Closer Than You Think

  Almost everything. She’d kept back the things that would hurt her father, and that was only out of habit. And fear, she admitted. If her father ever found out the lies she’d let him believe . . . Oh God. He’d be so hurt. So angry. So those secrets she’d take to her grave.

  Which, if Peter Combs had his way, wouldn’t be too long from now.

  The door opened and Faith lifted her head, hoping it was Novak. But the man who walked in didn’t have a spiky head of snow-white hair and incredible eyes. He was dark and grim. Angry.

  Faith watched warily as Detective Kimble took the chair across from her and placed a spiral notebook on the table. ‘I apologize for grabbing your arm, Dr Corcoran. I was out of line.’

  Faith blew a breath up her forehead. ‘If I open that notebook, will I find those exact words written inside? Because that was as insincere and forced an apology as I’ve ever heard.’

  His jaw tightened. ‘Just because it’s written down doesn’t mean it’s not sincere.’

  ‘Whatever. If you and Isenberg are worried that I’ll sue the department, don’t be. If you really want to make things right, apologize to Novak. You just made me mad. You hurt him. I don’t know exactly what you said, but I saw his face after your little testosterone-induced shoving match in my grandmother’s front yard. You cut him deeply.’

  Something shifted in Kimble’s eyes. Shame. Good. He should be ashamed.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said quietly. ‘I hurt him. I did apologize, but he didn’t want to hear it.’

  ‘If your apology was anything like the one I just heard, I’m not surprised,’ she said tartly.

  ‘Point made, Dr Corcoran. I still don’t like what you did for a living and I don’t like you. But your grief over the family in Miami seemed sincere. Plus, Agent Novak appears to think you’re misunderstood, and I trust him, so you and I will have to agree to respect his opinion of us.’

  Faith had to breathe through a wave of fresh grief. She’d managed not to think about that family in Miami for a whole hour. Because you were too busy escaping Combs. Again. That sent another wave of guilt hurtling through her.

  ‘Do you know anything about the bellman’s status?’ she asked.

  ‘He made it to the ER and is now in surgery. It’ll be hours before we know anything more.’

  ‘That he’s made it this far is better news than I expected. Why are you here, Detective?’

  ‘To take your statement. Yours and the other witnesses. And to coordinate the efforts of our people with the FBI’s forensic team. We had to contract out,’ he added in disgust. ‘Your ex-con has wreaked a lot of havoc in a very short time.’

  Your ex-con. Faith rubbed her aching forehead, sighing when her fingers came away bloody. The superglue Dani had applied to the cut on her head had ripped. Dammit. She stood up and grabbed a box of tissues. Dabbing at her forehead, she sat back down, glaring at Kimble.

  ‘My ex-con? Do you understand what it means to be a victim? Do you tell the victims of sex crimes that they shouldn’t have worn that skirt or walked down that street? He is not my ex-con. I didn’t ask for anything he did to me and I don’t deserve your back-handed insults or half-assed apologies. Just ask your damn questions and leave me alone.’

  ‘All right,’ he said quietly. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  In as few words as she could, Faith told him, then pushed away from the table, wobbling on her feet. ‘I need some air. I assume I’m allowed to leave?’

  ‘Of course. Where do you plan to go?’

  ‘Agent Novak asked me to wait in the lobby. That’s where I’ll be.’

  ‘Stay out of sight if you don’t want your picture in the paper. The press is gathering.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter anymore,’ she said, finding it hard to stay upright. ‘I was hiding from Combs. He’s obviously found me.’ She swallowed hard, furious that her eyes were filling with tears. Turning on her heel, she walked away. Her hand was on the doorknob when he spoke again.

  ‘We fought about you, Dr Corcoran.’

  She looked back at him with a frown. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Our little testosterone-induced shoving match was about you. I thought he was thinking with the wrong head. I still do. I’ve known him all of our lives and only one other time did I see him jettison all common sense because of a pretty face. He fell like a rock that time too. I warned him that she was a viper, but he wouldn’t listen and she nearly destroyed his life.’

