someone named Flatt on her cell phone, Trace watched her every move. She used her hands a lot. Long, delicate fingers were tipped by short nails. Her face was as animated as her hands. And what a pretty face it was. Too pretty for a cop, especially one so ambitious.
She did this thing with her hand…just a quick motion of running her fingers through her hair. He liked that. He liked her. She was a good cop. A real cop, he thought, his lips slanting up into an unexpected grin.
Nope, self-pity wasn’t his style.
But then neither was lusting after the forbidden.
He couldn’t make a mistake this time.
He wouldn’t make a mistake.
Elaine Jentzen was a complication he didn’t need or want. But he would make the best of the situation…if that was possible.
“Earth to Callahan.”
Jentzen’s voice startled Trace back to attention. “Yeah?” Damn. He’d zoned out again.
She gave him one of those barely tolerant looks teachers saved for their most trying students. “If you’re ready now, I’d like to get this show on the road. We have to make a statement to the press.”
Well, at least now he had his answer to making the best of things.
It was going to be impossible.
Chapter 6
How did one top one’s best effort?
The Gamekeeper knew how.
He smiled. It had been so easy. He’d reinvented himself, and his adversary had no idea. Not just yet. He laughed out loud, the sound satisfying, exhilarating. He just kept getting better and better. Closer and closer to his ultimate goal. Closer than anyone suspected.
He was so very clever…so absolutely perverse. This new game was perfect. A unique and unparalleled original creation. No one had ever done anything this magnificent before.
Agent Callahan had not been victorious two years ago, as he so arrogantly thought. The Gamekeeper had been the triumphant one in the end. He gritted his teeth against the bad thoughts. Held them at bay. It wasn’t time. Not yet. The pain had been almost unbearable. Weeks of agony had followed that fateful night. The tremendous mental anguish that had accompanied the immense pain had been cleansing and at the same time intoxicating. He’d loved it. Baptized himself in it and was reborn.
The Gamekeeper closed his eyes and relished the triumph of rising again. Just like Christ himself. No mere man could keep the Gamekeeper down.
Certainly not Agent Trace Callahan.
He was right where the Gamekeeper wanted him. He felt giddy with the knowledge that the plan had worked so quickly. The danger of getting closer and closer, drawing his enemy deeper into the game, made each calculated move all the more thrilling.
It wasn’t about increasing his body count…never had been. It was the danger that sent adrenaline pumping through him…that turned him on. Oh, he did love the game.
And it was only going to get better.
Because no one was as smart as he was. No one else had the game.
Only he was genius enough to have created such a flawless masterpiece that conquered the final frontier—the mind. No one had gone this far before.
He remembered as a child the batteries of intelligence tests, the psychoanalyzing. He was a genius, and most certainly not from the gene pool of the obsequious pair who’d adopted him at the tender young age of two.
What had all the pathetic adults in his childhood expected? He’d been far smarter and more capable than any of them. None had recognized the full extent of his genius…the potential of his abilities. Instead they’d feared him. Put him on medication, treated him like a freak.
But he’d made a special game for all of them. They had thought they were so smart…so invincible.
No one was as smart or as invincible as the Gamekeeper.
Not Agent Callahan. Or his new partner, the lovely Deputy Chief Jentzen.
Hmm. This was just like old times. They were both much more vulnerable than they knew. They had no idea just how vulnerable.
Because no one could beat the Gamekeeper at his own game.
So many had tried.
All had failed.
No one would ever catch him…not in a million years. He was too perfect…too smart. Too invisible.
The Gamekeeper leaned forward and began typing words into the chat box on the computer screen.
Time to play.
Chapter 7
That night when she arrived home, Elaine dragged herself from her Jeep to her front door. Sally, tail wagging, waited for her just inside. Elaine was totally wiped out. She and Callahan had spent hours going over Matthews’s and Tate’s backgrounds—work history, friends, relatives, finances, marital standing—looking for any kind of motivation for the events that had taken place that morning.
They’d found nothing.
Locking the door behind her, she bent down to scratch her big girl behind the ears. Elaine was exhausted physically and mentally, but not so exhausted that she couldn’t force herself to muddle through her nightly rituals. Her companion depended upon her. Other than the afternoon walks Allen, the teenager next door, gave Sally, the nightly run was her only outdoor fun.
Elaine changed into running shorts and shoes and a T. She owed this to herself as well as Sally. She needed to burn off some of the day’s frustrations.
Nearly an hour later the twosome bounded back into the house. Elaine had managed to keep anything other than the case off her mind during the run. But now, as her heart slowed to a normal rhythm, Dr. Bramm’s words haunted her once more, joining the images of Brad Matthews and Harold Tate, the security guard and the four women from last week’s mass murder already churning in her head. She stripped off her clothes and climbed into the shower, her favorite wine cooler in hand. She didn’t want to think anymore. She pressed her hand to her stomach and braced for the burn as she took a long sip from the cold bottle. Grimacing, she chased it with another, then another after that.
