‘Agreed,’ Stone said, as if Marcus weren’t even standing there.
‘What are the other things?’ Marcus wanted her attention off Stone and back on himself.
Scarlett leaned to the left so that she could see Gayle, who still stood next to Marcus’s desk. ‘What makes you so certain that Leslie McCord is no longer a threat to Mr O’Bannion?’
Marcus glared down at her. ‘That has nothing to do with your case.’
She looked up at him, unrepentant. ‘I didn’t ask you. I asked Ms Ennis.’
‘Don’t answer her, Gayle,’ Stone warned, the thug-scaring scowl reclaiming his face. ‘She deliberately eavesdropped on you two. Make her get a goddamn warrant.’
‘She doesn’t need one,’ Gayle said wearily. ‘She could find it online in a minute. Leslie McCord is dead. She took a bottle of sleeping pills, so the issue was closed. There was no point in burdening you with it.’ She slid past them and around Stone. ‘I’ll be at my desk.’
‘Satisfied, Detective Bishop?’ Marcus asked sarcastically.
Scarlett entered his office without asking, taking the chair that Gayle had vacated. ‘I will be when I get that list.’
Cincinnati, Ohio
Tuesday 4 August, 9.50 A.M.
Ken focused on maintaining his heart rate. The other women Anders had kept at his house had escaped. Three assets gone in less than twelve hours.
Demetrius sank back into the wingback chair, giving Ken a stunned look.
Things had gone from sugar to shit in a big-time hurry. If Miriam hasn’t killed Reuben, Ken thought viciously, he’ll wish she had when I’m done with him.
With an effort, he kept his voice calm. ‘What do you mean, both women are gone?’ he asked Burton over the speaker phone on his desk.
Demetrius didn’t have as good a hold on his own temper. ‘Your men were right outside when the tracker alert was activated!’ he shouted. ‘How fucking hard is it to round up two fucking women?’
A moment of tense, defensive silence on Burton’s end. ‘I sent the men in as soon as I got the call from Sean. They had to break down a basement door and several interior doors to get in. Anders had armored his house with security doors and windows. They ended up having to shoot their way in. Anders was very well armed.’
‘Injuries?’ Ken asked.
‘One of my men took a bullet in the leg. Through and through. Will probably need stitches. Decker said he can do the stitches if we need him to. He was a medic in Iraq.’
‘Mr Decker seems to be multi-talented,’ Ken murmured, his calm now icy. If there had been gunfire, someone would have heard it and called 911. ‘What about Anders? I want him and his family unharmed.’
‘So that we can harm them,’ Demetrius growled.
‘Chip Anders is wounded, but only superficially,’ Burton said, then blew out a breath. ‘Not that you’d know it by listening to him. He’s whining like a stuck pig. His wife has a mark on her face. Decker slapped her after she bit him.’
Ken glared at Demetrius when his lips twitched. ‘And the daughter?’ Ken asked Burton. Because Miss Anders would likely be the best leverage against her father. ‘Did you mark her?’
‘Not on her face, but she was slapped as well,’ Burton said, grimly satisfied. ‘Her ass might be a little red for a few hours. Her fingernails are hard and sharp. She took off the top layer of my face, the bitch. We subdued them, restrained them, gagged them – thank God – then put them in the van, handcuffed to the doors and to each other.’
‘What about the authorities?’
‘I sent one of the men up ahead to watch for any approaching vehicles. Our guns were silenced, but Anders’s weren’t. Decker and I searched for the two women whose trackers were cut. We combed the woods behind Anders’s house. There was no sign of them. Best we can tell, there was a vehicle waiting. It’s been so dry, we won’t get any decent prints.’
‘A vehicle waiting?’ Ken frowned. ‘Who orchestrated their release?’
‘None of the three Anderses would cop to it. Even before we gagged them.’
‘Then bring them to me,’ Ken said quietly. ‘They will tell me.’
‘We’re about twenty minutes out. We’re taking the long way, just in case we were followed.’
‘Why would you think that?’ Demetrius asked.
‘I didn’t see anyone. Decker thought he did, but he admitted he might have imagined it. Still, better safe than sorry. Where exactly do you want them? Your house?’
