Booked to Kill, page 4
“Since none of those are good ideas, how about I help?” He unbuttoned his tailored shirt at the wrist and shoved up his shirtsleeve, then did the same with the other arm. Having a maintenance worker who was scarcely around the building had made him more self-sufficient in the last few months.
Her lips formed a small O, as if she wasn’t sure how to answer the question.
“I promise I won’t break anything. I’ll just pull up a video on my phone. I’m sure it won’t take long.” He fished his phone from his back pocket and searched for a how-to video. “See. Tons of help just a click away.”
Her mouth morphed into a thin line, and she narrowed her gaze, leaning forward for a better glimpse at his screen. “I’ll be darned. I’d never thought to search online. Thank you.”
Picking up the screwdriver, he watched a few seconds of the clip, then made quick work of securing the new knob into the door.
“I don’t know if I should be impressed or angry that you made that look so easy,” she said.
A quick glance over his shoulder told him exactly which way she was leaning. With her arms folded over her chest and a scowl pinching her face, she definitely didn’t look pleased. “I’m sure if you’d have watched the clip, you could have done it just as quickly. Do you want to try the dead bolt?”
She swished her lips to the side. “Sure.”
He brought up a video to help and held it at eye level. “You might need this.” He extended the tool he’d used for the knob.
With her eyes fixed on the phone, she reached for the screwdriver. Her fingers brushed against the back of his hand, and she jumped back. A pretty pink flared to life on her face and she dropped her gaze to her feet. “Never mind. If you work on this, I’ll grab the list. That way you won’t have to wait any longer than necessary to get on with your evening. I’m sure you’re busy.”
The lump lodged in his throat refused to let him speak, so he nodded and went to work while she disappeared inside. Heat crept up the back of his neck. He tried to keep his focus on the stupid video, but his mind kept wandering back to Olivia and the way his body reacted to a simple, innocent touch.
No! This was the last thing he should be doing. Had he not learned his lesson? The last time he’d let a woman get into his head like this, he’d almost botched a high-profile child trafficking case and a woman he’d come to care about was killed.
He needed to get it through his thick head that Olivia Hickman was off-limits, not storm into her life with some stupid hero complex and fix her locks. She might insist she didn’t have the money for proper security cameras at her rental property, but eyes didn’t lie. Her loft told him she had plenty of money at her disposal, despite the head-scratching lack of amenities in her current residence, and she could no doubt afford to hire a handyman to install her damn locks.
Olivia came back into view and hovered nearby. She held a folded piece of lined paper in her hands. “I divided people up based on how I know them. Family. Friends. Acquaintances who stopped by with the latter. I also wrote down the restaurants I order takeout from.”
“Now, that’s impressive,” he said, fastening the lock in its place. “Done.” He stood and handed her back the screwdriver before wiping his hands on his pants. Not like it’d been a dirty job but sweat moistened his palms just being near her and he didn’t want to smear the ink on the paper.
She accepted the tool, then handed him the slip of paper. “I listed telephone numbers for the people I know. If you have any questions, I’ll answer whatever I can. The sooner we find out who did this the better.”
He tucked the paper in his pocket. “Agreed.”
“Do you know when I’ll have access to my loft?” she asked, twisting her mouth.
Her question wasn’t out-of-bounds, but the meaning behind it tightened his jaw. “Not yet. I’ll let you know as soon as I find out.”
“It’s just that I need to rent that loft as soon as possible.” Her gaze dropped back to her bare toe that she swiped back and forth across the floor. “The longer it sits vacant, the more money I lose.”
“Understood. I’ll be in touch.” Not wanting to say something he’d regret, he dipped his head, then turned and walked away, leaving her staring after him. He resisted the urge to tell her to be safe, to get inside quickly, and lock up tight. She wasn’t his responsibility, and she’d made it clear that her priority wasn’t keeping anyone safe.
It was money. And as much as that disappointed him, it forced him to shove any unwanted attraction for Olivia Hickman out of the way so he could focus on the case. Find a killer. And put the pretty widow as far behind him as possible.
Chapter 5
Heat penetrated the thin cardboard barrier around Jack’s paper to-go cup. Just enough to have him transfer the cup from one hand to the other after each long sip of the strong, black coffee.
“You getting something to eat?” Max asked, taking the spot beside him after placing his order and stepping down the line to wait.
Jack shifted forward, allowing space for an elderly woman to squeeze through. “Nah. My stomach’s a wreck.”
Max’s single pat on the shoulder and tucked-in lips told him his new partner understood where his issues stemmed from. After years of working at a desk, solving cybercrimes from behind a computer, speaking with the loved ones of the recently murdered woman didn’t sit well with Jack. After years as a homicide detective, Max had learned how to tolerate them a little better.
The barista approached the counter with a large cup and brown bag and handed them both to Max, who dipped his chin in gratitude.
“Let’s take a seat and regroup,” Jack suggested. The late-morning hour had cleared out most of the patrons who’d lingered before work. He spotted a two-person table shoved in the corner of the cluttered space and led the way, weaving between people loitering with friends or staring down at a phone screen.