Slowly, as the hot water and the alcohol did their work, the brutal images drained away. No more dead bodies…no more empty cradles.
Elaine closed her eyes to a blessedly emptied mind.
That serenity lasted about four seconds. Trace Callahan abruptly filled the space. She chugged down the last of her wine cooler and turned her face up to the hot spray, but it was no use. He wouldn’t go away.
He disagreed with every conclusion she reached, or scenario she offered. He would not give up on his theory that the two multiple homicides were connected with a serial killer who’d terrorized D.C. two years ago. The Gamekeeper.
He made her want to scream or swear, or maybe even tear out her hair. She set her empty bottle aside and made fast work of washing her hair and body. How would she ever conduct this investigation if he refused to listen to reason?
She twisted the control, shutting off the shower and stepped out onto the fuzzy pink mat. Nothing about this investigation was really under her control and she hated it.
She hated him.
Clutching the towel to her chest, Elaine sighed. Well maybe she didn’t actually hate him. It was his attitude…that aloof, male mentality that she couldn’t tolerate. She wanted to hit him. Especially after that incredible grin he’d flashed her in the car. Her heart had all but leaped from her chest. She despised that he could make her react that way.
She shivered.
She hated him, all right.
But then there was that vulnerable side of him. Her fingers stilled in their work of tucking the towel around her. She’d seen it when he lingered outside the bank, as if coming inside was more than he could do at that moment. He’d looked pale and shaky, afraid. She shook her head. That just didn’t mesh with the rest of the vibes he emanated. For the most part he oozed a laid-back, good-old-boy charm, as if he was in no hurry about anything. But that wasn’t the case at all.
Trace Callahan was smart and as eagle-eyed as they came. He didn’t miss anything. His attention to detail and powers of perception amazed her—even if he was wrong in his conclusions.
What was worse, she thought with utter disdain, was the package. Why was it that with good-looking men the elevator either didn’t go all the way to the top or they were know-it-alls and brooding? Or gay?
Men. They were just too hard to figure out.
Elaine blow-dried her hair then pulled on her favorite one-size-fits-all Braves nightshirt. She would simply have to learn to live with her new partner, at least for a little while. She’d conduct this investigation like any other, he would either be with her or against her. She wasn’t going to worry about it.
Screw his attitude. She ran a brush through her hair and stared at her reflection. The realization that she would probably never have children, that she might even be facing serious health problems suddenly flooded her all over again.
Why hadn’t she asked more questions? The doctor had said that the disease sometimes spread to other organs. Her heart lurched at the implication. Could she die from this? She should have asked him for more complete details. But Henshaw had called and she’d had to leave abruptly. Surely she wasn’t going to die. He’d said the specialist would explain the possible effects on her future.
One had to be alive to have a future.
But what kind of future? Nothing would ever be the same again, that much she was certain of. She was damaged goods now, just like her new partner. Who would want to marry a woman incapable of bearing children? She thought of her gang of nieces and nephews and the pleasure having them in her life gave her. She might never know how it felt to hold her own child in her arms…
Tears welled in her eyes. She didn’t want to cry. She was stronger than that. Her mother and sister would have a fit when they found out she hadn’t called them with this news first thing after leaving the doctor’s office. She couldn’t talk about it with anyone right now. Not even Henshaw when he’d asked. If she told anyone, it would be like making it real. She didn’t want it to be that real…yet.
She didn’t want to think about it, either.
She grabbed her empty bottle and headed back to the kitchen. She stopped in the living room long enough to pop in her favorite jazz CD. The sultry music drifted along behind her as she made her way into the kitchen. Eating would be a good thing right now…especially since she hadn’t bothered to all day except for a few snack crackers and a diet cola.
Leftover Chinese from last night looked easy enough. She wasn’t in the mood to cook or clean up afterward. A couple minutes in the microwave and dinner would be served.
Elaine poured Sally a bowlful of her favorite kibbles. She filled a small pitcher with tap water and poured it into the dog’s matching water bowl. As she stroked the animal, she realized Allen had brushed Sally today. Good. She just wasn’t in the mood to go the extra step tonight. Her long shifts were a godsend to her young neighbor, though. His mother had allergies and had never allowed him to have a pet. Spending time with Sally satisfied his need for that kind of bonding. Sally loved him, and Elaine was tremendously grateful. She’d be in a fix when Allen graduated high school and went off to college.
Well, she had two years to worry about that. Anything could happen in two years. This morning was proof that no one, even when it appeared that way to those around her, led a charmed life.
The microwave dinged, tugging her back to the present. She opened the door, and the pleasant smell of Lo Mein wafted around her. Her stomach rumbled. Oh yeah, she was definitely ready for some food. Though she was only having leftovers, alone at that, she went all out. Linen napkin, stemmed glass of Chardonnay and two lovely lit candles for a centerpiece.
The first bite hit her stomach like a lump of hot coal. Her stomach clenched, then cramped, kindling a fire that never really left her gut.