‘Yes. Bring them down into the basement. Did you get their computers?’
‘Of course. Computers, cell phones, tablets. Wallets and car keys, too. There is a wall safe, but Anders wouldn’t divulge the combination, and we couldn’t stay there long enough for me to figure it out on my own.’
‘The combination will be just one more thing for me to convince Anders to tell me,’ Ken said, then disconnected.
‘How old is the daughter?’ Demetrius asked abruptly.
‘Twenty. Goes to Brown.’ Ken kept track of his customers. ‘Why?’
‘Because I have a buyer who’d be very interested in a pretty young Ivy League hellcat.’
Ken hadn’t considered that. ‘How much?’
‘Fifty. Or more. Depends on how pretty she is. I might even get another auction going.’
‘Let’s wait and see. Perhaps the threat alone will be enough to get one of them talking.’
‘Who do you think let the two women go?’ Demetrius asked.
‘My money’s on the daughter. The wife is a piece of work.’
Demetrius rose. ‘I’ll attend to O’Bannion. Save one of the Anderses for me.’
Twelve
Cincinnati, Ohio
Tuesday 4 August, 10.15 A.M.
Marcus found his eyes locked on Scarlett’s ass as she sauntered past him as if she owned the place. He didn’t want to let go of the breath he held, still filled with the scent of her hair. Which was simple foolishness. He should be angry. He should be furious.
Just like Stone is . . . right now. Shit. Marcus registered the change in his brother’s breathing almost too late. Shifting, he put himself directly in Stone’s path and firmly held his brother’s gaze. And tried not to panic.
Because Stone was no longer looking back at him. Instead, Marcus saw nothing but rage and pain. And fear. Not now. Not in front of Scarlett. Please, Stone. Don’t do this now.
‘Stone?’ he said under his breath, hoping that Scarlett could not hear.
Stone’s eyes flickered wildly, his big chest heaving.
Dammit. I should have anticipated this. Why didn’t I anticipate this?
Because he’d been too busy gawking at Scarlett Bishop’s ass, that was why. And now there would be hell to pay unless he could calm his brother down fast.
Cops and blatant disrespect were a very bad combo in Stone’s world. And coupled with the emotional upheaval he’d been through so far . . . Scarlett had no way of knowing that cops in general were one of the triggers that set him off. But the way she’d practically skipped away from him, dismissing him as if he weren’t standing right there? That was the absolute worst thing she could have done.
Now standing with clenched fists, his face hardened with fury, nostrils flaring, Stone resembled a bull preparing to charge. Marcus could easily see his brother throwing Scarlett Bishop over one shoulder and bodily removing her from the office.
Marcus pressed his palm to Stone’s chest. ‘Easy,’ he murmured. ‘Take it easy.’
Stone’s teeth clenched. ‘She has no right to be here. Make her go.’
From the corner of his eye, Marcus could see Scarlett turning in the chair, her expression detached, yet curious. As if Stone were an animal in the zoo. The notion made him angry, but he kept his temper in check. All Stone needed to go nuclear was seeing Marcus upset.
‘I’ll take care of her.’ He moved the hand on Stone’s chest to his shoulder and gently gripped it, his other hand patting Stone’s cheek, like a coach with a boxer in the ring. ‘Breat
he, buddy. Just breathe with me. In and out. Nice and slow.’
Stone obeyed, and after a few breaths he closed his eyes, visibly gathering his composure. ‘I’m all right, Marcus.’
‘I know you are,’ Marcus said softly.
Stone swallowed hard, eyes still closed. ‘Make her go,’ he whispered. ‘Please.’
The whisper was like a knife in Marcus’s heart, and just like that he was back . . . there. In the dark, Stone’s broken whisper the only thing he could hear. Make him go, Marcus. Please. Make him leave so we can go home. I just want to go home.
I will, he’d whispered back. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay. I promise.
Marcus cleared his throat. ‘I will,’ he said out loud. Confidently. He hoped. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.’
‘You promise.’ It wasn’t a question, but a flat statement of fact.
