"We've dusted and removed all the drugs. I got the DEA and the city climbing up my ass about releasing that container."
"Why would the city care about turning loose a container that's part of an investigation?"
Lines creased his forehead. The change had an unpleasant effect on his face.
"Mayor is close friends with the import-export group that owns most of the legal property inside."
"Did you get any hit on prints yet?"
"No. All we're coming up with at this point are prints of workers. And we didn't lose any of the coke."
Something was off on this drug bust. She toyed with the pen in her hand. "Are you thinking about turning the container loose?"
"No. I'm not too worried about the mayor. I mainly need a reasonable excuse to buy time to keep it out of the DEA's hands." His eyes crinkled, as if he were trying to smile. Scary.
"Good, because I still need to review everything to make sure the coke was the only content the intruder was after."
"What else would he have wanted?"
"I don't know, but as your techs no doubt noticed, there was a box opened. It doesn't make sense, because if Marseaux sent the intruder to get the shipment he should have known where to look, wouldn't he?"
"Unless the perp was trying to snatch Marseaux's shipment or throw us off."
Well, duh. She had a whole new respect for Philborn. "Good point."
"Get me a report in soon." A quiet order, but one Terri understood to mean he expected something tangible from her quickly.
"Gotcha. I'm headed there as soon as I finish several things here. By the way, has anything turned up on the Drake body?"
"No. Tired of hearing about that from the DEA, too. She acts like they did us a favor with the container and wants me to put people on finding the damn body. Like I have that much resource available."
"Who are you talking about?"
"Josie Silversteen. She came by looking for you. Asking questions, all nice and cheeky."
The bane of Terri's life could use a prescription of Prozac. "Thanks, I'll get in touch with her." Just not during this lifetime.
"You're welcome." He lumbered back to his office.
Her cell phone chimed. She answered it, but the call rolled to voicemail. Before she could check for the message her desk phone rang. She immediately looked across the room and lifted the receiver to her ear.
"Now, I know you weren't ignoring me." Sammy sent her a high five.
"When did you think I was ignoring you?"
"I called you twice earlier on your cell phone but it went to voicemail."
Terri glanced at her battered cell phone. Maybe if she got a leather case the phone would survive another month around her. She'd always been hell on anything electronic. "No, my phones acting up. Whatcha got?"
"A little more info on that ghost."
"It's not a ghost, Sammy."
"Hey, I'm just sharing the facts as I get them. FinMan just turned up dead. Throat cut."
Terri waded through a mash of emotions, from disappointment to disbelief to horror. "Where did you hear that?"
"My buddy at the morgue, but this time the DEA has a guard in place until their techs arrive to transport it."
A bad feeling seized Terri. Was she attracted to a killer? Had her phantom murdered a man?
No, he wouldn't do something like that.
Based on what hard evidence? None. Hormones were not a dependable barometer of innocence.
She hung up and dialed her grandmother's cell, but Grandma couldn't talk right then because they were busy at baggage claim in O'Hare. Terri called Brady and got his voicemail, but didn't leave a message.
Time was ticking away. She had to get back inside that container. Terri packed up, waved at Sammy, who was walking toward her desk with a couple files, then drove to the yard. This time, she locked her car and made sure to carry both her weapon and cell phone in her bag, but an hour later her frustration had doubled. Nothing new revealed itself.
She packed up and drove home, not looking forward to an empty house. Like her grandmother, she'd always liked the nighttime, but was tired of spending so much of it alone lately.
Except for unexpected visits from her phantom.
She parked her Mini Cooper, hoisted her tote bag onto her shoulder, shut the door, and beeped the locks shut with her remote key. At the house, she unlocked the dead bolt and entered slowly, weapon drawn, and stood quietly inside, listening for any movement.
Like she'd hear a phantom that moved like a whisper?
She'd locked all the windows that morning and dead bolted both doors. Enough with the paranoia. Besides, he'd only entered after she was in the house... so far.