  ‘Are you suggesting I’ll destroy his life, Detective Kimble?’ she asked, injecting as much haughty incredulity into the question as she could muster.

  ‘You could destroy his career,’ he said coldly. ‘For men like Deacon Novak, that’s the same thing. While you appear to be a legitimate victim in all this, you are a distraction at best.’

  Appear? Legitimate? ‘A distraction?’

  ‘At best. At worst, you’re a career killer. He shouldn’t be looking at you the way he did in that interview room. He for damn sure shouldn’t have touched you, even to comfort you. Even if you were sincere in your grief. He’s personally involved now and everyone knows it.’

  Mortification mixed with fury. ‘You were watching?’

  ‘Damn straight. We all were. Deacon Novak is new to Isenberg’s department. Don’t think she’s not watching every move he makes. This case could make him, but if you distract him and that missing girl dies, you’ll break him. And not just professionally. So stay away from him.’

  He clearly meant every word he said. And the devil of it was, he was right. She was a distraction whether she meant to be or not. In the space of several hours she’d come to depend on Deacon Novak in a way that wasn’t healthy – for either of them or for Corinne Longstreet.

  I’ve been alone for a long time. She could be alone again. But she didn’t want to be. Nor was she sure that she could let Novak go. And that terrified her.

  Shaken, Faith left the break room without another word, closing the door behind her.

  The lobby was loud and crowded, a forensics team hard at work processing the scene. Faith looked around numbly, uncertain of where she should go.

  All she knew was that she could not, would not, be a distraction. I will not risk that girl’s life. No matter how safe Novak made her feel.

  Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 3.40 A.M.

  Deacon pushed past the media gathered on the other side of the crime-scene tape, wishing for the first time in years that he wasn’t so noticeable. He was going to draw attention to Faith.

  ‘No comment,’ he kept saying, gritting his teeth when their flashes popped all around him. He’d be front-page news tomorrow morning. He didn’t want Faith plastered there with him.

  He saw her as soon as he entered the lobby. She was sitting on a chair next to the front desk, waiting for him as she’d promised. There was activity all around her as hotel employees dealt with hysterical guests, CPD officers blocked the press from entry, and a forensics unit wearing FBI jackets processed the scene. But Faith sat as still as a statue, her hands folded in her lap.

  Alone in a throng of people.

  He headed toward her, halting when a thin young man with horn-rimmed glasses stepped in front of him. ‘Agent Novak, I’m Agent Taylor with the Cincinnati field office.’

  ‘CPD called you in?’ Deacon asked, and Taylor nodded.

  ‘I’ll be processing the scene here and across the street. I understand you were just there?’

  ‘Yeah. Caucasian male in room 245, one bullet in the head. Detective Bishop is still there, waiting for you and the ME.’ He started to resume his path to Faith, but Taylor shuffled a half-step, blocking him again. ‘Do you need something from me, Agent Taylor?’

  Taylor hesitated. ‘Your coat. As evidence.’

  Deacon sighed. He’d known this was coming. He shrugged out of his coat, wincing when his shoulder complained. ‘I want this back. We’ve been together longer than most marriages.’

  ‘I know.’ Taylor gave him a crooked smi
le. ‘Everyone read about the case in West Virginia you worked on with the Baltimore task force. Your coat kind of has a legend of its own.’

  ‘A legend, huh. Who knew?’ Deacon kept his expression bland, even though the mere mention of that case in West Virginia always made him feel like throwing up.

  Taylor still stood in front of him. ‘I’ll need your shirt and the vest too,’ he said apologetically. ‘I have a T-shirt in your size. The SWAT team should have an extra vest.’

  Sighing again, Deacon quickly unbuttoned his shirt, risking a glance across the lobby at Faith. She was watching him. Steadily. He looked away as he stripped down, then re-dressed, feeling far too exposed. ‘Who’s in charge of this scene?’ he asked.

  ‘Detective Kimble. He’s in the break room taking statements from the hotel staff.’

  Shit. ‘Did he take a statement from Dr Corcoran?’

  ‘I don’t know. You’d have to ask Kimble. She was visibly upset when she came out of the break room. I asked her if I could call anyone for her and she said she was waiting for you.’