‘Yeah,’ Marcus said, struggling to keep his voice from breaking. ‘I promise. Now breathe with me. In and out. Just a little longer. That’s the way.’
Stone breathed along with him for another thirty seconds that felt like thirty minutes, finally shuddering out a harsh breath. When his eyelids lifted, Marcus could see his brother was back in control.
Stone’s mouth curved, his half-smile self-deprecating. ‘It’s okay, Houston. Self-destruct sequence aborted. Genie’s back in the bottle.’
Thank God. Marcus let himself relax, his arms dropping to his sides. ‘Good enough. Where’s Jill?’
‘In the back with Diesel. He’s watching her.’
‘That’s good, but you should probably give him a break. She makes him crazy.’
Another slow smile, this one real. ‘I know. That’s why I asked him to help.’
So relieved that his knees physically wobbled, Marcus laughed. His brother was back. All the way. For now. ‘You suck.’
‘You suck worse.’ Sobering, Stone leaned to the left so that he could see around Marcus. ‘Detective Bishop,’ he said coldly.
‘Yes, Mr O’Bannion?’ She sounded subdued, surprising Marcus into looking over his shoulder. She looked as subdued as she’d sounded. Subdued and sad. And utterly exhausted.
Marcus knew the feeling.
‘This office is private property,’ Stone said. ‘If we catch you trespassing again, we will report your ass so fast your head will spin. Next time you come, you’d sure as hell better have a warrant in your hands. Do we understand each other?’
Marcus held his breath, hoping Scarlett would just let this go, that she wouldn’t make this a pissing match. He was far too tired to play diplomat – or referee.
She nodded. ‘Yes, Mr O’Bannion. We do.’
Marcus waited until Stone had turned on his heel and walked away before letting the breath out. He closed his office door and leaned face first against it, his shoulders sagging like cooked pasta, focusing on getting his breathing regulated. Trying to figure out what the hell he was going to say to her. But she surprised him again by speaking first.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly.
He didn’t move away from the door. Didn’t turn to look at her. He wasn’t sure his body would have cooperated if he’d held a gun to his own head. ‘For what?’
‘For listening in. And for doing whatever I did to instigate . . . whatever that was.’
Suddenly too exhausted to move, Marcus used the last of his energy reserves to flip around so that his back was to the door, then let his knees fold, sinking to the floor. Forearms braced on his bent knees, he bowed his head and closed his eyes.
The creaking of the chair told him she’d stood up. She’s leaving. Dammit. He should look up. Ask her to stay. He needed to tell her that she hadn’t been the cause of Stone’s episode. That she’d only been the trigger. But his head felt too heavy to lift, so he stayed as he was.
A rustle of fabric was followed closely by the scent of wildflowers as she approached. He didn’t want her to go, but it was probably better for everyone if she did. Except . . .
Dammit. He had to work up at least enough energy to move away from the door.
But she surprised him again, sliding down the door much as he’d done to sit beside him, their bodies separated by mere inches. The door vibrated slightly as she let her head fall back against it. He thought she’d say something, but she didn’t, the silence broken only by the ticking of his grandfather’s clock and the sound of their breathing.
Her sigh cut through the quiet. ‘You’ve had a busy day,’ she murmured. ‘Did you sleep?’
‘No. Not yet.’
‘No wonder you’re exhausted.’ The words were nearly toneless. ‘I was hoping you weren’t returning my calls because you were getting some rest.’
He forced his back to straighten so that he leaned against the door beside her, turning his head so that he could see her face. With the exception of her closed eyes, her expression hadn’t changed. Subdued, sad. Totally wrung out. And still so goddamn beautiful that his chest ached. ‘Why are you here, Scarlett?’
A single weary chuckle. ‘I truly did come to make sure you were okay.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls. Things have been a little . . . hectic around here this morning.’
‘Yeah, I got that. But I really do need to talk to you.’ Her shoulders remaining slumped against the door, she rolled her head toward him and opened her eyes.
For a moment he could only stare. The eyes he’d thought were black were actually the darkest blue he’d ever seen. Like the midnight sky.