Max sat across from him and lifted a muffin from the bag, taking a bite before sipping his coffee, then leaning back in his chair. He might seem relaxed as they discussed their morning, but intensity never left his light blue eyes. “Mr. and Mrs. Shipley weren’t a wealth of information. I’d hoped they’d have more to share this morning, after the shock of their daughter’s death had worn off a little.”
He and Max had taken the bridge over to Jersey first thing, wanting to speak with Courtney’s parents in person. They’d made the notification of her death via the phone and hadn’t wanted to press for details at that time. The trip had gotten him out of bed painfully early and hadn’t helped one bit. He’d left with the memory of two heartbroken parents with nothing but sadness haunting their eyes and countless questions.
Max circled his palms around his cup and blew out a long breath. “Just a couple names. The ex-husband’s story clears him for his whereabouts at the time of death if it checks out, and the parents didn’t jump to any suspicions that he was involved. But we still need to speak with him. He’ll have a different take on the victim than her parents.”
Nodding, Max nibbled his breakfast. “From their account, she was a perfect daughter. Sweet girl who everyone loved. But that’s what most parents say. Her friends and ex might paint a different picture.”
“She got the idea to stay at Olivia’s loft from Christine Roberts, Olivia’s friend,” Jack said, taking a sip of the strong, black coffee and praying the caffeine kicked in soon. “Could be a coincidence Ms. Roberts knew both the victim and the owner of the loft, but I doubt it, since Olivia has items supposedly stolen from her apartment, including the key to the loft. Then someone is murdered in her rental.”
Max arched his dark brows. “Olivia?”
Jack hid a scowl behind his cup as he took another long sip. “She asked me to call her Olivia. I complied. Don’t make a big deal about it.”
Smirking, Max lifted his palms. “No deal at all. But back to your point. The killer could be connected to Olivia,” he said, her name coming out on a huff of humor. “Instead of Courtney. And Christine Roberts is connected to both, which needs to be explored. We’ll set up an interview.”
“Already did. She owns a bakery a couple blocks from where the murder took place. I thought it’d be interesting to take a little walk and see what kind of path one would take to get from one location to the next.” He retrieved the paper Olivia had given him the night before and laid it on the table. He twisted it to face Max. “Do you see any other listed names that ring a bell? Any that you’ve come across while doing research on the victim?”
Max ran an index finger down the paper as he read through the list. “Nope, but we only need one. When are we speaking with her?”
“After you finish shoving that muffin in your face.” He slid the paper back toward him and put it in his pocket. “I just want to run through what we know. No forced entry in the loft tells us that the victim either knew her attacker, or someone let themselves in when she was unaware.”
Max tossed the last bite of food in his mouth and crumpled the brown bag in his hand. “Blunt force trauma to the back of the head has me leaning away from crime of passion. But we can’t cross it off the list. The crime scene, as well as no defensive wounds on the victim, reads as though someone struck her from behind, then she either fell or was pushed down the stairs.”
Jack drew in a long, steadying breath. “There are some sick sons of bitches out there.”
Max ran a hand over his mop of dark hair. “The level of depravity of mankind never ceases to amaze me.”
Not wanting to dive deeper into the grisly side of human nature, Jack changed the subject. “Speaking of the crime scene, when will the loft be cleared for Olivia to gain access?”
“We’ve secured all the evidence we need, and the crime-scene unit has already been through the property with a fine-tooth comb. All we need to do is take the police lock off the door, and she can have her loft back.”
“She’ll be happy.” The bite in his voice was as potent as the strong coffee in his mostly empty cup.
“What’s that all about?” Max asked, lifting himself to a half-standing position. He leaned to the side and threw his trash in a nearby receptacle before sitting back down.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ignoring his friend’s questioning look, he wiped crumbs off the table into his hand before throwing them in the trash.
“The tone. Like it’s weird Mrs. Hickman would be happy to have access to her loft.” Max narrowed his gaze, as if his hard stare was searching for some unseen answers on Jack’s face.
“Nothing,” he said, kicking his legs out in front of him. “She just seems awfully eager to get her loft back on the rental site. Like it doesn’t bother her someone was murdered there. As long as she gets paid, it’s fine.”
Max shrugged. “So what? That’s her business. We don’t know her reasons, and as of now, we don’t need to know her reasons.”
He wouldn’t admit this to his partner, but that first bit of logic was the only reason he hadn’t used his computer skills to uncover everything he could about Olivia Hickman. That, and the intense invasion of privacy he just couldn’t bring himself to commit. But he’d tossed and turned all night with thoughts of the doe-eyed widow.
“Good point,” he said, standing. “Let’s head out. Our interview with Christine is in fifteen minutes.”
Then he could call Olivia and let her know her loft was no longer a crime scene. It was hers to do what she wanted with, and Max was right, it wasn’t his concern. Besides, the less time spent thinking about the widow and her ways the better.