“Dammit.”
She grabbed the ever-present bottle of Maalox from the counter and took a hefty swig as she sank back into her chair.
A few minutes later she could eat in relative comfort. God, she was such a mess. The newest medicine her internist had prescribed was little or no help with the ulcer. And she wasn’t about to go in again complaining of continued pain and burning. She knew what came next and she wasn’t prepared to go there right now. Maybe they could just take care of her stomach ailments at the same time they gutted her pelvic cavity.
Another bout of emotion gripped her. She blinked away the moisture. Crying would accomplish nothing. She’d call Dr. Bramm’s office tomorrow and get the appointment with the specialist. Worrying about this latest problem was pointless until after she had all the facts.
The single chime of the front doorbell interrupted her self-counseling session. Sally sprang up from her lazy sprawl on the floor and barked a warning. Elaine blew out the candles and headed in that direction, she frowned as she glanced at the hall clock: 10:29. Who would be at her door at this time of night?
She’d have gotten a call if there’d been another murder or any other news pertinent to the case.
While Sally uttered a low growl, Elaine flipped on the outside light and checked the security peephole in her door. She relaxed when she saw Henshaw’s rumpled form, minus his usual stogie, on her porch. He always left it in his car when he came to her house. He insisted that he respected her personal space. Henshaw was truly one of a kind. She missed him already.
“It’s okay, girl. It’s just Henshaw.” She unbolted the door and drew it open wide. “Has something happened?” she asked by way of a greeting.
Henshaw quirked an eyebrow. “Is that it? No ‘Good evening’? No ‘Won’t you come in’?”
Elaine sighed. “Sorry.” She stepped back. “Good evening, partner. Please come in.” Sally wagged her tail, offering her own hello.
“At least the mutt’s glad to see me,” he muttered as he shuffled across the threshold. “By the way, you might want to call me Hank, since, officially, I’m not your partner at the moment.”
She rolled her eyes and closed the door behind him. “What’re you doing here at this time of night if nothing has happened?”
“I didn’t get my report finished before you left the office, so I thought I’d drop it by.”
She felt her eyes narrow in suspicion. She knew better than that. Henshaw might move like a tortoise, but his brain worked as speedily as any hare. “Don’t give me that. What’re you really doing here?”
He reached into his interior jacket pocket and produced the folded pages of the report. “Well, the truth is,” he began, offering the document to her, “I just wanted to see if you were doing okay.”
She placed the report on the hall table. “Callahan and I haven’t killed each other, if that’s what you mean.”
“Screw Callahan.” He looked straight at her. “I mean, are you okay? You seemed kind of preoccupied after your doctor’s appointment.”
Elaine tensed. “I’m fine. I was preoccupied. Entering a crime scene does that to me, you know.”
He nodded. “All I’m saying is, something isn’t right and I know it.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” she lied. “Now, if you want to come in and sit down, I’ll fix you a good stiff drink and I’ll tell you how much I hate working with Callahan.” She could definitely see a couple more glasses of wine in her future if she planned to get through the night.
“As interesting as it sounds, I’d better pass.” He looked sheepish. “The wife will have my hide if I don’t get home before midnight. I don’t want to get her riled up. Gotta help her keep that blood pressure down.” He fixed Elaine with that too-knowing gaze again. “You’re sure you’re okay.”
She smiled, warmed by the genuine affection in his tone. “I’m okay. With thirty looming only a couple of months away I think my body’s just getting a head start on falling apart.”
Concern marred his brow, reaching all the way down to his eyes. “Anything serious?”
“Nothing that can’t be taken care of,” she hedged. “I’m fine, really.”
He reached into his trouser pocket for his keys. “All right. I’ll let it go at that. Good night.” He turned to go. “And I’ll keep my mouth shut about Callahan. No point in stirring the stink.”
“Night,” she said as he opened the door. “Thanks for bringing by the report.” She leaned against the jamb when he hesitated on the porch. He wanted to say more, but for some reason felt reluctant. “This whole new-partner thing is temporary,” she reminded, just in case he was feeling out of sorts. “I can deal with it.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about on that score,” he called over his shoulder as he descended the steps.
She waited until he’d gotten into his car before closing the door. His final words brought the image of Callahan outside the bank to mind once more. Was he really unstable? Was that how his partner had ended up dead? Maybe she should be concerned about his ability to back her up in the field.
Maybe she should be more worried about her life in his presence than her honor.
The doorbell sounded again. Sally whined and looked up at her with a question in her big brown eyes. Elaine glanced at the report lying on the table. What had Henshaw forgotten?
She opened the door and said, “Decide you want that drink after all?”
“Is that an invitation?”
Elaine stared into the piercing blue eyes of Trace Callahan. Amusement twinkled there. Warmth spread through her before she could stop it.