Those midnight-blue eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
He flushed, embarrassed to have been caught staring. He considered lying, but he was too tired to think of anything convincing. So he told her the truth. ‘Your eyes aren’t black. I remember them being black. But they’re not.’ In his fantasies, her eyes had been stark black. Now he’d have to change his fantasies. Because not only were they not black, they weren’t stark. They could be soft. Expressive. Vulnerable.
A faint curve of her lips. Kissable lips, he thought. Maybe even biteable. He wanted to lean closer to find out for sure, but was jerked back into common sense mode by the slight wag of her head.
‘No, they’re not black,’ she said. ‘But most people think they are.’
He drew a deep breath, letting the scent of wildflowers fill him up. ‘I hope most people don’t get close enough to see the difference,’ he said softly, watching for her reaction, intensely satisfied when those eyes of hers warmed with the same desire he’d glimpsed in the alley when he’d taken off his shirt.
Her throat worked as she swallowed hard, then she broke the spell by rolling her head so that she looked straight ahead. ‘I came to be sure that you were okay and to warn you.’
The air between them chilled. ‘About?’
She shifted her body, pushing her shoulder away from the door and drawing her long legs up, crossing them so that she sat tailor-style. Her eyes were no longer warm, her expression smoothed to coolly professional, but her hands gave her away, gripping her bent knees so tightly that her knuckles were white. He braced himself for something bad.
‘Tala wore a tracker,’ she said. ‘An ankle tracker.’
His jaw clenched, fury rising, burning him from the inside out. ‘Like a common criminal.’ The man. His wife. They own us. ‘Or an asset. Not a person.’
Her nod was steady, but her knuckles were still white. ‘Yes. The tracker was sophisticated. We’re trying to trace its source. We do know that it could transmit sound. Digitally. I’m no gadget geek, but Deacon is, and he tells me that they could hear anyone around Tala and the range was limited only by the strength of the satellite signal.’ She took her cell phone from the pocket of her tailored jacket, tapped the screen and held it out to him, showing him Stone’s article.
His hackles rose in self-defense. ‘I told you I’d tell the story.’
‘I know. But in it you insinuate that you didn’t hear Tala’s last words.’
He frowned at her.
‘I thought that’s what you wanted.’
‘It was. Until I learned that whoever tracked her could hear every word both of you spoke in that alley.’
He continued to frown, confused. Then . . . he got it. Fucking hell. ‘They’ll know I met her to help her, that she told me about her family.’ His tired brain finally kicked back into gear, and new fury bubbled up. ‘That’s how they knew she’d stopped to listen to me in the park. They hit her for that, so hard that she limped. Didn’t they?’
Scarlett’s facial expression didn’t change, but her eyes flickered with a mixture of pain and compassion, giving him her answer even though she didn’t say a word.
‘They did,’ he said grimly. ‘How bad?’
‘Bad,’ she murmured. ‘Really bad.’ Her lashes lowered, then lifted in a long blink. The compassion was mostly gone, replaced with the just-the-facts cop.
He found himself leaning closer, bracing his weight on one arm, his palm flat on the floor, inches from her knee. ‘How many times do you have to do that each day?’
She blinked again, her smooth brow puckering in a frown. ‘Excuse me? Do what?’
She’d been startled by the question, but she hadn’t leaned back as he’d expected her to. Instead she leaned forward ever so slightly, closing the gap between them.
‘How many times a day do you do that long blink so that you can shove your emotions down? So that you can focus on your job?’
Her chin lifted a fraction and he expected her to tell him to mind his own business. Instead her eyes grew abruptly shiny. ‘Too many.’ Roughly she cleared her throat, straightening her spine. Putting distance between them. ‘The point is that they heard you. They heard you in the park asking her why she was crying, they heard her tell you that she was owned by someone, and because the tracker continued to transmit even after her death, they heard you tell a homicide detective the whole story.’
Marcus stayed where he was, perched halfway on his side. He didn’t roll closer, but he wasn’t about to back away. ‘Okay,’ he admitted. ‘That sucks. Although you’re assuming they were listening at the time of her death. You don’t know that for sure.’