* * *
A restless night’s sleep had done absolutely nothing to quell the quivering nerves jangling through Olivia’s body. The walls of her apartment were suffocating, not even the natural lights filtering into her workspace sparked creativity. Needing some fresh air and hopefully a different perspective, she paired a denim jean jacket over a fitted gray T-shirt and red joggers.
Just like the morning before, she walked down the sidewalk with a mind full of problems and memories filled with hideous images. She thought she’d feel better after handing her list of names to Detective Stone, but now she worried what her friends and family would think when they found they’d been singled out. Her brother hadn’t been thrilled. A heads-up might not be a bad idea. Especially for Christine, who already felt guilty that she was the one who’d recommended the loft.
She could stop by The Mad Batter, then loop around and see if she could get back into her place. Everything had happened so quickly the day before, shock and fear leaving her shaken and details murky. She wanted to take stock of the loft and see if anything needed to be addressed before relisting the space to be rented.
Horns blared as annoyed drivers crawled through traffic, trying their hardest to drown out the sound of birds chirping overhead. A gaggle of tourists with wide, plastic visors clogged the sidewalk, and Olivia pushed past them, increasing her pace until she approached her best friend’s bakery.
As she reached for the handle, a man from inside used his back to push open the door.
She took a step back, allowing him space to leave. When he turned to face her, the sight of his deep blue eyes sucked the air from her lungs.
Detective Stone’s eyes widened, and he stopped in the doorway.
“Dude, what’s the holdup? Keep moving.” Detective Green shoved at his shoulder, spurring him forward.
Olivia moved her mouth into an O of surprise. “Hello.” She hoped the men before her couldn’t hear the hitch of nerves in the single word.
Detective Stone cleared his throat, then fiddled with the knot of his tie. “Hi.”
Confusion beat through the thrum of unwanted excitement at seeing the handsome detective. “What are you doing here?”
Detective Green offered her a tight smile. “Nice to see you, Mrs. Hickman.”
Understanding dawned, and a punch of guilt tightened her core. “Are you here to speak with Christine?”
The two men exchanged a glance, then turned somber stares her way.
“We’re just following leads,” Detective Green said. “Now we need to part ways. I just got a call from the station. Jack, you’re good to take things from here, right?”
Detective Stone nodded.
She offered a small wave and watched him go before turning back toward the man who caused way too many feelings to stir inside her. “Did you talk to her?”
“We did.” He dipped his chin, making eye contact.
She waited for him to elaborate and sighed when nothing else followed. “Is she okay?”
“Shaken, but that’s understandable.” He shifted, putting himself in the center of the bakery window.
She peered past his shoulder and spotted Christine working the cash register. The stone-faced expression told her that her friend was doing whatever she could to hold herself together. Maybe right now wasn’t the best time to talk.
“Listen, I have to get going,” Detective Stone said. “Was nice seeing you. I’ll be in touch soon about when you can get inside your loft. I just need to check some things first.” He nodded a goodbye, then made a move to walk past her.
She bit the inside of her cheek as indecision warred inside her as she watched him walk away. “Wait, Detective.”
He swiveled around, a smirk on his full lips. “You can call me Jack.”
The sexy smile made her stomach flutter. “Okay,” she said, with one slow nod of her head. “Jack. Are you going to my place now?”
He tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
“Can I come with you?” She nibbled her bottom lip, unsure of how much she wanted to divulge. “I don’t want to go inside by myself. At least not the first time seeing the place after walking in on a crime scene. I’d feel better if someone—you—were with me.” She dropped her gaze to the cracked sidewalk. She’d much rather watch the crumbled trash blowing along with a swarm of stomping feet than see any hints of hesitancy or unease on his face.
“Umm, I guess that’d be all right.”
She lifted her gaze in relief, stepping in sync beside him. Not knowing what to do with her hands, she plunged them into the shallow pockets of her jacket. “Any chance you’ve caught the person responsible?”
He snorted out a humorless laugh. “Not yet. Trust me, we’ll let you know when that happens.”
“When, not if?”
Halting his steps, he turned toward her with nothing but sincerity in his somber expression. “When.”
She forced a smile and kept walking, needing the movement to expel her nervous energy. Nervous about being so close to him, but also nervous with the throngs of people milling around her.
Growing up in the city, she’d always taken comfort in the fact she was never alone. Never exposed or vulnerable to the types of chaos she watched in horror films when she was younger. The bad guy hiding in a cornfield or stalking his prey through a forest. No way some guy with a machete could sneak up behind her with hundreds of people always on the street.
But now an unfamiliar sensation prickled at the back of her neck, as if someone was hiding—waiting and watching until the moment was right to strike again. And with Dave gone, she was alone. Vulnerable in a way she’d never been before.
So she kept moving, in this moment at least protected by the man beside her with a badge clipped to his belt and no doubt a weapon hidden somewhere on his body.
With the approaching white-stone building, the subtle scent of the flowers in their window boxes brought her back to the day before. The scene eerily similar. Beams of sun broke through thick white clouds overhead and a slight breeze rustled the leaves of the trees dotted along the congested street. But unlike yesterday, fear rooted her to the sidewalk.