“What’re you doing here?” Her tone was every bit as sharp as she’d meant it to be, but her vision was another matter. She couldn’t stop her eyes from studying his too-handsome face. Five-o’clock shadow darkened his jaw, adding another layer of texture to the already interesting terrain. He licked his lips causing a little infuriating hitch in her breathing.
Then he gave tit for tat. His gaze traveled down the length of her, abruptly driving home the way she was dressed. Damn. She stiffened when that evaluating gaze settled back on hers.
“It’s late, I know,” he said in that sensual drawl.
No way could she miss the male approval in those searing bedroom eyes. “That doesn’t answer my question.” He had an infuriating habit of answering a question with a question or with a remark that skirted the actual answer.
“I wanted to talk to you…off the record.” He adopted what he obviously thought was a hopeful look. It didn’t quite hit the mark.
She exhaled noisily, impatiently. He was her partner. “If you really feel it’s necessary.”
“I do.” His expression turned too serious, too somber.
“All right.” She opened the door wider and he stepped inside. As usual, his presence diminished the space, made her want to back away. Sally growled low and menacingly. Callahan didn’t appear put off by the threat.
“It’s all right, girl.” Elaine stroked the dog’s head and said to her unexpected and definitely unwelcome visitor, “Pour yourself something to drink and have a seat.” She gestured to her living room. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
He nodded once, then followed her instructions, that deliberate walk making her pulse react. She shook her head. Damn, she didn’t need this.
In her bedroom, she cursed herself for the fool she was as she quickly dragged on a pair of jeans. She refused the impulse to glance at her reflection as she left the room. She didn’t care how she looked, other than being dressed. This wasn’t a social visit. She definitely was not trying to impress him.
“Come on, girl,” she muttered to Sally who tagged along after her. “Let’s see what this little tête-à-tête is all about.”
Still standing when she returned, he offered her a tumbler containing the only hard liquor she had in the house, bourbon. She kept it around for her brothers. The decanter and four tumblers sat in a silver tray on the antique sideboard she’d inherited from her maternal grandmother. Again, Callahan perused her body from head to toe as if he felt the need to analyze her from the outside in. Elaine felt immensely better with Sally sitting at her feet.
“Thank you,” she said politely as she reached for the drink. She could use one about now, but didn’t have the guts to pay the price. Wine was one thing, eighty proof was entirely another. Her stomach couldn’t handle it. Unavoidably her fingers brushed his as she accepted the glass. A zing of electricity zapped her. She almost flinched. The only thing worse was that he didn’t seem to notice any of it. Maybe she was the only one suffering from confused, overactive hormones.
He sipped the Jack Daniels unnaturally slowly. His rigid posture, the tightness of his fingers on the glass all screamed of labored restraint. Or maybe it was her imagination. She was definitely looking for weakness.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he said finally, his voice low, his tone devoid of inflection.
Elaine resisted the urge to laugh out loud. “That would be a vast understatement, Agent Callahan.”
He stared at the glass in his hand but didn’t take another drink. He swallowed, hard, the movement of muscle beneath bronzed skin oddly distracting. She looked away.
“We need to clear the air. Keep this professional.”
Anger pinged her. “Are you accusing me of being unprofessional?” she demanded, and instantly wished she could take back the words. This promotion had made her too damned edgy. She went on attack instantly when anyone questioned her job performance.
He blinked, then frowned. “No.” He lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “It’s just that you argue my every suggestion and you seem to resent my mere presence in a room. We’ll never accomplish anything that way.”
She set her glass down on the nearest table and forced a calm voice. “Don’t expect me to go along with all your suggestions,” she warned. “I call it like I see it. As far as your presence, my chief ordered me to work with you, and I will. Any resentment I feel will not affect the investigation.”
He placed his glass next to hers, though the gesture was clearly forced. “All I’m saying is that I don’t want you to overreact to the Bureau’s involvement in this case. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”
“I’m a professional,” she said coolly. “This has nothing to do with the Bureau’s involvement. I make my assessments based on what I discover for myself, but I don’t trust until it’s earned. I’ll continue to question your suggestions until I either see it your way or I trust your judgment. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”
He almost smiled but didn’t quite follow through with the effort. It amused him when she used his own statements against him. Well, maybe amused wasn’t the right word.
“I guess that’s all I can expect,” he relented.
“I’m glad we’re in agreement.” With Sally on her heels, she walked across the room and paused at the doorway leading to the hall. “We both need some sleep. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow. I, for one, intend to stay focused on this investigation. So, if there’s nothing else…”
He didn’t move. He didn’t even speak for one long moment. He had more to say, she could see it in his expression, in the determined set of those broad shoulders. The sensual ache from the music was the only sound during the tense standoff.
“You’ve already made up your mind about me.”
The accusation wasn’t spoken in an accusing manner, not openly, anyway. His tone remained low, tightly controlled. But she knew what he was thinking. He wouldn’t have said it otherwise.
“Are you going to tell me that you didn’t get your partner killed?” she suggested. “Because that’s all I’ve been told about you and that was secondhand.” It was only fair to give him a chance to refute what she’d heard. He was her partner, for the time being.