  Adam, you are a dead man. ‘Thanks for looking out for her. Can you call me when you’ve finished processing the coat? I don’t have another and it’s cold outside.’

  ‘Of course.’ Taylor stepped away, nodding. ‘It might be a few weeks, though.’

  Deacon barely heard him. He was already crossing the lobby to Faith, who rose uncertainly, a host of questions on her face. ‘You didn’t get Combs, did you?’ she asked.

  ‘No. We found the room he used. And the body of the man who’d been checked into it.’

  She lowered herself to the chair, what little color she had draining from her face. ‘Oh no.’

  Deacon crouched in front of her, holding her bandaged hands between his. The bandages were now dirty and torn, her fingers icy cold. ‘Not your fault, Faith,’ he said softly.

  Her throat worked as she struggled to swallow. ‘I wish I’d killed him when he came into my room that night,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘Too many people have died. How do we stop him?’

  We. It was like a fist grabbed his heart and squeezed it bloodless. We. Most people would have turned tail and run long, long ago, but Faith kept coming out swinging.

  ‘The attacks started when you inherited the house.’

  Her green eyes flashed with a virulence that stunned him. ‘I hate that fucking house.’

  He leaned in, watching every nuance on her face. ‘Why do you hate it so much?’

  It was as if he’d flipped a switch. She blinked once, and when her lashes lifted, the fire had transformed into that calm he found disquieting. She tugged her hands free from his.

  ‘I already told you, Agent Novak, I have bad memories. I learned about my mother’s death there. I saw them put her in the ground. I had nightmares for years. I still do.’

  Deacon didn’t blink, holding her gaze in a way that let her know he didn’t believe a word. The stare had worked hundreds of times in the past, cracking the wills of everyone from teenaged punks to hardened killers. But Faith Corcoran remained calm, staring back impassively until finally he exhaled his frustration. ‘You said you wouldn’t lie to me, Faith.’

  Her eyes shifted, grew pained. ‘I haven’t. I never lie. To you or to anyone else.’

  But she hadn’t told the whole truth. ‘Combs doesn’t want you to have the house. Why?’

  Confusion clouded her expression. ‘Because he used it to torture Arianna and her friend. You called the basement his torture chamber. He didn’t want anyone to know.’

  ‘And an hour ago I believed that, but then he tried to kill you again. We already knew about the house. We had Arianna. It’s all over the news. Why would he risk killing you now? He saw the squad car from the window across the street. He saw me escorting you. He got away just minutes before CPD blocked the exits and had that entire hotel under lockdown.’ He rose a little higher from his crouch, invading her space, and when she backed up, he followed until his nose was only an inch from hers. ‘Why, Faith? Why would he risk it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she blurted out, ‘and that’s the truth. I just don’t know.’ Her shoulders slumped, leaving her looking exhausted and lost. ‘If I did know, I’d tell you. I promise.’

  ‘I want you to come with me, to the house.’

  She closed her eyes on a weary sigh. ‘I knew you would. When?’

  Tomorrow. Next week. Never. ‘Now.’

  Her eyes flew open, her terror a tangible thing. But she controlled it quickly and moments later she appeared detached. Her mask of choice, Deacon thought.

  ‘Can I take a shower and change my clothes first?’

  Lust slapped him hard, but he kept his expression passive. ‘Yes.’

  Her mask slipped, her lips trembling. ‘Will . . . will you go with me?’

  ‘To the house? Yes, of course.’

  She forced a smile. ‘I didn’t doubt that for a moment. I meant upstairs.’ Her cheeks flushed a dark red, too harsh against her pale skin. ‘I won’t make any advances or try to take your shirt off again. If you could check my room first, then wait outside my door, I’d appreciate it.’

  Every ounce of blood drained out of his head, straight to his groin. The next time she tries to take off my shirt, there is no way in hell I’m going to stop her. ‘I’d already planned to clear the room before you went in.’ He rose, offered his hand. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 3.30 A.M.

  ‘Who the hell was that?’ he murmured to the man next to him, a harried reporter who’d been yelling questions at the white-haired bastard.