A note on the fridge from Grandma directed her to the aluminum foil-covered dish of food and a chilled bottle of wine with instructions to enjoy. She'd lock up and let the food warm while she soaked in a hot bath.
Terri stood very still, listening. The sensation of not being alone crawled up her spine. The longer a person spent in law enforcement, the more attuned they became to the unknown threat.
Closing the refrigerator door, she lowered her purse to the table, removing her weapon at the same time. She raised her weapon, gripping it with both hands. At the door to her bedroom, she glanced inside.
The room was black as a tar pit.
Not a sound. Maybe it was Grandma being gone and no television that had her jumping. She stepped inside and reached for the lamp next to her bed when a voice said, "Don't touch the light."
She really was getting tired of this.
*
Nathan leaned against the wrought-iron gate where a tree blocked the view of him from Terri's house. He'd barely gotten here ahead of her pulling into the driveway. She'd gathered up her bag, then hobbled into the house.
She sometimes limped when no one else was around. What was wrong with her right leg?
He could ask her if she'd talk to him again. The whole point in his standing out here like a stalker.
Walk across the street... or not?
Nathan dug a rut in the rich soil with the heel of his boot, procrastinating.
She wouldn't be happy to see him again, but he was quickly losing his objectivity because of her. He had to convince her to share what she knew, then back away from this before she ended up dead and not just limping. Spending another half hour of debating would just waste what was left of the night.
Time to make a move or get off the pot.
He heaved a deep breath, admitting silently he wanted to see her again. Stupid, stupid, stupid to even think about her.
Screeching guitar music blared from a car loaded with teens that whizzed past, disturbing leaves and debris along the narrow street. And drawing his gaze back to her bedroom, which remained dark. She hadn't even turned on the light.
With any luck she'd still be in the kitchen, dressed, so this time he might be able to concentrate on talking to her. Instead of paying more attention to all that creamy skin he'd like a second shot at.
As if she'd let him near her again.
Nathan checked the area. A few people half a mile away and some dog digging in a yard nearby. Nothing for real concern. He started across the street. Terri should be alone.
Her grandmother had left with some friends and a suit-case early this morning. Later, Terri had rushed out to the car like she was late for a lunch date.
He paused. A date. That soured his already low frame of mind. Scowling, he moved on, reaching the rear of the house. Daydream later, when she was long gone from sight. He'd never been this distracted on a mission and had better buckle down if he hoped to survive.
Out of habit, he tested the lock on the back door. Unlocked. Hadn't Terri learned anything from the last few days?
Turning the handle carefully, he slowly opened the door and eased inside. The vent light above the stove cast a yellow hue on the worn oak table and white Corian counters.
A quick check confirmed no one in the kitchen or the
living room. He hesitated, debating his next move. When had he ever second-guessed himself? Never, but he wasn't sure he could take another night of seeing her in a towel, or sans towel, and walk away.
There was only so much any man could take.
A soft murmur reached his ears.
The skin along his neck tightened in warning.
Nathan slipped closer to the long hallway. Terri's room was at the very end.
A voice spoke too low for him to catch the words, but he had no question on the gender. Male.
Not alone. Nathan clenched his fingers and stretched them, buying a minute to think. Hadn't figured on her having company, which didn't sit well at all, and he didn't really care to figure out why. He had to get out of here right now if there was any hope of not embarrassing her and sparing himself vivid details of what was going on back there.
This royally sucked.
Terri had sure acted like an available woman. She'd responded to his kiss as if she enjoyed it and wanted more. Screw this. Get the hell out.
Nathan couldn't make his feet move any more than he could ignore the green haze of jealousy he suffered at the thought of her in there with someone else. When had she gotten to him?
He shoved his black mood about face and started to leave when Terri's voice clearly snarled, "I don't give a damn what anyone told you, I don't know who this Drake guy is"
A hard slap of flesh against flesh cracked the air.