He walked toward her, his steps measured, controlled, just like his voice. When he stopped next to her, he looked straight into her eyes. “You expect me to justify what I did do or deny what I didn’t as told by the media?”
There he went, answering her question with a question. “That would be a start.”
Fury ignited in those blue depths. The blast made her want to step back, but she held her ground. He reined in the outburst right before her eyes. The effort it took visible.
When he’d exiled all emotion from his expression, he said, “A real cop would do more than just talk about making her own assessments based on fact rather than hearsay.”
Clenching her jaw to hold back a scorching rebuttal, Elaine pivoted and stormed into the hall. She refused to admit his statement held any merit. She jerked the front door open, a blatant demand for him to go. “Like you said before, it’s late.”
He made his way to the door but paused directly in front of her before going out. “I guess I was wrong.”
In spite of her anger, this close, that whiskey-smooth voice slid over her like a caress. Reluctantly she met his gaze, the intensity of it almost undoing her bravado as she waited for him to finish what he’d started.
“I really did think you were a good cop.”
Outrage charged through her. She stared hard at him. He stared back, a challenge in his eyes. What the hell did he want from her? “You know what?”
He angled his head in question.
She smiled sweetly. “I don’t care what you think. This is my investigation and we’ll do things my way. End of story.”
“And I’m not supposed to make any waves. Is that it?”
He was somehow closer now. She refused to back off. “That’s it in a nutshell, partner.”
“Well, at least I know where I stand,” he allowed in a tone so low, so lethal that it made her shiver.
She met his intense gaze with lead in her own. Opening the door wider still, she said, “Glad we had this little talk, Callahan.”
Two more tense beats passed before he moved. “Right.”
He walked out.
Elaine slammed the door behind him.
They were surely off on the right foot now.
Chapter 8
Elaine would never get used to the smell of chilled flesh. No matter how many autopsies she attended or corpses she viewed for identification purposes. It was always the same. Her gut wrenched, and it was all she could do to keep down the Starbucks special house blend she’d inhaled en route to the morgue this morning.
Good thing she hadn’t eaten anything solid.
“What’s the bottom line, Walt?”
Walt Damron surveyed his handiwork a moment before responding. Elaine automatically did the same. She knew the routine. As the chief medical examiner he got to pick and choose his cases, leaving the routine work to those under his dominion. And when he did elect to take on a case personally, he did so with much pomp and circumstance. He was the best and he wanted some acknowledgment of that station.
Elaine couldn’t help thinking how sad Brad Matthews looked lying there. Dead. Naked. His sins bared for all to see. Still young by anyone’s standards, his career taking off, a wife and two kids. What went wrong?
A frown furrowed its way across her forehead. He looked healthy in spite of the hideous marbling effect death had left on his skin. Well, and discounting the damage the .38 had done in the vicinity of his brain.
Walt heaved a sigh and started to flip through the pages of his preliminary report. “Toxicology is clean.” He shrugged and set the report aside. “There are a few tests that won’t be back for a day or so, but all in all I don’t expect to find anything useful.” He shook his head and made a tsking sound. “If only I had such a strong heart. Either the man led an exceedingly healthy lifestyle or he was blessed with good DNA.”
Damn. Nothing. “So he just went off the deep end and killed a business associate and that security guard for no reason,” she said, more to herself than to Walt.
“Just like that young woman last week,” the distinguished medical examiner noted quietly.
Elaine shifted, frustrated. The reminder hadn’t been necessary…but there it was. “Thanks, Walt. I appreciate your doing this one personally.”
“Dr. Damron.”
Elaine started at the deep, husky sound of the male voice. She’d forgotten about Callahan. Man, she had to be off this morning to have let him slip her mind. Especially considering he’d hitched a ride with her from the station. She shouldn’t have had that fourth wine cooler before hitting the sack last night. But she’d needed to relax. After Callahan’s visit the feat had been nearly impossible.
Walt stared expectantly across the dissected body of Brad Matthews, waiting for Callahan to continue.
“Any indication of extreme fatigue?”
Walt’s shaggy gray eyebrows knitted thoughtfully. “Nothing out of the ordinary. It would be more speculation than anything for me to suggest that the heavy bags under his eyes or any other outward indication generally associated with stress or fatigue were more than lifestyle or genetics.”
Callahan inclined his inordinately handsome head without a single perfect hair falling out of place. “But you said his general state of health likely indicated an unusually healthy lifestyle.”
“True. But that doesn’t mean that he hadn’t started working too hard or carrying too heavy a stress load more recently.” Walt shrugged. “For that matter, anything’s possible where his mental state was concerned. There was no visible or chemical indication of disease, but he could very well have developed some sort of phobia or mental disorder recently. I can only tell you what I see, what toxicology suggests.”
“Thank you.” Callahan walked out of the room.
Elaine stared after him, bewildered.