  The man barely spared him a glance. ‘FBI. Name’s Novak. Do your homework, Jack.’

  He melted back into the crowd, careful to keep his eyes down. He didn’t want to call any attention to himself. He just wanted to get away and do a search on Novak.

  Who was an FBI agent. Now that was a surprise. The man looked like he was an actor or an escapee from a comic book convention. Special Agent Novak with his leather coat and spiky white hair should not be difficult to find. A guy like that must be a field day for reporters.

  And Novak had the hots for Faith. He almost felt sorry for the man. Novak would die lonely, because Faith would die first.

  Cincinnati, Ohio, Tuesday 4 November, 3.55 A.M.

  Faith managed to stay upright for all of a minute and a half – the amount of time it took to get an elevator. When the doors closed after them, she leaned on the wall and looked at Novak, who was leaning against the opposite wall. ‘Your back is black and blue.’

  He grimaced. ‘I hoped you wouldn’t notice.’

  ‘I noticed.’ Because she’d stared, holding her breath when he’d taken his shirt off. She would have had to be dead not to notice. His back was broad and roped with muscle. He’d rippled when he moved. And he had tattoos – three of them. A large one on his back, and one circling the biceps of each arm, all now covered up by the ugly FBI T-shirt and jacket. She wanted a closer look. She wanted a taste.

  She needed to stop this hormone-crazed insanity. ‘My room has a kitchen. The freezer will have enough ice for your back.’ And you just invited him inside your room after telling him you wouldn’t make another pass. ‘I can bring the ice to you. I’m not trying to pick you up. Really.’ The door slid open, giving her a small reprieve from her embarrassment. ‘The manager gave me another keycard. The old one was in my purse. Which you guys still have in evidence.’

  ‘Your purse can keep my coat company,’ he said dryly, his hand resting lightly on her back.

  It took every ounce of her control not to lean into him. ‘That forensics guy, Taylor, he took your suit coat too. I was going to call you to warn you to stash your leather coat somewhere so that he couldn’t take it too, but my new phone got cracked when we hit the floor. I guess I can go back to my old one now. I’m not exactly incognito anymore.’ She stopped at her door. ‘This is it.’

  ‘Don’t use the old phone until I get it checked
for viruses or tracking software,’ he said. ‘Give me your key and do not come in until I tell you to.’

  She obeyed, leaning against the wall outside her room until the door opened again. Novak looked perturbed. ‘It’s clear now, but it looks like someone went through your things.’

  Faith rushed in, then stopped, her body sagging in relief. The sitting room was exactly as she’d left it, as were the bedroom and bath. ‘I was going through my boxes last night,’ she said, ‘unpacking a few things. The mess is mine.’

  He relaxed. ‘That’s good. But just to be certain, check for your valuables.’

  She complied, opening the safe while he came to stand behind her, warming her with the heat of his body. ‘My personal papers are still here, including the deed to the house.’ She passed him an envelope over her shoulder. ‘Gran’s attorney’s name is on there, in case you need to contact him.’ She removed two handguns from the safe and heard him sigh.

  ‘I wondered why you didn’t ask for your gun back when you were so insistent we return your phone,’ he said. ‘How many more do you have?’

  ‘Just these. I have permits for both.’ She reached deep, extracting the small box holding her jewelry and the cell phone she’d disabled the night before. ‘Did you want this phone?’

  ‘Absolutely. I want to know how he tracked you. Wait,’ he said as she started to put the contents of the safe back. ‘There’s another envelope in there. What’s in it?’

  She looked over her shoulder, startled to find him so close that she could see his individual eyelashes. They were white too. ‘My comic books.’

  His brows arched, looking amused. ‘That’s your collection? In that one envelope?’

  ‘No. My collection is in a dozen boxes in Dad’s attic. That one envelope holds my best six. Most of them are only worth a few hundred dollars, but the one where Black Widow fights the Avengers is worth almost a thousand. Gran gave it to me when I graduated high school.’ Faith smiled at the memory. ‘She thought comic books were “appropriate fun for kids”.’