Terri cried out in pain and sounded as though her body had hit the floor.
Nathan wheeled around and moved with the speed and stealth of a cougar on attack. At the door, he inched close, taking in everything within a second. Terri was sprawled on the floor, wiping blood from her mouth. The window shade hung half torn down from where she'd grabbed at it, allowing a smear of light into the room.
"Get up, bitch. I'm not through with you." Hatchet, one of FinMan's goons Nathan had been hunting, stood over her, waving a gun. He was the only bodyguard not accounted for yesterday when the other ones were sent for a long vacation in the hospital.
Nathan shot into the room, not trying to hide his entrance.
Hatchet spun around to his right. His left hand followed with the weapon, bringing the handgun up to shoot.
Nathan caught Hatchets left hand, shoved it up, and slammed a hard chop to break the goons arm at his elbow. Hatchet dropped the gun, yelled, and swung his meaty right paw in a power slam, bouncing it off Nathan's head.
Ears ringing, Nathan reached for the gun. Hatchet was lithe for all his bulk. He kicked, trying to boot Nathan under his jaw, but missed. Adrenaline flowed through Nathan like nitrous for a racing engine. He spun and landed on all fours, then shoved to his feet.
Terri struggled to stand, splitting Nathan's attention. He yelled, "Stay back."
The distraction gave Hatchet an opening to produce a switchblade. He slashed at Nathan's neck, barely missing, spinning off balance. Hatchet fell against a dresser, yowling in misery. The sharp edges of his broken forearm bone stuck out of the skin, blood running freely.
Everything slowed as it always did when Nathan sensed the approach of an inevitable outcome, knew the next moves as if he and his opponent had been given a script. When the choice came down to kill or be killed.
Hatchet would catch his balance, jump back to face Nathan, and attack. Nathan would block with one arm and use the other to ram his fist into Hatchet's neck, crushing his windpipe.
Terri would have a front-row seat to the gruesome death.
Hatchet caught his balance and jumped back around, pain gouging deep lines into his face, sweat running, but he was a moose and not going down easy. He clenched his teeth and growled, on attack.
Nathan snatched up a standing floor lamp, swinging it horizontally, connecting with Hatchet's knife hand. The knife and lampshade went flying. Nathan immediately reversed direction with the metal pole, cracking it hard against Hatchets head, knocking him across a chair. He landed upside down on his head and stopped moving.
Nathan heaved one breath, then another before moving over to nudge Hatchets bad arm. Not a sound.
He checked for a pulsealivethen pulled a couple of wire ties from his pocket. He bound Hatchet to the chair in a way the goon couldn't maneuver even if his arm didn't have a compound fracture, then placed one wire tie above the break as a tourniquet to stem the blood flow.
When he swung around, Terri struggled to get up on her feet. She grunted something unladylike.
"You okay?" Nathan straightened his hood back into place to shield his face, not sure how much she'd seen in the dark room. He moved toward her slowly, not wanting to frighten her after what she'd just witnessed.
"I'm fine." Terri leaned up on her left leg, obviously babying her right one as if she had an injury. She was almost completely upright when her right leg folded. She cursed, arms flying out for any support.
He caught her before she went down and pulled her to his chest. She clutched at his forearms, fingers digging in for dear life. He didn't mind the pain. He could feel the steady beat of her heart in time with his thundering heartbeat. That's all he cared about right now.
She could have died. His fault.
FinMan's goon had come here searching for him.
She shuddered. Her body trembled, the aftermath of shock taking over no matter how tough she wanted to be.
Nathan turned his attention to comforting her. He drew her close, holding her securely with one arm and rubbing his other hand up and down her back, whispering that she would be all right.
And she would. No one was going to hurt her again.
Not and live to tell about it.
The acrid smell of fresh blood stained the air. He lifted her into his arms.