“I can’t read the man,” Walt said quietly, his attention focused on the door Callahan had exited. “What do you make of him, Detective?”
“I’m still working on that one,” she admitted. “I’ll let you know.”
Walt made a sound that broadcast his doubt. “I won’t hold my breath.”
Elaine wasn’t holding hers, either. She thanked Walt once more and took her time catching up with Callahan.
This morning when she’d arrived at her office he’d been waiting for her. He’d looked as spit and polished as ever. Charcoal-gray suit jacket over a white shirt and navy slacks. Clean shaven, hair looking as if he’d just stepped out of a salon. He’d shone like a freshly minted silver dollar. That is, if one didn’t look too closely. It had taken only one glance into those unnerving blue eyes to see the truth before he banished the telltale indication.
Callahan was clinging to that edge he’d reportedly gone over two years ago, by the very tips of his fingers. Maybe he wanted or needed to get his professional life back together. His participation in this case might very well be about that more than anything else. Who knew? But one thing was astonishingly clear. He was barely hanging on. One wrong move could send him plummeting back into that private hell he’d apparently climbed out of far too recently for her comfort.
Like Walt said, he was hard as hell to read, so her conclusions were more speculation than anything else. She needed the truth. She needed Callahan to come clean with her. But she didn’t see that happening in this lifetime.
“Detective Jentzen!”
Elaine hesitated at the main entry of the ME’s office and glanced back in the direction from which she’d come. Kathleen, Walt’s secretary, hurried along the corridor toward her.
The smile that pushed into place was genuine. Kathleen was a truly nice lady. Elaine couldn’t help wondering again if the gossip about her and Walt was true. “Good morning,” she offered, having missed the loyal secretary when she first arrived that morning.
Kathleen beamed. “You’re looking well,” she said to Elaine.
It wasn’t until that precise moment that yesterday’s reality slammed into Elaine all over again. It was like waking from a nightmare only to realize the dream had been real. Endometriosis. Surgery. Probably no children. Who wanted a woman incapable of bearing children?
Forty-eight hours ago a husband and children had been the farthest goals from her mind. Why was it that the abrupt idea that she might not be able to achieve either was suddenly so devastating?
Elaine blinked. Reminded herself she had to call Dr. Bramm’s office today. “Thanks. You look terrific yourself.” Clearing her mind of the too personal, too unpleasant thoughts, Elaine focused on the older woman. She did look good. Damn good for a lady closer to seventy than sixty.
Kathleen adopted a knowing expression. “Your mother called. Said she’d been trying to track you down all morning. Your office told her you were over here.”
Elaine had set her cell to vibrate that morning so as not to be disturbed. “Thanks, Kathleen. I’ll call her right away.”
“See that you do.” A secret smile stole across the woman’s lips. “I’d better get back to the office. Dr. Damron can’t find a thing without me. Have a nice day!”
Elaine pushed out into the bright May morning and redirected her thoughts to the case. She’d call her mother when she had some privacy. Right now she had a few questions for Callahan.
He waited by her Jeep. When he caught sight of her he slipped what was clearly an unlit cigarette back into his jacket pocket. The guy had definitely picked a bad time to quit smoking. She quashed the trickle of sympathy. He didn’t deserve her sympathy just yet. And as long as he played devil’s advocate at every opportunity on this case he wouldn’t earn her trust or respect, either.
“What’s the deal, Callahan?” She walked up next to him and folded her arms over her chest, opting not to lean against her vehicle, since it still badly needed that washing and in part because she wanted him to see that she was annoyed.
He lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “What do you mean?”
Okay, so she’d dismissed his every conclusion yesterday. Was he going to hold out on her today? If getting to her was his plan, he’d done a bang-up job so far. She didn’t like this. Didn’t like it one bit. Henshaw didn’t work this way; she didn’t work this way.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
That analyzing gaze locked on to hers then, sending a shiver down her spine despite her best efforts to resist the reaction.
“Why?” he tossed back. “So you can pick apart my theories?”
She shoved a handful of hair behind her ear and puffed out a lungful of frustration. “Look, this isn’t going to work.” She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You’re supposed to be working with me not against me. Partners, remember?”
That ghostlike smile that haunted one corner of his carnal mouth and got to her like nothing else could made an appearance. “And here I thought you’d forgotten our little deal.” The smile vanished and those piercing blue eyes turned ice-cold. “I’m not here to make you look good, Jentzen. And I’m damn sure not here to parlay theories for the learning experience or the moral support of the team. I want one thing and one thing only…to bring this guy down.”
Fury detonated on a cellular level, sending tension radiating along every single nerve ending. So he’d spent the night deciding he wanted to play by his own rules. “By guy I assume you mean your old nemesis the Gamekeeper.”
His jaw tightened visibly. “That’s right.”
“Get in.”
He looked surprised at her ferocious tone.
“Where to, partner?” If his tone hadn’t been facetious enough, his expression left no doubt as to how he felt. He hated being stuck with her, having to bend to her wishes.
“Just get in.”
Elaine climbed behind the wheel of her Jeep, anger making her movements stiff. Without uttering another word she drove straight to the only place she could be certain of two things, they wouldn’t be bothered and the territory would be considered neutral by both parties.
Jimmy’s Pub was a bit off the beaten path, on Cone Street in downtown Atlanta. But being a third-generation cop, Elaine knew the right places to go for anonymity as well as camaraderie. Though Jimmy’s was best known for its beer and old-fashioned-style burgers, the doors opened at ten every morning for the early lunchers. Or maybe just to make sure cops had a reliable place to go and discuss business that required distance from the office or nosy colleagues.
“Burger and a cola,” she told the waiter who paused at their table the moment they sat down. If his T-shirt was any indication the guy was a student at a local university. His jeans were well-worn, and he had that harried look of a full-time student, part-time employee, working hard to balance his schedule with homework commitments and the undying hope for a decent social life.
Callahan looked to her for counsel. “Try it,” she told him. “The burgers here are the best.” She lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “Unless, of course, you’re a vegetarian.”
“I’ll have the same,” Callahan said to the waiter who nodded and moved on.
Patronage at the pub was light today. The main lunch crowd wouldn’t filter in until after noon, she imagined. That was one of the primary reasons Elaine preferred to skip breakfast and go for an early lunch, it cut wait time down to half. She didn’t recognize any of the patrons seated around the large dining area or at the long bar. Good. That way she didn’t have to worry about anyone horning into the conversation. She thought immediately of Flatt and Jillette and how they no doubt waited in the wings for an opportunity to try and take this case from her. Then again, she considered, why the hell didn’t she just let them have it?
“Why did you ask Walt about stress and fatigue?” She cut to the chase, pushing worries about her two disloyal colleagues to the back burner. “You have to know how difficult it is to judge those kinds of indicators with any real accuracy.”
To Callahan’s credit he didn’t look away. He held her gaze, but he did keep his expression carefully blank of what he might or might not be thinking.
“It’s his MO,” he said flatly.
Surprised, Elaine offered, “The Gamekeeper’s?”
Callahan nodded. “He picks his targets, then he wears them down until they feel they have no choice but to do his bidding. They just don’t have what it takes to keep fighting the inevitable.”
She studied him a moment, tried to determine if he was ready for her to hit him with the big guns. No way to know. Only one way to find out. “So you think the beauty salon murders as well as the ones at the bank yesterday are all tied to this Gamekeeper?”
He nodded again, his posture visibly braced for her arguments.
“But how? We don’t have the first lick of evidence to even connect the two.” This was nuts. Sure there was that one glaring similarity. Both shooters had walked into a place of business and killed for no apparent reason. Still, that was only one link. Were all drive-by shootings in urban areas connected merely because they were carried out in the same manner? Definitely not.
“There’s your link,” he offered with absolutely no hesitation. “He likes it that way.”
Elaine shook her head in renewed frustration. “I’m going to need more than that, Callahan.”
The waiter stopped at their table long enough to deposit two sweating glasses of cola. “Burgers’ll be out in a couple minutes.”
Elaine hastily thanked him so he’d move on and Callahan would start talking again.
“Think about your shooters,” he told her, his gaze boring into hers. “Both were on their way up. Had the world by the tail. Their lives were seemingly perfect. Why would they do this? Why throw everything away?”
“We wouldn’t be sitting here if I knew the answer to that,” she snapped. “Get to the point.”
“That’s what the Gamekeeper does. He selects those who have everything going for them, the cream of the crop, then he lures them in. He likes the challenge.”
“And you would know this based on…?” she pressed, still seeing no concrete reasoning behind his conclusion.
“Because he killed people in D.C. that way. He selected each player with the utmost care, then he reeled him or her in, and then it was over.”
Elaine remembered a number of highly publicized details of the case. “But this Gamekeeper killed his players himself, right? There were no suicides involved.”
Callahan’s fierce expression went blank again. “That’s right.”
When Elaine would have spoken again, he cut her off. “Don’t bother with the serial-killers-don’t-change-their-routine excuse,” he said, a distinct edge in his tone. “I’ve had that load of crap shoved down my throat until I could puke. They do, at times, change their methods.” Callahan sipped his drink, taking his time. Perhaps more to give himself a moment to calm down than to quench his thirst. “It’s possible that I wounded him badly enough that he has no choice but to do things differently this time.”
She gave her head another shake. “I’m sorry, Callahan, I just can’t accept that conclusion without more than you’re offering. Granted, we need to follow up on that possibility, but I’m not going to assume he’s the one based on such meager reasoning.”
He leaned back in his seat, his expression going to victorious in one fluid motion. “I see. So we’ll follow up on all our other leads. Consider all those other options first.”