"Put me down." She snarled like a wounded bobcat. "I told you I was fine."
"You're a bad liar to be in the business you're in." He carried her into the living room. The couch backed up to a glass window covered by a dainty sheer. Streetlights pierced the thin material, casting a dusky hue over the room. The room smelled faintly of cinnamon and apples from the potpourri in a glass bowl. Everything about the decorations shouted feminine, from the white lace curtains to the pink crocheted doilies. Tidy, inviting, and warm.
Except for Terri's room right now, but Hatchet could wait. He wasn't going anywhere and he wouldn't bleed to death.
She huffed an exhausted sigh. "Don't worry. I'm not going to wig out on you."
Nathan lifted an eyebrow over her bravado and settled both of them on the couch, careful with her leg. "Well, I might wig out so let me sit here a minute and catch my breath."
She made a sound in her throat that he translated as disbelief. "I had a shot and should have taken it."
"Why didn't you?"
"I thought he was you."
His heart dropped at that. Worse than putting her in danger, he'd caused her to hesitate. He'd recognized her training the first time she fought him. Terri could handle herself, but he'd skewed her instincts.
"I'm sorry." When was the last time he'd said that to anyone? He leaned back, drawing her close, and something surprising happened.
She stopped grousing and held tight to him.
He waited for her to come to her senses and shove him away, but she didn't. She drew a long breath and exhaled, a deliberate effort to calm herself.
An antique mantel clock ticked away in the silence. He sat holding her, content to stay this way for as long as she'd allow it.
He'd meant only to soothe her, but she'd flipped the tables on him. Having a woman turn to him for comfort thawed a layer of the frozen shield around his heart.
Her hair tickled his throat and smelled of strawberries. He loved strawberries. Nathan dropped his chin and inhaled deeply, then kissed the top of her head.
Terri stirred. He eased his hold to allow her to move as she pleased.
She lifted away from his chest and stared at him.
He tensed. The room was dark and the light from outside the picture wi
ndow behind his head would keep him silhouetted.
She lifted her hand toward his hood.
He considered catching her hand, stopping her from unmasking him, but a part of him wanted Terri to see his face.
To know him.
Not some phantom she'd heard about.
She didn't touch the hood. Her fingers slipped inside the cloth and cupped his chin in her palm.
His breath caught at the unexpected touch.
Her eyelids fluttered shut. She smoothed her hand over his cheeks, caressing his face, then sliding her fingers over his eyelids, as a blind person would do to memorize the shape. He closed his eyes to allow her complete access. Her fingers glided light as a feather, feeling each hard edge, his nose and farther down to his mouth.
Her gentle exploration fed a savage part of his soul that had been starved too long for human contact.
With one finger, she traced the curve of his lips.
Nathan released the breath he'd been holding and kissed her finger.
She stilled.
Had he broken the spell? Tell him he hadn't. He couldn't recall being touched so gently. As if she tried to soothe the beast inside him.
She moved her finger away to her lips, kissed it, and returned the soft pad to his.
His heart stomped a beat of desire so hard he could hardly breath. When she leaned her face closer to him he was sure the organ had hooves.
He lost all ability to care about the consequences and leaned forward, cupping her cheeks and touching his lips to hers. Unlike the quick stolen kiss, this one reached deep into his soul and unlocked feelings he'd buried long ago. She kissed him back, her mouth a turbulent mix of passion and virtue.
In that moment, he longed so much for the life he'd once thought would be his, but never would, that disappointment twisted sharp as a knife blade to his gut. Any opportunity for a life he'd want was as dead as his mother and brother.
So what was he doing kissing a woman he'd never see again once he disappeared? Ending the kiss was almost as painful as accepting his destiny.
Terri must have sensed the change within him. She eased back without complaint when she had every right to question his actions." Why did you come here tonight?"
"To talk to you."
She shook her head. "You didn't knock again."
"Sorry, bad habits are hard to break," he joked.