Ire tore through her again. He knew as well as she did that they had no other leads or options. “After we interview Matthews’s wife, we’ll outline a strategy.” The new widow had been sedated after hearing the news. Her personal physician had assured Elaine that she would be up and ready to speak with the police by noon today. Another reason for an early lunch. The woman’s mother had picked up the children and would be caring for them for a couple of days.
Mother.
Damn, she had to touch base with her mom.
Callahan directed his attention back to his glass of cola. “Whatever you say.”
Wow. Now that was cooperation. Too bad she knew he didn’t mean it.
“I have to make a personal call.”
She started to push up from the table but one look into his eyes told her that he suspected it was only an excuse to make some call related to the case behind his back. Damn. She supposed she didn’t deserve his trust just yet, either.
Slumping back into her chair she fished out her cell phone. Six missed calls. Elaine frowned. What the hell could be so urgent that her mother would keep calling like that? For the first time since Kathleen had given Elaine the message, a new kind of anxiety strong-armed its way into her too busy morning. She’d been so focused on this case that she hadn’t considered something might really be wrong.
With a flick of one finger she’d entered the speed dial number for home. Not the place where she lived with Sally, but the home where she’d grown up with three brothers and one sister. Her mother’s pleasant voice on the other end of the line immediately alleviated the pressure on Elaine’s chest. Surely if something were wrong she wouldn’t sound so calm.
“It’s me.” Elaine took a deep, calming breath. “Sorry I missed your calls. What’s up?”
“We need to talk.”
Those four little words struck renewed fear in Elaine’s heart. There was something about the tone—or lack thereof— that jarred her most deeply entrenched instincts.
“Is something wrong?”
“Can you come by for an early lunch?” her mother asked, smoothly avoiding her daughter’s question.
Just then the waiter plopped the heavy stoneware plates on the table, Jimmy’s famous burgers literally steaming in their griddle toasted buns.
“Sure, I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” Elaine assured her before disconnecting. She stared at the phone for a moment before dropping it back into her purse. Her gut knotted up and did some screaming of its own. She swallowed hard and wondered if she’d remembered to bring that new bottle of antacid.
“Everything okay?”
Her gaze shifted to her new partner. She couldn’t help wondering if she looked as guarded as he did. How the hell were they going to conduct this investigation when they didn’t trust each other for an instant?
“I don’t know.”
There wasn’t much that scared Elaine, but this terrified her.
Chapter 9
Elaine managed to scarf down half her burger before she told Callahan they had to go. She had neither the time nor the inclination to drop him off at the station considering how traffic would be backed up at that time of day. Instead, she told him she had to stop by to see her mother a moment and he could wait in the car…if he didn’t mind.
He shrugged that indifferent gesture so characteristic of his personality and didn’t argue. He’d managed to shovel down his burger by that time, anyway.
Elaine parked her Jeep in the long curved drive that cut through the elegant landscape of her childhood home. The yard instantly brought back dozens of memories of touch footfall and tree-climbing exploits. There was scarcely a tree on the property that Elaine hadn’t scaled at least once. With three macho brothers, she’d learned the art of playing hard and fast very quickly. Her only sister, Judith, two years older, had preferred baking and curling hair to playing with her brothers and tomboy sister. Elaine couldn’t help smiling. She’d had the perfect childhood with the epitome of the all-American family and wonderful parents. They’d done everything together and had always been there for each other. Both her mother and her father had been heavily involved with their children’s lives. Still were for that matter.
“I’ll be quick,” she promised as she unbuckled her seat belt. Guilt nudged at her but she ignored it. This wasn’t about the case. This was personal. She didn’t want him anywhere near her personal life.
“No problem.” He surveyed the yard and the house beyond. “Nice place.”
Elaine abruptly wondered where Callahan had grown up. Did he have family? What did they think of the shambles that appeared to be his career and personal life? She frowned, shook off the foolish thought and stared out at the classic Georgian home that stood a proud two stories and a roomy five thousand square feet.
“Thanks.”
She’d just gotten the driver’s-side door open when she heard her mother’s voice.
“I didn’t know you were bringing a guest!”
Elaine cringed. Her mother was a typical Buckhead socialite. No way would she ever stand for anyone waiting in the car. Atlanta’s home of the wealthy, socially and politically prominent, Buckhead residents strictly adhered to certain codes.
“Mom, this is Special Agent Trace Callahan.”
Callahan emerged from the vehicle, offering her mother that megawattage smile, which charmed her in two seconds flat. “Mrs. Jentzen, it’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” He took Lana Jentzen’s outstretched hand and brushed a kiss to the knuckles. Her mother pressed her free hand to her chest and giggled. Giggled!
Elaine’s jaw sagged in disbelief. Any possibility of damage control went out the proverbial window with that line and showy display. She would need to know where Callahan hailed from in order to determine if he’d just put on the dog for her mother or if he’d been raised a true Southern gentleman. She seriously doubted the latter, though the conclusion could very well be based on nothing more than her intense dislike for the man. Or was she confusing distrust for dislike? If one considered the way he could make her shiver in awareness…forget it. She wasn’t going there.
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